#if they’re aiming to kill him despite their own wishes then I think it bothers him djdjdjdjdj both because he does not appreciate genuine

[shaykai]

Thinking about moments where Durge genuinely scares Gortash

When they’re just a little too close, and Durge’s eyes are just a little too sharp to mean they’re in control of themselves and suddenly Gortash is just as vulnerable as any other person would be with them, all because he had the hubris to think himself above their harm

[kamuisthoughts]

The Actual Rant:

I’m going to begin by saying that I think the ABO dynamic is interesting.

That being said I’ve noticed some recurring and very disturbing themes that are attached to this type of AU, regardless of what fandom you’re reading in. It makes sense to me that a universe where people have secondary genders and are more susceptible to animalistic instincts would have different types of societal issues. This being the disturbing themes I mentioned. The disregard of rape, the gender oppression, the objectification of certain genders, and various forms of dysphoria.

Obviously these themes are extremely dark and unsettling, but what’s worse is how the people that take it upon themselves to write about these things romanticize these horrific issues. Using them as a tool to build a parallel world that would cause the reader to think or reflect on our own society is one thing. That’s what I would like to read. But instead I come across these ABO AUs and find authors downplaying these abominable problems, making it seem as if it’s okay to have these sorts of things happening.

If you tell me beforehand what you intend to do okay, I can just avoid that.

But anyway there’s a difference between building a world with dark elements like these and presenting it as something that is truly disgraceful, but many people in the world do not care or fear fighting against it, and creating a world where it’s obvious that the writer is fetishizing these elements. You can completely change the tone of something depending on how issues are presented, how the characters react to their circumstances.

I hate to see rape happen in a story. I honestly feel it’s the most unforgivable, egregious thing you could do to a person beside murdering them. It’s a form of torture, and I honestly believe this, so it turns my stomach to see people writing stories where characters go through this awful thing, sometimes repeatedly and it’s not accurately addressed. There’s rarely lasting trauma if any. They just kind of take it, they don’t fight, they might even accept it just because the character doing it to them is objectively attractive and that is nauseating to me.

I also hate to see kidnappings and forced marriages in this type of AU, where the author tells you the main character is a “BAMF” or “Strong” individual but this is never actually displayed. Not mentally which I often respect to see in characters and not even hinted at physically either. They’ll maybe have a sassy mouth but still won’t really do anything when their abuser is hurting them. And this is usually moot since the main character oftentimes just simpers for their alpha abuser in the end. They’ll either be too scared to continue to mouth off or be too enamored by the alpha’s physical appearance and scent.

I also noticed Stockholm Syndrome is really common in these stories as well, (should the author actually deign to touch upon the immense trauma rape would cause a person), despite how rare this condition is in reality. This I find maddening. Now, I understand sometimes reality is so painful that someone needs to escape it through delusion so that they can function somewhat coherently. But the fact that there are so many stories where a character is kidnapped, ripped from their life, forced to mate with someone who doesn’t respect them as a fellow human being, raped, forcefully impregnated, and then somehow still falls in love with their abuser is utterly repulsive.

And the thing that really upsets me is the fact that I deliberately exclude tags in my search that denote rape/non-con, underaged, and major character death yet still I come across stories where these things are mentioned. Are happening. They’ll be in the story but not in a story’s tags and just glossed over. I’m not sure if this is deliberate or if some of the writers just don’t understand the magnitude of the themes they’re pushing but regardless I find this unacceptable.

If someone says no and you stick your penis inside of them anyway, that is rape. If you lull them into a false sense of security due to pheromones after they’ve said no and have sex with them, that is rape. If they give up fighting because they know it’s hopeless it’s still rape. I don’t care how physically desirable you are, or how good you smell, or if you feel it’s your “right” to take the other person because you managed to pin them down and you’re stronger. They said no, and even if they didn’t say “no” they didn't say yes .

If someone didn’t say they accepted your advances, that is not dubious consent. That. Is. Rape . And women can be rapists too. Let’s stop pretending that’s not a thing and that it’s not just as bad no matter what gender the attacker is. Can we not try to sugarcoat the horrible things people are writing about and call it “dubious” so people can feel better about romanticizing sexual abuse and getting off on it? Because even if you don’t call a spade a spade it’s still a damn spade.

Now let’s talk about fetishes. I hate when male characters are forcefully feminized when they don’t want to be. Like seriously, a male omega in this type of ABO story could literally say, “I’m a man, don’t call me a wife or a mother” and the other characters will just brush it off, they won’t even address it. They’ll continue to label him incorrectly, continue to treat him in ways that make him uncomfortable, and eventually he’ll just stop getting upset or annoyed and go along with it. This is NOT okay. This happens when a writer likes writing about feminine men.

There’s nothing wrong with a feminine man, that’s not what I’m saying. What’s wrong is when a man is overly sexualized because of his physical appearance and incorrectly labeled by others despite him stating what he identifies as. If you want to write about a gender fluid male omega, do that! Do not write about a male omega who identifies as male and call him a wife just because he can give birth. He is still a husband. He is a man and the other characters should be respecting that.

Then we have the fetishizing of birth or breeding in these AUs. This element of this AU has always been so creepy to me. (And I’m talking about FORCED breeding. Edit added because I didn’t specify this at first).

Omegas in these AUs are seen as the lowest of the low because they have heats, are softhearted, physically weaker, and motherly. Yet despite being chained to the bottom of the societal hierarchy they are objectified by other secondary genders. They are desired just enough for alphas and betas to want to breed with but they aren’t worth equal rights such as choosing their own “mate”, their job, or even walking down the street without fear of being forcefully mounted.

Seldom do I see this issue actually portrayed as an issue. The omegas in the story bat their eyelashes at alphas, and even manipulate them because they know that they are objectified. They aim to get claimed by “strong” and “virile” alphas and to have “beautiful pups”. Like, what?

But okay, I can see that.

You live a certain way you can get used to almost anything, but the fact that it’s rarely more than the main character who wants for more is astounding to me. I guess this is a writer’s way of hammering home how different and “before their time” they want their main character to be but it just comes off as forced, and the main character becomes a novelty. Alphas just want the main even more because they want to break them so they can force them into the role of a “good little omega”.

It angers me to see this type of world building with no consequences. There’s no simmering rage at the lack of justice and equality, there’s no conflict. It’s just, “omegas are cute and sexy and they smell nice”. This just makes all of the characters seem like morally bankrupt sex addicts who’re all some form of insane and I can’t stand it. But I’ll digress.

The true reason I decided to write this rant?

A story.

Yes, I came across a story and for some reason despite the harmless looking tags and my knowledge of how misleading this AU can be I clicked on it. I just wanted to see if I was being too harsh on the ABO AU, if someone could write a story in this type of universe that I could actually bear to read that wasn’t extremely hard to find. (Most of the fics in this AU I come across are the really dark ones).

So, I tried to read an ABO AU for MHA, and I'll tell you now I couldn’t even get beyond the fourth chapter. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Izuku was of course a rare male omega, born in a fantasy world where All Might bestowed upon him the powerful magic of One For All and then dipped. Of course despite having this power Izuku was still a weakling, even though the author tried to say he was strong willed and “unlike most omegas”.

Izuku had to hide his secondary gender. He lived as a quirkless beta with his mother. One day he stumbled across Katsuki, who declared Izuku his “true mate”. Despite Izuku saying he didn’t want to mate with him, Izuku was abducted and forced to be with him simply because it was what Katsuki wanted.

Izuku repeatedly said he didn’t want to be there, that he didn't want to be with this literal stranger, and that he didn’t have any desire to be a baby factory for him but was of course ignored. Long story short Katsuki got his way and Izuku eventually was down with it. Because Katsuki was handsome, well built, and smelled nice Izuku didn’t even bother to stay angry at the injustice of his own situation.

This is one of the many stories in this type of AU I personally find problematic. I don’t care if people write these fics, I just wish they were more responsible about it.

I’ve seen stories where alphas threaten to kill an omega’s family or the omega themselves to force them to mate with them, and are forced to comply. Instead of acknowledging how horrible this is the other characters just sort of treat it like the omega is misbehaving and that they’re cute for being “annoyed”. Like, what? Literally what the fuck. And this is sometimes never brought up again.

Alphas could burn down a whole village, slaughter everyone and take the omegas as sex slaves and still in certain stories this could be romanticized. I can’t get with that. Especially not when the victims aren’t even upset for more than a few days. What the heck!? That was your family!

But what really makes me uncomfortable? When an author makes sure the reader is aware of the fact that an abuser is extremely physically attractive so that people will be less inclined to be disgusted by their atrocious behavior and mentality.

I get it.

Sometimes the inevitable fall is due to true mates and all that. But at the same time, that is absolute bullshit. I wouldn’t give a damn if you were Jesus Christ himself, if you threaten to kill my family, or me, DO these things, disregard my feelings because of what you want and what you have to gain I am not giving you the time of day. Or at the very least if I have no choice I’m gonna utterly despise the person harming me. Come on!

True mates/Soulmates could be so freaking cute. It HAS been. I’ve seen it. There’s good fics out there, I just wish there was more of a selection where certain tropes are implemented in a way that isn’t toxic.

I don’t care how objectively attractive someone appears. I don’t care what “fate” says or what “instincts” denote. What reason do some of these characters have to love their abusers? Let alone be attracted to them? Especially if they never get a heartfelt apology and the alpha doesn’t bother to change significantly to be a tolerable human being. But okay, ABO instincts. Lack of control. I know, okay? But come on, can we switch it up a bit?

Out of morbid curiosity, sometimes when I come across stories I just can’t read because the Non-con is there but it’s not portrayed as traumatic and the author doesn’t even TELL you it’s in there... out of some masochistic need to punish myself I scroll down to read some of the comments and no one, I mean no one addresses how skewed and warped the themes in these stories are. The readers eat it up. And it’s honestly sickening.

But you know what? That’s kind of a lie. Some people do complain but they’re usually just straight up hateful flames and I don’t support those. I wish people could be more constructive when commenting on people’s work.

But anyway, since it was the MHA ABO AU fic that set me off I’ll just continue to use Izuku and Katsuki as examples for my griping. With Izuku as the omega and Katsuki as the alpha.

Many fanfic writers set up their worlds as a means to impregnate Izuku. That’s what I believe. Not ALL fanfic writers that write about this AU do this. SOME of them do! And I’m not saying this is always problematic, but it is when they put certain elements together because they want to write about BakuDeku in a sexual form and don’t bother to note how dark the story elements they’re implementing actually are.

I’m not sure if this is because some of them don’t understand how serious and damaging these things are and can be (rape/sexual coercion/forced pregnancy) or if they just don’t care and find them cute and sexy.

Either way, the things some authors have alpha Katsuki pulling on Izuku are wrong and downright perverted.

Now, I’m not opposed to smut. Sometimes I read stories with smut, that doesn’t bother me. Sex is a natural thing and people do it to show how much they like someone, or even just because it feels good. Whatever, that’s fine. But putting two characters together and saying “this is how it is because fate and forget gradually becoming attracted because I want that sexual tension now!” is something I find greatly unsettling.

If I could see this idea displayed differently maybe I could be equally disturbed, but could grow to accept Izuku and Katsuki (or whoever are the focus of the story) as a pair. Why? Because if the things the alpha is doing are horrible they should be acknowledged as horrible.

A lot of stories could be more interesting to me if the author wrote the things I mentioned above as they actually are, despicable. Instead things a lot of the times are sugar coated, treated as a joke, or downright wrongfully sexualized. Sometimes all three at once! A lot of these fics could have been something I could stomach if treated soundly. Say, Katsuki for example decided Izuku belonged to him and he forcefully mated with him, not allowing Izuku to be with anyone else without serious backlash. If he began to realize that his outlook on life was entitled and morally bankrupt I could totally get with that!

The author in this fake scenario could take the steps to better Katsuki as a person. Izuku of course should rightfully hate this man but could grudgingly begin to see and acknowledge Katsuki trying to change for the better. Then when Izuku manages to let go of his anger for his own sake, (not Katsuki’s) I could probably accept him beginning to notice Katsuki romantically. NOT sexually.

Now if Izuku just has to notice Katsuki’s physical body from the beginning and finds him irresistible because you know, ABO AU instincts and all that jazz—but hated this about himself, the juxtaposition of physical desire but mental and emotional disdain could be fascinating, engaging. It would make Izuku seem more like a person in these stories and less like the idea of a mentally strong omega. (Again, not saying all ABO fics lack good storytelling or compelling characters or any of that).

I could accept this eventual forgiveness and romance scenario because it could be amazing storytelling wise. Allowing the reader to experience a range of emotions due to world building, characterization, character growth, and plot line.

But anyway, I’m not trying to bash the specific story I used as an example above. I realize a lot of people love it and a lot of my language was crude and even rude but I just felt the need to express exactly what I was feeling, and above is what I felt. (I had to cut some things because it was way too obvious which fanfiction set me off and that’s not what I wanted. Didn’t want to throw shade, just wanted to prove a point).

If people want to read those types of stories that’s fine, at least they’re not going out into the world and doing what they’re reading about. Or at least I hope that’s the case.

But anyway, if people are going to read these types of things I think the reality of the content should be aptly acknowledged. No rose colored glasses, because that just makes it so wrong. And no, I’m not talking about being partial to any kind of kinks. I’m talking about a type of ABO fic that is problematic for me. I wrote a whole damn rant, if you can’t glean what I’m saying here I freaking give up.

But more presently, I guess it really comes down to what you prefer. Other people like things that come off as more sensual and carefree.

Personally I make it a point not to read those types of fanfictions because it’s just not my preference. I prefer to read things with dark world building with what I perceive as realistic consequences and real justice. Or maybe just downright cold blooded revenge sometimes. That’s nice too. Everyone is different, and I think I’ve just become frustrated because I’m not finding many stories like that in this AU.

That being said I’ve decided to write a story that I could read. A few, actually. You know what they say, “if you don’t do it, nobody else will”.

[squishyapologist]

// im going to start this off by saying that this post will be talking about police brutality, racism, and the death of daunte wright. now, im unfortunately a couple days late to this due to my own mental health issue at the moment and staying off most social media. apologies for that, but i have been educating myself on the current situation and feel educated enough to talk. i like to make sure im not spreading misinformation before i post things like this, because i know that can be almost as damaging as not saying anything at all. 

with all of that said, yet another black man has been murdered by police, and there are once again protests which are being met with police violence.

daunte wright was a 20 year old black man who was pulled over by police on april 11th, and was killed when officer kim potter (who has since resigned along with police chief tim gannon) drew her firearm and shot him once in the chest. 

the officer claimed she mistook her firearm for her taser, and that she hadn’t meant to shoot him, let alone fatally. 

lets talk about why this is a ridiculous defense, and also very likely a flat out lie. 

first of all, the officer in question has over 20 years of police experience, and was responsible for training other officers, and yet she managed to ‘mistake’ her firearm for her taser? if she managed to be an active officer for 26 years and still didn’t pick up on the differences between the weapons she carried, she shouldn’t have been allowed to carry them anyways. that is already negligence and incompetence on the part of the officer.

even if we look past the fact that a glock and a taser weigh and feel differently, there are still multiple differences that should have alerted the officer of her mistake.

her taser was kept on the opposite side of her gun, was bright neon yellow, and her glock has a safety which must be switched off before the discharging of the weapon. not to mention the differences in which a firearm and taser (which again, sat on the opposite side of her belt) are fired, pressure wise.

are we really expected to believe that a 26-year police veteran managed to draw her glock from the opposite side as her taser, switch off the safety, aim, and fire all while still thinking she was holding her taser? disrespectfully, that’s fucking ridiculous. again, if you can’t tell the differences between the weapons you are carrying, you should not be permitted to carry them at all. 

she also broke protocol multiple times during this incident. firing a taser at someone operating a vehicle is not allowed, nor is aiming your taser for someones chest when other, less lethal targets are visible.  

even IF we look past all of that and say that okay, maybe she did make that mistake, that is still manslaughter, and the officer should not only have been fired immediately, but also arrested. instead, she was placed on administrative leave. the fact that she was allowed to resign (the two sentence email in which she did so containing no remorse for the man she had murdered, and only detailing her enjoyment of her job.) peacefully is ridiculous, and once again shows that murder is fine as long as you’re carrying a badge. apparently she is due to be charged, but the fact that it will most likely be a manslaughter charge that she might not even be jailed for is ridiculous, and frankly sickening. 

now, the protests. 

once again, protests have been met with police violence, as well as the national guard being dispatched only a few days in. tear gas and pepper spray were used again protesters despite a restriction against the use of tear gas and chemical irritants being passed by the city council. a rule that was broken by police almost immediately, which honestly, does not surprise me at all. the police are using banned measures to disperse protests, arresting protestors, and a curfew has been put in place which you can now be arrested for violating. these are measures we have seen before in effort to stop protests from happening and suppress the voices of black people who are tired of seeing their community torn apart by cops who think they’re above the law. i will say it again. the police are continuing to use banned measures against protestors. they don’t care about what they’re not allowed to do, they just want to silence you. for those at these protests, be safe. make your voices heard and if you’re white, protect your bipoc friends and fellow protestors. you have privilege, use it. 

what hurts even more is how close this all occurred to the place where the pig who killed george floyd is standing trial. the amount of police violence against black people is genuinely sickening and i can’t imagine how scary and depressing the current state of america must be. if you’re a bipoc, please do take care of yourself during these times. i can’t imagine how damaging this must be to see constantly, and i only wish there was more i could do to help those effected by this violence. 

another thing i feel needs to be addressed is the fact that daunte wright was resisting arrest, and attempting to flee. this has been used by pro-cop people and the right to justify his death. i feel the need to remind people that fleeing, resisting, or otherwise panicking during a high stress situation should not be a death sentence. it is a natural human instinct to attempt to flee or fight when faced with any potentially dangerous situation, and expecting scared, unarmed citizens to remain calm while you allow trained professionals to use the ‘i panicked’ excuse again and again, murder after murder is pure hypocrisy. 

daunte had a warrant out for his arrest (not something the officers were aware of when they pulled him over) but that still does not justify the fact that he was murdered. cops are not judge, jury and executioner. resisting or trying to flee is not an excuse to kill someone. 

i don’t care what excuse the cop, or her boss wants to use. i refuse to believe that she wasn’t aware of which weapon she was holding, and i refuse to believe she holds any remorse for daunte or his family. i think she did what white cops love to do. she murdered a man. a black man who was just scared. the police system is, and always will be a racist system made to oppress people of colour. how many times does this have to happen before people realize that you can’t reform a system that’s rotten to its core. the police are not your friends, and the fact that they continue to break the law that they claim to uphold and get away with it should prove that. they are not on your side, and there is no such thing as a good cop. 

i will be reblogging any resources i can find, and if you would like to contribute please do. feel free to add to this, especially with advice for the protestors or anything i may have missed. however, i will not be engaging in debate or argument with anybody under this post, or on any other post. if you are pro-cop, part of the right, or think that the deaths of black people at the hands of police are acceptable in any way, don’t bother coming anywhere near this post, you will not get the attention or argument you want, you will simply be blocked. 

please direct me towards any petitions, resources, or places to donate so that i can spread them. i can sign petitions however i am unfortunately not in the financial place to donate. i will be spreading places to donate and i will be encouraging those who can do donate, but i do wish i could do more. 

stay safe, and remember, the police aren’t your friends, and there is no excuse for continued police brutality like this. 

take care of yourselves and make your voices heard.

[abizarreyodelingincident]

Our Nightly Confidant 6

Live up to your own Legend

The pink has largely faded from his hair and Legend is ready to put that humiliation behind him.

He is.

But the problem with sharing your secrets with others is they constantly remind you that they know. Oh, they are subtle about it. For all that Sky and Twilight are earnest and open, they can both clam up with the least social of them.

A smirk stretches his lips as, despite himself, Legend recalls the 'incident' if it could be called that.

The whole group was there, sitting by the campfire, digging into one of Wild's stew. The blend of herbs, potatoes and meat had been one of those hearty dishes for calm evenings after a weary day of traveling. It was quite tasty, and Legend was content to fill his stomach with hot food. It was more than he had been able to do on many, many evenings during his adventuring days.

It had just so happened that some of the others agreed, and were much less silent in their enjoyment.

“Man, Tetra wishes we could eat that well on the sea,” Wind said, waving his spoon around without a care for the splashes of sauce. To be fair, neither Hyrule or Wild seemed to be bothered either.

“Yeah, it's great, Wild,” Hyrule agreed. “What is it?”

“Rabbit.”

Sky's mouthful sprayed out of his mouth in a dramatic cloud of sauce and half-chewed meat. And because someone upstairs had decided that Legend had suffered enough, the person sitting directly in front of Sky at the time had been Warriors.

The ensuing chaos had given Legend time for his stomach to settle, and he suddenly had the answer to a question he had never meant to ask, but he would, indeed, have made a delicious meal if the monsters of the corrupted Sacred Realm had ever caught him. It truly was just like Wild to provide that kind of answer to Life's hidden (and for good reasons) secrets.

The Goddesses love a good joke at their heroes' expenses, didn't they?

Yet, the worst part might just have been what he had realized afterward. Twilight, chillingly, hadn't reacted much beyond a chuckle at Sky's reaction and a pat on the back to a confused Wild. He'd also finished his bowl despite the incident happening before he had.

Legend wishes he knew how to feel about that. Even today, he has mixed feelings on Twilight's non-reaction. Above all things, he is not a rabbit and the rancher is not a wolf. That's the reflection of their inner light when shrouded in shadows of dark magic. It's a curse. Twilight can make use of a curse all he wants (he can't judge, what's with Ravio's bracelet), so long as he doesn't let that shadow crystal near him again.

Unfortunately, he can't exactly put it out of his mind when Sky took him aside during the morning and apologized, both for the scene and, well, you know. Sky, sweetheart that he is, mentioned that he told Wild some tall tale about it being sacred in Skyloft or something. Wild would try and avoid rabbit meat from now on.

Legend's words of gratitude come out through a curtain of heavy rain to his own ears, it feels like. The consideration is more than he knows what to do with. And... and part of him wasn't even asking for it. Heroes must stand on their own two feet.

So, yes, perhaps he is a bit more cautious than usual when traveling near Twilight or Sky today. Maybe he does slide over to the corners of their battle formations away from those two. He needs time to think, and he's no moron. He's not gonna let that affect his performance in battle in the slightest.

In fact, he was the one to land the killing blow on the hinox. Ice rods to freeze its feet, followed by a jumping great spin. Warriors lets out a low whistle upon witnessing it.

Legend's bow is only mildly sarcastic. That was damn fine fighting, if he says so himself.

They made progress today, and are nearing their objective, one of Wild's shrines. One covered in the darkness of a moonless, starless night at all times. But they do need to clean their scraps and maybe heal that concussion. Nasty hit, but Hyrule's is firm: Wild will be good as new after a few rounds of healing magic and a fairy. Which, for once, they have to spare.

Food, on the other hand...

“I've got some salted jerky,” Twilight offers.

“Ooooh,” Warriors feigns enthusiasm. “And with my goron bread and Hyrule's salted cheese, that'll be sure to finish the job.”

Hyrule's hands, which had been illuminated with the Life spell signature, twitch. “Hey! What's wrong with my salted cheese?”

There is hesitation, most of all from Legend, and then Four takes the dive. “It could give a family of plague-spreading rats a run for its rupees.”

Sad, but fair. Hyrule's cheese is a testament to his cooking as a whole. It might be edible, but Nayru herself wondered how.

Hyrule's back hunches a bit before he straightens and turns away from the other with a huff.

Legend's hands hover uselessly at his sides. He ought to say something. He wants to say something. Except he's not gonna lie and say the cheese is okay, because even Ravio wouldn't try to sell it. And then his chance is lost.

Time steps in. Strides right in the middle of the group, massaging his sore shoulder and running a hand through Hyrule's hair as he passes him by. “Alright, you've had your fun, but we do need to decide on a course of action for our next few meals. There's still plenty of mushrooms and fruits in Wild's slate.”

Sky offers himself. “I can whip up something. It won't be great, but it'll be filling.”

“Okay, but we can hunt too, can't we?” Wind jumps in. “Like, we're not in a malice-infested area or anything. I know I saw a couple of goats and deers earlier on the road.”

His stomach takes that moment to growl. And his mind wanders back to Wild's previous meal last night. His mouth even waters, before he remembers everything else about the stew and there goes his appetite.

“We've got plenty already,” Twilight says.

“Yeah...” Four gives him the side eye. “No offense Sky, but it'll be bland enough without some meat.”

It's one of those truly bizarre quirks. And Legend gets it. He hasn't survived this long without being able to understand different people. There's a... well, not certainty, but an assurance when it comes to food security and times of peace. He gets that farmers have dry years, chu-chu infestations and the likes, but Legend's known all his life to never pass up an opportunity for food, and he sees it even more pronounced in Hyrule.

It's their damned timeline. The whole thing is doomed to die.

“Let's skip another radish failure, shall we?” Legend snarks. It's only a fraction of the resentment in him, but it helps settle his heartbeat.

“I think you're outvoted, pup.”

A look of annoyance crosses Twilight's face, but he holds his tongue. Another way we are nothing alike, Legend thinks.

“We need people to forage, hunt and make camp. And look over the wild cub.” And so Time begins to pair them off, balancing them between skills and health. It's all fine and dandy, until the Old Man looks at him and Twilight, deadpan, and shrugs. “I've got a good feeling about the two of you working together.”

Sometimes, Legend just really wants to deck Time. He's certain others share this feeling. Even Twilight, for all he plays the dutiful son's part.

“Alright,” Twilight says, patting him on the back as he leads the way outside the camp. “Let's do this. Can't let Pretty Boy show us up, can we?”

Legend snorts. So, maybe they share one or two traits. But he's willing to chalk that up more to Warriors being ungodly annoying at times.

“Not gonna throw off my aim, are you?” Legend jeers. It's meant as a tease, but it comes off harsher than he meant.

Typical.

What isn't is the way Twilight just shrugs, his wolf pelts like a wave of black fur. Legend's not blind. He knows his sharp tongue used to burn Twilight's fuse. At some point though, when he wasn't looking, the whole thing had been replaced, longer and shinier than ever before.

And the way Twilight grins at him has the sort of familiarity he thought was only deserved by the likes of Time or Wild.

“You didn't forget where I grew up, didya? What do you think we do with goats exactly?”

The hook's too good not to bite. And, Ravio does say he has sharp teeth. “You'd wash my mouth with soap if I told you the truth.”

And there it is, the tick and twitch of Twilight's ears. Warriors is the only one that constantly manages to bring it out. But, well, Legend aims for greatness, doesn't he?

“Tch, ain't ever seen a Gordonian Oat up close, have you?”

In two strides, Twilight has broken the gap between them.

“For starters, they're tall.” Another step closer. “Grow up about the size of Epona. But less even tempered.”

Legend stares, resisting the urge to back down as he realizes that Twilight towers over him, and at this angle, the setting sun cast his face in shadows.

“Hu-uh.”

“More importantly, they've got horns,” he says, putting his hands up in some poor imitation of the real thing. “Can knock down a man charging. And they will. Males have a foul temper.”

Then, as if nothing happened, Twilight pulls back and knocks his bow over his shoulder.

“Besides, it's needless hunting that gets my goat.” – Legend snorts despite himself and subsequently hides away from Twilight's grin. – “I could never resist one of the Cub's meat skewers.”

Is it him, or are Twilight's teeth a bit sharper than a Hylian's should be?

“I don't think you can resist any of his cooking,” Legend snarks, smacking Twilight's stomach. “Guess you gotta fuel those muscles of yours with something, huh?”

Said big and strong hero proceeds to pout. “Like you're any better.”

Legend shrugs. “Never refuse a meal you don't think is poisoned, is my motto.”

There's the beginning of a frown, but Legend is not up for that.

“Come on, I'm not letting Pretty Boy outdo us.”

Twilight hesitates, then shakes his head and starts forward. “Do aim for the throats, if you can. I'd rather not deal with the screams.”

