#like if it gave his enemies fire damage when they struck him or something

[johaerys-writes]

What is your preferred interpretation of Achilles' demi-god powers?

Do you think it's the armor that gives Achilles most of his abilities? Do you think he inherited god-like-superhuman powers? Do you think he's a hulking giant (like Ajax is usually portrayed)?

Thank you so much for this great ask!! Achilles' powers are something I've thought about a lot yet never before in relation to his armor. I gave this a lot of thought, so let's see what we have!

What is your preferred interpretation of Achilles' demigod powers? Do you think he inherited godlike-superhuman powers?

First of all, just to get this out of the way: I'm sure it's a pretty well-known fact, but in the Iliad Achilles isn't invulnerable in any way. The "Achilles' heel" thing and the impenetrable skin is from later myths and is not Iliad canon. Achilles bleeds like any other man, he's just better at not getting injured than most men.

Homer uses a variety of epithets to describe him, some of which are: swift-footed, breaking through men/armed ranks, lionhearted, and godlike. From these we can gather that he's super strong, super fast, far beyond what a normal mortal man would be since he's like to the gods, but he doesn't have any other flashy powers. He's a super-soldier essentially, and that is attributed to him being a demigod. So I do believe that he inherited godlike powers from his mom's side of the family.

Is it the armor that gives Achilles most of his abilities?

I admit I thought about this a lot and it made me question what I already know lol, because I didn't remember anything like that mentioned in the Iliad. So I went on a little deep dive for this, searching for any and all mentions of both of Achilles' sets of armor. The first one, the one which he gave to Patroclus and was then later claimed by Hector, I'm not sure where Achilles got it from (probably from Peleus? Perhaps it's mentioned somewhere and I missed it) but it's described as very shiny, very strong, very beautiful, but not as having any like... magical qualities of any kind I guess. It didn't give Patroclus any special powers (he's a beast all by himself uwu), and in the end it sadly didn't prevent him from getting killed, and it also didn't prevent Hector from getting killed, so I think it's safe to say it's a non-superpower-giving armor, however splendid and strong.

The second set of armor, the one that Hephaestus made for him, is a bit more interesting: it's described as extremely strong and durable, way beyond what normal armor would be, while also not being heavy or cumbersome. Nothing can really get past the shield, and the breastplate and greaves get their fair share of beating, but no sword or spear can pierce them. There's an interesting passage when Achilles is putting on his armor in the camp:

godlike Achilles made trial of himself in his armour, to see if it fitted him and if his splendid limbs ran freely; and for him it was as if they were wings that lifted the shepherd of the people.

Describing the armor in such a way, it makes it sound like not only is Achilles' new armor uncannily light for how strong and durable it is, but it actually makes him limbs feel like they're wings that lift him. If we take this very literally, it could possibly mean that Hephaestus also crafted the armor in such a way that would give him bonus power, or something like that? So it gives him +10 dexterity as well as strength and a massive constitution boost lmao. It is epic armor after all.

However, the armor itself isn't indestructible, nor would it prevent him from getting killed if the enemy was stronger. During his fight with the river god Scamander, Scamander calls to the Simoeis river, his brother, to help him defeat Achilles:

Come, defend [the Trojans] with all speed, and fill the currents of your water from the springs, and stir all the torrents in the gullies, raise a great wave, stir a tumult of timbers and stones, so that we stop this savage man, who now is powerful and determined as a god. For I think his strength will not help him, nor at all his beauty, not that fine armour, which somewhere at the very bottom of the floor will lie buried beneath the mud; and his own body I will wrap around with sand, spreading more silted rubble than can be counted rubble in abundance, nor will the Achaeans know how to pick out his bones; so much silt I will cover over him.

Achilles was in actual danger of being killed by the river gods, and he probably would have been had Hera not asked for Hephaestus' help to burn away the waters, armor be damned lol.

So from all of these I think we can conclude that a) Achilles' sets of armor were both dope, the second one especially dope, but b) they do not, by themselves, give him any sort of special, magical power. Achilles was described as a force to be reckoned with since way before he got Hephaestus' armor, and after it he became (almost) unstoppable.

Is Achilles a hulking giant like Ajax?

I don't think so? Ajax's size specifically is mentioned in the Iliad a few times: he's referred to as "the bulwark of the Achaeans" and he is also characterised as gigantic and mighty. He also carries a huge-ass shield which is big enough to cover both him and Teucer in battle, and which he also uses to bash people's skulls if I remember correctly, so that alone gives the impression of someone who is built like a mountain.

Achilles' size on the other hand isn't really mentioned, I don't think? Like he's very powerful and must be of considerable height, but his superhuman strength is attributed to the fact that he's a demigod, not to his size. I feel like if he were a beast like Ajax we would have heard more about it, but since that isn't the case, I think it's reasonable to assume that he's impressive-looking, but he's not gigantic.

I hope I answered your questions! <3

[demenior]

TRICK OR TREATTTT

trick: im making u care about voltron again Shiro looks horrendous. He’s pale in most places, his eyes are red and one of them is still filled with blood. There’s matted blood in his hair and his skin is mottled with bruises, red swelling and scrapes. He’s been covered in bandages and stitches. His chest is bare to show the tube draining air out of him. He looks like a man who fell out of the sky, battling the leader of the Galra invasion the whole way down, who then picked himself up to win the war and then save his friends from a surprise enemy.

It was tricky business getting him into the wheelchair. Sam and Coran, along with a few medical staff, were allowed to help him. Shiro was mostly stoic, teeth clenched tight around the pain of moving with damaged ribs. They draped a blanket over him to cover him, and gave him a pillow to hold to his chest to provide some support while he practices deep breathing.

Coran’s not sure if he understands everything that’s happening. It feels like Shiro’s actually asleep, and barely responding to their information. He’s told this is normal, or, well, as normal as it gets for humans under sedation. It seems barbaric, to him. He misses the cryopods from home more than ever. 

Shiro reaches out to Coran as Coran is making sure his feet are tucked in properly. He palms Coran’s cheek, and slips down to hook his fingertips in the collar of Coran’s shirt.

“Shiro?”

“Voltron,” Shiro groans. His brow is furrowed, almost like he’s scowling. Or focusing intently.

Coran reaches up to hold Shiro’s hands between his, “They’re okay,” he can finally say, “they’re alive.”

Shiro’s face relaxes into a wide smile. As wide as he can get around his split lips.

“Shiro we have to go,” Sam interrupts, “we need you to talk to the Atlas, remember?”

Shiro’s face goes blank, and he blinks slowly, “Atlas?”

There’s less than ten minutes on the timer. They have to go now.

They bring Shiro through the halls to the Atlas’s hangar. Coran wishes they had something more private, for Shiro’s sake. Everyone they pass pauses to stop and stare at the procession, and take in the sight of Shiro. Veronica decides to clear the route ahead of them but shouting orders and threats. Shiro’s head bounces around, and Coran fears a few times that he’s fallen back asleep. But when they arrive at the Atlas’s hangar, his eyes are still open.

The Atlas is just as they left it. Half transformed, hand pulled back and ready to begin swinging, leg braced against the floor.

“Here,” Sam says, and he pulls his laptop out of the travel bag he’s wearing, “we can communicate—”

The Atlas sounds all of its alarms, and starts flashing lights in a dazzling display that makes Coran have to shield his eyes. Some flares are fired, hitting the sides of the hangar and burning brightly as they roll on the ground.

“Is it mad?” Iverson asks nervously, “are we on time?”

“It’s happy,” Veronica declares, and then waves, “hey! Here’s Shiro! He’s okay, see? Now stop!”

The Atlas goes silent. It moves. The massive hand reaches out towards them, fingers splayed. Coran grips the handles of the wheelchair nervously. Should he flee? Is Shiro in danger?

Shiro lifts a shaky left hand in response.

The Atlas’s hand comes to a stop with the hand resting on the ground, palm up. The tip of it’s longest finger is just inches from Shiro, curled up ever so slightly. Shiro sets his hand down on it.

Coran is struck by the tenderness of the action. Had the Atlas wanted physical contact? Or was it Shiro directing it?

[heliinx]

Wrote this eons ago and don’t remember if I ever posted it but--

The rift had appeared behind the forcefield, a jagged cut in the fabric of our world, bleeding a foul presence that had turned the gentle blue sky into a piercing green. No sooner had it did alarms blare, men and women mobilizing as more tears appeared. An attack on the capital! Such a thing hadn’t happened for years and when last it had, death and disarray followed. The sores in the sky began to weep, not blood, but rats. Man-sized rodents, with a fearsome and malign intelligence, surging across the grounds of the capital with verminous haste. The sheer drop killed many of them before they got the chance to do any damage, but there were so, so many more ready to replace them. Filthy pink paws landing on broken bodies, lurching forwards at the offensive and defensive measures. Guns, turrets—not enough to stop the tide of rats.

The silent day drowned in sea of screeching and squeaking, of battle cries and death throes of man and rat alike. More tears, closer to the ground. More ratmen, pushing fell machines through the opening into the new world; cannons and catapults. Bastards of both mad technology and raw, evil magic; they seared through the enemy opposition wherever they struck true. They struck allies as well, but the ratfolk had no care, gave no pause for the accidental (intentional?) friendly fire.

But the worst was yet to come. He was yet to come.

The sky boiled and rippled and bulged. It shrieked and finally ripped into the largest of the reality wounds, a gout of rats bursting forth like a ruptured boil. And behind them was the creature, more fearsome than anything on the battlefield. A creature that reminded the men cowering behind the walls, trying desperately to hold off the vermin horde, of a beast they faced over a decade ago. Their blood froze as they witnessed him, wearing the same blackened carapace, with the same malice in his hateful orange eyes, the same horns, the same gnashing teeth. Taking to the air with the same liquid grace to survey the damage done thus far.

“Yes, yes!” He hissed. “Surged, my children! Kill for me! Burn them, break them, do what you must!”

And they did, joyously, for the rat folk hated man more completely than anything else. The Interloper simply basked in the bloody chaos below, men struggling against the foul rattish parodies of themselves, before a thunderous crack rang out behind him, like a great tree giving under an even greater force.

“The portals are weak-brittle, leader-master. We must move quick-quick!” It was the rat on his shoulder, a single white-furred doe amongst of sea of black and brown bucks. The Interloper regarded her, his face briefly souring. He had wanted to bathe in the chaos, but the portals would not hold forever. He plucked her off his shoulder, securing her in one great, draconic hand, and then soared towards his target located deeper within the rings of the capital.

The Accumulator. The source of their power and the key to his own. Finally, after months of planning and years of ridicule, he would finally have something to show for.

[euthym1as]

MONDAY MORNINGS AT THE GOLDEN HOUSE.

why am i writing this in tumblr's text post editor instead of a google doc? bc im bonkers thats why

uhhhh this is my interpretation of what happens to childe in SAGAU when we fight him

this is gonna be like half ex-chili and half god/alien reader + a very damaged childe it can be read as shippy either way [reader is not traveler but does the things traveler does ok i dont want discourse here abt childe/traveler ships]

content warnings: implicit sadomasochism, mention of vomiting offscreen, violence, manipulation and lying by the reader, general brain fuckery, the only child that gets hurt here is childe i promise

MONOCEROS CAELI;

Every Monday, at 4 A.M. Every morning, he woke up in a cold sweat, arm muscles burning, head ringing in pain. Childe- no, Tartaglia- knew that the nightmare was back again.

Childe wasn't his old name anyways, it was a cover used for Liyue, and now that Liyue was in the past he had no need for it anymore. Names were to be discarded when they were done with their use, that's what the Fatui taught him.

The one person who had said that name so softly, like it was something to be held and cherished instead of a thick lie on his tounge, was not someone he could confide in anymore. Not after what happened. He clenches his fists on his bedsheets, anger rising in his chest. Why? Why did the two of you, the people he dared love, care for, betray him? Why set him up for failure behind his back and come to destroy him when he was down?

The two of you were filthy, filthy liars. A funeral consultant. An outlander. He grits his teeth. Gods. Gods parallel to the one he served, one the Lord of Geo in the land he walked upon, the other a power just as alluring and dangerous as the Abyss. He remembers the first time you had fought, how could he not?

You had been trying to save Liyue from Osial. A futile mission in his eyes at the time, and his confidence, looking back, was unwarranted. You not only mastered the elements to your will, but you fought like you had fought him a hundred times before. It was... familiar to you. Like you anticipated his every move.

There were times that he knew he should have hit you, he knows it. You were unleashing an ultimate attack move he had to marvel at, and when he struck, it was like nothing hit you at all.

The first time you fought, he accused you of being evasive, saying all you ever did was run. He ate his words, and also the shards of shrapnel from the floor above him when you both descended down below. You didn't run. At least, you didn't run away. You had this dogged determination to see him lose, to be the one to make him yield.

That lit gasoline in his veins, setting his whole person loose in a fire of reckless combative abandon, letting his years and years of slaughter culminate into his best fight yet. He was alive.

And he still lost. The anger that crushed him that day also spurred him on to train harder, become faster, get stronger. One day, he would have a rematch with you, and win. He felt it in his bones, you were a challenge to him now. A challenge he would fight until he beat you.

The first nightmare was that Monday, a day he expected to sleep soundly. Not the case.

It was you, but it was also the adeptus Xiao, some alchemist with green hair, a redhead who he was pretty sure was Diluc Ragnvindr, and a kid- a kid- with goggles on his head. He had never seen some of these people in his life, and yet- they fought him as valiantly as you did. They gave their all to take him down, and take him down they did. It's like none of them saw him as a person, just an enemy to clear. He expected this from the adeptus and Diluc, both had a simmering hatred for him, but the kid could have been the same age as Tonia. He seemed so eager to help, even if that helping was casting a fiery circle on the ground that seemed to make his pain worse. Every time someone hit him in that circle, it stung like one hundred of the blows he just received. As you walk up to his barely conscious body, you break a piece off his weapon, a shard of his Foul Legacy. It broke something inside of him when you snapped it off, and his consciousness went dark.

That dream was not an isolated incident. Like fucking clockwork, his dreams came back to haunt him of his loss. Always you. The people that fought him changed, but you were always there, watching, waiting to pick up your spoils of war. The look in your eyes never shifted, a cold calculating gaze of confirming a job was done. He'd seen it before, of course. He wore it daily. It was... strange being on the other end of it.

The worst permutations of this nightmare involved kids no bigger than Teucer. His bones were pulled against his will as he said the same thing he always did. Why could he never change his role?

He didn't want to lay a finger on them, Tsaritsa be damned. These were fucking children. He wanted to ask you so badly what the hell was wrong with you when the four of them giggled up the steps, but his mouth couldn't open. He had to watch as the four of them crossed the invisible barrier that made him draw his swords and made him sick to his stomach.

He hopes this is quick and painless for them. He wishes them all a better afterlife in Celestia. One of them he recognizes- Qiqi, the zombie kid from the pharmacist. He doesn't want to hurt her. He doesn't want to hurt any of them.

He sees Teucer in their eyes.

As the battle starts, a strange four leafed clover pattern materialized above his head, and he doesn't realize it's an attack until he hears a BOOM BOOM BAKUDAN and his ears ring as his head snaps to the ground. What the fuck?

The kids proceed to beat the shit out of him. It's the most mentally distressing nightmare so far, because he doesn't want to hit back, these are kids, but the explosions hurt and the Anemo ninja got his knee, and he can't hit them because they have a shield, so they don't even know what they're doing-

How cruel are you? How heartless and soulless did you have to be to bring kids to a battlefield? When you came over to loot his limp body once more, he hopes the anger in his eyes said everything you needed to know.

Then he awakens, and exhales as he realizes it wasn't real, he's okay, the kids are safe asleep in their beds and not forced to fight for someone else-

A memory pangs his consciousness. He was about the same age as the Anemo user when he fell into the Abyss. Forced to fight, at that age. He remembers how the monsters had screamed as they were defeated. Part of him wonders if they heard his final scream of agony.

He gets up to stagger to the bathroom and get this out of his system. When he looks up in the mirror, he bangs his fist on the side of the sink.

It's just a nightmare, he tells himself. His face pales when he sees a burn on his neck and shoulder, and he can count one, two, three, four blotches making it up. Like a clover.

He lets Ekaterina know that morning he wouldn't be out on business that day. He would be recovering from an injury. As he laid back in his bath, he thought that had to be the worst of it.

A week came and went, and he went to bed on Sunday hoping for a dreamless sleep. He was granted no such mercy.

This time, it was Zhongli. The nerve, the absolute nerve of you to bring him here, after everything that had happened. The adepti-blooded of Liyue were behind him, Xiao, Ganyu, and Yanfei- the latter he had only met on diplomatic occasion. He saw the Pyro vision on Yanfei's codex and braced himself for more burns, more searing heat in contact with his skin. The fight was torturous, and he couldn't hit any of them once because Zhongli used what was left of his godly powers to make his adepti shielded with something Childe couldn't break, no matter how hard he slashed or shocked. It was hell, and it was worse when he saw who used to be his friend walking outside the fight with you, re-casting his shield but not getting into the fight. That infuriated him. When he saw an opening, Ganyu went down. Then Yanfei, and when the adeptus correctly summarized it was his turn next, Childe broke the floor and they both plunged to the bottom, unharmed. They lunged at each other, both of their intents to kill pushing through every slice of their blade.

Xiao had one goal: Protect Liyue and Rex Lapis. Everything else was secondary. He fought with such ruthlessness Childe could feel himself bleeding out of his abdomen somewhere, vision blacking out around the edges. Xiao stepped back, and that is when Zhongli stepped forward. He crossed his arms and his eyes glowed a brilliant amber, that even in the face of death Childe was still enraptured with. He tried to open his mouth to let the words claw out of his chest, but no words came. The sky darkened, and a meteor crashed through the roof of the Golden house and crushed him whole.

The morning after that hellish dream, his entire body ached like he had been stuck under a tree the entire time he was sleeping. Everything hurt. He barely had it in himself to move his arms. He should be enraged. He should feel anger at his own helplessness, but where there is anger there is... something else.

He moves his foot and pain shoots up the nerves in his ankle. His breath shudders, because the pain freezes him in place, forcing him to pay attention to his current state. There's... a feeling there he can't quite place, something that zips by his mind before he can identify it. He moves his foot again. The pain snaps, again, and a yell rips from his throat. He feels himself on the edge of consciousness. Maybe pain made sense. Maybe this was some sort of fucked up punishment from Celestia for attempting to drown a city and steal a Gnosis.

Or maybe he had been fighting for so long the pain was a part of him now.

He turns inward on himself, confronting the darkness in his mind, seeing the Abyss stare back.

Does this pain fuel you? he asks himself.

Like nothing else was its reply.

When the next nightmare came, he was ready. You, as always, were present in the dream, your unrelenting stare was part of his subconscious now. He could live with that. He would learn how to tune it out.

What he doesn't expect is to have to face himself.

You enter the fight with eyes brightened, excited to see the two of them spar. Unstoppable force versus equal unstoppable force. The bloodlust in the eyes of your comrade is promising. He's ready to fight.

"Let's see you try and beat this." you say evenly, letting the two of them take the field.

