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anniebrainrots · 3 years ago

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Family

In which you reflect upon yours and Technoblade’s shared past.

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warnings: mentions of violence (nothing too graphic), slight gore, angst, SBI family dynamic, no y/n

wc: 3.2k

notes: i’m sorry if there are any grammatical errors, i really tried my best :,)

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You can’t remember a time when you and Technoblade actually fought. You had always been attached at the hip, you had watched him grow up from a young boy full of ambition and fire to an accomplished man with strong ideals and a fierce personality. That’s one of the things that you had prided yourself in, well, that and your impeccable ability to calm the pink-haired piglin.

You remember the first time the voices had appeared; he had come to you after he had gone hunting with Phil for the first time. He had mentioned his first kill, how it had awoken something in him, how it almost felt like he had been running on autopilot when he shot the arrow. You hadn’t known how to talk to him through his episodes then, though with years you had learned what to say to not set him off.

The first time he had killed a man hadn’t been that long after his first hunt. A bandit had come to your small camp in the forest in the middle of the night. You couldn’t have been older than twelve at the time, Techno being thirteen. You had been held at knifepoint, held in front of Phil and Wilbur while the hybrid had gone out to get more firewood when your campfire dwindled. You remember seeing horror cross the two faces in front of you before the grip on your neck had loosened and a man had dropped right to the floor. You had tried your best to erase traces of that night from your memory, but the thin scar on your neck always made a point to remind you of it.

He had changed since then, an insatiable thirst for bloodlust had festered deep within him, unable to be satisfied. He hadn’t been too good at controlling the voices at that time, and the first time he had lost control in your presence he couldn’t bear to look at you for a week out of shame. It had taken the help of Phil, Wilbur, and even Tommy to talk him out of separating himself from you. After that, your bond with him had only grown stronger. When you had left the family to pursue your own adventure with Techno, you had learned how to talk to him, to ease the voices that always screamed at him.

The second time he had lost control around you it hadn’t been directed at you. The both of you had entered a tournament for money, and the result had been devastating for you. Techno had gotten his long hair cut short while your wings had ended up getting chopped off. It had been a foul play, ambushed from the back while you had fought another in front of you. Techno had seen nothing but red, finishing off both people before consoling you the best he could. You had mourned the loss of your flight and your precious wings for weeks, not eating and barely alive, according to Techno. He had half the mind to send you back to Phil, doubting his abilities to protect you but you had insisted to stay with him, that you would simply be too ashamed to look your father in the eyes and tell him why your wings had no longer been on your back.

Years later, even though you still held the loss of your wings close to your heart, you had learned to move on with the help of your companion, finding solace in causing chaos and taking down unjust governments. Naturally, when Wilbur and Tommy had called upon you both to help them with their revolution against a tyrant who had taken charge of their old country, you had been more than happy to come.

The first few weeks had been spent catching up with your brothers, and you had exchanges of your adventures and their experiences running their country. You couldn’t help but notice darkness festering deep within Wilbur’s eyes, and one night he broke, asking Tommy if they had been the bad guys all along. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell them you had followed them that night, eavesdropping on their conversation. You had confided in Technoblade, the piglin merely dismissing your concerns for your brother as he urged you to start preparing for the war. You had tried to ignore it, the way Wilbur’s tongue dripped with acid every time he had spoken of L’manburg, the way Tommy had flinched when Wilbur would walk into the same room, the way Wilbur constantly disappeared in the dead of the night when he had thought no one was watching. But you had been, you had always been watching him.

The day he hid behind Dream, the man that had nearly killed Tommy twice in their war against the Dream SMP, you had nearly taken it upon yourself to incapacitate Wilbur. Technoblade, as war-hungry as he always had been, paid no attention to this, which had angered you greatly. Once you had learned of Wilbur’s planting of hundreds of TNT underneath L’manburg, you had tried to talk him out of it.

“L’manburg is a fallen nation, birdie. It’s done nothing but cause pain for everyone, so why does it have to exist? You wouldn’t understand, you weren’t there when we built it, so stay out of our fucking business or leave.” The nickname that Wilbur had given you in your youth sounded like nothing but pure venom and ice, and his words had stung you far more than anything else.

That night, you had approached Technoblade; you couldn’t help but notice how you had been falling apart due to how busy he had become with his preparations. It had been obvious to you how stressed he was, spacing out more frequently while you had conversed. When you brought up your concern over Wilbur’s plans, he lashed out.

“God, you’re so annoyin’, always havin’ concern over what Wilbur wants to do or not. The man ran the country way before we even got here so why do you care so much?”

“I’m worried because everyone’s life is on the line here, Techno. You’re telling me you’d let your brothers fight in a war that will end up in explosions? What about Tommy, you’re gonna let him go through with this? Why can’t you see that Wilbur’s gone crazy, and he needs to be stopped?”

“I can’t let you do that. No matter what you want, I promised to help Wilbur and if you don’t agree with his ideals, then just leave. We don’t want you here.” For the second time that night alone, you had been told to leave by some of the most important people in your lives. You choked back the rising sob in your throat, letting your sadness dissipate and anger take over. You had marched right out of his base, not a single call of your name from the man you had just spoken with, and you had concluded that that would be the last time you would talk to him.