The screams.

Legend falters then accelerates to catch up. Screams.

Animals don't... they'll thrash, struggle, make noise, but it wasn't...

The thought lingers well into their travel, when they've passed the turn of the road and shadows burst out of Twilight's necklace.

Wolfie bounds into the undergrowth, his dark tail vanishing behind some leaves.

                                                     ***

The first prey they come across must be a rabbit.

A shy thing gnawing on leaves in the grass. Crouched low and near invisible in the dale with its brown coat. But Wolfie's senses detected it with ease. With that help, Legend sees it too.

The arrow is held tight in his hand, notched but not quite ready to fly.

Twilight glances back.

Sky would take the hard decision out of his hands and chase off the rabbit.

Twilight waits for him to choose. No matter which, Twilight'll go all the way.

They're both considerate in their own ways.

It makes Legend want to curl up in shame. To be able to at least pick how he wants to treat that secret. But he doesn't know. He spent years not thinking about it, and surprise, that did not prepare him anymore for when it blew up in the open.

Zelda would scream the mother of all 'I told you so' if she ever caught wind of this. Which is why he'll spend a lot of time ensuring he never does.

Which is another way of saying he'll run away from his problem.

Shy, nervous thing.

One cracked twig has the rabbit tense up, then scamper back into its den.

Legend lifts his foot from the twig and glares.

“You good?” Twilight asks as he emerges from shadows.

“Yeah, yeah,” Legend snips. “We had rabbit yesterday. And it's hard to hit the throat of the little buggers.”

Twilight nods sagely like that wasn't pure bullshit. “Fair enough.”

By the Goddesses, Legend must be ill because he suddenly hates the idea of getting away with it. “You know you can call me out, don't you?”

“Don't really see the need to force you to talk. Either you do or you don't. It's not like I know what you should be saying anyway.”

Well, there goes one of his hopes. Twilight looks and acts so comfortable in his skin (both of them) that Legend is a bit jealous.

“Well... what's it like, being a wolf?”

Twilight turns his head to the sun disappearing between the hills. To the darkness seeping into the sky. His gaze looks miles away from him.

“Dangerous.”

Funny, Legend would have said the same of being a rabbit, but, he suspects, for different reasons.

“Wolves aren't loved. And there's a good reason for that. They're powerful beasts with powerful senses. Sometimes, I find myself sniffing for scents I couldn't possibly catch as a Hylian. Thinking of sinking my teeth into something. You wouldn't believe the meat cravings I get sometimes. Farore, the faces my ma made the first few meals we had together after I got back.” A faint chuckle. “It's a good thing Ordon's not just harvesting wheat, 'cause I would be a miserable man in there.”

What do you think we do with goats exactly? Raise them, protect them.

Eat them.  

“Still better than turning into prey.”

Twilight's smile is smaller, but it feels more real. “Yeah, maybe, but if you ever reflect what you are on the inside, then you'll be soft, cuddly... loved.”

Legend hears everything his brother doesn't say. What would happen to Twilight if he ever let loose completely? If he gave in to his inner self?

He has a feeling his brother knows. That he felt it already.

For a second, he thinks to place a hand on Twilight's shoulder, but... he can't quite bring himself to do it.

“... Want to get back to it?” Twilight hints at the trails he was following as a wolf. “We still haven't caught anything, and I can hear Wind's accusation from here.”

Yeah, he can too. The sailor would ask him if Twilight was being a sore loser, and the others might believe it. Legend might have done that in Twilight's shoes. He's spiteful like that. Nothing like a bunny.

Twilight clutches his necklace and goes down on four legs again. No hesitation to it.

One of them embraces the shadows, the other flinches at them, and now he wonders if they aren't both stupid.

The animals they come across next are the slow grazers, the desperately hungry or the uncautious. Those that thrive in dusk, right before the nocturnal critters make the fields and woods their own.

They hunt in a silence filled with cacophonous thoughts. It doesn't affect Legend's aim. He could strike an enemy sleepwalking at this point.

And true to his word, Legend did shoot the deer dead in one hit. No struggling. No... screams.

He's about finished butchering most of it and filling his inventory with carefully wrapped pieces when Twilight comes back from his circling watch (monsters are always a concern). Judging by the bit of dark blood on Wolfie's collar, it was a successful scouting trip.

The excuse was often bullshit, but it never meant Twilight was leaving them to dry. It's a comforting thought. He's always taken a big brother role to them the way the Old Man slips between commander and father to a bunch of bokoblins.

“Hyrule talks, you know?” Legend says, softly.

Twilight plops down next to Legend's bags and makes a curious 'bork'.

“He showed me his new collection.” Legend recalls the mile-a-minute explanation, and how warm his successor's happiness had made him feel. “It was like you hung the stars in the sky. Thank you.”

There's a big dog-like grin on Wolfie's face. It's too similar to the one on his Hylian face for anyone with a brain not to link the two together. Twilight's always wearing it when he pulls Wild up, when he gives Wind a piggyback ride (and the sailor calls him a trusty steed with the thickest pirate accent Legend has ever heard). It's his grin for little siblings he's so proud of.

“How do you do it?”

Twilight tilts his head to the side, like he doesn't instantly get the question. (Maybe he doesn't, whispers a small part of Legend, maybe it's natural and it's only him that struggles with connecting to his fellow heroes.)

The words don't want to come, but he's a Chosen of Courage. He never could back down from anything.

“The big brother act,” he says. “Hyrule. I don't know what to do with him. How to be around him. I like him, he's more tolerable than most of you meddling bastards.” – A look of offense crosses the wolf's face, and it's properly ridiculous. – “He's sweet, earnest, resourceful, heck, he even has manners despite growing up in a cave! What does he see in me?”

Twilight moves a paw over the middle of Legend's chest.

But he doesn't think that's right. It can't be that.

“I... I don't get why he chose me to admire. Sure, I'm the sucker that went on the most quests, but he's gone on two himself. It can't be my charming personality. I'm a stubborn jackass who doesn't know when to quit and that cuts just as much with my wit as with my arsenal. Is it just... being his predecessor?”

A crossed look passes over Twilight's face. His ears go flat on the sides of his head, his eyes narrowing. It's a little silly, knowing Twilight, but there's also that familiar pang of fear that helps Legend survive so many quests.

His instincts prove their worth when Twilight lunges and knocks him to the ground quick enough that Legend only realizes what happened a second later.

“What the-? Get off, Farmer.”

He could. And Twilight knows he could. Twilight's just relying on the knowledge that Legend won't.

Legend resigns himself to a moment of lying on his back with a fifty tons wolf crushing him to tiny pieces. That's it, that's the only reason he doesn't whip up his high-level strength bracelets to throw off the overly affectionate wolf on top of him.

Even if he has to fake the annoyance.

“Urgh, you stubborn a-” he doesn't complete the thought.

It's like an electrified chu-chu ramming into him.

By now, every one of them has seen Wolfie wrangle Wild around the camp at least once. Has been witness to their unorthodox brother sighing and huffing about his mentor forcing him into rest. Grumbling something about hard-headed mother cuccos and joykillers.

And the next day, the two of them grinning at each other over the battlefield. Wild seeking approval like he hadn't pulled his tongue at the rancher earlier.

“... That's not the same thing.”

Wolves don't have the right to look this fucking smug.

That manipulative goat-minder!

“It's not!” Legend protests, even knowing that, yes, it is indeed the same thing.

Words unspoken drift between them from the force of Twilight's gaze. Self-deprecating things, faults and flaws and fights, the sort of things Legend cringes at the thought of, but has to acknowledge. Wild admires Twilight, and it's not a matter of perfection.

Being smushed under a wolf has a way of making you accept that, no, that brother of yours isn't that great a person.

“Even so... ”

The rumble is a question.

“That doesn't tell me how to do it.” He raises an eyebrow. “Unless you mean to tell me I should sit on Hyrule until he feels the love.”

A laughing bark.

Legend smirks to himself. “Yeah, didn't think so.”

And a distant, experienced and – maybe too – cynical part of him starts to understand what Twilight is doing. Why he is not shifting back to Hylian form. Even knowing the truth, knowing that the sacred beast is his dull, dutiful brother does not get through to his subconscious. Knowledge does not weigh as much as the wolf splayed over him, does not warm him the way the mantle of soft fur does. He can't build up his walls fast enough. No, not quite. He can't bring himself to build his walls fast enough.

He missed this. Someone to watch over his shoulder, someone safe, that'd step in so that Legend wouldn't be needed.

He believes in no goddess, be they the Three, whom he knows are the object of his Princess' devotion, or even that Hylia that Sky mentions sometimes. He's long since gotten into the habits of cursing the Heavens, whoever resides there. It was only fair, after they cursed him with the world.

With the Windfish.

But just this once, being protected and smothered in ways that remind him of stormy nights when his uncle was still alive. The sort of stubborn strength that held in the face of the night, of monsters. Everything.

Twilight, Legend realizes, has a mind like a bear trap. Unassuming until it springs. Then, it never lets go.

Stubborn. He hates the part of him that likes it.

“We're not the same,” he hisses.

Because Twilight's friendly, personable, easy to talk to. Because Twilight is one of those bastards that's hard to hate no matter what he does. That wins you back with a couple of words and a steady hand during a difficult time.

Legend would sooner stab you once and be done with those messes.

And Wolfie's blue eyes are this shade of cloudless sky, clear, so frank. It's impossible not to see how Twilight doesn't believe him.

Legend's heart comes ablaze.

“None of your decisions have doomed a world!”

The wolf in Twilight whines. A low, pitiful noise.

“That's how I lost her. By destroying her world and everyone that lived in it.”

Twilight nuzzles him, something a bit desperate to the force of it.

Near misses, he thinks. It worked out. But some part of Twilight probably thinks it shouldn't have. Legend knows that madness. That jump of faith through the insane traps of ancient temples and half-baked schemes in the middle of a boss fight.

Near misses, they don't count, but they're the last steps before the cliff opens up below you.

And Legend has been falling for a long time.

Telling Zelda was a second's respite clinging to an unexpected root pooking out of the earth and rock.

Now he's found another.

He's strangely not bitter that he was the only one to go through this. To triumph in the destruction of a whole island. The closest to experiencing failure on that scale would have to be Wild, who was neither subtle nor all that quiet about his conviction in his perceived flaws.

And this must be what he receives when the feelings overwhelm him, when he needs the wolf instead of any of them. Quiet, unwavering support.

The lack of words coming from Twilight is half the healing balm.

Legend's not looking for words at all. Not some magic words that'll make the turmoil die out at any rates.

He couldn't bear to hear a platitude. To hear any variation of 'it's okay' or 'it was not your fault'. It was. It had been his decision in the end. The choice sucked, but he picked one anyway. Because he is the Hero.

There had been no one else. Just him.

“What's my next decision going to bring?”

The warmth and fur shifts over his body, but still Twilight doesn't talk. With the tighter, smaller posture against his chest, Legend would guess he feels some guilt over forcing that confession out of him. It's worth a grimace, maybe, but he is too tired to give a fuck.

Legend takes a moment just staring upward. He's forgotten which Hyrule this is, how far from home he is. But the stars haven't changed. He'll bet good rupees that the constellations are nothing alike between one kingdom and the next.

He points to a cluster of lights. “That's the 'Fairy Spring'. And right next to it, 'The Raging Lynel'.”

Twilight makes a noise like a noble being shown a peasant. Oh, he must never say that outloud for fear of being punched with those moblin arms of his. Though, he had thought Twilight didn't have lynels in his era, the lucky bastard.

More names come to him. None of which trigger recognition in Twilight, but his brother listens all the same, attentive, patient. This is nice. Better.

His eyelids start threatening to droop.

A gentle, concerned whine ring to his ears, and a paw scratches his tunic.

Right. Right, they are too far from camp for him to nap. It's already a long walk, for a Hylian.

Legend suppresses the pang of envy in his chest at Twilight's cursed form. He shouldn't! But what does it say about him, the boy grown in a world always threatened by dark forces, when his inner self is a harmless bunny? What does it say about Twilight, grown through an era of peace, when his inner self is a dangerous predator?  

The successors of the Hero of Time, ladies and gentlemen!

The real shame, though, is probably that he misses that softness.

I used to love saving people... he thinks, and only notices the tear when Wolfie nuzzles him.

He knows there and then that their earlier conversation was wrong. Even if Twilight lost himself in the shadows, there'd still be something to love about him. Because Wolfie is a beast, but the others aren't wrong when they call him a gift of the Goddesses.

“Urgh, don't try and be physically affectionate with me,” he says, pushing off the cold nose.

What about me? Is there anything loveable about me, besides saving a couple of countries?

Would Uncle still be proud? Would she be able to love me as I am now?

“Why am I like this?” he asks, and is grateful for the silence.

The answer, he's known for some time.

It's when I realized no one would save me. When it comes to saving the world, I'm it. No second chances. No one to pick up the torch. If I fail, that's it. There's only me.

Wolfie's soft barks bring him out of his head, and pull a smirk out of him. He deliberately ruffles his brother's head, rough, because it wouldn't do to have him think he's gone soft that easily.

But his fear just isn't true anymore.

Twilight would save him. Hyrule would. Sky would. Any of the others would. And he'd jump in front of a sword for them just as easily.

He hasn't let down the walls long enough to

… Maybe he could try.

Leaves suddenly rustle and bushes part to let another Hylian through.

“Legend?” Hyrule's eyes flicker to the tear tracks on his face. “... This isn't the direction we saw that river, is it?”

Legend sighs and pushes Twilight off. “You're off by thirty degrees.”

Red blooms across Hyrule's cheeks, his gaze lowering to the ground.

Damn it! He isn't prepared for this! If he had just a minute to gather his wits beforehand...

“Why didn't you tell me he was coming?!” Legend hisses, resisting the urge to smack Twilight on the nose.

He prefers his fingers unnipped, thank you very much.

“Are you okay?” Hyrule asks, fidgeting. “Weren't you with Twilight?”

“Oh, huh, he went scouting ahead.” Farore! Now the rancher's stupid excuses were infecting him. Why was he the one to share that secret?

Hyrule nods. “Ah, makes sense.”

Some crows above caw.

It's the only noise in the woods.

Legend stumbles when Twilight headbutts his rear end. “Oi!” he says, turning a threatening glare at his idiot brother.

“Oh, hey Wolfie,” Hyrule says with a timid wave.

Right. Hyrule's most frequent experiences with Twilight's beast forms revolve around him being herded back to camp after another ill-fated self-appointed scouting mission. Worse when the Champion got involved and the two got into their heads to have an adventure whilst on a supply run.

Got to have fun...

He glances between Hyrule, trying to look steady in front of him, and Twilight, who is staring back at him intently.

“You don't need to be so nervous, you know?” he hears himself say.

Hyrule blinks in surprise, as does Twilight. But, well, Legend committed. He might as well go all in.

He lands a hand in the scruff of Twilight's neck, scratching through the fur. “He's a big softie.”

That would normally get him a warning growl or a painless bite. Except Twilight can't very well protest and undo all his hard work over petty jealousy, can he?

“Come on,” he tells Hyrule. “If he gets snippy, I'll bonk him on the head whilst you make your daring escape.”

“I wouldn't run!” Hyrule says, hotly. “I mean, I don't know if Life works on wolves, but I'd have to try, knowing your strength bracelets.”

It startles a laugh out of him. There's their wanderer. Ready to get in the thick of it with a sword or a spell. That's the man that'll succeed him. That's the man he has the luck to meet. And teach.

“Interesting question. It sounds like something we should test in a safe environment.”

And he jumps to the side, avoiding the fangs aiming for his buttocks. So predictable!

“Oh dear, he's gone feral!” he croons, clicking his heels to activate the pegasus boots. “No two ways about it, time to book it.”

“Wait, what?” Hyrule, the poor man, has no time to register the turn of events that Legend grabs him by the sleeves and starts to drag him away from a barking wolf.

“By the way, have I told you about that time I escaped from a pair of lynels on top of Death Mountain?”

“No!” Hyrule shouts, wide-eyed with both awe and a little fear. “Is that really the time?”

He skids to a halt just in time to avoid a blitzing Twilight bursting out of a bush. The barking rings to his ears. His heartbeat has picked up from the thrill, and he knows he will win this.

“Feels nostalgic for some reason!”

“Talk away then! Oh, and jump!”

Hyrule's hand pulls him upward, makes him weightless as if he'd done his magic cape. They launch into the air, and scramble up on the higher branches of a large oak tree. He's chuckling, a little awed by Hyrule's arsenal of spells.

And then Twilight lands on the branch next to them, hackles raised and honestly a little scary. The wood winces ominously, shakes, but holds.

“Wolves can't do that!” he yells.

“I don't think he cares, Legend!” Hyrule hops to the next tree.

And Legend stops thinking about his next move. He follows, he lets his instinct and experience guide him into this impromptu chase game. Marvels at Hyrule's tricks sometimes, preens when his gets Twilight to crash into a boar that only mildly appreciated the tackle and gets to tell the entire story on the way back to camp.

He's got a skip to his steps. He won. They both know he won this time and nothing will change that.

But, just in case, Legend will sleep with one eye open. He's seen Time's and Wild's pranks so far. And in that chain of Heroes, Twilight is both the apprentice and the master. There's no way Twilight isn't capable of their very worst.

[im-whatchamccallit]

Risking It//Mark Tuan (Got7)

Part 2|Masterlist|Rules

Request: YAY I’M SO EXCITED THAT YOU’RE BACK!! I hope you’ve been well (: I’ve missed you and your writing! May I request a college boyfriend Mark Tuan story! You can write it about whatever you want I just love the idea of Mark as a college boyfriend he gives me those vibes. Please make it fluffy and smutty if you’re feeling adventurous ;) Hahaha thank you so much! Have a wonderful day 😁😁😁

Pairing: Mark Tuan x Reader

Genre: College! AU, fluff but mostly smut (sorry, the hoe in me took over)

Warnings: sexual content (oral sex, fingering, mentions of overstimulation), kinda poorly written because I’m scatterbrained and couldn’t find a perfect concept lol

Words: 3.9k

You bit your bottom lip as you tried to focus on what your professor was saying, writing notes from the words she spoke in fear it’d be on a future pop quiz, but you couldn’t focus with the pair of eyes boring into you. You were trying to ignore Mark but he refused to look away, wanting you to look at him as he sat by idly at your teacher’s desk.

You weren’t sure what to expect when Mark was announced as the TA for your class, but you didn’t expect him to be, well, himself. You figured he’d try to be professional and fair, giving everyone equal amounts of attention and help whenever necessary, instead he’d always find his way to you, cracking jokes and even flirting. You were doing extremely well in this course, not needing the extra help which upset him a bit, so during times when he couldn’t talk to you up close, or text you in case your teacher saw, he’d stare, hoping to have a silent conversation with you to ease his clingy nature. But you weren’t catching on, his lips threatening to form a pout as he looked away.

“Mark.” His head snapped upwards as your professor called him, his body standing as he waited for her instructions.

“Can you hand out the graded test please? They’re on the corner of my desk.” He nodded, mentally cheering as he prepared himself to speak to you for the first time today.

Despite your professor speaking, you tuned her out, watching Mark anxiously as he went to each person, congratulating those that did well and telling others they can retake the test another day to salvage their grades. You were nervous. You weren’t as confident in this test as you were others and the idea of getting anything less than a 100 made you want to cry. You couldn’t even find ease in the way Mark was approaching you, the smile on his face might be because you did well or because he just wanted your attention, your mind screaming for it to be the former.

Mark gently handed you the booklet like test, your eyes immediately landing on the 98 that sat on the top of the front page, the pressured feeling in your chest not leaving even as an audible sigh left your lips while his hand rested on your head, causing your eyes to meet his.

“Good job.” You couldn’t help but give a small smile, finally giving him what he’s been wanting to see all day.

“Professor Ahn,” One girl, Yeeun, spoke up, everyone’s attention falling to her as she stood.

“Considering your TA is the one who graded the test, and is also (Y/n)’s boyfriend, don’t you think there’s a bit of bias on his part?”

The way she looked over at the both of you as if she had won some battle didn’t sit right with you, your eyes narrowing into a glare while Mark only smirked, continuing passing out the test as your professor sighed heavily.

“Ms. Shin, Mr. Tuan made me aware of his relationship with Ms. (Y/L/N) the day he arrived, which is why I personally grade all her test myself. In other words, the score (Y/n) received is not only valid but the only one to reach over 90% in this class, so I suggest you focus on your own grades instead of worrying about those two.” Mark wanted to laugh at the way she sat down in such a defeated state, scowling at the 73 on the paper as if it were a nuisance.

Professor Ahn repeated Mark’s words, reminding everyone that retakes would happen for the next two days during her free periods and after school before officially dismissing everyone, your body moving a bit slower than everyone else so you were left behind, Professor Ahn heading into her personal office just behind her desk while you approached Mark, his face in a cute pout.

“You didn’t look at me today.”

“I was nervous.” You responded, reaching to cup his face before bringing him into a soft kiss, pulling away before he could take it any further.

“What’s your next class?” He asked, reaching for your hand to lead you out of the room.

“I’m actually done for the day. And, I know you’re free too, so I figured we could just hang out.” The look you gave was hinting to something that could only spell trouble, yet he was hoping it was exactly what he was thinking, his lips forming a smirk as he stepped closer to you.

“Alright, and just where are we heading exactly?”

“I’ll give you a hint; we’ll be at my place, in my room, on a desk.” He didn’t waste a second dragging you down the busy halls, that hint more than clear for him to understand.

Yet he didn’t understand. Well, it was more like you tricked him.

By ‘on a desk’, he was hoping for something with you laid out beneath him with a lot less clothing involved and more x-rated touching. Instead, you were still in the baby pink high waist skirt and white sweater you wore for class earlier, the once seemingly normal and innocent outfit driving him crazy now, the only touching he received were pokes to the temple of his head whenever he read a question from your graded test unenthusiastically, obviously bummed by how the situation turned out. To think not scoring a perfect 100 would bother you so much that you’d make him study with you until you were ready to retake the test.

“Come on, the faster we do this, the faster I can learn what I got wrong.”

“(Y/n), you don’t need to retake the test. You have the highest score of your class, professor Ahn said so.”

“Yeah but what if someone retakes it and does better than me?”

Mark sighed, knowing how stubborn you were when it came to your grades, but he didn’t like the competitive side of you that came with it. He admired your persistence, but watching you drive yourself crazy over something so miniscule was heartbreaking, like when your calculus 3 teacher refused to let you retake his quiz and you couldn’t do anything but cry for days because that was your hardest class and you knew you could do better. But how could he force you out of a habit that he admittedly fell in love with? It was a complete contradiction.

“(Y/n),” you shifted your gaze from the notes and test in front of you to look at him.

“What are three cyanobacterial species?” Your eyes wandered from him, so many words crossed your mind, trying to find the right answers to the sudden question.

“Nostoc commune, nostoc punctiforme, and nodularia spumigena… I think.” You said slowly, watching Mark pull the packet open and flip to the third page, showing you the exact question he asked, an ‘X’ right next to your answer.

“The reason you didn’t get a perfect score is because you missed this one question. You didn’t get it right because you’re always freaking out. But now that you know the answer, and know that you always panic at the idea of not doing well; do you think it’s wise to retake the test and aim for a 100, only to possibly freak out again and end up with the same score or worse?”

You wanted to argue with his logic but it was reasonable, and he was right. You were freaking out for nothing and were honestly surprised you hadn’t dropped dead from all the stress you had, wanting to laugh at how ridiculous you’d been. Mark noticed you staring off into space, probably still scolding yourself like you always do. He didn’t mean to kill your confidence, but what else could he do to make you snap out of your “no mistakes allowed” tunnel vision?

“Baby,” He called, your eyes finding him once more, noticing his arms open and waiting for you to settle into his lap, which you did without hesitation, his hands cupping your face so you couldn’t look away.

“I know you’re smart, and that you could get a perfect score if you tried harder, but you can’t always push yourself like this. It’s okay to not be the best and, sometimes, you’ll learn there are people out there that are the best of the best and you can’t compare.” He said, your lips curling upwards as you released a giggle.

“That was such a backhand compliment.” His laughter mixed with your own, hands easing from your face into your hair.

“Yeah, I could’ve worded that better, but you need to relax. Stressing yourself out won’t make you perfect. Okay?”

You rolled your eyes, feeling a little disparaged but knowing he meant well, truly worried for you and rightfully so. You were a hard ass, you knew that and just couldn’t help it. Maybe that’s why you loved Mark, he was responsible yet relaxed. He had it all figured out and, even when he didn’t, he was nonchalant until he did. It was one of the traits you wish you could take from him and have for yourself.

“Okay, then show me what I should do to relax.” You said, a smirk similar to the one you gave earlier on your lips, his finger darting out to poke you in the center of your forehead, a stern look on his face.

“I should just leave and make you take a nap for tricking me into studying with you. But I have manners, so get on the bed.”

You eagerly climbed out of his lap and followed his orders, removing your top on your way there, not wanting to waste any more time. As you watched him approach you with his eyes taking you in hungrily, you couldn’t help but think of the position you were in.

He’d be busy for the next two days helping students from Professor Ahn’s four classes retake their test. Her other three classes held 60 or so students, a little over double the amount of your class, and the likelihood of everyone from the other classes failing was damn near impossible, but her course was hard so it’s a good possibility almost half the class would want a retake, and thinking of potential students from your own class doing the same, that’d mean Mark and Professor Ahn would have roughly 110 test to grade by the end of the two days. Even if they split the grading load in half, Mark would be busy days later helping her while simultaneously maintaining his own grades, meaning the two day period you thought nothing of would really be four to five days of barely being together, so you were going to bask in this moment.

“(Y/n/n),” Mark called, gaining your attention.

Your eyes darted towards him and noticed he was between your legs, face close to your heat that was now exposed as he tossed your panties away not too long ago, your skirt bunched around your waist as he patiently waited for you to answer, hoping you weren’t uncomfortable and suddenly having second thoughts.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. I just realized it’ll be a few days before we can be like this again.” You admitted, unconsciously placing your hand in his hair and stroking it softly. It was still pretty soft despite bleaching and dying it so many times.

“Think about it this way,” He started, placing a small kiss to your inner thigh, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you tried to resist the urge to close them, his lips ticking your skin as he continued moving closer to your core.

“Everything I do today is a precursor for the next time I come over.”

You wanted to make a snide remark to keep your banter going, but the way his lips finally connected with your folds made your head spin, any thoughts you had were gone as the foreign yet very familiar and dearly missed pleasure hit you. You can’t remember the last time Mark went down on you, your schedules leaving the both of you available for only quickies in unoccupied classrooms just to make it to your next class on time. But taking the time to go slow and actually savor the pleasure was making the experience a million times better, any memory you had of his tongue being buried within you was replaced with this moment, his tongue taking it’s time to taste you as if you were the best meal in the world.

“Mark,” You breathed out, his head moving back just slightly so his tongue was visible, your eyes locked on the way he teasingly flicked it around your opening while staring straight at you, expertly dragging the pink muscle up to your clit before covering it completely with his lips sucking harshly so that you cried out.

He knew exactly what he was doing and what buttons to push, taking two fingers and rubbing them along your slit to lubricate them before easily sliding them inside, your body nearly jumping away at the feeling. He felt you contract around him, surprised that you might already be so close considering he just started, but that only encouraged him more, his mind running with the thoughts of exactly how long he could make this last and how cute you’d be once you were completely spent from him actions.

You were gripping onto Mark’s hair desperately as your other hand held onto your pillow for dear life, your back arching at the familiar motions of his fingers, simultaneously thrusting into you while drumming against your g-spot, sending small waves of gratification through you. Those little jolts were enough to distract you from Mark moving up your body, kissing from your belly button to your bra cladded breast, his free hand slipping beneath it easily to toy with your nipples, already so hard despite the fact he had only begun stimulating them.

