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shoutaaizawas · 4 years ago

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↳ bakugou katsuki x reader → ❝wait for you❞ part one

summary: bakugou is your best friend, you both dream to become great heroes. when bakugou ends up in a coma most move on but you can’t leave your best friend behind. word count: 2k+ tags/warnings: romance, angst (with a happy ending eventually), a/n: im alive! sort of. finally finished one of my many wips in between watching greys anatomy. shoutout to the show for some inspiration for this. those background patient plot lines hurt sometimes.

Bakugou Katsuki was your best friend. That might be hard for a lot of people to believe considering how hostile he could be sometimes. Most would describe him as feisty and unfriendly but there was always something that drew you to him. From the first day at UA, you knew he was going to be your best friend even if he didn’t want to at first.

It didn’t take long for him to start liking you back even if he refused to admit it. It was impossible for him to deny that it was nice to be cared about and it was harder to deny that he cared about you. It was something he never expected, to care about someone so much that when you missed a meal he would be shoving food in front of you, or if you were staying up too late he would force you to go to bed early. Even the smallest things about you concerned him.

The two of you made the perfect pair, you helped each other train and study. When he went through his worse times you were there for him, through the nightmares, through the panic attacks, you helped him when he didn’t want anyone to see him.

Bakugou wasn’t your only friend but your relationship with him meant everything to you. Your friendship with him ran deep. He was your person. He was the first person you thought about every day, he was the first person you told good news to, the first person you went to when you were upset.

Your friendship was everything to you and you always imagined it meant a lot to him as well.

Throughout the school years, it only got deeper. It was finally your last year of high school and you and Bakugou were both on track to become amazing heroes. Both of you had worked so hard to be at the top of your class and it was almost time to go into the real hero world. You had even both secured spots at the top agency you had been eyeing for a long time.

You wondered if you would be partners at your agency? That would be too perfect. Both of you had bright futures ahead of you but one day took that away.

It was a normal day, you and Bakugou were working your intern patrol shift. It was sunny but not too hot and things were reasonably calm. There were a few crimes to keep things interesting but nothing too dangerous. It was a good day.

The two of you were eating lunch, you had gotten your favorite sushi for lunch despite the fact that Bakugou wanted to get ramen. But fair was fair and you had won your game of rock, paper, scissors.

That’s when the chaos broke out. A villain was attacking and you both sprung into action without a second thought. It was going well as it usually did, you worked together flawlessly. A perfect team. That was until Bakugou took a hit neither of you saw coming.

The sight of him tumbling across the pavement made you sick. You quickly subdued the villain before running to Bakugou’s side. He was laying on the ground face down. You turned him over, his face was covered in blood. Your heart sunk at the sight of him, eyes half open and face bruised.

Sirens alerted them to the arrival of the ambulances.

“Katsuki, you’re gonna be okay. Don’t move, help is here.” You said, hand brushing against his face.

“I-” He said, his voice hushed. “Sunshine I-”

Sunshine. The nickname started out condescending, an insult almost but somewhere along the line it became endearing. A pet name almost.

“Shh, it’s okay. Don’t strain yourself, please.” You said, grabbing his hand squeezing it tight. “You’re going to be okay.”

Bakugou was put on a stretcher and rushed to an ambulance, you rode with them trying to stay calm as they helped him. You held back asking questions not wanting to interrupt.

Bakugou’s red eyes stayed focused on you as you held his hand while trying to stay out of the way.

“It’s going to be okay, you have to be okay. You’re my best friend.” You said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Katsuki I-”

Bakugou’s eyes slipped closed and it was hard not to tear up in fear. You wanted to tell him how you felt but you hesitated and now he couldn't hear you. Your heart raced in your chest. He would be fine, he always was. He was a fighter and he always pulled through.

Waiting was the worst thing anyone could sit through is the conclusion you came to. Sitting in the hospital’s waiting room staring at the patterned tile you were suffering. The thought of Bakugou in an operating room opened up hurt you to your core. The urge to sob was strong but you refused to. Bakugou would be okay and he would tease you endlessly if he found out that you cried over him.

Bakugou would be fine. You knew he would. He had to be.

Mr. and Mrs. Bakugou showed up, looking more scared than you had ever seen them before. You were familiar with his parents, they had invited you over many times for dinner and they always got along with you.

“What did they say?” Bakugou’s mother asked as she approached you, she grabbed your arms frantically.

“He’s in surgery, they aren’t saying much.” You told her. She let out a sigh sitting down next to you.

Time went by slowly as the three of you waited impatiently. Finally, the doctor appeared.

“Bakugou family?” He asked.

“Yes, that’s us.” Ms. Bakugou stood up along with you and her husband.

“The surgery went well, we were able to fix the trauma and bleeding in his brain. He’s patched up but there was swelling during the surgery.” The doctor said solemnly, his hands held together.

“What does that mean?” Mr. Bakugou questioned.

“The likelihood of him waking up is very low.” He said.

It felt like everything around you was falling apart.

“What do you mean he won’t wake up?” Mrs. Bakugou shouted. “If you fixed everything, what’s wrong with him?”

The doctor began to explain it but everything around you went fuzzy. You couldn’t hear anything, you felt sick. Before you could do anything else you ran outside of the hospital making it to a tree before throwing up.

Bakugou wouldn’t wake up. He was alive but he wasn’t going to wake up. The next year of your life was so clear in your mind, graduating, working beside Bakugou, climbing the ranks, becoming amazing heroes. Together. It was all gone, how were you supposed to go on without him? You couldn't picture your life without him.

You stood in front of his hospital room door still. If you stepped through that door you knew that it was over. The image of Bakugou standing strong next to you ready to face the world would be gone. The reality of what happened would set in and you could never go back.

It was easy to picture him, picture those moments with him. The first time you met him, you were both so young. He was so feisty and unwilling to befriend anyone. The memory of him yelling at everyone around you.

You could remember the day you had gotten through to him, had a heart to heart. His red eyes looked so soft for the first time and you knew that you would do anything to keep his trust in you so he would always feel safe enough to open up to you.

The memory of him in his dorm, scared and breathing quick after a nightmare. You had crawled into bed with him and held him. He protested at first but quickly realized you were more stubborn than him this time. Then he realized how nice it felt to be held by someone who cared about you, who wanted you to feel better. How safe he felt in your arms. The softness of his blond locks was unforgettable.

This morning was so clear, Bakugou in his hero costume laughing at a dumb joke you made. You would never see him stand tall again. You took a deep breath.

Softly you opened the door revealing the hospital bed. The sound of beeps filled the room. Walking up to the bed you took in a shaky breath.

Bakugou laid in the bed hooked up to wires. The side of his hair was shaved, where the surgery was. He was still, the steady rise and fall of his chest was the only sign of life. He looked so peaceful.

You sat in the chair beside the bed, head in your hands, a broken sob coming out of you.

“You have to wake up.” You said looking up at him, taking his hand in yours. “I know you can pull through this, I can’t do this alone. What kind of hero would I be without you?”

There was no reply to your cries.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I let this happen." You cried. "I'm sorry we didn't get what you wanted for lunch. If I could go back, if I could do everything different I would. I wish it was me."

Tears streamed down your face as sobs wracked your body.

"You're my best friend, you're my everything." You cried.

Everything felt empty. Time passed, life moved on. Your friends, your fellow students tried to console you while they grappled with the fact that Bakugou wasn’t around anymore. Your teachers looked at you with sad eyes, knowing that these things came with hero work but you were far too young to be dealing with it.

Graduating, something you had looked forward to for so long tasted like ash in your mouth. Standing there with your classmates taking pictures, everything was numb. All you could see was Bakugou laying in that hospital bed unmoving.

Life moved on but you felt like you stood still. You started working at the agency and you worked hard doing your best. The only thing you could do was be the best hero you could be to prevent people from getting hurt like Bakugou did. Even as you progressed and life moved on you felt like time was frozen.

After every shift you visited him, you would bring your dinner with you and eat in his room. You would tell him about your day. On good days you could convince yourself he could hear you.

Time moved on and less people visited. Your fellow students got busy with their hero careers. His parents visited on the weekends, Aizawa would visit once a month. Sometimes you ran into him. The two of you would sit there in silence.

“Do you visit him a lot?” Aizawa asked.

“Everyday.” You answered. “Almost every single day.”

“Why?” He asked, his gaze not moving from his former student.

“He’s my best friend. I can’t stand the thought of him sitting here alone.” You answered, a tear dripping down your cheek. “If he was awake I know we would see each other every day, it feels wrong to not see him. Even if he is asleep, even if he doesn’t know I’m here. I can't go without him, even if he's just laying here.”

“I understand.” He said.

Aizawa didn’t explain but you knew deep down he understood how you felt.

It took time, you had a lot of time to think when you weren't talking out loud to Bakugou's unconscious body. It took time but you finally realized something.

You loved Bakugou Katsuki.

Not just the way someone loves their friend, no something deeper than that. Why else would someone spend every day with their unconscious friend? Even as years passed.

Looking back it all made sense, how validating it felt to tell Bakugou about the highs and lows of your life. How much you focused on the small touches between you and him. How the thought of not spending the rest of your life with him tore you apart.

How had it taken you so long to realize?

Everything about him made you feel alive. His shining qualities, his flaws, his quirks, everything about him made you happy. You loved him so deeply, how had you never known?

You loved Bakugou Katsuki and it was too late to do anything about it.

Years passed. Your career progressed, you climbed the hero charts and you became the hero you and Bakugou always aimed to be. Even if you had made it to the thing you wanted more than anything else in life it felt empty.

All you wanted was your best friend there with you. You wanted to tell him how you felt. Not just his unconscious body. You felt like a ghost, all of your friends lived their lives but you couldn’t enjoy it. You didn’t go out with them, you spent all your time with Bakugou at his bedside.

Every day you hoped, prayed he would wake up.

Time was an odd thing, getting old felt wrong. You looked older and so did Bakugou even if he laid there unmoving all this time. His hair was longer than it had been but you kept up with it. The nurses let you trim his hair, shave his facial hair when you had the time. It made you feel a little less helpless.

It had been a long day, a bad day. People died, people, you should have saved. You should have been fast enough, you should have been a better hero.

Sitting next to Bakugou you told him about your day.

“I moved, I reached to grab them but I wasn’t fast enough.” You said. “They died because I wasn’t fast enough.”

The tears streamed down your face. You reached forward grabbing his hand.

“You're here in this bed because I wasn’t fast enough, I was a bad partner I should have saved you. I should have taken the hit for you. I wish it was me in this bed, I wish I was dead.” You sobbed, breaths heavy it felt like you were suffocating. You were drowning, you had been since that day.

The sounds of your sobs were loud, your hand limply grasping at his. Your breathing stopped at the movement under your hand.

“Katsuki?” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you looked up at him. His eyes fluttered under his eyelids.

part two

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#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #katsuki x reader #bnha #bakugou katsuki

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teyvattherapist · 3 years ago

Note

Another one, set directly after the one where Sandrone finds Childe~ :)

Sandrone-- by a feat of miracle-- snuck Ajax into his Academy room and squirreled the boy away into the cramped bathroom while he snuck into the infirmary again to retrieve a first aid kit. When he returned, Ajax had stripped off his coat and scarf, leaving him in a shirt that was more holes than fabric and his bloodstained shorts. Wordlessly, Sandrone handed him an energy bar he'd swiped from the cafeteria and wetted a towel, rubbing away the dirt and grime that layered Ajax like a second skin. As the dirt washed away, the wounds were brought into stark relief. Hundreds of them, layered over each other and crisscrossing Ajax's skin like gaping mouths. Some were fully healed, nothing but thin, silvery lines. Others were an angry red and purple, bruised and swollen around the edges. All had clean cuts, suggesting an expert hand behind the blade. "Who did this?" Sandrone asked. He wasn't really expecting an honest answer, anyway. But Ajax was always one to surprise him. "The Abyss. I fell into a hole in the ground, and I was taken away to somewhere." "Was it scary?" Sandrone didn't look up from his ministrations, choosing to focus on the mangled mess that was Ajax's knees (how hard did he fall?) "It was," Ajax sighed dreamily. "But the things I saw down there... it spoke to me. The Abyss spoke to me, Sulien. It told me things that scared the everloving hell out of me, but I'm grateful to them." "Why?" Sandrone finally looked up. There were a hundred questions packed into that one word. Why are you still alright? Why are you thanking the Abyss? Why do you sound so different?

And from the bloodied fragments of Ajax's face, the eye of the Abyss stared back at him, milky and purple. Ajax smiled, a pristine tear in the mangled visage of a beast rebuilt from the ground up. "So I can protect you."

IM SCREAMING, ALMOND, THIS IS

KJFDSKJDFS??

SULIEN BEING A SNEAKY LIL SHIT IS SO TRUE, THAT'S JUST HOW HE WAS-

BUT THE SO I CAN PROTECT YOU?? SO I CAN PROTECT YOU!! OH MY GOSDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. THE ?? JFDDF YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!! I KNOW YOU DON'T KNOW THE LOFE, BUT THAT FITS SO WELL IM SCREAMING

as promised. Part two of Desiderium under the cut.

Another nightmare, another sleepless night. This nightmare was real though, it wasn’t like his usual ones, the ones where he was bound by chains and forced to- No, he didn’t want to think about those. His mind wandered to the latest one. He had given thought to Zhongli’s words, he was longing for somebody. But who? The God had never brought it up again, so he didn’t know. It had to be Lumine right? She was pretty, sure. Strong, good with a sword, her eyes were a nice shade of gold. But something still felt off.

He needed to take a walk.. He stopped when he reached the living room, blinking at.. Lumine? Asleep on his couch? The blonde stirred and pushed herself up some, blanket falling around her shoulders. “Sandrone? Ah- your mask- I- Sorry.” She averted her eyes and Sulien realised he wasn’t wearing his mask. This was his house! Of course he wasn’t wearing his mask. He cleared his throat.

“I thought I heard voices.” Ajax commented from the hallway, hair messier than ever from sleep. “I hope it's alright I invited Lumine to stay with us while she’s in Liyue Harbour. It's closer than the inn.” Ajax explained, seeing the panicked body language only he could understand on his fellow harbinger made him feel bad that he forgot to bring it up. Paimon snored away on the armchair, clearly unbothered by it all.

Without his mask, without his gloves, his scars and face on display. He felt uncomfortable. Incredibly uncomfortable. “I’m going for a walk.” Sulien pivoted and made a beeline for the entrance. Lumine rubbed her sleep riddled eyes, a small yawn escaping her as she looked up at Ajax who was busy staring at the archway into the entrance.

The door slammed shut.

“I’ve only known him for a month or so but,” she yawned, “I take it this is abnormal?” She sat up properly, tightening the blanket around her though. Liyue evenings could get quite cold. Ajax nodded his head in response to her question. Abnormal indeed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such an influx of emotion. Perhaps when they were kids? That was probably it.

Sulien breathed in the fresh air, late at night, he didn’t need his mask, he didn’t need to be his rank. He could just be another nameless person in the streets, he preferred it this way. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants as he walked down the streets. Very few people were out and about so late at night, but he enjoyed watching them. A ghost of a smile on his lips as he watched lovers enjoying a late night getaway or a tired sailor returning home late.

But despite his usual late night activity that often cleared his mind, his mind began to fog once more. Trailing back to his dream, it wasn’t even that bad, especially compared to the usual ones. But being abandoned in a dream, he supposed, tied into the feelings he had been having recently. The stabbing pain in his poor heart, the squeezing of his lungs, stripping his body of blood and air.

There was no way it was about Lumine though. He didn’t feel anything when he looked at her except the pain, there was nothing underneath. He sighed, finding himself at the docks. He looked out on the dark water, lilac eyes searching the depths for answers. He furrowed his brows, all he could think of when he looked at the water, all he was reminded of.. Just one thing.

Ajax.

Sulien shook his head, no, he shouldn’t think of Ajax of all people. He couldn’t, that wasn’t allowed as far as he was aware. Well no relationship was allowed in general, he was their puppet after all, he couldn’t have any strings except to Her. But still.. This seemed somehow worse. His heart lurched at the thought and he hissed in pain, bringing his hand up to his chest, scarred fingers digging into the black fabric of his shirt.

All the books he had read, all the research he did. None of it had any answers for this. And he wondered why he felt wrong. Sulien sighed, sitting on the edge of the docks, legs dangling above the water. Ajax seemed happy with Lumine either way, right? They were much cuter together. Sulien never really belonged anyways, an outsider looking in on everybody else. He sighed, leaning back on his arms.

There were footsteps on the dock behind him and he tensed his body, ice already forming in his fingers. Then the familiar scent of cologne hit him and he watched as Ajax sat down on the docks beside him, wrapped up in Sulien’s coat of all things. Sulien’s heart hurt and he looked out at the water, it was becoming so frequent that it was more of a dull ache. Ajax deserved better than him, better than some man who couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“Talk to me.” Ajax whispered, dull eyes trained on the ocean. “You’re hurting and I want to be there this time.. I wasn’t.. I wasn’t last time.” The man hesitated, pulling one knee up and rested his arm against it. Sulien wished nothing more than for the waves to take him away, drown him until there was nothing left. He could not tell the man beside him how he felt, it was wrong. It wasn’t fair.

“I’m just sick, I’ll be fine.” Sulien manipulated his voice so he sounded more hoarse, as if to hammer in the point that it was nothing more than some freak illness. “We have field work tomorrow, you should go back home and sleep. I’ll walk you back.” Sulien stood and Ajax slowly followed him. But before Sulien could head off the docks, Ajax grabbed his elbow, stopping him.

“Please talk to me when you feel ready.” Sulien merely smiled, one of the ones that Ajax knew was fake and full of lies. But the ginger accepted it in the moment.

Sulien sighed as he summoned his claymore, flipping the massive weapon in one hand. The conversation from the day before played in his head, over and over. But he had work to do now. Why did Ajax care? What did he mean when he said he wasn’t there last time? Sulien swung his weapon, the frostbitten blade slicing clean through the arm of the Ruin Guard. He didn’t expect to be smacked by the automaton’s other arm, he barely protected himself with a wall of ice.

“Sandrone, pay attention!” Ajax called, utterly confused on why his colleague was so lost in thought. Ajax ripped apart his bow, the hydro blades forming as he slashed at the ruin guard. It was a simple side mission, really. Destroy the ruin guard near the skirmisher camp. Easy peasy between the two of them. Hell even alone, just one of them probably could have done it. But it was rare they both were allowed into the field together.

Sulien froze the ruin guard and Ajax’s daggers turned back into his bow, he nocked an arrow and drew his string back. Right through the core, bullseye. “Alright that’s that!” Ajax’s bow dematerialised as the automaton fell. There was a whirring nearby and Sulien narrowed his eyes, Ajax didn’t seem to hear it. But he did.

A wall of ice protected Ajax from the incoming missiles of another automaton. Sulien barely dodged the drill of a ruin hunter. Why were there so many all of a sudden? Ajax easily flipped out of the way of the hit of the ruin guard that had attacked him, sliding back to where he had been when fighting the first one. His bow appeared in his hand and he got into position again. “Tartaglia! How many did the Skirmishers report?” Sulien questioned as blocked an attack with his claymore.

His arms shook as the hunter tried to keep cutting downwards with its long sword-like attachment. He had to yield, ducking underneath it. Ajax bent down on his perch, pointing his bow upwards he released multiple hydro arrows into the air. “They only reported one ruin guard! There was no mention of multiples, let alone a hunter.” Ajax called back as another hydro arrow appeared between his fingers.

Now underneath it the ruin hunter decided this was the time to use lasers. Sulien barely constructed the dome around himself in time, manipulating the frost in the air and creating a solid ice dome. A fourth automaton had Ajax seething, how in the hell did their subordinates miss this? When the one he had been fighting slammed its hand onto Ajax’s perch he used its arm as a bridge, bow turning into a polearm.

The ice around Sulien melted but before he could react a second ruin hunter was slamming into him, sending him flying backwards. “Sulien! Careful!” Ajax called, stabbing his polearm into the core of the ruin guard. Sulien got back up, dodging out of the way of one of the hunters. He ran for his claymore, weaving between various attacks as quickly as he could while Ajax struggled with the ruin guard.

Sulien picked his claymore back up and adjusted his grip on the weapon, he slashed at the legs of the ruin guard Ajax was battling, sending the automaton to the ground, the whirring of its body stopping. Two ruin hunters left- Sulien turned around and was faced with three. What in the world- “Something is summoning them here, Tartaglia. This is abnormal.” Sulien adjusted his grip on his blade, peering through the new crack in his mask. He’d have to fix it again.

A bright light beside him blinded him and Sulien hissed as he turned away from Ajax. He didn’t really have time to focus on the transformation as he shielded the both of them from the incoming missiles. A wall of ice reinforced with vines splintered and exploded, the shards turning into snowflakes as they fell from it. At least the wall had lasted against the missiles.

While Sulien thoroughly distracted one of the ruin hunters, Ajax focused on the other two, he brought his hand down, summoning multiple thunderbolts onto one of the ruin hunters, causing it to collapse to the ground, stunned from the electricity. His bow turned into a water spear as he dashed forward, the water from his weapon spraying the automaton, thoroughly frying it. Sulien’s claymore became encased in ice once more, and the ruin hunter he had to deal with was down for the count.

Ajax turned his attention to the last ruin hunter, turning in time to watch the missiles coming at him. He used his ability to blink, reappearing closer toSulien who was looking worse for wear quite frankly. Ajax lunged forward once more, a wheel of electrified water surrounding the ruin hunter, tightening on it. Sulien stepped forward, releasing a blast of ice that froze the machine, causing it to fall from its awkward frozen position, shattering upon contact on the ground. Ajax was beaming, still in his Abyss form but he let himself actually touch the ground rather than float and he turned towards Sulien.

Sulien's claymore dug into the stone and he used it to keep himself up. Ajax closed the distance between them, his weapon floating beside him. Sulien collapsed onto his knees, the large weapon giving out underneath his weight and clattering to the stone floor of the ruin. Funny.. This didn't hurt as much as the heart problems had been hurting.. Life was funny that way. "Hey, hey what happened?" Ajax shifted back, he was exhausted from the fight and using foul legacy. His eyes trailed down to where Sulien's hand was pressed against his side. Ajax gripped the man's hand, pulling it back. The dark green of his palm stained even darker.

"The ruin hunter hit me." Sulien's head hung low, the mask he wore finally giving out, falling to the stone floor, the crack that had started to form fully breaking through the fragile mask. Ajax wished that Sulien didn't look so void, maybe it could help him assess the extent of the wound. Ajax helped Sulien out of the coat he wore, discarding the heavy material onto the ground. The touch was electrifying to Sulien, whose heart only clenched more. So many things unsaid.. But even now, he figured, he didn't deserve the right to say them.