You had gone deep into the forest into your small cottage, taking all of your valuables and putting them in your ender chest, stuffing food and all of your weapons into your bags where they had fit. You had taken a few pieces of TNT, no one needed the rest of these items anyways. You had been deep enough in the forest that the explosion would not be heard from anywhere near PogTopia, so you had quickly ignited the TNT and watched as your house exploded onto tiny remnants. A small crater had been left in its place, small enough to pass off as a creeper explosion in the night.

Your second stop had been to Tommy’s quarters, where you had found him sitting by his bed.

He had looked up at you in slight confusion, noting your packed bags and outdoor attire. He had wondered if you were going to go scouting in L’manburg and almost wanted to ask if he could come, but you had cut him off before he could.

You handed him a sword, the first one you had ever made with your own hands when you were barely his age.

“What’s this for? And why are you dressed like that?”

You gave him a watery smile, “this sword helped me survive all this time, so I hope it serves you well in the war. And I can’t fight alongside you anymore, Tommy. Technoblade and Wilbur had made that very clear tonight.”

“What? Wilbur? I’ll go speak to him right now if he’s makin’ you leave. You can’t leave, you just can’t!” Tommy stood to his full height, arms wrapping themselves around your smaller form. You patted his back, offering words of comfort.

That night, you had left with a heavy heart, and despite your rather unpleasant last experiences with Will and Techno, you couldn’t help but to think of them fondly from time to time.

That led to where you are now, in the Tundra, in a humble cottage in the middle of a clearing. There’s a village nearby, with wonderful farmers offering you discounted golden carrots for all the help you provided for them in the past 6 months.

You never did find out the outcome of that war, and something tells you that it didn’t end in celebrations. You traveled far enough that even news from L’manburg would be unlikely to reach all the way here. Still, though, you can’t help but wonder where Technoblade is, if he’s been taking care of himself, if he’s even still alive. You snort at that, of course he’s still alive; Technoblade never dies.

One day, you wake up with a slightly more cheery attitude than most other mornings. You prance around your house, humming songs to yourself while you clean and cook. It’s quiet, like it always is, and sometimes you find yourself wishing you’re back to the old days, when everything was loud, chaotic, and bloody. The silence, however, is a luxury you never knew you needed.

Your black cape and golden crown (one that Techno gave you in order to match with him), hangs in your closet, unused.

You make sure to polish the crown once a week, it being a gift from a man you harbored feelings for since your youth, you couldn’t bear to leave it to collect dust. You sigh wistfully, placing the newly polished crown on your head while looking at your reflection in the mirror.

You can’t help but notice the way your features have softened, given your lifestyle with Techno over the years, you were almost never given a break from all of the bloodshed. Your eyes are brighter, and your face gleamed with a newfound glow, one that had always been stained by dirt and grime from the battlefield. You note faint scars running down your arms, a brief moment of insecurity passing through you as you remember the perfectly clean complexion the village women had.

You’re cut off by your thoughts by a rapid and harsh knock on your front door, and you rush to take off the crown and place it back in your closet and head back downstairs. It’s odd, almost no one visits the Tundra, so the very idea that someone is knocking on your door is already incredibly bizarre. You figure it’s probably a wandering trader, a very impatient one sounding from the hurried knocks.

You open the door roughly and step back slightly in shock. Phil stares back at you with equal emotion in his eyes, he obviously wasn’t expecting you to answer the door. Your gaze shifts to the man by his shoulders, hanging limply with his head down.

“Help,” is all Phil’s able to say before you quickly wrap your arms around Techno’s midsection and lead him to lay down on your couch. Blood pools around his waist staining your cushions, but you can’t even acknowledge that. He’s passed out and pale, so you make quick work to tend to his injuries, finding him improperly wrapped in loose bandages.

After cleaning his injuries, the worst of which being a stab wound on his midsection and a large gash on the arm, you wrap him with bandages and give him healing potions to speed up the recovery. With the help of your adopted father, you move Techno to your bed, closing the door before joining Phil on the floor near the fireplace.

Phil watches you sit down next to him, eyeing your bloody hands before blinking away to stare at the flickering flame. He also notices your wings, or lack thereof, but chooses to stay silent.

“What happened? Why is Techno like that?”

He’s silent for a moment before answering, “after the big battle, they reclaimed L’manburg but reinstituted Tubbo as the new president. Techno didn’t like that, so he fought back. It was him against everyone else. After that he fled to escape but someone was able to shoot him down with an arrow and stab him. I knocked the guy out and tried to fix Techno, but I couldn’t do that with everyone chasing us down. So, I took him on a boat and ended up here. Gave him enough healing potions to not die, but I barely had enough. Thank god we found you.”

You go quiet at that, a question annoying you at the back of your mind.

“Did he do it?” From your tone, the man realizes you’re referring to Wilbur, and his heart clenches at the fresh memory.

“He did. I barely got there in time, mate. I tried to talk him out of it but…” he trails off, shoving his face into his hands to hide his tears, “I killed him.”

Your shoulders slump in sympathy, about to comfort him, “Phil, it’s not your faul—”

“No. I literally killed him. When he pressed the button, he gave me his sword and…” this time he lets out a weak laugh, “did I do the right thing, birdie? Was I right to kill my own son?”

You can’t wrap your head around that. “Wilbur’s dead?”

Phil cries quietly to himself, nodding his head to affirm your thoughts, making you let out a small ‘oh’.