You struggled to crack your eyes open, looking at the man above you as a breathy whine interrupted your seemingly endless moans. His eyes were concentrating on each contorted muscle of your face before finding your eyes, smiling softly at you as if he wasn’t pinching and rubbing at your breast while using his fingers to scissor your pussy. Any words you wanted to say came out almost like squeaks, your hands speaking for you as they moved to his chest, slowly trailing down until they reached the slowly growing, but clearly there, bulge in his black jeans.

He watched in amusement as you impatiently undid his pants, tapping his thumb on your clit to watch you freeze momentarily in an attempt to regain your composure. He was like a sadist but the humane kind. Mark couldn’t help the groan he let out once your hand slipped into his boxers, wasting no time stroking his member at the same pace his fingers moved into you, his eyes squeezing shut as his face dipped into your neck, teeth sinking into your shoulder to control himself from going any further. The juices you let out were making such lewd sounds, and the harder his thumb rubbed against the sensitive nerves just above your entrance, the more your hips rolled into his hands and your walls tightened around him, actual words finally leaving you as you let out a soft ‘please’. It was all becoming too much for him, but he didn’t want to give in just yet.

“Mark,” You called out to him again, his head finally lifting to look at your face. Even though your eyes could barely stay open, your lips trembling as you whimpered pathetically and your breathing labored, you looked amazing.

“What’s wrong?” He asked gently, slowly bringing his fingers to a stop to allow you to speak, the bubble of pleasure you felt fading away.

“I want more. Please.” You continued to pump his cock from inside his briefs, the urge to fuck himself into your hand hard to ignore as your thumb played with the beads of precum leaking from his tip, your hand working faster knowing he was so close to giving you what you wanted.

Instead, he reached between your bodies to grab your wrist, reluctantly pulling it away from his throbbing and needy member and bringing it up to examine it, precum visibly sticking to your thumb and palm.

“I’ll give you everything you want, but you have to be patient.” He warned you, reaching for the hand resting on his chest to bring them above your head, holding them in place so that he could get back to his main objective.

You wanted to scream as he began to move his fingers again, not starting off slow like he usually would but going knuckles deep, his thumb now finding a good pace on your clit as well. It was clear he was trying to get you off first. It wasn’t uncommon for him to let you get your release before him, but this felt different, weird even. He was rough but precise, your g-spot being hit no matter how deep and fast his appendages plunged into you. And the pressure on your clit wasn’t helping either, only making the strange feeling increase.

Your back arched as you moaned loudly, unsure if your roommate was even home but you couldn’t care less about that now, your legs kicking against the bed as if you wanted to escape the way his hand was fucking you but so curious where this feeling was leading and just how good it’d feel. Mark’s cock twitched at the sight of you, every time your hips lifted from the bed he’d see a wet spot forming from the juices dripping from your cunt and his hand, making it obvious that you came already but he wanted to see you orgasm, knowing you were close as you incoherently cried out, begging for him as your thighs clenched together in an attempt to slow him down even though you didn’t want him to stop.

“Look at me.” He said in a soft voice yet stern enough to remind you it was a demand.

You shyly faced him, vision hazy as you focused on his features. You felt his hand leave your wrist before creeping down to comb through your hair, easing to the back of your head and pulling you into him, bringing your lips to his to capture every sound you made. If it wasn’t the way his hand continued to assault your core as it convulsed violently, or the way his teeth nipped at your bottom lip in the middle of your heated make out session, or even the way he pulled away to speak filthy words to you to encourage your release, the thin line of self-control and submission you were walking was gone, your body falling fast and hard into the latter.

Mark’s fingers dug into your scalp to hold you in place, a few moans escaping his throat as you clenched around his digits, pleasured cries falling into his mouth as you no longer focused on your kiss. Your lower half jerked almost painfully, his fingers slowly moving into you to draw out your release, his face pulling away as he felt a bead of your orgasm rolling down his fingers and palm and onto his wrist, the once small wet spot now a puddle beneath your body, your fluids leaving the room and sheets a distinctly sweet smell.

You shut your eyes in relief as Mark finally pulled his hand away, trying to catch your breath as he moved from the bed. You could feel the stickiness on you, your thighs closing to keep the cool air from hitting your sensitive core, the sound of your skin pulling from the sheets making you cringe. No wonder it felt so weird, you squirted for the first time ever and, now, your mattress was ruined. You were contemplating if you should just rest now in your own filthy release or properly clean everything, not having time to form an answer as Mark climbed above you, instantly connecting his lips to the shell of your ear and your neck. You turned to look at him, noticing his pants and boxers were off, his rock hard dick on display between your bodies.

“W-wait, I don’t think I can do that again.” You admitted, your face hot at the thought of being overstimulated, Mark’s gaze meeting yours. His eyes were so dark and clouded, your core unwillingly pulsating again with arousal despite your words.

“If you need me to stop, I’ll stop. I did promise to give you whatever you want earlier.”

The room fell silent as he waited for your answer, your eyes looking away in embarrassment as you opened your legs for him, cursing yourself for being so needy despite what happened only a few seconds ago. Mark smirked and placed a gentle kiss to your cheek, easing his body forward until he was poking at your entrance, preparing to thrust into you but not before he spoke in a definite tone.

“I’m going to make sure you’re too tired to think about the retest and, if I even see you going to take it, we’ll do this all over again.”

And it was a promise. You knew Mark never bluffed, especially when it came to sexual rewards and punishments, so you could do nothing but take those words to heart. Although the next day, after dragging your sore body from the soaked bed you both were too exhausted to flip, and getting ready as normal, you crept your way towards Professor Ahn’s class.

It was her second free period of the day and currently Mark’s accounting class, meaning there would be fewer students there for the retest and he would be out of sight and out of mind. You slowly crept into her classroom, looking to the twelve or so students working silently, Professor Ahn nowhere to be found.

You knew she’d never leave a class unsupervised during a test, so she was most likely watching from her office to see who would or wouldn’t cheat. She was clever that way so it only made sense.

You eagerly headed to the door, knocking gently before hearing an uninterested ‘enter’.

“Sorry for disturbing you Professor Ahn, but I was hoping I could do the retest to-“ You froze.

Professor Ahn and Mark’s eyes left the test and answer sheets around them to stare at you. During her first free period, over sixty students came, leaving your professor overwhelmed at how much grading she’d have to do if she waited until the last minute, her first instinct was to call her TA in for help which he easily accepted, knowing that missing one class wouldn’t hurt him. So the two sat in the once comfortable silence, grading roughly thirty test each. You thought you had it all figured out but didn’t plan for a random setback like this, and neither did Mark, his eyes boring into yours despite you trying to avoid his gaze.

“You were planning to do the retest, (Y/n)?” Professor Ahn spoke up, dropping her red pen and searching for a clean copy of the test from the folder next to her, your eyes widening as you frantically shook your head.

“No! No, it was nothing. I’m sorry for stopping by like this.” You said, preparing to leave but the call of your name from an eerily calm source made you stop, an inaudible whimper leaving you as you turned back to your boyfriend, a seemingly sweet but truly sinister smile on his lips.

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

You were fucked, pun intended.

[ilguna]

Berceuse - Chapter Three

summary: you can’t protect her forever.

warnings; swearing.

wc; 10.8k

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

–

Alyssum sits alone at a table, picking at her nails while she waits for the Gamemakers to finally start calling in tributes to their private sessions. After what happened on the first day of training, she’d been given a very specific set of instructions by you and Finnick. 

And to sum it all up; she’s supposed to keep her head down and pass through training with no other problems. Do what she wants to do, play with weapons and refresh her survival skills, and keep the hell away from people unless she’s going to be nice. Alyssum hasn’t been put in timeout for years, but this feels exactly like it.

As for Paslee, he was told that if he killed Alyssum in any sort of way, directly or indirectly, and ended up winning the Hunger Games, he’d never be forgiven and he’d live to regret it. Not only would he have to live with the guilt of her death, he’d also be stuck with a bunch of victors--maybe a whole district--that loathes him.

Needless to say, the careers haven’t bothered Alyssum either, especially with Paslee there to redirect them when they come close. Which was hardly ever, Alyssum kept close to the survival stations, and even joined Katniss and Peeta when she felt like she could learn something with them, not wanting to show off.

Although, it’s no secret that she knows stuff that the others do not. 

If it comes down to just her in the arena in two days--which she has a feeling it will--there’s not a single doubt in her mind that she’ll be able to survive. If she can’t fight, it’s fine, because she doesn’t need to know how. As long as she can clean water, hunt animals, and stay out of sight, she’ll be fine.

The only people Alyssum has warmed up to are Katniss and Peeta. She’s not entirely sure that it matters in the end though, because they haven’t shown a lick of knowledge when it comes to fighting. Of course, she doesn’t have much experience herself, but at least she went to the stations to figure some stuff out.

Alyssum rests her head on her hand, right as a Gamemaker comes over the intercom, calling for Marvel, from District One. Her eyes shift over to see the tallest boy out of the career group stand, sharing a smile with her friends. She closes her eyes after that, and lets the clock on the wall tick away, counting down the minutes until it’s her turn.

After Marvel is Glimmer, then Cato, then Clove. They don’t return after they’ve been called into their session, which is good news to her. They’d probably brag if they came back inside, and she’s not really in the mood to listen to that. She’s already had to endure their constant chatter and laughter, talk about a headache.

The girl from District Three is then called, setting Paslee up to go next. When Alyssum looks over to him, curious about what he looks like right now, they lock eyes. He doesn’t stare for long, quickly shifting his eyes back to his own empty table that he’s sitting at.

As soon as Paslee is called, Alyssum begins counting down the time, eyes never leaving the clock. Five minutes, then ten. The nerves in her stomach sprout, and then make her sick when she thinks about her skills. What will she show the Gamemakers that she hasn’t already? The clock hits fifteen, and it’s only a couple seconds later, when they’re calling her name.

She slides off of the bench, standing up to her full height, which isn’t much, before starting her way to the door. She can feel her heart beating in her chest, and despite trying her best to ignore it, it’s loud. The doors open for her automatically, letting her inside, and sealing behind her to ensure she can’t go back.

The Gamemakers are all sitting together in a box, dressed in dark robes. Over these past few days during lunch, they’d go and speak to the experts from the stations, huddled together with the head trainer, too. They made it no secret that they had been discussing tributes, with occasional gestures and glances to the tables they were sitting at.

Now, it’s only her and them. It’s Alyssum’s turn to show them a secret skill, something she hadn’t wanted the other tributes to know for obvious reasons. As long as she has one deadly idea, then she might be alright.

The good news is that she has their attention. One Gamemaker motions for her to start, and she takes the initiative, turning her body towards the weapons, because she’s shown them what she can do with survival skills. The experts have told them how good she is at the stations. The only thing they don’t know is how handy she is with a knife.

She has you to thank for this skill.

This is one of the moments where Alyssum has to be grateful over the fact that you never left her defenseless. You have been drilling the idea of handling knives into her head since she turned nine.

So, when she walks up to the table, with all the differently carved knives on a pretty display, she picks up the first knife and doesn’t worry about the length, or the weight. Alyssum knows she has to find solutions in the face of discomfort. How will she combat it in one throw?

The knife she holds is too light, which is a problem she’s not used to. A part is telling her that now isn’t the time to overcome a challenge, it’ll put her score at risk. Then again, she hasn’t had the chance to play with knives for days, she should just enjoy it while she can.

Alyssum looks over the handle to see that it’s carved in the shape of a flower. Delicate, and the petals dig into her palm if she squeezes it too lightly, she’s careful not to. Her body turns towards the Gamemakers, holding the knife up in her hand by her thumb. In her time of training at the boarding school, Alyssum has only heard whispers about what actually happened during your private session, and she’s your sister.

There is one aspect that the story always revolves around, and it’s a knife. You somehow used a knife to score a ten. Alyssum wishes that could be the case for her, to show the same impressive skill you had, but it’s going to be impossible. She’s twelve, not fifteen. She has to keep her expectations realistic, and that’s why she’s aiming for an eight.

Without warning, she spins back to the targets at the knife station, arm drawn so far back that it hurts. Her eyes land on one of the bodies hanging up by a rope, fingers releasing the knife as she throws. It slices through the air quickly, no weight holding it back, and slams into the middle of the forehead.

She makes a face, looking back down at the other knives at display. There are four more copies of the knife she just threw, but she picks up one that’s on the opposite end, and finds it to be much heavier than an average knife. It clicks in her head then, that they’re laid out from least to most heaviest. If she picked out one in the middle, it’d probably work better for her.

With this one, she takes more time to get used to the weight, holding it in her palm to analyze where it’s coming from. The blade is thick, made of real metal, the blade sharp to the touch. However, it’s the handle of it that’s making it harder to hold. If she throws it, the knife is going to be more bottom heavy.

She can’t throw it by the blade this time, then. 

Alyssum rolls her wrist a couple of times, and then throws, watching as the knife slams into the skull of the dummy hard enough for it to make a ‘thump’ sound on impact. She’s pleased to see that there’s barely an inch gap between the two weapons, side by side, parallel.

It goes on like this, with her bouncing back and forth between knives, throwing them at various parts of the body. Chest, elbows, knees, shoulders. It isn’t until she realizes that she has one knife left, the one that feels just right in her palm, does she see just how much she’s gone through.

A small smile appears on her face, just before she throws this knife too, lodging it where the throat should be.

Her heart is still pounding in her ears, sucking in deep breaths through her nose while she turns to the Gamemakers, who have all suddenly stopped to watch her. She raises her chin slightly, and gives a firm nod. She’s done. She’s shown them all her one secret.

They dismiss her, and she takes a different door to leave the gymnasium. As soon as that door closes behind her, she breathes out in relief. Inside of the elevator, she takes the time to calm her marathon breathing, because there’s no need to worry anymore. She did it, she made it through another obstacle of the Hunger Games. 

Her next focus will be the interview, and then the arena, itself.

When she walks inside of the apartment, she’s able to see you sitting on the couch with Elysia, a leg tucked beneath you. The conversation looks lighthearted, nothing important. Caesar Flickerman is already on the television, talking about what the scores might look like for this year. As if the tributes ever change drastically enough to change the prediction.

“I’m back.” Alyssum announces, catching your attention. She gives a look to the hallway, wondering if Paslee is hiding in his room. 

She partially wants to ask him what the Gamemakers had done for him, if they fell silent when he showed them his special skill. Or if he’s not as special, because he’s seventeen, and he’s a career. He’s expected to have a large set of skills, therefore it’s nothing to bat their eyes at.

Either way, she doesn’t see him nearby, he must have gone straight to his room after talking to you. Alyssum’s probably going to do the same, and take a hot shower to try and relax. She has a feeling that it’s going to be nearly impossible to do, considering her whole life in the arena depends on this score.

“How was it?” you ask, turning your body to her more.

Alyssum wanders forward, “I didn’t mess up once.”

A smile appears on your face, “That’s great!”

“When do we get to see the scores?”

“After dinner,” Elysia sits up slightly, “The stylists will be joining us, too.”

Alyssum makes a face, “I’m gonna go shower and get ready, then.”

She doesn’t wait for either of them to say anything else, heading up the steps and into the hallway so that she can go to her room. She only gets a few steps in before stopping near her door, holding her breath. She can faintly hear that you and Elysia have resumed your conversation, and waits to see if she can hear anything about Paslee.

The only thing she’s able to catch is that Paslee is also confident that he scored highly. After that, the door in front of her opens, and Alyssum barely has enough time to jump to pretend she’s still going for her room. Paslee stands in the doorway, staring at her, eyes slowly lowering into a squint.

She smiles, “Just came back.” 

She leaves, makes sure that her door shuts behind her, and goes the extra mile to lock it to ensure that there won’t be any unwanted guests. If Paslee thinks that he did well during his session, then that means she should expect a score higher than eight tonight. For her, it’s unheard of for any twelve year old to get higher than a seven, but judging by the Gamemaker’s reactions, she might just barely make the cut that qualifies her as a career.

All she can do right now is cross her fingers and hope.

Alyssum picks out a nice outfit for the dinner, and then wanders into the bathroom. She peels off the training outfit, which has begun to feel like a second skin during these past couple of days. Of course, she’s given a freshly cleaned outfit everyday, but that doesn’t mean that they stink from sweat any less.

In the shower, she washes herself from head to toe, and it isn’t until she’s done, does she realize just how scorching hot the water is. And with her senses finally returning to her--after reliving her private session with the Gamemakers the entire shower--she shuts off the water and rubs at her skin carefully, not liking the sensitive feeling. 

Her body and hair is blow-dried, she pulls on her new outfit, feeling much better already. She brings a couple of hair ties with her to the window in her room, sitting on the floor to watch the city below. She can’t imagine the frenzy that the Capitol people must be in right now, desperate to get their evening activities done as soon as possible before the scores air.

She ends up with a bun on the back of her head, wanting her hair to be off the back of her neck.

She sits there for a while, watching the cars below. Her thoughts are stuck on her brothers, what they’re doing at the moment, if they’re calm, if they’re worried. This is the second time that they’re having to go through this, an occasion that doesn’t happen often. Of course, siblings volunteer all the time, like Marsh and Paslee, but the chances of them winning are slim. Very few can come out like Gloss and Cashmere, sibling victors who are very good friends of yours.

The difference here is that Alyssum didn’t volunteer, she was chosen, just like how you were chosen nine years prior. And her odds are low, lower than yours ever were. If she’s going to make it out alive, she’s going to have to be sneakier, more clever than you ever were, which is going to be impossible to do. The wolf in sheep’s clothing tributes never make it very far anymore.

Not to mention, she’s already fucked up her chances at playing that role off, anyway. Her stunt in the gymnasium gave her attitude away to everyone in that room, and the careers didn’t make it a secret that she was going to be a target. She knows that she shouldn’t beat herself up over it, especially considering that she’s done that enough already, but she screwed herself over. 

Royally.

About half an hour later, there’s a knock at her door. It’s Elysia, telling her that dinner is ready when she is. Alyssum pulls on a pair of flats before leaving her room to join everyone else at the table. Just as Elysia had promised earlier, the stylists are at the table.

Alyssum takes her spot at the table, and immediately there’s questions being asked about their private sessions. She’s a little stingy on the answers, she’s not allied with Paslee anymore, which means that whatever information she gives up about herself now, can be spun and told to the careers. For Paslee, however, he doesn’t spare details.

She has a feeling that it’s because he wants to build an image for you and Finnick, that he’s not all bad and he does have some potential. It also might have something to do with earlier, when she was basically caught eavesdropping. She waits patiently for him to finish what he’s saying, since she already found a way to crumble the flimsy sandcastle he’s been building.

“That reminds me,” Alyssum says, looking between you and Finnick, “Is it normal for the Gamemakers to be just… silent?”

You sit up, “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, “They weren’t talking or anything, during or after I was showing them my skill.”

Elysia turns her attention to Paslee, who’s beginning to lose the smile on his face, “What about you?”

“I--um,” his face twists, “A few of them were talking, but most of them were watching me.”

You and Finnick are sharing a look. Finnick tilts his head to the side, turning his attention back to the food in front of him, “Well, can’t say I’m surprised.”

“To answer your question,” you begin slowly, “No, that isn’t normal. I didn’t even have undivided attention.”

Finnick nods in agreement, “We should talk later on why that happened.”

Alyssum nods, eating her food while trying not to smile. The bragging from Paslee is done, she can tell by his sudden interest in his food, which he had been shunning earlier. 

Once everyone is done eating, they migrate to the living room, where they all take their different positions while they wait for the scores to air. Alyssum has her legs criss-crossed beneath her, rubbing her knees to bring them some warmth. 

Once Caesar is done with the formalities, he jumps right into scores, starting with District One, boys first. The boy gets a nine, the girl an eight, the boy’s score is normal, but Alyssum finds herself hung up over the girl’s score. What did she do to be so terrible? There’s hardly any time to think about it, as Cato gets a ten and Clove gets the same.

She hums.

A hand appears on her shoulder, giving it a small massage. It’s you, it’s always your go-to move when Alyssum is feeling stressed or nervous. She has to admit that this is an unforeseen twist of events. Clove is a lot better than Aly took her for, which means that it’s going to come back and bite later.

Paslee’s face appears on screen, Caesar gives a nod, and then announces that his score is a ten, too. Cheers and congratulations rain on him, as it’s a big achievement. Alyssum isn’t as worried about Paslee as she is about Clove. She already knows that he’s not allowed to directly kill her, he’ll just be messing with his relationship with you and Finnick. Which is not a gamble that most tributes want to play with their mentors.

When it’s Alyssum’s turn, the room falls into a hush, the anticipation building. Her picture comes in, and Caesar takes a moment to look over the score. A proud smile builds on his face, looking at the camera again before he says, “Alyssum Gallows, with a score of eight.”

More cheering, Alyssum can feel the balloon pop and dissipate in her chest, relief taking over. She scored high, that’s all she wanted. She’s allowed within the career playground now, she’s one of them. All there’s left to do is blow away the competition during the interviews and she’s golden for the arena.

“Amazing!” Elysia cheers, clapping quickly.

“Never done before, I don’t think.” Laurel says to Pleurisy, she’s nodding in agreement.

You pull Alyssum in for a hug, “Good job, Aly.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you and Finnick,” she murmurs back, squeezing your arm.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Paslee asks.

Elysia clears her throat and stands, she’s probably going to be the first to leave, “You two will be preparing for the interviews, there’s a lot of work to do on you both. I will start with Alyssum, you’ll be with (Y/n) and Finnick for four hours, and then we’ll switch. You’ll get more details about what you’re doing tomorrow, I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Paslee stands, and stretches his arms above his head with a yawn.

“We’ll get you up tomorrow if you’re not already.” Finnick says.

“Thank you,” he starts out of the living room, “For the training all these years, it looks like it paid off.”

“Just keep up with that spirit and we’ll be even,” you tell him, “Goodnight.”

“‘Night.”

Just as he takes off to his room, Caesar’s finishing up with District Twelve. Their tributes normally always score low, so no one normally pays attention, yet the television hasn’t been shut off just yet. Alyssum watches as Peeta receives an eight, making Paslee stop moving, halfway into the hallway already.

The room’s buzz dies out into silence once again, which means that no one misses when Katniss gets an eleven.

Alyssum stares for a moment, and then looks over to Paslee, who seems to be just as awestruck as she is. She may only be twelve, but never in her life has she seen a Twelve tribute score any higher than a five, which is their average score in the first place. Aly can’t help it when she looks at you and Finnick, waiting for some sort of a reaction.

It comes from Laurel first, “That stylist of hers has really set the stage for them.” she’s scowling, “We should get going so we can fix the interview outfits again.”

Pleurisy gets to her feet, “And we were nearly done this time, too. We’ll see you later.”

They leave, the door shutting behind them with a click. No one wants to move from where they’re standing or sitting. It’s a few more beats before you clear your throat, getting to your feet, “Well, she sure knows how to pick ‘em.”

“We should go have that talk on the balcony,” Finnick says.

“Do you think that it was a mistake?” Paslee asks hopefully.

“The Gamemakers never make a mistake that severe,” Elysia snuffs, heading to leave.

You nod, “She’s right, Katniss must have done something fantastic in order to get a score that good. My only advice to you now is not to go after Katniss purposely.”

He nods, turning away and going up the steps. He disappears into the hallway, Elysia is nowhere to be seen. The only people left are the Gallows family, gathered together in a triangle, sharing a look of doubt between them. You let out a sigh, placing your hand on Aly’s lower back as you guide her to the balcony, where the wind will be too loud to try and eavesdrop through.

“What exactly happened?” you ask her, and Alyssum doesn’t waste time reciting her time with the Gamemakers. From beginning to end, every single detail is given up, and it’s clear that she’s been dying to share, because she forgets to take breaths of air between sentences.

By the time she’s done speaking, she’s waiting anxiously for your guys’ assessment of what happened, and what it means. It obviously has to be good in some aspect, considering that she just pulled an eight. The other twelve year-old girl had only gotten a seven, which is pretty good, considering her odds, but it’s not career worthy.

“I feel like they were holding back on her score,” Finnick murmurs, leaning up against the railing, staring out at the city lights, “If she didn’t miss a single target with perfect accuracy, she should’ve gotten a higher score.”

“Yeah, but if they scored her higher, then that means she would have a bigger target on her back.”

“Publicity, though.”

“And they’d have to admit that not only is District Four training their tributes, so are One and Two. They’d have to do something about it.”

“She’s your sister, though. We know the way they score tributes and why they do it, she should have gotten a nine.” Finnick looks at you.

“You got a nine,” you remind Finnick, “And with what you showed them, they would have to reevaluate their whole scoring system just to allow her to be a nine.”

“That’s my point, they’ve changed so much, this shouldn’t have been a big deal.”

A sigh escapes you, “I’m grateful for the fact that she even got an eight in the first place. Like I said earlier, she would’ve had a bigger target on her back, and we already agreed that she should be watching her moves so the careers aren’t going after her specifically.”

Finnick makes a face, not liking this conclusion, but turns his attention back to Aly anyway, “You did good, kid. As for Katniss and Peeta, I would be careful trying to be their ally. You know that the careers will want them now.”

“Take advantage of that,” you cup her face, making her look at you, “Their eyes won’t be on you, which is a perfect distraction.” 

You place a kiss on her forehead, “I’ll try.”

“Good.” you say, “Go to bed, Elysia will be working you from start to end. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, love you.”

“I love you too, Aly.”

--

When Elysia wakes Alyssum the following morning, she waits by the door until Alyssum sits up, after that she takes off. Aly takes her time going through the closet, since there’s no set outfit that Laurel had planned. She throws on some jeans and a shirt, then moves onto the bathroom to do the rest of her morning routine.

By the time she’s done and moving onto the dining room, everyone is already at the table eating. She takes her seat, and listens as you, Finnick and Elysia go back and forth on meaningless things. Mostly about the scores and what the other tributes had gotten. It seems as if you and Finnick went back to rewatch the scores, just in case any other big scores were missed. 

And they had, the boy from District Eleven had scored a ten, not a big surprise. Both Paslee and Alyssum offer up what little information they observed inside of the Training Center. Just that he’s intimidating and is clearly hiding some serious skills, as he didn’t do much when it came to training.

When food comes at a slow pace, it’s time to get the four hours started. Alyssum drinks the rest of her hot chocolate, wipes her mouth, and follows Elysia back to her room. 

It’s clear that Elysia has been doing this for years, because there’s not a single second of hesitation in her movements. She pulls out a long dress and heels for Alyssum to put on while she rearranges the chairs to fit her needs. Before Alyssum is allowed to sit, she’s required to walk around the room to allow Elysia to assess her.

She’s wobbly, it’s not a secret. There are several times where Elysia jerks to catch Aly when she begins to fall. Elysia mentions something about the carpet isn’t helping, but that doesn’t mean they get to change environments. They spend a good thirty minutes on just this, and by the end of it, Aly’s not half bad.

The next three and a half hours are tiring. Elysia fixes posture, corrects the way she sits several times, and has a whole segment on tweaking manners. A smile at the end of every sentence, or at the beginning, how to do a polite pause--Aly can’t believe that’s even a thing--and so on. She’s sure that Elysia is making it all up, until she gives a perfect example of all of her teachings thrown together in just a sentence.

Alyssum is dumbfounded.

“Well?” Elysia asks after a long moment of silence.

Alyssum’s face is twisted, “I feel like I could skip over all of this and the Capitol wouldn’t care.”

Elysia lets out a laugh, covering her mouth, “You’re lucky my four hours is over. It’s time for lunch.”

Alyssum changes back into her original outfit, helps Elysia put the room back together, and finds that Paslee is still working with you two. It isn’t until Alyssum has sat at the table, and is begun to be served lunch, do you realize that time is up.

Lunch is quick, Alyssum offers Paslee good luck in passing. She can’t imagine what he’ll be doing for four hours with Elysia if that’s what she just went through. He’s confused, she smiles, and joins you and Finnick in the sitting room while Elysia directs him to his room.

Alyssum doesn’t even get to sit down before Finnick is turning to you, “Okay, let me speak and then you can object.”

You raise your eyebrows, “So it’s not going to be something that I like?”