Ajax pulled the man's shirt up, inspecting the wound. It was bad. Really bad. Sulien didn't even flinch when the man used his hydro vision to try and get rid of some of the blood to see better. "I never wanted this." Sulien mumbled as he stared up at the sky. Yes that much was true, Sulien never wanted to be on the battlefield. He was not a warrior. At one time he wanted to be a scholar, he wanted to teach. All of that ripped away with his memories. This was the end Ajax wanted, surrounded by bodies on the battlefield. Ajax ripped the banner he wore, pressing the fabric against the wound.

"Sulien, keep your eyes open, okay? I'll get you help." Would he be strong enough to carry Sulien and his weapon all the way back to Liyue Harbour? Sulien laughed, it was bitter though and it made Ajax's heart hurt. They both had so many things left unsaid. Ajax grunted as he lifted Sulien, the man hadn't listened. Though, when did he ever listen, Ajax mused. The harbinger had to use foul legacy again, there was no way he'd be able to get from the ruins all the way back to the harbour. The warm blood on his hands made the decision for him.

The stares he got as he moved through Liyue Harbour meant nothing to him, he kept Sulien's coat over the man in question, shielding his face and wound from the general public. The claymore in his free hand as he quickly moved through the streets. There were so many things Ajax hadn't said, so many things he felt, so many things he wanted to do. He gripped the man in his arm tighter.

Ajax kicked the door open, much to the surprise of Zhongli and his guests who watched as the large abyssal creature ducked to get through the doorway. Ajax dropped the claymore in the entrance way, letting the weapon clatter to the ground. He then shifted back, all but falling to his knees, Sulien’s still body rolling from his arms. Ajax slammed his hand into the ground as he tried to push himself back up.

“Help, help him please.” But he found himself unable to get up, breathing too unsteady, his own wounds catching up with him as the adrenalin was all but gone. Zhongli dropped his teacup, moving quickly he picked up Sulien, bringing him further into the house. At least Ajax could rest now, leaning his head against the hallway wall.

“Lumine, go get Baizhu please. Paimon, could you bring me the medical kit from the kitchen?” Zhongli lowered Sulien down onto the couch, pulling the fabric away from the wound the God grimaced. Lumine nodded, stepping over Ajax to get out the door as fast as she could. Paimon also listened, despite her small frame she managed to drag the medical kit into the living room. Zhongli peeled his gloves off and rolled up his sleeves as he tried to stop the flow of blood now staining his furniture.

“He should recover if he doesn’t get an infection. But do you think it is wise to treat Fatui? One less Harbinger may be-”

“I appreciate your concern, but Sandrone is a good friend no matter his occupation. He can’t help his work. Thank you for coming. Have a good night Baizhu.” Zhongli shut the door soon after and then returned to the living room. Sulien was asleep on the couch, a thin blanket covering his lower half while his torso was wrapped in multiple bandages. Ajax, meanwhile, was sitting on the ground, holding Sulien’s hand, head resting against the couch.

“They look kinda cute.” Paimon’s whisper was absolutely not a whisper, but at least she tried as she floated between Zhongli and Lumine, a smile on her face despite the fact it was two harbingers in front of her. She couldn’t know, there was no way for her to know what the two men in front of her have been through. Both alone and together. The scars could give her a hint. But that was it, and she was too naive to get it. And so to her, they were just bloodsoaked warriors who fought in the name of something she did not understand.

To Zhongli though, he’d seen this story play out thousands of times throughout history, and all he could muster was a frown, especially as his eyes traced the scars on Sulien's bare chest. As he retraced their previous conversations, he had first thought maybe it was Lumine. But as he watched the way Ajax nearly killed himself for the man. Zhongli sighed softly. What a tragic position to be in indeed.

“I’ll bring him home. Thank you for helping.” Ajax stood slowly, wincing at the pain he felt. He was in a bad state himself. Lumine held out the tattered coat, the black and navy fabric stained in hidden crimson. Ajax took it, wrapping it around Sulien before hoisting him up with a grunt. Sulien stirred in his arms but remained asleep. “I’ll pick up his claymore tomorrow.” Ajax couldn’t carry the weapon right now.

“Be safe.”

Sulien blinked at the ceiling of his bedroom. It was light outside, but the room was dark, the curtains drawn shut. His side hurt like hell, the events of what happened melding into his fragmented memory though, and he couldn’t quite recall at the moment. He felt weight shift in the bed beside him and he tensed immediately. There were very few he’d ever let close enough to him who-

“I know you’re sleeping but..” Ajax started with a soft sigh and Sulien promptly squeezed his eyes shut and evened out his breathing as if he were sleeping. “I think I know why you’ve been sick lately.. It’s the same reason why I’m sick.” Sulien wanted to furrow his brow as he quickly grew confused but opted to continue pretending he was asleep.

“I thought spending time with Lumine would take my mind off of you but it didn’t.” So he had been doing it on purpose. “Lumine is nice and all. But she’s not you.” Sulien could feel Ajax’s warm hand against his cold one, his long slender fingers playing with the scarred skin of Sulien’s hand. “I just don’t want to ruin the friendship we have if you don’t feel the same. So I tell you when you’re asleep like a coward.” Ajax sighed to himself. “This is so pathetic of me.” He mumbled.

“And then it’s my fault you’re hurt, they were my subordinates and my mission.” Ajax’s voice cracked and he didn’t even try to hide it. Though, Sulien supposed when you’re talking to somebody who is asleep, there’s nothing to hide. “All I do is fail you, what kind of friend am I? If I can’t even be a good friend, how am I supposed to be a good enough lover to tell you how I feel?” Ajax intertwined their fingers, but his touch was so hesitant. His hand was so warm, too.

“You say it all the time.. We’re just pawns in all of this.. This is one choice I have control over in this mess and yet I can’t even make it. You deserve so much more.” Ajax pulled his hand away and Sulien missed the comforting warmth. “You deserve somebody who can help heal those wounds, not.. A bloodthirsty monster like me. Whew, okay.. That helped. Good job Ajax.” Ajax mumbled to himself, a soft sigh of relief now that the weight was off of his chest.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Ajax sat up, dull eyes wide as he looked down at Sulien whose eyes were still closed. “I don’t really know how love is supposed to feel. But I think I feel it.” The man sighed, he didn’t know very much it would seem. “Could I have your hand back? I like how warm you are.” Sulien finally opened his eyes to Ajax staring at him, a range of emotions on the ginger’s face. Huh.. Had he always had that many freckles on his face? Cute.

“How much did you hear?!”

“All of it.” Ajax inhaled sharply, panic setting in. Sulien reached out, grabbing Ajax’s hand, warm. “You deserve somebody who understands the things they are feeling. And I’m not that. But I can try to learn..” Sulien cleared his throat, it hurt to speak but he couldn’t really remember the last time he had. He must have been hit pretty hard. “Te-” he hesitated, looking away from Ajax’s shocked expression and out the window. “Teach me.”

Ajax settled back down on the bed, intertwining their fingers once more. “Okay.. I’ll teach you.”

#moots #asks #Almond<3 #Tandrone #Lane's ocs #Sulien Ambros #Sandrone #p1 of Desiderium is on my main btw #this is p2

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kyber-queen · 4 years ago

Text

Like Real People Do (Rex x Reader) Pt. 5

Summary: Jedi!reader and Rex fall in love but are separated by the war. They meet again two years later, weeks before the Siege of Mandalore. This chapter takes place three weeks after the last one. Lotsa fluff, Rex n reader are in LOVE, more Rex cuddles bc its what we deserve, enjoy the seratonin bc its gonna get real sad real fast next chapter.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Mentions of family planning??, some heated smooches in the supply closet

Author’s Note: You guys,,, this is the last happy chapter im going to sob TWO MORE CHAPTERS LEFT

Previous | Next

************************************

For the last three weeks since that whiskey-fueled evening in your quarters, you spent the night in Rex’s arms. With gentle touches and whispered words, you slowly but surely built back the bridge between you that time had razed. The swan song of the Clone War could be heard from a distance—more and more, your thoughts centered around your future. Rex’s future.

Your eyes fluttered open, only to be met with Rex’s honeyed gaze.

“Good morning, cyar’ika,”.

You hummed a lazy greeting, stretching out your bare limbs. Rex was warm, and your original plan for getting out of bed was discarded. Meetings and paperwork could wait—you savored these early morning moments more than Rex could possibly know.

“Good morning, my love,”.

You pulled him into a slow, saccharine-sweet kiss. He smiled into your lips, and you giggled as he pulled back to press a quick peck to the tip of your nose.

“You going soft, Captain?” you questioned with mock disdain.

“Only for you,”.

You rolled your eyes at his sappy answer and collapsed back onto his chest. The air around you stilled—Rex’s heartbeat was steady against your cheek as you allowed yourself just a few more minutes of respite.

Rex’s voice rumbled through his chest, still rough from sleep.

“I’ve been thinking, cyare,”.

“Hmm?”

“About Naboo,”.

Realization crossed your features, and you propped yourself up on Rex’s chest to meet his gaze.

“What about it?”

“Well, it seems like every day, we get closer and closer to ending this war. I want to be with you when it’s all over,”.

“Me too, Rex,”.

Rex’s features relaxed, his thumb tracing a steady circle around the small of your back as he mulled over his words.

“The house on Naboo—I want a window with a view. So I can see out into the fields, keep an eye on the kids when they play outdoors. Oh, and a table, too. A big one, so when my brothers visit, there’s always room,”.

You smiled at this, sliding your hand up Rex’s chest to rest against his cheek.

“We’ll have all that and more, I promise. You deserve it,”.

Rex had earned his happy ending. After two years of war, maker knows you did, too. A flash of guilt crossed your mind—you had yet to tell Master Windu or Master Secura of your plans to leave the order. The prospect of leaving behind everything you’d ever known should have frightened you more than it did. Aside from the subtle nagging of your conscience, you were strangely calm. As much as you loved the Jedi order, you loved Rex more.

He kissed you gently. As the two of you prepared for the day ahead, your future rose before you, bright and shining.

***

Your morning was one of the busiest you’d had in a while. Rex was quickly whisked off by his fellow troopers—Commander Tano had returned, on urgent business, and the 501st was playing the role of welcoming committee. You smiled to yourself. Tano’s name had come up frequently when Rex talked about his past two years with the 501st. The two clearly had a strong bond, and Rex had explained to you how painful it was for the entire battalion when she left the Jedi order.

While Rex prepared his men, you had already spent two hours filing equipment damage reports for the council. Your fingers ached from typing on your datapad, and your vision swam. Filing damage reports was about the dullest job you could have chosen to complete, but Skywalker was infamous for pawning off filing duty on a low-ranking officer or shiny. At least if you completed them, they’d be done right. Your consciousness was just beginning to slip when your commlink lit up.

“Commander, we need you in the hangar, immediately,” General Skywalker’s voice reverberated through the small room. Sensing a break from the tedium, you made your way to the hangar double-time, barely remembering to close the filing room doors.

The hangar was filled with armored men, painted with Tano’s markings. You smiled—Rex had clearly made it his mission to give the former Jedi a warm welcome. Kenobi’s voice rumbed to your left. Skywalker, Tano, and Kenobi had clustered in the center of the hangar, clearly discussing something important.

You cleared your throat.

“You wanted to see me, General?”

Skywalker turned, relief flooding his features.

“Yes, actually. Rex and Ahsoka will be leading an emergency mission on Mandalore. I’ve promoted Rex to Commander, so he’ll take the lead, and Ahsoka will be acting as a civilian advisor. I’m sending them with as many members of the 501st as I can spare. As a member of the council, you technically do not need council approval to accompany them to Mandalore. While on Mandalore, you would not be acting as a representative of the council, and your rank would be demoted to Lieutenant Commander. It’s your choice—if you don’t accept, you’ll accompany me and General Kenobi to Coruscant—we leave immediately, Dooku is attacking the capitol.

You remembered your promise to Rex—the war was coming to its close, and you swore that you would be with him when it finally did.

“I’ll go to Mandalore,”.

Skywalker nodded to Kenobi, and turned back to you.

“Alright, then, it’s settled. May the force be with you,”.

“May the force be with you,”.

You turned to board the Venator. You made your way to the bridge, where you knew Rex would already be seated, probably checking over ammunitions inventory. He stood when he saw you, his lips twitching into a slight smile.

“Commander Rex, may I have a word?” The phony formality dripped from your tone, and Rex quickly dropped his datapad to accompany you into a less crowded hallway.

You yanked him into the first supply closet you saw, boxing him in against the closed door. Rex sucked in a breath at the sudden movement, and you giggled in response. Pressing up onto your tiptoes, you leaned in closer to Rex’s ear. Your breath was warm against his neck, and he shivered involuntarily.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Commander,”.

Rex’s hands attached to your waist like a magnet. He hoisted you off the ground with ease, settling you on top of a supply crate to your left. As soon as your ass hit the unforgiving metal, his lips were on yours.

You held on to his plastoid chest-plate for dear life, pulling him closer to you as he pressed his lips hard against yours. You gasped, and he pulled away for just a moment, chuckling to himself before attacking your neck with kisses.

“Rex,” you whispered. He ran his tongue over a dark mark he had sucked just above your pulse point.

“Need something, cyare?”

Before you could answer, Rex’s commlink buzzed. Ahsoka.

Fuck.

“Rex, where are you? We land in an hour, and I’d like to go over our strategies,”.

Rex pressed a finger to his lips, motioning for you to be quiet.

“Sorry, Commander. I’m on my way to the bridge, now,”.

“Are you alright? You sound like you’re breathing pretty heavily—are you sparring right now?”.

You grinned, holding in your giggle. Rex shot you a warning look before responding.

“I’m alright, just tired,”.

“Alright, then. Pick up some caf pills from the medbay on your way. Oh, and before I forget, if you see the Lieutenant Commander, tell them to meet us on the bridge,”.

“Yes, sir,”.

The commlink disconnected, and you let out a snort. Rex chuckled to himself, and helped you off the crate. He cleared his throat

“To be continued?”

You nodded. He pulled you close, and pressed a final kiss to your forehead before you both walked out the door.

********************************

Like Real People Do Taglist: @pinkiemme @callme-eds @porgnugget @obi-robi-kenobi

#captain rex #captain rex x y/n #captain rex x you #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #rex x you #ct 7567 #the clones #the 501st #my fic

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squeiky · 4 years ago

Text

What if there was a mall based episode of pokemon adventures?

Ps: im on limited juice on what exactly happened after the episode of "practically pikachu" so if anything seemed off, thats why. I can only have so much spoilers.

This is a really REALLY long post, i did my best and added some wholesome satogou moments cause why not. I hope you enjoy ^.^

!!!!!SPOILER WARNING BTW!!!!!!! If that wasn't obvious.

.....(I can't do the read more thing on mobile, so stick with me here.)

So the Professor finds out about some mysterious instances of this shopping district being haunted or constantly full of mischief. So of course he sends Gou and Ash to check it out. Of course Koharu/chloe ends up tagging along with her pokemon, out of curiostiy. Of course something is seemingly following them from behind, and you hear a cute little giggle.

At first, its all nice and fun. They go sight seeing, getting a bit distracted here and there. Gou and koharu do a bit of dress up, and Ash is stuck having to be refferee on who dressed up better. You get some cute satogou moments, and some wholesome koharu and gou rivalry. Before....

The lights start to flicker..

And things go south.

See, before they got to the mall, there was a warning the Professor gave them before the went on their journey. The mall had been abandoned not to long ago, as Pokemon have been infesting it and taking over. Poison types, gost types, what ever dangers you could think of. It used to be very popular, attracting all kinds of mons and trainers from across the globe. Sadly, it had to shut down.

He told them to be careful, and stay on their guard. They did the complete opposite of that, and got distracted.

The light shuts down, and their in complete darkness. Bit of twist, but Koharu brings out a flashlight, then makes a sly remark on how reckless the two are getting. Followed by a slightly agitated gou, though ash doesn't seem to mind. Instead he focuses on another thing.

Wheres.. Pikachu?

Actually... Where is all of their pokemon?

Ash makes a slightly panicked remark about this... Slightly... PanicKEd.. ReSpoNse.. Then everyone starts to freak out. Then the lights suddenly turn on and everywhere around them seems like a battle field. Clothing racks are rolled over, there's some string from some bug pokemon, lying around and some other attack residues from not only their pokemon, but possibly other poison, or dark types. if the situation couldn't get bad enough.

They call out their pokemon names to no evail. The mall is big, even with the 3 of them, they cant possibly cover all the ground. They've only explored basically half of the entire mall.. Or atleast half of what they thought was the entire mall.

Gou gets a bit pessimistic, worrying if they where taken by some baddies like team rocket, or hurt, mabye even kidnapped!! While ash is a bit optimistic, saying they probably got away, or are off fighting them now, and winning!

Koharu though.. Shes not focused on any of that. The patterns of pokemon attack residue.. Shows a winding trail leading off into the bigger part of the mall. Making her even more curious than before..

She turns around to she ash and gou sending out their pokemon from their pokeball, luckily, who ever this was didn't think to take those. Gou explains that the mall is big, and they need as much help as they can get.

So for awhile, we see interactions with their pokemon, looking around, in union or in chaos. Slowly exploring the rest of the mall.

But.. Never once, do we stop seeing all these things happen, in someone elses pov....

We see things from the ground floor, behind clothes, in the ceiling... Anywhere.

Every now and then, we get a faint giggle.. Usually when gou is on screen.

At this point they scaled almost the entire mall. Every now and then finding little things. Nothing to eventful. But no matter what, it all keeps leading then to the same point.

Some random door that says "Antiques" on it, in this freakishly terrifying place. The area is the most rusted, old, and overall creepy place. Inside theres smashed pots and this place has alot of scratch marks and decay. The mall may be abandoned, but not for a very long time. This place looks like it has been there for decades, as if it didn't belong there. You could see a lot of struggle, with some old scratch marks and some strangely.. Fresh ones.

Everyone's tired, and worried, and a bit frightened. Though koharu.. She seems more than excited, it wss her own little adventure. It was nice. Of course, she still worried for her poor yamper.. But she couldn't help but be a bit excited too.

During the whole montage, they'd find some fur from pickachu, yamper or eevee. Sometimes left over pokefood or some old remains of what looks to be pokemon battles. Sometimes they saw some old pokeball, abandoned or even smashed. And even noticed some of the Pokemon that had been watching them through cracks or corners, or under floorboards.

Ash and gou finally catch up to koharu, who has been waiting for them in this creepy antique store. Aimlessly wandering about, searching the place. With the whole gang reunited, they discuss what they found, with koharu piecing it togther.

It seems this antique store looked to be the meeting place for who ever stole their pokemon. They show koharu some of the pokeballs they found lying about, some customized, broken and old. None of them have no strange brandings like "R" on it. Meaning people had their pokemon taken, but not by our common baddies. They found some evidence of pokemon battles, some of the tracks still fresh. Meaning they just left recently, probably during when they got here. That would explain why they kept feeling like they where being followed. They're probably all hiding.

But that doesn't explain why they'd take their pokemon or why it lead them in the antique store of all places. Ash suggests that they should look around here too, find some secret lever or something. Goh agrees, but dismisses the thought that someone would have a secret lever in a antique portion of the mall, then again.. Who has an antique store in a mall??

While they're searching for hidden compartments,

They hear a quick "PIKAA!!" Following a loud bang noise. Sending them all to a panic. Ash locates the sound, and moves one of the shelves. Surprise, Surprise, its a secret compartment. Its pitch black and you can't see a thing. Before ash can jump head first into whatever is happening down there, gou catches him. Followed by koharu, taking out that trusty flashlight, and beaming the light on the creepy old stairs. Seemingly going no where but down.

They quickly and carefully descend the stairs, though their all trying to act brave to lift up on another, you can tell everyone is absolutely terrified.

Then they find a light, like an entrance to some room. The hallway was dim and you could see pipes and some garbage, puddles, e.c.t. Gou runs towards the persumed, but ash catches him. He almost fell into a hole, without Realizing it. Koharu goes infront of gou, with the flashlight beaming infront of her.

Cut to a scene of pikachu. He's charging up a weak electric attack, and looks pretty beaten up. So does the rest of the Pokemon. Though, he is doing his best. The basement is pretty big, but its old. Theres some steel pipes that are broken and bent, scratches and marks everywhere on the wall. Its dark, with only a few lights, struggling to illuminate the room.

You can't tell how many pokemon are there, but there are many glowing eyes all around. There are many different kinds of pokemon. Seemingly coming from all different regions too. They don't seem freindly.

Eevee starts to yell out, angered and fustreated. To their suprising, a quick "umberon~" came rom the darkness.

You can see its shiny yellow rings, glowing in the darkness. It yells back at eevee, hitting the ground over and over with its tiny paws. As if it was trying to prove a point, trying to get eevee to fight like their pikachu did. Taunting them.

The umberon wears some kingly robe it got from a costume part of the mall, presumably the halloween section. Category: medieval.

Yamper could see eevee's eagerness to fight, so he lets out a bark of concern. He's huddled next to pikachu, who still wants to keep going. Determined, to stop them.

Whenever eevee hesitates to attack, umberon lets out a disappointed purr, and attacks them with a weak attack, but it stings either way. It wants a fair fight afterrall.

This was an insult to them. A fellow umberon., using smaller pokemon to rank them up, forcing them to train with them, untill they tire out. All these pokemon henchmons had some kind of scar, or evidence of training. Even the umberon had one. Most of them evolved, seemingly living in the mall, as some are wearing human items like sunglasses, or badazzled items too look cooler.

Then they hear a quick "EEVEE! WHERE'D YOU GO?!" And "PIKACHU! ARE YOU GUYS ALRIGHT?!"

They look back to see its their trainers! And gou, all rushing towards them. Immediately going into the room to protect them. Along with their summoned pokemon charging up their attacks as well.

Seeing this, umberon is pissed. You can see an onslaught of pokemon, who look just as mad. They where crossing their turf, they had to get out.

Umberon curls into the darkness.. Slowly back away from them, in silence.

Untill a tiny, soft. "Umberon" comes out of its mouth and..

They all start to attack, left, right and center. The whole team is surronded. All the pokemon are uncoordinated, but tankish, so they're pretty easy to take down, but leaves you pretty damaged in the long run.

Eventually, they get rid of most of them. Leaving 5 remaining pokemon left. These five being the strongest out of every pokemon and the biggest. Seemingly been in charge for a long time. Basically, its the boss fight.

The pokemon tired them out, and theres not much they can do at this point. Of course they fight, but get taken down, one by one, with ease.

Leading to the grand finale. Everyones on their knees, but still staying strong.

Umberon and its team start to charge this giant attack, thats going blast them into bits and peices.

They charge the attack, for longer and longer and longer. Getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger untill it basically becomes a giant wall. Then they release it. Going full blast at not only the entire team, but the Pokemon behind them that attacked them as well.