You’re at a loss for words. Sure, Wilbur had been nothing but toxic to you the last time you had seen him, but that didn’t overshadow the years of love and affection he had given you in your childhood. Deep down, you knew the Wilbur you had seen last had been nothing but the shell of the person that gave you piggy back rides when you were learning to fly so you can experience being off your feet, of the person that bandaged your knee when you had tripped and had been too scared to tell Phil you had gotten hurt, of the person that sang you songs on his guitar whenever you felt restless at night because he knew they helped you sleep. Wilbur is—was—your brother.

“He went crazy, Phil. Too clouded by his emotions to think straight. He endangered the lives of everyone around him. He wasn’t Wilbur anymore at that time, Phil. He was just a man that had lost everything, too scared to rebuild from scratch that he just destroyed his work so no one else could have it. It was like watching a child who lost their favorite toy. Jesus, Phil, if you’d seen him then…” You watch the crackling fire, words caught in your throat, unable to finish the sentence, silence lying heavily in the air. “He needed to be stopped.”

The man you saw as your father goes quiet, and from the corner of your eyes you see just how this man aged. Despite being immortal, Phil always had what you called ‘sleepy eyes’ referring to the way he seems to constantly have bags underneath his eyes that made him look sleep deprived despite being well-rested; a trait that Wilbur inherited, and Techno had purely because of his lack of a proper sleep schedule. Tommy used to tease them about it, despite having developed it slightly after his staying up with you, Wilbur, and Techno in the dead of the night to sneak out when Philza was asleep.

“Guess we’re both flightless now, huh?” You ask after a moment, studying his burned feathers that would surely never heal properly enough for him to take flight. He let out a humorless chuckle, dull eyes closing for a moment.

“I tried to shield him from the explosion but it resulted in quite some irreversible damage.” He stretches his wings out, barely even a quarter of its original length, black feathers singed and unrecognizable. He gives you a glance from the side, “you never told me about yours.”

You hum, and your back burns with phantom pain. “I lost them in an arena. A couple years after we left, Techno and I participated in this free-for-all arena and some guy ambushed me from behind and cut them off.” Your left hand grips your sleeve, images of red and withering feathers flashing before your eyes. You feel a gentle hand on your back, and all of it stops.

You and Phil sit together in well-appreciated silence, basking in each other’s presence after so many years of no contact. A shuffle from the other room catches your attention, you turn and see Techno stepping out of the room, one hand supporting himself on the wall and the other wrapped around his midsection, tight against his fresh wound. You and him make eye contact for a split second before you turn away and he redirects his gaze to Phil.

From the corner of your eyes you see them staring at each other, having what seems to be a silent conversation before the older man sighs and gets up. He pats you on the head once and gives Techno a nod before stepping outside. Uh oh. You know what’s coming next and you don’t know if you’re ready for it. You say nothing when you hear approaching footsteps from behind you, staring at the dwindling flame in the fireplace. You say nothing when he sits behind you on the couch, unable to sit on the floor because of his injuries. You say nothing when you turn around from your sitting position on the floor to look up at him.

Despite only being apart for 6 months, Techno sure looks older. Maybe it had been the effects of war, but both you and him have gone through countless battles before and you had never seen his face like this. Grim, serious, unapproachable. Something in his eyes flicker when he stares at you; pity, remorse.

“I’m sorry.” Techno says after a moment, looking guilty as his facade slowly breaks.

You don’t know what to say. The Blood God, infamous for his unyielding wrath and immeasurable power, for his countless victories in war, for his presence made to induce fear upon people, bowing his head to you in remorse. Was this the same Blood God that you hear countless stories of? No, this is Techno. Your best friend, your partner in crime, your person.

“I know.”

#techno x reader #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #c!techno #dream smp techno #sbi family dynamic #sleepy bois x reader #sbi x reader #technoblade

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jjackrabbitt · 3 years ago

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That Damned AU

Hey guys (gn), I know you’ve heard me talk about this before, but I’ve actually been working on it now, so here’s part of it. It’s called That Damned AU because it’s been waking me up in the middle of the night to think about it for the last two years, so it’s just me damning it. I will probably change the name at some point. If you have any suggestions, I will gladly consider them. Basically, That Damned AU follows the events of the canonical story line of MPHFPC, but I’ve changed some things around, messed with some details, and added a few things. Mostly to fix or add to things that I have complaints about or wanted to hear more of. I will be tagging it as That Damned AU in case you want to block it

Before we begin I would like to thank @finn-nito for letting me talk his ear off about all this and in turn talking my ear off. It’s been a lot of fun doing this with you and getting to know you.

Now for the damned thing:

Ricky actually goes into the house with Jacob when Abe doesn’t immediately answer. Probably makes dumb comments about the decor or some thing. Goes back to his car for the gun when they see the screen door. Tells Jacob to stay there. Rushes back when he hears Jacob yell for Abe when the flashlight is found. Catches up to Jacob just on the edge of the woods and gives him shit for moving. Tries to lighten the mood and reassure Jacob, until they see the trail of blood. Is there with Jacob when he finds Abe. Ricky tries to keep Jacob from touching Abe because he thinks Abe is already dead. Both of them handle the situation Extremely Badly. We actually hear Abe call Jacob “little tiger” this time instead of just retconning it. Ricky alternates between trying to get enough signal to call the police and crouching with Jacob to try and help him. Abe’s riddle is delivered the same as before and Jacob does see the hallowghast. Ricky tries to shoot it but can’t because he doesn’t even know it’s there. When Jacob sees it he does grab onto Ricky and start shaking him with one hand, still holding onto Abe with the other.