He's hard to fight, he thinks to himself, and the eeriness of fighting a version of himself that does not recognize him and treats him as just another enemy is unsettling. He sees the combative spirit in his own gaze as he lowers his mask down to use his delusion. The other Childe doesn't use his. How strange.

They fight for what seems like hours, but only really is a few minutes. He's somehow outmatched by his other self, the one that doesn't have any recognition of who he is, and it terrifies him. How? How is this possible? How is everyone you brought to break him down so powerful? Why do you always win?

He falls against the floor and yells in agony and frustration. Damnit! he thinks. Not this time, not this time.

It's too late. The ley line blooms, and you take your rewards. He feels as if the Tusk is ripped from himself, and folds into the pain, curling up on the Golden House floor, tasting blood in his mouth.

Waking up that time was hell, and he notices a blue glow on his torso as he comes to consciousness, and he lifts his shirt to reveal a Riptide mark pulsing on his chest. His breathing quickens, how was this possible? Why were these nightmares so prevalent? How did they leave marks when he woke up?

These continue throughout the months, haunting him, hurting him, turning some part of him even more sour and shriveled.

He goes off to Inazuma to look for the Balladeer, and when in Inazuma, the two of you meet again inside the labyrinth. The hordes of monsters are nothing compared to his nightmares. If he focuses on finding the master of Shiki Taishou, he can ignore the way you kill just as much around him. He builds a friendship with Xinyan to avoid the tension between the two of you, even though nothing happened, it was a dream right? If he concentrates hard enough, everything is fine.

When the three of you exit the domain, the punk rock girl being so glad to have made two new friends, you and Childe exchange glances.

"We haven't hung out much after Liyue, huh?" he asks, masking the nightmares' effects on his psyche.

"Correct." you answer coolly.

"Thinking about that rematch, comrade?" He forces a smile on his face.

"I was thinking you could become my traveling partner." You brighten, holding something blue and pink behind your back.

"R-really?" He wasn't nervous, no, he was just... you were so powerful, and what if his nightmares came back when you two were traveling together-

"I mean it! I already travel with you anyways!" you say, tone cheery for the implications it held.

Childe freezes in his tracks. "What?" he asks, afraid of the answer.

"Come home, my darling. Come back to me, and you never have to do that again." you say, walking forward.

"I thought you said-" He gets cut off.

"I want more." A golden glint in your eyes catches him off guard as his own psyche locks down, freezing him out of his limbs, taking away his ability to scream. Just like his nightmares.

There's a piercing fear in his blue eyes before they shine golden and the shooting star burns out. He's here, with you now. All of him. As he should be.

Monoceros Caeli shines a little brighter in the sky that night.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Confidence to inspire fear

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

The bridge of the freighter felt like it had become a nightmare as Lithel awoke.

He tried to open his eyes but even when open the room refused to stop spinning. One of his upper left eyes refused to open and as Lithel attempted to reach up with one of his arms he found that he could not move it as well.

Tilting his head down and saw through his blurry eyes that a section of the bridge ceiling had collapsed atop him and was pinning him to the deck. He tried to rise but the weight was too heavy. Just as he began pondering if this would be his end he felt the debris shift atop him. "Captain!" Lithel heard someone calling him but the sound felt like it was coming from everywhere. "Captain can you hear me!?"

Blinking several more times Lithel was able to focus and he saw his second in command Michael rushing over. He could hear several other footsteps approaching and not long after the metal pinning him to the floor being lifted off and a strong pair of arms pulling him out.

"I got you sir, just take it easy."

Lithel moved his mouth to thank him but nothing came out but a soft gurgle and whimper.

Only now as he was pulled free did Lithel see the damage done to his bridge. Halve the consoles were shattered, the data streams were flickering rapidly as an overload of information from across the ship poured in, and at one of the walls had several panels blown out and were currently on fire.

Michael helped lay him down across the floor while a medic rushed over and began treating him. Lithel was about to sit up and take back his command throne when the communications officer rushed over.

"Message coming in sir; it's from the pirates."

Lithel's eyes went wide and he tried to sit up but Michael put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. They had served together aboard the Red Manta for some twenty years and had developed an understanding that needed no words.

He saw the look in Michael's eyes and knew he would take care of the situation and instead laid back down.

"Put them through." Michael said as the communication officer scurried off and began fiddling with the only remaining working communication console.

Within moments the data feeds stopped streaming information and displayed an image. On the opposite end series of figures could be seen standing around a command throne similar to Lithel's were it not for the adorning skulls and bones of various species draped over it.

They were muscular mixture of aliens ranging from lizard like creatures with sharpened teeth to thin limbed beings looking like living twigs, and even a strange blob like creature that had a knife wedged within it. But the most impressive of the figures was sitting atop the throne itself.

It had the shape of a humanoid figure but it appeared as a swirling cloud of black ink ever shifting. It wore no clothing and had no distinguishable features save for a pair of crimson red eyes.

"Surrender."

It was a single word spoken by the black ink creature before Michael could even say a word. The crew around it chuckled and laughed as if sizing up their soon to be prize; though Michael would soon throw a wrench into their celebration.  

"Are you insane!?" he spoke. His stance was firm and unwavering with his feet planted into the decking as if he was bracing for a storm. "Do you have any idea what you have done?"

"Who, are you?" the black ink creature spoke as it raised a talon like finger at Michael, the ink bleeding off of it in drips as it did so.

"I am Captain Michael Zbari of the human reformation, transporting goods to the homeworld."

The pirates appeared confused at this announcement and murmured among themselves before the ink creature held up a hand. The medic treating Lithel appeared to take just as much of the confusion from the announcement and was about to say something when Lithel forestalled him. He knew Michael was playing a dangerous game, and it might just be there only way of getting out of this.

"You, lie." The words were spoken as if through water and Lithel could barely understand them as the thing continued. "The captain, is not human; this, we know."

"First you attack my ship unprovoked and now you claim I am not captain of my own ship?!"

His confidence radiated from him as he spoke and some of the pirates appeared taken aback. They were the ones who had attacked and now had them all at gun point. With a single word they could destroy the Red Manta and be on their way yet this human was acting as if they were the ones who should be sorry.

"Do you have any idea who are cargo is for?" Michael continued. "Should, we, care?" the ink being replied. "You should when Emperor Galvoc finds out you stole his personal shipment."

The smirks of the pirates dropped away instantly at this. The mere mention of the human emperor's name gave them pause as if they had just been struck by a cannon. The ink being leaned forward now on both arms and fixed the camera with a burning gaze.

"You, lie."

Michael scoffed at this and raised his arms out. "Nineteen containers of freshly cut refrigerated Borgan meat, twelve containers of the finest wines of the Nebula Rim, thirty six crates of gem stones from the fire pit mines of Draxon Iv, and that's just the tip of the ice berg."

The ink monster relaxed back into it's throne at this. "An, impressive, haul, indeed." it said and some of the pirates began grinning again but Michael continued to speak.

"For one with a death wish, an impressive haul for sure."

Michael stepped towards the monitor. "You could kill us and steal all of our cargo to sell but it won't matter; because the emperor will hear of this and will hunt you down to the farthest ends of the universe."

The ink thing chuckled and Michael's face frowned. "By attacking his shipment you have essentially declared war on him; you do realize that don't you?"

At this the black goo like creature stopped chuckling.

"He controls the largest fleet of ships to ever sail the void;  their numbers alone change gravity of entire systems with their passing."

"His armies are beyond counting and the march of their feet can crack planets in two."

"The depths of his depravity for torture against his enemies boundless and of such horrific that even the Draxic are afraid to incur his wrath."

Fixing an equally dark glare now Michael faced down the ink being. "You have no idea the hurricane you just sailed into."

The pirates began to argue among themselves but the black creature let out a deep roar that sounded as if bubbling tar could scream.

"He, will, never, know!" it said, "We, will, be, long, gone, and, you, all, dead!"

It was Michael's turn to smirk as he pulled out a small box like device with a blinking red light.

"This, is an emergency transmitter capable of reaching across five sectors." he held it out clearly so all the pirates could see. "Once activated it calls in a relief fleet to warp to our position within twenty minutes; and I activated it fifteen minutes ago."

For the first time the ink creature rose from its throne and pushed several of the pirates aside with surprising strength for a creature that appeared to be made of living oil.

"You, bluff!" is said.

"You could stay and board us to call it, but when they arrive and blow your scrap heap of a ship out of the stars I don't think it'll really matter what you think now will it?"

The two stared down each other, neither speaking a word yet unwilling to back down in the face of this challenge.

Lithel watched with ever clearing eyes as the pirates became increasingly anxious.

"Tick." Michael made a sound similar the clock arms of his wrist time device. "Tick, tick tick tick."

"Silence!" the ink creature bellowed, but Michael continued.

"Time's running out for you." His face was devoid of emotion save a devlish smirk. "Tick, tick, tick, tick!"

"I said silence!"

"Time's running out little pirate." Michael quipped back, "Tick, tick, tick, tick!"

The pirates were not frantic and some even began talking to the ink creature in an alien language none of the red manta crew could understand but it appeared to upset the ink being.

Letting out another roar the screen suddenly went dead leaving the bridge crew silent as the repair teams finally shuffled in to douse the flames.

Through the viewport Lithel could see the pirate ship burning retro boosters and turning around as fast as it could before warping away.

Michael stood upright for a few moments more after they fled back to the warp before collapsing down to the ground. Streaks of sweat began pouring down his face like rivers and he began breathing rapidly.

Lithel raised himself on to his arms unsteadily and looked at Michael.

"How did you know that would work?"

Michael looked at him as if he just remembered he wasn't alone on the bridge and looked embarrassed.

"When you act like you have the backing of the biggest thug in the yard, the other rats tend to leave you alone."

"So by claiming to be the emperors personal shipment.." Lithel began as he connected the dots.

"They would fear the hell hammer that would fall on them should they attempt to steal from the biggest threat the galaxy has ever seen."

Lithel was surprised that such an act of subterfuge worked but they were still alive and he would be the last to complain on how it was handled. He did point to the strange blinking box Michael still clutched in his hand.

"What is that device?"

Michael looked at it for a moment before chucking it over to Lithel who gracefully caught it mid air.

"It's a remote control for my room lights."

Lithel looked at it dumbfounded but before he could inquire more from Michael he saw his second in command pass out on the bridge as the stress of the attack and the performance he just made finally caught up to him.

[thesunshinebunny]

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part I)

Series Master list

Pairing: Canon Eren Jaeger x reader

Content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

Summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter Summary: After watching their teammates die in battle, reader begins to question their sanity and of their so-called partner.

AN: let me say goodbye to my favorite girl, who got me the best laughs and relieved my anxiety while reading manga chapters. At the same time, let me succumb to the misery and enlarge the wound with an canon Eren. I won’t be against following this fic if I see that a lot of people like it, but my list of fandoms isn’t going to change, this will be a unique exception.

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The chill in the air from the airship rushed through my veins. Less than two hours ago, I had seen countless comrades die, each one of them struck by bullets in different parts of their bodys or eaten by a Titan. I had seen countless lives fall and had been unable to save any. I knew we were going on a suicide mission, but deep down inside of me, I hoped we would all come home alive.

I was very naïve to think of a happy ending in this rotten and violent world.

Inside the room I was in, my mind wandered looking through one of the few windows this war machine gave us. I wasn't paying attention to what Levi or Eren were saying, I didn't even have the slightest intention of asking why Zeke was with us. Although being a member of the Survey Corps and a direct and in training medic, I was not fully informed of the missions. Eren’s courtesy.

Bored and mentally tired, I left the room where my leaders were having a heated discussion with "humanity's last hope." I didn't have the strength to add more charcoal to the fire, but trust me when I tell you I wasn’t at all happy with Eren's plan, simply and exclusively because I was completely unaware.

I walked down the hall making a mental note to kick the brunette in the face like Levi did when we got back. If my so-called partner, who had the decency to slowly push me away over the last year without explanation, wasn’t confident enough to tell me whatever was going on in his mind, then we would be in front of the doors of a serious conversation back home.

I opened the door where the scouts were when I heard a rifle go off. My eyes went wide and fear washed over me. I instantly scanned my body for wounds, completely ignoring the situation happening in front of me. Finding no sign of impact, I looked up only to find Sasha falling on her back, with a bullet impact on her chest.

The world seemed to have frozen as did my body. No one was able to move. Blood was spreading around Sasha's body, staining the floor, and that's when I reacted. My body moved on its own, pulling the cloak off my shoulders and folding it to make a small pillow. My ears didn’t catch any screams or cries from my teammates, as if I was underwater and the only thing I could hear was my heartbeat accelerating, threatening to come out of my ears.

"I need a syringe with anesthesia, a pair of tweezers, a needle, a lighter, bandages and hot water, NOW !!"

No one was moving, everyone was in shock, including me, but I was layered enough to know that if we didn't do something, Sasha wasn't going to survive.

"Jean, Connie, I need surgical elementes! NOW!!"

The two boys came out of it, running around the room, even going to the continuous, looking for something that might serve, while I tore Sasha's shirt and took her equipment. Mikasa was next to me grabbing the pieces that were in the way.

"Mikasa, I need you to put pressure on the wound and don’t move your hands"

Connie came running back with the anesthesia in hand, trying to give it to me, but me failing. The syringe fell to the floor, but thanks to whatever deity was watching us it didn't break. My hands were shaking with adrenaline, making it impossible for me to inject the needle into the glass vial.

“Sasha… I need you to stay awake, ok? I need you to keep your eyes open at all time"

The dying girl in front of me didn't give me an answer, but I knew she heard me. In the background, I could hear the desperate cries of the others, apart from the fact that someone had hit the culprit in the face. I injected the anesthesia and proceeded to remove the bullet from the lung. Mikasa reapplied pressure with wet cloths.

"Sasha everything will be fine, I assure you, everything will be fine, so don't you dare die on me, okay?"

I couldn't tell who I was addressing those words to, the girl who gave us the best laughs in our training days, or me.

Lighter in hand I proceeded to cauterize the wound, but my eyes fell on Sasha's, noticing how the life had left her eyes. The light that was so bright in her pupils had faded, leaving nothing more than an empty countenance.

"Sasha?...Sasha? hey, this isn’t funny, Sasha wake up…Sasha?? SASHA?!!?!" ...

"SASHA!!!"

Again.

Again I’d been unable to do anything.

Again I’d to see how I was unable to save someone.

Again.

I had seen a mate die. Again.

My chest contracted, the air was impossible to get in or out and my lungs cried out to explode. My stomach wanted to regurgitate, but there was nothing in it, causing me to spasm. My vocal cords were damaged from screaming and my head was about to collapse.

My whole body was about to collapse.

"How dare you!? You son of a bitch, how dare you to shoot the person who forgave your life?"

My anger was now directed at the child they had wanted to bring with us. It was impossible for me to look at her without having the desire to break her face, to make her suffer ... to kill her. To take revenge for Sasha.

“SHE FORGAVE YOUR LIFE BY NOT GIVING YOU A SHOT IN THE HEAD AND IS THAT HOW YOU PAY HER? YOU HATE US SO MUCH? HOW MANY MORE LIVES DO YOU WANT TO TAKE FOR US TO BE SATISFIED?"

My legs got up, leading me towards the girl, but arms held me from behind, preventing me from continue walking, preventing me from taking revenge.

"HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU? YOU ARE THE REAL DEVILS"

In the end, my body collapsed, completely loosening and causing me to almost slide down Connie's arms. I fell to my knees when he released me, snuggling up and hiding my head in my arms. Tears flowed like waterfalls with no intention of stopping and my screams reverberated across the metal in the room.

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Connie opened the door where our commanders were still arguing. Both with tears in our eyes gave the worst news of the night.

"Sasha died"

Jean and Hange's faces were disfigured and Levi hid his grim outline from us. The room was silent, but all that could be heard were my sobs, spasm after spasm.

"She had a ... a bullet impact ... in ... in the chest ..."

It was difficult, almost impossible, for me to relate the precarious medical report of our friend's death, trying to help me with the movement of my hands ... but even so the spasms won me over. I fell back to the floor, tears invaded my face once more and my ability to articulate words was gone down the drain.

Hange approached with a slow step and placed their hands on my shoulders, giving me the help I needed to give the report. I took several minutes of deep breaths and when my lungs returned to normal, I spoke again.

"Sasha had a bullet impact on the chest, on the left lung ... There was no exit, so the bullet was stuck in there...it pierced two ribs, tearing the skin of the lung and causing internal bleeding... I managd to remove the bullet, but I didn't have time to cauterize and sew the wound ... she bled to death"

Every pause I took to breathe made it so much worse for me to speak back. If it weren't for the fact I was undoubtedly taking deep breaths, I would have passed out from distress and hyperventilation.

"I could have saved her ... I know I could have saved her"

Silence reigned over the room, sobs from Hange and Connie could be heard if we were paying close attention. Jean and Levi glared at Eren, who had not deigned to lift his head at any time.

I got up as best I could, running Hange's hands gently, and left the room once again. I needed to be alone for a while, I needed to let go of these horrible feelings, I needed some air, otherwise I doubted I’d do anything rational in the state I was in.

My legs led me to a room away from all the common ones. It was empty, but it had a couple of windows that chilled the already cold metal walls. Some windows were at my height, allowing me to appreciate the view from the air, but let's face it, it was impossible to appreciate the landscape when your mind and heart were breaking to pieces. The only thing that kept my mind intact from any collapse was the path of smoke and fire that could be seen in the distance... signs that Marley was still on fire.

"Are you ok?"

That familiar voice, all too familiar, echoed in my ears pulling me out of my entrance. Eren had entered the room quietly with the aim of… what? See if it was okay? Because I really wasn't, it showed on my face and that's what made me even more angry than I was.

"Oh, I don't know? Am I ok? Do I FUCKING LOOK OK TO YOU?"

I turned from the window too quickly causing me to stagger and fall to the floor. My head was spinning and starting to ache as was every muscle in my body. I put my hands to my head, hoping the pain would dissipate a bit, but the only thing I managed was to sink further into misery.

"I could have saved her ... if I’d been faster ... I know I could have saved her"

He hadn't moved from where he was, he just stayed there, looking at me. My blood-soaked eyes looked him up and down searching for something, whatever, to speak of, but all I found were non-glare eyes and a neutral gaze, as if he hadn't cared how many lives this mission had claimed.

"Do you want to know how I feel? Fine, I’ll tell you"

I stood up heavily, my muscles begging for a break. I turned my head to see the black smoke rising on the horizon, still clearly noticing an orange and red flare.

“I am tired…I am full of rage and hate. I saw our comrades die and I couldn't do anything, I was unable to save them ... to save Sasha...and all because of not having been informed like everyone else"

My eyes hadn't left the window because I knew, if I looked into those dull turquoise eyes, those same eyes that once shone with all the innocence and life that a young man could have, I would end up punching him.

"Are you happy? Did you accomplished your mission now that you have the power of the warhammer titan? What will be the next step? Go back to Marley in a few months, finish what you started and devour the jaw titan and Reiner? Assassinate the cart titan?”

Again, I got no response. My patience had already reached it’s limit and I looked back at the man who was now standing in the middle of the room.