The was no where to go.

Pokemon where behind them, and infront.

What do you do then?

Just take it?

Like that?

...

Everyone throws their hand infront of their faces. Away from this giant charge attack, heading towards them in what seems to be slow motion. Some pokemon are running away, others are just watching this happen.

Its a pretty big basement.

Pretty dangerous basement too.

....

Gou looks back for a split second.

And a familiar sound plays out.

A tiny..

little..

giggle.

And then it just stops.

The attack was stuck in place..

...

Then suddenly, behind them in the darkness...

From the entrance of where they came..

Glowing eyes emerge, with a silent.. "Mew!"

And the whole attack backfires onto the 5 pokemon with one, full, swoop.

The place collapses onto them. Knocking 4 pokemon unconscious, except for that..

That..

Umberon.

With the only expression on its face being absolute RAGE.

Everyone starts running out, a bunch of pokemon try to help move the 4 unconscious ones, and umberon runs in the opposite direction, into what might be their secret escape route. They look back, at the commotion.

The 3 little humans and their pokemon are running out, even picking up some of the pokemon, who attacked them, and helping them run away from the collapsing area.

Umberon sees this. But looks away. Muttering a "umber.." Before leaving. This wasn't the last of them.

Everyone safely makes it out of the mall, alive.

Everyone is tired, exhausted and hurt.

They look up to see the many battle scars of all the pokemon, who are just lying around, not knowing what to do anymore without a leader.

Some a bickering and arguing, some are confused and tired, others are just watching from afar.

Eeveee jumps out of koharu's hands, and onto some tall boxes and rocks lying about near he store. They yell out a "EEVEE!!" Which everyone quiets down immediately. They even stiffen up, as if they where trained to do that by the umberon. Which startles eevee and makes them feel uncomfortable.

Ash stands up, looking at his poor pikachu, for a bit. Its smiling, with its eyes closed. Ash gives them a concerned, but soft smile. He tells everyone that they should all go to a pokecenter, and get some rest. The pokemon try to argue, not wanting to go and to wait for their umberon, but they see eevee is following ash, and they end up following along.

Gou runs up to ash and softly pats ash's shoulder, and gives him a soft, but concerned look. Only followed by a smile. Then everyone starts following them to pokemon center.

It cuts to scene, where they show the pokemon center for a sky view. Its night time and everyone is tired. a bunch of the nurses and doctors are taking care of the many pokemon without question.

Ash is sitting there, next to his pikachu, with gou is standing right beside him, and koharu is somewhere off with her pokemon as well. They all have some bandages here and there, on their knees or hands, just watching as nurse joy takes care of pikachu.

She asks what the three of them had done to get not only so many injured pokemon, but get this pikachu in the state its in now.

They explained to the nurse about the whole incident, with this umberon and a giant battle in a basement, and a this abandoned pokemon infested mall. How the umberon acted and all the Pokemon who teamed up agasint them.

Nurse joy recognizes the umberon, to their suprise.

She explains its not the first time shes heard of this umberon. Apparently, its trainer had abandoned it when it was a little eevee. She said that they'd capture pokemon who they saw great potential and power in. One day, the eevee's win streak went away, losing many battles every single day. Thats when they abandoned them, or atleast, thats what they say.

Ash mutters a quick and angered response of why someone would do such a thing.

Nurse joy looks at ash and gou sadly, then returns back to what she was doing. She doesn't know why someone would do that. Though, she tells them she always used to see that same eevee in the pokecenter constantly. For some reason, the pokemon really loved their trainer, to the point of exhaustion. When it got abandoned, it probably took it personally. Who knows though, that umberon is quite the mystery. Some people even tried to catch it seeing how strong it was, but they'd never succeed.

She pauses what shes doing to ask if ash doesn't mind leaving his pikachu here for the night. Its pretty injured, and needs some rest. She wants to be able to take care of it, in case it needs extra care. She says he can see them tomorrow, as it might feel better by then.

He sadly agrees, and they go home for the night.

Here, we get a nice scene, just to calm things doen a bit. The 2 boys put on their cozy pajamas, and get ready to go to bed.

We see koharu in her bedroom, with her pjammas on, petting her yamper who has a cute little "get well soon!!" Sticker, stuck on his forehead, and he has his younger sticking out, as he sleeps. She doing one of those lo-fi girl poses, as she writes in her journal about her day, as a moonlight shines on her, through her window.

We see gou sleeping on the bottom bunk this time, since he's too tired to try to climb to the top. Ash isn't in bed though. He's looking out through the window of the room. With the moonlight coming through. He's tired and exhausted, but still worried for pikachu. Gou notices he's not in bed yet, asking if he's alright. Ash doesn't give a response, he just continues staring.

So gou walks up to him, and ash speaks a bit low. He wonders if pikachu is alright, and the umberon too. The umberon was hurt too, they could've helped it.

Gou looks at him, then out the window. "Sometimes you cant save everyone, and you cant help those that don't want to be helped."

He smiles brightly at ash. "Like catching pokemon!" Ash is confused, but he tries his best to understand. "Sometimes pokemon want to be caught, and some don't. All that matters is that you tried, right?"

Ash looks at gou, and smiles back. Then looks at the window, still smiling "Yeah, you're right.. Do you think pikachu will be okay though?"

Gou softly pats him on the back. He tries his best to comfort ash. "Yeah, i think so."

It goes quiet for a bit. And it zooms out as they both look out at the window.8

With that, it ends here.

#satogou #writing #long post #pokimane #pokemon journeys #my take

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anakinthetrashking · 4 years ago

Note

Ok, so you reblogged my post about bnha fic recs and I also looked through the ones you linked and I LOVED THEM. If its alright to ask, would you happen to have more Protective Aizawa or possibly Dadmic or Protective Present Mic? Also Protective Midnight or Momnight? Only if you have! Thanks! -bnhastanning

I somehow stupidly lost my reply to this ask, not once, but TWICE. at the end, when i was almost done. im so sorry but this will be the crappiest version yet... (also! hello, fellow batfam fan... *spiderman pointing meme*)

I read a lot of fic and i loooooove sharing them with people, so thanks for giving me an excuse to do this!! :D

lots of fics, so im putting them under the read more! One of these days I’ll get around to making more organized fic rec posts...

Dadmic: only a couple, and tbh i think they have more dadzawa in them?? Secondary Colors by NaoNazo

"You got pushed down the stairs... and you're apologizing for it," he stated blandly. "That seems counterintuitive." "Um... sorry?" Izuku whispered. He was starting to shake a little, adrenaline flooding his veins and leaving him cold. He had no idea what Purple was going for with his blunt statements and the hand reaching toward his shoulder as if to steady him, but apologizing was generally safe. "You don't have to apologize, dude. I don't know your name, but I doubt it's actually Deku." "Um. Midoriya." Izuku peered sideways at Purple as they rounded the corner. "Izuku Midoriya. Deku is just, um, just what my... friends call me." He winced. "Sounds real friendly."

and Cat Days by Griffinrose

Izuku has a shapeshifting quirk. He's not the best at controlling it, especially under stress. So when tragedy strikes and he gets lost in the city, he's stuck as a cat. At least he found a nice underground hero to take him in?

Pied Piper by Blackholeca has some really great concerned Dadmic in recent chapters!!

If they wouldn’t give him a chance then the solution seemed simple, he’d give himself one. He’d force the world to see him, force them to recognize his hard work. He wasn’t missing a quirk, it was simply that everyone else had been given an advantage. He wasn’t broken, or useless, or incapable, and he’d prove it by outrunning all of them, he who was quirkless, he who had started in last.

As for momnight, there are also only a couple, and im also not caught up with these either. i have a little bit more of an excuse with these, as Indefinite by OwlF45 is really REALLY long, as well as intense. Worth the read though! I just gotta catch up! So much mindblowing stuff in that, and the Momnight is really sweet.

It comes with the package deal of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Midoriya gets another chance at life, but he must throw it away when that dreaded day comes. After all, a life for nineteen is more than a fair trade.

Or: the world will rise or fall, and it depends on one boy protecting Class 1-A to prevent the inevitable.

The other Momnight one I have is A Single Reason by TheDeepSeaWitch. Also really good, but really intense and I’ve had to take a break because I was getting a bit depressed, whoops. But I liked it!

Training begins the next day, and doesn’t stop for any reason. They wait for heroes, then for police, then for anyone to save them, but nobody comes.

It’s only a month before Izuku forgets their names. It’s a year before he forgets his own.

It’s only a chance meeting with an impassioned soul eight long, painful years later that saves them.

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

They thought they were lost forever, that there was no future out there for them with their scars so visible and the blood on their hands still pungent and red. But if they have the strength to try, then perhaps, one day, they may yet find their forgiveness, and rediscover themselves along the way.

The Reforming Villains AU nobody asked for.

For Dadzawa:

Flare Signal by achievingelsium, of course! Annie writes some of my absolute fav dadzawa content, so definitely check it out!!

AU. Midoriya Izuku shouldn't be surprised he ended up like this: hiding the secret of One for All from his own father, the notorious villain Dragon. The path to being a hero is a hard one.

Or; Izuku is an aspiring hero forced to work for his father’s villain organization. Then he runs into All Might.

Izuku Ya’broker by Dreamillusions, is a fic i loved a LOT.

Perhaps you should actually listen to the news every once in a while, so you wouldn't end up in these kinds of situations. What kinds of situations? Glad you asked. Look at Izuku, for example. You would think Izuku would be at home after school, safe and sound from anyone attempting to, you know, kill him. But no, Izuku decided to roam around. Because of a bet. This is the kind of a situation you shouldn't end up in. Don't be Izuku.

Butterfly by aconstantstateofbladerunner, is rightfully popular! It has some horror/suspense themes though, so if thats not your style, try one of Blade’s other fics!! She’s a seriously good writer.

The first over-night trip off campus since the training camp was supposed to be a fun break from more intense work back home. But between a bleak introduction to chaos theory, a chilly reception from the locals, and the looming threat of a villain attack, Izuku has too much on his mind to properly enjoy the fresh air. But those worries are a light breeze compared to the hurricane that accompanies what he finds on the outskirts of town.

Or rather, what finds him.

A House Divided Against Itself by BeyondTheClouds777, another one of my fav fics by a great writer!

"Become a villain," they said.

“I’ll be a villain,” he said.

He lied. He’s only there so he can tear apart the League of Villains from the inside out.

The scars we carry by Banana_Ink is a great AU with plenty of Dadzawa

Aizawa rescued Izuku from the league of villains and takes care of the child for now. Izuku has two quirks in this AU, one natural - Forced Quirk Activation - and one that AFO 'gifted' him with - Self-Heal. He has a pretty big handprint-scar on his face and started as a problem child, scared and wary of people. But Aizawa managed to help him slowly heal.

This AU is just some silly little thing I came up in my freetime and like to add to it as I go, so I don't have a plan at all. Mostly I write for fun so I hope you might enjoy this as well :D

Ticked Off by Xenolis is a fic that I just want to rec all the time,,, for some reason...

~ ON HIATUS/OCCASIONAL UPDATES ~ Midoriya Izuku attracted trouble. It was just a fact of life – the sky was blue, the grass was green, and Izuku constantly found himself in an absurd number of deadly situations. He was okay with that. Mortal peril was an average Tuesday afternoon for a Pro Hero like him. Being kidnapped was practically a holiday. Saving civilians as a building collapsed around him was easier than facing his worried mum afterwards. He had dealt with All Might's disappointed dad stare and only cried for two hours afterwards. A serial killing villain with an unknown Quirk would be no problem! ..but even Izuku had to admit that being sent back in time to his first day at UA wasn't on the agenda. Still, there was no-one more spitefully determined than him – he was going to make the most of it. Yeah, good luck, heroes and villains alike! Deku was here to cause mischief and love his friends!

Toward A Bright Future by LazyRainDancer holds a special, soft place in my heart. I always want to go reread it after watching the show and I always want to rewatch the show after reading it. it never ends

You wake up at UA, the highest ranked hero school in the country, with no recollection of how you got there. Unfortunately, those aren't the only memories you're missing. Still, you can't let a little amnesia get in the way of you warning the school about the attack you know will happen during Class 1-A's field trip to the USJ. After you deliver your warning, you're beyond shocked when the principal offers you a position as a TA for Class 1-A. You accept the position in hopes that you'll be able to use your Quirk to help protect the students. It'll be far from easy, but you're determined to do whatever it takes to change the students' future for the better.

The rest don’t really have Dadzawa? But theyre really good so I had to rec them anyway

once forgotten, twice removed by blueh, good writer for multiple fandoms

“Yes,” All for One agreed. “This will be the final resting place of All Might.” “You,” Midoriya Izuku said and paused, thinking over the words. He sounded taken aback. “You want me to help fight All Might.” “Of course,” All for One nodded along. “I can offer you double of whatever my counterpart is paying you currently, along with anything your little heart could desire. Of course, you would get to help out drastically—" “Did you happen to check what world you were pulling me out of when you did this?” Midoriya Izuku interrupted and it was said in such an incredulous tone that had the situation not been as critical as it was, All Might would have laughed. Also known as: number one hero Deku has been through a lot of things, but being thrust into an alternate reality where he’s All for One’s Successor is a first. He has to navigate this world when his alternate self is a villain dead-set on killing him and all of this version of class 1-A. All the while, his friends search desperately for a way to get him back.

Office Space by Caelismylife quirkless izuku gets a job at UA analyzing quirks, HECK YES

It took a little time, but he eventually found himself with a job at UA. The revolving door of heroes was not in the contract.

To Repair with Gold by TitleUnwanted FEEEEELS

AU. Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me, biggest lie in the world. Tattoos, which appeared when quirks did, are when a person feels an impact on something they are told and it becomes inked on their body, the closer they show to your heart the deeper the impact it has on the person.

For Izuku this is a blessing and a curse.

An Accident at Workstudy by Galactic_Jax been enjoying this one!

Izuku is working hard to prove himself at his work study, but it's hard when Sir Nighteye has made it clear he's not wanted. But what happens when Izuku is caught in a villain attack on his way to the agency? Will a few revelations about his most recent intern's past be enough for Sir Nighteye to change his mind about All Might's successor?

Nice to Meet You? by Allwalkfree didn’t know i needed this until i read it

Kirishima introduces Bakugou to his favorite senpai. In which over several encounters Bakugou and Amajiki learn to become tentative friends.

A Study in Firsts by Oceanbreeze7 dorm shenanigans AND feels

There’s a first time for everything. The first time everyone crammed in Momo’s room to study, a mess of limbs and books on her bed. The first time Mina burned crepes so badly the smoke alarm went off. The first time a jumpscare got Sero so badly, he flipped off the back of the couch. The first time Uraraka fell asleep at the table and accidentally sent it floating. The first time someone realized Todoroki walked far too quietly, and far too cautiously around the dorms to be normal. The first time Midoriya broke his toe on a door frame and kept walking through it. The first time Kirishima woke up screaming through the walls. The first time Tsuyu blanched at the sight of a needle. The first time Bakugo dropped, clutching the back of his neck with eyes scarily vacant and detonating everything around him until Aizawa had to intervene. It wasn’t always pretty, but the dorms were filled with firsts.

Hero Class Civil Warfare by Roguedruid extremely satisfying to read

Heroes lead by Bakugo. Villains lead by Midoriya. Seven days prep time. Three days for Izuku Midoriya to show why they should be glad he's not a real villain.

A Fleeting Smile by AnonymousTwit good bakugou content

Or a collection of fifteen Bakusquad one shots where someone outside of the Bakusquad catches a rare glimpse of a friendlier side of Bakugou Katsuki, and one time that is specifically reserved for the four people that he hates the least.

Hope this gives you something to work with!!! I have more(and am always adding) in my bookmarks on AO3, but this should be a good start! Hopefully you’ll find at least one that you love! have a great day!!!! -Ani <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

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halorocks1214 · 5 years ago

Text

the law of relativity

AO3 Link

Word Count: 9963

Summary: The Law of Relativity states that each person will receive a series of problems (‘tests of initiation’) for the purpose of strengthening the ‘light’ within. We must consider each of these tests to be a challenge and remain connected to our hearts when proceeding to solve the problems. This law also teaches us to compare our problems to others’ problems and put everything into its proper perspective. No matter how bad we perceive our situation to be, there is always someone who is in a worse position. It is all relative

Previous Parts (in order): Alan | Virgil | You are here! | Gordon

WHY 👏🏼 CANT 👏🏼 I 👏🏼 WRITE 👏🏼 FICS 👏🏼 IN 👏🏼 MO 👏🏼 DER 👏🏼 RATION 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 also just bluuuergh. dont ask about this fic. part of it was written in a dark auditorium, another was written in a different state, another was written on a frickin bus, this fic has been places ill tell you what. half the time i think this is hot garbage and the other half i think its actually decent so im posting this while my head is in a good headspace and then promptly yeeting myself off the internet for a few hours to wait and see what happens. this series is becoming less of a canon divergence AU and more of a straight-up AU because of certain details im trying to worm in there buT IM TRYING MY BEST

thanks once more to @gumnut-logic, because of the length, this time i used three prompts, them being "What do you mean?", crease, and dream (and they werent even used that much sksksksk)

Warnings for both graphic and non-graphic depictions of violence, as well as mentions of torture and other PTSD/panic attack related stuff. I went deep with this one fellas

Orphan.

The word tasted dirty in his mouth.

He can still see the footage in the backs of his eyelids from when he watched it exactly one year ago. He was the only other (living) adult at the time in the family outside of Grandma, so he was permitted to see it. He remembered they originally didn’t want to show him, mainly because of his age, but Grandma was fierce, and she put one hell of an argument on the table.

One Scott refused to let fall through the cracks by breaking down. If only Grandma knew how he cried his eyes out and screamed to high heaven that night in the hotel room after essentially watching his father be blown to bloody smithereens then she was a goddamn saint for keeping it a secret. It made sense, she was the mother to his father. She had quite the line up of stories from Jeff’s childhood. Scott sensed the early-greying of his hair came from her, heh.

The rest of his family eventually saw it, of course, they did. Scott couldn’t shield them forever. What he will protect, selfishly he might add, was how angry he was at how much better they took it than he did. They cried, yes they did, but they never fully broke down like Scott did. Later in life, he wondered if it was jealousy: jealousy at not truly being able to let go. Whatever it was, he made sure to swallow it along with whatever alcohol he chose for the weekend.

Just add it to the ever-growing pile of shit he had to deal with. Nothing new.

Suddenly he’s 20 again and seated in a plane to be taken to his first stint in the Air Force. He said his goodbyes to Virgil, Gordon, and Alan back at home while Grandma and John metaphorically held his hand all the way to the airport. John was… quiet, more so than usual, but Grandma was stuck right in the middle between being a sobbing mess and ecstatic at the fine young man he’s become.

You’re just like your father. He would be proud.

Scott was secretly glad she never physically said it. It gave him plausible deniability in thinking that those words weren’t laced behind her big, bright, prideful eyes.

The first time went well, maybe even great. He stayed for a couple of months, did some flight tests, and while the training was brutal, boy did he learn a lot. When he came back home it was to a family slowly stitching itself back together. Grandma was a full-time house member, Virgil had taken up painting, Gordon talked about potentially going back to his swim meets, and while Alan was still as silent as ever, he was perkier than when Scott last saw him.

It would be on and off for the next few years: a couple of months at home, slowly and painfully taking over the role their father had (he can’t remember when he essentially received joint custody of his younger siblings with Grandma, but hey, he’s not complaining), then a couple of months out at the Air Force base where he slowly climbed up the ranking platform. He became skillful, perhaps too skillful. When he got his rank of Captain he felt it was less of an honor and more of something they owed him.

He was getting cocky. Never enough to be a danger to his fellow men, but enough to be somewhat of an occasional annoyance. Charles smacked him upside the head more than once. It felt like the world was right-side-up for once. Scott made many-a-calls to John and Virgil, the former enjoying his first few rotations up in space and the latter squarely in the middle of college. Gordon was being offered sponsorships to hell and back, and Alan was quietly getting along with the other kids at his school. Grandma was on welcoming duty for Kayo, who was taking her slot in the Tracy family with grace, though, a warning that their family would take custody of her if something were to happen to her parents would have been nice, Dad.

Of course, nothing ever goes right for their family for too long.

Orphan.

Age 24, it was supposed to be a simple retrieval mission of civilians. Scott was put in charge of his squad and then some. At night, they rolled-- well, flew out to get the job done. Scott can’t even remember the country anymore when minding his own business. Australia? Finland? Perhaps Bangladesh? There was a place John was insistent Scott never do rescues in, Virgil tended to agree, and the eldest unhealthily let them banish him from ever stepping foot there without argument. He could never remember the name off the top of his head until John’s familiar International Rescue, we have a situation rung out in the living room followed by the name of the country.

He would immediately forget it later, trauma too strong, too volatile, but the way his heart stopped and his head shattered and the way he felt ice water rush down his back was a good enough reason to quietly leave the room and let John delegate the job to one of his brothers. Sometimes John found him retching in the toilet halfway through the mission. He made sure to always mute Scott’s wrist communicator, even if it was never turned on in the first place.

The plane touched down. Orders sent the ground team out. But then the ground team took longer than estimated. Scott tensely waited where he was told to. It wasn’t the first mission that took a little longer than predicted and knowing humans, it surely wouldn’t be the last. Then, words mixed with heavy static came over the radio. H--p. Co-- ---7--. --nd ba---p --me--at--y.

Scott sat tensely in his seat, remembering his orders and suddenly hating them. Radio back to home if the mission goes south. Well, it didn’t look like they had the radio anymore. Still didn’t hurt to try at least. Scott spoke the familiar protocol that was ingrained into him when trying to call base. Dammit. Nothing. Probably some kind of blocker of sorts. Sitting up straight as a board, Scott looked through his options.

… He was in charge here. If something happened to his team the fault would lie squarely on his shoulders. Going against everything but his gut, he went out to help his squad. He can’t really remember what he exactly did anymore, but he does remember that it made a noise. Like a Looney Tunes scene: he flinched, froze, waited to see if anything or one heard, breathed a sigh of relief, and continued.

He eventually stumbled across one of his closest comrades, Arnold Brigeets. Yes, the name was ironic and half the reason he joined the force in the first place. The guy was one of the people that actually trained Scott and also seemed to be one of the few that was genuinely proud when Scott became a higher rank. It’s why Scott was more appreciative of Arnold than others, that, and well… Scott thought his fatherly abilities were good. The guy did have three kids back home.

Orphan.

Ducking down behind the cover his older friend was semi-situated behind, Scott watched as Arnold jumped at the intrusion before sighing. Scott had run into some enemies that he swiftly took down-- nothing too serious, he didn’t have the time or weapons for such an act, but they definitely would be out of it for a while-- so Arnold must have too on his way to find cover as well, hence why he was so on edge.