Both boys have to be questioned, together and separately. Jacob sees Ricky’s interview because he gets a chance to snoop through the policeman's notes. He gets mad that Ricky wouldn’t admit to seeing the hallow and Ricky gets defensive about it. They don’t stop talking though because they mutually think the other is having a stress reaction and is seeing things/is erasing things from their own memories.

Jacobs parents didn’t really like Ricky before and they really don’t like him now because they think having him around will remind Jacob of finding Abe, but Jacob almost seems less stressed when Ricky’s around so they’ll allow it.

They don’t necessarily see each other more, but their interactions are way more emotionally charged now.

Ricky does start carrying his gun more because while he didn’t see the hallow, that was a scary night and he did hear something. He brings it into Jacobs house several times without Jacobs parents knowledge. This is a point of contention between Ricky and Jacob because if Jacobs parents find out Ricky will not be allowed back and will be cut off.

Because Ricky is still very much attached to Jacob when he starts seeing Dr. Golan this time, Ricky is in more danger of wights.

Dr. Golan hears a lot about Ricky. Probably significantly more than he wants to.

Ricky doesn’t get the medical attention that Jacob does because he’s poor and when Jacob knows Ricky’s having a problem he asks Dr. Golan for advice for Ricky.

Jacob is more resistant to Dr Golan’s work this time, because Ricky is there to call bullshit when he hears it and mentions that Jacob's meds are making him weird. Golan responds to this resistance by trying to convince Jacobs parents that Ricky is bad for Jacob. It does work but both of his parents are fairly shit at computers and they both have to sleep some time, so Jacob can still message Ricky and sneak out at night.

Ricky does appreciate when Jacob gets advice from Dr. Golan for him, but he does still give Jacob shit for therapizing him.

Both of them are being observed by wights at this point. Jacob gets a series of very weird food delivery guys and there’s like, three different cars that consistently follow Ricky. The food delivery guys aren’t outright weird, they just have the same ~*vibe*~ as Golan and some times they say strange shit. One of them knew his name without Jacob introducing himself.

The cars wouldn’t be weird if they weren’t definitely the same cars, didn’t only stop following Ricky when he A) was near his house or B) took random turns without signalling, and didn’t seem to follow any particular pattern to where he was seeing them. If they were in a similar area at similar times every day then okay, he just keeps seeing the same people on their way to work or whatever, but that’s not what’s happening.

Not much comes of it though. Jacob gets a few weird stomach aches, Ricky gets pulled over by a really strange cop once. Some one breaks into Ricky’s house while no one’s there and goes through stuff but doesn’t take anything or make a mess, the door’s open and a few things have moved when he gets home. You know, normal stuff.

Once, Jacobs parents go out of town. One of his mothers cousins is getting married, and they just aren’t sure that Jacob’s ready for travel and relatives and a party and everything. They don’t want to leave him for the weekend, but they both agree that he’s been doing really well lately (and it’s been months. They want to get out of the house and do Normal People Things). They tell Dr. Golan that Jacob’s going to be alone for the weekend and tell Jacob to go across the street to their neighbour for help if anything happens and they give the neighbour Dr. Golan’s number.

Roughly ten minutes after they leave, Ricky shows up. The Crown Vic goes in the garage, Alien is turned on, Chinese food is ordered and the weekend commences.

They barely even watch the movie, they’re busy talking. They fall asleep on the couch and honestly? It’s the best sleep Jacob has in months.

Until it’s about 4 a.m. and Jacob wakes up violently because this time the scene in his dream changed. This time he and Abe are in Abaton. He doesn’t know it’s Abaton, of course, and though the events of the dream have change, this one feels worse some how. Now he’s missing his grandfather and this place that he doesn’t even know what it is. He feels weirdly protective of it.

Dr. Golan Really doesn’t like Ricky. It’s significantly harder to manipulate Jacob if Ricky’s there to call bullshit. It’s still pretty easy to get Jacob to go to Cairnholm though. Even Ricky doesn’t call him a quack over it. Only tells Jacob to send him a post card of the only place on earth that’s more of a nowhere than Englewood, Florida.

Jacob does have some apprehension over being separated from Ricky, but he figures it’ll be okay since there will be a phone at their hotel.

They do spend a lot little more together than usual in the weeks leading up to Cairnholm. It worries both of them that they’ll be more than a 20 minute drive from the other. Jacob’s more obvious about it, Ricky (poorly) pretends it won’t bother him that much.

Jacob does bring one of his dads less favoured cameras with him, to take pictures.

His dad does try to insist that Jacob spends some time with him to look at birds. It’s funny, they keep seeing this one peregrine hanging around. Some times she, Frank says it’s a she, flies over them. She doesn’t seem too interested in hunting. Some times she disappears for a little while, but she comes back most of the time, unless it’s later in the day.

Kev and Martin are dating. I know it says in the book that Kev has a wife but no he doesn’t ❤️. Kev and Martin are dating and in love and very little will convince me otherwise. Everyone on Cairnholm is completely chill with it. They have dinner with Martins uncle on Wednesdays. Kev tried to take Martin fishing once and it went terrible but it was fun.

Jacob meets Martin on the first day, at the Priest Hole. He’s done at the museum for the day and is getting a drink with his sister and working on his poetry. He and his sister are harassing Kev while he’s on the job. They meet because Martins sister, Amelia, sees Frank and Jacob lugging more than they can carry up the stairs and makes Martin come with her to help.