“Hear me out first.” Finnick says, and then looks at Alyssum, “If we tried to do some delicate personality on her, then she'd be looked over, which is what I originally suggested. However, laying low was ruined her first day of training, so we can’t just keep working with it.”

You stare at Finnick, “You’re suggesting we try and make her aggressive? Do you see her?”

“The Capitol doesn’t know what happened that first day of training, but the other tributes did. And now that everyone has seen her score, any facade that we were trying to give off, is ruined. There’s no point in trying to fool the other tributes.” Finnick explains, “That was the whole point of her being careful, right?”

“Yes, but I’m not entirely sure how the Capitol is going to react to her being anything other than innocent.”

He smiles, “Won’t know until we try.”

“This is not a game.”

“It isn’t, and still we took a chance exactly like this when we sent Marsh into the interviews with a comedy skit.” 

It’s weird for Alyssum to see you and Finnick like this outside of the boarding school. You two have your moments like these all the time, banter back and forth until a solution is worked out. It’s how the two of you work through problems, minor or not. No matter what happens, though, you two never do it at home. And if you do, it’s never been in front of Alyssum.

Either way, Alyssum thinks that he’s won you over.

“Okay, say we do go through with this,” you start, Finnick sits up taller, “What’s her play? She’s not intimidating, she’s too small for that. She doesn’t look aggressive, and proved that during the tribute parade, and she’s my sister.”

“Exactly, she’s your sister. They all know what happened during our games, how we won, how we got there. It doesn’t matter what she looks like or what she did, she just has to try right now. It’s all about playing pretend.”

There’s a pause of silence as you look her over, gears turning in your head, “Okay, what do you suggest?”

“Aloof.”

Their eyes turn back to Alyssum, she raises her eyebrows, trying not to smile.

“We can make that work.”

They start getting to work on her after that, giving examples on how she can be aloof. Once again, she finds out that she’s really not bad at it, if she relaxes enough, it can come naturally. When they’re sure she has the personality down, they begin the questions that force her to open up or shut them out in order to keep it intact.

She’s good at it, picking which questions get to pass long enough to tell the Capitol a little about herself. They already know about her family, even if all the information is outdated now. She needs to tell them about her, how she went from that toddler in the family interview to a girl earning an eight on her training score.

After talking about herself, she’s then asked to say some stuff about the Capitol. It doesn’t come as naturally, since you and Finnick haven’t made your hatred for the Capitol a secret by any means. It’s rubbed off on her over the years, and recently it’s only begun to get worse. She’s stuck trying to find little things that will satisfy the Capitol’s curiosity on her experience thus far.

When she’s told to stop, she’s relieved but worried. You lean back on the chair you sit in, stretching your arms above your head, “She’s too much like me, I clammed up when it came to the Capitol, too.”

“Then don’t talk about the Capitol,” Finnick suggests, “Change the topic to something else, like home.”

“That would work better.” You say, readjusting.

And so it starts again, this time much smoother. You’re satisfied with her answers, shift gears, and tell her that in the last hour that you three have together, she’s going to pretend as if she’s actually being interviewed. You’ll be the one asking questions, Finnick will be the audience and judge by how they would react, and Alyssum has to throw all of her knowledge together. This includes what Elysia had taught her.

She doesn’t know how you know so many questions, or why they come so effortlessly, but there’s hardly a break between questions. Finnick will gasp, clap, sit in silence, and shake his head depending on answers. If it’s appropriate, she’ll elaborate on answers, which Finnick will nod encouragingly to tell her that it’s good and she should keep going. 

The second that their four hours is up, Alyssum is on her feet, ready to be done with the mock interview. Her jaw hurts from talking so much, and she’s got a headache going on. At least you and Finnick seem to be satisfied with her results, because it’s nothing but smiles on your guys’ part.

Elysia comes out a minute later, dusting her hands and placing them on her hips, “They’re ready for tomorrow.”

“Yes, they are.” You agree.

Dinner is quiet and uneventful, both tributes had been given more than enough time to learn everything needed. They eat their dinner, and stick by long enough for you to tell them that they don’t have matching outfits for the interviews anymore. The two of them had completely forgotten to update Laurel and Pleurisy about it.

“Thank us later,” Finnick smiles.

“It still has the same idea to it, doesn’t it?” Alyssum asks.

“For you, yes. Paslee has something different.” You say.

Paslee shrugs, not bothered, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“The stylists aren’t starting at noon tomorrow, so I wouldn’t stay up late if I were you.”

He doesn’t say anything back. Alyssum begins to push her plates and bowls away from her, getting ready to leave. She can imagine that it’s going to be a busy morning tomorrow, and knowing her nerves, she’s not going to be able to fall asleep easily. 

“I’m going to go, too.” she says, smiling, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Aly. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she chirps, heading into her room.

She stands before her bed for a few seconds, not feeling tired. A part of her just wants to sit in the shower and let the warmth rain on her, but she knows that the prep team will undoubtedly have her do that tomorrow, anyways. 

Alyssum lays in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, occasionally out the window. She misses her bed, back home it wouldn’t matter if she’s exhausted or not, she could always fall asleep in her bed. Not to mention all the soft blankets that she’s collected over the years. The only way she’ll ever feel comfort like that again, is if she somehow manages to pull off a win.

She’s got a footing, she can’t deny it. Laurel is her stylist, you’re her older sister, Finnick’s her brother-in-law. She’s been training for five years now, Paslee too. There’s spotlight on her, she’s managed to score an eight, and made semi-friends with Katniss and Peeta.

All she has to do is not screw this up, which is easier said than done.

She’s twelve years-old, no one has ever won at twelve, Finnick is the youngest victor for a reason. She made enemies with another career, who’s fifteen and bigger than her, and scored a ten. Clove is going to have some influence over the career pack, which means that if she wants to hunt down Alyssum, she’s not going to get any opposition.

And Alyssum doesn’t have any real allies, she has to keep that in mind too. Katniss and Peeta were a nice thought, but she didn’t secure any sort of deal with them. She’s on her own inside of the arena, and that can be the safest bet sometimes. Only, when situations get sticky, it’s good to have that extra pair of hands.

She’s screwed inside of that arena, and that’s all she can think about.

The prep team scares Alyssum awake when they appear in the morning. Cleo’s pulling her into a sitting position, she can hear the shower running in the bathroom, and Leo is pulling chairs around to rearrange the room. She and Elysia had worked so hard to get everything looking back to normal too…

“Rise and shine!” Cleo laughs, “You sleep like the dead.”

No, that’s not right. Alyssum doesn’t even remember falling asleep, much less getting drowsy. It must have been some time after three did she fall asleep, because that’s the last time she checked the clock before rolling over to stare out the window again.

“What time is it?” Aly asks, rubbing her eyes.

“Ten thirty, which is why we’ve got to start.”

She follows their directions, dragging her feet the entire way. They start with a shower to jumpstart her, pressing buttons that she hadn’t considered using before. They wash her hair, and make her use a special body wash so she smells sugary. When she’s done, her hair is like silk and almost doesn’t feel real.

They dress her in undergarments, and that’s as far as they go with clothing. Beth takes her time on Alyssum’s hair, humming a song to herself. Cleo and Leo go back and forth between talking and arguing about certain things. No matter what happens, Beth doesn’t get in the middle of it.

All of her nails are painted white with hollow pink circles placed in specific areas. Once Cleo moves out of the way, Leo gets to work with makeup. It’s the last time she’s able to see what Beth is doing to her hair, which has so far consisted of straightening it. Beth must’ve been waiting for this part, because it’s when she really starts getting to work.

Laurel must want the reveal to be a surprise, then. Alyssum gets comfortable with her eyes closed, tuning in and out when she feels like pitching in her own opinions. Mostly she’s letting her imagination take her on a ride on what the arena might look like. The possibilities are endless, of course. If it doesn’t have anything to do with water, she hopes it won’t be a desert, at the very least.

Alyssum can’t stand hot climates, she’d rather freeze at night than spend an entire day sweating, going back and forth getting water. Dehydration is a nightmare, and she won’t want to live through it long enough to be declared a victor.

Beth then says she’s done, spraying hairspray on Alyssum’s hair, it smells just as good as her body wash did. They have to wait until Leo is done before they have her get up and turn her back to the mirror and window. Cleo shakes a can, Aly holds her arms out so that Cleo can get to every single area.

The initial spray is cold, but the longer she circles Alyssum, the more she gets used to the feeling. Whatever it is, it’s glittery, just not to the point that it’s overwhelming. When Alyssum manages to sneak a wipe on the wall, curious if it’ll transfer, it stays stuck to her skin.

“Don’t worry,” Leo says, as if he’s reading her mind, “It’ll come off when you shower tonight.”

That’s good news, she won’t be an obvious target each time she steps into the sun.

She continues to stand in the corner, waiting for Laurel to finally come by. Cleo twists hair around her finger, listening to Beth talk about what she plans to do with her hair. All it takes is for Leo to ask her to do his hair too, and she lightens up and asks what he wants done. This is the most Alyssum’s heard Beth talk since she got here.

As soon as the door opens, conversation dies out. Alyssum is instructed to close her eyes again while Laurel looks her over. Once it’s approved, the dress is brought in, and Alyssum has to navigate it with her eyes closed. Cleo is there to hold her hand and steady Aly when she needs it, but for the most part she’s useless. After the dress, comes the heels.

She expects she’ll be allowed to open her eyes after this part, but they insist on putting the finishing touches on her first. Dangly earrings, she can tell by the feeling. A few rings on her fingers, a necklace, one bracelet, and even go as far to give her an ankle bracelet too. Then Beth remembers the headband that she was supposed to put on Alyssum,

“She’s beautiful.” Cleo sighs, “Can we show her now?”

“Yes,” Laurel says, she sounds happy too.

Alyssum is shuffled in front of the mirror, and with a countdown from her prep team, she’s allowed to open her eyes. She doesn’t recognize who stands in front of her. Alyssum has dressed up at home before, the day of the reaping being a good example of that, however she’s never gone this far before.

Her hair is down and curled at the ends, and the white fabric headband in the middle. She can’t pinpoint what color her eyeshadow is, each time she moves her head to get a better angle to look at herself, it changes into a different pastel color. She knows she has rainbow highlights on her cheeks, at the very least. She also has winged eyeliner and fake eyelashes to bring more attention to her face.

Her earrings are rose gold and have little flowers spread throughout the chain. As for her dress, the upper half is like a tank top with how thick the straps are, it's a very smooth material. And the bottom half of it resembles layered petals, almost like a rose, that ends at her knees. It’s stiff enough to keep the bell look, but moves when touched. It has that lenticular look that her eyeshadow does, only with more glitter--that also doesn’t transfer.

The bracelet is a simple gold chain with dainty flower charms on it, her rings are also gold. Some have flowers, others have little designs that keep with the theme that Laurel has given her. Her ankle bracelet matches the one on her wrist, and her shoes are see-through with straps around her ankles.

No matter how she moves, she catches the light and changes colors. The colors match, too. Alyssum’s not sure how they managed to pull that one off, but they did it perfectly. If her eyeshadow goes green, so does her dress. However, it seems as if the colors mostly keep in the range of red, pink or orange. 

“This is amazing,” Alyssum moves to a different angle, and catches the light pink that they must have been modeling the outfit after.

“It was your idea.” Laurel smiles.

“You managed to pull it off, though, I can’t take the credit for this,” Alyssum looks at her stylist, “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” she looks at her watch, “I think it’s time for us to get to the elevator, so look her over.”

The prep team circles Alyssum for a full minute, checking and double-checking areas to make sure they aren’t missing anything. Once they’re sure they haven’t missed anything, they escort Alyssum out of her room and straight to the elevator. Elysia is standing by it, talking to you and Finnick. You two have also dressed up for the occasion.

“It’s a shame I’m not your stylist anymore, because you two look like shit.” Laurel says, causing you and Finnick to turn around.

“Excuse me?” your voice is sharp, “We made your career, the least you could have is some respect!”

Finnick places his hands on his hips, “What she said.”

You can’t hold the serious face you were trying to keep, a snort comes from Finnick as you dissolve into laughter. Once the two of you are collected enough, your attention turns to Alyssum, “Look at you! Reed and Mox are going to love this.”

Alyssum smiles, doing a small curtsy, “Will Caesar be able to compare us?”

“No, not at all,” Laurel says, “We designed you specifically like this to avoid any comparisons, you need to be yourself for just one night.”

“I was in blue and silver, you’re in the clear, trust me.” you smile.

“And pink is definitely your color.” Finnick says, you elbow his ribs.

“I can’t believe you guys got done before Pleurisy.” Elysia says, “That’s a miracle.”

Finnick clears his throat, “You didn’t hear it from me, but apparently Paslee was acting like a diva.”

Elysia coughs, trying to hide her laugh. Alyssum presses her lips together, looking at the elevator. You and Finnick share two different looks, trying to get the other to lose it. Laurel shakes her head for a long while… until Cleo snorts and the hallway erupts into laughter.

Which is right on time for the door to open and Pleurisy to walk out, rolling her eyes, “Sorry we’re late.”

Paslee is the last out of the apartment, dressed in a gentle pink suit that has a white undershirt. He gives a smile to Alyssum, raising his eyebrows as if he’s impressed. With what she just heard, though, she can’t help but laugh.

“Let’s go,” Elysia says, pressing the button to the elevator.

They all crowd inside, being careful to conceal the two tributes in the middle of bodies, not wanting them to be the first people seen when the doors open. Elysia, Laurel and Pleurisy lead them out just far enough for you and Finnick to say what you want to before the interviews.

“Okay,” you breathe, “I hope you two already realize that you’re mildly matching.”

“Yes,” Paslee says, Alyssum nods.

“No back-handed compliments to the Capitol,” Finnick starts, “they don’t like it, and neither would you two. Compliment them on something at least once during the interview if you can fit it in, don’t force it.”

“Tell the truth as much as you can, if you have to lie to keep things interesting, we’ll lie with you. The sky is your limit, just keep the boarding school out of it at all costs, we can’t let it get shut down.” You continue, “Keep in character, don’t go out of it. They know it’s a facade already, but they love pretending it’s real.”

“If you don’t like a question, let Caesar down gently. Be short, yet give enough information to make sure it satisfies and move onto another topic. He’ll never go back and bring it up again. He’ll likely split it up into three categories.” Finnick holds out his fingers, “The Capitol, family, and you. He’s going to stress on the last two because you’re siblings of tributes that have gone in before. You’re like an update, and the Capitol will eat it up.”

You smile, “If either of you get nervous, we’re in the crowd, and so are your stylists and prep teams. Find us if you need reassurance, but you have to look around, especially to the balconies. Don’t forget the people up there.”

It’s silent for a beat or two, and then Finnick’s lips are also turning upwards into a smile, “It’s only three minutes.”

Alyssum and Paslee are told to stand behind the District Three tributes, with Aly in front of him. Unlike the private training session, for the interviews, it’s ladies first. Which is good, because Alyssum doesn’t want to be shadowed by Paslee.

With tributes arriving slowly, she’s able to take in how the interviews are going to work. As soon as everyone is in line in the correct order, they’ll be brought outside to the stage, where Capitol citizens will be waiting in a large crowd, the most expensive of them will be on private balconies.

All tributes will be on stage for the interviews, just sitting on chairs behind Caesar while he goes through them one by one. Alyssum will have to be careful on how she reacts to tributes and what they’re saying, and be even more careful with her posture. 

The last pair of tributes arrive, and one-by-one they all get onto stage, heading toward their seats in the back. Alyssum is only on the bottom step, not even in sight of the Capitol just yet, and she can feel a sickness sprout in her throat, a headache beginning at the sight of all the bright lights.

Tonight is going to be miserable.

She steps on stage, and offers the crowd a shy smile. In a small glimpse she’s able to see that they’re all standing, none of them are sitting. All streets leading up to the City Circle are packed with brightly colored people dressed in various styles. She notes that not all balconies are occupied by the expensive Capitol people, but Gamemakers and cameras instead. It doesn’t ease her nerves at all.

She takes her seat in the white chair, making sure to cross her legs and sitting as straight as possible. Paslee, who’s sitting to her left, readjusts to do the same. The two of them whisper quietly about how everyone back home is watching. District Four is waiting eagerly to see what you and Finnick have cooked up this year. She hopes they’re satisfied.

Caesar bounces on stage as soon as his cue is given, the crowd roars, clapping and cheering for him. This year, his hair is a light blue, and so is the gloss on his lips. He wears a matching midnight blue suit that twinkles like stars with how many light bulbs are attached to it.

He makes sure that the audience is in a light mood by cracking a few jokes, and quickly introduces Glimmer before they have a chance to retreat. Alyssum stares blankly, watching as each career comes and goes, how they’re acting in front of the Capitol, how Alyssum can replicate it when it finally comes to be her turn.

It’s all very light on her end, figuring that she’ll be able to be gentle with the aloof idea. Then Clove finishes her interview, and gives Alyssum a certain look on the way back to her chair, and suddenly the competition has started. She can’t help the smirk that curls onto her face.

As soon as the District Three boy sits, Alyssum prepares to stand.

“May I introduce District Four’s very own Alyssum Gallows?” Caesar asks slyly, motioning back with his hand. The Capitol’s cheers are loud, almost deafening.

Alyssum gets to her feet, forcing the smile to hide. She has to look indifferent, or else the aloof idea won’t work. She stands tall, and walks carefully to the center stage. Reed and Mox are back home, on the edge of their seats, she can just feel it. You have told your story to the boarding school a thousand times, you were sweet during your interviews.

Now it’s Alyssum’s turn to be the opposite.

As soon as she stops in front of Caesar, grabbing his hand for the handshake, the three minutes have begun. It’s her time to be memorable, and she needs to fight to be seen as one of the careers, even if she won’t be joining them. She’s got the personality for it.

“Alyssum!” Caesar gasps, as if she’s an old friend, “You’re all grown up!”

She raises her eyebrows, looking out to the crowd, “Of course I am, it’s been nine years since you saw me last.”

“Nine years?” He asks incredulously, face twisted in mock horror, “The years aren’t showing, are they folks?”

The crowd shouts back at him, some clapping, others cheering. He lets out a laugh after a moment, waving off the idea that he could ever get old. That’s exactly why they have plastic surgery here. Alyssum almost didn’t believe it when you told her that Caesar has been hosting the Hunger Games for more than forty years.

“That dress is very eye-catching.” Caesar says, “I can’t even pinpoint what color it is!” He laughs.

“That’s because it’s not just one color,” she says as if it’s obvious, “Laurel, my stylist, went with a lenticular design.”

To prove what she said, she moves from side to side, allowing the crowd to see what Caesar means. With all the artificial lighting now that the sun’s down, it gives them the perfect opportunity to see. The crowd cheers, there’s a few stray whistles.

“Oh, that’s fantastic!” Caesar awes, “And the bottom half, is it supposed to resemble a flower?”

“Yes, everything on me is flowery.” she hesitates, and then begins slowly, “Actually, it’s supposed to represent the innocence that the Capitol is taking away from me by forcing me to go inside of an arena as a punishment for a problem I didn’t even cause.”

And before the tension can settle, she flashes a smile and forces out a laugh, which Caesar reluctantly joins. Her eyes find you and Finnick in the crowd, you make a pinching motion with your fingers, probably telling her to tone it down. The problem is that she doesn’t want to.

“Well, for such an innocent girl, you scored so high.” He says, trying to move on.

“It runs in the family.”

“I can tell! Does it have anything to do with a special skill?” He asks, a hush seems to fall over the audience, eager to hear this part.

As if she’ll ever give it away, “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Oh! I was afraid you’d say that!” He laughs, and looks at the crowd, “I know for sure that people have been on the edge of their seats wanting to know.”

“My only hint is that it relates to my sister in an aspect,” her eyes cast upwards, towards one of the balconies, “Doesn’t it?”

There’s a couple of quick nods coming from the Gamemakers, they know what she’s talking about, “Yes!” one of them shouts.

“A resemblance! As if we don’t have enough of those already!” and then he slows for a moment, “Speaking of which, I have to ask, at the reaping, was the gold dress intentional?”

Alyssum shakes her head, “No, just an unfortunate coincidence.”

There’s a few shouts of agreement, “Yes, I do think so too. I hope it ends up bringing luck in the end. What do you think your brothers thought of it?”

“They probably hated it, watching the youngest get reaped, especially since they’re absolutely helpless in the process. I’m sure that they won’t be wearing gold for generations to come.”

“I think that would be a wise choice,” Caesar agrees, “When you said goodbye, how was it?”

“Hard. They gave me an old necklace that belonged to mom and then made me promise something.” Alyssum can feel her time coming to an end, thankfully, she doesn’t think she can pretend any longer.

“And what did they make you promise?” Caesar asks, a hush falls in the air again.

It’s a lie, but they’ll never know, none of them will ever know. She looks out to the crowd, finding you and Finnick, “To win at all costs.”

The buzzer sounds, Alyssum can feel the relief hit her instantly. The crowd is cheering loudly, clapping, whistling, stomping. She can hardly hear herself think, eyes darting to the nearest camera. She hopes that this performance was good enough for everyone back home. Even if the promise wasn’t actually made, she’s going to bring it to life as best as possible.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Alyssum Gallows from District Four! It was a pleasure talking to you again, Alyssum. I wish you luck on your promise.” Caesar grins.

There has to be some sort of hatred that he’s hiding, because she nearly single handedly ruined the show. There were a hundred things she could have said after he commented on her dress, she just held it in. Not to mention, it definitely would’ve lost the favor of the Capitol.

Alyssum raises a hand to the crowd as a goodbye, and then makes her way back to her chair, ignoring the glares she’s getting from the rest of the careers. Paslee utters out a congratulations, she wishes him luck. He’s going to need it, at this rate she stole the entire show and she was only up there for three minutes. Even though it felt like an entire lifetime. 

Paslee is called up, and Alyssum spends the entire interview trying to figure out what his angle is. If she was aloof--although, she did get hostile at some moments--then what did he have to go with? It comes to her when he keeps making statements that end the same way, he’s being cocky.

She can’t blame you and Finnick for making him act like this, it’s a good word to go off of, especially since he’s been training inside of the boarding school for years now. He’s got all of the experience on lock, and so far she hasn’t seen him doubt himself once.

Caesar’s only a little surprised that he’s getting an attitude like this right after Alyssum, maybe he was hoping only one of them would be bad to deal with. It sucks to be him, she supposes, because the two of them are careers, whether they want to admit it or not. Age doesn’t matter.

She’s expected to be timid, he’s supposed to be loud. It’s nice being able to see their surprise up-close.

His interview ends with a flourish, she’s honestly bored watching every other tribute go after her. It hits a point where they all act the same, since they all scored in the low range and their mentors haven’t seen a victor for years. They’ve lost all originality and rely on old tricks to get them through.

It could be worse, though. They could be from District Twelve, which Alyssum perks back up at, hoping for something good. Katniss gets through her interview, and Aly isn’t surprised when she says she promised her younger sister that she’d win. Her buzzer goes off, it’s Peeta’s turn.

It isn’t until the very end of his interview, does he take the spotlight right from Alyssum, and place it back on them again. She was sure with her attitude that it would be unbeatable, but there’s nothing better than a live love confession in the Capitol. Even she can hear Paslee curse under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Peeta’s in love with Katniss.

She’s glad when the interviews end and she’s able to stand on her feet again. The anthem plays, she raises her head as required, impatient to get off the stage. Once it’s finally over, everyone files into a line, starting with District One, and walks off stage and to the lobby.

Alyssum lets out the biggest sigh as soon as she’s out of sight, curling her hands into fists as she and Paslee go to search for you and Finnick in the sea of bodies. There’s a possibility that it wasn’t intentional, after all, Caesar had led up to that question. Doesn’t mean that he’s to blame for it, though.

“What a waste.” Paslee murmurs, walking beside Alyssum.

“Tell me about it.”

With every passing second, the lobby becomes an even worse nightmare. The two of them end up agreeing on just taking an elevator up to their floor, instead of waiting for their people. Just before Alyssum steps into the elevator with Paslee, she realizes who’s standing inside of it.

It consists of the entire band of careers, she backs off and moves onto the elevator next to it, and finds that it’s not much better. Peeta stands in this one, and it’s packed full with a bunch of other tributes. She sucks it up, presses the Four button, and then picks a wall to stand by until it’s her turn to get off.

Thankfully, it only stops once before hers, letting off the girl from Three. When the doors open again, she slips around people to get out. Paslee is waiting for her in the hallway, together they go inside of the apartment. They’re the first to arrive, which isn’t a big surprise. There’s a lot of people that need to be transferred.

“Quite an interview you had,” Paslee says, probably not wanting to wait in silence.

“I can say the same for you.”

“I’m not sure passive-aggressive was the way to go.”

She looks at him, “Who cares? They’ve probably forgotten about me already.”

The door opens, and one by one, does everyone file in. Instantly, congratulations are falling on the two of them. Briefly, you and Finnick pull her aside to talk about why she went off track, and explain to her that she wasn’t supposed to verbalize the anger, just show it through body language. She’s lucky that she changed her attitude by the end, because that saved her.

Kind of.

With the exception of the prep team, everyone sits at the table for dinner, which is a little more elegant than it was these past couple of nights. The Capitol’s food is always delicious, but tonight is a special occasion. It’s their last night in the Capitol, as tomorrow morning they’ll both be at the arena before ten.

Laurel and Pleurisy keep conversation going by giving out their opinions and who would’ve interested them personally if they weren’t stylists. They end up admitting that Katniss and Peeta have, once again, outshone them all, which is something that Alyssum already figured out. 

She should probably invest a couple of days into looking for either Katniss or Peeta inside of the arena. Even if the two of them aren’t allies, having one of them as her backup is going to be better than no one. Besides, she can’t even entertain the idea of joining the careers.

Of course, that means she’s going to have to get over her growing irritation for the both of them. 

They bring Alyssum and Paslee into the living room so that they can watch a recap of the interviews. She has to admit that it’s very different seeing them from the front than the back or on the television screens provided. Whenever a tribute looks at a certain camera, it’ll flip to that perspective.

She can hardly stomach watching Peeta confess his love again, but she’s happy to see that she’s not the only tribute that reacted negatively--with the exception of Katniss, who was bright red. It makes her realize that there’s a problem with wanting to team up with either of them, Katniss especially.

With all of the attention they’ve been getting lately, the careers are probably seeing them as a threat. If she goes out of her way to find them and it turns out that the careers are hunting them, she’ll be screwed. And the careers will have a field day because they’ll have two tributes they want to kill, right next to each other.

Maybe she needs to do some rethinking.

Elysia is the first to say her goodbyes, hugging Paslee first, but holds onto Alyssum the longest. When she pulls away, there’s tears in her eyes. She wishes the two of them luck, since they won’t be seeing her again after tonight, and then leaves immediately to have a breather.

You and Finnick give them a smile. She can’t imagine what you’re thinking right now, how you might want to react. Alyssum begins to wish that she had spent more time with you in between events, even if that meant she’d be exhausted everyday. It would’ve been better than the guilt that’s settling in her chest.

“Aly, stay out of the cornucopia.” You start, “I don’t care what the reason behind going might be, run in the other direction.”

Alyssum nods.

Finnick looks over at Paslee, “Watch your back, there’s going to be a dozen people in the bloodbath at that moment. You don’t know who’s watching you or what their plans are. Also, don’t go too deep inside, you’ll trap yourself. Wait until you’re absolutely sure that it’s over.”

“Finding water should be both of your guys’ priority. And use common sense inside of the arena, please.” you give them a gentle smile, “No matter what happens, we have your back, remember that.”

“Thank you,” Paslee says.

“Go rest, you’ll be getting up early tomorrow morning.” Finnick says.

Paslee nods, heading up the steps. Alyssum doesn’t move from where she stands, staring up at you and Finnick. The longer the silence settles, the more tears fill her own eyes. She’ll be on her own starting tomorrow morning, and she doesn’t even know what to do. Did she even make progress?

“Come here,” you open your arms for her.

She doesn’t hesitate, crying into your dress.