“Thank God,” Arnold wiped his forehead, “Glad to see you join us, kid.”

Scott was breathing heavily, but the grin he attempted was still there, “Y-Yeah, so what happened? More threats than we thought?”

Arnold shook his head, “Yes and no. There were a lot more baddies than we thought, but that’s because the civilians weren’t civilians. It’s a tr--”

Boom. The familiar sound of a gunshot.

Arnold fell over. Never got back up. Dropped like a rock in a lake, never to come up to the surface again.

Scott was so caught off guard he couldn’t react to the gun that swiftly beat him over the head, knocking him out cold. The only thing on his mind was oh fuck oh fuck I messed up I shouldn’t have come I wouldn’t have made any noise that way why did I--

They had him for roughly two weeks. Scott always thought the plotline in movies where the villain vehemently denied knowing any important information was dumb as hell. We’re not stupid. We wouldn’t go after someone if they didn’t know something.

The things they did hurt and no amount of I don’t fucking know anything! would help. Those two weeks were lost to Scott in a sea of pain and torment. The only thing he remembered was being captured, then waking up in a hospital drugged up to his gills with his superiors staring at him like he cured cancer.

“You saved the rest of your squad from sharing the same fate as the first half.”

“I-I did?”

“You betcha, son. I only wish I was there to see it! People be saying you were like an animal in how you took ‘em all down.”

Scott’s never remembered, and he wanted to keep it that way.

He was given the highest honors, even the chance to skip a couple of ranks to be at the same level as the big boys, but the night they were going to share the news to the golden boy himself, they found him in one of the bathrooms with a bloody hand and a mirror shattered with no hope of fixing it.

He was honorably discharged to a family that was so thankful he was home. Words like missing in action and POA never stopped haunting their nightmares. Scott was too, God, of course, he was, but sitting around and doing nothing was the last thing his traumatized mind wanted or maybe even needed. After doing what he considered to be the biggest fuck-up of his life, he needed to feel important.

This isn’t the first time he’ll say this and it surely won’t be the last: thank Christ for Grandma.

“You want me to take over?...”

“Yep, it’s about time Tracy Industries received a new pair of eyes. The Board certainly thinks so.”

“But… they’d rather have a crazy, PTSD-infected veteran over you?”

A rough pinch to his ear, “Hey now, don’t call yourself that,” the gentle motherly tone was back as soon as it left, “Besides, that crazy might exactly be what they want. Half of their argument is that I “don’t take enough risks.” They’re getting tired of listening to an old fart like me.”

A moment of contemplation, followed by the cheeky raise of an eyebrow, “So you’re saying you want me to take so many risks they have no choice but to take you back?”

A bark of laughter, “Damn straight.”

He learned the ropes faster than normal (healthy, is probably the correct term), and he immediately won the hearts of both young and old in the company. Instead of flying planes every few months, he worked on business reports and vetoed new ideas every couple of weeks. It felt satisfying for the most part, and his family was just happy he was still alive to enjoy it.

However, there was a slight roadblock on his way to becoming a somewhat stable person.

He became prone to violent blackouts. It had to have started when he blacked out and saved himself from those two weeks of hell, which made the most sense. Something was always destroyed when he came back to life. John was the best at calming him down due to his own experience with panic attacks, however, John couldn’t always be there, and the next rotation for NASA was coming swiftly. Scott swore up and down he would be fine, he could figure something out. John went back into space with an eyebrow permanently raised.

It was just him and Virgil home (Grandma had taken Alan and Kayo to watch Gordon swim) when he, unfortunately, proved John right. Scott wasn’t sure what triggered it, but he vividly remembered coming back in Virgil’s extremely tight hold. The first thing Scott thought to say was damn, beanstalk, when did you get so strong? but then he laid his eyes upon the forming bruise on his younger bro’s face and hasn’t recovered since.

Virgil swore he never held it against Scott. Scott definitely thought he should have.

That night brought sudden clarity to Scott that he was doing this horribly wrong. He was a ticking time bomb, and it wouldn’t be long before something was damaged in a way that couldn’t be fixed. Scott needed an anchor. Something to ground him before he took it too far. John wasn’t going to be earthside forever, Grandma was busy with Kayo, Alan was just a kid, and Gordon was living the dream. None of them were viable.

Then, as he was thinking, he was suddenly aware of how calming Virgil’s arms were around him, how they were preventing the growing panic attack in his chest from getting even bigger.

It was easy.

For once in Scott’s life, his eyes were big and young as he asked Virgil, “Help me, please.”

After a few brief seconds, Virgil gulped, “Okay.”

From then on, Virgil was Stone Number One. Scott’s admiration for Virgil outweighed the guilt of putting the black-haired man in that position in the first place. Virgil was glad to follow his older brother’s leadership, but just as qualified to bring him the hell back when he went too far. From getting too sacrificial to preventing a good punching-out some of the idiots they dealt with, Virgil made sure Scott knocked that shit off.

Time went on, Scott was a top-notch CEO at Tracy Industries, John was having one hell of a time up in space, Virgil was graduated and had so many life opportunities to pick from, Alan was thriving at being a (mostly) stable kid, Kayo was 100% acclimated to the family, and Gordon--

Scott found himself gripping the wooden desk very abruptly. He was shocked he didn’t snap a chunk off in the process. Why was he thinking about this right after a giant business conference? Who knows at this point. If this giant origin story seemed jagged and jumpy, maybe even somewhat vague, good, that’s how it fucking felt.

Back to said story.

Scott always thought he and Gordon would have the least amount in common.

They do, but out of all the things they could have picked to be similar, why did it have to be the PTSD caused by military-related jobs? Scott was 24 when he got his, Gordon was just under 20. It may have been a few years since their respective accidents, but they’re never going to go another day without it feeling like it was just yesterday.

At this point, Gordon was up and walking again, mainly thanks to John and Alan while Virgil and Scott helped in their own ways. Grandma’s cooking was what probably motivated him the most though, ha, the need to get away from it… Scott smiled. Grandma was always a constant. Honestly, if it weren’t for her, the family might have fallen apart. Literally.

What has he been saying throughout this whole shindig? Thank Christ for Grandma.

One day out of the blue, Grandma reserved the entire family (yes, even Kayo and Alan) private plane tickets so they could spend some time on the mainland for a few days. Honestly, even if the island wasn’t getting major renovations, you hooligans need to get out more. Have some fun. Try not to kill anything, especially each other, she all told them while creepily grinning. John and Virgil smacked Gordon more than once on the plane for insisting that she finally snapped, dudes, she’s gonna kill us.

Most of the time during their little vacation, Scott heavily focused on his breathing. He was pretty sure he knew what she was doing. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, but the same went for his excitement.

Dad showed him these plans the day after his 18th birthday. You’re a man now, Scotty, I need your help making this big boy decision with me.

As soon as they reset foot down on the island, Scott took a deep breath and felt relaxed at the salty taste in the air. It was weird, nothing on the outside was changed, and yet… it still felt different.

“Guys!” Virgil yelled out, “Stop playing in the water! We just got back, aren’t you two tired?!”

Blinking back to reality, Scott looked over to see his two youngest brothers doing exactly what Virgil was yelling at them for. Poor Johnny was a little damp too, which is what probably caused Virgil to shout at them in the first place. The blondes didn’t care. They continued to prance around in the shallow waves with their pants legs rolled up, acting as if they didn’t hear anything outside of their laughter. Gordon shoved his hands down into the liquid and threw some directly at Alan, nailing him right in the face.

Scott exhaled slowly. He couldn’t imagine them doing this 8 years ago.

Regardless, the artist was right, and they couldn’t waste too much time. Kayo was swift in grabbing both gentlemen by the ears and dragging them onto dry land. They all painstakingly trekked their way up to the-- what would you call Tracy Island? Mansion? Over-blown cabin? Well, whatever it was, Scott would always be willing to call it home.

Stepping inside, each brother took in the view, which was underwhelmingly not that much different, except for one tiny thing. John suddenly noticed a figure already standing in the living room and blinked, “No way… it’s--”

Gordon jumped in, both with his body and his words, “Brains?! Dude, how’s it hanging?!”

The scientist in question jumped at the voices before clearing his throat and readjusting his glasses, “O-Oh, hello again, T-Tracys. It’s good to see you all once more.”

Virgil slung an arm around his shoulder, ignoring the blatant squawk, “Man, how long has it been?! What made you finally decide to crawl out of your hole?”

Snickers came from all corners of the house. Brains stood up straighter, “W-Well, I was contacted b-by Mrs. Tracy over here with an offer I c-couldn’t turn down.”

Eyebrows tilted in all shapes and sizes. Someone cleared their throat. Everyone turned to look at Grandma once again, “I think if you all follow me, you’ll swiftly understand what I’m talking about.”

I already do, Scott thought matter-of-factly. John seemed to be understanding it now, Virgil was on the cusp of remembering what his father was hinting at for him, and Gordon was just as lost as Alan. It made sense, Jeff talked to all of them about it, but the oldest had seniority. The two youngest not remembering just by words was expected, especially since that was going to be rectified very quickly.

The hangar under the island was beautiful. Point blank. It smelt of iron and steel and grease and engine and that was the first time since Scott had been in the Air Force that he didn’t gag or flinch at the thought of flying something again. Scott had seen the plans his father drew. He assumed Jeff finished building it, but he never got to physically see it since…

In some ways, he was glad he didn’t. Now he got to experience it with (most of) his family, and that made it ten times better.

After letting them absorb the scenery, Grandma slowly turned around to look at them all, “You remember that dream your father had?”

The four oldest blinked, Kayo simply raised her eyebrows, meanwhile, Alan, being the teenager he was, didn’t read the emotion in the room, “Oh, yeah! Aunt Casey always talked about how he was going to “change the world” and stuff. What did he call it again?”

Scott felt way more confident than he had in a while, “International Rescue.”

Grandma nodded, gleeful at the happy look on her oldest and youngest grandsons’ faces, “Well, I’ve been thinking about some things. I know we don’t exactly worry about money, but after everything your father put into these girls… I’d hate for them to go to waste.”

The Tracy family jumped at that. John’s mouth was wide open in shock, yes, shock, “That station is still up there?”

Grandma sighed, “You mean ‘Five? Not for long. Not if we don’t send someone up there within the next few days.”

John blushed at the grin Grandma gave him. Clearing his throat, his big brain came to a startling conclusion, “Wait… you brought Alan along?”

The other big brothers in the room jumped at that. Kayo was the only one with enough balls to say the truth out loud, “Mrs. Tracy, I mean no offense, but he’s--”

“Just a kid?” Grandma smirked, “A kid that’s topped the VR charts for Intergalactic Fury for weeks straight while simultaneously getting nothing but A’s in his classes?”

Scott nodded slowly in comprehension. He remembered Alan talking about that game for a while. It was some kind of online racing simulator of sorts. Scott caught the prettiest string of words from Alan when going to bed one night. Nearly made him shit his pants. He made the kid promise to keep it PG-13 if he wanted to keep playing.

Still, the elders in the family slowly turned to look at the freckled boy with both shock and pride. Alan blinked with wide-eyed innocence, “But my English class is only at a B--”

“Shh, kiddo, I’m making a point,” Grandma rolled her eyes. The other brothers snickered. Yep, still Alan. Grandma sighed, “Now before you point out that video games are different, I know, but the difference between them and this is that video games don’t have some of the most talented older brothers in the world to guide him.”

Said older brothers jumped at the idea. Before any objection could be made, Grandma continued, “Besides, the GDF seemed to be okay with it. The Colonel was willing to oversee some of his training too.”

John flinched at that, “But IR is supposed to be independent!”

Grandma slightly frowned. She didn’t exactly like it either, “It still is, but in the world of business, compromises have to be made.”

Virgil huffed and crossed his arms, “Well, that’s… rough. Here I thought only Scott would have to deal with the bullshit of business.”

Grandma chuckled at the somewhat un-Virgil-like behavior, “It really is, Virgil. But about that Scott part,” she slowly turned to look at him and him only, “I hate to give you more work to do, but if you want to work within their restrictions?”

Suddenly every pair of eyes in the room was on the head of the family. Gulping, Scott looked down at his feet to think. It was a tense few moments, nobody sure what he was going to decide, least of all him, before the brunette cleared his throat and brought his face back up with a grin.

“Well then,” Scott turned to look at the bright tip of ‘One, chest fluttering with a feeling that became unfamiliar to him over the past few years, “I guess now it’s time to state the obvious.”

From then on, every time he loaded into that cockpit of his girl, he felt lighter than air.

“Thunderbirds are GO!”

Everything was okay again.

Mostly.

Orphan.

Scott took another sip of his whiskey and refocused on his reports.

---

Scott was in some kind of dissociative state the whole way home.

Alan doesn’t deserve this. He’s still a kid, barely an adult, and he’s going to go through utter hell because you screwed up. You were 24, Gordon was just under 20, Alan was barely 18. Alan’s going to get fucked up like you and it’s all your fault.

His movements were robotic and rigid. Anyone with a working eye could tell he was deep in shock and running on autopilot. Mostly Jeff. Especially Jeff. The rest of the brothers all noticed too, but they were also running on their own empty fuel tanks, so the only thing they could do was guilty send their older brother the occasional glance of pity and concern.

Jeff was going to need to talk to them about that. Somehow. Maybe he shouldn’t be the one to point it out since he feels just as bad. His sons were too much like him, sometimes, and that made his guilt burn all the same. He should’ve been there to warn his sons about the dangers of unnecessary guilt. Having that kind of guilt was a parent’s job, dammit, and maybe grandparents only occasionally.

But then he remembered where he’s been for the past 8 years and… who really was Alan’s parents anymore? His gut was screaming it sure as hell isn’t you, but he knew his sons would want him to step back into the role as soon as he was physically fit to do so, not just for Alan, but for themselves as well. They would deny it, but they probably just wanted to be kids again too, even if it was only brief, fleeting moments.

Who was to tell the protective, fatherly side of Jeff no to that? No better time to fix things like the present after all.

He saw Scott go up the stairs when they first stepped into the living room, so that’s where Jeff was going to go too. Footsteps light, Jeff retraced his eldest’s pathway to his bedroom. Only, he stopped before said bedroom. Unfavorable noises were coming from the closed bathroom door, and Jeff could only swallow whatever emotion it made him feel. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened the (unlocked) door to the bathroom and laid his eyes upon the incriminating scene.

Jeff was met with the sight of Scott retching his entire stomach into the toilet, hands aggressively grabbing his sticky, hair-gelled hair and trying to make himself bald from the strain.

Jeff’s reaction was always based on autopilot, and it will never stop being so.

Ignoring his protesting body, Jeff kneeled and placed a hand on his son’s back, only to abruptly pull back like he touched a hot stove when Scott only got more hysterical at the contact. The brunette clenched his eyes shut even more (and they were already shut as much as possible) while his head became a special kind of crease. Like he was in pain, “God, I wanna go home. Why won’t they listen I swear I’m telling the truth! Please, I just want Dad--”

Jeff was frozen on the spot, heart stopping in the process. His brain shut down while he watched his son continue to mindlessly ramble and panic. His freaked-out mind barely registered footsteps from behind in the hallway, followed by a voice going what’s going-- holy--

Something thundered past him. Blinking once, Jeff guiltily watched as Virgil kneeled behind the eldest and wrapped his arms around the thin man’s shoulders while taking Scott’s hands in his in a protective blanket, “Scott! Jesus-- we’re at home, you’re safe and it’s June 14th, 2--”

Scott only struggled more, panicking at the fact he could no longer yank his hair out. Dammit, it was the only way he could feel in control, don’t take that away too! “No! I swear I’ve said everything! Please--”

Virgil immediately knew that this was one of those attacks that Scott wasn’t coming back down from with pure human intervention. Add-on the sight of his father’s big eyes signifying the man was at a loss at what to do, Virgil had no choice. He snapped loudly, remembering the comms were still on and only feeling slightly bad at the way Scott flinched in his arms, “Shit-- John! It’s Scott! Get the stuff! We’re in the upstairs bathroom!”

Muffled footsteps through a few walls in the house could be heard. Jeff’s mind was only starting to catch up when the brother Virgil called for came rushing into the bathroom (Jeff never remembered it being big enough to hold four of them) and ignoring Jeff (practically shoving him out of the way too, man, this was bad) on his way to the main problem at hand. Landing on his knees in a way that made Jeff wince, John gently grabbed one of Scott’s arms from Virgil’s hold and subsequently pulled a needle from nowhere and injected something into Scott.

The response was instantaneous.

Scott’s breathing, while still labored, got slower. He stopped struggling as well, and the way he sagged reminded Jeff of ice melting into a puddle. The two other brothers’ shoulders also sagged, relieved at the crisis averted. John stood up, knees cracking as he rubbed the back of his neck. Then, he froze at the sight of something in the doorway, “G-Gordon…”

Virgil snapped his head up from where he was looking at Scott. Jeff did something similar. Yup, in the doorway was the strawberry blonde, eyes wide, making him younger by about 10 years. The ex-Olympian in question inhaled, closed his eyes, and soon speed-walked his way out of the entrance to the bathroom. Dammit, neither Gordon or Alan have seen something like that and it probably spooked him more than anything. He’d understand with his own PTSD-related issues, but still, seeing the “never weak” big brother freak out in such a scary way...

John combed a hand through his hair, shaking his head. As he started walking out of the room, he whispered to himself, probably hoping no one heard him, “Dammit, this is all so fucked…”

Unfortunately, Jeff did hear, and the dirty language made the father flinch. John was always the best about making sure Grandma didn’t wash his mouth out with soap, and the fact that he so willingly didn’t care meant that everyone was at the end of their rope. Still reeling at the sight, Jeff couldn’t react to the gentle arms that picked him up off the floor and slowly led him out of the suddenly stuffy room.

With the click of the door shutting, Jeff realized what Virgil did, “W-Wait, Scott--”

“Will be okay for a few seconds,” Virgil finished for his dad, “I know it’s nearly been a decade, but the one part of you I definitely know hasn’t changed is the need to comfort us, just like we hoped.” The small grin that fell over the middle child’s face put Jeff a little bit at ease, but Virgil wasn’t completely done, “So, I’m going to let you take care of this, but I just want to make sure you’ll handle it with grace. Take this slowly, okay? Scott might be doped up, but he’s still… volatile, in a sense.”

Jeff cleared his throat, suddenly choking on the unneeded tension, “Okay, Virgil, I promise, just… what happened? That was… bad, and really bad at that too. I know Scott would never let something that severe willingly come out in front of his family.”

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, clearly not ready for this conversation, “Listen, Dad,” he inhaled sharply, cutting himself off before sighing in a way that said fuck it, might as well get this over with, “As much as it felt like it did, the world didn’t stop spinning because you… well, we had lives we somehow wanted to continue living. We all have lives and stories now, and this is Scott’s story to tell.”

Jeff was getting misty-eyed again. Back when he was just a kid, Virgil couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, mainly in part due to his insomnia-related issues (Jeff has to wonder if he still has them, more problems for the future) and general lack of filter because of sleep-deprivation. Now Jeff knew there was a starch difference between a kid who couldn’t keep his mouth shut and a man who genuinely knew how to respect another man’s privacy, but…

It just hammers home how much he’s missed with his boys. Gulping, Jeff made a mental note to talk with his mom about certain things he’s missed. She’ll know a lot more than he would, “Okay, Virge. Thank you, for stepping up there.”

Virgil’s shoulders relaxed at Jeff’s words, as well as his father’s hand patting him on the shoulder, “Thanks, Dad. Just… go easy on him. I know it’s a little late for this but none of us ever properly talked about things. It was very unhealthy, deep down we all knew that, but…”

“You just couldn’t get the proper emotions out?” Jeff finished for his son. At Virgil’s soft nod, Jeff exhaled, “I’m not going to say that it was a smart decision, but we’re all here now. We can move forward with this.” Jeff squeezed where his hand laid.

Virgil blinked before curtly going, “Yeah. Goodnight, Dad. Take care of Scott.”

Virgil stepped around his father and walked to where his bedroom most definitely was not, but Jeff could deal with that in a little bit. He had another son who he was pretty sure just had a violent PTSD attack of some kind, plus, Virgil seemed to sour at something Jeff said. The ex-astronaut wasn’t sure what it was, so he didn’t chase after him out of worry that--

Wait.

We’re all here now.

Dammit, Jeff. Out of all the sentences you could’ve picked...

Alrighty, just add that to the ever-growing pile of things that need to be talked about later. No biggie. Jeff found himself sighing and rubbing the back of his neck much like Virgil did a few minutes ago. Turning around, he was met with the bathroom door once more. Shaking his head, Jeff slowly crept into the room and saw that not much was different, especially with Scott.

His heart softly cracked, but, again, he can deal with it later.

Sitting down on the ground and grimacing at the way his body ached (was gravity always this rough?), Jeff leaned against the floor cabinets about 2-3 feet away from Scott, who made himself into a nice comfortable ball in the corner next to the toilet, his palm smushed against his forehead. Jeff waited a few seconds. Then minutes. Then he realized he would have to be the one to initiate the conversation. He probably should’ve realized that right when he came back in. He opened his mouth, but his wasn’t the one that words came out of.

“It was… Zambia.”

Jeff’s heart stopped and his mouth snapped shut. He couldn’t stop the way his eyes clearly showed his panic, but hopefully, he guiltily thought, Scott was a little too doped up to not realize it, “Scotty, what do you mean?”

Scott shrugged in a way that spoke he thought what he was admitting wasn’t a big deal. Yep, clearly not with it, “Mission went bad… caught for a couple of weeks.”

Jeff was hoping his first fuck back on Earth, spoken to himself like right now or otherwise, would have been a comedic thing, but the way nausea rose in his throat said this was anything but funny.

Scott wanted to be in the Air Force. Badly. Who was a father to deny his son’s want to be part of such a noble cause? He gave him tips, took him to meet friends in high places, sometimes even sparred with him when he turned 18, but then Jeff was suddenly thousands of miles away with no hope of ever having the chance of sparring with his eldest again. Despite it, Jeff hoped Scott went on to become the best pilot the world has ever seen.

Part of this looks like he did, but at what cost?

As much as it felt like it did, the world didn’t stop spinning because you… well, we had lives we somehow wanted to continue living.

Aw hell, “Jesus, Scott…” Jeff couldn’t tell if it was the brashness or the lack of a nickname that made Scott flinch and he hated it. He immediately softened his tone and brought his 27-year-old child into his arms, “Shh, shh, we’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

Like father like son, old habits die hard, and as easy as it was to still be able to comfort his children, Scott seemed to just as easily take it as he used to 8 years ago, “Alan doesn’t deserve this kind of hell, God, he’s barely not a kid anymore! Why--”

Jeff tightened his hold to keep his son in reality, and because he didn’t like the tone behind those words, “Hey, you didn’t either--”

Scott somehow managed to fling himself out of the hug, focus incredibly on point for someone who was doped up to his eyelids five seconds ago, “But I fucked up! I made the wrong call and then suddenly Arnold was dead and he had a wife and kids-- shit, what the hell did I do?”