"You're not going to tell me, are you? No, you never say anything to me, it's like I'm a burden to you" I shuffled on the metal, standing right in front of him "I'm with so much anger in my veins that I want to kill a child, a child Eren! ... A child who had her head washed all her life, a child who doesn’t know the whole truth and who only knows that by killing she can be free"

Unconsciously, my body moved everywhere, as if it wanted to release all the pressure by tiring the muscles. I stood back in front of the window and with all the accumulated anger I gave it a strong blow, slightly scratching the glass and probably breaking some knuckles.

"Sasha died because of my incompetence and the violence of this world...I want to save lives Eren, that's why I'm practicing medicine...I want to dedicate myself to saving souls, not killing them...and we have the culprit stuck in one of our rooms...why?" ...

“WHY DO WE HAVE TWO CHILDS ON OUR AIRPLANE? WHY IS YOUR BROTHER WITH US? WHY DON'T YOU LET ME KNOW WHAT IS GOING THROUGH YOUR HEAD?"

I was sure that my screams could be heard by our entire war machine. I was impatient for answers, but knew I wasn't going to get any, at least not now. My hands didn’t remain calm, they moved everywhere, a sign of my anxiety and my eyes turned around the entire room, looking at each screw, each metal beam... everything except the eyes of my supposed lover.

I was giving up, now I just wanted to rest and have a trip home in peace, even knowing that home was not going to sound the same or feel the same.

"If you have nothing to say Eren, you better leave"

I turned my back on him but didn't proceed to walk away from him. I needed to find an anchor point so as not to give up and throw myself into the arms that one day gave me warmth, the arms that wrapped me in the dark, the arms that reflected their love and affection ... into the arms that now wouldn't hold me from the waist or draw me to his chest. I wasn't going to throw me into some arms that weren't going to contain me.

I heard him take a few small steps towards me and his hand rested lightly on my shoulder. I put it aside abruptly and I distanced myself towards the remote window, seeing how little by little the smoke was getting smaller and I could no longer see the orange flame clearly; now I could only see a thin yellow line fading.

"Leave Eren"

His footsteps rumbled on the metal floor, leaving me alone once and for all.

The trip back was going to be a long one and, to be honest, I wasn't sure if there was anything for me in our home. Nothing was going to be the same anymore. Without Sasha, without Eren and with a war on our feet I doubted to even call “home” a piece of wet land in the middle of an ocean which is still the target of a world full of hate.

[tiny-barbarian]

So my dnd group hasn't been able to meet for nearly a month now, draining a good bit of my energy replenishment and source of joy

So naturally I put the draining energy into an angsty piece

Figure this is about as good a time as any to put his backstory finally

tw for like war and death and angst. TLDR is there was a reverse ATLA situation where the Air Genasi wiped out the Fire Genasi, and Pix is the last of the Fire Genasi

....except he didn't have the peaceful combat-avoiding childhood teachings Aang had so he's DEFINITELY down for some revenge-

To start with, long ago, the Sirix Angels locked away a powerful artifact (the Phantom Crucible) with five keys. To keep it locked, they kept one of the keys, and gave the last four to the Genasi, one to each tribe. The Phantom Crucible grants you any wish, so the stories go, so clearly it's sought after. Things were bound to go wrong eventually.

Vulpix grew up in the Cinders tribe of Fire Genasi, joining the tribe's army, where he learned to fight and also learned about and met those from the other Genasi tribes (Including General Galeon Atmos of the Air Genasi, who he came to admire and look up to. I think I've posted him before, he's the blue guy in past Vulpix posts).

Then the Elemental Schism struck, a war between the four tribes over the keys to the Crucible. It wasn't long before the Water and Earth Genasi pulled out, the war becoming too much, leaving the Fire and Air to battle it out. The Air Genasi outnumbered the Fire Genasi and slowly began to take them out, but the Cinders kept fighting.

One battle that young (now Captain) Vulpix took part in grew a bit too close to a phoenix's nest. Despite the severity of the battle raging, Pix stuck by the nest, driving the enemy away till the battle was past it, saving the eggs from certain doom. He didn't know this act of compassion would have grave effects later. That battle ended at more or less a draw, the army of the Cinders retreating to Torchtop, home of the tribe... But they weren't expecting the Air Genasi to attack again so soon.

It was a very onesided battle. Through sheer numbers and a ...strange other advantage, the Air Genasi quickly broke through defenses. The Cinders were dropping like flies. They fought against hope itself that something would turn the tides of the fight.

Vulpix had been separated from his squadron, and was facing a group of Air Genasi on his own. He was not doing well. If he slashed at one with his sickle, another would be right there with a sword of their own. Blasting a fireball would only result in it being blocked, leaving no apparent effect. Vulpix knew this was the end here.

Then it happened.

There was a shrill cry of a bird somewhere overhead, followed by a burning sensation deep in his chest. He’d been burned before, of course; living among pyrokinetics it was inevitable. This, though, was different. So much stronger, so much more painful. He thought for a moment that this moment of vulnerability would be his downfall, but it only took a second to realize the flames licking at the ground around him, the attackers running away. Pix only held a few more seconds of his own volition before the phoenix’s powers took flight

The flaming Genasi made short work of driving the rest of the attackers from the encampment, but the damage was done. When the phoenix’s aura finally dropped, Vulpix quickly realized he was the sole survivor of the attack. He wasn’t even given a chance to mourn them, the phoenix ushering him away before the enemy returned.

Pix searched desperately for the few other Cinders that had escaped the slaughter, each time realizing he was too late. Each disappointment, each failure only further broke his heart, and there was one thing he knew with more and more certainty:

He would find whoever had done this, and he would make them pay.

[my-writings-and-musings]

Do you think you could do oxygen prompt but just with cyclonus? If not I understand! Thanks!

I absolutely can! Again I hope you all don't mind if I stop linking to past posts, there's just too many to keep track of!

Cyclonus

·He was instructing you on the ins and outs of Old Cybertronian during some down time, working with you patiently to help you form the sounds as your human anatomy made some of them quite difficult. Mostly he was just happy you were putting in the effort for his sake, smiling softly as you made progress at your own pace. Within his cupped palms you could almost feel how every word rumbled through the air in his undeniable accent.

·There had been an unexpected interruption in the form of a barely perceptible tremor through the ship. He'd curled his claws about you protectively as he confessed uncertainty to what was going on, but had no time to seek out answers before they were quite aggressively given. The Lost Light had trembled and the lights had flickered, some sparking as every vid screen and monitor suddenly lit up with the image of an unknown alien delivering a recorded message. Their attack virus was destroying the ship's systems all at once, allowing them to board in short order, and there would be a massacre if total surrender wasn't received immediately. Cyclonus held you to his spark as the video faded to static, his processor burning to create a plan. There would be no surrender, but without the ship running at capacity it wouldn't be able to support you, and he had no way to contact anyone for assistance... The weight of it all made formulating a response all but impossible.

·Equally worried but able to think more effectively, you got his attention with a quick reassurance. The medical bay, you reasoned, would undoubtedly have spare oxygen on standby in the event of your injury. It was enough of a goal for him to focus on and in moments he was preparing to make the journey, securing his sword at his back to ensure nothing would delay the mission. He promised in precious few words that you would come to no harm. Cupped in one protective hand, you'd nodded in total trust as he left the safety of his room behind.

·There had been no one to greet you at first, but the sounds of conflict had radiated through the halls like an echo, bringing cries of effort and the blasts of laser fire straight to you. Careful claws had pressed you tightly against a solid armored chest. Whispered promises had come every step of the way, and occasionally they were joined by requests to see if you were alright, ones that didn't sound exceptionally calm when you answered that you were indeed fine.

·Everything had turned to chaos in a flash. Some hulking alien with incredible stealth had attacked as soon as one unassuming hallway had been entered, meeting the flat of a greatsword Cyclonus drew to block the ambush before you could even blink. In a roll he unbalanced his opponent and deposited you safely on the edge of the fight, returning to grapple his equally sized foe as they regained their balance and tried once again to strike. In seconds your partner was engaged in a brutal battle whilst you were trying to just reclaim your footing. Heart all but stopping, you watched as reinforcements came charging in for the enemy, one of them bearing some great explosive device that went off in a deafening blast. You were sent flying and struck the wall as the air seemed to dissapear from your lungs, head spinning violently as you looked about for help.

·Seeing you thrown before he could react had driven Cyclonus from angered defense to murderous rampage, and when the smoke had settled off his impervious armor his sword had been replaced by his claws. Ripping and tearing proved brilliantly effective, and more than once his fangs joined the fray to finish off the enemies who managed only superficial damage before being reduced to pieces on the floor. Not pausing even to catch his ventilations up to speed, he'd dropped to his knees at your side in a panic, calling out your name as he'd lifted you into shaking hands...

·Dizzy and quite unexpectedly exhausted by the blow, you'd nevertheless looked up and smiled when your love had come to you victorious. No matter the odds, he always found a way to prevail it seemed... Expressing no discomfort beyond a bump on your head and a difficulty catching your breath, you'd assured him that you were fine, not that he believed you. Once more fitting perfectly into his hands, you were carried at full speed once again, your partner's always stoic expression betraying panic you couldn't help but find excessive. You felt fine! Better than fine, almost, just so unreasonably tired...

·Cyclonus knew something was wrong, and regardless of whether or not it was the atmosphere growing hostile to your health or an injury suffered from the explosion, he didn't dare wait to see. You were going to be fine, he'd promised you! The medical bay had been crowded but still bots gave him plenty of room, allowing him to go straight to the medics and beg for help. You being taken from his hands had hurt more than any wound ever could, as if his failure to protect you was confirmed by needing outside help. Collapsing into a chair, he'd remained inconsolable until learning you would live. Even then, few had dared approach the obviously agonized mech while he kept watch.

·You'd awoken to a sense of something being off, but had known the problem wasn't with you as soon as a familiar voice caught your attention. Cyclonus tried to look strong for your sake, but failed miserably. The pain in his optics was as deep as it was heartbreaking. You immediately tried to reassure the big bot that you were fine, but your words had initially been useless, for the mech had cracked to reveal that knowing how close he'd come to losing you... terrified him. Yet, he doesn't want to be afraid, he's the one who should be protecting you!

·Were it not so obviously hurting him, the thought would have been touching. This big bot loves you with all he is, enough so that he views losing you as tantamount to losing himself. Taking a claw and pulling it to hug his palm to your body, you express a similiar fear. How does he think it felt to watch him fight? Yet you had no plans of not loving him anymore, and just as you hoped he'd be there for you in recovery, you hoped he would allow you to do the same... In an instant he assures you that he will, afraid but beyond emboldened by your love.

[good-beans]

Since I currently have fire emblem fates and leo and talumi brainrots I am gonna send you some precise scenarious.

Ok but you know that when you pair up two units then after some action they will block attacks? While in game is a total no damage I think this may also have potential for angst. What if instead of a full no sell the paired unit that protected the lead took the damage for them? So I propose this:

What if Leo and Takumi paired up and one of them ended up protecting the other from an attack and ending up reallu badly injuried. To be more clear on how serious the situation is: The attack cause them to lose coscience right after/ just some minutes after taking it

Choose you who takes the attack to save the other. Then how would you think the other would react.

Also if you wanna you can also add some fluffy things for the aftermarth!

You caught me at a good time, the writing motivation was really flowing and so here's a little thing plus some headcanons 👀

First of all, you gotta love that drama of paired units actually taking damage for the other 😭 I'm going to keep thinking of that whenever my units defend each other and get Sappy about it now.....

Basically I think if Leo over took a shot for Takumi, there'd be instant regret and a bit of panic since he never expected the other to do something so caring for him. I also included Takumi showing trust to the other Nohrians because I feel like that's the surest sign of love from him -- only a very strong connection could convince him to trust his 'enemies.' (It also includes a small headcanon I have that since the countries have incredibly different magic systems, for a long time they make no effort to understand the other's)

Thank you for this!! I always love hearing fe brainrot ideas omg :0

A flurry of arrows took down all the enemies in the vicinity. Takumi strung another at lightning speed, finishing off another foe.

“That was easy,” he said, angling his head at the other. “Impressed yet, Your Highness?” The nickname had started out as an insult, but it seemed to lose it’s sting each time Takumi said it. Leo rolled his eyes.

“I’m impressed you’ve won any battles in your life, with this behavior.” Not that Leo was complaining. There were very few archers in Nohr’s military ranks, and he was rather amazed at Takumi’s skills. He’d excuse his staring because of the legendary bow, if anyone asked.

“Aw, you’re just jealous that the Hoshidans can have a little fun!” He gave a mischievous smirk, but the two were interrupted by shouts from the battlefield. The enemy regrouped much quicker than expected. Leo spotted a mage charging up a nasty spell, his eyes locked on the pair. The enemy was too far for Leo to reach, but his counterpart could surely make such a shot.

He waited for Takumi’s attack, but saw that he was distracted by Hinoka’s calls for help. “Takumi, over there –”

The enemy let the spell fly.

“Look out!” Leo shouted, shoving the other out of the way of an oncoming attack. He held up a glowing hand to try ward it away, but it did little use against the powerful blast. He stumbled back a few steps as it struck. Then he turned to Takumi with a breathless “you need to concentrate.”

“I was doing just fine…” Takumi drew his bow, shooting at the mage.

“Just fine? You’d be dead if a curse like that struck you head-on!”

“I’m not as weak as you think I am, I could have taken it.” Takumi scanned the area for more enemies, but it seemed the coast was truly clear this time. “No need to worry that pretty little head over me.” It took a moment to process what he’d even said. Was the other worried about him? He’d been so mortified, he hadn’t even thought of offering his thanks.

He glanced over, finding Leo with his head bent low. “Hey, no need to get all mopey. I only meant – Leo? Leo!”

The prince’s knees buckled, and Takumi dropped his bow to catch him. He lowered Leo to the ground. He lay completely still besides a faint glow where the attack had struck.

“Come on, get up! What happened?”

Takumi’s face paled. He knew little about magic, but Leo said the spell could have killed him. Did that mean…?

He shook the young man gently. “Come on, get up you Nohrian scum. Wake up, you hear me?” No response. His voice pitched, a bit more frantic. “Damnit, Leo!”

He snapped his gaze to his comrades. “I need help over here! I need – ah, Camilla!” He had always hated the woman, but she was the closest fighter with any knowledge of Nohrian magic. He didn’t think twice before crying out to her, “I need your help!”

As she made her way to him, Leo’s eyes fluttered open for just a moment.

“Hey!” Takumi breathed a sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “You’re gonna be alright, you hear? You’re gonna be alright. Leo –” he had slipped back into unconsciousness, but Takumi continued anyway. “Thank you. Thank you for saving me.”

-----

Now, if this situation was reversed, I think Leo would snap into control freak mode, clearing his mind of literally everything except helping Takumi. He'd feel a lot of guilt about it, which would only motivate him to fix the situation quicker.

While I used magic in my story, but both strike me as the brand of Stupid Boy TM who would totally get stabbed and then hide it/deny it for an entire battle because they don't want to seem weak to the other omg

I didn't end up writing sappy aftermath but I'm definitely thinking about them hanging around their sickbed, being so worried they snap at healers for not doing a good enough job, and quickly trying (and failing) to replace their relief with snark and sarcasm as soon as the other wakes up ;-;

[theravencawsatmidnight]

HQ fantasy AU.

Character Bios/world set up. ♥️

Part One Coming Soon. Tag list Open

Tags. @squeaky-ducky @galagcica

King Oikawa; oh how his village loved him, they loved his good looks, his love for his kingdom,the way he listened to everyones problems, his smile. Everything

They offer him food, good fortune, anything he desires he takes with a smirk all the way up his smug face. He had saved them from poverty , starvation, everything. King Oikawa could do no wrong in their eyes. Every year the village had a day just for him to celebrate how great he was and how much they appreciate him. But what's a King without his Queen? Well. that's a different story.

Queen Oikawa… you married this man to save your Kingdom from war. If your house bonded with his then you could avoid the wars with the other Kingdoms. He was not too thrilled with the marriage but he did it too keep up appearances with his people. You slept in separate beds most nights. Some nights the smell of booze and whores was too much for you so you stayed elsewhere,usually with your Maid, Mille who you loved dearly, she was your best friend.

You hated your husband more and more every night. He never asked your opinion on things, matters in the kingdom, nothing. You were just there for him to wrap his arm around when he needed to, watching him flash that smile down at his people who loved him. They did not care for you though, you were some slut to the village who did not deserve the King .

No one dared to touch Oikawas military.

Hajime; the brains of the group. He could come up with strategies on the spot. He knew all the insides of the Kingdoms thanks to his birds and wrote everything down , anything and everything that would help bring them to victory.

He pulled the King out of difficult situations regularly as well. He was always the first to drag him out of the brothels by the cape , he wanted to say something to his friend, how hes being un just and unfaithful. But all King Oikawa did was wave his friend off and offer to pay for a whore to help Hajime calm down.

Mattsun; the one who could plan out routes and draw up maps faster than Oikawa had ever seen. He loved the sea, loved his ship; The Aoba he called it. He had traveled the whole world, mapping it out, drawing up monsters and the locations. The treasure hoards, the brothels for his King. he was a master Navigator. He loved what he did. There was no ship he could not split in half with his.

Yahaba: the blacksmith, he could forge any weapon that was needed no matter how difficult. He spent most days in his large stone house making everything he could. Swords, bracers, mallets, knives. It excited him. Just Thinking that these objects would be used to bring his King to victory gave him a rush. No matter the weapon. No matter how illegal it was, he made it with a smile.

And lastly, the leader of his military branch;

Kyotani; the one who fought the most , killed the most, he never used a sword no, he preferred special brass knuckles made just for him or bracers that he wore like gloves to punch his enemies skulls into the cold dead ground. He feared nothing, no one. They feared him. His body was a constant reminder of the damage he had done over time. His hands were always wrapped in bandages stained in blood that never seemed to go away. His long slim arms had cuts that traveled all around from his wrists to his shoulders from being tortured back in his thief days. His lean chest was full of scratches from wrestling with wolves, a hobby of his.

The scar he wore on his face struck fear in anybody who looked at him. It was a large deep gash down the left side of his face over his eye. He had gotten captured at one point during a fight and was subjected to fire torture . the color in his left eye was gone but he could still see from it but his vision in the dark was very weak now. The villagers averted their eyes when they saw him , referring to him as “the Hound, “ or “ its the Kings Mad Dog…”. Kyotani knew this, but he did not care . His only purpose was to serve his king and fight. Nothing else matters. Nothing.

[pl-panda]

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 11

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 11

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The Akuma turned toward the three superheroes and scowled. A phantom butterfly appeared over her face. 

“So you’ve come to ruin my great day!?” She screamed. Her hand turned into bubbling energy and extended unnaturally, sailing at the heroes who had to scatter to avoid it. It smashed into the wall, burning it slightly. 

“This is Vicki Vale, reporting live from Wayne Manor, where the Charity Gala was interrupted by the attack of a supervillain. We can now see not one, but three new superheroes appearing on-site to stop them. The feline theme seems to be prevalent in this group, but it is the hero in red that took charge of the situation. Aaaah!” The large other arm sailed toward the reporter and her cameraman, enveloping them and burning them. Some of the bubbly mass remained there, slowly reforming into… something. 