Alyssum doesn’t want to go.

--

BERCEUSE IS A SPIN-OFF //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

@amixedwitch / @justthatfangirloverthere / @fnnshelbys / @neenieweenie / @vxntae / @itsanantonia / @liaaacantwrite / @terezasworld /

[hcs-and-abnormalities]

Howdy stranger! I’m here to bring welcoming cheers and also Der Frei/Clouded Monk requests if you’re okay with it - I’m interested on how you think Der Frei and Clouded Monk get to the point where they’re talking about who confesses to who first. Thank you!

Sorry this took so long! I wanted to do something more than just bullet points for something like this!

Also quick warning for blood but like this is Lob Corp and blood is like rain.

Comission work wasn’t strange to Der Freischütz. If anything, that was one of the main reasons the employees routinely came to him; the other being that he was one of the easier abnormalities to manage. What was strange to him, though, was the target he was to be aiming for. What little information he got and what he saw only made the target stranger. The monster looked like a man, yet also not. A twisted depiction of such? One that used to be human, still looked human, but... wrong? He didn’t know. He just shot.

In order to calm the curiousity that made it’s home in the back of his mind, he one day questioned the employee currently working with him.

“Oh? The Clouded Monk? Yeah, he breached yesterday, not too long after I worked with him either. Feel pretty bad about it too. Normally he’s pretty calm and quiet, yet when I last worked with him, he seemed panicked. Almost on the verge of tears and hugging himself. Kept talking about ‘the demon.’ Felt bad for the guy but there wasn’t much I could do...”

That only piqued the markman’s curiousity more. He was a devil after all... maybe that’s why he felt so strange about this other abnormality? He was similar, in a way. Though, the sources of their hauntings were strikenly different...

And that’s when the marksmen decided he wanted to meet him. Wouldn’t be the first time he interacted with another abnormality (what with his friendships with both Funeral and Red) but this was definitely the first time he initiated it himself.

So, he did something that, technically wasn’t breaching, but might as well have been. You see, his gun can fire anywhere he wishes, as well as creating portals with it. So, all he had to do was think of where he wanted to go, shoot, and walk through.

Of course, the still recuperating monk was... less than thrilled to have the ground in front of him shot with the same bullet that pierced him the other day. He winced, stumbling to his feet and held his staff close to his chest. He shook slightly, though both abnormalities knew this wasn’t from fear.

Der Freischütz cocked his head. Huh, he looked... different. He was much less like a monster, and more so just an ordinary man. Of course, he was unable to see his face (or any skin for that matter), but he could tell from the way he held himself and acted that he was not the creature he shot.He opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off.

“You can’t just... who even are you?” The monk was the one who broke the silence. Despite his shrouded eyes, Der Freischütz knew he was staring daggers right at him.

Frei raised his hand to speak, “Apologies. It was quicker to use my rifle.”

“Quicker to use? Sounds like an excuse you’d use often...” the monk said. Der Freischütz stiffened. “From your reaction, I seem to be correct in that assumption.”

“I didn’t come here to be judged,” Frei said, laying the barrel of the gun on his shoulder, “I just wanted to talk.”

“About what—?”

“...and apologize.”

That caught the monk off guard. So much so that he actually stepped back. “You... want to apologize?”

Frei nodded, then sighed. “I was the one who shot you when you last breached. Remember the bullet?”

“I know it was your bullet. Anyone would know that from the way it shoots straight across the place. No, I’m asking why you of all people would apologize. You’ve never shown remorse before, so why now?”

It was Frei’s turn to step back. “Why would you—?” He paused, “Oh...” Of course the monk knew. Everyone knew in this place. After all, once you see a bullet streak past you, you want to know where and why it was there. That leads to finding his information, then his past... “There’s no privacy in this damn place, is there?”

“Should a murderer like you even get privacy?” The monk had sat back down on the ground. The freeshooter wasn’t as much of a threat as he had thought. Besides, he still was injured enough that he’d rather not stand. “Doing what you do... killing for the fun of it. Even going as far as to shoot your own fiance.”

Frei looked down, hands shaking. This was a mistake. “Truthfully, I was hoping you’d understand.” The monk moved to speak again, but the marksman cut him off, “Of all people, you’d understand what it was like to be tricked.”

Silence.

“...you were tricked?” The monk was the one to break the silence once again. He looked up to the devil, unsure.

Frei moved to sit down as well, tired of towering over the already shorter monk. His gun clattered to the floor next to him.

“When you’re bleeding out, you’re not exactly in the right state of mind...” Frei started. “Besides... it... she told me she would rather herself have... then me being trapped for eternity...”

“In the end, it was her decision.”

The monk stayed quiet for a moment. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

“It’s fine, most do.” Frei said.

“....we really are similar. In the end. I... I still shouldn’t have...” The monk breathed in, then out. His bandaged fingers fumbled around his staff, the rings on the end jingling slightly. He stared at the ground. “Allow me to make it up to you at least.”

“You really don’t have to. It doesn’t matter that much anyway,” Frei sighed, moving to get up and leave. Instead, a bandaged hand grabbed the hem of his cloak.

“But it does matter. How about this, perhaps you could come back tomorrow, and I could get to know you... the real you.”

“And why should I?”

“Because, I can tell you’re just as lonely as I am...” the monk smiled, “You’re not the only one to sense souls. Yours probably should have tipped me off from the start anyway.”

Der Freischütz weighed his options. The monk was telling the truth but... he just met this man, and it had already been a roller coaster of emotions... but... like he said himself, the two of them were very, very similar.

“Okay, it’s a deal then.”

///

The visits continued, luckily without the accusations and random shots at the ground.

Of course, the facility knew of this. They weren’t exactly trying hard to hide their newfound friendship either. The two had been known to both passively breach at times. Both of them just walking down the halls, sometimes taking out some hostile entity to save some poor clerk. After all, despite his dulled numbness to death... Frei didn’t want the monk to suffer from the scent of flesh blood.

Slowy, the two also began to get more... touchy? Not in a weird way, but rather, it became a regular occurrence to see one sleeping on the other. Something so simple yet produced so much enkephalin... It’d be counterproductive to stop this.

“So this dagger was...?” The monk asked. The weapon, sheathed, glinted under the Corporation’s fluorescent lights. A blue dagger with silver accents.

Frei nodded, “She gave it to me. She always talked about how knives weren’t just for violence, but rather for survival as well. She didn’t want me to be in a situation where I wouldn’t be able to cut free from.” His soft smile was evident, as in his time with the monk, he’d become less and less stand-offish towards him. The cowl was pulled down, so his mouth was visible. Or... it was at least visible when opened.

The monk palmed the bandages on his face. Maybe... he wanted to... would it be okay if....? He handed the dagger back to Frei, who pocketed it.

“You seem... troubled today? What is wrong?” Frei leaned against his side. The close warmth made something in the monk’s chest jump.

“Well! I am just fine, thank you.”

“A person who is fine doesn’t insist they are fine,” Frei said, he leaned closer to him. Closing his eyes. He stifled a small laugh when the monk tapped his forehead. “Am I wrong though?”

The monk huffed. “No... I just... I am bot sure how to go about this... never happened to me before.” He started to fuss with the bandages again. Below them, there was a significant red flush that was left unseen.

That made Der Freischütz perk up. The small demon-like tail that the monk adored so much swished eagerly. “What do you mean?” He removed himself, and the monk wished he could pull him back to his side. He had enough wherewithal not too though. “Are your bandages bothering you? Besides, I don’t think I have ever seen you remove them.”

The monk’s hands slipped down, but he said nothing. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his throat before he could. He replaced them with another. “I’m just... I just don’t want people to see my face. At least, not just anyone.”

Der Freischütz nodded, but didn’t pry.

///

Days later, a pounding at his cell’s door woke Frei out of his half-awake state. He shook his head, holding his forehead as an employee ran in, boxes in their hands. “The Clouded Monk has breached! We need you to shoot him again!”

Frei’s body turned cold.

If he refused, the demon could kill people... something the monk would never want to do ever in his life.

But... he had to shoot him.

He had to shoot the person he loved again.

The sudden realization hit him harder than the bullet that pierced his own heart did. So... he did love the monk. Out of instinct, he placed his hand over his chest, where his heart would of been. Nothing beat of course, all that lay there was a gaping hole, but something there still ached. He passed it off as the phantom pains of old wounds. Now, he knew he was wrong.

Before he had a chance to truly respond to the request, the employee had departed. Frei shook. He... he had to do this, right?

///

The monk woke up coughing blood. He hoped it was his own. The other option being...

He tried to stumble away, but was quickly restrained my a strong but kind arm. Soon, it registered that he was laying on someone. He opened his mouth to speak, suddenly aware of the cold air hitting his face. He was quickly quieted though. A soft hand brushing through the hair on his hatless head.

“Der Freischütz?”

“I had to shoot you,” Frei said, his voice quiet and barely audible. “I... I am sorry.”

The monk tried to sit up again, clutching his chest where the bullet hit. He still managed though, getting into an upright position. He still leaned on Frei though, he... he needed someone. “Not your fault. I did tell you I’d rather you shoot me then the alternative.”

Fumbling, the monk realized how the bandages were much looser than before. The ones on his chest were also changed. A look to the corner showed where the bloodstained and torn old ones went.

“You were bleeding rather heavily, and those ones got soaked. Don’t worry, I only removed the ones on your abdomen, nothing else was removed. Sorry about your mouth though. They came loose and I couldn’t find a way to reapply them without restricting your breathing.”

The monk picked up on the slight waver in the marksman’s voice. The unusually quiet and saddened tone he spoke in was much different from his stoic yet soft way of speaking. He also kept clawing at his chest, where his heart would be.

He didn’t know the full details, but he knew nothing lay under his hand there. So why did he...?

In a split second decision ruled by emotion rather than complex thought, the Clouded Monk removed the rest of the bandages on his face. The fell to the ground, folding over themselves.

Freischütz shut his eyes tight, adverting his gaze. In response, the monk gently cupped his cheek, and turned his head back.

Freischütz opened his eyes. They widened after seeing the monk’s face, and the Clouded Monk swore he could see slight sparks under the marksman’s skin.

“Sorry, it’s not much but...”

“Don’t say that!”

Ah, the monk smiled at seeing the cold demon’s face grow hot with blush. He was so... bashful about any emotions he had. Especially if he shouted out those emotions in the heat of the moment.

“I just... thought you only wanted to show someone you trusted—“

Realization dawned on him. “Oh...”

“Oh indeed. Judging by your reaction... Hopefully those feelings aren’t unrequited.” A small stab of worry his the monk’s heart but... after seeing Frei’s face, he knew. And knowing made his own heart beat faster.

Frei sighed, “I... they aren’t by any means... you could probably figure out why I... hated having to...” Der Freischütz shut his eyes tight. Painful memory, or embarrassment at opening his heart? “But... in any case, I guess we both...” Frei leaned his head against the monk’s shutting his eyes. His tail wrapped around the monk’s waist; the fluffy wispy end laid where the bullet hit.

The monk laughed weaky, a smile forming on his face as he leaned back against the devil. “I do love you.”

Frei purred, “And I love you.”

[bibliodragon]

Fic: Breaking Point

Sarah Palmer deals with the aftermath of Draetheus V

Fandom: Halo

Characters: Sarah Palmer, Tom Lasky

Rating: T

AO3

She checks the gun. Three shots left. Two targets, shielded. No, three. One of the hingeheads she put down earlier. Thought she put down. It staggers up, spitting curses. Usual stuff, about heretics and unholy. It’s shields would have recharged now. Dammit.

Spartan Sarah Palmer eyes the focus rifle lying discarded halfway between the remaining Covies and the rocky outcrop she’s taking cover behind. Two hingeheads, two jackals now: one with a shield. Smart thing to do is hold her ground. They’re holding back, they don’t know how much ammo she’s got left. But it’s only a matter of time before they split up and try flanking her. A grenade would be handy right now, the way they’re bunched up right now. No point wishing for what she doesn’t have.

What she does have is a gun with three bullets, a nagging pain in her side, and a dull buzzing in her ears. And four enemies in need of killing. Even if they very kindly turn their shields off and stand still for her, that still leaves one of them standing. Maybe one of the jackals could stand perfectly in line behind the other.

Bastards are moving now. Probably figured out there’s a reason for the lack of gunfire pointed in their direction. One of the hindgeheads barks out something while giving a sweep of his arm in her direction. She doesn’t need a translator to work that one out.

She kicks out from hiding, sending a spray of gravel up from her feet. Straight line, right at them. She stumbles, but keeps on going. The shield-less jackal squawks and flinches back, the other holds it’s ground. And the elites, her old friend aims a kick at the coward, while the other…damn, the other has spotted just what it is she is going for. Sword out, he’s striding out towards the riffle with a slowness that’s dammed insulting.

Her shields are crackling as she comes under fire. She doesn’t need an audience. One bullet to take out Shield-less. Second to finish the job on the elite. Third only catches the other jackal’s gauntlet. Crap.

She dives for the riffle as the elite reaches it. Bastard jackal continues to shoot. Elite brings down the sword. She hits the ground, rolls, grabs the riffle and upright again fires at the jackal, then twists round to shove the riffle in the elite’s face and pulls the trigger.

Nothing happens.

The elite actually slows its swing and she can see the amusement in its eyes. She heaves the useless riffle at the middle of its smug four jaws. She hates showboating. She feels a moment of satisfaction at the crack, before the elite punches her helmet with its other hand, sending her reeling backwards.

Bastard’s still showboating.

She can taste blood in her mouth. Alright then, draw on that front. She feints to the left, and then barrels straight forward before it can bring up the sword again. They both go sprawling. She has a knife, even if energy sword trumps that, but the damn thing refuses to make it easy for her. It’s snarling and spitting and truth be told she’s snarling right back. Not that it can tell. Punching it in the face gets the idea across.

It’s a scrabble of clawing, kicking, punching in the dirt. She is unaware of anything else. At some point she had gotten the sword from it, but that wasn’t important. She doesn’t need it. She’s managing just fine with fists.

Bastard kicks out, gets her in the side, the pain is enough that the next thing she knows is her back hitting the dirt, the thing snarling something but she can’t hear right. Not that it matters. She just needs to get up and hit it again, and then keep hitting it. As a plan it’s flawless. Pity she forgot about the sword. Pity the elite didn’t. Round over.

“Round Over!”

She fucking hates that thing.

“Run it again.”

Spartan Sarah Palmer pushes herself upright, ignoring the pain in her side which thinks it can make itself known again. She grits her teeth, allowing a wince of pain hidden by her helmet as she gets to her feet. She still has the sword; she watches it smoke for a moment before deactivating it and placing it on her hip. She still needs to stab something. “War Games, run the simulation again!”

“Non-Spartan personnel present; simulation paused.”

Hell there is! “And I told you not to let anyone else in!”

“Over-ridden.”

Hell with that. But she needs to rearm anyway. Her surroundings shimmer and give way to bare deck as she makes her way to the exit. She stares straight ahead, focused on her goal. Get the biggest, badest gun she can find and then go and shoot something. Such as whoever it is who thinks they can interrupt her. She knows full well who thinks they can interrupt her, but she really wants to just be shooting something right now.

“Better have a good excuse for being in here.” She doesn’t look up from the assault rifle in her hands. She checks and rechecks it, finding the familiar action soothing, even though not as much as getting to shoot something with it would.

“That’s the thing about being commander,” Tom Lasky says casually as he enters the room. “I don’t need an excuse.”

“Well, I’m sure that’ll impress the simulated Covies into not shooting at you.” The weight of the rifle seems off, somehow, even though the display says it is fully loaded, so she checks it again. Perhaps he’ll take the hint.

Of course, he doesn’t. “I’ll have you know I managed to shoot a few live ones in my time.”

“Feel free to help yourself.” She indicates the weapons locker with a curt nod. “Might last, what, two, three minutes.” The rifle’s still bothering her. Should have gone with the dual pistols, but she just…really wants to stab something with the energy sword.

“I think I could manage at least five.” He’s talking to her same way as normal, none of that kid-glove crap the others tried, and she’s grateful for that. Really. But he really, really needs to learn to take a hint. She can see him in her peripheral vision, standing there and watching her as she checks the gun again and again before unloading it once again and then slamming it back down. The crack of metal against metal remains between them even as she picks up another riffle and begins the routine once again. This one feels off, also. “Damn it.”

Alright, fuck it. She just needs the sword. More fun, anyway. She puts the useless riffle back, fumbling slightly. Definitely something wrong with it. She needs to get someone to check them later. And chew out whoever left them in this state. But she needs to stab something first.

“What was wrong with that one?”

Yeah, he’s not taking the hint. She’d glare at him, despite being hidden by her helmet, but that would involve turning her head. She glares at the guns instead. Not that they can see under the helmet, either. “Weight’s off. Apparently basic maintenance is just too hard for some people,” she says, bitterly. The dull ache is becoming sharper now.

Footsteps against the deck, and he’s beside her, picking up the gun she had just put down and hefting it. “Seems alright to me.”

“Well, feel free to use it!” She snaps, louder than she intended, and it causes her head to ring. She grits her teeth. She’s wasting too much time.

“Sarah…”

“Don’t!” She can deal with this, just so long as he doesn’t use that tone of voice. “Just don’t.” She’s stopped for too long as it is. She needs to be moving, doing. Killing something. She turns away from him.

“Is this helping?” He speaks softly. Before, when she was regular grade human, she would not have been able to hear over the metallic stomp of her own armour. But back then, being able to hear over a half ton of armour wouldn’t have been a problem down to lack of opportunity. She can ignore him, and go back to killing things. Would certainly be the preferred option. But for some reason she finds herself stopping, just for a moment.

“Yes. Yes it is. And it would help if you would get out of here and let me get on with it.”

“Get on with what? You can’t keep running the War Games until you pass out from exhaustion. Or worse. You know the medics can keep track of you, there’s a whole bunch out there freaking out about you right now.”

That gets a laugh, a short, sharp crack that jars at the back of her eyes. “Really? Well, I’m touched for their concern. Not enough to actually tell me that.”

“Come on, can you blame them?” The light scuff of his boot against the deck gives away that he’s shifted his stance, probably got his hands on his hips. Probably got that look on his face, the ‘oh so disappointed, but I am trying to be reasonable here’ one. “You’re pretty terrifying at the best of times.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel much better. Problem solved. You can go away now.” She can feel herself sway slightly. She needs to keep moving. But it’s harder to get going now, somehow. There is a heaviness in her limbs, as if she’s feeling the weight of the armour somehow.

He takes a step towards her, as if he can sense this weakness. “All I’m saying is that you can’t keep on like this forever.”

“I’m still standing.” And it would really undermine her point if she were to fall over right at this point. She needs to keep moving. And he really needs to get out of her way.

“So that’s the plan, is it? Just keep on going until you’re unconscious? Or worse? How is that going to help?” He sighs. “Look, I don’t know what-“

“Don’t!” She whips round, her hand up as if she can shield herself from the sentiment. “Just…don’t.” That isn’t what she needs right now. She just needs to shoot something. She just needs to keep shooting, and everything will be fine.

“You can’t think this is healthy? You’ve been in here non-stop since you got back.” She was right, he has got the concerned look on his face. “Look, you need to stop. This isn’t going to help.”

He’s sweet, but he has no idea what he’s talking about. She glares at him, the one that can send people running even with the helmet in the way. He doesn’t move. Of course he doesn’t. God damn, she’s tired.

He can sense the weakness. “You can’t keep running from this. You’re going to have to stop at some point, and it’s going to catch up with you.”

“But it doesn’t have to be now.” The weight of the armour is pulling on her. If he doesn’t get out of her way soon she’s likely to fall on him. “Don’t make me move you.”

He just crosses his arms and gives her a look. He’s figured it out how he just needs to wear her down by keeping her talking long enough. Clever bastard. The buzzing in her ears is getting louder, and she takes a step towards him. He continues to stand his ground. Of course he does.

She’s going to have to call his bluff. He can try and stop a determined Spartan in a half-ton of armour, or he can get out of her way. She takes her second step, and he’s still staring her down like he can stop her.

The third step’s too much for her. She stumbles, and he actually steps forward as if he can stop her falling. She catches herself before she goes further than one knee, and through gritted teeth hisses “really?” at him. He meets her gaze evenly, as if she wasn’t wearing the helmet. And as if he hadn’t almost gotten himself flattened.

“You know you can’t keep doing this.”

The quiet words cut through the sound of her heartbeat and the rasp of her breathing, echoing all around her. She pushes her fist against the floor, metal against metal. She can taste blood. She can’t remember a time when she didn’t.

She wonders how it would feel to punch the floor, to keep going until there is nothing left. But for the first time in a long time she is tired.

“I’m sorry.” He’s still so quiet, but for the first time she can see the worry in his eyes. But then he keeps talking. “It wasn’t your fault. A lot more people would be dead right now if not for you.”

“I am really not in the mood to hear that crap.” She looks down at the floor and considers trying to push herself back onto her feet. But the buzzing’s not so loud down here. “I did the job in front of me.” She barks out a laugh. “I got lucky. Other people didn’t. Isn’t the first time.”

But it is the first time, isn’t it. In the old days, in the meat grinder, fighting for the survival of the human race, she’d seen so many of her fellow soldiers snuffed out just like that. But she’s a Spartan now. Spartans don’t die.

She laughs again, a bitter sharp bark. Maybe she had bought into that bullshit after all.

He’s crouching down beside her now. “Just because it isn’t the first time, doesn’t mean you ever stop feeling it,” he says softly. “At least we can do that for them.”

He’s wrong, of course. You get them back as good as they got yours. That’s what you do for them. But she just can’t find it in herself to tell him that right now.

“Davis deserved better.” That’s the thing that’s been pushing at her, gnawing away at her. “KIA. That’s one thing. We all know that.” She laughs again. “And what a way to go right? There are a hell of a lot worse ways to go. Not that anyone’s allowed to know that. Classified information. And that’s fine.” The claustrophobia gets too much for her, and she pulls of the helmet. It drops with an anticlimactic clang. “But he deserved better than that!”

She must look like crap. She can tell by the way his eyes widen slightly. But he doesn’t comment on it. He just looks at her, sighs sadly, and shifts to lean back against the wall beside her. “I’ve had to leave people behind as well. I know how much it hurts.”

It’s the ringing of metal that tells her she’s punched the floor. She waits for the pain to follow. She needs it to follow.

“What happened at Ivanoff?”

He’s still there. He hasn’t moved. Not beyond the automatic flinch when she hit the deck. He’s still just looking at her sadly, and she wonders how much he already knows.

But he’s looking her in the eye at least. None of the others could manage that. But that feels worse, somehow. He has kind eyes. She hadn’t noticed that before.

“Better watch out.” She breaks from that gaze with a shake of her head. “Need to know, and all that crap. Don’t want you getting black bagged by ONI.”

But it hurts. It’s dragging on her, and it hurts. And Davis deserved better than that.

“He was calling for help. Before he died. He was calling for me. But it was too late. Some Forerunner bullshit. And what was left of him…” She stares down at her fist, still sitting in the small indent in the floor, as she finds reserves of anger deep enough to cut through the exhaustion. “I did not go through all that to bring him home for that!” Her fingers itch for the riffle, to squeeze the trigger until there’s nothing left, but it’s so far away and her bones ache. She’s tired, for the first time in a long time, but the anger, the rage, it sits on her, smothering her, while the bile rises up. “To be some…science project! For that…woman! And they just expected me to just hand him over.”

She had never seen Catherine Halsey move so fast. So very keen to get her hands on a new toy. And she had to just hand him over. Just another bit of Forerunner tech. And very much aware that she was under orders to hand him over.

To leave him behind.

She so badly wants to punch something again.

She pulls her hand up and gingerly flexes her fingers. The dent in the floor looks up at her accusingly.

“That’s fine. I’m sure there’s still plenty time to buff that out.” He’s still at her side. Still hasn’t gone anywhere. She laughs at that, or his lame joke, she doesn’t know. She’s glad he’s still there. That does surprise her.

“God what a mess.” She makes a fist, but just taps it against the floor this time, then pushes to her feet. It’s a long way up.

He’s beside her again, and this time he does touch her arm. She’s aware of it even through the metal. “Well, you certainly gave the War Games a trial by fire. If it can take that, it can take anything.”

“I’d like to see someone else beat that score.” She winces. It hurts to laugh.

“It’s ok to be mad at orders, you know. Brass asks a lot at times.”

She raises an eyebrow. “That’s downright subversive. Never would have thought you had it in you.”

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He’s smiling when he says it. “If you agree to let the med team look at you I can tell you about it.”

There’s a joke about wanting to get her out of her armour there, but she’s not quite yet in the right place to find it. It’ll keep. “Fine, but you’re buying the drinks.”

“It’s a deal.

[balledjely]

The Weight of the World

Part 2 - Burn

A bakugou x reader fic where you’re an apprentice of Ragdoll, from the famous Wild, Wild Pussycats (Part 1)

You place a card down on the table, grinning widely. Across from you, Kota huffs and pushes himself out of his chair. You try to frown, but it’s really hard when he looks so cute, pouting like this.“Oh come on, don’t be like that…” 

Kota glares at you from across the room. “Why don’t you get those stupid wanna-be heroes to play with you?” He sneers. You sigh in response, not quite ready to get back into that conversation. 

“You’re just mad because you lost. And also,” you continue, “those wanna-be heroes are still training.”

“Then why are you here?” 

“Wow, rude.” You mock offense at his tone. You knew he didn’t really mean it. After having known him for awhile, you knew he was just like that. All angry to hide the fact that he was hurting. You lived for the rare moments where he would be unapologetically happy. “I’m here to check on you, and to set up for dinner.” 

You nod your head towards the back of the building, where you’d set up plates, veggies, and other foods for the kids to cook. Most of the day you were bouncing back and forth between training and checking up on Kota. Luckily, you’d gotten off early to set up. 

“Speaking of,” You glance out the window to see the tired group trudging towards the camp. “They’re here. Are you gonna join?” He doesn’t respond, instead just walking back towards his room. “Okay!” You call after him, “I’ll save you a plate. You can sit next to me if-” His door slams shut. You sigh, so he’s back to being angry…

You meet up with the group outside, and comfortingly, they’re excited to see you. “Ah, how come you got off early?” One of the girls, Mina, whines as she drapes herself over your back. 

“Who do you think set this up?” You playfully shrug her off you. Across the yard, Pixiebob announces that the group will be cooking their own dinner. That includes you. But, with everyone’s quirks and skills, dinner was made pretty fast. 

Before you settle down to eat, you decide to make an extra plate for Kota. It was already getting dark, so it seemed like he just planned on not coming down tonight. As you turn the corner around the building, you almost run into Izuku, one of the kids from class 1-A. 

You glance down at the bowl of curry in his hands, “Were you going to go find Kota too?” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, but if you want to…”

You shake your head at him. “Actually, I think he might take to you better. He’s a little angry at me right now.” You see him cock his head questioningly, so you explain. “He’s got a thing against heroes. He’s really feeling it today. But maybe I’ve been around him too much…” you trail off, glancing up towards the cliff where Kota likes to hide out. “Would you mind going to bring him something to eat?”

He nods. “Of course.” As he walks off, you smile and thank him. Although, worry was working its way into your stomach. Kota’s so young, and yet… he’s in so much pain. You wish he would just let you help him. But maybe it just wasn’t time yet. 

When you return back to the picnic tables, Mina excitedly waves you over. “Can you tell them that Mount Lady would totally win in a fight against Mr. Aizawa?” She leans on her hand, starting over towards Hagakure. Or at least where you assume she was. 

You settle yourself down and begin to eat, watching Hagakure place her gloves on the table. You can picture her leaning towards Mina, “She’d lose! Mr. Aizawa could trip her and she’d be down for the count-”

They go on like this for a long time, you don’t even bother trying to jump in. As they bicker, you glance at Tsuyu with amusement. 