Amelia is one of the very, very few ocs you’ll see in here, I’m not here to add a bunch of people. She’s here because I don’t want Martin to be lonely, as a plot device to make things move forward, and because I think we should have more women. Yes MPHFPC already has a good amount of active women characters, yes I want more.

They start talking because both Martin and Amelia are huge nerds who would be excited about bird watching. When Martin mentions the museum, Jacob gets interested, as before he thinks it will help him unravel his grandfathers riddle. That’s it for now, but I will try to update again soon, though it probably won’t be as long. if any of you have any ideas or opinions to add, I’d love to hear them!

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kirindensetsu · 4 years ago

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The Making of Fubuki

((Reposting from Den of Angels workshop thread because I wanted my friends to be able to see~))

After years of pining after dolls I couldn't afford as a broke teenager, my first BJD was a Bobobie Sprite I purchased for my 18th birthday. Unfortunately, she didn't live up to my expectations and I never really bonded with her. Her face was cute enough, but the Bobobie body lacked the grace and posing ability I imagined for the Unseelie faerie I'd been daydreaming of for years. Sueding and wiring didn't help, blushing and tattooing highlighted her blockiness, it was a mess. I packed her away and tried not to think about my disappointment for 12 years. In the meantime I learned to build and paint resin garage kits, inherited one of my sister's dolls, bought some others, took anatomy & physiology in college, and did a couple extensive restorations and full-body modifications. I was sure I had thrown her away at some point as a failed project, but last weekend I found her tucked away in a doll bag I thought was empty. Having just finished substantial mods on a Dollshe body, and awaiting an unfinished Unoa kit for my birthday in September, I decided that I owed it to her to try again. Doll nudity below the cut, looooong post--

My Sprite was originally going to be a pooka with golden eyes and extensive woad tattoos. The golden eyes are incredible, so those are staying, but she's now going to be a blue oni to fit in with the rest of my collection. My plan is to do extensive additive epoxy work, and then to use Krylon Fusion to give everything a unified finish. The goal of the project is to reduce the... idk, STRAIGHTNESS of the old Bobobie body. I was never going to be happy with it, the lines were all far too rigid.

Head: Modified mouth for a wider, smirking smile. Magnets added to headcap (old Bobobie used an S-hook iirc; I did this part back in 2008). Forehead drilled for 3mm brass rod armature, and epoxy used to sculpt horns over rod. Bust: Substantial subtractive modifications to breasts, which involved removal and readdition of nipples. Addition of epoxy clay to back and shoulders to give a more curved body line in profile. Deepening of shoulder sockets with 18mm eye bevel, followed by sanding to make shoulders narrower. Waist: Reshaping of upper torso joint into sphere for smoother range of motion. Subtraction of resin in back and addition of epoxy in front to enhance lumbar curve. Hips: Substantial reshaping of lower waist seam to more naturally follow the pelvic girdle. It reminded me of granny panties before Added epoxy to butt, again for lumbar curve. Thighs: Suwariko joint mod (cut the thigh and added a PVC insert to enable swivelling at the hip). Added epoxy to make her thighs look less straight. Calves: Removed 1cm of length at the ankles and rebevelled the socket. Removed resin at the ankles to bring them in, and added epoxy at the calves to make them curvier. Feet: Sculpted little claws, which were cute, and then decided the feet needed to be 5mm longer. Cut across, drilled and pinned with brass rod for structural strength, gap filled with epoxy clay. I also modded her feet to have defined arches and balls back when I first got her. Alas, spitting into the ocean. I added S-hooks, but did so by drilling the ankle and inserting brass rod to form the axle for the hook. Arms: The proportions on her upper arms BOTHERED me! they were so SHORT! and I only just figured out that's what I hated about them last week! I added 5mm to the upper arms by cutting them in the middle and using SteelStik to make a structural repair (plumber's epoxy putty has a shorter open time but far greater structural strength than artist's epoxy clay). Sanded the heck out of the wrists to give them a more delicate taper. Hands: Beyond salvage. The hands were my least-favorite part of this sculpt. I tried to bulk them up to look less spidery but it was just too difficult... I've ordered a different pair of MSD hands which will have claws added, and then when everything is painted it'll all match. Thanks for reading this far! Here's a preview of what her golden eyes look like next to Krylon Fusion in Antique Blue.

((first progress post)) I think I'm mostly done adding epoxy clay (at least where it'll show; presumably the wrist sockets will require tweaks to fit the new hands), so now it's time for finish sanding. I start with 60 grit for shaping, then switch to a 120 grit sanding sponge. To check for scratches, pinholes, and inadequately feathered edges, I apply a wash of diluted acrylic paint. Once the paint has dried, I scrub the piece with a nylon scouring pad. Paint remains in the surface irregularities.

All sanded with 220 grit. I don't think I'll be going higher than 400 because I want there to be some tooth for the paint.

Any pitting in the epoxy clay that can't be sanded out is marked with a Sharpie and will be patched with Tamiya spot putty.

I did a test spray of the Krylon Fusion on the headcap and it's fantastic! Holy cow is it *poisonous* tho, I'm used to working with volatile chemicals but this was something else. Get OUT OF THE AREA between coats and leave it outside until it stops outgassing, not just until it's ready to handle.