Okay.

First of all: way to put him back in that headspace when that’s the exact opposite you were going for, Jeff, father of the year. Second: dammit. Just… dammit. This was a big fat hand grenade in a giant handbasket that they didn’t have time to gently get out while simultaneously not yanking the pin clean off with the grace of a drunk elephant. Jeff was no stranger to Survivor’s Guilt, but there was a whole untapped pile of metaphorical C4 within his son’s head that was ready for someone to push the goddamn button.

He wanted it to be him, desperately, because it sounded like he already failed his family enough, it was all he could do at this point, but he absolutely hated that he couldn’t do it right now. This was going to take a lot of time, which they didn’t have, plus, Jeff thought he had a pretty good understanding of this new Scott and the rest of his kids. Jeff was aware that if he didn’t help his sons find their baby as fast as possible over everything else it’ll lead to a fate nobody wanted.

A shaky sigh, “Okay, Scotty, let’s get you to bed. We’ll talk strategy in the morning.”

Scott simply nodded as his father flung Scott’s arm around his broader shoulders and picked him up. Slowly and painfully but surely, father and son meandered their way to Scott’s room. With a thump a little harder than Jeff wanted, Scott flopped down on top of his sheets and immediately started snoring. Despite everything that just happened, the father couldn’t help but grin at the sight. Well, there was another thing Jeff gracefully passed onto his son.

Jeff only took Scott’s shoes off. He would’ve loved to pull the sheets up around him too, but the father didn’t want to take any chances at waking him up. Slowly tip-toeing out of the room, Jeff gave one last glance back at his son before finally letting him be and gently shutting the door. He had three other sons he needed to console, but his tired joints told him to selfishly take a moment for himself for right now unless he wanted to collapse and give his family more to deal with.

Jeff eventually made his way to his room-- which was sadly unkempt, he noticed-- and sat down on the edge of his unfamiliar bed to think.

He’ll figure something out. If he had to crawl through images of his son being brutally and bloodily tortured then by God he would with the fury of a thousand suns.

He was back and he wasn’t going to throw away any second or even third chance he was given.

---

“I got him.”

Virgil turned his comms back on, and with it, Scott’s heart restarted for the first time in a few weeks. Taking a moment for a breather, Scott leaned against the wall while practically wheezing. They have him back, holy shit, they have him back. Scott vaguely heard Gordon cry in pure relief and joy. He saw John’s side of the comms flutter for a bit before a bright flash happened. Blinking away the white spots, Scott looked at his wrist to see a fully detailed map of the compound.

Gordon spoke what they were all thinking, “Woohoo! First Allie comes back, then Johnny-boy gets us a free ticket out of here! We’re winning this race, baby!”

A very loud moment of silence. John cleared his throat, “Actually, I was going to say glad to see you in one piece, you little shit,” a playful gasp came from Virgil’s side. It was too high pitched to be from the pianist’s mouth. Scott chuckled, but the paranoid part of his brain said John wasn’t done. His brain was right, ‘“But guys… that wasn’t me. Or EOS. We still haven’t found a way to get past the metal they made these walls out of.”

That silence was even more deafening than the last, and before Virgil could utter out his typical what the fuck, a small logo appeared at the corner of their new map. One that was all too familiar. The Chaos Crew wasn’t the only one who could brand their awful deeds.

Son of a bitch.

Virgil’s order over the radio was meant for Alan, but Scott couldn’t help but listen to it too.

“Shit, Alan, you need to run.”

Making quick work of the compound once more, Scott, while booking it even quicker than last time, opened a private line between him and Gordon, “Hey, how would you feel if I said go help Virgil while I cover Alan?”

The first response was stuttering, which Scott expected, but then it was followed up by something completely out of left field for Gordon, “... Okay, just as long as you promise to bring Alan back in one piece.”

Part of Scott wanted to console Gordon, another was questioning why Gordon was so quick to give up, another wanted to say of course, I will, idiot, but the first part that made itself verbal was easy, “You know I will, buddy.”

Scott could physically picture Gordon’s tiny, little, somber nod clear as day, “Sounds good, captain. See you on the other side.”

With a click, Scott was back on the group comm. Suddenly remembering what exactly his job was, he pulled out the map so graciously given to them by The Hood. Looking at all the dots, one was heading towards a prone one (oh if that asshole did anything to Virgil…) while another one was heading right for Scott himself. Actually, in just a few seconds, right as Scott rounded the corner he would--

“Woah, look out there, Tigger!”

Yes, you heard that correctly: not tiger, Tigger. Tigger hadn’t been used since Alan was itty bitty. It always seemed like the kid had endless energy with the way he wouldn’t stop bounding off the walls and furniture. Even as a baby, Lucy had to sit with him for a few hours while he slept in his crib to make sure he would stay there. In fact, their mother gave Alan that nickname herself. She was quite the Winnie the Pooh fan, and the rest of the family figured it would be one of the ways they could keep her legacy alive for the tiny potato.

Wrapping his arms around said flailing potato, albeit much bigger than a baby, Scott thought he would collapse then and there. Alan was here, in his arms, and yeah, the sight of his dirty and somewhat ripped up IR uniform made him mad, but Scott, for once in his life, decided to focus on the here-and-now, aka his precious, alive little brother, who finally stopped struggling at the realization that hey, the person holding you is a good guy, time to turn off fight mode.

Smushing their foreheads together as much as possible, Scott desperately fought to keep the waterworks back, a smile from ear to ear hopefully taking whatever energy his tear ducts had, “You are getting such an ass beating when we get home, little bro.”

Alan jumped back with a look of What the hell?! What did I do now?!

Scott simply rolled his eyes, “Really? “Not important”? You graduated high school, tiny dude! That’s huge! You remember Gordon’s party, right?”

Alan’s mouth gaped before he closed it with slightly puffy cheeks. Those same cheeks tinged with a small blush. Alan wasn’t exactly expecting to be smothered so soon (well, he did cry his eyes out on Virgil’s shoulder, but that was different!). Shaking it off, Alan moved his hands rhythmically and rapidly, To be fair, we weren’t sure he was going to get one for a while.

Scott faltered a little bit at the ASL. Darn, he should’ve seen Alan’s lack of talking from a mile away. Scott carefully hid his disappointment from Alan. Lord knew what the kid would take it as, “Yeah, that’s what he got for barely making it. Imagine what you’re going to get!”

Scott assumed his semi-fake charm worked, as Alan seemed to play along without any kind of suspicion, Oh yeah. Fair enough.

This kid, man.

Then, slow clapping came from a dark corner, making Scott’s heart leap out of his throat as well as push Alan behind himself. Glaring as much as he could towards the invisible evil-doer, Scott didn’t have to think twice, “Alan, take my map and find Virgil and Gordon.”

The youngest looked like he was going to object.

“Go.”

He no longer did. Good.

Listening to the field commander’s orders, Scott felt his wristband slip off his wrist and a warm body leave his vicinity. An inhale. Also good. An exhale, followed by an even darker glare, “What more do you want?”

Short and straight-to-the-point and angry, two things Scott typically wasn’t. Regardless, like a cold gust of wind, footsteps started approaching him from the shadow. Once Scott saw the outline of a body, he tensed even more. Virgil would snap at him for clenching his jaw so much.

A dark chuckle reminded him of what was important. The voice that spoke reminded him of something completely different, “Now then, brother, let’s not be rude to each other!”

Scott’s pupils shrunk at the familiar sight of Gordon stepping towards him. Except it wasn’t Gordon, because Scott knew that Gordon knew better. He also knew Gordon didn’t cheekily smile like that, even after a prank, nor did he walk that straight. He always had a funny walk after WASP, and Gordon wore that fact like a badge of honor.

Oh no, Scott definitely knew who this was, “What the hell are you playing at?”

Fake-Gordon rolled his eyes, like it wasn’t obvious, “I mean if we want to go that route, why did kid insist you being in the military was the coolest thing he’d ever heard you do? Maybe I wouldn’t have been pressured into joining a branch myself in the end.”

Scott’s nostrils flared, and by God, his pupils might have actually slitted like a snake’s, or possibly even a dragon’s, “Excuse me?”

Scott blinked, and suddenly he was met by not-Virgil, “Plus, why was our conclusion after hearing a three-year-old wanting to see snow to go to a ski resort? It had to have been those big, selfish, beady eyes, right?”

“C’mon, Scotty, we gotta give you some kind of calming exercise. There’s going to come a time when neither me or John are going to be there.”

“Hmm… does yoga work?”

A snort, “Well, that’s not too bad of an idea. Maybe the person pissing you off will stop whatever they’re doing at the sight of you spontaneously doing downward dog.”

Laughter, an unfamiliar action, “Yeah, okay, but for real, those breathing exercises I’ve seen you do look okay. Let’s start there.”

Scott was not a liar by heart. He had to admit that those exercises were doing jack shit right about now.

Another blink, another brother. Familiar ginger hair was all Scott could see, “To continue that previous point, why did Dad start International Rescue again? And what led to his demise?”

“Sounds like a piece of work. Why do you keep dealing with these people again?”

“Someone has to pay the bills, Johnny. Grandma’s too focused on making the perfect poison for us.”

A roll of eyes, “Right, because the billions we have saved wouldn’t be enough to last a couple of families a few lifetimes. Glad to see your calming exercises are working at least. How’s that going for you, by the way?”

A pause. A flicker of vision around the room. Someone cleared their throat, probably himself, “It’s probably not as bad as whatever space is throwing at you. You handling it okay up there?”

Another pause, followed by a sigh, “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Scott wanted to deflect the truth so badly right now more than anything else. Telling him he couldn’t pilot ‘One anymore would be a much more enticing option than what he was hearing.

Suddenly, Scott was looking in a mirror, “Besides, I know more than anybody that he wasn’t wanted. A mistake. I thought we Tracys hated being imperfect?”

The Hood must have known their backstories from internet articles, and being the mastermind he was, it probably took him all of three seconds to see Alan had some hidden self-worth issues. By playing the biggest Guess Who? game of all time, The Hood was most likely able to figure out some less-than-positive ideals Alan thought about himself throughout his childhood and danced circles around his already weakened mind to string together some spineless blame to put on the kid by sheer evilness alone.

Knowing his kid brother, it worked.

Scott wasn’t thinking straight-- maybe even at all when the first punch was thrown.

Just like that, Scott blacked out and was running on terminator mode. John would be disappointed. Virgil would be horrified. Gordon might find it funny. Alan wasn’t here, and thank God for that. Scott wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. All his mind was telling him was make lots of pain hard and fast. His brain also blocked out any hit The Hood was giving him in return. Pain flared for a few seconds, then it was swept away in the puddle of rage his mind was currently being consumed in.

Soon, his out-of-it mind found its target and gripped his-- The Hood’s arm, no disguise would make him have an identity crisis, thank you very much-- nice and rough.

Scott heard the familiar snap of cartilage and felt only partially bad. If he was thinking more clearly, he would be disgusted with himself. Yes, even The Hood didn’t deserve this level of Scott’s fury. Oh, he definitely deserved to be hit by a truck, but not by Scott. It was mostly due to Scott’s sanity. If he could be this graphic and violent at all, even to the worse possible criminals, that meant he could be that way during other moments, and that was not a territory he wanted to cross into.

Welp, he was here now, and he’ll hate to admit it in the future, but the only thing that brought him out of it was a tiny gasp from a few feet away. Snapping his head up, Scott’s eyes landed squarely on a smaller-than-normal Alan, who was currently clutching his arm to his chest in an emotion Scott didn’t want to figure out at the moment. So much for going and finding Virgil and Gordon.

“Allie, help…” fake him grunted out, only making real Scott growl and tighten his hold (and probably making his case worse). Looking up from the person in his arms, Scott felt his heart split in two at the sight. There was fear and uncertainty in Alan’s blue eyes and boy did it hurt. Scott couldn’t tell if it was because even seeing a potentially-fake Scott being beaten up was bad or if it was because he’d never seen big brother be this brutal, even towards their enemies. Whatever the reason, it involved Scott being the main root of the problem.

Wait, that was The Hood’s plan. Shit… make Scott act past the point of no return in a way that was unfamiliar to Alan so the kid couldn’t be fully sure who was who, and Scott fell right into his trap, hook, line, and sinker.

Fuck.

Bloody well done, Scott, you absolute moron.

Scott faltered a little bit, “A-Alan, I--”

That falter was enough for The Hood to break an arm out of his grip and elbow him in the face. In the brief second of freedom he had, he tried dashing towards Alan, but Scott was too quick for everyone’s good and soon had the imposter back in his arms, both of them struggling in a way that made them look like they were tied into the weirdest knot in existence.

Then, an earthquake struck.

No, literally.

A big shake of the abandoned compound threw the look-a-likes about and subsequently off the platform they were on. The place was old; it didn’t take a lot of weight for that guard rail they made their way over towards while fighting to snap right off. With a yelp, the two of them gripped the edge as much as they could and held on. Crap, I know we talked with Fuse about potentially setting some stuff off, but--

Blinking, Scott saw a familiar mop of blonde hair come into view. Alan was rather panicked, clearly not sure which Scott was the real Scott. Not only that, he had little time to decide which one to save. Goodie, another reason to despise The Hood: not only has he put Alan through weeks of torment, now he’s forcing the kid to decide to either save his oldest brother and biggest hero or his personal torturer.

And Alan won’t know until he picks.

Holy hell, this was getting worse by the second. Hopefully, big brother charm can work its magic and get them the hell out of there.

“Alan, quickly, over here!”

“I can’t hold on for much longer, Alan, hurry!”

The two Scotts glared at one another in the exact same way, not making Alan’s job much easier. Another shake, another slip down the metal cliff, more screams, and Alan looked ready to tear his hair out. Scott watched as the kid looked around rapidly, probably praying for a miracle in the process. Suddenly, the kid jumped when he must have spotted something important. Within the blink of an eye, he was gone and out of their range of visions to retrieve it.

Whatever the hell he noticed better be important, because if just ended up wasting precious time then--

Another shake, probably the last one. Still, it was enough.

Both their grips gave away at the same time, screams identical (God, did he always sound that wimpy?) as they plummeted to their demises. Scott was briefly able to look up to see his brother pop his head over the cliff like a chipmunk again and grab the (albeit broken) arm of The Hood and save him. Dammit, Scott should have expected that, though, that display of anger was uncharacteristic to Alan. Probably terrified him even more than he already was. Fuck, Scott deser--

Suddenly, a rope wrapped itself around Scott’s left arm and stopped his descent. Hard. Hopefully, it was only torn stuff, they didn’t have time to deal with dislocation--

Wait.

Scott wasn’t dead if he could think about these kinds of things.

Blinking, he looked at his arm to see the familiar rope of his grappling hook around his forearm. Moving his eyesight to look past that, he saw the wide, blue eyes of his baby brother struggling to stay on top. The Hood was using his non-broken side to try and climb his way back up to safety. Huh, that’s weird. When did Alan get ahold of that? Scott must have dropped it during his scuffle with--

That’s when it hit Scott.

Alan saved them both.

And it would be all for jack shit if Scott didn’t get his ass up there to help.

Panicking, Scott gripped the rope and started to ascend. He had two working arms and a smother complex to boot; it wasn’t long before he overtook a struggling Hood, who could only use one arm and a weakened brother (that bastard was so lucky Alan had a literal heart of gold).

Flinging his arms over the edge and pulling himself up-- and shrugging off the extra help Alan offered. Save your strength, baby bro-- Scott was in a much calmer search-and-destroy mode. He yanked his evil look-a-like up, turned him on his stomach, pinned him down, and before he could even watch Alan blink, “Sign something.”

There, now he watched Alan blink.

Scott pulled out one of his best ‘big brother’ smiles ever, “Tell me something in ASL. I don’t think The Hood learned that kind of etiquette.”

The body beneath him growled, making Alan jump and Scott tighten not only his hold but his glare. Further prove big brother’s point, why don’t cha? He lost the angry look immediately to grin at Alan once more, who seemed to be slowly getting the picture. With a gulp, the blonde slowly strung together a sentence that Scott had to laugh at, just a little bit.

Damn, could you teach me to fight like that, Scooter?

Nodding his head, Scott had to concede, “Sure. Consider it a graduation present.”

Alan blinked again, and the immense relief that washed over the boy’s shoulders would be enough to banish nightmares for at least a couple of days. Suddenly, The Hood’s disguise blinked out of existence, making both brothers jump that time. Scott didn’t falter in his grip, however. This man was going down right here and now, Scott thought darkly, staring at the prone body beneath his.

Scott saw Alan continue to sign out of the corner of his eye, You know you look like shit, right?

Scott chuckled. Alan was always able to put a smile on his face no matter the circumstances, “Yeah, well, kindred spirits, little bro.”

Scott was probably as pale as Alan was with such lack of sleep and food. Running on what was essentially a prolonged PTSD attack wasn’t healthy in the slightest, and no doubt whatever kind of bruises and scratches The Hood gave him didn’t help, however, seeing hope fill those deep-blue eyes when Alan learned he was truly being saved drowned everything out, including the way those freckles were getting lost in those eye bags.

Yeah, their entire family probably looked like shit, and the recovery process was going to be even shittier, but they were going to suffer through it together as a family would.

That made it all worth it.

Shuffling himself so one arm was free while the other kept The Hood pinned, Scott held it out towards Alan. The flinch the youngest made tore a hole in Scott’s heart that was only slightly patched when Alan leaned into the warmth and safety of his biggest bro. Long recovery process, remember? Regardless, Alan still took to the hug like a dehydrated zebra did a pond, and that was good enough for Scott.

The Hood groaned underneath them.

Yep, good enough.

#fabfivefeb #fabfivefeb2020 #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #alan tracy #jeff tracy #grandma tracy #the hood #virgil tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #my post #my fic #series: rules of alchemy

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wcstlcys · 4 years ago

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PENN BADGLEY. THIRTY. CISMALE. HE/HIM. ) in texas, WESTLEY THORN is known to most as WEST. they have been riding with the REAPERS for TEN YEARS. they originally from STRATFORD and the ENFORCER is known to be very RECKLESS & VINDICTIVE but the other club members will tell you they are DEVOTED & ECCENTRIC. as the years go by, they’ve gained a lot of respect in the club and around town. they rarely ever drive a car but when they do KILL OR BE KILLED BY NEW YEARS DAY is usually heard blasting. ( A CRUEL AND CROOKED SMILE, BLOODIED KNUCKLES THAT NEVER HEAL, AN UNDYING LONELINESS. ) [ JUNE. 23. GMT+2. SHE/HER. ]

[ VIOLENCE, ABANDONMENT, CRIME, DRUGS && DOUCHEBAGGARY TW ]

basics.

* mostly goes by west, sometimes wes if you’re cute

* biromantic / bisexual

* undying loyatly to the reapers

* currently the enforcer && will die for any of the members

* enjoys violence a little too much

* mostly lives at the clubhouse but owns a shitty apartment that needs to be burned down

* incredibly reckless && does not value his life

* will only ever ride his bike, will not ever drive a car && will only be a passenger in one

* substance abuse ??? possibly

* has violent felonies on his criminal record && will do it again

* loyal to a very dangerous fault

* here for a good time not a long time

about.

✘ abandonment issues would be the primary source when analyzing westley. the typical and tragic tale of a boy who seemed to be strangers with his own blood. his parents, far too focused on their own careers, never seemed to be around. while they provided him with the basic necessities, he was always alone. secluded in his own home left him feeling trapped, seeking attention on his own in all the worst ways.

✘ he didn’t care what it was or how he got it, he needed – no, desperately craved attention from others. most of the time, fist fights seemed to suffice. the adrenaline rush would satisfy him for a short moment, however it always quickly died out.

✘ if it wasn’t fighting, it was crawling his way into others beds, trying to fake some sort of love and affection without ever fully committing himself to anyone. he was selfish, incredibly so, he wanted to be loved and adored only to kick them out the next morning.

✘ somewhere down the line, when he barley managed to graduate high-school, he came into contact with a member of the reapers ( possible connection ). while he always knew of their existence, and in fact envied their group, he never knew anyone from that scene – but as soon as the connection was made joining the reapers easily became his new obsession. he was a simple hang around for the longest time, slowly building up relationships where he could, he moved onto prospect before finally becoming patched in by age twenty.

✘ the reapers was everything he wanted, the family he always longed for with seemingly the same interests and lifestyle that he had grown accustomed to. with this new found family a new sense of loyalty seemed to develop, in fact his loyalty and devotion to the club was undying. he would do anything, no questions asked.

✘ as the years went by, so did west move up in ranks. it was never intentional, he didn’t particularly strive for anything, he just went where he was needed. he moved up from rider to solider, and eventually up to enforcer. west is the type to shoot first and ask questions later. if someone was pointed out to him he would throw the first punch, never needing to know the reason why. he loves his club, scarily so.

✘ while his loyalty is his strong suit, it is also his downfall. west does not know how to let go of a grudge. once you wrong him, or someone he cares for, that’s it. he will find any reason to fuel his grudge, any small detail to validate any sort of vengeance. he cannot forgive and he cannot forget, west is simply not wired that way.

✘ west has the tendency to be incredibly reckless, he will simply do things purely for the thrill of it all. he rarely thinks things through and will act on impulse.

✘ westley tends to sleep around a lot, many of them never becoming anything more. he tells himself he’s fine with that, but in reality he wants something more. he wants genuine love but he can’t seem to allow himself to feel that way about someone else. that’s what he tells himself at least. while he’s had serious relationships, many of them tend to end up in flames. wes cannot hold down a healthy relationship and tends to develop rather toxic behavior and habits. he easily becomes obsessive and paranoid that ruins everything. ( fun fact he’s very much bisexual )

[ CONNECTIONS ]

✘ LOYALTY -- ok so applies to everyone in the club so come and love me bUT also potentially ppl outside of the club too k thnks let him die for u thanks

✘ FIRST LOVE && HEARTBREAK [ open idk ] – i imagine wes, somehow, fell seriously in love with someone. however, the odds were not in his favour. whether the love was unrequited, or for some reason or the other the two could not be together or their relationship did not last long – west was left devastated. this completely wrecked him and he cannot find it in himself to fully forgive this person (whether or not they actually hurt him is besides the point). he holds a lot of ill feelings towards this person, despite deep down still having feelings for them. i wanna leave this one open so that we can plot it out !! since he’s bisexual im fine with whomever for this plot tbh

✘ HOOKUPS / GROUPIES [ OPEN ] – west is a hoe, he has needs, he likes to sleep around && most importantly he needs attention. behind closed doors he will be the most affectionate and loving he can be, but your ass is out of his room come morning. minus a few exceptions here and there

✘ PAST RELATIONSHIPS / EXES [ OPEN ] – he has tried many times at relationships and has failed nearly every time. some have ended on good terms, others on bad. again leaving these ones open for plotting!