“This Akuma is overpowered! Shapeshifting, reach, super-healing, and minions?” Ladybug whined. 

“Focus. We need the object.” Black Cat cut her off. 

“She had nothing on her. Only the… Of course, that stupid alley-cat would do this.” She moaned. “It’s her dress. That bastard made her dress into the akumatized object.” 

“Then we cut it to pieces.” Pink Tigress scowled. Her chakram sailed through the air at the Akuma, but it was easily avoided.

“You’re all just fake…” She didn’t get to finish before the sharp projectile bounced and returned at her, smashing into her back. Black Cat and Ladybug used the distraction.

“Lucky Charm!/Cataclysm!”

The destructive energy formed in his paw just as Ladybug got a fire extinguisher.

“Won’t be needed, beloved.” Black cat spoke too soon because purple energy surrounded the Akuma and the heat became harder to withstand. The wooden planks caught on fire.

“Is it just me or is she getting hotter with time?”

“Ladybug! Don’t flirt with the villain.” Tigress snapped, but the way she was smiling told the young couple she was just joking.

“Tt. Let’s just get moving.” He scoffed. Just then, the shapeless mass that was the reporter and the cameraman finally became active. The two blobs looked exactly like they used to before, except for violet eyes. They charged forward, forcing the heroes to scatter. As soon as they crashed with the wall, it started to slowly heat until it burned too. 

Ladybug started looking around. She needed to get access to the Akuma, but when they were distracted, it created more minions that now stood between her and them. The clock pointed at almost half an hour to midnight. 

The plan formed in Ladybug’s head. 

“Cat! I need your tail. Tigress! The strength would be nice.” She ran to grab the items needed. A tail was wrapped around the fire-extinguisher and the hand of the clock was put inside the pin and tied to the sash. 

“Power Up! Strength!” Pink Tigress shone with pink light. Getting at what her daughter planned, she grabbed Black Cat who rolled in a ball. 

“Tt. For the record, I hate these types of plans.”

“Less complaining, more… Now!” Ladybug shouted suddenly before making the fire extinguisher roll like a bowling ball right under the group of minions and toward the Akuma. The heat was visibly weakening the metal around it. When it was close to the enemy, she pulled back the sash with one swift move and plucked the safety pin. Then, she quickly tossed her yo-yo.

The weapon struck the already weakened metal container and everything nearby was covered by red foam, putting away the flames and momentarily stopping the heat.

Seeing her cue, Pink Tigress tossed Black Cat through the air. The strength gave her enough power for the throw to pass over all of the minions with enough velocity that he surprised the Akuma. His open palm clashed into the orange dress of the Akuma and it crumbled to pieces. Quickly, Ladybug grabbed the now-extinguished curtain and tossed it over the victim. 

There was no catchphrase when she activated her yo-yo and captured the purple butterfly, or when she released it. 

“Miraculous Ladybug!” 

The swarm of magical bugs swept over the place, fixing the damage and returning everything to where it was supposed to be. At least most of it.

“Ladybug?” A voice came from under the curtain, which thankfully remained in place. The face that appeared from underneath was that of one Lila Rossi. “Oh no! It was… I was… Oh no!” She started crying crocodile tears. 

Ladybug was clearly unamused. Because of course, The Liar would be the first from the new batch of Akumas. Unceremoniously, she tossed her the dress and walked away. 

Outside, the press already gathered together with a group of police officers trying to stop anyone from rushing inside. 

“Miss.” A man in a brown trenchcoat and with a bushy mustache came over to the three heroes. “Commissioner Gordon, GCPD. I must ask you three to come with us.” 

“Tt. No.” Black Cat protested before either of the females with him got a chance. 

Ladybug put a hand on his shoulder and made him step back. “Commissioner, could you send a team of paramedics inside. There is a girl that is probably in shock still inside. She was a victim of possession by Akuma.” 

Gordon didn’t respond verbally but waved his hand and a man and a woman went inside the mansion. “Now, can we move somewhere more private?” 

Just then, Batman glided down from the rooftop. “Nightwing and Red Hood stopped any car movement in and out. Red Robin is already tracing the feeds. The civilians are secure. Ladybug,” He turned to the spotted heroine with no small amount of respect, “is the situation inside resolved?” 

“I purified the Akuma if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Batman? You know those three?” The police commissioner asked.

“Yes. Ladybug is a superhero from France. She received my authorization to enter Gotham in pursuit of dangerous international terrorist Adrien Agreste, the son of another terrorist, Gabriel Agreste.” Batman explained. 

“And to think I used to wear his cologne…” Gordon muttered. “I would really appreciate the heads-up though.”

“We would definitely send such if we had time.” 

“We were in Tibet when the Akuma Alert came.” Black Cat lied swiftly. 

“Um… I’ve never been a master of geography but…”

“Magic. We use magic, Mr. Gordon.” Pink Tigress decided to take charge of the conversation with her assassin attitude in full force. From Bruce’s tales, James Gordon was a good man but sometimes too cynical. “The terrorist we chase also uses magic. We’re ready to co-operate with the police force as long as you turn out more cooperative than Parisians. We will need city-wide surveillance enhanced with the Akuma-detecting algorithm. You will get the program by tomorrow. Akuma Shelters would help minimize the strain during the attacks. And Arkham Asylum is to be on total lockdown. If possible, send the saner part to Black-gate. The rest is to be kept under wraps or in medically-induced comas. If even one of those madmen is corrupted…” She was narrowing her eyes to the point she almost closed them. Her fists were making a crunching sound as bones withstood great pressure. Pink Tigress was out for blood. 

“Agreste preys on emotions. Today’s attack was purely made out of spite and we suspect he didn’t even plan it. The girl he obsesses over announced her relationship to the public.” Ladybug stopped her mother before she said something she would regret. “We need to find him before he entrenches and it turns into a siege. We know who he is this time, but not who he works with…” 

“Known weaknesses? Ways to prevent possessions?” Gordon asked, scratching the back of his head. 

“We will send everything tomorrow. We need to go before the magic exhausts us.” Ladybug saluted before she and Black Cat leaped onto the top of the manor and disappeared in the forest behind it.

Pink Tigress smiled behind her mask and disappeared inside the Manor. Nobody saw her after that. 

---------

The couple arrived at the garden gazebo Damian showed her the first day and dropped the transformation. It was cold, but a small herbal fire burned inside and warmed them. Damian took off his jacket and put it over Marinette’s shoulders. She cuddled closer to him still, shaking not only from the temperature.

Silently, she cried for a good ten minutes before her eyes ran dry. 

“It will be okay, Habibti. This time, you’re not alone. And when we find him… He won’t walk out of there.” He muttered the last part low enough that shaken Marinetet didn’t hear him. She just wanted the comfort of his body heat and the embrace. She could hear his heartbeat and it served to calm her down. 

“I wanted this to be over. We were supposed to have peace… I can survive the occasional supervillain attack. But not… not him,” she sniffled. “Why…”

“Don’t worry angel. He won’t hurt you. Not today and not ever. By my sword I swear it to you.” 

“Damian… Thank you. You… We are in this together.” She smiled weakly. He pulled her closer. Simultaneously, their phones vibrated. 

Damian felt something shift and saw two steaming hot cups of hot chocolate in Ladybug-themed cups. From behind the fire, Tikki and Plag winked at the couple and hid again. 

“Happy new year Angel.” He gave her a cup and kissed her forehead. 

“Happy new year, grumpy cat.” She joked, hoping to light the atmosphere. Before Damian could protest she pulled him by his shirt into a searing kiss. 

Any protest he would have had over that nickname died before it could properly formulate. His mind shut down for a moment and he embraced his wife. They stayed like that for a long time. Just the two of them, the fire, and the steaming hot chocolate. 

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Masterlist // Next

[themonkeycabal]

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Episode 1 SPOILERS

If you need to blacklist, I will be tagging all things as #tfatws and/or #tfatws spoilers

My roommate keeps calling this The Falcon and the Snowman. I'm not entirely sure it's accidental.

I was going to watch at midnight and then fell asleep. Betrayal. I will not forgive this, brain.

Bucky Barnes character development. Sam Wilson character development. Six full episodes of Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson. When we watched Civil War, did we think we'd actually be lucky enough to get a buddy idiot cop movie? Let alone six hours of it? #blessed

What are we expecting here? I have no idea, honestly. I think all the clips we've been seeing are from the first couple episodes, so they've hidden any sort of plot from us. We know Baron Zemo's around with his stupid purple ski mask and burning hatred for superheroes and probably specifically for Bucky who he tried (and honestly kind of succeeded, before then ultimately failing dramatically) to set up. And Sharon Carter will turn up at some point. OMG guys, Sharon Carter character development!

I'm just here for the buddy bickering and badassery.

SPOILERS BELOW

New World Order: Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes realize that their futures are anything but normal. *Realize*? lol

Also, it's tagged as "science fiction, action-adventure, buddy" Awww.

Aww, Sam looks sad as he gazes at The Shield.

"How's it feel?" "Like it's someone else's." "It isn't."

That's right, Sam! Listen to that voice. That's yours now, baby.

We're just going to roll right into a mission. Rescuing a Captain Vassant, whose plane fell out of contact shortly after take off, from the ridiculously named group LAF, somewhere over Tunisia. Sam's got to keep LAF from doing bad things and the US Military can't be seen doing anything blah blah blah, violation of treaties, yada yada. And Sam's all "blah blah got it". We're on the same page, Sam and me. Nobody wants to hear it, Briefing Exposition Guy.

We will have a Lt. Torres on the ground following along and offering helpful commentary as they go.

Sam is warned to be subtle as he falls backwards out of the cargo plane in very dramatic fashion and then swoops off on his brightly colored wings. lol

Sam gets to the captain's plane but the pilot is dead and a shady LAF guy is piloting. Oh no. Hey, it's Batroc. Last seen getting his ass kicked by Captain America in "CA: The Winter Soldier". He makes some jokes about their prisoner - presumably Captain Vassant. Awful cocky for a guy with a history of getting stomped on, you know.

Anyway, he's about to get his ass kicked by a Captain America again as Sam breaks into the plane. You might just be using wing shields now, Sam, but you're Captain America in my heart. Also, hey, dumb bad guys, don't open fire with an automatic weapon inside a plane or the ricochets might kill your pilot. And his body will slump forward and put the plane into a steep dive.

Batroc distracts Sam while the bad guys gather up Vassant and jump out of the plane with him. They have wingsuits, but Sam has, you know, wings. And like a jet pack. Don't hit the canyon walls, Sam!

Somehow the bad guys have waiting gunships. Did they expect to jump out of the plane over this canyon? I can only assume. Red Wing takes care of one of the helicopters. Man these guys are a pain in the ass. They wing suit into one of the many many helicopters that just happen to be right in the right spot. They're racing for the Libyan border. Then Sam shows up, they throw Vassant out the copter again — this guy is having the worst day — and glide into another chopper.

Man ANOTHER gunship? The hell? They're causing serious ecological damage to this canyon, what with all the zillionty missiles they're firing at Sam. How strapped is this thing?

LT Torres is trying to keep up, and you know, trying to get Sam to not fly into Libyan territory and cause an international incident or some such. Sam is struck by inspiration and not by a missile. But, the missiles are following Sam and Sam is following Batroc's chopper. Sam zooms through the open doors of the chopper, knocks poor Vassant out of the chopper AGAIN (but then catches him), and LAF blows up their own helicopter. Alas, Batroc escaped.

Sam saves the day and LT Torres is like super excited. Don't break your humvee, Torres.

Torres and Sam stop by a tea shop in Tunis, or somewhere. Sam's trying to fix his tech that got a little shot up and Torres buys the tea. A man comes up and thanks Sam for saving his wife. It's sweet. And then Torres gets up and wanders about a bit with his phone as he exposits about LAF. Is Torres about to become a pin cushion? Only instead of pins it'll be bullets? I'm not feeling good about his continued health. He's too cute and earnest.

Oh, he's looking for some sort of hidden, augmented reality tag on the walls. A red handprint, id'ing some group that calls themselves the Flag Smashers. Bad guys are really scraping the bottom of the evil name barrel. Anyway, they think the world was better during the blip. Nothing says better like mass failure of infrastructure and probably world wide famine. They want a unified world without borders. I have big doubts the world would be a borderless utopia during a blip-like event. Power vacuums invite trouble, seldom unity.

Anyhoo. Sam kind of agrees with me, "every time something gets better for one group, it gets worse for another".

Torres will track the 'online chatter'. But he's also heard some wacky things about Steve Rogers, conspiracy theory stuff, "they think that he's in a secret base on the moon, looking down over us". LOL. What? Is Steve a moon angel now? or Santa Claus? "You didn't like fly him to the moon?" Sam assures him that's all very much silly foolishness. Steve's in Boca working on his tan.

Sam's back in D.C. giving a talk about Steve at the Smithsonian's National Air & Space museum. "And he mastered posing stoically". Hey, I have that picture. Also, RHODEY! Hi Rhodey!

"A few months ago, billions of people reappeared after 5 years away. Sending the world into turmoil." Again. I know this was meant to come out before WandaVision, but timeline-wise this works better.

"We need new heroes. Ones suited for the times we're in. Symbols are nothing without the women and men that give them meaning." Sam holds up The Shield. "I don't know if there's been a greater symbol." Aww, he's retiring the shield. He hands it off to museum people and they put it in a display case. I think Rhodey has some thoughts about this. I suspect Rhodey maybe doesn't agree.

Sam and Rhodey wander through the Cap exhibit and Sam's talking about how when he left (or got snapped, it's not like you had a choice about that, Sam), his nephews were babies and now they're little men. Awww. Rhodey says Sam should bring them to D.C., he'll teach them how to fly, "the right way". lol.

Rhodey says it's crazy to think nobody will be carrying the shield. Sam points out they went 70 years without, so like …

Rhodey wants to know why Sam didn't take up the mantle. BTW, this is a cool exhibit, marvel peeps. Sam says it feels like it belongs to someone else … Steve. Rhodey says everything's broken. Allies are enemies, things are torn apart. People are looking for somebody to make it better. Having made his pitch, Rhodey leaves Sam to stare mournfully at the shield. I think you're afraid to pick up the shield, Sam. Afraid you won't measure up. But, you can do it. I have faith. Also, Steve was kind of a disaster in his own way. He wasn't perfect, which was the point of Steve as a hero. Pick up the shield, Sam.

A fancy hotel, chatting people in the lobby, up to a mezzanine, a group of very Russian oligarch looking dudes and their security. And lo! A metal arm punches through a wall and the Winter Soldier, looking very Winter Soldiery appears and stabs some dudes in the neck. This has a sepia, dream/nightmareness to it. Oh yeah, it's his old shiny silver arm. Totally a nightmare/very bad memory. "Hail Hydra" and he kills the head Russian guy. The poor dude who was just chatting in the lobby is caught trying to get into his door. He swears he didn't see anything, begs for his life and the Winter Soldier shoots him. Bucky wakes up, breathing heavily. Poor Bucky.

Glad he's in therapy. I'm sure goat herding in Wakanda was good and peaceful and all, but, goats will only get you so far. Also glad we've skipped the "wanted terrorist" part and gone on to traumatized hero.

I get the feeling he's not the best patient. He lies to his therapist straight off. Twice. lol. "You're a civilian now. With your history the government needs to know, you're not gonna … [therapist makes stabby motion]." lol (I love this actress by the way. She's been in everything for ages. She's great). "It's a condition of your pardon. So tell me about your most recent nightmare." "I didn't have a nightmare." She starts writing, Bucky objects and tells her she's being passive-aggressive, but he gives in.  

He has a list of amends to make and three rules to follow. He crossed a name off. There's a Hydra pawn who's a senator, he helped her get into office. "After Hydra disbanded, she continued to use the power I gave her." Hmm. He tracks her car and listens in on her plotting to have a congressman killed.

* Rule number one: Can't do anything illegal.

He's hijacked the Senator's car and is remote controlling it, making it drive all out of control and freaking her out. He says he was collecting intel to give to an aide to convict her. Absolutely only did that. Not one illegal thing about that at all, no ma'am.

"Rule number two?" "Hmm. What was rule number two?" "Nobody gets hurt. It's a big one." "Then why isn't it rule number one?" Oh, Bucky, you're a jackass.

* Rule number two: Nobody gets hurt.

"I didn't hurt anybody. Promise." He totally broke a dude's hand and then punched him in the face, knocking him out. I mean, there's levels of 'hurt' I suppose.

"The whole point of making amends is to fulfill rule number three." "Of course I completed rule number three."

* Rule number three: "I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am James 'Bucky' Barnes. And you're part of my efforts to make amends." He says to the corrupt senator he's just been terrifying. And then he walks away as a tac team pulls up. lol.

What I'm getting from this therapy session is that Bucky is a big fat fibber.

Also he's got a little black book full of names. Including, I see, H. Zemo. That's not going to go as smoothly as taking down a shady government fatcat, I think.

"So you did it all right, but it didn't help with the nightmares?" "Well, like I said, I didn't have any." Fibber.

People wanna help you Bucky and you can trust them. "I trust people," he mutters grumpily. She asks for his phone and he hands it over. Look, lady! Trust! Probably government mandated trust, but still!

"You don't have ten phone numbers on this thing." … I don't have ten phone numbers on my phone. :( "Oh, and you've been ignoring texts from Sam." Well …

"I am the only person you have called all week. That is so sad." lol. Tough love from the therapist. I'm feeling a little judged myself, though. "You're alone." ALRIGHT DON'T RUB IT IN!

"You're a hundred years old. You have no history. No family—" "Are you lashing out at me, doc? Because that's really unprofessional." I love you Bucky, but you are a disaster patient.

Bucky relents. "I'm trying. This is new for me. I didn't have a moment to deal with anything. I had a little calm in Wakanda. And other than that, I just went from one fight to another for 90 years." Get this man a goat farm!

"So now that you've stopped fighting, what do you want?" "Peace." A goat farm. "That is utter bullshit." lol "You're a terrible shrink." "I was an excellent soldier, so I saw a lot of dead bodies and I know how that can shut you down. And if you are alone, that is the quietest, most personal hell." Get some friends, Bucky. "I know you've been through a lot. But, you've got your mind back. You're being pardoned. These are good things. You're free." "To do what?"

On the streets of Brooklyn. Bucky breaks up an argument between neighbors about trashcans. Hey, Bucky has a friend! Yori Nakajima who's probably like 80+. Did you babysit him back in the day, Buck? har har. They were going to meet for lunch, but some punk named Unique was putting his trash into Mr. Nakajima's trash can and just derailed the whole day. The horror. No joke, though, people get so nutted up about that. It's weird to me. Of course, I did also have a neighbor who never put out his trash for pickup and just snuck out at night before trash day and distributed his garbage into in other people's bins. Cheapass.

"Hey man, I'm Unique. Like Monique but it's got a 'u' in there for uniqueness." Yeah, you should have let Yori smack him, Buck.

Well now Yori is just not in the mood for lunch. Bucky tries to persuade him, but one grumpy old man out grumps the other. "But Izzy. We always go to Izzy on Wednesday. What if I buy?" "Fine. But no talking." lol. BFFs!