This test piece is four light coats sprayed 1 minute apart, allowed to cure for 4 hours, and then wetsanded to remove the spray texture. It's pretty sturdy but I will wait several more days to see how it continues to cure before experimenting with matte sealants. ((progress update 2))

Haven't done much but sand-and-fill-and-sand-and-fill, but my 14mm beveller came in today so I can start deepening her elbow and ankle sockets. Added some epoxy clay to the insides of the eyewells so 14mm eyes will fit with no gap. I need a needle file to clean up the corners of her mouth... Monster feets! Nails on the right came out better than the left, still need to feather-sand everything.

Elbows progress. The early Bobobie elbows are I guess /technically/ double-jointed because the joint is a sphere with two slots, but I thought I could do better than that. You can see epoxy clay spliced in to make the sphere into a peanut: this isn't a structurally sound repair unless you pop it apart and drill/pin/glue-epoxy it back together.

View from the back. By keeping the joint heads spherical with no elbow-shaped detailing, there's some rotation as well as flexion, which I like.

Touching her face with one of her old hands. I hope the new ones come soon!

((progress update 4))

In good news, these parts are all ready for paint! It's really hard to do prepwork with no filler primer, hope I didn't miss any spots...

In less good news, her new hands arrived and they are... very smol ;u; I forgot that the new trend for slim minis means that everyone has TINY LITTLE HANDS.

They are, however, beautifully sculpted and a good 3D reference for what needs fixing and how. Bobobie palm is very short relative to fingers: I made a transverse cut behind the knuckles and added epoxy to lengthen More curved volume across the back of the hand: Not necessarily realistic, but looks a little cuter, plus it makes the transition into the cylinder of the wrist look less stylistically jarring. More defined joint angles: Some of these I did via cut-and-thermoform repositioning, mostly I'm aiming to fake it by building up and carving away at the weird smooth curves. The fingers are just TOO SKINNY: But obviously I'm not going to squish rice-grain-sized blobs of epoxy to the fingers, right? It's too fiddly, it doesn't want to stick. What's the solution? Brace for a truly hideous WIP image--

"AAAAAAGH WHAT IS THAT DARK GRAY MESS" it's JB Weld epoxy! It's like load-bearing, slow-curing modeller's putty! Slathering putty onto an armature and then carving it away to refine the shape is how anime figure artists make hands and detailed hair. I was thinking about it from a polymer clay technique/perspective so I missed the obvious solution. Hand in the foreground has more layers than the hand in the background, every layer gets the shape a lil closer. ((progress post 5)) Parts set up on sticks so I can handle them without touching...

... and after 4 light coats!

Closeup of the head, lil' glossy because it's still drying. For the deeper areas like the joint slots, mouth, and the crannies of the ears, I'm going to have to decant some of the paint into a jar and apply it with a sacrificial brush.

((progress post 6)) I return from Depression! I finally finished sanding-and-spraying the Krylon Fusion coats, gave her a last polish with microfine to even out the texture, and have started blushing her. I'm using a mixture of Tamiya X-series acrylics applied via airbrush for basic contouring, then I'll go back in with pastel to add warm tones and details.

Fun discovery: in an attempt to cover some accidental overspray, I tried spraying the Fusion directly into the paint cup of the airbrush and using it to "erase" back to the base color. I'm NEVER using this product straight from the can again, it goes on so smooth and gorgeous from the airbrush! No orange peel or bubbles to sand away. I'm seriously tempted to get a can of pink and try blushing with it.

((progress post 7)) Doing a faceup over a spray-painted substrate is HARD I want to CRY. I talked about sanding out the spray texture to get an untextured surface, right? Welp, didn't/couldn't sand well enough in the corners of the mouth and the folds of the eyelids, so it's crusty-looking with pastels over it and now there's nothing I can do about it that doesn't involve stripping down to resin and starting again.

((final post)) Sueded and strung!

I didn't take pictures of the sueding process because I was using Barge Cement and it is messy and time-sensitive. I used masking tape to make templates of her joints, transferred to some thin gray lamb suede I found on eBay, and glued it fuzzy side out. The suede was thicker than real pliver, more like the thickness of silicone KIPS discs, but I think it worked out without too many fit issues. The trim store had 3.5mm elastic in a beautiful slate-blue color that I thought would look nicer in the joint slots, so she's strung throughout with thicker elastic. Some more poses to show off the functional mods~ Suwariko joints let her sit crosslegged, and more mobile wrists let her put her hands into the pose.

A more ball-and-socked shaped contact surface at her waist lets her slouch at a full range of angles instead of being locked into two.

With longer upper arms, she can reach the ground in this pose! You can also see how the modded waist joint lets her cock her hips.

She could always stand with locked knees. I think she needs some wire in her legs to let the suwariko joints hold their rotation against gravity, but I'll see how the elastic tension settles in first.

A parting shot out the snowy window. We've been having a hard time picking between a few names for her, but I think this settles it. Welcome back, Fubuki~

#making-of-fubuki #doll custom #bjd #bobobie

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nishimochas · 4 years ago

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❁﹝ 22:41 ‣ ˢˡᵒʷ ᵈᵃⁿᶜᶦⁿᵍ ᶦⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵃʳᵏ ﹞

‣ gender neutral trainee!reader with trainee!heeseung. inspired by joji's song of the same title.

‣ tw: some slight cursing, just a whole bunch of angst.