✘ BEST FRIENDS / RIDE OR DIE [ OPEN ] – somehow, west has managed to become genuine friends with someone, someone who can actually stand him for long periods of time. i imagine a lot of his ride or dies to be of course fellow reapers, but i can imagine some civilians as well !!

✘ ENEMIES [ OPEN ] – oh, this is a given. he has pissed off a lot of people, and i imagine there is a good amount of people he holds a grudge against. especially from the rival groups this would fit lmao also rival club lets go

✘ PAST FRIENDS [ OPEN ] – before he joined the reapers i imagine he must of left a few people behind in order to pursue his new life.

IM REALLY TIRED AND THIS IS ALL I CAN THINK OF AT THIS TIME BUT PLS !! I AM HERE FOR ALL THE PLOTS OK BYE XXX

#rideintro #here is west i hate him #but love him pls

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damienthepious · 5 years ago

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im. heck. this is long. tuesday???!? aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. forgive typos i’m RUSHING to get this up before i have to leave for work.

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 14)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [ao3] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol)

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: A homecoming.

Chapter Notes: These dang things just keep getting longer, don't they? Also I'm emotional. I'm so fucking emotional. Chapter specific warnings for an explicit threat of violence, not carried through with.

Arum insists on coming out to the front room for breakfast the next morning. Saving his strength is all well and good, but if Arum need be confined to that little bed for the entire time between now and their departure, he will certainly not make it that far. Amaryllis was right, that day he attempted escape. At least the view out there is different, and- well. He is comfortable in the room with the cot, by now, but it is far less clinical in Amaryllis' living space. It makes him feel less of a patient and more… more of a guest. Which he should not care about, of course.

Amaryllis relents rather quickly on the subject, provided that he agree to pick a spot and stick to it, until the evening. She is overly concerned with him, not quite paranoid but certainly delving into the territory of what Arum is comfortable referring to as fretting. She scowls when he calls it that, which is gratifying, but it also appears to make her more conscious of how delicate she is being with him, and she rolls her eyes at herself before she helps to lift him to his feet, shuffling slowly out to the table.

Amaryllis and Sir Damien keep their hands clasped between them throughout their breakfast together. Seems inconvenient, Arum thinks, pulling his eyes away from the easy way their fingers interlace. They do not have an overabundance of limbs to work with. Surely they should not impede themselves for such a- a pointless gesture.

They are-

Arum cannot say what, precisely, it is, but he feels as if something is strange between the pair of them. Or- or perhaps that something had been strange, and has now settled. They are sitting closer, and something about their proximity feels… easier. Sir Damien, in particular, seems more calm, though Amaryllis still has a layer of nervous energy to her.

Of course, Amaryllis is not particularly patient. She does not hold the tension inside of her for long, after they have finished eating.

"So," Amaryllis says, and Arum frowns instantly. "So… Damien is gonna be- coming with us for the trip."

Arum jerks his head to look at the knight, and Damien nods slightly.

"Wh-why?" Arum barks.

"Because… because I want to," Damien says quietly, and then he- smiles, soft and odd, and Arum remembers Damien's hand on his chin, despite himself, "and because I do not think it would be safe for only the pair of you to take that trip. Too many potential dangers, on both sides. I am certain that Rilla has discussed- ah, potential ways to disguise you, so that you will be in less danger from… knights."

Damien's voice has gone soft as well, and Arum can see some strange pain on his face, though Arum cannot say precisely what that indicates. How much separation can this creature feel from his own order?

"But of course that does not mean there will not still be some risk, if��" Damien pauses again. "I would feel better, being there. And… I have my part in this, as well."

"Your part ," Arum echoes. "What do you mean, your part in this?"

Damien pauses for a long moment, clearly considering his words.

"I want to see you home and safe as well, Arum. I have… committed this far. I will follow through."

"Committed?" Arum says. "I hardly think this counts as a commitment. You- you have allowed Amaryllis to- you have denied your duty in slaying me-"

Arum cuts himself off with a wince, then glances toward Amaryllis and away again. Damien does not rise to this statement, does not comment or deny.

It is clear, from the mild confusion on Amaryllis' face, that Damien has not told her the precise shape of what passed between the two of them, the previous day. What Arum nearly pushed Sir Damien to do.

"You…" Arum trails off. "Fine. If you should like to come, I do not see what it will hurt. I shall be curious to see how deep your treachery runs."

"Arum," Rilla warns.

Arum winces again, then sighs and looks away. "It is not as if I could stop you, anyway."

Damien tilts his head. Arum can see it, in his periphery.

"If it would… truly cause you distress, I would… I would worry rather deeply, but I would stay-"

"I said I could not stop you," Arum repeats in a sharp voice. "It is not as if you distress me, songbird, I simply- I do not understand."

"Yes," Damien says softly. "Well. That is… fair. It is a… somewhat complicated situation, is it not? But- but I will take this journey with you, if you allow me."

"I said I could not stop you, honeysuckle,” Arum growls, and judging by Amaryllis’ breath of laughter his tone must be unconvincing. “If that is your choice, that is your choice."

Damien's mouth curls slightly, a smile vague but pleasant, and Arum can't stand to keep his eyes on the pair of them together, though they keep drawing back, regardless.

"Very well. I will accompany you, then."

Arum huffs, wrinkling his snout. "I am surprised that your Citadel can spare you. I thought you creatures were rather strictly kept."

Damien purses his lips, then sighs. "We are… currently in something of a lull, I suppose. There was a thread our Investigator General intended to pull, but… well… when pulled, the pattern simply unraveled. There was a rash of monster attacks with similar stratagems, but they've dissipated like mist over the last… during the last few…" he trails off, his tone going blank. "The… the last few weeks."

Arum feels the twinge in his frill, knows perfectly well he is giving himself away, but Damien does not turn his eyes towards him, accusatory or otherwise.

The pause draws long, and Amaryllis is clearly hovering on the edge of words herself.

"Well?" Arum snaps, eventually. "Are you going to ask or aren't you? Go ahead, then. I told you I made weapons against your kind. What, precisely, were these consistent stratagems you were attempting to ferret out?"

"Arum," Rilla says gently, but Arum scowls more deeply as Sir Damien meets his eyes.

“Well, Sir Damien?”

Damien holds his gaze, for a quiet moment. "There were a number of creatures, in short time, utilizing powers of manipulation. Encouraging conflict, stoking self doubt, provoking pain. Assaulting the mind first, in order to more effectively destroy the body."

"Yes," Arum says in a hiss. "Yes, I am certain I created the creatures of which you speak. I cannot imagine any other could have managed to replicate my work."

"The mushrooms," Rilla murmurs, her brow furrowed. "It was- pain. Illusions of things we- things we were afraid of, things that hurt us."

Arum wishes he could burn the grubs a second time. The look on Amaryllis' face is unbearable, but then she looks up at him, raking her eyes over his face, her expression oddly desperate.

"Yes," he hisses again.

"I…" Damien's face goes mournful as Arum snaps his attention back to the knight. "I cannot say that no harm was done by the creatures, that none were killed. I cannot alleviate your guilt in that way-" Arum scoffs, but he cannot deny, not with the way Damien is looking at him. "But… but I can say that none are doing harm any longer."

Arum looks away, too uncomfortable to pretend otherwise. "If you say so."

"Regardless," Damien continues in a low, measured voice. "As to whether or not I may be spared by the Citadel- while the Investigator General searches for a new loose thread to worry over, the ranks await more specific direction, and-" Damien gives a very small laugh, and the corner of Rilla's mouth pulls into an answering smile. "And I very, very rarely use the time I am granted, for leave. More often than not, I am too worried over the prospect of leaving my fellow knights without assistance. So… none were troubled, that I wished to take my allotted time now, to assist my Rilla."

It is more of an answer than Arum expected. In truth, he had merely been trying to rile the knight again. He huffs out another breath, claws drumming on the table.

"Okay," Rilla says, drawing the word out into more syllables than it requires. "Okay. Uh, that seems settled enough for me, I think. This has been awkward enough for one morning. So, Arum, I, uh-"

She pauses, and Damien squeezes her hand, and Arum hears her breath come steadier, again. She sighs.

"So, I was thinking, we should leave either tomorrow or the day after." She pauses again. "Maybe the day after. You're standing better, and Damien's offered his horse, so- you'll ride, and we'll walk. It'll take longer, but even if we had three horses it probably wouldn't be safe for you to ride at speed anyway, you could jostle something open, or-" She bites her lip. "So. You on the horse, me and Damien walking, and- it'll be slow. What is it, two weeks to your swamp?"

"Something… something to that effect, yes. Though-" he clenches his teeth. "When we are close- we only need reach the border, I think, and we will not need to travel by foot any longer."

"The border. Okay. Okay, and, um, with the route we planned the other day, we should be…" her lips twitch into a smile. "We can do this. We can get you home, and then- ah… I've- I've made up a bunch of extra-"

Her voice- cracks a little, and some pain crosses her face. Arum blinks. He does not understand why she would be…

"For- um. For after I- for after we-" she pauses, inhaling sharply. "I made up a bunch of extra salves, and painkillers, and- and a replacement wrap, so your horn will- so your horn will keep together, and a new cast that should last until your wrist is healed and- so you won't have to worry… when I'm gone."

Arum stares at her, at the odd twisting of her almost-smile. "Ah."

I'm gonna miss him, is the only thing.

Amaryllis' voice on the recorder had been so keening and strange, and it had pulled on Arum's heart like his own yearning for the Keep and- and he could not help but believe her. She is … she is going to miss him. She will feel his absence. Such a terribly strange feeling-

And Arum had been honest, when he told her that he would miss her in return. Though, of course, Arum knows that had not been the whole of it. It is not the whole of it, but he will feel her absence, as well.

"Very…" he swallows. "Very forward thinking of you," he manages. "I… I had no fears, of course. And all I require is home, regardless. Seems a shame, I think, to make you waste an entire month ferrying me back and then needing to return. Certainly your other patients will be missing you, with your skill."

"Yeah, well, I may be the best doctor in the Citadel, but I'm not the only doctor in the Citadel. They'll manage." She smiles again, a little less certainly, and Damien squeezes her hand again.

"Do you feel ready enough for the trip, Lord Arum?" Damien asks.

Arum hates the way his own heart turns, slowly, like a key in a lock, every time Sir Damien calls him that. It is ridiculous. It is his name , it does not make sense , but- the way his tone curls around Lord, the way Arum seems to sit at the back of his mouth. Lord Arum. Respectful formality from a knight. It is … strange, that is all. It is still strange.

"I am… as ready as I shall be," he murmurs. "I cannot afford further delay. My swamp, my home, it… it has been…"

"Without its Lord," Damien finishes, gently.

"Yes. My swamp… and my Keep."

Rilla startles slightly, but Arum… Arum does not know why he has bothered to continue concealing the Keep's existence anyway, and Sir Damien has made it… abundantly clear, that his stance has changed. This stiff-spined little human has shifted his footing, has gained a new vantage, as incomprehensible as that seems.

Damien purses his lips, his face going questioning. "Have you… mentioned a Keep before?" He asks. "Or- no. I think- I think you have only nearly mentioned a Keep before."

"Perceptive," Arum grumbles, his tone hovering between irritated and impressed. "Yes. My home, my Keep." He pauses. "I have already explained it to Amaryllis, I do not- I do not feel-"

"You need not explain anything to me, Lord Arum. Home is…" he presses a hand over his heart. Arum hears his breath catch. "All creatures should be blessed with shelter, with home. It is…" he pauses again. "I am certain you will be glad to be returned to yours. We shall do all we can, to make that come to pass for you."

"Yes, well…" Arum glances aside, uncomfortable. "The sooner the better." He clasps his claws in front of himself, then glances towards Amaryllis. "The… the day after tomorrow, you said, Amaryllis. If you think I shall require the extra day."

Amaryllis nods, and Arum does not know what they will do in the interim. He had not been planning, truly, to make it this far. And now he has today, and tomorrow, to worry and wonder about this upcoming trip. To worry and wonder, about the softness of Sir Damien's hand on his chin. About the leaping of his own heart, at the gentleness with which the knight had lifted it. About the prospect of Amaryllis missing him. About all these strange and bitter hungers that have begun to curl within him.

Arum's eyes have found Amaryllis and Sir Damien's clasped hands again, tracking the way that Damien's thumb is brushing soft over the back of it, a slow, comforting rhythm, as Amaryllis' hand squeezes his. Arum's tongue flicks compulsively, and he buries the urge to-

He does not even know. He is not close enough to reach their hands, and what would he do even if he was? Even if he- if he reached out and wrapped his hand around both of their own (his hand is large enough to do so, his fingers longer than theirs, their stubby little mammal things with their blunt nails and their soft brown skin) (Arum knows the softness both of their hands, now), even if he were to do so-

Certainly they would not welcome his intrusion. Certainly not. They are both so eager to see him gone from their lives. And Arum is eager as well, of course, to return to his Keep, to return to his life. He is eager to close the door on this bizarre little chapter-

A lie. Too deep to stand.

He is not eager to close the door on this chapter. He is not ready. Two days. Two days- only two more days in this strange little hut, in this short-ceilinged human construction, full of herb smell and strange baubles and dangerous plants and skillful wordsmithing and a heretical, compassionate little doctor, and her knight.

Arum has never had a place outside of the Keep before, where he felt himself truly safe. Arum's mind is still… halved in a strange way, he still feels the absence of the Keep's thoughts at his edges, still feels where the Keep is meant to fit, where song should shift into… meaning, and affection, and shared memory, and home.

But if Arum could still feel the Keep here, he would be entirely unable to pretend, anymore, that he does not wish there was some way he could stay.

Arum intends to finish the translation, before they leave. It will not be difficult, all things considered. The tome is short, the material arranged in no particular order but with consistent notation for the entries, and he is familiar enough with a decent amount of the species listed that it speeds the process considerably. He needs not even attempt to scrawl the information out in his slightly more stilted attempt at human script, now that Amaryllis is in the room with him again. She simply sets her recorder beside him and he speaks as he works, occasionally drifting into conversation rather than translation, or narrowing his eyes at a particular peculiarity of the dialect, the drifting etymology of distance.

When he turns the page and sees the Moonlit Hermit, he freezes. After a moment, he drifts his claws down the page, tracing the single narrow line that depicts the flower's stem.

So small a thing, to cause so much trouble.

"The Moonlit Hermit," he murmurs, and Amaryllis drops a roll of bandages, the white ribboning off as it unrolls across her floor.

He raises an eyebrow as she scrambles to retrieve the roll, laughing awkwardly, and when she straightens she won't meet his eyes for a long moment.

"Amaryllis?"

"Just- forgot that one was in there too."

He tilts his head. "Why does it matter? What is the Hermit to you, then?" he asks, because if the Universe insists on piercing him through to make a point-

"My- my parents were researching it. It was a big part of their research, actually- the Hermit, what it could do- the potential it had-"

Arum frowns, automatically, remembering the particular results he had pulled from the potential of the Hermit in his possession.

"I've- I've been trying to… to find one," she says, her voice gone small, and Arum forces himself not to stare at her, at the longing on her face. He looks to the book, instead.

"I am afraid there is very little on the subject in this particular volume, Amaryllis," he says, gently, and she sighs.

"That… yeah, I kind of expected that. I couldn't read it, but- I could tell the entry was short. Shorter than most of the other ones, at least."

"It mentions the unnatural fragility of the stem," he murmurs, tracing his claw along the lettering. "Five pale petals, the glow of moonless night, the utter incongruity… hm," he traces the shape of the drawing on the paper again, remembering. "Volumes of this sort so rarely bother to note the sounds. It chimes, as well, at contact or in use. It is not the most beautiful song I have ever heard, but… it suits. Cool, and delicate."

He realizes, after a pause, that Amaryllis is staring at him. He pulls his eyes from the book, wary at her uncertain gaze.

"What?"

"You… you've heard it? You've- you've seen one. Arum- Arum, you've seen a Moonlit Hermit?" She sets her medical bag aside, her packing entirely forgotten. "Arum, please, you have to tell me where I can- how- I have to see it. I have to- to-"

His heart sinks, the hope in her voice too unfortunate to stand. "If it still existed, Amaryllis… I would certainly think it fair payment for the service you have provided me, but- it was destroyed." He pauses, sighs. "I destroyed it."

"You-" she looks too stunned to be properly furious, but Arum suspects that will come soon enough. " What?"

"Those who attacked me," he says softly, "desired to take it for themselves. To use it. Just as I had been using it, of course, to create weapons against your kind." He pauses, exhales. "I wish I could say, Amaryllis, that it had been a choice made of morality, but- I did not yet know you. I- there are many things I did not yet know, when I…" he traces the shape of the petals again, one, two, three, four, five, and his lip curls in an almost smile. "I ensured that our meeting occurred in daylight, as insurance. It was easy enough, when I realized I had been betrayed, to lift so fragile a thing into the light."

"Arum-"

"Spite. I destroyed the Hermit in spite, Amaryllis, because I knew they intended to kill me, and I did not want to give them the satisfaction of beating me, as well. Of taking what I rightfully found. I threw myself into the river for the sake of that same spite. I would rather drown than let them slit my throat, so…"

She is touching his shoulder, now. He does not look at her.

"I do not regret my actions. The Hermit could have… would have done some good, in your hands, of that I am certain, but… I am glad it was destroyed, rather than be misused again. Rather than being twisted to further bloodshed."

Her hand on his shoulder lifts, and she almost touches his face. Almost. He keeps his eyes safely away.

After a breath, she drops the hand, and turns, and returns to her packing. Arum feels his stomach twisting, regret and shame, fear, desire, all of it colliding together within him like a collapsing building, but still he does not look. He breathes and breathes until he is certain that his voice will not shake, and then he turns the page, and resumes his translation.

It feels as if Arum simply blinks, and two full days have passed. Sir Damien wakes before dawn, and Arum, his nerves sharp and heightened, wakes at his careful noise, at the click of the door behind him as he goes outside to run through his routine.

Amaryllis wakes not long after, throwing together a quick sort of breakfast and quietly going through a checklist of their supplies before she comes to, in theory, wake him.

She smiles, clearly unsurprised when she finds him already awake, already digging his claws into the sheets, and the smile stays as she helps him to his feet.

She wraps him in layers. A simple strategy, but simplicity is more reliable than the delicacy of complication, in Arum's experience. He keeps the cape on beneath the rest, and she smiles when she is done wrapping the rest around him. He can see the crooked shape of it through the sheer scarf covering his face.

And then, for the first time since he woke in Amaryllis’ hut, he steps outside.

Arum does not want to look back, to acknowledge the finality of walking away from this hut, of stepping up into the saddle and riding away from this shelter, riding back towards his true home.

He does not wish to look back.

Rather- he wishes that he did not want to.

He turns despite himself as Amaryllis adjusts the robes that hide his scales, ensuring that his tail is hidden as he curls it around his own ankle. He does not mean to, but he turns, and-

It looks so much smaller, from the outside. Squat and friendly and warm, with flowering vines curling familiar across trellises and a clean little herb garden and the mossy stump where Damien likes to sit and compose when he is finished with his exercises, and the curtained window Arum knows the shape of so terribly well, from the other side.

So many days. So very long, he has spent in such a small, strange space. And now-

He cannot imagine that he will ever see it again.

Arum is almost grateful for the ridiculous layers. At least neither of the humans can see the way his face twists, as his heart lurches with the grief of parting.

They travel light; there’s not much they need to take with them. Rilla keeps her medical bag, of course, in case of emergencies or in case the traveling impedes Arum’s recovery in some way, along with her bag of extra supplies she's gonna leave with him when they get him back home. Damien pretty much just has his armor, his bow, and his usual traveling supplies: bedroll, rations, canteen, et cetera. Arum has nothing to bring, obviously. Nothing except for his mended cape, which is wrapped secure around his shoulders beneath the rest of his mild disguise. Rilla covered him in strategic layers, scarves and shawls and large loose pants that collectively obscure his form and face as he sits sideways in the saddle of Damien’s horse, who only required minimal acclimating to adjust to the weight of a monster. Currently, Arum looks enough like an excessively ill person swaddled like an infant, or like a particularly old-fashioned noble, and hopefully they won’t need to do much by the way of explanation on the less-traveled roads they intend to use.

It’s slow going, of course. Anything more than the lightest movement could be a risk for Arum; jostling around on top of a horse isn’t exactly healthy for healing stab and slash wounds, obviously.

Every time they pass another group, Damien looks like he’s about to be sick, face twisting in a completely unconvincing smile and his voice going high and reedy if he tries to greet them. Rilla does most of the talking, for a change, and Arum sits tense and stiff and dignified astride the horse, and occasionally nods through his scarves at whomever happens to be passing by.

Nights are more difficult. They need to wander far from the road to set up camp, and they need to obscure the fire on one side to make it more difficult to see from where they came, to avoid other eyes, and they wait until it is safely dark every night before Arum can remove his layers of disguise and sigh in the open air again. He always keeps his cape safely draped around his shoulders after the rest has been left in a pile nearby, a claw curled along the edge of the fabric as he settles close and warm by the fire.

He’s tired , Rilla can tell. The travel on top of his recovery, and the constant strain of worry that comes from the threat of discovery- it’s no wonder, really. She wishes she could make this easier for him, wishes she could just snap her fingers and have him home to his Keep, but- this is the best she can do, for now. She’ll get him home, long way around or no.

"Sir Damien."

They are preparing to resume their travel in the morning, Damien packing the last of their supplies back up from their makeshift camp while Rilla tends to Damien's horse, and Arum is wrapped already in his layers as they wait for Rilla to return, to help Arum back into the saddle for the day. Damien glances down at the obscured monster, lips pursing nervously, but he does not think the monster is looking back at him. It is difficult to tell, with the layers, but Damien thinks that Arum is looking towards Rilla again.

"Yes, Lord Arum?"

He continues to stare for a moment, and then Arum glances away. His voice comes even quieter, then. "We are still close to your Citadel, little knight," he murmurs. "There is still time between us and my home, and many opportunities for this expedition to fall apart."

"Pessimism will not help the situation, Lord Arum," Damien says mildly.

"Perhaps not. But pragmatism-" he pauses, sighs. "If the worst is to happen, if I am discovered along this mad little journey… Amaryllis must not be seen as guilty for helping a monster. I refuse to have her suffer for this absurd kindness."

Damien pauses, his heart doing a swooping little flip, and he looks at Arum again in disbelief. "What-"

"If we are discovered, they must believe that I forced her to treat me, forced her to escort me home. They must believe that she was made to do it, that I threatened or coerced or- she must not be seen a traitor for my sake. Do you understand me, Sir Damien?"