Yori is looking at the obituaries. "Look, nobody made it past 90 this week." Bucky tsks "So young, such a shame."

Bucky kind of smiles at the girl behind the counter at the sushi joint, Yori tells him he should ask her out. Bucky makes a "are you nuts, shut up" face. That doesn't stop Yori. "He would like to take you out on a date. Maybe to bingo or a night of pinochle." You're a wild man, Yori!

She's down by it, though, and she and Yori hammer out the details while Bucky's like uh, okay, so wow, that's happening. "There's a dance to these things. You can't … you gotta warm up and I haven't danced since 1943."

Yori sees something and suddenly gets sad. His son loves red bean mochi. His son was a consultant, working abroad and he was killed. Oh. Oh Bucky, why you gotta … Yori's son was the innocent witness he killed at the hotel in his nightmare/memory. "I will never know what really happened to him." Brutal.

Delacroix, Louisana

Sam's on his way home. Wilson Family Seafood. Aww. His nephews are helping mom with the catch. "Blue for the snapper, orange for the white fish," Sam calls out. The boys run over to him. They do look like fine gentlemen. It's weird, Sam, I get it. I recently realized my oldest nephew will be 13 in May and it's like "no, he's only in kindergarten, what are you talking about?"

His sister greets him then tells him he's looking all sneaky. Sam deflects. Their boat has seen better days. The Paul & Darlene. Aww. Is that his parents names? "Baby being held together by duct tape and prayers." Just needs to float long enough for his sister to sell it. But Sam's all, uh I thought we were going to *discuss* that. Uh oh, family drama. "We did, and then you were off fighting Dr Space Cape or whatever (lol), while I was holding it together for five long years." Ouch.

Sam is not down by this selling the boat thing. His sister doesn't seem to think they're in a position to hold on to it. Also, she'd really like to not hash this out on the pier with like twenty other people around, Sam.

They get into more of an argument on the boat. The family biz is not doing well financially. Sarah won't let Sam help for some reason, and he makes some comment about the house and loans and she punches him in the chest. lol "I forgot how hard you hit."

Sam insists they can turn it around, consolidate loans. And she's all, been there done that, I've come to terms with this. He's a persistent little jerk. This is such a perfectly sibling argument. Notably he has moved himself out of punching range.

Aww, she wants to believe he can save the boat, but she has DOUBTS.

Back in Brooklyn. Bucky attempts his date. He turns up at the end of the sushi girl's shift and gives her flowers. "Well, if that's not the most adorably old-fashioned thing anyone's ever done."

They chat while she tidies. He tried online dating oh lol. It didn't take. She tells him "You sound like my dad. Wait how old are you?" "Hundred and six." Oh yeah, what a funny joke. Next she wants to know why he's wearing gloves. "I have … um … poor circulation." He grimaces at himself and glances out the window. Smooth as silk, Bucky. Smoooooth.

"Let's play a game." Now, I'm thinking like some weird dating word/get-to-know-each-other game or something. I don't know. But, nope, she means Battleship. lol. I like her.

The drinking game version of battleship. Bucky sucks at it. "You sure can drink." "Yeah, well." Super assassin, unfair advantage.

We're just going to rub in this whole The Winter Soldier killed Yori's son thing, as she says it's nice that he's spending time with the old man. Since he was all messed up after his son was murdered and how it was extra hard because he didn't know what happened. I'm not sure this is healthy, Bucky.

"There's no word for someone whose kids die." Okay, ouch, lady, jeez. Bucky looks like he wants to puke. Or crawl into a deep dark hole. Or something. "Because it's the worst thing that can happen." Bucky nopes right out the front door. So, maybe they should have played pinochle instead.

Bucky goes to Yori. Are you really going to tell this man you murdered his son when you were a brain-washed Hydra assassin? Yori asks how the date was, and Bucky sees a shrine to the man's son in the apartment. Poor Bucky. He makes some excuse about owing Yori for lunch and leaves. Yori's name is in his book of amends. :(

Back in Louisiana. Sam and the kids are packing up meals. His sister maybe wants to sell meals in addition to fish. Sam says they've got to get going to their appointment at the bank. She's says it's in an hour. Sam must be just the worst brother to live with "There's no such thing as on time. You're either early or late. Pick one." Man, no wonder he gets punched.

Switzerland

Lt Torres is walking down a street with an unusually large number of people just sort of milling around in the middle of the street looking at their phones. He's got his kind of hidden, recording. He stops a guy and asks if he knows what they're supposed to be doing. Oh it's the flag munchers, or whatever. There's a weird phony bird whistle and then people gather around a person handing out masks with red handprints on them. His decoy bad guy phone chirps and gives the order to run. A guy jumps out of a nearby building with two huge duffle bags (of money it seems) and walks off while the previously milling people become a seemingly panicked mob, distracting police and whatnot.

Torres tries to arrest the jumper guy, who appears to have some super strength as he kicks a policeman halfway across the street. Torres, you're cute, but not super bright. Torres gets body slammed and then stomped. He survives again, however, defying the odds.

At the bank. The account manager keeps giving Sam the side-eye as he goes through their paperwork. "Do I know you from somewhere." Sam's all modest, "I don't know. Do you?" And then he makes a little wing flappy move with his hands. lol. What a nerd. "Falcon!" Then he takes a selfie with Sam. Sarah is very done with all this. She tries to get them back on track. Account guy wants to know how Avengers make a living. Probably not looking good for your loan, Sam.

"Is there some kind of fund for heroes? Or did Stark pay you when he was around? My condolences, by the way."

Yeah, financially this is looking bad, my dude. "You have no income over the last five years." Well, but, he was blipped. I mean …

Alas, shot down for the loan.

Sam and Sarah argue on the street. Ah, Sam ran off to the Air Force and didn't deal with what was going on at home. Oh my, this is getting ugly. Speaking as someone who got disowned on account of a family business, let me just say, they're not easy. Nuh-uh.

"Half the boat's mine and so is the house. We're not selling our family's legacy." "You gonna do me like what when you know I'm right?"

I get it might be awkward to ask, but I bet you could have asked Pepper for a loan, Sam, and she would have given it to you gladly. Come on, man.

Later. Sam's working on the boat's engine, and it's not cooperating. In the cabin he looks at the family pictures on all the walls. He's having a rough day. About as rough as Torres who texts him to find a secure line and call him along with a selfie of his bruised and battered face. #important (lol, really?)

Sam watches the footage Torres caught and they chat about how Torres was supposed to be doing that stuff online and not getting his face kicked in in Switzerland.

Sarah interrupts and turns on the TV. Some guy is giving a speech about how everybody needs a hero. "We need someone who can inspire us again. Someone who can be a symbol for all of us. So on behalf of the Department of Defense and our Commander-in-Chief, it is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero." hmm, no comment. Except, you should have taken up the shield, Sam. Now it's Sam's turn to look like he's going to puke. What did I say about power vacuums? Somebody will fill them, whether you want them to or not. 

This new guy looks like a goober. There, I said it.

credits

So … lots of setup. And very clear on the two guys trying to figure out where they fit in this world post blip and big wars. Both of them trying to fix broken families.

Plus a goober in a Cap suit.

So far so good. 

[harringtonheartache]

Daybreak | Part Twenty-Two

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Lab Escapee! Reader?

Summary: Goal: enter the void. 

Word Count: 3,000 +

Warning(s): Guns/gun violence, cussing

A/N: I return! Let’s fight! The gushy fluffy stuff will follow soon after, don’t worry. 

The wall came down quickly this time; a short rumble that evolved into a strong blast. And then the wall was gone. All four who witnessed it did so only partially, as they flinched hard when it crumbled, and when they looked again it was over. Jonathan tried to put his legs to use, swinging them over couch arms and pillows as he staggered to the rest of the group. 

“Should we expect company?” Hopper called out to whoever would answer. 

There was a growl, a response from the wall itself, and the anticipation was resolved as a familiar no-face emerged from the demolition. It ducked it’s head as if too tall to fit through the entryway, and slime slid off it’s frame like shedded skin. Flaunting its lanky pairs of limbs, it pulled itself up and gave a low growl as if to say: “miss me?”. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Hopper responded. 

He cocked his gun and pointed it sharply, three flinching as an offensively loud shot was taken. 

The bullet was taken right in the mouth by the creature, and it stumbled, a reassurance to the sharp shooter. But it stood straight again a moment after, recovered promptly from it’s mild daze. It shook its head like a wet dog, and in a similar manner, gunk flew from its blurred figure. The growl from before had grown stronger with the creature’s rage, and it howled with matured volume. 

“What is this thing?” 

It wasn’t the first time Hopper asked this question, but it was the first time that the answer was right in front of him. He took two more shots and they landed in roughly the same spot, like the monster had swallowed them. 

Steve curled his hands around his bat, his weapon of choice. One hand was drawn back quickly. Forgotten yet fresh, the cut on his palm stung at his imprudence. He looked to his hand, a spot of red daring to show through the white bandage, then wrapped it around the bat just as firmly as before. 

“Fuck you,” he muttered as he twirled the bat, stepping forwards to strike. 

The creature turned (a new target!) and caught the bat right in the neck. The wood hit with a smack and following came a screech; unhappy. 

“Harrington, take a step back!”

Steve adjusted his footing, but stayed where he was. Another twirl and he landed another hit on the creature’s torso. At this point it was becoming a piñata. 

Jonathan took Steve’s step back for him, then a few extra towards the back of the house. Joyce’s hand, curled into a claw, reached for her son’s fading arm. She turned when it completely slipped from her grip to see him jogging for the backdoor. She began to call out his name, getting through the first three letters before cutting herself off, breath shallow, turning back towards the action. Wobbly stature, she floated in the direction her son disappeared. 

Hopper was grabbing Steve’s shoulder now, first from behind to pull him back, then maneuvering his hand to the kid’s front side to push him backwards. First asking, then taking charge. He tossed the barrel of his gun upwards to grab a hold of it again, aiming and firing another couple shots at his target. Steve threw his shoulders up, flinching, then took a breather as he watched the monster eat a few rounds from Hopper. 

A few seconds longer and Jonathan reappeared behind him, knocking into his mother who had been half-way retreating herself. He gripped her shoulder strongly, then stepped in front of her with his own gun, retrieved from his father’s old shed out back. It was smaller in size compared to Hopper’s, but that made it easier to hold. He fit his hand around the metal with morale that would make you believe he had actually fired the thing more than a handful of times. In some part of his mind more present than he was then, he was grateful that his target was bigger than a tin can. 

“I’m coming in,” he shouted to Hopper.

Taking his turn, he pulled the trigger rapidly, a grimace on his face and ire in his stance. After Jonathan’s fifth fire the creature seemed to have started feeling it, it’s once strong stature beginning to fold. As if restricted by another force, it batted aimlessly at the space before it in a blind attack of desperation. It struck out, though, and it’s sloppy movements began to make the scene look like a drunken bar fight. 

One of it’s excessively long arms crashed into the coffee table beside it. While knocked around a fair amount, the old piece of furniture had managed to come out the other side of the first fight in one piece. Running low on luck, it was flipped with this strike and landed on it’s side in a rough commotion. Broken down the middle and now without one of its stubby legs, the table reflected just about everything else in the home. Cracked and with parts missing, it was a rather fitting analogy for the Byers’ residence. Slid from its surface was a stack of missing posters, and a few of them drifted off underneath the couch.  

Joyce, in an alarming eruption, shouted at the creature before them as if angry for it’s rude behavior. She stepped forwards, and with a rage that had been boiling longer than she had realized, grabbed the gun from her son. He let her take it and forfeited the stage as she lined up her shot, firing more rounds than he had. Almost too fast to qualify as ‘one after another,’ the bullets found their target in a messy smoke show of fury. 

It had taken enough damage, and with a stumble in it’s step it attempted to have one last go at the enemy. It’s feet didn’t land quite right as it moved forward, and as if tripping lazily, it fell to the ground. After it settled, unmoving, another rumble came, and the dazed mistook the sound as one emerging from the creature. The floor began to shake, and one by one they realized that it was whatever force lay inside the wall that had awoken again. 

The creature began to stir and Steve raised his bat with half of a flinch. Against the floor it’s shaking became more violent, a seizure of sorts, but then it was sucked backwards in one grand motion into the void contained within the wall; as if grabbed by the leg and pulled back, but there was no hand around it’s ankle. This outburst of action startled the audience of four and a few of them gasped. 

Steve’s feet staggered, one taking a step forwards and the other staying in place like it disagreed. He turned himself around instead to look at Hopper, his face asking a question his voice couldn’t find. The bat hung from his grip childishly. 

“Okay,” Hopper said. He wondered if he should congratulate the team on their apparent win, then continued without addressing it: “I guess we know where to go”. 

Steve took a survey of the team and locked eyes with Joyce. Coming down from her murderous outburst, still shaken in a manner she might never really recover from, she blinked back at him then turned to her son. “Stay here,” she told him, tone flushed with unease, grateful yet pained in a way she had not yet found the words to express. She opened her mouth to speak again, and though she intended to speak easily her voice hitched innately.

“Keep watch, okay?” Joyce said with a fake sense of calm. 

Hopper, with his pull to leadership, stepped towards the wall. The corners were shrinking inwards, and the burning fear that A.) they’d miss their chance partnered with the fear that B.) they’d get stuck inside. With one hand in front of him he reached an arm inside. The upper half of his forearm disappeared into the dark gap in reality, and the wall stopped shrinking. 

“It won’t close with us inside,” he said to the room. 

Steve, bat still swinging loosely against his legs, stepped aside Hopper. He reached his own hand into the void, and glanced at Hopper with a look on his face that admitted he was still a bit confused. “Why did it close with Nine inside?” he asked. 

“It must have wanted her there,” the man responded, reclaiming his arm and looking back to Joyce still standing with her son behind them. 

“Guard the house,” Joyce said, half-joking to her wet-eyed kid who couldn’t decide if this was an ask he should be compliant with. “We’ll be back, it’s better you’re here to help us out.” He silently agreed, a nod with tight lips, and then leaned forwards to hug his mother. His arms overlapped against her back, and in a moment of peculiar contemplation, Jonathan wondered if they’d still hug this often after things were over. 

Joyce joined the end of the line and Hopper, with a burst of courage as if acting on a dare, stuck one foot into the void. The bottom of his boot splashed in the shallow water beneath his foot, and the corners of his eyes drew in as he squinted at the ground below. He contemplated whether it was still appropriate to question things. Steve, deciding that they were well past that, walked straight into the void through the open area beside Hopper. He kept his bat snug in the grip of his right hand, and it was splashed with water at his sloppy entrance. “Come on,” he said ardently, an expression on his face that asked what was taking them so long. 

Three pairs of feet stood isolated, the only things visible in the stretch of darkness, and then marched forward. No one really took the lead, and instead they walked side-by-side one another as their eyes searched for anything before them. 

“How do we know where we’re going?” Hopper asked, the silence enough to make him question if the other two could see perfectly, and it was only his poor eyesight that left him in the dark. 

“We don’t, I guess. Just keep going, there has to be something here. I watched half of Joyce’s living room get sucked into this place,” Steve said. 

-

Will Byers sat (no longer alone, mind you) wrapped tightly in an abundance of blankets that began to feel decorative against his skin, still cold enough to bring concern to those who felt it. Nine drew a hand away from his cheek, chewed her tongue for a moment, then searched around the fort for another blanket, however feeble, to throw on top of him. Goosebumps began to prick at her own skin, her body settling into the cold as Will’s had done, but she pushed the sensation towards the back of her brain; negligible. 

It startled her when he spoke, though hoarsely, and she turned to his figure, size doubled by layers of cloth. “How are we going to get back? Back home?” he asked her, and she swore her skin reacted, made colder by his words. 

“I-” she began, halting, eyes back on the ground as she continued her search for a blanket as if to show the journey back home was no worry. It was a performance though, and her voice did all but reveal it as she weakly gave an answer. “I’m going to find the entrance again. We’re gonna walk right back into your house.” A smile twitched at her lips, strained, as she looked to the boy again. 

He smiled back at her, performance bought if only out of desperation. “You really came from my living room? Like a portal?” 

Nine grabbed a pillow from the ground, saved from the water as it sat on a plank of wood, and tore the cover off of it. She bent down, one hand with the pillow and the other with the case, and looked warmly into the boy’s eyes. “Just like a portal. I’ll show you soon. You’ll get to go home.” 

She put a hand on his shoulder and brought him forwards with a guiding hand, placing the pillow behind his back and letting him settle against it. Tempted to laugh at the meager piece of cloth left in her hands, she took the pillowcase and draped it over his shoulders. How much could he weigh? 80 pounds? 85? She calculated quickly. Maybe she should add an extra pound or few for the blankets. She could carry a kid that small, right? She wasn’t sure there was an option left that didn’t require it. 

“When are we going to go?”

His energy to ask questions seemed to come from the adrenaline brought by another person’s presence. Nine rubbed her hands up and down his shoulders swiftly, hoping that her dwindling body heat may transfer to him as she did, and looked to his ghostly face once more. 

“Soon,” she said. “I just want you to warm up a bit first.” They smiled kindly at one another. 

-

“This isn’t encouraging,” Hopper said as he walked, talking if only to remind his teammates the gravity of their situation. “We’re keeping the… door... within eyesight, right?” he said, voice bordering on frantic, unwillingly comedic. He turned around to look behind him, eyeing a dull light somewhere in the distance that he told himself he wouldn’t let get any more dull. 

“Look,” Steve said, pointing with his bat, looking around at the faces of those following him. He spoke with exclamation the second time he said it, letting himself get excited for a moment. 

Ahead of them a forming fog, a brightening light, and figure something like the ghost of a house. Steve smiled, slightly exasperated, looking between it and the other’s confused expressions. He ditched them after another second, taking off in the direction of his materialized hope. 

“Hey!” Hopper called out after him, but Joyce followed, and then so did he. 

Steve tossed the door open then entered without a second thought. “Nine!” he called out, her name an expectation rather than a question, like he had already decided she was there. His feet dashed around the house, circling through the kitchen then bounding down the hallway. “Nine! We-” He opened a door to an empty bedroom. “We’re here! Where are you?” He moved to a second room, nothing but genuine belief that she’d be behind one of the doors in this house. He said her name again as Joyce and Hopper arrived at the house’s entryway. “Will?!” Joyce called out. The two names mixed together as both were shouted throughout the house that was thick in shadows. No one was there to claim them, though, and that dawning realization brought the search party back to the living room. 

“How are they not here? It’s the only fucking place in this place? How-” Steve turned in a circle like he could had missed her, sitting in some corner he’d overlooked. 

“Hey, hey! Calm down, everybody. This is just the first place we’ve found.” Hopper said. Joyce looked away defeatedly. 

Steve was starting to look unhinged. “It’s the only place we’ve found!” He paused. “I-”

A heavy sloshing was heard in the distance, a slow but repeated pace echoing a sound caught only by Steve. Hopper, grateful for his silence but naturally troubled by it as well, looked down at him expectantly. “Wha-”

“Shh-” Steve started to shush Hopper, then pushed past him instead to rush towards the house’s front door, still hanging open from their intrusion. 

Despite the minimal light creeping out from the house, the figure walking up towards what would (normally) be the Byers’ front yard was hard to make out in the dark. 