‣ word count: 1.9k

"god, i'm such an idiot."

you swore to protect yourself against his charms.

every moment you spent with lee heeseung began to slowly feel like an incredible burden. each waking memory you still hold of him had started morphing into something you hoped you'd never live to see. he was no one you should've fallen for. in his world, you were just someone who he smiles at and greets when it's convenient.

you knew you were nothing more than a friend to him. all the times you've comforted him when he was weak, all the moments you've stayed with him when he felt alone and defeated– you knew that he didn't see any of those the way you did. or rather, the way you hoped you didn't see it. he treated you like he did everyone else: he was kind, patient, caring as he'd always been. even at times where you think his eyes hold something different within them, when his hands were too close, too gentle to not mean intimacy, you'd dismiss it all the same.

that's just how he is, and you knew you were mistaken for thinking you were any special.

you told sunghoon and jay about it before, and they seemed supportive of your feelings. it seems that they, too, see the unusual tenderness the eldest has for you. but you, thinking it was all but a delusion, you paid no mind to their observations.

"how would they understand? they're just like him. they're perfect, all of them – and i'm just me."

who could blame you, though? being close friends with such a blameless human being is already a difficult feat.

but heeseung? he was nothing short of perfect, and you knew you couldn't last so long with denial.

violent sobs threatened to break loose from your tightened throat as you walked through the halls, somber fingers erasing any memory of tears still lingering atop your features. the biggest idiot, you were. a great fool to have allowed yourself to fall for him. in painful silence, you continued your way down the dreadful atmosphere of the practice halls.

the silence didn't last for long. there were footsteps, hushed yet languid.

and suddenly– music.

melancholic, powerful, raw. it was coming from the third isle.

with brows raised in query you approached, half hopeful and half hating the fact that it could very much be the one person you so wished to not see at the moment. still, your curiousity led you to the glass doors of the dance room, your witless bravery encouraging you to look further.

and to nobody's glorious surprise, there he was. he always looked perfect, but it took your breath away each time just the same.

holding a still and quiet breath had never felt like such a taxing job until that moment. you could barely move from your cramped position, let alone watch him properly in the dim lit room. a part of you was screaming, furious that you'd still let yourself indulge in such a luxury despite the aching you'd already gotten yourself into. but a bigger part was paralyzed. a bigger part fought– it wanted to do nothing more than to stay and be mesmerized.

you've forgotten how agonizing it was to watch heeseung move the way he does when he's vulnerable. it was as if every inch in his body sang along to the melody of the song, each telling their own parts of his tragic tale.

oh, how you loved how he danced when you were the only one watching. he hit every beat with such precision and delicacy that you couldn't help but stare every time you spectate. he always manages to catch you off guard, every single time.

you spent the rest of the few moments as a faraway audience, watching through a small sliver of the glass door from where you hoped he didn't see you. but just as quickly, that thought wavered off and you're caught in shock as your gaze met his through the mirror, and you could've sworn his eyes glowed when he saw you. no, it couldn't be– it was impossible. maybe you we're just making it all up in your head. and maybe your dismay was just as evident as you thought you'd confirmed it, the heartbeat's worth of crossing glances broken apart as the next verse of the song played.

how pathetic of you, really– to think that someone like him would look forward to seeing you. you were a nobody compared to him, and maybe things were meant to stay that way. but then, just as you were about to turn away, his eyes meet yours once more for a few beats before moving away again. it was tantalizing, how such a small thing was capable of luring you in. it was as if he's saying, 'stay. watch me. i know you're here.'

it would be a lie if you said you didn't want to keep on watching.

the thundering in your chest only doubled as he did it again for the third time, now nearing the end of the song. his porcelain skin glistened as the light reflected upon it, and you felt something within you wrench upon the sight.

there was no denying it anymore. you were in love with lee heeseung, and there was no changing it.

the thought settled into you bitterly, but somewhere along the lines lied hope also.

the atmosphere shook with quiet breathing as the song met it's end, his gaze not leaving the floor beneath him. tearing your own eyes away from his figure, you began to stand up; it was time for you to go. and just as you started walking, you heard that painstakingly familiar voice piercing through again.

"wait," god, you could recognize that voice from miles away.

"stay."

your tracks were brought to an abrupt halt, not yet finding the nerve to turn around and face him. heeseung made it clear in his tone that he was talking to you, but your tremendous idiocy decided to state the obvious nonetheless.

"...me?" you both knew the answer. a few seconds of silence, then a sigh from behind you. those seconds felt like forever.

"look at me." you hated hearing those words, hated having to follow them even more. but you did. you turned around just as he told you to, and there he was by the door, holding it open with the weight of his shoulders. another sigh escaped his lips. you stood there, frozen, waiting for his next words.

"dance with me."

the words rang through you like a riddle; it took every ounce of restraint not to look at him like he was a lunatic. it was a simple request– yet, given how you've been dealing with your emotions, the request took such a toll on your barely comprehending mind. and, as if he understood every question that flooded your system, he went back inside the studio, gesturing you to follow has he did. despite the internal war that seized your entire body, you followed suite.

you stood near the entrance with your head hung low, wishing at that very moment for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. your fingers twiddled with each other in an awkward tangle as you waited for him to speak again. not long after, he finally did.

"remember you did a choreo with me once, the one after auditions?" of course you remembered it, you couldn't get your mind off of it since it happened.