Damien presses a hand over his heart, presses as hard as the thudding pressing out. He forces his breath to come steady enough for words, just for one sentence. "Rilla would not be happy, with that particular deception," he rasps, looking at his fiance through the rosy morning light.

"That," Arum says with a growl, "is precisely why I am asking you, and not the doctor herself. I trust that you will protect her. I know that you will."

Damien wishes so dearly that he could see the monster's face, just now. That he could see the look in his violet eyes.

"Honeysuckle," Arum says quietly, roughly. "Tell me that I am correct."

"This- this is not like the other day, is it? This is not more of the same, again, more of you trying to- to-"

"This is not an act of self destruction, honeysuckle." Arum stares up at him, or at least, Damien assumes that is the direction the monster is aiming his eyes. "But she must be safe."

Damien inhales, exhales, inhales.

"Rilla would never forgive me, if I caused you to be hurt in her stead. You must know that, Lord Arum."

The monster clenches his hands, his head ducking just slightly. "It is more important that she be alive, to forgive you or not." He turns his head a little further away, then, his voice going even quieter. "Of course she will forgive you, little fool. She loves you."

Damien's throat goes tight and hot and uncomfortable, his heart thrumming and thrumming, and the words boil within him but he cannot say-

Do you think I do not know that you love her as well? Can you not see that she loves you in return?

His lips part, he is going to say something too foolish for their unspoken understanding to survive, but-

Rilla is returning.

Arum's shoulders go stiff, and before she is in hearing distance he mutters, "I must trust that you will do what is right, Sir Damien."

Damien breathes slow, summoning tranquility as best he can, listening to the drumming of his own heart, and he knows that he will. He will do what is right, even if that is not the same as what Arum has asked of him.

Rilla is fairly bored on the road. She can't read effectively while walking, and they only have the one horse. She can only glean so much amusement out of cataloging the wildlife as they pass it by, but Damien knows her far too well to let her boredom sit. He starts reciting as they travel, spinning stories, sharing newer compositions, weaving tales in the air between them, accompanied by jungle noises and the hum of insects.

Rilla sings, as well, when Damien's poor voice needs a rest, and she pretends not to notice when she starts a song and Arum stiffens in recognition. Pretends even harder not to notice when he hums along, when he harmonizes in his low, careful voice. She pretends, poorly, not to grin in delight, the smile tipping her singing voice even brighter.

If she didn't feel like she was riding off to break her own stupid, stupid heart, this would be the most fun she's had on a trip in ages.

Unnatural quiet in the jungle dark, and Sir Damien comes awake with the fingers of one hand already gripped on his bow, a strange and familiar rushing in his ears.

He remembers where he is without strain. He can feel the dirt beneath him through the bedroll, can feel Rilla close beside him, can hear her breathing light.

He can hear little else besides. A stillness hangs in the night air, and Damien feels it. He feels attack waiting, can taste tension on the air. He can almost hear the source. Almost.

Damien breathes slow. Panic is a faraway thing, just now. A faraway thing that cannot possibly touch him. The rushing in his ears has gone slowly rhythmic, and Damien waits, Damien waits, Damien waits for the precise moment. For the strike. For his parry.

His heart. Rilla's breath. The rustle of leaf and soil. The padding, just low, of paws. Damien tenses, poised and prepared and waiting, waiting for just the right moment-

"If you take one… single… step… closer," says a low, guttural, growling voice, and Sir Damien realizes after a startled breath that he recognizes it. He recognizes the voice, because it belongs to Lord Arum, though it has been pitched dangerous as it echoes strange and placeless among the trees. "If you take just one more step… I will make a meal of your entrails while you still live."

There is a pause, a stillness deeper, even, than the one which came before it.

"Do not test me," Arum continues, dark and certain. "These creatures are not yours to hunt."

Another pause. Slowly, slowly, the sense of danger recedes. The night noises of the jungle resume in its absence, the whine of insects and the rustle of small creatures, and Damien knows they are safe again.

Damien has never heard Lord Arum sound quite like that, before. Dark. Dangerous. Protective. And Damien does not feel an ounce of fear, at that voice, though his heart is thudding hot.

Not yours to hunt.

Not yours, he said. Does that mean, then, that Arum considers them his?

Another long pause draws out in the darkness as Damien tries to shake the memory of Arum's voice, as he feels the gooseflesh shiver across his skin, and then there is a noise, shifting close by.

"You are awake, aren't you, honeysuckle?"

Arum's voice no longer sounds strange. It no longer echoes oddly, and the venom is gone from it, leaving the monster sounding only soft, murmuring through the black of night.

"Yes," Damien whispers.

"I did not intend to wake you," Arum hisses.

"You did not," Damien says, just as low. "I… I felt that something was wrong. I woke before you… scared the creature away. Will it return, do you think?"

"Certainly not," Arum drawls, gently. "We are close to my territory now, little songbird, and I know the sorts of scavengers that prowl my borders. I know a coward when I smell one," he hisses. "She expected an easy meal. That, we most certainly are not. She will not try again."

"How…" Damien needs to pause, to swallow. "How did you know I was awake?"

"Your breathing shifted… your heartbeat. I can hear them both from here."

It is difficult, for Damien, not to feel exposed, knowing that. He is certain that his heart is still beating hard. Harder, now.

"And… and did you slip into the trees, to frighten the creature away? I will be compelled to tell Rilla if you exerted yourself while she slept-"

"I did not budge an inch, honeysuckle. Don't be foolish."

Damien blinks, for all the good it does him. The bare hint of stars between the canopy above flickers, just for a moment. "But- but your voice, Arum," he murmurs, and when Arum chuckles low Damien can feel heat pooling odd in his stomach. "You sounded as if…"

"As if I could be anywhere," Arum murmurs , and his voice echoes again, placeless, but close and worrying. "Yes … I told you, honeysuckle, that I had some skill, some tricks up my sleeves…"

Even more worrying than Arum's voice itself: the way the low heat of it makes the answering heat in Damien's stomach pulse.

"A-Arum," Damien whispers, and he releases his grip on his bow, reaching into the dark instead, grasping in the direction that Arum's voice had seemed to come from, for those few words where he had sounded ordinary again. "Where… where are you?"

There is a brief pause, a more gentle laugh in the dark.

"I am close enough to pluck you, still, little honeysuckle," he says in a rumble that rolls down Damien's spine, and he cannot help the way his breath catches, his eyes darting in the darkness as he tries to pin Arum's place. "Have no fear." Another laugh, even warmer. "Unless… unless my proximity is what worries you, of course."

"Arum," Damien breathes, reaching his hand our further.

"I'm here," Arum hisses. "I forget the limitations of your senses. I can see you, blue as you are in the starlight. Can you truly not see me?"

"I…" Damien swallows roughly, feeling Rilla warm beside him, feeling the coolness of the dirt beneath him, knowing that this monster is somewhere, so close by, watching him through the dark. Damien shakes his head, testing.

"How interesting," Arum murmurs, and his voice is still bouncing strange, as if it could be coming from the whole of the jungle itself.

A pause drags out, then, and Damien grasps, feeling across the scattered leaves, towards where Arum's bedroll should be.

Arum's hand intercepts his own, and when the monster laughs soft again, he sounds only close, only ordinary again. "I told you, honeysuckle. I am here."

"Arum," Damien whispers, the texture of scales so strange against his palm, and Arum pulls his hand closer, touching it to- to his cheek, Damien imagines, and he can feel the rumbling of his throat and the rumbling of his voice as he speaks again.

"I did not budge an inch," he hisses again, and Damien can feel him speaking, even as his voice echoes in the canopy above.

Damien can barely focus on the fascination he feels at that, though, because the reality of Arum's face in his hand, again- the reality of the monster laying so close beside them in the dark- it is twisting so- so-

So pleasantly, within him. Damien's mouth has gone dry.

"Go back to sleep, honeysuckle," Arum murmurs, his voice gone quiet and normal again, and he squeezes Damien's hand as he moves it away from his face again. "Go back to sleep. We are safe, I assure you."

Damien believes him instantly. Damien believed him the first time, when he insisted the other monster would not return. He knows that they are safe, that the three of them together are more dangerous than anything the wilds could possibly assail them with.

"Are you certain?" he asks again, regardless, because his heart is racing and he knows that Arum can hear it, and certainly he requires this excuse for the pounding rhythm, and for the way he has not pulled his hand away from Arum's.

Arum has not pulled his hand away, either.

"We are safe," Arum repeats in a hiss. "I promise. Go back to sleep, Damien."

Damien squeezes his eyes shut, despite the dark, hoping that Arum is no longer looking at his face, that he cannot see Damien's expression in the dark.

Damien pretends that he has forgotten their hands, clasped together. He steadies his own breathing, pretends not to feel his own heat permeating Arum's hand, and-

And Arum does not pull his hand away, either.

Arum does not pull his hand away. Not before Damien falls back asleep in truth, at least.

The rumors are true, apparently.

They can see it in the distance when they round the crest of a hill, a gap in the canopy of trees above the road giving them a decent look towards the swamp in the distance that is apparently Arum’s home.

The swamp that is also, apparently, creeping outward.

They can see outcroppings of new-grown swamp greenery that stands out among the wider jungle, pushing past the usual border between the two, and even at this distance Rilla can see the speckling of purple from the blooms that give the swamp its name as well, and from this perspective the growth looks like curling fingers, reaching out.

Searching, Rilla thinks. A desperate hand, combing through the jungle to look for the missing ruler currently bundled up on the horse behind her. She glances back towards him, and even hidden behind the layers of cloth she can see the tension in his frame, can feel the impatient energy radiating from him.

“Almost there,” she says, and he tilts his head down towards her with a sharp breath. “Not much farther, now.”

He nods, and she sees him hesitate for only a moment before his eagerness gets the better of him.

“If one of those- those outgrowths is close enough, we should aim for it. We may be afforded a shortcut. Save further time,” he hisses quietly, and that’s pretty confusing but Rilla nods in response. He knows this place better than she does, after all.

Damien holds his own tongue for a moment before he points out one in particular, a vivid purple growth curling out, and quietly suggests a path they could take in that direction, a smaller road that should take them close.

Arum grows more and more agitated as they make their approach, and they all notice at the same moment that the outgrowths aren't the only strange thing about the swamp's border, nor are they the only new growth. She understands belatedly why the border was so easy to see from a distance-

There is a wall. The foliage on the edge is tightly packed, unnaturally so, the trees interwoven with newer saplings and quick vines, an enormous wicker boundary spotted with bright splotches of poisonous plants (Rilla can tell, even at this distance). Arum picks up a low growl, compulsive and continuous, and Rilla clenches her hands tight but she doesn't warn him against the noise. She doubts any other humans would be coming this close while the swamp is doing… whatever this is, and honestly, she can't blame him for the distress.

He's practically snarling to himself by the time they reach the border, his tail thrashing noticeably beneath his layers, and Rilla's stomach gives a sympathetic twist as Damien carefully, carefully helps Arum lower himself from the saddle.

"Okay," Rilla says. "Obviously this is… less than ideal."

"An understatement, Amaryllis. Look at- look at this! What- what could it possibly-" he gestures sharply towards the wall, then hisses in pain and draws the limb back to himself.

Damien makes a worried noise, an arm still supporting the monster as he fidgets, growling low, and then he eyes the wall with a considering look. "Hm. Perhaps I will close the borders entirely," Damien murmurs, and Rilla doesn't understand his words or his tone until he looks to Arum again. "I think you said that, when I asked what you intended to do when you returned home. It seems that others had similar thoughts, in your absence, Lord Arum."

Arum scoffs, then gently pushes himself from Damien's grip, standing straighter on his own, stiff and strained. "Foolishness. Ridiculous," he mutters as he starts to pull the layers off, unwinding scarves from his neck. "All this will do is draw undue attention-"

The sound of wings above compels Damien to draw his bow instantly, and his eyes dart to the foliage above more quickly than Rilla can follow, fixing on the source, the wide wingspan and gleaming threat of talons as they descend, and Damien's stance tightens, drawing the string more taut-

"Wait- stop-"

At Arum's choking cry Damien's poise falters, his aim going wide, the arrow finding purchase in the wicker wall instead of the quickly dropping- thing-

Arum tears the hood from his head, tears the last of the layers off beside his cape, his frill flaring and a grin curving his mouth, and he makes a strange warbling call, clear and loud and near to birdsong, and the wings above startle, fluttering sharp, and then there is an answering cry before the shape descends even faster.

"Arum-"

"Lord A-"

Arum nearly falls as the feathered shape collides with him, but he is laughing, now, as he makes more of those strange noises, and Rilla finally manages to parse exactly what the hell just happened, because there is an enormous heron shuffling from one taloned foot to the other on top of Arum's shoulders, shoving its beaked face into Arum's horns and squawking in a way that sounds both irritable and excited.

"Yes- foolish thing," Arum breaks into another laugh, and then into another strange warble as he lifts a hand to gently push the beaked face from pecking at the edge of his frill. "Obviously. Of course I did. Of course I did, you little- did you doubt? No-" he trills again, bright, and the heron ruffles up and makes a chuffing noise. "Of course I did," Arum says again, gentler, tapping the bird softly beneath the beak, and then he seems to remember Rilla and Damien, still watching.

Rilla's breathing hasn't entirely slowed from the shock, yet, but she's smiling now as she watches him, and Damien has come close beside her, stowing his bow again and pressing a hand over his mouth to bury his own smile, and Arum's frill ruffles by his neck at their observation.

"Er-"

"A friend?" Rilla asks, an eyebrow raising.

"One of my- my subjects, I suppose you could say," Arum murmurs, and he can't seem to help the smile as the bird presses its head into his horns again, trilling sternly. "Yes, I know. Hush." He gives the bird an equally stern look despite the laugh he gives, and then he lifts an arm for the creature to step to. "I know," he says quietly. "But you are frightening the horse, and I would rather not be kicked, little creature. I am nearly mended once, I would not like to suffer recovery a second time. Find your flock, spread the word if you must."

The bird squawks irritably, aiming its beak towards the humans for a moment before it turns back to Arum and flaps its wings at him.

"I said find your flock," he says in a low, fond growl. "Go on, you ridiculous thing. You need not worry for me. Go on."

The bird shifts from foot to foot on Arum's arm, chattering lightly, and then it pecks at the tip of Arum's snout and flaps before it lifts off, flying back up into the canopy again, singing something loud and joyous as it goes.

Arum sighs, his shoulders sagging as the weight of the creature is gone from him, but he clearly can't bury his smile. Damien takes Rilla's hand, and then they both come close to Arum, and Rilla lifts her other hand to touch the monster's elbow.

"Seemed excited to see you," she says, her tone only barely teasing, and his smile is so entirely warm, and Rilla and Damien's hands tighten together, each squeezing at the same moment.

"Yes, well," he makes a rattling noise low in his chest, still smiling. "I imagine they will all be quite ready for the swamp to return to normal."

"What do we do, then, about the wall?" Damien asks, gently, and Arum's smile flickers off.

He frowns, eyeing the woven greenery, and then he grumbles, "Bring me closer. It should still answer… it should still… still be able to hear."

Rilla doesn't exactly understand what that means, but- she figures he knows what to do in this situation better than she does, anyway, so she helps him. After a step or two Damien steps up on his other side, supporting him further.

"Thank you," Arum murmurs when they are close enough, and then he very gently pulls away from their hands. He lifts his own hand, and just barely touches the tangle of foliage, and then he swallows, chest rumbling. "Keep?"

Rilla barely manages to stop herself from reaching for him again. He sounds so- so desperate, and the urge to help him is-

"Keep. Can you hear me?" He pauses, and Rilla can see that he's trying not to cringe as he runs his hand along the vines. "Keep, I'm here, I- I need you to let me in."

Nothing changes, for a long moment. Beside her, Damien reaches a hand out, gripping Rilla's hand tight again, his nerves mirroring her own.

"Keep," he says again, keening clear in his voice. "Keep, please-"

Arum stumbles back as vines burst from the ground, new and accompanied by harmonious song, overtaking the wall and forming an archway that fills with magic, with- with a door, leading somewhere quite different from the swamp they could see past the wall.

Arum chokes a breath, warbles in further harmony with the song, and on shaking legs he bolts through the archway.

The Keep winds its vines around him so quickly that he is in the air before his feet even touch the floor of his home, before he has time to even breathe a syllable. It sings bright and clear and joyful, and it slots its mind soft against his again, precisely as their minds are meant to fit, in tune again so instantly that the vines don’t even come close to accidentally brushing any of the healing wounds that might still suffer from the pressure, and Arum can’t help the way he chokes, the way his throat goes tight and his eyes go hot, because-

He has missed his Keep so, so unbearably much.

He was never meant to be away for this long. His limbs are shaking with the relief of it even as he clings to its supportive vines, as he brushes his palms over the new bursts of flowers it is gleefully blooming around him. He’s so tightly enmeshed, so thoroughly cocooned, he wouldn’t have even noticed Amaryllis and Damien following through the portal if he could not feel the precise moment the Keep notices them.

The Keep notices them, and it is filled instantly with terror.

The humans are wound tight in vines nearly as quickly as Arum himself was, though these new vines are substantially less friendly as they pin Amaryllis and Damien against the wall with a discordant trill.

Arum feels the wash of terror pulse through with confusion, fury, protectiveness, and the vines around the humans continue to tighten. Arum’s heart skips, and he scrambles, reaching a hand through the bramble around him towards his- his- whatever, precisely, they are to him.

“Stop-” he snarls, the full force of his denial pushing out into his home, compelling the Keep to pause. The vines cease tightening, though they do not release. “Don’t hurt- don’t hurt them. They did not harm me, Keep, of that I can assure you,” he says in a breathless rush. “They did not harm me. They- they-”

The Keep stills, feeling his thoughts, and the grip it has upon the humans is already loosening. Arum needs not say more; the Keep understands him. It understands, and it loves him, and he needs not say a single word more.

He will say it anyway. It is true.

“They brought me back to you,” he says, his voice ragged and too full, and the both of them stare at him as they are lowered gently back to the floor. “They brought me home.”

[->]

#elle's fanfic #scattered on my shore #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #amaryllis of exile #sir damien #YELLIN AND YELLING I BEG U TO TELL ME FEEDBACK

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bettersafethandicks · 5 years ago

Text

hey i went digging in the landfill again and check it out its twince x reader

oh my god i did this too much i wrote too many word oh shit oh fuck im sorry

like a 75/25 split of troy : tyreen attention to the reader

a spiritual successor to my last troy/reader fic now that like, the games actually out.

contains: 0% sex

contains: CANNIBALISM yuck, nonsexual nudity on reader’s part, gender neutral reader, biting, blood stuff, drugging, kidnapping/getting a lil tied up, monster troy, getting touched n pampered like a nice spa day :), petstuff

5746 words jesus FUCK

It wasn’t the best job. Sure, things could be worse; things could always be worse on Pandora, and one should count any second spent not prying their arm out of a skag’s mouth as a blessing. Still, sitting up in a poorly-lit office perched over an eridium mine was so boring.

Officially, you were supposed to be here to oversee outgoing shipments and supply purchases; making sure the weight matched what was on paper …not that you knew what to do when it didn’t match. That wasn’t your problem, though; you reported it in the daily logs and it was someone else’s corporate war after that.

“It’s time for our Flay of the Day!”

The little screen beside you cheered out in Tyreen Calypso’s energetic voice; the COV-sponsored ads had slowly begun to take over the Echonet recently. They were always interesting, at least, certainly better than the Hyperion trash that was playing a few years ago. Even if you didn’t tune into their dedicated channel, you didn’t mind the interruption of the background noise of Space Ghost Adventures.

You looked up from the spreadsheet to watch the short clip. Sometimes the Calypsos themselves would be on, usually if they had a recent raid or some ceremonial murders to show off. Those were always the most entertaining, seeing the terrible, awesome power of the two of them; they were cool. Tragically, today’s clip was user-submitted. Bandits killing bandits- this was Pandora what else was new?

You turned back to your work, listening to the comical dubbed-in sound effects and Tyreen’s gleeful mocking.

Ear-splitting warning sirens jolted you upright. You groaned, spinning around on your chair to the door. Someone had pulled the stupid fucking alarm again and-

Screaming. Yelling. Gunshots that weren’t coming from the screen. Before you could even stand up to look out the window overlooking the mines, the door to your cramped office slammed open, and a burly, armor-covered bandit stomped toward you, gun drawn.

Your hands were in the air before you could even process it. Instead of the bullet between the eyes you were braced for, the guy was yelling at you to get the door to the safe; a second of hesitation to understand his words earned you a strike to the side of the head with the pistol. After that you were at the safe, punching in codes and letting the tech scan your biometrics to disable the locks. Shouting and gunfire was still audible from outside; you pressed your back to the wall of the little office as members of Pandora’s Official Welcome Committee filed in and emptied out the roomful of refined eridium and cash. The bandit seemingly in charge kept his weapon trained on you, making sure you didn’t try to call in backup or reach for some hidden gun of your own.

It was stupid to think you’d get out of this, in hindsight.

A rather embarrassing yelp escaped you when the human wall holding you at gunpoint reached out to grab your arm.

“Take this one, too, ‘n be careful not to bang em up too much. The soft ones are great arena-bait.” He grunted, handing you off to another bandit who yanked you effortlessly off your feet.

“Wait wait waitwaitwaitwait-“ You whined as you were dragged out of the room.

Your begging fell on deaf ears; you looked at the mines as you were hauled off, seeing a few casualties on the ground, but not as many as you expected. The workers had probably fled when the raid started, the lucky bastards. Shackles were clamped onto your wrists before you were shoved roughly into the back of a technical with the rest of the loot, landing painfully on a brick of eridium.

The bumpy ride was lit by the soft purple glow of the alien mineral. You knew you probably shouldn’t be this close to it, people got sick from this didn’t they? On second thought, eridium probably wasn’t the biggest threat to your health right now, you could worry about that later. If you got a ‘later’.

It was far too soon that the technical stopped, and the harsh light of the sun was blinding you again when the doors were yanked open. You were unceremoniously slung over some marauder’s shoulder and carried over to a cage and locked in without a word. The cages were stacked three high, and you were on the second ‘story’. Not quite tall enough to stand up in, vertical bars, exposed on all sides, and generally as uncomfortable as possible; thankfully, the cages were in the shade, probably something they learned after finding some prisoners well-done in the Pandoran heat.

“Hey!” You cried to the departing bandit “Wait! I’m still- …” Your wrists were still bound; he was already back to unloading the technical. With a huff, you slump against the bars.

No one paid you much mind as they sorted through the spoils, which apparently included you. Maybe someone nice would buy you. Maybe one of them would have a change of heart and free you. Maybe a rakk would fly over and start talking to you.