The two of them are still going at it when you decide to go get cleaned up. When you get back to the room you share with Kota, he’s already fast asleep. You try to make as little noise as possible as you get into bed. Luckily, he doesn’t stir

————————————————————————

The next day was pretty much the same, train, check on Kota, back to training. You did a lot of sparring with the kids from class 1-A, and so you got to know them better. It was really exciting to finally get to know some kids who had the same passion for becoming a pro as you did. 

By the end of the day, you were exhausted. But, luckily for you, the teachers had something fun planned. The two classes would split up, with one hiding out in the woods to spook the other. Since you weren’t in either class, you didn’t have to fear wandering around in the woods. Even better, you were there to supervise, or in other words, watch the others get scared. You couldn’t wait to see some of the stoic members of the two classes scream. 

It was a little while after you left the main group of students when you smelled something burning. A slight fear fluttered in your chest when you remembered that you didn’t have your costume, which meant there was no way to communicate back to the Pussycats. 

You ran towards a clearing, trying to get a better look at the sky. Once you finally got to a patch of woods where leaves weren’t obscuring your view, in the distance you could see plumes of black smoke. So something was on fire. 

You knew that you didn’t have enough water to do anything about the fire on your own, and that there was the possibility that the Pussycats weren’t aware that there was danger. You decided the best thing to do would be to head back to where you’d left the group, and to gather any students you could along the way. 

The constant screams from the students had died down, which gave you hope that they’d noticed something was going on. But, it also made it much more difficult for you to locate where the other kids would be. 

“Guys!” You called out to no one in particular as you ran back towards the camp. “We have to go back, something’s on fire!” When you didn’t hear anything in reply, you repeated the warning. 

As you ran, you noticed a light twinkle in the corner of your eye. A split second later you realized that it was something coming towards you. On instinct, you jump back. As you do, a column of blue fire sears the ground where you were just standing. 

You scramble back farther, desperately trying to get away from the scorching heat. Your mind was racing. No one in either of the two classes had a quirk with blue fire, and no one would attack you. 

Your heart stopped when you realized what it was. A villain. What’s worse - a villain with a fire quirk. You wouldn’t stand a chance, certainly not without any water with you. 

It only took a few milliseconds for you to come to that conclusion, but it was long enough for another blast of fire to be thrown at you. You’re again scrambling backwards, nearly tripping over yourself. 

Your mind is racing. How the hell would you get out of this situation? Without access to water you were practically quirkless. You duck behind a tree as a third column of fire comes at you. It splits around the trunk of the tree, painfully heating up the skin of both your arms as it goes by. You push off the tree as it begins to smoke, running deeper into the woods. Maybe there you’d find some better cover. 

“Shouldn’t make so much noise, you know.” A man’s voice comes from the same direction as the fire. “Drew me right to you.” 

He’s behind you now, walking slowly. He again sends out some fire, but this time it’s not aimed at you. It’s aimed at where you’re going, effectively cutting you off. You’re really starting to panic now, glancing around to find another way out. 

“You weren’t on the list,” He muses, watching you stand defensively against the wall of flames behind you. “But, I suppose you’ll do.”

At this point, you really only have one last resort- the water in your body. As he walks towards you, you make it seem like your fidgeting with your hands. You make sure he can’t see you dig your nails into the soft flesh of your palms, effectively creating a way to pull water out of your body. 

“Your list?” You question. You're satisfied with the stability of your voice, but you can tell he knows you are feigning confidence. All you can really do now is stall for time. As he gets closer, you work water out of your body, moving it around your waist and down your legs to keep it from his view. 

He ignores your question, “Why don’t you come with me, and I won’t have to melt the skin off your bones?” 

You refuse to react to the threat, staring him down and trying to drain the fear out of your body. So, his aim isn’t to kill me. That brings you both comfort and fear. 

He’s in front of you now, and before you can knock his hand away, he grabs you by the hair. He forces you to look up at him, and you meet his eyes. Can’t show fear, can’t show fear, you repeat to yourself. 

The water you pulled out of your body is hovering behind him now. You don’t look at it, trying to keep him from noticing it. You freeze it, and send it flying towards his arm. 

Before it can actually puncture his skin, he lefts flames burst out his arm and melt it. You take his momentary distraction as a chance to kick his knees, attempting to stun him. He barely stumbles, pulling to the ground forcefully. 

You hit the ground so hard the wind is knocked out of you. He gets down on top of you, but before he can put his hands on you, you pull the last bit of water from your body. Your vision goes blurry from the dehydration, but you pull even more. A quick as you possibly can, you form a jagged dagger with the ice and slash at him. 

He immediately leans back, but you nick his cheek. Fire erupts off his face, and you pull your hand back. Despite your quick reaction, you still burn the tips of your fingers. You don’t get a chance to do anything more as he presses a cloth to your face. 

You shake your head violently, trying to get him off. It doesn’t work, and you can feel your hands loosen around his arms. You clench your teeth, fighting desperately to dog your nails into him, but your vision is fading, and all the strength is deeper out of your body. And just like that, you’re out cold.

[awful-roffle-archive]

Meteors dot txt

A/N: this definitely got to a point i just took the characters and setting and did my own story with it but uh. its fine. no idea if i’ll ever come back to this but?? im running out of writing spoons rn so! you get this as is with its really choppy ending :^) nothing’s been proof read by someone else but i tried my best so uh. enjoy lmao

word count: 3,420

"Today's broadcast reports there will be a meteor shower raining over Pelican Town this evening! Make sure to take an umbrella with you! Hehe." The meteorologist quips before the broadcast goes back to the news about the latest about the Gotoro Empire. Rayzan sighs and shuts the TV off, sipping at his coffee.

"What's so important about some damn meteor shower? It's... what, space rocks? Big whoop." He mutters to himself, shoving a rather... strange (to put it lightly) tasting cheese cauliflower into his mouth. It's what he gets from buying food from Joja - hopefully he wouldn't start glowing or something as a side effect. With a grunt he pushes himself off of the floor, throwing the plastic container to the side. He'd clean it up later. Probably.

He jumps as there's a rapping on the janky screen door, and he instinctively grabs his gun from behind a potted plant. Pulling the door open, he aims it directly between the other's eyes.

"What the fuck do you want." His tone is harsh and cold, and he never breaks eye contact with her.

"Oh!" Maru stumbles backwards on the porch, holding her hands up. "I'm sorry! I just- uh-" She falters over her words, clearly taken aback.

"Spit it out."

"Can you put down the gun? Please?" Maru chooses her words carefully, keeping her hands in the air.

"I thought I made it perfectly fucking clear I didn't want anyone bothering me." He moves the gun downward, but his gaze still seems to burn through her.

"Well, yes, but..."

"But you wanted to anyways, right? You decided your high-fucking-horse is more important than my privacy."

There's a long pause before Maru says anything. She just stands there, gawking at him. "I just wanted to tell you about the meteor shower tonight. Everyone's going to be gathered at the beach, if you wanted to come." She speaks simply before turning around and stepping off the porch. "Yeah. I'm aware." He slams the door, the screens rattling as he locks it. "Yoba damn everyone in this fucking town." He grumbles and hides the gun once more.

Grabbing whatever clothes he could find from his dresser, he stares at himself in the mirror. So much for keeping up appearances, huh? He takes a deep breath and runs some hair gel through his hair, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He gags and spits into a bucket of lake water. His plumbing hadn't worked for, well, what felt like months now and he wasn't about to go ask Mrs. 'Oh how are you? Where are you from? How is the farm? Do you have any family?' Robin for help any time soon.

Pulling a shirt over his head he makes his way outside, staring at his rather sad attempt at a garden. He was supposed to be a farmer and he couldn't even keep a few peppers alive, let alone an entire farm's worth. Deciding to water the crops, despite them being... well, very dead, he tosses his farming tools aside and heads into town.

---

The walk always felt long and tedious. He had looked into getting a car before, but the walk to even GET to a dealership was way out of the question, and with the only bus in town out of commission, he was pretty much stuck in town and on foot. The sun beat down on him endlessly, almost taunting him for daring to move during the summer.

As soon as he reaches town he instantly heads for Joja. The saloon wouldn't be open for another few hours, and he sure as hell wasn't going to sit in Pierre's and listen to his badgering about how the farm was doing. Instantly being hit with the a/c of Jojamart he takes a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Quite the walk, isn't it? You should take a sip of the latest JojaCola flavor! NuBerry - a delicious combination of raspberry and cranberry thrown together by our team of talented scientists! Joja is not liable for any injuries or side effects that may occur while drinking NuBerry. NuBerry - Fresh and full of smiles!" Morris spews off like a recorded advertisement, making Rayzan roll his eyes. He instead heads back towards the freezers, holding it open and just soaking in the cold as he sinks to the floor.

“Probably shouldn't stand there with it open like that.” A voice comes up from behind him, leaning over his shoulder.

“You and I both know you don't care about their electric bills.” Rayzan smirks as he looks up to see Shane leaning over him. “Unless you've suddenly had a change of heart?” He puts a hand to his heart, leaning back.

“Nah. Last I heard there was some freezer monster back there. Snatches up kids that don't know better.” Shane quips and stands up straighter. “Besides, I gotta put these in there.” He motions to a palette of frozen pizza boxes.

“Mind if I nab one of those to go?”

“Hey, if you can get it past Morris be my guest.” Shane pauses, “But if you get caught I didn't see shit.” He grins before going back to restocking the freezer.

“You underestimate me greatly.” Rayzan snatches a box off of the pile, waiting until Morris was busy doing who-knows-what until stealthily stepping out the door with it.

“Oi, watch it kid.” Pam exclaims as Rayzan runs directly into her, almost dropping his box.

“Whatever.” Rayzan grumbles and rushes past her, wondering where the hell he could keep this for the time being. There was no way he was walking all the way back home for just this. Looking around he exhales before checking his watch. 10:04 am. Fuck. What was he supposed to do for at least another two hours before the saloon opened?

He could go to the mines... but that didn't solve his pizza dilemma. He groans before staring down at the river. Maybe... No, that would make it soggy. Shit. He settles on hiding it behind a rock in the shade – at least it would stay cool there. Wiping his hands off he heads past Pierre's, only to get stopped on his way.

“Hey, Rayzan! How is the farm coming along? You know, if you need anything we-”

“Yeah, yeah. You sell seeds and shit. I'm thoroughly aware. It's the only fucking shit you sell.” Rayzan interrupts her, turning back around with his arms crossed.

“Well... Pierre and I have discussed expanding our stock recently. If you have anything you'd like to see feel free to let us know!” Caroline smiles, holding up a small basket of tomatoes. “These are freshly grown from our garden, they're rather fresh, too. We were thinking about selling these, would you like to try one?”

“...I'll pass.” Rayzan rolls his eyes, continuing up the path.

“Oh, well, I'll see you later at the meteor shower then!”

“Doubt it.” He picks up his pace, running up towards the mountains. The air always feels crisper up here, fresher. He takes a moment to breathe as he reaches Robin's house, then immediately ducks by it. There was no way he was sticking around for more pleasant conversations with the townsfolk. ESPECIALLY Robin.

---

As he ducks into the mine, Marlon looks over at him and just laughs. “What, are you planning on starting an earth quake and almost killing yourself again? Didn't have enough last time?”

“Shut up. I didn't even bring my gun this time.”

“You didn't bring your sword, either. Or a pickaxe... What exactly are you planning on doing down there?” Marlon points out, nodding towards him. “May be half-blind but even I can see that's not a good idea.”

Rayzan takes a moment to look over himself, realizing he didn't actually bring any tools. “...Fuck.” He sighs in exasperation as Marlon laughs at him.

“Get out of here kid. I'm not in the mood to rescue you again.”

“Shut up.” Rayzan repeats himself, leaving the cave with a roll of his eyes. He heads past Linus' tent with a nod of his head, shoving his hands into his pockets before heading up towards the train station. Oh how he wished he could hop on the train and get the hell out of here. Instead he pushes the door open to the spa, heading for the locker room. With any luck no one else would be there.

Unfortunately, this wasn't his lucky day. Alex sits up from the weight bench as he waves at him.

“Hey man, didn't think I'd see you up here again.” Alex grins. “That offer to spot you is still open. You know, so you don't drop your weight on your foot again. How's that doing, by the way?”

“It's fine.” Rayzan says simply, yanking at his locker door.

“You gotta pull it up first.” Alex speaks up after a few moments of Rayzan fighting with the locker.

“...I knew that.” Rayzan responds, moving the handle up before pulling it open properly.

“Oh! Uh, are you going to that... that shower tonight? Haley's dragging me along. Don't know, might be pretty cool.”

“Wasn't really planning on it. Everyone keeps asking me about it.” He grumbles and grabs a towel, heading for the showers.

“Well, it's just, basically everyone in town goes to these things. It's kind of a big deal, these festivals and all.”

“Yeah, I got that. Now, do you mind? I'm sweaty and I'm not going to wash myself off at home with lake water.”

“You don't have a shower?”

“No.”

“Why don't you-”

“I'm not asking anyone to fix my shit.” With that, Rayzan pulls the curtain to the shower shut and tosses his things down. What's with everyone in this town being so damn talkative?

---

He spends the next several hours in the pool, ignoring Penny and Alex talking about who knows what. His day is rather quiet after that, deciding to head to his usual place in the saloon – where, yes, he does get Gus to put his pizza in the freezer for him for the time being. He ends up falling asleep in one of the booths, nursing his glass of beer. He's only awaken by Shane poking him in the side.

“Wha-? Ah... Mm..” Rayzan murmurs, stretching his arms out. “Thought you'd have more courtesy than to wake a sleeping man.” He grumbles drowsily.

“Didn't want to, but otherwise it'd be Gus and I figured you didn't want that. He's locking up here to go see the meteor shower thing. Jas wanted me to go with her.” He doesn't sound very enthused about it either. “Want to go keep me company?”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah. I know.” He frowns, but steps aside as Rayzan gets up.

“Guess so.” He sighs, then looks over at Gus by the door. “Can I get my pizza after? So I'm not holding it the whole time?”

“Of course! I'll leave the door unlocked for ya.” Gus beams before heading outside, Shane and Rayzan soon following after.

“So did Morris say anything about the missing stock?” Rayzan glances over, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Hah, no not really. Don't think he even noticed you leaving. Lillian didn't either, or at least she didn't mention it.” Shane ponders as they walk the rest of the way in silence.

---

They pick a spot that's far enough away from everyone else to not be bothered, but close enough that Jas wouldn't complain to Marnie that Shane didn't show up.

“You ever seen one of these things?” Rayzan speaks up after awhile, looking up at Shane.

“Nah, I'm not really... into space stuff. There's enough to worry about on this planet, you know? Never mind worrying about whatever the hell aliens out there are getting up to.”

“Agreed.” Rayzan nods, pushing his hair up out of his face before staring up at the sky as the meteors begin raining by. Everyone is quiet other than the “oohs” and “ahhs” and other noises spoken in awe of the event. As Rayzan looks around he sees people making various wishes, Robin and Demetrius kissing, and Vincent and Jas playing astronauts off to the side. A faint smile grows on his face as he leans back, letting the sand seep between his fingers. This was nice, despite his many protests against it.

Eventually, the shower ended and the crowd started dying down as everyone went home. Shane said his goodbyes as he carried a very sleepy Jas off, and Rayzan was left alone. Rayzan sat there for a few more minutes listening to the ocean. Everything was peaceful, until a loud crash roars through the beach. The sound shakes through the town, and Rayzan jumps from his spot.

“The f-?” He suddenly wishes he had literally any weapon on him. He hesitantly makes his way over to the right hand side of the beach, staring at the smoldering pit among what used to be small tide pools. “Uh.” He mutters to himself, looking back towards Elliott's hut. No reaction. Was he already asleep? How did he NOT hear that? He shakes his head and grabs a stray stick from by the trees, poking at the object in the middle of the pit with it.

“Uh...” Rayzan repeats to himself, looking down at his hands. If he did end up burning himself Harvey wasn't asleep just yet, right? He'd probably be fine. He cautiously picks up the object, finding it to be - surprisingly - not as hot as he thought. It was fairly large, having to be held with two hands, and seemed to be glowing a soft blue aura. It's exterior was rather dark, with dull white spikes protruding out the sides. Although he tried to pull it apart it was no use – whatever it was, it was rather sturdy.

“Damn you're heavy.” Rayzan mutters as he stares at the egg-shaped object in his hands. He looks up, pondering to himself about what to do with this thing. He begins heading back up towards town, only to be interrupted by Maru.

“Oh my yoba – I could hear that crash from across TOWN! To think something actually hit the ground! And you're holding it!” Maru begins rambling off, clapping her hands together. “Can I see it? That doesn't look like any meteor I've ever heard of, but of course space is really vast and there could be plenty of different-”

“Whoa, whoa. Listen, if you want this thing take it. I don't know what to do with it.” Rayzan begins trying to hand it off, only for it to stab him in the arm. “What the fuck?”

“Oh- Oh dear, are you okay?” Maru widens her eyes, frantically trying to grab it again – only for the object to protest yet again.  Rayzan grunts in pain, nodding.

“Maybe we should... not. Do that.” He hisses as he carefully sets it down – thankfully it lets him do that – before rubbing at his wrists. “Fuck, what is that thing?”

“Well, I'm not entirely sure... It seems at least somewhat sentient though, don't you think? Exciting!” Maru grins before turning her attention back to him. “...Right, we should get you to the clinic.” She reaches down to pick it up off the floor, only for it to spray some form of mist into the air. “AH!” She exclaims as she stumbles back, holding a hand over her face. “Okay! You pick it up!”

“I'm not touching that thing again!”

“We have to at least move it somewhere no one else can get hurt.” Maru insists, rubbing at her eyes.  Rayzan grunts and picks up the foreign object, carrying it in his arms as he follows her to the clinic.

Harvey looks up from his paperwork as the door opens, raising an eyebrow. “I thought I locked... Oh, Maru, hello- Are you okay? What is- Rayzan are you bleeding?” He gets up frantically, moving around the counter.

“I'm fine, he might need stitches. Don't... touch that thing.” Maru aggressively points to the object. “I need to go wash out my eyes.” She motions vaguely in the air before walking off. Harvey blinks a few times before looking back towards Rayzan as he sets the object in a waiting room chair.

“Alright... well, let's get you sorted. I'll... call Gunther and let him know about this also.” Harvey furrows his brow, walking Rayzan back towards the examination room. “What happened, exactly?”

“I don't know. That thing fucking... Grabbed me when I tried to give it to Maru.” Rayzan hisses in pain as Harvey looks over his wounds.

“These look pretty deep – did it get you anywhere else?”

“Not that I can tell.” He shakes his head as Harvey frowns. “I feel kind of... sick, though.”

“Hopefully that's just from blood loss and it didn't inject you with anything.” Harvey notes before gathering everything necessary.

---

Rayzan wakes up in one of the hospital beds in the morning and groans as he sits up. “...So that wasn't a dream. Fuck.” He looks down at his bandaged arms with a frown. Harvey comes in with a smile, holding a clipboard close to his chest.

“Well, good news, you aren't going to die.” Harvey smiles before continuing, “You ended up passing out last night so I set you up here. As far as I could tell, there's nothing lethal in your blood stream either. Maru and Gunther are in the waiting room discussing the...” Harvey trails off for a moment, “Well, if you'd like to talk to them, you're free to. Be sure to keep those bandaged though, alright? And I wouldn't advise any excessive movement... If you need any pain killers, let me know.”

Rayzan nods, pushing himself out of the bed. “Yeah, thanks doc.” He mutters and heads into the waiting room.

“Oh! Mr. Rayzan, it's always a pleasure to see you. This is certainly an interesting specimen you've found here!” Gunther smiles as he stands up straighter.

“Yeah, and it tried to fucking kill me. Can't you take the yoba damn thing to the museum or something where I don't have to look at it?” He glares at it, crossing his arms over his chest before wincing and simply putting them down by his sides.

“Ah... I was looking into that, actually. It seems it's imprinted on you somehow and is rather territorial about it.”

“It's done what? I'm not a damn mother duck or something! If that shit turns out to be an alien I'm not taking care of it.” Rayzan protests angrily, leaning against the counter.

“If it would let me I'd take it off your hands after it hatches or... whatever it's going to do, but until then no one can touch it.” Maru frowns as she looks over at him. “I guess you could just drop it off somewhere, but there's no guarantee it still won't try to find you once it hatches...” There's a pause. “Though I'm absolutely open for helping you out with it as much as I can! Maybe we can be co-parents of it!” She laughs, though it doesn't last long as she sees Rayzan's expression. She clears her throat as she looks away. “Up to you, of course.”

“I'm probably just gonna drop the thing in the river or something. Maybe it'll float off to wherever. Or better yet, drown.”

“Mr. Rayzan, sir, if I may interrupt, I don't think that's such a good idea.” Gunther speaks up. “We don't know anything about this creature – it could be invasive to the local environment. It's better to keep it close so we can learn more about it.”

“Then you take it!” Rayzan picks up a wooden crate, then sets the object inside of it. “There. Yours now. Have fun with your murder egg.” He shoves the box into Gunther's arms and storms towards the door.

“Rayzan!” Maru shouts, but frowns as she turns back towards Gunther. “I think we're on our own here.”

Gunther nods, “It seems so...” He looks down at the object, then nods towards her. “I'll take this over to the museum for now and try to figure out what it likes... Perhaps find a sun lamp.”

Rayzan rolls his eyes as he slams the door behind him. He heads towards the saloon, grabbing his frozen pizza out of the freezer before making the journey home. He'd be glad to sleep in his own bed again.

[pandawritespoorly]

With Time: Something Happened

Author’s Note: The doc for this is titled 'Drink some water you coward'. My friend needed to drink water but wouldn't, and I made a threat that I fulfilled. I won't say who I killed, but those of you who have been around long even may remember a tumblr post from long ago. (Heh heh, reblogged it to bring it back a few days ago)

Here's that story, which I can finally post now that With Time is over.

(Sorry for the angst. I'll post something fluffy soon.)

Summary: The team goes up against Hawkmoth, and something happens.

!!! Warnings: Character Death, Violence

It had been years. Years upon years of fighting against Hawkmoth. It had gotten bad enough that Adrien and Marinette had eventually needed to give their friends their miraculouses permanently.

It hadn’t been solely a bad thing of course. They’d been planning on doing it soon enough, but it’d happened sooner than they’d intended.

Of course, after spending a good six years - almost seven - Marinette and Adrien could not be ready for this day.

The final face off with Hawkmoth.

The man that had been terrorizing the heroes, the city, for years.

They’d tracked him down after learning of Mayura’s identity.

“How did I not know?” Chat Noir stares at the mansion he was raised in, “He’s my father! I grew up in the same building he was attacking the city from!”

“Adrien-” Ladybug begins.

“I’m supposed to be a hero! What kind of-”

“Adrien-” it’s Kit Mime this time, gripping his shoulder and turning the other boy to face him, “None of us blame you.”

“You should.”

“No, we shouldn’t. He kept it from the entire city, y’ couldn’t’ve known,” Tortue Verte cuts in.

“The entire city wasn’t living with him this whole time! For fuck’s sake, he attacked my school the most! He wasn’t even subtle!”

“Adrien, it’s not-” Honey Bee also tries to interrupt him.

“All those attacks where he or I was targeted! How could I not have realized-” gloved hands dig into blond hair, green eyes vacant.

“Chat-”

“My name literally means ‘dark butterfly’, I mean come on!”

“Adrien!” Ladybug snaps. She isn’t angry, just trying her best to reign him back in.

He pauses, taking a breath to steady himself.

“Kitten, none of us blame you,” Kit Mime keeps his own gloved hands on Chat Noir’s shoulders, “So you shouldn’t be blaming yourself.”

The hero looked doubtful, but didn’t respond.

“He’s right,” Ladybug comes to his side as well, hugging him tightly.

Doing so triggers a group hug among the heroes. There’s a lot of feelings towards what’s about to happen.

There’s a lot to process, but they didn’t have much time. They wanted to settle this as quickly as possible - both for Paris’ sake and to avoid Gabriel getting suspicious.

“Alright. Let’s go,” and Chat leads the charge into the house.

It’s time to end this.

---

Despite having hoped to take the man by surprise, he must have been clued in somehow. They burst into his lair to find it empty.

They tense, walking forward hesitantly and looking around cautiously.

“Where-” Honey begins to speak.

There’s a sound, quiet enough that only Kit and Chat hear it. They motion for silence and turn in the direction, night vision carefully scanning the area.

Honey Bee inhales sharply.

“This would be an ideal time to hand over your miraculouses.” a cold voice cuts through the silence.

The group turns to see Hawkmoth himself standing before them, sword drawn from his cane and pointed precariously near the heroine’s neck. She stands stiffly, hands raised slightly.

Low growls come from the two tallest boys, while Ladybug and Tortue shift to fighting positions.

“Give it up Gabriel,” Chat snarls.

“You’ve lost,” Kit Mime adds.

“It would seem I was correct to assume that Nathalie had been compromised,” the tip of the sword pushes further into Honey’s neck, and she tilts her head safely away.

“Gabriel Agreste, your reign of terror on Paris is over. Hand over your miraculous.” Ladybug holds out her hand, glaring at the monster before them.

“No. Not until I’ve completed my goal.”

“The consequences of any wish would be catastrophic. The world can’t afford your selfishness-”

“Selfish?!” The man roars, “You are the selfish ones! I only want what’s best for my family! What’s best for my son!” In his anger, he gestures carelessly and a pinprick of blood appears on Honey Bee’s neck as he speaks.

Chat Noir growls, snapping and swiping at the man, “What’s best for your son?! What’s best for your son?! How is terrorizing Paris supposed to help your son?!”

Taking the distraction, Honey Bee ducks and slides over to her other teammates. Tortue looks worriedly at her neck, but she smiles at him, “I’m fine,” she says quietly.

Kit Mime seems to disagree, scowling - a rare expression for him - and joining his friend in the barrage of attacks at the supervillain.

“Well,” Ladybug says, readying her yo-yo, “We do this like we always do…”

Honey Bee and Tortue Verte speak with her, readying their own weapons and dropping into offensive stances, “...together.”

The trio joins their teammates in the fight.

---

They didn’t think it was going to be this hard. Especially given that it was five to one.

Yet here they are. At least one and a half hours later, and the fight hadn’t gotten anywhere.

They’re exhausted.

Maybe it’s closer to two or three hours. None of them have really bothered to check the time, simply focussing on their goal, aiming to end this nightmare as soon as possible.

Hawkmoth swipes his sword at the spotted girl. She dances away to the best of her abilities, though she feels it makes contact anyways.

It wasn’t the first time, and she’d stopped checking once they’d all been false alarms.

Her suit is impenetrable after all.

This needed to end soon. The exhaustion of her team was palpable, but somehow Hawkmoth seemed fine.

Maybe he was just better at hiding it. Or he had more experience. The reason didn’t really matter to her anyways.

The team of five continues in their assault, their teamwork they’d built up on for the past five years shining through.

Still, it wasn’t a perfect art, and mistakes were bound to happen.

No one is quite sure how it happens, but the frenzy of movement halts when Hawkmoth wrenches Kit Mime toward him by the arm.

“Let him go,” Honey Bee growls.

“Give up your miraculouses.” It’s basically his mantra with how many times he’s said it now. He’s holding the fox hero to him tightly, gripping his neck from behind so that both miraculous holders are in clear sight.

“That’s not going to happen,” Chat repeats.

“This is your final warning,” Hawkmoth cautioned lowly, a hint of something in his voice.

He correctly takes their silent glares and battle stances as refusal.

The dark chamber is silent for a moment.

Five teenagers wait patiently for the next move.

A sickening crunch echoes through the room.

Even with most of them lacking night vision, their eyes have adjusted enough that they can see what happened.

Hawkmoth holds up Kit Mime by the neck, dangling the boy above the floor. The hero’s face is an unnatural color, and his feet kick uselessly at the floor, searching for traction.

His hands reach for the one that has crushed his throat, but the adult’s iron grip is too tight.

His teammates, friends, can only stand in horrified silence. The only sound is the ocaissonal scuffle of boots against the floor. The color that has appeared on his face is deepening, and his hands still claw at the one around his neck. His flute is on the floor, dropped in surprise when the moment came.