Arms wrapped securely under Will’s weight shook desperately with each step forward. Steve was standing on the front porch when the light finally caught up to the figure before him: Nine, slouched yet trying hard to stand tall with a bundle of eleven-year-old in her arms. She was the only thing visible outside the house, a long strip of light obstructed only by Steve’s silhouette engulfing her completely now. Behind him and on either side, Joyce and Hopper turned to his stall in movement. 

Nine drew her head up, long blinks between squinting making her unable to react before Steve was running, all but stumbling down the steps in his feverish dash to reach her. Water flung from his legs as they were thrown in long strides. Her grip on the boy tightened, determined not to drop him in the commotion that her daze left her unable to read appropriately. Part of her gave into believing it was Steve, and the other half was convinced it was a hallucination. Get to the house, her only self-given instruction, still looped in her head. 

Joyce, with a startled sob, followed Steve now. He reached Nine first, and with his own tears brimming he grabbed for her shoulders to steady her. She felt like she was sleepwalking, but upon seeing Joyce’s face, let up on her hold on Will. Joyce took him into her own arms, relieving Nine and clutching her son: seemingly weightless to her despite his very real presence. 

Nine sighed — the only sound close to a response she could manage, or maybe it was just a reaction — and with Will’s weight removed, her legs began to feel numb. As if the fog around her had made its way into her head, the surrounding people started to feel less than there. Steve moved now, unobstructed by the kid no longer in her arms, to grab for Nine’s other shoulder. Her legs folded before he got a good hold of her, though, and she teetered over as he tried to keep up with her crash. 

She landed on the ground, her fall half-broken by Steve’s rapid motion that managed him under a portion of her upper half. With panicked breathing he readjusted himself to plant her on his lap. He sat up on his knees, turning to glance behind him before returning to drag his eyes over Nine’s face. He gripped onto the fabric of his own sweatshirt as the person who wore it exhaled with fading strength in her breath. 

---

A/N: FLUFF COMING SOON PROMISE

Tag List: @ggclarissa @gurl-ly @alewifex @we-are-band-sexuals @cpt-lamby @l0ve-0f-my-life @easvtohate @used-avocado @kwyloz @itzpikapie@samwise-babeyy @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @mochminnie @peterwandaparker @ayamecrevan @lilyhw1 @seninjakitey @lulurose17 @write-from-the-heart @marvelouspottering @hargreevelr @sledgy14 @stranger-names @pradaxstyles @im-a-stranger-thing @fancytravelerbird @queenofthehairharrington @blahhhhhhhaaa @prettysbliss  @lolychu​ @crimesolvin​ @kik51199​ @androgynousplaidpeanutlawyer 

[ohmygodtheywereparabatai]

And I feel Zhao x HappinessInAnyForm in this Chili’s tonight

I borrowed the ship name @guiltyportfolio chose. It’s perfect!

(3.9k and many weeks late...) A young Zhao doped up on seratonin meets unapologetic Pianjeong fluff. But I rake it through the mud before it’s earned. A lot.

It took longer than he would like to admit in later years, nursing a strong, bitter liquid instead of scalding tea while revisiting memories with none the will to pocket them out of sight and mind... to realize he had sharpened a broken tool to the snapping point. That in his militant head, damaged things were only fixed by pressuring them to spring back into service, for some miracle of self-discovery to take hold after the umpteenth squat that burned through the soft muscle in the legs, the last haggard, gasping mile on unforgiving terrain. That such was the nation he served, one that made good youth into disposable markers, on maps with charred-out territories that had already been taken... the dead buried, the soldiers burying a part of themselves deeper in the low croon of drinking songs that stretched into twilight.

Then there was him: that impish boy of gawky height and thin wrists, scraps of techniques off the battle charts of famed commanders, designs for tanks and warships familiarized down to the bolts, oaths of loyalty to the Firelord and vibrant praises burned verbatim on the tongue... shelved away in a mental compendium. Eager adrenaline when he was first placed under Jeong Jeong’s charge. And underneath it, anger.

Anger at everything, the battle charts with weak points that had needlessly prolonged the fighting, the ships and tanks that were on the losing side and cost them precious resources, the Firelord himself for wronging him, anything at all for crossing him... Enraged at an invisible injustice whenever Jeong Jeong glimpsed the heart of Zhao: the fire below the soldier. The fire that ruled a soldier.

The only catch was that a heart existed. His master had failed him in that regard. Jeong Jeong couldn’t identify the source, for the life of him, of whatever bred the anger that tunneled into those bronzed eyes, into the thoughts lit behind them like sparks off a fuse. When the only notion he’d had to bend his mind around was glancing at the wrists Zhao kept hidden under tied sleeves and sturdy braces, ever since the earliest of his battles - a gruesome enemy on equal footing.

He showed him now, by candlelight in the commander’s tent, as the rest of the camp dozed or caroled in a discordant slur.

“I... he was...” Zhao’s tone had deflated from the similar, loose pitch of a tooling young man. He sounded sober now - much too sober.

A curse escaped on Jeong Jeong’s next breath. If breath escaped him at all. His pupil was by no means shy about crowing - he was the type to parade around the stump of a limb, butt into any conversation, ‘Want to hear - want to see?’, sit himself down, and embellish to the extreme. Yet the most glaring scars were ones most soldiers acknowledged, and none shared.

This was neither.

Faded circlets, seared into either wrist, often in place of a traditional ceremony, more often a last act of desperation. A bond of significance that ran deeper than flesh, worn proudly in spite of the decree it defied.

“... a close friend.” Jeong Jeong finished, amending carefully so as not to oust the criminal crouched in front of him.

Zhao sniggered, reclaiming his sleeves. He tipped the cup to his lips. “Yeah. A friend I kissed regularly.”

The commander made a tch sound, his worry spiking. The boy looked up to catch his gaze, then laughed brightly, imitating a suggestive charade to the act. Jeong Jeong was left to bear witness with thinned lips.

“Last words- he said... and get this,” Zhao shook himself with another fit, further from the hole the memory had burrowed - closer to the fiction he’d tried to entangle around it, like dressing a wolf in koala sheepskin, “He made me promise, ‘Win the war for me.’ It was a joke between us... If one of us knew we were first to go, we’d dare the other to do anything. Anything.”

“Except, it was gonna be some stupid shit. Like, kissing a girl.” Move on, make her a wife. “Like setting your hair on fire. I told him I’d set your hair on fire. Bastard left with... ‘Win the war for me.’” Zhao set down the drink, blinking hard.

Answers that drifted at arm’s length, all this time: the bundled, hot knot of grief the soldier hadn’t learned to swallow around. And how could he? He was bound to a lover’s final will.

The commander abruptly reached across, wrested him forward by a bruising grip. The empty cup clinked aside - Zhao nearly shouted in alarm, the mild upset in his stomach lurching in march with a lolling pulse. His arms looped firmly around him, merciless strength still grasping his head by the palm. His master probably wasn’t aware of it, or worse, it was as weak as he’d ever come off. Zhao sensed quaking; his own or his teacher’s, his eyes were heavy, and the line had blurred.

“Master Jeong Jeong...” He huffed in difficulty. Ribs tightening, “Sir...”

As soon as he was released, Zhao scooted back within his bounds, rubbing the dizzied, interrupted train of thought from his face. He was awake, wasn’t he? Last he remembered, his commander was shrouded in smoke and stood over decimated ruins, unmoving, planted like an idol to their vicious occupation. Were they the same men?

When he looked down, a pair of hands were facing him, knuckles down, fists curled. At least the look his superior gave him retained the sternness of command,

See.

Feeling strange and guiltless, moreover entrusted, he reached under the other’s arm - the rough cloth felt like something thatched, ash singed permanently into the cuffs. Zhao pushed back one sleeve, a wave of numbness crashing over him in its wake. He repeated with the left, finding the same, uneven band of skin that had poorly healed... though the marks left weren’t quite the same as a firebender’s, pinching a forefinger and thumb before a circle of light hissed to life. It looked manual in a different way, as if burned by a nonbender - a clever one, handier with the tools of a forge.

His throat had gone dry. It was harmless; Zhao didn’t need a voice to ask.

You...?

Jeong Jeong raised a name, and an offer. Finally bowing to his pupil’s unyielding persistence. It overwhelmed Zhao in the moment, a blind over the realization that it was at once an answer to the question. He leapt for the commander with a cry, a string of thank you’s and I won’t fail him - or you’s buried in the loose embrace, followed by a grunt of displeasure as the old master shrugged free. Discipline tended to scrape out such displays in the Fire Army - his pupil had talent for a lack, more so when drunk. An unseen smile only tugged his lip after Zhao had picked himself up, dusted off, and staggered outside with the first hum he’d heard of the boy in ages.

. . .

“Don’t fidget.”

Before he could dismiss the tic in his fingers, his master, or both - the door slid open.

His eyes bugged of their own accord. And they didn’t dare blink and miss an instant in front of him.

How the hell could he? The swordsman of the century welcomed the commander with open arms and decorum the rest of nobility could only emulate. As genteel in appearance as a time-honored, decorated sheath that hid the steel he was known to steer like a fifth element. Before even gathering the thoughts that were doomed to somersault as soon as he opened his mouth, Zhao glimpsed them lean in, and deepen their embrace. Quickly turning a cheek that flashed red and a heart that raced, doubled.

Then he was in front of Zhao - his bow was low and graceful for his height - he held out a hand, burned circlets visible just over the sleeve - his commander cleared his throat as if to remind him, you’re meant to bow and shake it.

Zhao damn nearly folded at the waist. His arm shot out. “Master... Master Piandao. I’ve heard all about you. This is, it’s- a tremendous honor.” His eyes were starstruck, carrying a faraway twinkle. “You wouldn’t believe- I asked to learn under you almost every day since I discovered you were a close contact of Master Jeong Jeong’s.”

“Oh, if we’ve heard as much as we have of each other, I think I can believe it.” Inevitably, his voice conjured the image of warm, fluffy milk bread. How cake made the young soldier feel, in human form. Im-fucking-possible. “Sit.” He nodded for the commander and his charge, smiling. “I’ll pour the tea.”

The hour was whiled away. There wasn’t a moment that denied years of familiarity between the two, from how often he tallied his master’s laugh, to every occasion their hands came together, rubbing absent circles or just to draw one’s attention - cement a warm and long look into the other’s face. Envy hardly occurred to a third-wheeling Zhao, which was an honest first. Soon after, he was kneeling in the shadows of the branches that rustled outside the terrace. Nape pricked with sweat, despite the calm he leveled on the master - likely Jeong Jeong’s senior by a few years. Trifling details and their such conclusions immersed Zhao’s senses, tensing a high-strung concentration as it was.

“You came all this way. I couldn’t possibly turn you down.” The warmth had, temporarily, been withheld, to a surreal effect. Zhao felt cornered, felt that each answer was colored in more defiance than what was allowed. “Did you think my manners in serving tea to my guests applied to training?”

His stomach vaulted. “No, sir.”

“Then why? You think you deserve to be here, is that it?”

In any case, answer as yourself seemed to be the worst possible advice from Master Jeong Jeong’s end - yet he’d said nothing else. Zhao had no clue whether his prying ears and eyes bored through a blind spot in the windows, or were pressed against the wall as he smothered another chuckle. None of the outcomes struck him as upside.

“I have a war to win.” He resisted sinking a tooth into his lip, any sign of recoil. “And if you’d like to keep the life that I couldn’t, you have a war to win, too. I know you’re happy with the commander, sir. But as long as there’s fighting...”

“Ah, I see.” More strangely, Master Piandao didn’t miss a beat. His slow pace traveled underneath the floor, inching closer. “So you dream of vengeance?”

That seemed to tick him. “They won’t be dreams when I leave this place.”

“You came here knowing you were a bender of remarkable strength and skill. But you wanted the skill to slip a blade between their ribs, to watch them die at a close distance. You wanted your revenge to be cold and personal.”

A tremble stole into him. And I shouldn’t?

“I...” He was transparent. There was no lie to spin.

“Don’t think I’m unimpressed.” Piandao mused, now directly over him. “These are all brave things to admit to fighting for. But what else? What wakes you up at night? What makes you vulnerable, soldier? What haunts your every step?”

Vulnerable? Haunted? “I... don’t...” Answer as himself? The old swordsman turned, seemingly resigned, when Zhao rushed to finish as the words took definite shape,

“I don’t want to die a nobody.” He ripped the weight off his chest, bared for all of half a minute. “I want to be more than - than what they made me. I want them to remember, that when they shipped me off to never come home, I returned... I made history. Not for them. For me.”

For him.

A pause. “Them?”

His frayed nerves broke the surface - more fear than rage, at least. “The... all of them. The nation. The Fire Nation!” Zhao cried, pressed his forehead to the floor, as low as possible. Pride gave, and still, he only half-believed he’d really said it. “... please.”

Anger reeled, flared in the small breath that lit the space between his lips and the ground.

A foot connected under his ribs, turned him over with only so much effort. Zhao started, facing the ceiling... and the tip of a sword beneath his chin.

“Your temper unbalances you. Good for fire, maybe, but not mastery of the blade. I’ve been told you lack a clear head, pupil Zhao.” Piandao arched a brow, his head tilted in doubt. “You’re bound to lose fingers.”

Jeong Jeong had to have been rolling over by now. The soldier twitched, wary of the cold pinch of metal. “I won’t - lose.”

He couldn’t again. Serving an invisible legacy was one thing, lives laid down by the thousands to reap a tomorrow they wouldn’t see; but the war he fought hadn’t been so lonely or beyond fathom. Zhao had seen a clear future when there was someone to share it with. The drone of marching in and out of sleepy towns and provinces flocked with fleeing commoners by day, turned to the darkness when they climbed into treetops and plotted which stars to follow to the edge of the earth. The sunrise wasn’t the same as when their arms tangled and lips pressed together, keeping out of sight as the flush left their cheeks while idling, talking. Their sun had never felt as pale and small as his did now.

Zhao was sick of loss. He’d made a promise.

The sword slid away. An arm reached out for his. Piandao’s mouth was upturned.

“I will train you.”

There was a thud outside the door, as if an elbow had slipped and a body crashed.

. . .

He was well aware his partner had tried, on many occasions, to regret all things but the pupil they taught together.

Even then, Piandao had been the foil to Jeong Jeong’s cynical heart, urging him to find the sunlight dappled between grey clouds - run a hand under the few rays of light, and avoid dwelling on memories that would embitter the rest. Admitting that he’d partly acquiesced to the boy that walked circles in his own grief to spite the commander’s expectations had earned quite the laugh. A source of rib ache only for as long as it took the edge off. Piandao had wanted the challenge that he couldn’t surmount.

He took quickly to a variety of weapons, but the gifted swordsman was soon faced with the same plight: discipline. An unorthodox series of lessons and several precise, deliberate blows to the ego later, Zhao’s head had cooled long enough to comprehend the soul of the art. After that threshold in his instruction, it was a test of how well the student embraced it.

“Shall we, commander?”

The afternoon was hot, but not unpleasant. They watched a solitary spar from the steps to the dueling grounds. Smart, surefooted, well accomplished - the root of his motivation had been inexhaustible, dangerously so. The rhythm of Jeong Jeong’s palm cracking a line of knuckles was more than telling of his answer.

Jumped from behind, and in front. Mid-form when a sword came down in a whistling arc, and another sailed straight for his neck.

Zhao nearly careened out of the way, dual swords meeting either steel with a resounding clash. He threw his head up in surprise, arms straining with the effort of bearing two men’s strength, a bemused twitch in his lip. “What are you doing?”

“Pass,” Jeong Jeong sounded enlivened - difficult to think he hadn’t been waiting for this, “and I’ll allow you to set my hair on fire.”

That cocked the edge of his mouth. Abruptly, the opposing swords left, striking the ground in the same spot. His teachers shared astonishing harmony, to the point where seeing it again and again hadn’t taken his awe. The metal points raked forwards in unison, a cloud of dust flung into Zhao’s sight. “Hey!”

“Fire does little to weather the elements.” He was forced to hear footsteps, place voices, a Piandao shifting to the right. “Air may carry it, but only until it’s overcome. Water extinguishes it immediately. Earth can stamp out its path.”

“This is dirty fighting!” Zhao bit down a cough in fear of missing crucial information, narrowly vacating the empty air where they sliced. Just parrying in the nick of time.

“So why then, does it triumph in today’s world?” He blinked out the last, burning traces. Their student veered on a heel and made quick distance, still tailed closely. His reply was a stammer, resetting his own armed grip and stance.

“The... the bender makes the element.”

“So he does. Fire is wielded as fear, and suddenly, it owns the others. It shapes history.” Piandao feinted, jolted upwards to overthrow him. The soldier jumped, catching the steel on his crossguard. Zhao’s fist shook. Jeong Jeong lingered menacingly behind.

“Think of this as the same. You may feel outmatched - but you’re not outsmarted. Not yet.”

And the resulting chaos was ordered into dance. Deception, directness, three minds of cunning that happened to cross blades. The fight wasn’t the focus as much as it was the boy’s dexterity, his footwork which leaped to and from the garden wall and moss-capped stones, the occasional puff of flame that his commander averted with a tch. Smoke and dust were tossed into lazy spirals. Their techniques were a language, and the match, poetry.

Zhao very nearly slipped into the mindset that compelled one to search for meaning outside of war.

Outsmart them? His arm swerved to meet with a clang. Piandao dove for his exposed side, one, two leather straps snapped like kite string. Zhao fumbled over his guard when Jeong Jeong hacked the others, turning too late as it slid free - the commander’s cut was less clean, grazing the skin under his shirt. Blood welled, and his mind raced. But they were extraordinary! People he looked up to since he’d first met them. Before he even met them!

Then there was him, stupid, emotional - without a chest guard - hair and brows flecked with sand.

“Focus, you oaf!” That wasn’t Piandao. “Are you trying to think? That has never been your strength!”

Credit to the nerve of him, Zhao started to laugh. He redoubled his attack, broadswords running into one silver blur. Jeong Jeong was barking something about humor belonging to children, Piandao tried to usher his lover’s infuriated spiel back into the moment, and Zhao���s grin only grew wider, whiter - seeing his first out. Discipline was more or less hung on the laundry line, offense oozing with the arrogance that caught even the upper hand of insurmountable odds by surprise. His entire waist twisted, a sword shot skywards before he kicked out at their feet, rolled under, and caught it unerringly by the handle. Zhao ripped the serrated tip upwards, backed with a sneer. Piandao was forced to halt - step back - glance down at the split front of his robes, navel to collar.

Jeong Jeong paused, grabbed at the other’s arm, staring, uncomprehending, at the sight. Before color could even occur to rise in his face,

“I’m sorry. Nothing’s hurt, right? This reminds me-” Zhao swallowed another bout of laughter. His head tilted, making direct eye contact, “The commander has, on certain nights, provided enlightening commentary in his sleep. My partner and I would overhear how earthbenders couldn’t hold a candle to the sword master’s expert physical condition. Namely,” he damned himself for a win, “how they could only dream of rock as firm as his abdomen. Well, my master certainly could.”