You had almost dozed off when the familiar sound of chaos started again. Thugs rushed past you toward the gate of the camp, guns drawn and shouting to their fellow bandits to follow. You stood as much as the cage would allow, craning your neck around to get a look at what was happening; you heard a psycho screaming before you saw anything-

“FOR THE GLORY OF THE TWIN GODS”

The Children of the Vault were here.

Everything slowed down. Gunfire had started in earnest at this point; this was a real fight, unlike the sweeping takeover of the mine. You’d never interacted with the cult in real life- you didn’t even know there was single a bandit clan on the planet still opposing them, nevermind that you’d get the shit luck to get kidnapped by one. You weren’t really sure which side to root for- the bandit maniacs or the other bandit maniacs.

A stray bullet whistling past your ear snapped you out of it. You sprang into action; namely collapsing to the floor of the cage and pretending the crossfire had hit true. You played dead.

The winning team was quickly apparent, with the COV’s terrible power quickly creeping through the camp. A mixture of morbid curiosity and shock let you keep your eyes open, watching the carnage. A feral cheer swelled among their ranks, but you didn’t dare sit up and look toward them to see why- not that it mattered, it was clear soon enough.

The Sirens.

Your heart jumped. Adrenaline rushed uselessly through your blood, catching a glimpse of the figures you had only ever seen executing heretics and raiders on screens. Tyreen was striding a path through the chaos, outstretching an arm and draining the life from those running away, and a few fools who tried to run toward her as well. She laughed, called out taunts and praised her followers. A cambot whirred behind her, swooping around to get the best angles of the dead and dying. Seeing her in person, physically there only a few meters from you, leeching bandits into frozen husks in seconds; it was suddenly too real. She was real and she was here she was devastating and she was enjoying it.

You were so transfixed by Tyreen you almost forgot to wonder; where was-

A screaming bandit slammed into the bars of your cage.

You couldn’t help but jolt- but he wasn’t facing you. Troy Calypso was on him, huge prosthetic hand gripping the man’s head and bashing it against the bars a second time, stunning him. Troy’s face shifted. You watched in primal fear as that arrogant smirk grew into a grin, and kept going. Gold glinted on inhuman fangs, ever more revealed as his cheek cracked open along the lines on his face, metal clips coming undone. His bottom lip split in the center, and all at once the rumors that Troy Calypso’s mods went further than just his arm were confirmed.

The jagged show of teeth disappeared as he jerked his head forward, sinking his fangs deep into the poor bastard’s throat. You were frozen, lying there like a cornered rabbit, not even having the sense to shut your eyes. Some primitive part of your brain was telling you if you didn’t move a muscle, you’d be okay, that moving would only attract the predator’s attention.

Troy’s eyes were closed, blood pulsing out over his face; his nose wrinkled as he tightened his grip with a growl, something in the man’s throat giving way and letting those jaws slice deeper in. He was inches from your face. The poor bastard made a sickening gargling noise, and then was quiet. For a few seconds, all you could hear was your own deafening heartbeat racing in your ears, the clamor of the vicious raid was so distant; unimportant.

A wet, tearing, popping sound brought everything back as Troy pulled away, taking the mouthful of flesh with him. His jaws flexed asymmetrically as he swallowed, letting the limp body collapse to the dirt, Troy’s face and chest coated in red. The siren let out a pleased sigh, expression hazy as a too-long tongue lapped over the grotesque skag-like maw, doing next to nothing in his effort to clean the blood from it.

Icy blue eyes, suddenly lucid and striking and predatory snapped to yours.

You stopped breathing. Troy’s jaw slid together, enough that you could make out the sharp grin.

“Ohh, playing dead, huh?”

You could barely hear the question.

He leaned in, nose almost touching the bars, eyes searing into you.

“Cleveeer.” He slurred; mouth still broken at the seams.

Troy winked at you, and turned to revel in the massacre with his twin.

The rest of the fight passed by in a blur; all you could think about was Troy’s eyes, so blue against that mask of red, the blood falling from the edge of his jaw in slimy bright red strings and you could swear you could hear it patter on the ground, the way the alien tattoos flowing over his face gave off such enticing light-

Had you ever seen someone die so close before? Sure, distantly, but it was always over there. You had dried blood on your cheek.

You hadn’t even realized the bullets had stopped flying.

“That one.”

“The dead one?”

“Yeah. Bring it to me.”

No- nonononononono- no no Troy Calypso was not talking about you the heavy footsteps of a bandit fanatic were not getting closer he hadn’t just ordered you to be brought to him you’re dead you aren’t worth anyone’s time you’ve been dead this whole raid just leave just get out no no no please-

You heard the lock crack under a sharp blow.

“Eww, what, you’re a scavenger now, Troy? I thought you liked them kicking?” Tyreen, her voice so clear when it wasn’t sent through a speaker, so close-

Your still-shackled hands were locked around the metal bars the moment the bandit took hold of your clothing, springing to life in a blind terror. You realized you were screaming, wailing for help you knew wasn’t out there; you were plucked from the cage, grip broken like it was nothing. Tyreen and Troy got nearer with every step as you were hauled over to them, struggling and begging.

Tears were stinging your eyes by the time the fanatic stopped in front of the sirens; you curled up in his grip, squeezing your eyes shut and bracing yourself to be leeched or shot or something.

“Heh, y’see? Already all wrapped up and everything.” You cracked an eye open, heart in your throat. Troy jerked a thumb toward a massive war technical. “Put ‘em in the carrier, we’ll get shots at camp- better lighting n’ sound.”

Tyreen caught your eye as you passed by, head tilting and siren markings glowing softly; your blood ran cold when she gave you a deadly smirk. Tyreen smiling was the same level of bad news as Tyreen frowning; maybe worse.

Still reeling, you were shoved into an empty barrel attached to the side of the technical. A metal grate had been fitted to the front on a hinge, and just like that you were in another cage. The barrel titled back, rolling you to the closed end and you had no choice but to sit in the cramped little container while they finished raiding the camp.

You couldn’t see much more than the darkening sky on the drive to…wherever you were going. It felt like they had given the wheel to the most erratic psycho in the cult, and you were battered around the metal tube like a cocktail shaker. By the time the vehicle pulled in to some kind of garage, you were positive you were going to vomit or pass out or both.

Heavy bootsteps approached, and the barrel was tilted 180 degrees while the door was flung open, dumping you roughly to the ground. You curled up, letting out a strained whine of pain.

“Aaand here’s our new project! Wanted to get some ‘before’ shots of it.” Troy poked you with his boot, turning you over onto your back. A cambot flitted around you, zooming in and out. “Grabbed this treat at the last heretic cleanse, you can see highlights of that party right here- “ He pointed up and to his right, where he’d presumably be editing in a link to the massacre you had just been a part of.

On your back, wrists bound in front of you, bashed up and terrified, the sight of Troy Calypso towering over you made you certain you were about to die. When he reached down with that brutal mechanical to grab your wrists you couldn’t help but shriek, trying your best to scrabble away from his touch.

Troy barked out a laugh, easily catching you and pulling you upright.

“Tch, aww, lookit this sad little stray.” His tone was mocking, amused. His normal hand wrapped around your jaw, firmly tilting your face this was and that for the camera. You got a quick view of your surroundings, a massive technical bay, surprisingly organized for the chaotic exterior of the cult. Devotees were scattered around, working on vehicles and otherwise giving Troy a wide, cautious radius.

“Yeah, this’ll be nice and fixed up. You guys won’t even recognize them by the end of this one.” He rubbed his thumb across your cheek, and you realized you had been bleeding. “Alright, that’s the end of introductions, I wanna get this thing started. See you in a bit!”

The cambot gave a chirp, and its red recording light blinked off at Troy’s cue. Troy lifted his blood-smeared thumb to his mouth, and licked it.

“Hoo, wow.” Troy exhaled sharply. “Yeah, ah, get them goin’ for me, make it good.“ He motioned to two robed figures standing off to the side, seemingly waiting for this invitation. “Mmh, behave for them, hm sweetheart?” Troy gave you a flash of sharp teeth in a crooked smile.

Cultists guided you away in a fog. By this point you had been through way too much for the past however-many hours, and you obediently stumbled along for them. You just wanted to lie down and wake up. The noise and bustle of the compound began to thin the deeper into the building you were led, and your chaperons weren’t exactly talkative. This was all probably very secret and important, and maybe you’d be looking around in wonder at the magnificent décor if you could keep your eyes focused.

Heavy, ornate doors pulled open at the end of a particularly holy looking hall; a tiled room, decorated in mosaic patterns of red and blue, twisting snakes and wide starburst eyes, designs leading off along the floor into different rooms. The sound of water running came from somewhere, echoing off the tile. The room smelled sweet, vaguely floral but not overpoweringly so, and the air was heavy and humid. Now you were staring around in wonder, too much to even notice the additional attendants had begun to undo the buttons and straps of your clothing.

You tripped back, yanking your shackles from the hands of an acolyte you hadn’t seen.

“Calm yourself, Lamb.” A priest rasped; the first time you had heard one speak. “No harm will come to you here, you are protected under the power of the godking.”

“W-what does that mean?” Your voice cracked now that you had finally found it, and it struck you how thirsty you were.

A cultist took your hands once again, working at the mechanism on the shackles. “You are being readied for Troy Calypso, as He has requested. The cleansing process is not a painful one, simply relax.”

The lock jolted, and the heavy metal fell from your wrists with a thunk. Another fanatic carried it off, and you realized just how many figures were bustling around the room. You tensed up, jaw tightening as an attendant resumed undoing the many straps and laces of the clothing necessary for the desert planet. A lump formed in your throat as you fought the urge to tear yourself away.

The discomfort must’ve been radiating from you, because one of them spoke up. “You need not be so uneasy; we have no desires of our own, only to serve the Twin Gods. To act out from their wishes would be deserving of an unholy death.” Nodding and soft murmurs of agreement sounded out around the room.

Literal and figurative armor was pulled from you, the warm air now more welcoming than stifling. A white towel was wrapped around your body, and you got the feeling it was for your own benefit.

“Are you familiar with washing?” You’d feel offended if you were on any other planet; here it was a reasonable question.

“Uh, yes.”

“Very well. Come along, Lamb.”

The room you were led into was even more warm and misty than the antechamber, a slight fog hanging in the air from heated water. Opulent mosaics on the wall depicted the twin gods lounging in golden robes, light rays shining out from them. A stonework shower was built into a corner, and you were guided toward it, a washcloth and pitch-black bar of unscented soap waiting in the hands of a cultist. You hesitantly took the objects, and handed over your towel with some reluctance.

A glass door provided some barrier between you and your audience, who thankfully really did seem uninterested. Being exposed was not something you were used to on Pandora- or, at all really. Two silver knobs in front of you were self-explanatory, and you turned on the water-

Hot water. God, how long had it been since you had a hot shower? You let out a gasp, shoulders slumping as you turned your face up to the stream. You opened your mouth, filling it with water and swishing it around, drinking some when you realized it tasted clean. It felt like pounds of dust was being rinsed off your skin, and you rubbed at your face, reveling in the stark difference between this and standing under a freezing hose for a few minutes.

The black bar of soap lathered nicely, and you set to work scrubbing off your battered and dry skin. Wisps of red swirled down the drain as you washed all the cuts and scrapes you had accumulated, as well as some blood that probably wasn’t even yours. You washed yourself less out of submission to the COV, and more because you just wanted to feel human again.

Reluctantly, you eventually stepped out of the shower, not wanting to leave but also not wanting to keep a bunch of vicious cultists waiting too long. Instead of handing you a towel though, the robed acolyte took you toward a large clawfoot tub on the other side of the room. You’d only ever seen those in movies- the edges curved out gracefully, and the bath was already filled; petals of a flower you couldn’t identify floated in the purple-tinted water. The cultist held their hand out, offering you help getting in.

Taking the hand, you dipped one foot in. The water was hot, on the edge of being too hot, but not quite. You slipped into the bath, sinking into the enveloping heat; you felt like you could drift off. Fingers wove into your hair, making you jump-

“Shhhhh, relax.” The cultist soothed.

You obeyed, figuring it was a little late to start resisting now. Gently, they worked the tangles out of your wet hair, brought on mostly by your recent experience as a twice-over prisoner. More cultists appeared, pouring softly-scented liquids and powders into the bath, and you become aware of a not-unpleasant tingling feeling creeping over your skin. You let your eyes slide shut, listening to the quiet shuffle of the cult members echoing on the tile and the low, (admittedly pretty) hymns playing from somewhere.

A depression in the bath’s edge provided a perfect fit for you to rest your head, feeling the hands working through your hair hanging over the edge, massaging your scalp and working some kind of shampoo into it. A handheld sprayer rinsed the lather from your head, and you were released to fully recline in the tub. You let your ears dip under the water, outside sounds gone, leaving you alone with your heartbeat. Your body bounced ever so slightly in the water as you breathed, the bath large enough for you to float without touching the bottom or sides. You could fall asleep here.

In fact, you did.

You had no idea how long you had been unconscious, only that someone was pulling you from the bath, hooking their hands under your arms and lifting you out. The water had cooled significantly, but it wasn’t yet room temperature. You mumbled softly.

“Apologies Lamb, but we cannot allow you to soak any longer.” A cultist was at your side, wrapping a fluffy, deep red towel around you the moment you were out of the bath. “The next step in the process awaits.”

Your legs felt heavy as you were led out of the bathing room and into another gorgeous space. When they guided you to a cushioned, slightly reclined chair, you didn’t question it. If they wanted to treat you to some weird spa day before…whatever happened, then fine. The small room was lit dimly, mostly with candles.

The dirt was scrubbed from under your nails, hands given a light massage once clean.

“Eat, Lamb.” You opened your eyes to a cultist offering you some kind of food. They held the bite out to you from a fork, but didn’t object to you taking the plate yourself.

You had forgotten how hungry you were, after being kept for however many hours in the sun and rattled around in two separate bandit vehicles. The food was…some kind of meat, you’d seen more suspicious. You’d seen less suspicious too, but it smelled good and wasn’t burned to charcoal; it actually seemed seasoned and prepared, imagine that.

Eating with so many eyes on you would normally have made you uncomfortable, but you were too starved to care. Almost immediately, a priest was there with another plate, this one carrying an assortment of fruits; some you had never seen before. Normally you had to fight off scurvy with vitamin tablets, fruit was a rare luxury here, even when it was in season. The COV must’ve had it imported in from off-planet…

You picked out a few grapes, not yet brave enough to try one of the glowy things. A reddish tinted drink was given to you in a wine glass; you half expected some alcoholic burn, but it was cool and sweet and made your mouth feel a little fuzzy instead. Hands rubbed at your shoulders, slowly easing the knots out of your muscles, a cultist occasionally encouraging you to try another bit of fruit. Eventually you were taken to a cushioned table and made to lie down, the towel removed and replaced with a warm blanket laid across you.

Years-worth of aches and soreness was slowly worked out of your back, spine cracking in a satisfying way every so often. Oils and lotions were rubbed into your skin, your joints being stretched gently by several hands at once, all the while you felt more and more dazed.

After a soothing lifetime of being massaged and tended to, you were pulled to your feet. You weren’t even concerned with being exposed anymore, and they led you back out into the main lobby of the area where an especially-holy-looking acolyte stood with a drape of shimmery fabric laid across her arms. A lower-ranked cultist stood holding a smoking container of incense, and they approached you, mumbling some prayer you couldn’t pay attention to if you tried. You obliged them, allowing the priest to pull the white shawl over your body.

Once the priest had finished muttering the praises and blessings or whatever she was doing, a particularly large cultist came forward and simply picked you up. You limply allowed it, now just along for whatever ride they decided to take you on. You were carried down some halls; you couldn’t really pay attention to the surroundings anymore. Eventually, you reached your destination, and they laid you out on an altar in the center of a temple-like room. After a few more prayers and responses from your entourage, the cultists all left you, heavy doors creaking shut and leaving you in silence.

You felt distant, lying there on the chilly gilded altar. No doubt due to the strange drugs that had been soaked and rubbed and fed to you, but…it felt okay. You couldn’t remember ever feeling this relaxed, this peaceful. The now empty room was beautiful from what you could see, all stained glass and candles and regal draped fabric, the spicy scent of incense hanging in the air. The silky robe the attendants had wrapped you in feeling so soft on your skin, yet another a luxury you’d never experienced before.

You couldn’t even find the care to pick up your head when you heard the huge doors open. A cambot whirred into view, and you could hear Troy before you saw him.

“Leeet’s see the finished product!” The siren came into view, towering over you, appraising his servants’ work. “Ooh, goddamn would you look at that.” His fingertips grazed over your jaw, and you felt compelled to tilt your head to the side, letting him continue down the side of your throat. “Aww, see? So obedient. All that fear just-” he gestured with his mech hand, as if waving something away. “-gone. So committed to your blessed purpose now.”

Troy leaned down, nudging his face under your chin, close enough that the tip of his nose ghosted over your skin. You shivered a little at the touch, but had no instinct to recoil; he inhaled deeply, exhaling through parted lips. A rumbling noise, something between a purr and a growl, buzzed ever so softly from his throat.

“Ah-“ He stood straight again, running a hand through his hair and visibly unfocused. “Uh- heh, right, hang on I gotta get some shots for the unpaid version.”

The cambot bobbed back around, and you shifted slightly, feeling almost sleepy under the gaze of this apex predator and his billions of followers.

Soon enough, it seemed Troy had gotten the shots he needed, and moved in again. His hand, warm where the glowing siren tattoos snaked over it, slid the robe from your shoulder. Troy nestled his head up to the exposed skin, and you gasped a little when the wet heat of his tongue slid over your collarbone.

Troy gripped your sides, and bit.

You twitched at his sharpened teeth sinking into your shoulder, but couldn’t muster more than that.

A deep groan rumbled from the siren’s chest, his jaw tightening on you; curiously, it didn’t hurt as much as you expected. Some pinching and a deal of pressure were there, but the drugs you were full of seemed to be keeping you nicely distant from your nervous system. You could feel Troy’s jaw moving as he took blood, and he pulled away with a huff before licking over the wound.

“Gh, f-fuck-“ Troy’s face split open as he spit out the word.

Troy was on the altar, hauling himself up to straddle you in one easy motion. He looked down at you, arms caging you in on either side of your body; pupils blown huge, monstrous jaws hanging open. All at once his head jerked downward, and he snapped his teeth into your torso with a wet cracking noise.

You body jumped a little at the impact, and you felt the crunch of bone vibrate through your chest. Troy pulled back, jagged teeth raking through your flesh easily, and you could see broken shards of white in the gore he held between his fangs. He snapped his jaws, getting a better grip on the meat to swallow it, barely a second passing before he was burying his face back in your ribs. Troy ripped and tore like a feral animal, panting for breath between mouthfuls of you; all the while you could do nothing but lay there, impassive; obedient.

“Weeeell look who’s having a good time! Hope you Elpis-tier followers are enjoying my brother chowing down on this snackrifice we’ve got here today!” Tyreen. You tilted your head to the side, vision bouncing a little as Troy ate. She was swaying in, speaking to the cambot that had pulled out to get a larger shot of her apparently-scripted entrance. “Sometimes, you just want a break from the howls of agony- hard to believe, I know! But who doesn’t love options! And really, who can argue with a sweet little offering who knows how to give their flesh so well? I mean, just look at that!”

Tyreen strolled closer, giving you a smile; your muddled brain couldn’t tell if it was soft or mocking. She put her hands on the altar, and Troy let out a snarl from somewhere inside your chest.

“How’re you doin, sweetie?” She cooed, leaning over your face and ignoring her twin’s predatory growl. “Fuck you smell good. Cut that last bit out Troy.”

He gave an agreeing mutter in response, before pulling up, exhaling sharply.

“Ahh god Ty can you f-feel how much energy they’re gi-giving off?” His speech was almost incomprehensibly slurred between the split jaws and the blood and muscle dripping from his mouth.

“Mhh, yeah. They’re from that stripped eridium mine, right?” You could feel Tyreen probing at the deep bite in your shoulder.

You mumbled softly, unable to form words. She raised her fingertips to her mouth to lick your blood from them.

Troy’s too-long tongue slid over his left jaw, long enough to wrap around the edge. He groaned quietly, a strange purring vibration to the sound. “They gotta be.” He dipped back down, unable to keep his fangs off you for too long.

Tyreen was leaning in too, eyes drifting shut. Her lips made contact with the blood still pulsing from your shoulder in a soft kiss, before she too was running her tongue over your skin. Her fingertips met your chin, tilting your head to the side to give her some room. Teeth, less sharpened than her brother’s but still capable of breaking skin, bit into an untouched spot with a satisfied hum.

“Hhhg, ffuckin get your own.” Troy’s voice was muffled, barely lifting his head from your body.

She didn’t respond, but they both seemed content to stop bickering and lose themselves in your blood. You were drifting, detached. It wasn’t how you thought you were going to end up dying, but all things considered, it could be a lot worse. At least you got preened and pampered before being torn apart by some monstrous sirens.

The distinct pressure and sound of another rib crunching away brought you out of your musings. It struck you how far up he was; how many bones he had already snapped through. You mustered enough strength to open your eyes and look down at the surreal sight of Troy, half his face buried in your cracked open chest.

His eyes, thin rings of pale blue around dilated pupils, met yours. He lifted himself, blood hanging in strings between his face and your torso.

Troy spoke. You couldn’t hear a word of it. Just a muted drone of sound as your vision wavered in and out of focus. You were so tired. He reached to your face, running a hand over your cheek. He was so warm. You couldn’t help but let your head flop to the side, into his touch.

Tyreen- you had just about forgotten she was there until she pulled away from you, feeling like she had always meant to be at your throat, draining the life from you so gently. She said something. Even so close to your ear, you couldn’t understand the deadly-sweet words.

You let your eyes close. You let go.

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Awake. You were awake. You shouldn’t be awake.

You were lying down, on a…a bed. You shifted around, shocked to find all your limbs attached and no gaping hole in your abdomen.

“Ha! Bet you’re surprised to be alive! I try to keep the healing stuff on the down-low, don’t really want the whole fam asking me for favors.” Tyreen’s voice made you bolt upright. Something around your neck jingled.

You reached up, grabbing at the source of the noise-

“You like it? Troy’s idea, thought it was cute.” A little bell was hanging from the collar around your throat.

You brought your eyes up to Tyreen, almost scared to look directly at her. You’d heard about how she liked to toy with people, how volatile she could be, and it felt like you were being tricked right now.

“You, uh, you aren’t gonna…kill me?” You said something to her you spoke to this godlike siren-

Tyreen grinned. She reached out to you, tattoos flaring light, and you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation of being drained to a crystalline husk in a second. Instead, Tyreen Calypso booped your nose.

“You taste too way good to only have once, pet.”

#troy calypso #tyreen calypso #borderlands 3 #monster troy #sorry to everyone but like not really that sorry because im tagging it #local roadkill dump

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