None of them are looking at any of that though.

It’s his eyes.

Kit- Claude’s eyes, normally bright and full of mirth are wide with fear.

Even through the worst attack, Kit Mime had been able to smile, keep things light and spirits up.

And now…

It’s when his eyes begin to glaze over, growing unfocused, that they break out of their trance.

Chat Noir’s and Honey Bee’s faces harden in resolve, both rushing forward.

Ladybug hears a furious ‘cataclysm’ and ‘venom’, which somewhat shakes her out of her oncoming attack. She can panic late, right now she has to…

What does she do?

Tortue isn’t doing well, hyperventilating beside her.

Kit Mime is still struggling in the villain’s grip, though his desperate kicks and gasps have become fainter, weaker.

The five of them couldn’t defeat Hawkmoth together, should she really let only two of them try alone? They need all the help they can get, right?

The heroine’s eyes dart back and forth, undecided. Comfort Tortue?

Help Chat and Honey with Kit?

Comfort Tortue?

Help Chat and Honey with K-

-it?

The moment of indecision costs her. In the time it takes Chat and Honey to cross the room, Hawkmoth grows impatient.

Tired of holding up the struggling boy, Hawkmoth tightens his grip on his sword, raises his hand, and runs it through the boy.

Honey and Chat can’t stop their momentum in time, Honey’s hand slides past the intended target, and she can’t pick herself off the floor, instead staring in horror at the scene above her.

The scene doesn’t last long.

Chat’s outstretched hand makes contact.

With an orange suit.

The darkness spreads like an inky disease across the brightly colored uniform. Shadowy tendrils make their way over it, spreading like a horrific wildfire and leaving nothing but ash and dust behind.

Chat Noir stares in terror at his gloved hand, now coated in dust that looked too soft for something so nauseating.

Reality chooses this moment to resume its normal speed. In comparison to the last eternal minute or two, everything feels like double speed.

Honey Bee manges to put together enough thoughts to hit her venomed hand to their foe’s leg, and stands to take the miraculous.

Chat hasn’t moved.

Tortue is barely breathing with how badly he’s panicking.

And Ladybug?

Ladybug defaults to her usual solution.

“Miraculous Ladybug.”

Claude’s body reappears right where it had been previously. He falls to the ground, the other heroes nearby follow him, too exhausted to do anything else.

After a moment they’re all far too aware of the fact that he isn’t breathing.

“Miraculous Ladybug.”

He remains still.

“Miraculous Ladybug.”

Nothing. She’s beginning to feel dizzy.

“Miraculous Ladybug.”

Why isn’t it working?

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

Why isn’t he coming back?!

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Miraculous Ladybug!!”

How had this happened?

“Miraculous Ladybug!!!”

She feels sick.

“MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!”

Still nothing.

Her shouts become a repetitive echo, ringing through the terrible chamber. What else can she do? She’s the leader. She’s the one who fixes everything.

So why isn’t everything fixed?! Of the team, she’s the only one still speaking. The only one still standing.

Until she isn’t anymore.

The others look up after her quiet, pleading calls go silent, soon followed by a thud.

Against a surface other than her bright red suit, the alarming amount of blood flowing from a distressingly large gash in her side is hard to miss.

---

When Felix walks into the hospital room he does not know what to expect. He had known they were going after Hawkmoth, so the fact that Adrien had sent him a text with nothing but the words ‘we’re here’ and the hospital’s address and a room number concerned him.

Still, he did not want to jump to conclusions.

Perhaps Hawkmoth had been critically injured.

He repeated that thought over and over because the alternative-

No, there is no alternative. Hawkmoth is injured and his friends are fine.

He loops that thought.

Hawkmoth is injured and his friends are fine.

Hawkmoth is injured and his friends are fine.

Hawkmoth is injured and his friends are fine.

Hawkmoth is injured and his friends are fine.

Hawkmoth is injured and his friends are fine.

Hawkmoth is injured and his friends-

He walks into the room, hearing the steady beeping of the heart monitor and turns to see…

Marinette in the bed. All manner of tubes and wires attached to her.

When he manages to rip his eyes away, his fears do not cease.

Adrien is staring at Marinette, though his eyes are far away.

Allegra is barely holding herself together.

And Allan…

Felix hadn’t seen that look on Allan’s face since- since-

Something is missing.

Someone is missing.

“Where is Claude?” He barely manages to keep his voice steady.

Those three words are all it takes.

The Allegra’s final threads snap and she loses the little composure she already had. She falls to her knees like beggar and sobs.

The look on Allan’s expression gets worse, and he stops breathing momentarily, and even afterwards his breaths are irregular.

Adrien is gripping Marinette’s hand like a lifeline, head buried in the sheets of the hospital bed as he sits beside it.

No one speaks.

The picture is becoming very clear, but Felix just will not accept it.

Surely Claude is just somewhere else.

Grabbing something perhaps?

Another sob from Allegra is all it takes to dash all his hopes. Anyone with half a mind can see the only answer to this question.

Something happened.

The mission went wrong.

Claude is gone.

---

I'm just going to leave this here. No more words from me.

Reminder: This is very much not canon to my With Time storyline.

[badacts]

eyes on me (pt.3)

This fic is about Gotham’s revenant problem.

(part one) (part two)

Tim actually lets Jason fly them back, despite the creeping urge to tranq him and shove him into one of the storage lockers. 

The problem with Jason is that he never lets anything go. A little bit of sedation between pseudo-brothers would be a sore spot for years, and the two of them don’t really need any more of those to poke at in the wrong moments.

However, the flight would definitely be smoother if Jason wasn’t at the helm. Tim grits his teeth in the co-pilot seat and bears it.

The outcome is the important part, he tells himself. He’s taking Jason back to Gotham, where there’s at least a twenty percent he’ll actually help instead of just causing a massive hindrance. This low level of expectation means that Tim isn’t surprised when Jason lands them on top of a building in the Bowery - still shielded, at least - and rolls straight out of the jet with a casual, “See you later, Timmy.”

The tracker Tim stuck onto his jacket heads down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk at normal human pace, before rapidly accelerating down the street. The secondary tracker that Tim was much more careful about planting continues walking in the opposite direction.

Tim grins to himself and takes off, heading back to the Cave. 

He can pretty much already predict where Jason is going, anyway, once night falls. The graveyard, and then the hospital.

That means, when Red Hood lands on the roof adjacent to the hospital later that night, Tim gets the unique thrill of startling him when he says, “Don’t bother. He’s in an induced coma.”

“...Little Red,” Jason says.

“Does that make you ‘Big Red’ or ‘Riding Hood’?” Tim wonders, and then, before Jason can answer, “What did you think of the graveyard?”

Half of wearing a mask is learning your own particular method of intimidation. Tim’s is his ruthless intelligence and his peerlessly clever strategies. Red Hood’s is his disdain for adhering to the Bat’s Shalt Not Kill rules even now, and a taste of a smirk that carries through his voice if not through his expressionless mask.

Jason Todd is and always has been a street brawler, all pure physicality. Born to fight. That’s all Tim can think when he growls, “You stalkin’ me?”

“Don’t need to,” Tim replies. Because Robins are all reckless, he adds, “You’re just kind of predictable.”

Even as he says it, he knows it’s fifty-fifty whether that’ll make Jason hit him. He doesn’t bother to feel relieved when it earns him a laugh instead.

“Alright, batbrat,” Jason replies. It seems as though he loses a couple of inches of height when he relaxes from his loom over Tim. “What do you know about Rand?”

“C’mon,” Tim says, and fires his grapple across to the hospital roof. He’s done the same thing hundreds of times on this building, from all angles - he’s jumping before the grapple even hooks on, falling for a weightless moment before the cord pulls tight and throws him in a swooping arc to the window he’s aiming for.

He lands lightly on the window ledge, balancing on the balls of his feet. Jason follows him a moment later, surprisingly graceful for someone of his size balancing on two inches of formed concrete.

“That’s him,” Tim murmurs, gaze fixed through the window.

Marc Rand hardly looks peaceful in unconsciousness, with the number of tubes and wires tethering him to this plane. It’s fitting - it’s not like he was exactly resting in peace like his headstone wished. 

“Huh,” Jason says under his breath, “Looks like a kid.”

“He’s fifteen,” Tim replies absently. Even he’s not sure whether he’s agreeing or disagreeing. He’s distracted by the strange tone in Jason’s voice, hard to identify through his helmet.

“Yeah, exactly,” Jason mutters. “So?”

“So what?”

“Rand. Fill me in.” 

“Oh, it’s all on the computer back at the Cave,” Tim says without looking away from Rand’s form in the hospital bed.

Stillness. Then Jason snarls, “What are you playing at?”

“Relax,” Tim replies easily. “Just because I didn’t take your drama into account doesn’t mean I’m ‘playing at’ anything.”

“I won’t go there.”

“Then you’ll have to wait until I can transfer the information to you,” Tim chirps. “Do you use Mac or PC? I’ll copy you a pendrive.”

“Are you fucking-”

“Kidding? No.” Tim fires his grapple back across to the roof they came from, but before he can, a hand catches in the fabric of his cape. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t you?” There’s a taste of teasing in Jason’s voice. Tim hates it.

Maybe he underestimated the degree to which the two of them are oil and water. Oil and matches. Maybe they’re going to end up having a round two of their first meeting. Tim doesn’t want that, but he also doesn’t let it stop him from driving his elbow back into Jason’s sternum.

Jason dodges. He says, amused, “I’m wearing armour, do you not like your funny bone?” And while he’s distracted, Tim uses the shift of Jason’s own weight to drop the both of them off of the window ledge.

His grapple is strong enough to hold both of their weights even geared up, but Tim’s cape isn’t. Jason, showing a previously-unseen degree of good sense, lets go of Tim in favour of firing his own grapple.

Tim rockets upwards, unhooking and rolling over the lip of the building in one motion. He considers looking back to check whether Jason is a paste on the sidewalk below - and boy, he can’t wait to have that conversation with Bruce - but thinks better of it. Red Hood would never submit to dying in such a pedestrian way, and also if Tim’s right, which he always is, Hood will be right behind him.

He’s halfway across the roof when something hits him in the back of his shoulder. 

He has a split second to wonder what was that before he’s dragged backwards off of his feet. There’s a shrieking rip of kevlar-reinforced fabric, and then the back of Tim’s skull hits the rooftop. Hard.

Then he’s on his belly, with Jason’s knee in the small of his back. Tim gasps, “Did you just shoot me with a grapple gun?”

“Yeah,” Jason says, self-satisfaction dripping from his voice. 

“You-” Tim says, and then gags, heaving. 

“Whoops,” Jason says, removing his knee in favour of flipping Tim onto his side. He puts Tim in the recovery position.

Tim hooks his leg around Jason’s neck and rolls them. He ends up on top, Jason’s throat pressed between his thigh and calf while he debates the pros and cons of just choking the life of them.

Jason slaps Tim’s thigh and whispers, “Uncle!”

“You could have impaled me,” Tim replies. Honestly, it’s a miracle Jason didn’t. Their grapples are designed to lock into masonry, complete with barbed hooks with fingerprint releases. The aim it would have taken to hook just Tim’s cape - well, clearly running around with guns has some benefits.

“No,” Jason squeaks, somehow managing to sound offended as well as like he’s inhaled helium.

Tim, who absolutely was faking the gagging before, turns his head just enough to avoid puking on Jason’s stupid mask.

Jason, released from Tim’s hold by his sudden slump sideways, says, “...whoops.”

[cake-writes]

Little Lies (Part Seven)

Pairings: Steve x Reader // Bucky x Reader // Slight Natasha x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Graphic Violence, 18+

Summary: You went to Bucky when you wanted punishment. He’d be rough with you because he understood your self-loathing, and he’d leave bruises on your hips that wouldn’t go away for a week. You loved it. He didn’t.

You went to Steve when you wanted reassurance. You went to him because he liked to whisper sweet, sweet things into your ear as he made love to you. He’d tell you that you were perfect and amazing and beautiful. Then you’d get your fill, just far too much of it. He cared too much.

It all came to a head when the three of you went on a mission together. You’d done it a hundred times, even during this mess of a situation, and still neither of them was any the wiser. Your little lies always slipped right through the cracks - until one night, they didn’t.

Master List

June 2016

A month passed, during which you fell back into your old ways far too easily. It was almost like you’d never left. You weren’t a good person the last time you were here in Cancun, and you certainly weren’t one now, despite the fact that you’d worked with SHIELD and the Avengers over the last five years in a ridiculous attempt to make amends for your many misdeeds.

Now, it was like nothing had changed.

Except it had.

You still kept your phone hidden away in case you needed to reach out to Tony, but you didn’t. You were going to do this on your own from the inside. You could do it yourself. You didn’t need them. You didn’t need anyone.

What you especially didn’t need was to be the heiress to an empire.

Your father welcomed you back with open arms. He’d been angry for a long time after you’d left, but he eventually came to think that it was just a phase and that was exactly how you played it. Five years was a very long time to be a phase, but he believed you anyway, because you were his only child and he loved you. You used that fact to manipulate him, just like you always manipulated everyone else so skillfully.

His lieutenants, on the other hand, were far more suspicious and for good reason. You hadn’t exactly kept a low profile in your dealings as an Avenger, and your face was frequently on the news, especially after your background was released to the world. What was omitted from those documents was your connection to the cartel, and of course it was.

You once worked for the most secretive organization in the United States. No high-ranking US government official would ever let it become common knowledge that one of their SHIELD operatives was also heiress to the Carmesí Cartel. Something like that could very easily start a war.

In a moment of weakness, you turned the phone on once and only once. There were too many missed calls to count, let alone the messages. They were from Tony and Natasha, mostly, but even Sam and Wanda had sent you a couple. 

Your vision blurred with tears as you read through them:

Where are you?

We miss you.

Come back.

We’re worried.  

Come home.

Home. You didn’t have a home. The mansion was your home once, but not anymore, and neither was the compound. Steve and Bucky had made it clear enough that you weren’t welcome there, not anymore. Neither of them had sent you a single message.

You could still remember the look of betrayal on Bucky’s face right before he stormed out of the room that night. The sheer hurt in those beautiful blue eyes of his wasn’t something you were able to shake. That same hurt was reflected on Steve’s face, too, and he hadn’t said a single word to you when he returned without Bucky.

You’d blown them off so easily, too many times to count – but they’d never done it to you until that night.

You couldn’t blame them for it. You were an awful person. Neither of them even knew the whole story, yet, and they’d already rejected you, so why prolong the inevitable?

It felt so strange and unfamiliar to be back. The mansion was the same – you’d grown up here, after all – but everything else had changed. There were a lot of new faces to remember, but the most unsettling part of it all was returning to such opulence. You’d grown used to sharing run-down motel rooms and threadbare blankets and poor water pressure during your missions over the last few years. You’d grown used to having comradery in actual friends, not people who just wanted to use you for your influence. You’d grown used to bonding with your teammates over doing good things. Not crime.

Nothing was good about this place.  

Not the designer clothing in your closet, which was sexy but tasteful. Not the sparkling diamond jewellery wore on the daily. Not the Egyptian cotton sheets, the plush bed, the bodyguards. 

Not even the sheer wealth surrounding you, and you’d been raised with it all. You’d known these luxuries for the better part of your life, but now it was all so unfamiliar.

Still, you kept your head held high and fell right back into your work. You immersed yourself in it, just like you always did as a distraction. You coordinated shipments in pretty Alexander McQueen skirt suits and black patent Louboutins, and if someone disobeyed your orders on the ground—

Well, to say you were merciless was an understatement.

Just like the last time.

Every now and then, you got the feeling that you were being watched. If you were, it wouldn’t have surprised you. Turning on the phone even just the once would have given Tony your location, something that you knew before you even did it. Maybe deep down you did want some help, but you’d never admit it, especially if you weren’t even aware of it yourself. 

It was a little after midnight, now. The warehouse was quiet and dark, with the only lighting coming from the moon outside along with a single lightbulb above the chair upon which you’d duct taped one of your new drug traffickers. 

A liar. A thief.

“I thought you said it was a hundred kilos,” you said emotionlessly, slowly trailing the tip of your handgun down the side of his face. He’d lied to you about the amount of cocaine he’d imported from Colombia – skimmed some off the top and tried to deceive you about it like you were an amateur.

“It—It was,” was his frantic reply. “I swear.”

“Was it?” you hummed, before you painfully gripped his hair in your free hand and pressed your Beretta into the tender flesh under his chin. “I don’t believe you.”  

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out. “It’s my family, they’re—”

“Shh, it’s alright,” you cooed, slowly lowering your weapon. Then you took a couple of leisurely steps away from him, musing thoughtfully, “Oh, I understand. These things do happen sometimes, don’t they?”

His teary eyes lit up at your compassionate response, at least until you lined up a shot. Then you put a bullet in his brain. 

His blood splattered messily onto your sleeveless cream-coloured dress and exposed thighs, but your only thought was that he’d ruined a perfectly good dress. It didn’t faze you at all that you’d just executed someone in cold blood. You’d done it too many times to count and, since you’d returned, your nightmares had ceased entirely. This was who you really were.

That was when you heard the sound of bodies crumpling to the floor, three of them: your bodyguards. Not that you ever really needed them.

When you spun around at the last minute, you held the business end of your gun right against someone’s forehead. Your finger was on the trigger, ready to make yet another kill, but when you saw who it was you just couldn’t bring yourself to pull it.

Bucky.

His lips were set in a grim line as he took you in. There were dark circles under your eyes despite your immaculately-applied makeup. Your diamond earrings and necklace sparkled in the moonlight, and although your delicate cream dress accentuated your curves and fit you like a glove, it was now stained a stark, bitter red.

As were your bare legs, so silky smooth that small droplets of blood were rolling down them, leaving trails of crimson behind.

As was your beautiful face, so blank and emotionless despite the blood spatter on your lips and cheeks.

There were so many things he could have asked. You’d just killed a man in cold blood, murdered someone so easily without a second thought. You were sadistic about it, too, having given him false hope before you shot him.

Your aim was, as always, impeccable. Now Bucky finally understood why.

You’d left a month ago with no explanation whatsoever, and they’d been tracking your movements ever since. They saw how easily you’d fallen back into your old life, how easily you took and traded lives. They watched you destroy yourself, and it hurt every single one of them.

Tony was a wreck. He blamed himself. He was the one who dragged you into this.

Natasha still saw herself in you and knew how easily she could have fallen back into her old ways, too. While she wished that there was more they could do for you, she knew that you were too much like her. You’d made up your mind and you weren’t coming back.  

Steve blamed himself, too, but in a different way. You’d been nothing but open and honest with them for what was probably the first time in your life, and he hadn’t even asked if you were okay. Instead, he left. He abandoned you.

So had Bucky, but he didn’t feel guilty. No, he was angry - angry at you and angry at himself for a multitude of reasons.

There were so many things he could have asked, and yet, he didn’t say a thing. Instead, his eyes were hard on yours as he wordlessly dared you to pull the trigger. 

He knew you wouldn’t.

You did, too, and your handgun clattered to the ground. 

Quite the contrary, you wanted so desperately to reach out for him, to seek comfort in his arms like you’d done a thousand times before, but you didn’t. You didn’t deserve to be treated so kindly.

Bucky didn’t bother to kick away your weapon. It was clear you wouldn’t go for it again. Even still, both of you knew that you weren’t going to go with him willingly. That was the reason he was here, because why else would he be?

When his warm fingers wrapped around your throat, you didn’t resist. His touch was a hot brand against your skin, but gentle, almost kind: a lover’s touch.

Despite the fact that you knew what he was doing – that he was taking away your consciousness and, with it, whatever fight you may have put up not to go with him – you didn’t struggle. Instead, you leaned into the familiar way he compressed your arteries just like he’d done to you so many times in the past. Of course, that always happened in bed when the two of you were in throes of passion, and mostly on the nights that he was especially rough with you. 

Never like this.

The memory was what made your breath hitch, not the pressure around your neck and certainly not when you started to see those familiar spots in your vision. Even now, knowing how much control he had over your body sent a surge of heat straight to your core.

Bucky’s eyes were on yours the entire time, searching for something, some emotion - and he found it just as your eyelids fluttered shut.

It only vaguely registered in your brain when your knees gave out. Bucky caught you easily with his vibranium arm around your middle before your soft body finally slumped against him. When he lifted you into his arms, he did it so carefully, like you might break.

Your last thought before everything faded to black was that Bucky felt like home.

Part Eight

[tabikato]

Chapter 6 of my #DragonAge fanfic is up!! Time for Alistair and Hue to take the tower!      It’s an hour or two before Alistair finds their new warden again. They had carried him to one of the tents to sleep off the Joining, the physical stress almost as bad as the mental. However, when he came to check up on him, the elf was nowhere to be found...blankets tossed to the side and weapons gone. A sinking feeling of losing the third one had him rushing out the tent and scouring the area. He really didn't want to deliver this news to Senior Warden. Hey Duncan, so seems we have NO recruits, why? Well, I do believe the third one just took a permanent vacation away from here. The fear was short-lived when he saw the familiar puff of blonde hair...lone figure sitting rather still as if he’d find some answers in the dancing embers and ash of the campfire. Hue heard the footsteps from behind but didn’t bother to turn around...didn’t feel a need or want to face the other at this moment.

    “There you are, thought you made a run for it.” Alistair’s head dropped as soon as he'd stopped talking, really great choice of words there. Solid.

    “Would have just killed me like you did Jory.” There was no anger or spite in his tone, only resignation...as if those were merely facts of life and he had come to term with them. It didn’t feel right to hear such a desolate tone from the usually high-energy elf but Alistair supposes the situation was a heavy one. After all...Hue wasn’t entirely wrong so there wasn’t any way the human could dispute those words.

    “We lost one in my Joining as well, it was horrible. I doubt I will ever get used to it”, Hue looked sideways as Alistair sat next to him, voice whispering with somber tints, “I’m glad at least one of you made it through.” Brown met red as they looked at each other for a moment, Hue rolling this information around in his head. The Joining was secret because not many people would willingly give up their lives for a chance...yet Gray Wardens are needed to stop the Blight or else everyone dies. Even knowing that he knew, deep down, not many people would see the sacrifice as necessary. Death is scary...dying is scary, he joined in order to escape death and only went through with it because no matter his outcome there would always be death. It didn’t seem fair to anyone involved...but then he thinks of Daveth who was not dying and willingly drank from that cup, knowing his sacrifice meant the world. Of Alistair who also drank, a chance he might die but taking that plunge.

    This was making his head hurt.

    “I don’t like thinking too much on this complicated stuff”, Hue finally spoke up, piecing together the thoughts he needed to say, “and I don’t think it’s fair but...I know Gray Wardens save people. They sacrifice so they can so I don’t think you guys are bad people. And now I can protect people too.” Blowing some strands of his hair from his face, he turns to glance at the other Warden. Alistair looked in thought but nodded, seeming to accept Hue’s decision.

    “I’m glad you’re here to stay with us.”

    “So you’re not the junior anymore? Or you’d be lonely?” Barely a beat passed before a smirk made its way onto the elf’s face, lightly punching the human in the arm.

    “First off, ow. Second, OW. Why are you always aiming where it hurts?”

    “You’re a really big target”, Alistair looked as if he was going to pout, mouth open to remind Hue who was in charge here but...the one who was in charge spoke up to them.

     “Alistair. Hue. The King wishes to speak with us, come to the war table when you are able.” Duncan’s voice knocked their jovialness back in line, both men sitting straight up and replying with a “yes, sir”. Watching the older man walk off, Hue stood up to join Duncan before Alistair stopped him.

     “Wait. Here…”, he held out a simple pendant; dirty gold with a reddish hue in the open glass and placed it in Hue’s hand, “ we take some of the blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us...of those who didn’t make it this far.” Gently he pulls out a similar one from inside his own armor and Hue's eyes widened before he nodded.

     “Gotcha.” Slipping it over his head, he buried it within his shirt, cold metal burning into skin with the reminder that his heart was beating. He was still alive.

     Odd. That’s about all he could describe that meeting with the King and the man named Loghain. Supposedly they were family...King’s wife being his daughter or something, it didn’t really matter to him. What was odd was how much disdain the two had for each other and neither kept it a secret. Yet nobody said anything about it, ignoring it like it was a mild breeze tossing through their hair. In his clan things were settled if there were disputes, whether by the Keeper or by one of their laws. Everyone was family in a way and they all had to cooperate to survive, to keep the clan running, so petty squabbles disrupting the order were very much frowned upon.

     So why did they have to suffer through this? Duncan and Alistair seemed quite used to ignoring it so Hue surmised this was definitely a human thing. Were humans always this petty? Well...okay, maybe not all the humans he met were but some of them had made it really far on the list. Thinking back to the meeting it was also odd that Hue and Alistair were even there; they were juniors and weren’t in any sort of decision-making position. This idea seemed to be shared with Loghain and despite the man’s rather unpleasant scowl, Hue couldn’t help but think he made some fair points. Normally you would not have the clan’s leader out in front, one wrong move and their death was too great of a loss. The Gray Wardens made more sense to fight the darkspawn head on, with the armies as support, but the King refused to listen, wanting to play hero with them.

     What an idiot. Oh, they’re arguing again...this is boring.

     “They are, your majesty.” Duncan’s voice knocked him out of his self-inflicted daze, noticing that both he and Alistair were being addressed now.

     “And this is the recruit I met earlier on the road? I understand congratulations are in order.” Congratulations? Hue squints a little, mouth forming a thin line as he tries to digest those words. The King stood there, waiting for an answer with a stupid smile on his face and Hue almost considered telling him where he could stuff that congratulations until Duncan cleared his throat. Fine.

     “Not sure what for? I’m not special.” And he wasn’t, in his mind. True he managed to pass the Joining which apparently did make something special out of him but managing to stay alive when two others died didn’t seem like a skill to him. That was pure luck and luck, to him, didn’t make him special or feel favoured in any way.

     “Oh, but you are. Every Gray Warden is needed now more than ever.” Cailin’s puffed up pride was quickly cut down by Loghain. Good thing too because neither man noticed Hue quietly mocking those words which caused a rather funny snort to come from Alistair’s throat.

     “Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailin”, the old man didn’t even hide his annoyance, scolding the King right in his face, “We must attend to reality!”

     “Fine. Speak your strategy. The Gray Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines and then…?”

     “You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signaling my men to charge from cover.” Silver and Gold flinted in the candlelight surrounding the map as both men leaned in, metal fingers drawing paths along the lines and symbols. So...they were going to be on the front line, huh? Hue could use a dagger but he worked better with his bow, were there any high spots out in front? Some of the stone facings could be climbed and he’d have enough height for his shots, that way he could cover Duncan, Alistair, and the rest.

     “Then we should send our best. Send Alistair and the new Gray Warden to make sure it’s done.” Wait...what? Blinking, he stared back over at the armored men. What were he and Alistair supposedly doing now? Lighting a tower?

     “You mean we won’t be fighting in the battle?” His mouth moved on its own, brows creased as he realised exactly what this meant. Should have known...the bottom of the group is always made into errand boys.

      “We need the beacon. Without it, Loghain’s men won’t know when to charge.” He really wanted to argue that lighting a stupid fire wasn’t what he signed himself up for but then remembered he didn’t exactly sign up in the first place. Oh, whatever. There’d be plenty more darkspawn to fight later he’s sure of it.

      “You see? Glory for everyone!” Considering he didn’t want to become a pincushion he kept the thought of wiping that dumb smile off this human’s face to himself. Loghain started in on the King again...Duncan tried to intervene but was shot down by them both and oh look, more humans coming to the argue party. Why is it such a hard concept for them all to work together? Darkspawn or Archdemon, it won’t care who it kills only that it kills and they’re going to make it easier for them to kill if everyone is running around like agitated chickens. No wonder the other hunters always called humans a rightful mess, how do they even manage to get anything done with all this bickering?