Jeong Jeong purpled - crimson’d, maybe, was the shade - lifting with an arm that had already turned to butter. Zhao lashed out, knocking the other blade loose with learned technique. A square kick sucked the air from the firebender’s lungs, broke his balance, sent him crashing on top of the nonbender. Piandao hit the ground with an oof. Taking in the cool shadow that shielded him and his darling, he craned his neck as the soldier beamed down at him. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll let your hair be.”

Piandao was stalled, a little agape. Then he gave into beating the ground with a fist, howling.

“Ongi!” He clutched at his stomach with a shout. The commander shot to his feet, rose a finger to begin a rapid rebuttal. “I had no idea!”

The boy’s shoulder was taken, steered around to face his instructor. Mostly to prevent Jeong Jeong dislocating the one closer to his reach. Piandao ruffled a dusting of grass, twigs, and sand out of his hair. “You certainly live up to your master’s word. Every one.”

He bowed. His - their - student hurried to mirror the motion, trembling with excitement. As sharp as the first day he’d knelt, and they began.

Back then, the name Zhao held promise. It was their asinine hope that they guided a potential successor to the White Lotus onto the road few traveled.

Few.

. . .

They toasted in private. Zhao was set to the task of keeping the forge, accompanied only by firelight, scorching coal, the sweat and grit of the final leg of his teachings. It was justice, at least.

The commander had been teased until he shut up his other by seizing him around the neck, jerking him down, and sealing the gap. Separated for air, scented breath stirred the chin opposite, eyes meeting across a sea of thoughts. Hopes, doubts, fears - they’d bared much of their souls during their years together, entangled wisdom, sought comfort where it was infinite.

“You didn’t tell him of your plans, did you?”

Jeong Jeong sighed. “I received the promotion. The madness ends before it consumes me as admiral.”

“Be patient. These things require the perfect opportunity. Rarely anyone who deserts so far into their career live.” Piandao sipped carefully, set the glass back down. “Of course, I have complete faith that you will be the first. A hope for any dying cries of fealty in the Fire Army.”

“If only that were the kind of death I’d witnessed.” His voice was low, morose. A heavy palm pressed on his shoulder, thumb rubbing circles.

“Seems to me that you neglect to share a lot with other people. I’ll take a wild stab and guess that the kid still thinks I’m a hero hailed far and wide.” Jeong Jeong made some sullen remark about a wild stab being far from his skill. Piandao chuckled. “At the rate I’m losing face, a battalion is bound to come to my doorstep to collect me.”

“You’ll defeat them all,” was his forecast. “And perhaps, stand a chance of passing into a legend like mine.”

Their hands brushed, scratching the twin scars adorning either wrist. “Oh, we’ll see.”

The doors burst. A servant gestured frantically, piecing together enough information for a gist. Stables, raided - forge, cold - gates, open.

They flew on foot, as if there were a point to the mad dash. Jeong Jeong arrived first, sifting through the soot, kicking aside the abandoned bellows and a shovel dug into the earth. Gone.

“Where-” Piandao’s gaze held his, moonlit in white, unreadable. “Will he be safe?”

Glazed, ghostly. Jeong Jeong’s eyes fell closed. “There has been an error in our judgement.”

“He needs to win the war... not end it.”

[concussed-to-pieces]

Stay Safe Part Nine: Swan Song

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Heh. Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @huliabitch @toxiicpop @renegademustelid @helplessly-nonstop @culturalrebel @sinnamon-bunn @hoodedbirdie @literal-fand0m-trash @thyestean-feast @fioccodineveautunnale @kateb013 @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3 @thewaythisis @nellyneko @oh-no-who-am-i @crownofmanga @talesfromtheguild @robbinholland @kylolover96 @lukesrighthand @lackofhonor @lightan117 @misssilencewritewell

Part One: Should Have Known Better

Part Two: Tranquil Turmoil

Part Three: Vibroblade Mettle

Part Four: Reaching Out

Part Five: Dark Past

Part Six: Go Alone

Part Seven: Like A Ghost

Part Eight: Savior At High Noon

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains character death and depictions of vomit/bile. Stay safe!]

While the Armorer spoke quietly with the Mandalorian at length and continued to smelt the reclaimed armor down, you remained out in the hallway with the IG unit to scan for threats. You couldn't bring yourself to go into the forge and just sit quietly like Karga and Cara, your whole body still buzzing with the vestiges of the huge rush of adrenaline you had received earlier. 

The robot's many sets of eyes swiveled back and forth, silently observing the tunnel in front of you. It also seemed to take note of your fidgeting. "Never fear. I am programmed to protect." The droid assured you. 

"As comforting as that is…" you grimaced, obsessively checking your blaster over yet again. "I'd feel much better if we didn't have to fight. Or if we had decent cover. I never know what will explode." An explosion echoed faintly down the tunnel as if in response to your words and you went rigid. You gripped the blaster even tighter, feeling the stock dig into your palm.

"I would advise not shooting at the inanimate objects to avoid possible damage."

"Wonderful." You muttered, a reluctant grin making its way onto your face. "This is why I prefer my knife."

"If you would like to attempt such an inadvisable tactic, I am unable to stop you." The droid commented. 

"No, no no. I promise I won't be that dumb." Your laugh was too high, choking off in your throat when you caught sight of several headlamps down the tunnel.

"Engaging the enemy." IG-11 announced, the spindly ex-bounty hunter droid striding forward into the spillway with purpose.

"IG, wait!" You protested. "How am I supposed to-"

"Do not worry about hitting me. Aim for them." The robot interrupted you calmly.

"Aim for them, no shit!" 

You knelt beside one of the many, possibly-explosive crates, tucking the stock of your rifle up against your shoulder. You then used the flat surface to steady the gun as best as you could, gritting your teeth probably a bit too hard. 

IG-11 was a force to be reckoned with. The droid barely even needed you, only once caught off-guard by one of the eight troopers that bore down on it like an unstoppable (but ultimately doomed) wave. 

One well-placed shot from you blew that particular stormtrooper's elbow out, making him scream in agony. You froze at the sound, your body stiffening before you could fight it off. How many men had you killed today? You had pushed it down, shoved the thought away, but-

IG-11 spiraled and struck with terrifying accuracy, it's blaster searing a hole in the side of the last trooper's helmet. "You have been protected." The droid droned quietly. It went on to ask, "Were you harmed?"

"No, n-no, I'm...I'm fine." You breathed. "Sorry, I get all…" 

"You did well. It is advisable to use cover at any and all opportunities." IG-11 mused sagely. 

"No kidding."

A nerve-wracking five minutes later the Mandalorian finally walked back out of the forge area, Dune and Karga close behind. "We push forward." The armored man said, answering your unspoken question. "We'll hit the river, and it'll take us to the flats. All we can do now is hope that the Imps won't head us off." 

Karga passed a large, square object off to IG-11 while the Mandalorian spoke. The boosters on the bottom of it seemed to indicate that it was a portable jet pack of some kind. You also saw a shiny new addition to the Mandalorian's pauldron.

"What's…?" You trailed off, gesturing at the insignia that had been welded seamlessly to his armor. It looked like a stylized mudhorn, which, when you thought about it, suited him immensely.

"My signet. I...I'm considered a clan now." The Mandalorian hesitated, his hand finding the child's in their little bundle of robes. "I have a Foundling in my care." His voice was warm, an almost incredulous wonder shining through his words. "She used...she used some of your beskar to make it. The ingot that I took from you, I-I asked her to use it," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "I hope that's--i-is that alright? I'll compen-"

"It's definitely alright." You interrupted him, nodding rapidly and certain that you were smiling like an idiot. "Don't even worry about that. Obviously, you guys can put it to better use than I ever could."

"Thank you." The Mandalorian said sincerely.

Greef suddenly looked incredibly uncomfortable. "How did you get ahold of that ingot of beskar, anyhow?" He asked narrowly.

"I was paid with it when I got hired to clean his ship." You explained. "But I guess the person that hired me was actually only interested in having me jimmy the boarding ramp open for them, because as soon as I got it open I was clocked with the ingot. They ended up leaving it with me, though. Maybe they didn't know what it was worth?"

The Mandalorian turned towards Karga and you could feel him glaring, while Greef simply hummed and looked anywhere but the glowering man. "Karga, did you-?"

"Whatever it is, the answer is no! But I can't take responsibility for the actions of every hunter under me." The older man protested, waving his hands. "You know the rules, Mando, no questions asked."

"You were the only other person who got paid in beskar, Karga." The Mandalorian growled. "If I find out that it was one of-"

"We don't have time for you guys to have a beskar-based pissing match." Dune interjected, "we have to keep moving, or we're Imp chow. Squash your shit now or deal with it later."

"I apologize for anything my associates may have done to you that, er, caused you inadvertent discomfort." Karga addressed you hurriedly.

"Uh, I...forgive...you?" You replied, more than a little confused. 

"There, you see Mando? No issues here!" The Guild leader said brightly. The Mandalorian shook his head, growling something under his breath and then stalking off in the opposite direction.

...

The rickety old lava skiff, while originally half-welded to the dock, didn't stay stuck too long in the wake of Cara's heavy blaster fire. Karga quickly grabbed the side of the craft, steadying it before it could drift away from the dock.

"Watch your feet, it's molten lava." IG-11 warned. When you turned to give the robot an incredulous look, you saw the Mandalorian and Cara doing exactly the same thing. Your deadpan stare cracked a little and you were caught off-guard by a giggling fit, clumsily stumbling over the lip of the boat as the armored man followed after you.

"Fucking droids." The Mandalorian groaned while shaking his head, though he sounded less irritated and more amused.

The droid that normally piloted the skiff appeared to be out of commission, but it was no matter. Even though the lava moved slowly, it moved enough to carry the boat along with it.

The child was still limp in Cara's arms, the former dropship trooper absently rocking them back and forth. Weariness dragged at you as well, grey static slowly encroaching upon the corners of your eyes, but you did your best to push it away for the time being. You weren't sure how much longer you could get away with that, though. Stars, once this was over you would sleep for a thousand years.

A sudden crackling noise behind you made everybody whirl, respective blasters and knives brandished. But it was just the ferry droid, emerging from the ashen lava that had entombed it. It held a punting pole in its hands and began to beep, sounding almost inquisitive.

The Mandalorian finally muttered, "I don't suppose anybody here speaks droid," his tone one of long suffering.

IG-11 helpfully supplied, "I believe he is asking where we would like to go." 

"Downriver. To the lava flat." Karga ordered. The droid gave a chirp of confirmation and jabbed its pole into the lava, propelling the boat onwards at a much less leisurely pace.

The Mandalorian sat down heavily beside you after a moment, his helmet in his hands. "I can't believe you came back." He mumbled. "I didn't think...I figured you wouldn't. Thought I did a pretty good job at ruining everything."

"I can't believe I did either, honestly." You answered him, wincing when you realized how bad that sounded. "Wait, no, I uh...I just mean I didn't really know what was going on. I followed the noise and found IG-11."

"So, nothing new." The Mandalorian replied, his voice wry. Then, he murmured, "my little mudhorn."

You shot him a confused glance from beneath your lashes, but for all you could tell he was staring at the floor of the boat. Your eyes shifted to the silvery signet on his pauldron, taking in the vicious contours of the mudhorn's silhouette. I'm considered a clan now. 

"What will you do after we take care of this?" Your words were audacious in their optimism and you knew it. He knew it too, if his snort was anything to go by, but he humored you.

"I have to find the kid's people. I can't train him, he's...well, he's not really the Mando type. But he's a Foundling in my care, so I'm to act as his father until I can either return him to his people or...or until he comes of age." The Mandalorian heaved a sigh. "And seeing as he's fifty now, I don't think him coming of age is something that'll happen in my lifetime." His hand sought yours out on the bench seat after a moment. "If you...I mean, I know that...uh, the kid likes you. So if you wanted, I'd...I'd consider…" He trailed off, squeezing your wrist gently.

You opened your mouth to stammer something and then Greef inadvertently cut you off with an excited, "That's it! We're free!" The older man pointed ahead, indicating the daylight coming into view in the distance. You couldn't blame him for being relieved, really. This underground canal was stifling.

But the Mandalorian was already shaking his head, fingers tapping at the button pad on his gauntlet. "No. No, we're not." He said bitterly, getting to his feet. "Stormtroopers. They're flanking the mouth of the tunnel. It looks like an entire platoon." Your heart sank at his words. "They must know we're coming."

His shoulders slumped. You could feel the exhaustion radiating off of him. He had almost died, only for this to happen?

Cara, meanwhile, leaped into action. "Stop the boat." She demanded of the ferry droid, which just continued to chirp merrily to itself. "Hey, droid, I said stop the boat!" She barked, storming towards the robot. "Hey, I'm talking to you!" 

The droid carried on punting the boat forward and Cara grimaced, jamming her blaster into the vacant space between the droid's dome and body. One quick trigger pull sent the droid's head flying off with a loud crack!, the dome hitting the lava and immediately beginning to melt. The child started awake at the noise, tiny fists waving wildly in the air.

The boat continued to roll downstream, slowly but surely carried by the flow's current. "We're still moving." Greef pointed out, his tone laden with dread.

Dune swore under her breath, turning to face the rest of the group. "Looks like we fight."

The Mandalorian scoffed, "There are too many." His hand absently tapped the side of his helmet and you read his fingers: enemy ahead, five, five, five, so at least fifteen.

At least. Your heart threatened to pound out of your chest. It had been one thing when you were running along pell-mell with no actual thought put into your actions, but now-

"Well then what do you suggest, because I can't surrender." Cara snapped, cringing when the kid started to whimper.

IG-11 suddenly spoke up. "They will not be satisfied with anything less than the child. This is unacceptable." It rose to its full height, proclaiming, "I will eliminate the enemy, and you will escape."

"You don't have that kind of firepower, pal." The Mandalorian retorted. "You wouldn't even get to daylight."

The droid leveled him with a stare. "That is not my objective."

"We're getting close." Dune hauled you to your feet. "Saddle up." You obliged wordlessly, waiting until she turned away before you allowed yourself to grimace in pain. Maker, your side hurt.

"I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer." The IG said calmly as you and Cara maneuvered around it and the Mandalorian to prepare what limited defenses you could muster. "If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct."

"What're you talking about?" The Mandalorian growled impatiently. 

"I'm not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed."

"Are we gonna' keep talking or are we gonna' get out of here?" Greef enquired, waving a hand at the molten riverbank.

"I can no longer carry this for you." The droid murmured, pressing the jet pack into the Mandalorian's unwilling grasp. "Nor can I watch over the child."

"Wait." The armor-wearing man sounded like he was having trouble breathing. "You can't self-destruct. Your base command is to watch the child." Was he...was he arguing with the droid? "That supersedes your manufacturer's protocol, right?" He reasoned desperately, his head tilted up to look at the spindly droid. When the robot didn't answer immediately, he pressed, "Right?"

"This is correct." IG-11 allowed.

He was arguing. With a droid. Stars, you saw something new every day. "Good. Now grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out." The Mandalorian ordered curtly, turning to check over his own weaponry. 

"Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The child will be lost." You watched the armored man's shoulders slump even lower beneath his pauldrons and cape, like an immense weight was pressing down on him. "Sadly, there is no scenario where the child is saved in which I survive." The droid carried on relentlessly. You abruptly understood what it was saying, and despite your best efforts you felt tears sting your eyes. First Kuiil, now this?

"Listen, you're not going anywhere." The Mandalorian said sharply. "We need you. Let's just come up with a-"

"Please tell me the child will be safe in your care." The IG unit requested. "If you do so, I can default to my secondary command."

"But…" the beskar-wearing man's voice faded to a hoarse whisper, "you'll be destroyed."

"And you will live, and I will have served my purpose."

"No, we need you."

"There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive." The droid said pragmatically.

"I'm not sad." The armored man denied gruffly. He was lying and everyone knew it. You could hear the tremor in his words.

"Yes you are. I'm a nurse droid. I've analyzed your voice." IG-11 reached out those metal fingers, gently running them over the baby's ear. Then, without further ado, the droid hoisted a leg over the side of the boat.

"IG-!" Karga began to protest, watching the droid sink into the lava. Flames licked upwards from the ex-bounty hunter's knee gaskets, but it doggedly headed for the light at the end of the tunnel. 

The Mandalorian stood still as a statue, just letting the droid go. You ended up burying your face in your hands, unwilling and mentally unable to observe what would happen. 

The ringing impact of beskar suddenly broke the silence and the Mandalorian began to sing, his words wrapped in a deep, mournful tone that sounded like it came from the center of his being. "Motir ca'tra nau tracinya," His voice faltered. "Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a! Cuun hett su!" 

The droid's self-destructive explosion rocked the tunnel and you heard the Mandalorian's breath hitch, the noise sharp and pained even through the modulator. 

He then inhaled deeply, the words reverberating off the sides of the tunnel when he roared, "Cuun hett su!" and slammed his gauntlet against his breastplate once more.

The skiff slowly slipped through the archway and out into the smokey sunlight. Fifteen broken stormtroopers littered the black ground around the mouth of the canal, none left alive in the wake of IG-11's sacrifice. You scrubbed at your face in irritation, choking back your tears. There will be time later, you promised yourself, time for Kuiil and the IG. Time to mourn them properly. You weren't permitted such time now and you knew it. People needed you, they needed--

Without warning, that ship you had seen earlier buzzed by overhead, its powerful laser cannons sending chunks of half-coagulated lava flying into the air on either side of the canal. 

"Moff Gideon!" Dune shouted, the Bren blaster whirring to life. The TIE fighter's engines screamed and whined, the craft circling back around. A line of ground to the left of the skiff exploded, green lasers punching through the cooled lava. 

"He missed!" Greef sounded absolutely thrilled.

"He won't next time." The Mandalorian replied grimly, loading a fresh canister into his heavy blaster.

"Hey, let's get the baby to do the magic hand thing!" Karga suggested, wiggling his fingers at the child. "C'mon baby, do the magic hand thing." The child stared up at him, waving their hand uncertainly. Greef sighed, "I'm out of ideas."

"I'm not." The Mandalorian snapped. He reached for the jet pack and you tugged his cape out of the way so he could attach it to his backplate. He pressed his forehead against your own briefly before he tapped at his gauntlet keypad, igniting the boosters for the pack.

"Here he comes!" Cara yelled, bracing herself back against one of the seats while her blaster roared away. Whoever Gideon was, he appeared to be coming straight for the boat. The fighter wasn't slowing one iota. 

Right as you saw the TIE fighter's cannons begin to light up in preparation to fire, the Mandalorian punched the controls on his jet pack. The armored man hurtled into the sky, easily clearing the TIE fighter and then shooting his grappling line at the back of the ship. 

Gideon took off with him in tow and Karga laughed incredulously, "you've got to be kidding me! That was your plan? Mando, you're a maniac!" He then grabbed onto the cooled lava wall that rose on the right side of the boat, fumbling his way up onto the relatively-sturdy riverbank with a muffled grunt of exertion. "Alright trooper, you're next." The older man said, extending a hand to help haul Cara out of the boat.

She too managed to get to solid ground, and she carefully sat the bundled child down for a moment before turning back to you. Cara held out her hand and Greef held out his. "C'mon rookie, get up here." She said with a tired grin. "We need good seats to watch your Mandalorian work his magic, right?" 