     “Enough!” Oh finally. “This plan will suffice. The Gray Wardens will light the beacon.” Loghain’s dark eyes met with Hue’s red, the elf staring back with no readable emotion. The old man took this as his cue to turn and leave.

     “Thank you, Loghain. I cannot wait for that glorious moment! The Gray Wardens battle beside the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!” Cailin’s head tilted up in pride, chest puffed out as much as one could in heavy armor.

     “Yes, Cailan. A glorious moment for us all.”

     “You heard the plan. You and Alistair will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit.” Back at the bonfire Duncan reiterated the plan, pointing to both men to ensure they heard it well. These two as individuals tend to run on the reckless side but both together, alone, as a team. Duncan wasn’t sure what the outcome would be but he knew they’d at least follow his orders. Of course he expected them both to complain about it considering their personalities.

     “So he needs two Gray Wardens standing up there holding the torch. Just in case, right?” There was no hiding the sarcasm in Alistair’s voice. He crossed his arms, cocking a brow in visible annoyance.

     “Like he said, we’re better off being in battle! Not babysitting a torch!”

     “That is not your choice!” Hue's mouth snapped shut as Duncan’s voice grew firmer, “If King Cailan wishes Gray Wardens to ensure the beacon is lit, then Gray Wardens will be there. We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn...exciting or no.” Hue wanted to argue the fact that Cailan was no king of his and Gray Wardens should be fighting darkspawn, not falling in line to the whims of royalty.

     “I get it. I get it. Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.” Indignant reply forgotten, Hue snorted out a laugh at Alistair’s dry delivery.

    “Dunno, that’d be a great distraction.”

     “Me shimmying down the darkspawn line? Sure, we could kill them while they roll around laughing.” Duncan sighed as these two laughed at this ridiculous idea, letting them have a moment to get it out of their system.

     “Who says they wouldn’t find you charming?” Hue’s laugh went louder as Alistair huffed out a mixture of disgust at the notion and laughter at how stupid it was.

    “Do you think I’d look fetching enough?”

    “Why not? Go for a red dress though.”

    “Are you two quite done?” Both looked away from each other, like two children being scolded, trying to stifle the grins that refuse to leave their faces and Duncan just sighs once more. “The Tower is on the other side of the gorge from the King’s camp, the way we came when we arrived. We will signal you when the time is right. Alistair will know what to look for. Do not leave this task to join the battle, this is of the utmost importance and I am trusting you two.” With that last bit both men stood up a little straighter, their focus more serious. Seems they were willing to prove they were worthy of that trust.

   “What if the Archdemon appears?”

   “We soil our drawers, that’s what.” Alistair couldn’t help himself and both men almost fell into laughter again before Duncan's sharp look halted them.

    “If it does, leave it to us. I want no heroics from either of you.”

    “Never. Heroics is what the King does.” Rubbing his temples, he lets Hue have this one before continuing with his instructions. Alistair only raised an eyebrow on that, thinking to ask Hue later why he was so...aggressive in his speech towards the King. The elf certainly didn’t take that tone with either him or Duncan so maybe something was said...done? Nothing came to mind however.

    “There will be plenty of battles for both of you later”, Duncan added on, crossing his arms, he looked over his two juniors, “I must join the others. From here, you two are on your own. Remember, you are both Gray Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title.” With a nod he walked down towards his troops, that nagging feeling he has felt for weeks never leaving him but they would be prepared...they had to be. Watching the older man leave, Hue looked from Duncan’s back to the skyline and to the silhouette of the tower they would soon be climbing.

    “Well then…”, Alistair’s voice broke through his thoughts, “let’s get on our dancing shoes and go put on a show.” Patting the elf on the back, their grins grew once more as they began their preparations.

    Sheer chaos were the only words Hue could think of to perfectly describe the scenes flitting past him. Alistair and him couldn’t stop, running across the bridge and dodging fallen soldiers and rocks smashing against the stone surface. Screams shattered through the sounds of explosions and rock, through the roar of the crowd below and fire engulfing the unlucky bodies of targets found. Adrenaline surged in his veins, letting him make it through the narrow run of the bridge and up into the courtyard where they met with some of Cailan’s men  and...darkspawn.

    “Darkspawn have taken the tower!”

    “How?!”, he could hear Alistair’s shout over the clanging of swords and the tearing of flesh, another creature fell to his blade. One of Hue's arrows sunk deep into the open throat of one charging at them, crumpling to the ground in a heap.

    “They flooded in and took the lower chambers!”

    “Then we have to get to the beacon and light it ourselves!” With a plan set in motion, they fought their way to the entrance of the tower, not stopping to look back even once. Each floor was filled with them, with traps that Hue disarmed in a blink of an eye and soon a path of red followed. At some point he couldn’t tell if the red was from human or darkspawn and really, he’d rather not think about it. The smell itself was a bit distracting but even more so was that the further they went up, the stronger it was instead of less.

    “We won? Yay, we won, haha..ow...ow, yay…”, Alistair piped up behind him as they slayed yet another room of creatures with their two nameless companions. His strained cheers were left unanswered, noticing the elf was far too focused on the large doors up the stairs, nose scrunched up in a worried look. “Hue?”

    “Why are we fighting more the higher we go?” Eyes went wide with realization, the number of bodies indeed looked way too numerous for how much they’ve climbed.

    “Maker’s breath...what are they doing here?”, sheathing his sword he walked up to his companion, stepping over a few shredded corpses in the process, “There wasn’t supposed to be any resistance here!”

   “You could try telling them they’re in the wrong place.”

   “Right. Because clearly this is all just a misunderstanding. We’ll laugh about this later.” An elbow on his arm made Hue turn, seeing the serious look on the other’s face, “At any rate, we need to hurry! We need to get up to the top of the tower and light the signal fire in time! Teyrn Loghain is waiting!” No disagreement there. Nodding, he makes his way up the stairs, throwing the doors open as they stumble into yet another battle.

    Even with his usual stamina Hue was definitely feeling the strain with each wave hitting them harder than the last. What was probably only minutes seemed like an eternity as body after body fell to either his arrows or Alistair’s sword. At least in the midst of this mess the two managed to create some sort of unspoken team work, flawlessly watching the other’s back. No praise or congratulations were to be had though, they had to keep pushing...up until the last door of the tower in which they wasted no time marching through.

    Which, Hue would think later on, was probably the worst idea they had all night as they came face to face with a gigantic monster. Hearing their approach, it stopped it’s feast on whatever unlucky corpse it had killed and turned to face them. Horns gnarled and twisting reached to the heavens, skin a sickly gray as it stretched over muscles that seemed to want to burst forth. It’s face was cracked and rough like the bark of an old tree with pearl-colored eyes sunk deep in the sockets. However Hue noticed something far worse about this enormous monstrosity, the large mouth of jagged teeth as it’s roar shook them all to their core. What little armor it had on did nothing to make it less frightening...those teeth and claws more than made up for it.

   Jumping back, Hue let loose a few arrows into its chest once it rushed them, grabbing the other warrior that stood beside Alistair in it's giant grip. They could only watch as the human was picked up like a doll, shaken in that clenching fist before another punched him repeatedly. Alistair charged with his sword, swiping at its back and legs but the skin was like rough leather. He wasn’t sure how much damage he was even doing, if he was at all. Throwing the poor swordsman to the side, body skidding across the floor in a lifeless lump, it turned its attention to Alistair who luckily enough managed to jump out of the way. The weariness that had settled in his bones had been replaced, now fear and rage were driving his body, reflexes heightened as he took every vital shot he could get.

    Between the arrows, sword, and magic, the beast started to falter. The perfect opportunity presenting itself when its massive body stumbled back, throwing its arms wide open. Hue took it, pulling out his dagger and running up its body to stab it right in the eye. Spit sprayed in his face as it roared, thrashing around with pain but he held on to whatever he could, stabbing into the other eye with a sickening squish. No longer did the beast thrash, instead he could hear the life drain from its throat and crash backwards to the floor. The impact threw him off, rolling him along the smooth stone as blood and spit smeared across his armor and skin. Alistair’s hand grabbed his arm, hoisting him up, panting breaths filling the now silent room before they suddenly remembered why they were even there.

   “The beacon!” Both came to the same thought and rushed over, Alistair grabbing the nearby torch and throwing it into the fireplace. Instantly the fire grew and grew, spewing up the chute in a bright column before their very eyes. Thank the gods, they had made it...somehow and now Loghain’s army could move in to turn the tide.

    Their muscles only had mere moments to relax before the door burst open but instead of soldiers, darkspawn flooded into the room in a massive hoard. Arrows flew at them, catching them both off guard and he cried out in pain when one embedded itself into his shoulder. Fighting it, he shot off a few of his own but there were too many...too much stamina lost as his muscles felt like liquid at this point. Alistair’s body being thrown across the room distracted him, another arrow sinking into his flesh. Struggle as he might, he ended up on his back, vision blurring, his companion's name a cracked whisper on his lips. Hand reaching out, fingers shakingly clawing at the cool stone. The unholy cacophony of growls and metal sliding against metal drummed through his brain, threatening to swallow him whole. A roar vibrated through his very being...another monster? He was fading too fast to even know, only one thought screaming in his mind through all the noise.

    Creators, please don’t let another friend die.

[demigodofhoolemere]

Long bitterness below because I saw something that drove me crazy and I wasn’t gonna be able to rest until I articulated my frustrated thoughts

~~~~~

@ the person who wrote this I just wanna talk

https://screenrant.com/mcu-avengers-most-shameless-things-loki-ever-done/

Most of these are just outright wrong and it only takes the slightest glance at canon events to prove them as such, and the ones that have any amount of accuracy to them are devoid of critical context.

I don’t remember seeing much of this stuff before Ragnarok but it’s everywhere now and it’s kind of telling of the narrative bias that movie planted in everyone’s heads that people are now looking back with a lens that’s colored to be against him from the outset without bothering to take into consideration context, critical thinking skills, or empathy. The narrative tells us that he’s just bad so let’s not look any further than that I guess.

Wasn’t gonna debate each of them but the more I think about it the more it’s gonna bug me until I do, so here comes the bitter canon police...

Number 10

1) Right from the off: “Loki and Thor have always had a love/hate relationship — though it gravitates more toward the ‘hate’ part.” Um... always? Because last I checked, despite their differences, they grew up as best friends. Their problems that we see onscreen span from 2011-2017, a measly 6 years compared to over a thousand years of life together. This is a blip on the radar, one that certainly doesn’t constitute leaning towards mainly hate for each other. Heck, even during this time period, they’re clearly shown to love each other. Loki definitely gets angry, but I wouldn’t say he outright “loathes” Thor, at least not in a way that diminishes the love he also has for him.

2) “As such, Loki has betrayed Thor and his adoptive family many times.” This is so wrong I barely have the energy to explain why. People love to give examples of all of Loki’s supposed betrayals and they pretty much all fall down under scrutiny. The only ones I can understand listing are lying to Thor about Odin being dead, along with his attempts to kill Thor at the climax of the first movie (this stuff was when he was waaay out of his right mind, btw — not that he’s not responsible for his actions, but context is still important when taking into account anything he does), and various things in Ragnarok that were out of character for him to do in the first place. Anything else, even if it’s bad, cannot be counted specifically as betrayals against his adoptive family, since things like coming to Earth weren’t about them. If only a couple of instances are able to qualify as betrayals, then no, he has not done this “many” times, no matter how much people like to push that idea.

3) “Of course, Thor often got the brunt of it.” I’ll let that one stand because Thor got a fair number of screams aimed at him, but honestly, I’d say the person most negatively affected by Loki’s actions tends to be Loki. Thor really didn’t get more than he could handle. And as much as I love him, he’s not innocent of dishing his own stuff onto Loki as well. Wording it this way makes it sound like he’s Loki’s abuse victim (when more than anything, they are both the victims of Odin’s awful parenting rather than each other).

4) “So, it’s basically a normal sibling relationship that they portrayed. Oh, and Loki is never apologetic about his violence against Thor — siblings through and through.” First of all when I see stuff like this I have deep concerns for other people’s relationships with their siblings and am reminded of how grateful I am for my sister, but secondly, I don’t get the impression that Asgardians do much apologizing overall. You don’t see Thor apologizing for violence against Loki either. Terrible habit, but it seems to be the culture they were raised in. Besides, I feel like dying for Thor multiple times is decent substitution. (And while it’s not totally clear what he was specifically referring to, it’s worth noting Loki did profusely tell Thor he was sorry on Svartalfheim.)

Number 9

1) Oh my word, I am tired of seeing this. That scene was filmed as a real death, and everyone from Tom Hiddleston to Kevin Feige continued to refer to it as such after the reshoots. I wouldn’t know where to find it right now but I know there’s a quote from Kevin about it being real and that it was only just non-fatal enough for him to survive it. The only place anyone ever says he faked it? In Ragnarok, which is already filled to the brim with retcons, and it’s said by Thor (or whoever that is in Ragnarok who took Thor’s face) who has no knowledge of what really happened, he just makes assumptions and accusations that Loki isn’t given the chance to refute. It. Was. Not. Fake.

2) “He was rather casual about it and didn’t care much about how the rest of his family would take the news.” Source? We don’t exactly get the time to see his feelings on the matter. Also, Thor is the only one who would have cared anyway. Frigga was killed and Odin wanted him dead.

Number 8

1) “One of the reasons why Loki faked his own death was to seize a great opportunity [...]” He must not be good at carrying out his own plans then, since he immediately genuinely tried to offer the throne to Thor. Thor turned it down. Was there still satisfaction from getting the chance to prove that he can be a king? Yeah, because he’s still never felt like he’s been able to prove himself as equal. The chance to prove people wrong about him, and especially the chance to prove his own worth to himself, is exciting, hence that grin at the end. He’s certainly not upset at that opportunity. But that only happened because Thor didn’t take him up on the offer.

2) “The worst part was that he cast a spell on Odin and exiled him in a retirement home on Earth.” The... the worst part? That he removed the man who would have killed Thor upon return and was willing to have all of Asgard and everyone in it destroyed? And still had the mercy to send him somewhere that he’d be safe and taken care of every single day? Uh... okay.

3) “For a time, Loki ruled the Asgardians in their process of recovery from the Dark Elves’ attack.” Yeah, exactly. Thanks for aiding my point. Even Ragnarok of all things, despite the issues I have with the way Loki was portrayed as king, still manages to prove this point by showing things on Asgard being peaceful and repaired.

Number 7

1) Mostly correct this time, but missing the context of why Loki is angry enough at Odin to want the Dark Elves to go after him. Without considering all of the lies and heartache Odin caused that sent Loki’s mind spiraling in the first place, let alone the fact that he left him to spend the next 4,000 years of his life in solitary (which is outright torture, and Loki knew it would be because he seemed to have no problem with the thought of being executed instead), it makes it sound like it was a purely petty betrayal rather than based in any reason. Loki does everything for a reason.

2) “One would think that Loki would’ve learned a lot from this but he kept on being his usual self after a short bout of guilt and anger in his cell.” First of all I think you greatly underestimate how long that’s gonna stick with Loki. Secondly, if by ‘kept on being his usual self’ you mean the immediately following scenes wherein he helps Thor go get revenge on the monsters that killed Frigga and ultimately dies to avenge her and save his brother’s life, then you forgot the actual events of canon again and also inadvertently complimented him by saying that’s normal for him.

EDIT: You know how you can watch something a thousand times and somehow it takes that thousandth time to catch something? Yeah. Anyway, Loki directed Kurse to Asgard’s power plant so he could turn the shield off. THAT is what he was directing him towards, it was to let the Elves in to get to Odin. He didn’t even unknowingly lead Kurse to Frigga, Kurse just went where Malekith was, and Malekith found Frigga because she was guarding the Stone. Kurse would have killed her anyway, Loki’s actions had no bearing on that. Hold him responsible for getting the shield shut down and letting more Elves in (while still referring to point 1 for why), but Frigga’s death never had anything to do with him because Kurse got out anyway. Loki just doesn’t know that. But a character blaming themselves doesn’t mean they’re right.

Number 6

1) Another thing I wish would stop cropping up in all discussions of Loki. Stealing the Tesseract isn’t his ~thing~. I’m annoyed with this one just on principle lol.

2) “Throughout all the MCU movies, Loki has stolen the Tesseract at least thrice, each in three different movies. He just doesn’t know when to give up.” None of those times were just for the lolz like people say. In Avengers he had to get it for Thanos to save his life. In Ragnarok, what the heck was he supposed to do, leave an Infinity Stone floating around in space for anyone to get? It’s not like it would have been destroyed with Asgard. Better to take it and keep it safe. And in Endgame, while I felt that was starting to lean too much into ‘haha I love taking the Tesseract’ territory, it was to get away from the imprisonment and possible death that would have been waiting for him in either SHIELD or Asgardian custody. Loki does everything for a reason.

Number 5

1) “[...] he immediately embraced his evil tendencies.” ROFL I’m sorry but the idea of THIS kid having had prior evil tendencies is actually hilarious.

2) “[...] killing countless innocents on Earth [...]” In canon, there were 74 fatalities in the Battle of New York, which were caused by the Chitauri that Thanos sent rather than directly by Loki. Loki’s personal kill count on Earth can be listed on one hand — literally, it’s something like 5 confirmed onscreen deaths by his hand, with several other unconfirmed ones because we just see him attack but not how badly people got hit. The 80 people that Natasha mentions were the SHIELD agents that went down with the base in the beginning, which wasn’t Loki’s doing, outside of the few guards he killed when he got there. That was pretty easy to count.

3) “[...] and probably other planets as well.” Supposition. Not even the slightest bit of hinting of that in canon. Next.

4) Loki himself was being tortured and under extreme emotional duress and mental manipulation during this movie. Not that he’s automatically 100% absolved of responsibilities, because he did make choices of his own, but again - CONTEXT. This was a fight for his life. He was not well, physically, mentally, or emotionally. There is almost nothing he did in this movie that he would do under normal circumstances in his right mind.

5) “In addition to that, he also put his homeworld of Asgard in constant danger. Odin’s words about Loki being followed by death and destruction wherever he goes definitely rang true.” If you’re referring to the first movie when he lets the Jotuns in, both instances of that were planned in such a way that no Asgardians were supposed to be in danger; he couldn’t have known the guards to the vault wouldn’t be able to take them (and that first plan was intended to protect Asgard from a young and arrogant Thor’s reign; another of few instances that can count as betrayal, but done with reason), and the second time he brought them in was specifically to kill them because, with the combination of his unstable mind and the kind of things Odin praises, he thought it would finally gain him approval from his father (and he was raised with no regard for Jotun lives therefore he didn’t even grasp that it was wrong). That’s the only time Asgard was even slightly jeopardized by Loki. In every single other instance, he is pretty darn devoted to protecting Asgard. Time and again. Odin’s words are a load of crap. Loki has only been surrounded by things like that in the last couple of years, when out of his right mind or coerced or both. This is not something that has always been, and it’s certainly hypocritical for Odin of all people to be making accusations like that when he and his favorite son have done worse things. Heck, Thor’s body count on Jotunheim in the very beginning is on its own a larger number than Loki’s body count in the entire MCU, all for being called a princess. Many of the heroes in the franchise have worse — even significantly worse — body counts than Loki.

Number 4

1) Tortured and controlled by Thanos. Next.

2) “[...] the culmination of all of Loki’s plans ever since he left Asgard to become a villain.” For one thing I love how this makes it sound like he made the conscious decision to run away and be a villain lol, but I just... you remember how he left Asgard, right? When he made a suicide attempt by falling into the void that he could not possibly think he would survive through? He didn’t exactly have future plans in mind. He was trying to die.

3) Now you’re only assuming people died? I thought it was countless?

Number 3

1) This wasn’t a takeover of Asgard. Frigga, who knew that he’s a Frost Giant, appointed him as regent for the time being. What he did with the power is what’s questionable, but the way he got it was completely legit. There was no scheming — he didn’t even want it at first. The thought of proving himself got to his head but he didn’t take the throne purposely nor was it illegally, or done in deception or under false pretenses.

2) While the things he did were wrong, it was not technically a betrayal of Odin or Asgard. He did what he did precisely because it was the sort of thing his father and his people would usually see as heroic. If you wanna call it a betrayal of Asgard for taking the risk of having Jotuns there, I guess, but not of Odin, and it was not done maliciously towards them. The ones who actually suffered for this were the Jotuns.

3) “[...] quickly transformed into one of Asgard’s most dangerous enemies.” He transformed into Odin’s enemy. If he were an enemy of Asgard he wouldn’t have spent his years on the throne protecting it.

Number 2

1) This one is mostly fair and I consider this to be the worst thing Loki’s done. However, this is hardly about shamelessness. This (and seemingly all of the article) is written in the assumption that his actions were done in his right mind. Again: he was in the middle of a mental breakdown. That doesn’t exonerate him but it’s sure as heck important context.

Number 1

(covered the image because no one needs to see that)

1) “[...] betraying the whole universe just because you can is pure evil.” Yeah, it would be. Good thing for Loki then that that’s not what he did. 

2) “Loki consciously served Thanos with the initial goal of becoming ‘king’ of the Earth.” Loki was consciously fighting to stay alive because disobedience and failure would mean unimaginable horrors.

Working with Thanos is NOT something he would do just because. As far as wanting to be king of Earth goes, Thanos canonically messed with Loki’s head. He made him think that was what he wanted, just like he dug into his mind to make him angrier at Thor. Thor himself, who has known Loki their entire lives, noted that his behavior and goals were uncharacteristic of him.

3) “It seems like Loki got his just desserts on that front.” Gotta say, I’m genuinely a little horrified when I see people say that Loki deserved that death. No one deserves to have their windpipe crushed and neck snapped brutally by their abuser. That was the most gratuitously graphic character death I’ve ever seen. Even if you think he wasn’t tortured by him before and willingly joined forces with him, he still wouldn’t deserve that fate. It’s too morbid for anybody. ‘Just desserts’ is supposed to be about justice. There’s no carrying out of justice here. It’s just senseless and cruel, and done to a man who had gotten out of the dark place in his life to start anew.

~~~~~

That was longer than I ever intended to let myself get worked up over a dumb ScreenRant post but I feel better with that out of my system.

Here’s to fact-checking before making accusations that have no basis 🥂

[bytemycupcakes]

v Headcanons for this guy

Okay for obvious reasons, alotta these are gonna revolve around Charlie.

I’m betting alot of these are going to be quickly proven wrong when the pilot comes out

(God I wish we had a name for him)

Gonna be in a readmore cause length

~~

-He’s the son of Lucifers second in command, and thus grew up alongside Charlie

-He and his sister are natural-born demons

-They were very close growing up, both his and Charlie’s parents would always talk about their future rule of Hell

-Its hard to get him to admit that he did always like Charlie- Of course for awhile he thought it was because the adults were always pairing them up

-I can’t say the adults didn’t effect it at all, but he did legitimately like- and soon Love Charlie

-He’s surprisingly kind considering his family- but has his own moments

-He’s quick to loose his temper, though, and it’s very difficult to calm him down when he gets extremely angry

-He’s incredibly protective of Charlie while they’re together, threatning many classmates and various demons that insult her and/or try to harrass her

-Charlie’s already planning her redemtion idea by the time they start dating.

-Charlie takes precautions considering his anger problems. She encourages him to be calm and kind, and tells him to avoid fighting as much as possible.

-He’s surpised how well he does! Every time he finds himself getting angry, or wanting to fight some demon pissing him off, he thinks of Charlie and calms right down.

-Some their peers turn from bothering Charlie to bothering him- He used to be so feared across campus and now he wouldn’t hurt a fly- Literally. They’re calling him weak, saying “the stupid princess is gettin to his head”

-He doesn’t really mind the insults aimed at him, they don’t matter, he’s making Charlie happy, and he’s happy with his choises

-What bothers him is that those who stuck with bothering Charlie.. Got worse about it- It took a bit, but their peers figured out they can’t bother him to piss him off, they have to go after Charlie to piss him off

-And it works. He’s been holding in his anger and getting stressed- He over hears what some classmates are planning to do to Charlie (hint: its really not good)...

-He tried so hard to ignore them. Just go find Charlie.. She’s waiting for you.. Ignore these assholes-

-He fails and ends up attacking them

-Charlie, trying to find him because they had a date planned, ends up seeing this and tries to stop him

-She acts on insinct and jumps in to stop him

-Since he ends up letting out months of pent up anger, he’s in a blind rage...

-He turns on Charlie- Easily grabbing her throat.

-He doesn’t snap out of it and let her go until she’s almost out of air.

-He’s immediately panicing “O-oh my god- Ch… Charlie I’m- A-are you alright…?” he reaches out to help her up- But she shuffles away from him. “D-don’t-! Get- Get away from me-” “Of- Of course… I’m so sorry, Charlie- I shouldn’t have-” She cuts him off, hissing, “This- This is exactly why I didn’t want you fighting. It was only a matter of time before you came after me.” “I-! I didn’t mean- It… was an accident-” She gets to her feet, pushing past him, “Yeah.. sure it was.” She huffs, “I don’t wanna see you for while- Or ever.. Possibly.” “O-of course, Charlie…”

-And thats the last time they speak for awhile.

-He still tries to keep up with the rules Charlie gave him.. Being kind, and avoiding fights as much as possible- He isn’t to great at it but.. Well he’s trying.

-It hurts because he and his family still visit Charlie’s family- He sees her, hears her voice, and knows He’ll never be able to fix what he’s done

-Their families don’t learn why they broke up for awhile, they just know it happened.

-He doesn’t really ever move on- He tries, he really does... But he just.. Can’t

-The occasional demon will recognise him as someone who’s commonly around Lucifer and his family, and will ask him if he knows Charlie, wanting to meet her (and usually other things)

-He’ll answer truthfully, say he knows Charlie. say she’s in a relationship, ect. They never believe the relationship thing, they always think he’s just “trying to keep her to himself”

-This tends to result in him getting in many barfights

-His parents are proud to see he’s fighting more, he’s finally accepting his place as a high demon.

-He ends up becoming Lucifers errand boy. He wanted someone to run small errands and Luci much prefers him over his bitch of a sister.

-Soon Charlie’s opened the Hotel, and Lucifer wants updates.

-Luci sends him to check the hotel every so often

-By the first time he goes there, the Hotel is established enough to have Angel, Alastor, Niffty and Husk.

-Lucifer sent him with flowers to congradulate Charlie and he kinda wants to die

-Really he doesn’t want to do this

-The second he steps in the Hotel, Vaggie’s got a spear in his face, Apparently Charlie didn’t hesitate to tell the others about him. Alastor and Charlie step up behind Vaggie- All three of them are pissed

-Look Alastor may be an antagonist, but even he isn’t cool with what this guy did.

-He explains that he doesn’t want to be here, just as much as they don’t want him here, but he can’t say no to Lucifer

-Vaggie burns the flowers the second they’re out of his hands, not trusting them

-Alastor threatens his life- not only because of what he’s done, but Al finds his smile intimidating

-needless to say, he stops smiling

-He awkardly mentions that he looks up to Alastors work- He.. doesn’t really, but he wants to at least try to get on Als good side

-It really doesn’t work

-He actually really enjoys Vaggie, despite her hating him

-Honestly from his times (being completely ignored) at the hotel, he really enjoys everyone there.. And wishes he were able to hang around them with a legitimate chance at friendship

-Lucifer is intent on getting Charlie to like him again

-He does NOT approve of this- but again: it’s really hard to say no to Lucifer

-He gets his shit together and tells Lucifer why Charlie hates him

-Lucifer laughs it off, “Lilith and I tried to kill eachother hundreds of times before we got married! I’m sure you and her will be the same, give it time dear boy”

-He denies this. He means it. He’s not stepping foot near the Hotel again. He can’t keep seeing Charlies fear and anger every time he steps foot in the building... He refuses to keep putting her through this.

-Lucifer laughs, says something about him gettin his way in the end.

-He’ll keep defending Charlie from a distance as necessary. He won’t force himself back into Charlie’s life. He hopes he’ll move on from her some day, though he honestly doubts he’ll be able to move on from the most inspiring girl he’s ever met.