Your laugh caught in your throat, almost a sob, and you reached to clasp their hands. But then your breathing abruptly hitched as, in reply to the first tugs of the two individuals above you, the wound on your side made itself felt with a vengeance. You panted, half-blinded by the sudden pain and knowing that you had gone full dead-weight.

"Use your legs rookie, c'mon!" Cara complained, planting herself and slapping her other hand closed around your upper arm to help her leverage. You gritted your teeth and forced your body to cooperate in a last ditch effort to get you up onto the river banking. Despite that, you were still all but dragged the rest of the way, Dune and Karga barely managing to muscle you to safety. "Look at him go!" Cara exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the sky.

As you tipped your head back to watch the TIE fighter skitter and weave through the air, the ground suddenly felt like it was tilting under your feet. Your ears started to ring and your knees trembled unsteadily, threatening to give out beneath you any second now while the static at the edges of your vision that you had been keeping at bay crept steadily in from the sides. 

You clumsily took hold of Karga's shoulder, the older man giving you a confused look. "I...I don't feel so good." You stammered.

Cara turned to you, her mouth moving and her expression changing to one of concern, but you couldn't hear her at all over the ringing in your ears.

She grabbed your cloak, yanking it up off your body as you sagged against Greef. "Sorry," you breathed, knowing that she must have spotted the blaster wound on your side. Your own voice sounded so loud to you. Your bloodied fingers found her gorget, floundering desperately for a handhold. "Take care...of the k-kid-" you whispered, all of your adrenaline finally spent. 

You had been running on fumes for the last few minutes. You weren't sure how much blood you had lost, all you knew is that you had been bleeding since getting clipped on the battlefield. It hadn't hurt when you were moving or distracted, the urgency of your situation enabling you to draw on your body's ability to push through the predicament. But now, it seemed that your luck had run out.

Your eyes felt too heavy. You needed sleep. How long had it been since you rested? You deserved a rest. A rest sounded phenomenal.

"...shot, give--osi'kyr, let me see them!" That was the Mandalorian. He sounded terrified. You couldn't remember ever hearing his voice crack like that. What was wrong? When had he landed again? What happened to Gideon?

"S'wrong?" You slurred. You appeared to be laying down. Possibly. Up and down were a little confused at the moment. 

"Focus on me, please, you have to stay awake-" He sounded so sad.

"Going into shock--must have been when-" Cara's voice was faint and wavering, as if she was underwater. 

"Sweetheart, cyar'ika, please, please--" His helmet pressed to your forehead and you heard his breath rattle. No, that couldn't be right, the bacta spray should have fixed that. Was it your breathing that sounded that bad?

You dimly felt dried blood flaking off of your hands as you moved your fingers. "Want to sleep. S'dark." You mumbled.

"Don't you dare!" His modulated voice cut through the gray haze rudely, too loud and bright. "You're not going to sleep!"

"F-five minutes." You bargained, grimacing when his helmet banged into your forehead.

"You stay awake, you hear me?! I'm not letting you do this! Not after everything we've been through!"

"Never even...got to…" Your head felt as if it was stuffed with clouds, words trickling out of your brain and vanishing like water in the sand. "'Pologize…" He had your hand in his own now, leather rubbing feverishly over your knuckles. "Got so mad…"

"You're not the one who needed to apologize, dammit. I...I shouldn't have tried to leave you behind." His voice broke. "I-I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I-" Blood was roaring in your ears, drowning out anything else the armored man might be saying. Your fingers were going numb. Flickers of conversation reached you, battling against the roar.

"-them still, Karga, he's got to close this, stop the bleeding--"

"-idea, but make sure it holds until we get back to town--"

"I love you, I'm so sorry, this will hurt--" 

Pain stabbed through your body, startling a ragged exhale out of you. Something was burning. It smelled disgusting and you retched without meaning to, bile foaming at your lips. You wondered absently if that was the smell he had been talking about when he had been poisoned, death-rot...

Metal was pressing against your forehead and a blinding heat seared at the wound on your side, the two sensations warring for your attention. Vomit surged up your throat, making you gag again.

This is it, you realized vaguely. This is how I die. Huh. The notion was not nearly as repulsive as you had expected. Dying sounded halfway appealing. You could rest then. 

"Stay awake, please stay awake-"

"M' here. M'wake." You assured whoever it was, your hand weakly patting at theirs. "So tired...can I sleep soon? Pl-ease?"

"Not now, not now, you h-have to stay awake." His voice was trembling. "The kid needs you, dammit."

"Need you to--to take the kid and run." You urged, confidently stating, "I'll hol' 'em off so y' can escape. They're comin' in warm an' I'm comin' in cold." You struggled to grab your blaster, but your arms refused to cooperate. "Did y' turn up the gravity? Can't...can't move…hurts..." The tears wouldn't stop rolling down your cheeks in a torrent. You weren't even sure why you were crying.

"Stay awake. Just like on Sorgan. All I need is a f-few more minutes, okay? Remember?" Your body tilted crazily, someone's arms fumbling beneath your shoulders and knees to hoist you off the ground.

"Mm, I can do that. Do whatever y' want." You mumbled. The darkness closed in around you, a sweltering maw that slowly drew you deeper and deeper into its grasp. "It's...it's so dark. M' scared." You admitted, your numbed fingers petting the hand that rested on your arm.

"I'm right here with you." He assured. "I'm not going anywhere. Sing that song, please? The one you sing to the kid. The...the lullaby."

Your brow furrowed with effort and you opened your mouth, your voice faint and pitchy in the blackness. "Stars fading, but I linger on...dear...still craving…" 

The words wouldn't stick. Your brain was drawing a blank. Why couldn't you remember the words?

You fell asleep.

...

You dreamed of wind whipping your face, steam that hissed and boiled on the lava flats, droplets trickling down from underneath a proud helmet to gather at the edge of his chin and drip onto your tunic.

You dreamed of drowning, thick liquid sliding over your head, enveloping you in its fetid grasp before your consciousness faded back out. 

You dreamed of a mudhorn in beskar, the shimmering silver-clad beast guiding you through the black.

Eventually you spiraled downwards into a deeper sleep, and finally you dreamed of nothing at all.

Interlude

[grifalinas]

Batter Up (working title) (Chapter 5)

-/-

Flint took Radley with him to help bring back lunch, and while they waited for their orders, he finally calmed down enough to actually talk.

“You knew about Deacon, didn’t you,” he asked.

“I knew he was lying about his age,” Radley said. “He was at school with me, he graduated last summer. He used to give me a hard time.”

“That why you were fighting?”

Radley nodded, a little embarrassed. “It felt like a chance to finally get my own back, so I thought I’d try needling him a bit. I wasn’t expecting him to swing on me.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t kidding, you know, I take responsibility for us fighting.”

“Yeah, well.” Flint gave him a sour look. “I don’t like him lying about being able to bake. That’s what I need him for.”

“Not really.” Radley gestured vaguely at himself. “You taught me all your recipes since I was a toddler, I could make them blindfolded, and by the time school lets back in you’ll be able to hire someone else. Demand probably won’t be super high after the first week we’re open, and if it is, you’ll be able to afford more employees anyway.”

“All the more reason to fire him, then.” He huffed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, then huffed again and slipped a sequined scrunchy from his wrist to pull it all back with a grumble. “What do I need him for when I’ve got you?”

“He can run the front and be an extra set of hands, since Mr. Bassington can’t do any heavy lifting and won’t let Eddie. Actually I feel like Deacon will really thrive if you put him doing heavy lifting.”

“I have you to do my heavy lifting.”

“I’m still a minor. I’m pretty sure those liabilities apply to me, too, and Mr. Bassington just looked the other way. But he’s not going to for very long.”

Flint leaned back in his chair with a groan. “What in the world has Raphael gotten me into? That man is way too controlling.”

“He’s doing his job.”

Flint let out a frustrated little growl. “Changed your tune, have you?”

“He makes a better second impression. Things have gone way smoother with him organizing everything. And he puts his money where his mouth is when it comes to protecting his employees. He isn’t just worried about legal issues, he really does try to protect the people under him.”

There was a long silence, and Radley added, a little hesitantly, “You looked like you were about to start swinging on Deacon earlier.”

“I wanted to,” Flint admitted. “I like to think I wouldn’t have…” He shook his head. “But there’s no way for Sam to have known one way or another.”

There was another long silence, Flint mulling over the Deacon situation while Radley scrolled social media in an idle sort of way. Finally Flint sighed and slumped, a little defeated.

“Guess I owe the kid an apology,” he said. “And Sammy, too…”

-/-

Samuel felt it might help cool Flint’s temper a little if the kitchen was cleaned up by the time he got back, so he set Deacon and Eddie to do that while he went back to supervising the work crew and getting everything else done.

While Radley and Deacon appeared to have declared each other public enemy number one, Deacon seemed to have no such animosity for Eddie, though the two had interacted little thus far. Eddie seemed intent on making up for this discrepancy now that they were working on a task together, though.

“-and Mr. Bassington says he’s going to introduce me to Rosie and we’re going to be best friends so I’m trying to decide what things I like that he didn’t mention her liking that I should try to introduce her to and I’m thinking of seeing if she listens to Angel DJ on the radio because that’s my favorite radio show and if she gets into music through Angel DJ then we can get into music on the same path instead of both of us discovering stuff, not that that isn’t fun but it’s really fun to find stuff together, me and Radley used to get into stuff through Angel DJ together all the time but then he stopped really caring much about getting into music except as something fun to play while you do other stuff and I like music as something that exists in its own right and should be experienced by itself too and Radley doesn’t like looking up stuff about the artists like how what I do so he’s not fun but I bet maybe I hope that Rosie will be into music like how what I’m into music so we can be into music together.”

Deacon gave her a second to make sure that was actually the end of the sentence and poked his head out of the oven he was cleaning to ask, “What’s Angel DJ?”

“It’s a radio show! Angel is just some guy, he broadcasts from his apartment and he isn’t tied to any specific radio station so he can just play whatever he likes, so he just plays stuff he’s into. He’s been on a bit of an eighties rock kick lately, and he’s playing a lot of Queen stuff so I’ve been really getting into them, I was watching videos of their performances on the internet and they’re SO cool.”

Deacon laughed. “No arguments there. I learned to play on Queen songs.”

“You play?” She lit up. “What do you play?! I don’t play anything, I kinda wouldn’t mind learning but I can’t even pick anything because I hear a song and I think ‘boy it’d be fun to play that I bet’ but there’s so many different parts that go into it that I just end up getting bogged down. What do you play? Guitar? Drums? Keys?”

“Uh… well I main bass, but I can do electric…” He rocked back on his heels to tick off on his fingers. “...Mother made me learn piano and violin so I can do keys and violin, and I was percussion ensemble in high school so most basic percussion, though I’m not great at drums, and I sing.”

Eddie stared at him with stars in her eyes and squeaked out, “That’s so cool~”

He opened his mouth to say he wouldn’t mind playing for her sometime, if she was into that, and was interrupted by the return of Flint and Radley. He clammed up, returning to the oven without a word, leaving Eddie to go help get the food unpacked and call the crew in. He listened to her chattering about how Deacon could play and liked Queen and wasn’t that SO cool?, and stilled to listen to their response.

“You don’t think it’s cool that I like Queen,” Radley said.

“That’s because you just like listening to them. Deacon learned to play on Queen songs.”

“You play?” Flint asked, when Deacon finally emerged from the oven to join them for lunch.

“He mains bass!” Eddie chirped before Deacon could answer.

“I like music,” he said. “It’s a good distraction.” There was a beat, and, seeing the opening, he added, “Sometimes I play with the house band next door, when one of their permanent musicians can’t make it. You should come hear me play sometime.”

Eddie lit up again. “Oh, can we? Can we, Uncle Flint? Please? Can’t we? Please can we?”

“We’ll… see,” he said, a little uncomfortable. “I think taking you kids into a bar is one of those things your old man would kick my ass for.”

Eddie deflated like a three month old birthday balloon. “I’m never going to be old enough to do anything fun.”

“And once you are you’re going to be carded for years,” Flint agreed, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Sorry, kiddo, that’s just how it is.”

This got a huff, and she batted his hands away before turning to pout at her lunch.

“Sorry,” Deacon said, shuffling a little. “I wasn’t thinking about the age thing, I guess…”

-/-

After lunch, once everyone had gotten back to work, Flint decided to talk to Samuel first. His partner was guiding two of their contractors through putting up the menu boards; Flint took hold of his arm to get his attention, and startled back when Samuel jerked his arm back as if Flint’s touch had burned him.

“Sorry-” they both attempted at the same time, and Flint shook his head before jerking his head toward the office. “Can we talk?”

Samuel paused, and looked to the contractors, but they seemed to have the menu boards under control so he nodded and the two headed back to the office.

“I’m sorry,” Samuel began, before Flint could say anything. “I’m- sensitive to touch sometimes.”

Flint waved that away as unimportant. “I wanted to talk to you about earlier. I owe you an apology, and a thank you.”

“I don’t think I’m the one you owe an apology to.”

“I know. The kid’ll get one in a little while, I just want to get my thoughts in order before I talk to him.”

He sat down in his chair, and Samuel followed suit with a nod of approval. “Smart call.”

“Yeah, turns out I got a couple of braincells kicking around in here.” He cracked a lopsided smirk and then shook his head. “Anyway. I also wanted to thank you. I can’t say for sure that I wasn’t going to swing on the kid, even if I’d like to think I wouldn’t, but I can say for sure if I had you would have stopped me. I appreciate that.”

Samuel opened his mouth to say something, then shut it and shrugged. “We have a responsibility to protect the people we employ, and that includes from each other. I take that seriously.”

“Not a lot of people do.” He leaned his chair back with a sigh. “I wonder if that’s why Raphael sent you to me? She knows I got a temper. I’m a little impulsive, too. And I don’t always think things through…”

“To protect your employees from you? I doubt that. She seemed very invested in your success, and I don’t think she would be if she thought you were the sort to abuse your employees.”

“Not so much that, just someone to curb my impulses when they might have collateral damage.”

“Ah, right. That makes more sense.”

Flint watched him for another quiet moment, taking a few seconds to enjoy his rigid, perfectly controlled posture that did nothing to diminish the amount of him there was- here was a man who had never been taught to take up less space, though paradoxically his presence seemed to invite others into the space he was already occupying. Flint was struck with a bizarre desire to press into his side, enjoy his warmth while they shared… something, anything, it didn’t matter.

He shook the thought away.

“So if she sent you to keep me in line, what did she mean for you to get out of it? Think maybe she wants me to loosen you up?”

“Given she’s applied the words ‘tightly wound’ to me more than a few times in our friendship, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“You ever think Raph secretly wants to produce a sitcom? That’d explain all the odd couple situations she’s always setting up.”

Samuel chuckled softly at that, and Flint suddenly felt as if he’d been shot through the throat.

He must be staring, because Samuel was giving him a confused look. “Everything okay?”

“Wh-? Oh, yeah. Fine. Just didn’t know you were capable of laughing, that’s all.”

“Maybe if you didn’t run off every time your niece starts talking…”

Flint let out a startled bark of laughter at that. “Yeah? Try living with her, pal. I need a break sometimes, you know. Your girl a chatterbox too?”

“No, she’s very quiet. You’d hardly know she was there half the time.”

“When are you bringing her around? Eddie’s not going to stop pestering yout about it until you do.”

Another of those laughs that made Flint feel like curling his toes up. “To be honest, I’m hoping I can get some of the anticipation to wear off. Rosie is so wonderful but Eddie’s hopes are so high.”

“You’ll never do that. Eddie doesn’t curb her enthusiasm, she just gets more tightly wound up until she finally experiences the thing she’s excited about. We took her to an amusement park to see this singer she was into once and she got so excited she threw up. Keep putting it off and you’re just perpetuating the problem.”

“Hmm.” Samuel seemed a little put out by that, and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I suppose I could have Theresa drop her off tomorrow? I’m sure she’ll be interested in seeing what we’ve got going on here anyway. She’s very nosy, though she’ll never admit that.”

Flint grinned. “Sounds like a plan!”

-/-

Unfortunately, after his chat with Samuel, Flint had to bite the bullet and talk to Deacon. He didn’t want to. He was still furious with the kid, still wouldn’t really mind just tossing him out and letting him be someone else’s problem.

But whatever he felt about Deacon’s choices, he had behaved far worse, and if he wanted to be the sort of man his kids could look up to, he had to be the sort of man that owned up when he misstepped. So he told Samuel to send the kid in, and took a seat behind his desk and tried not to look like he was sulking too hard over having to apologize.

Deacon slouched in like a spooked animal, like he fully expected Flint to start yelling at him again and, oof, that was fair. Suddenly apologizing felt a lot more doable and a lot more important.

“Siddown, kid, I’m not gonna bite you,” Flint said, waving vaguely at the second desk chair that Samuel usually occupied. “I just wanna talk. And I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have blown up like that.”

Deacon shrugged, like that didn’t factor to him, and said, in a rushed sort of way, “I’m not sorry about lying. Everyone lies on their resume and they even advise that.”

“They also advise learning how to fake the thing you’re saying you can do,” Flint said. “But that wasn’t really the issue, and you and I both know it.”

An uncomfortable silence descended. Deacon shifted a little in his seat, and said, “It’s cause of the help comment, isn’t it?”

Flint nodded. “I got my recipes from my ma,” he said. “She was an amazing cook, and an even better baker. She taught me and my si- brother coming up, but I was the one who really took to it.” He was silent for a long moment, thinking back to those days with his mother, explaining how every aspect of the recipe worked with every other aspect of the recipe, how to know if the process was working and how to figure out what was missing when it was.

Then he shook his head, dispelling the memory, and went on.

“Ma was a personal chef, she cooked for a lot of wealthy families. Made sure they always had a hot meal waiting without any effort on their part. You know how much thanks she got for it?”

Deacon was shrinking in his chair now, the full realization of what he’d implied hitting him. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean…”

Flint gave him a few more seconds of discomfort before saying, “You should be. That’s the kinda toxic shit you gotta start unlearning now you’re on your own. There’s people out there without a tenth of what you’ve been handed that are worth ten times that, and you’re gonna be surrounded by them now. But. That don’t mean I gotta treat you like that. You’ll never learn like that.”

He leaned back in his chair, waiting in case Deacon had anything to put in, but the kid just stayed staring at the floor. Flint wondered what was going through his head, what he was thinking. If he was taking in what Flint was getting at, or just writing him off as some angry chef’s boy.

“As for your future here… I’ve handed you over to Sammy. Not just because you pissed me off, but also that. I don’t trust my temper enough to be directly in charge of you. But you still answer to both of us. I’m still your boss; Sam is just your direct supervisor.”

Deacon nodded, still staring down at the floor. Flint squinted at him, wondering where all of his fight had gone.

Hmm.

“Hey, kid. Why’d your old man cut you off? What was the decision you made that offended him?”

And, oh, there it was. Deacon bristled up like a rooster with a temper and said, “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“There it is. Knew you were in there somewhere. All right, go on, get back to work. Go on.”

He shooed him away; Deacon slouched out in a hurry, before Flint could start Talking To Him again.

-/-