"how could i forget? it was one of my favorite songs." your remark was met with a chuckle, and as if on cue, joji's slow dancing in the dark echoed within the confinements of the practice room. the movements came over to heeseung naturally, and you fought the instinct of it rushing through your own. he seemed to have noticed it, too. next thing you knew, your hands were in his and he's leading you to the middle.

"come on, i know you still remember the moves." he teased, a hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. you couldn't help but chuckle along, shaking your head slightly in feigned embarrassment as you gave into the music and danced along with him. it still felt as intimate and forlorn as before, maybe even more so now. the small, still furious part within you wanted to tear itself apart every time your body met his touch; and as the song came to an end with you in his arms, at that moment, it seemed like the only thing that mattered.

"oh god, are you alright?" he fussed as he saw your reflection on the practice mirror. you barely noticed the tears that came flooding out, the pooling they made on the shirt that you wore. you nodded slightly, looking up to give heeseung a little half-hearted smile. without missing a beat, he wrapped his arms around you, enveloping your frame in a warm embrace. you couldn't tell what was happening, why the tears wouldn't stop, why you still feel horrible after all of it. he broke it off shortly and instead took your face into his cupped palms, tilting your head upwards so he could study your distressed visage.

still, the tears fell. no matter how much effort you'd placed into stopping them, they fell still. heeseung watched you intently, troubled and with worry lingering across his eyes. and as they kept falling still, he leaned in slowly towards where they were falling, and one by one, kissed the teardrops away.

"heeseung, i dont understand..."

"i heard what you said to sunghoon and jay. i was in the other room. i didn't mean to eavesdrop but i thought i heard your voice and... well, yeah."

your felt your heart drop into your stomach, a dry lump now beginning to form in your throat. the last thing you'd have wanted at that moment was for heeseung to know, but as it turns out, it seemed as if your worst fear has manifested in from of you.

you had no other choice now.

you shook your head as you mused a broken laugh, the next few words that came out of your mouth more poisonous to you than it was to him.

"i love you." you shrugged, half expecting him to turn away right as you said those words. "i guess there's no point in denying that now."

heeseung's breath started becoming uneven as his grip around you loosened, and you could almost see you the words as they started to unfold within his frenzied mind. he shook it off with a rather harsh jolt, and you took it as your cue to start leaving. you dismissed it, too, and began stepping away from his hold. it hurt as much as you expected it to.

"i know it's the stupidest thing, god i swear im so sorry, i really didn't mean–"

...oh.

you had no idea how it happened, why he thought of it or what made him do it but a small voice within you told you to savor it, so you did. his lips pressed against yours with a dulcet warmth and you wanted more, more more– you gave him everything at that moment, and he gladly gave you just as much, too. he tasted so sweet and so addicting, better than anything you could've possibly hoped for. and as your own tiers finally parted from his, saturated with the desperate need for air, the ghost of the words you thought you'd never hear from him urged out as he whispered;

"i love you, too. i have since the start."

❁ :: did i really need to hurt myself that much? no. but life isn't fair, janet, now repeat after me: giVE ME REASONS WE SHOULD BE COMPLETE–

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shhhlikeme · 4 years ago

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You know the working daddy captain fanart that you've reblogged recently.. I can't get Kuroo and his son out of my head so may I request a domestic married life au oneshot revolving around that particular fanart - him, his wife and their first kid, a toddler son? Fluffy and romantic, no angst please. If you're up to date with the manga maybe it could be based on post timeskip Kuroo? Thanks a lot!

DILF Day Care With Daddy Kuroo Tetsurō 🤱👼🍼 📆📈

(Fluffville)

‼️ TIMESKIP SPOILERS BELOW ‼️

———————————

“Yeah. Yeah. So that’s what I told Jim in marketing already. To send Bokuto to Tampa to surprise a Japanese little league team there and to send a camera crew with him. Kenma is already putting our ads on his YouTube channel—he told you what?! That he’s not doing it? Well did he say why?! That bratty cat, must have caught him on a bad day. Okay. No, I need this handled TODAY, Greg! Hold on, he will. He’s currently in Italy at some big video game tournament but I’ll stop by his office right now to work it out with his assistant. Just give me thirty minu—“

“Oh no you don’t, Kuroo Tetsuro!”

The wife of the sexiest businessman in the Japanese Volleyball Association Corporation set a cup of French vanilla coffee in front of her talkative husband before stomping her foot. Kuroo quickly covered the speaker part of the phone and gave you a pleading face.

“No!” You repeated. “I am going to Lev and Alisa’s Vogue Magazine cover day-party at their mansion. The babysitter is on vacation. Which means you and only you have to take River to his appointment cross-city.”

Giggling because he understood his own name, almost 2-year-old baby River Tetsurō blew bubbles with his own spit and clapped his tiny hands. Kuroo looked down at the miniature baby he held in his lap as he was on the phone. River looked up at his Daddy and Kuroo’s stomach tightened in return. He quickly said bye to his group call with the interns.

After marrying you 2 years ago, Tetsurō never thought he would love someone as much as he loved you....but he was happily mistaken 9 months after the honeymoon when little River Kuroo popped out.

***

“This is my son?” Kuroo, decked out in a light blue hospital dress—took his baby from the doctors hands. He was the first to hold him. He stared down at his son, already seeing the start of little jet black hairs pressed to his baby’s head.

“Yes.” The nurse grinned, moving Kuroo’s hand so that it was supporting the newborns neck.

Fresh tears sprung out of the ex-middle blocker’s eyes as he shuffled his son to one arm as he moved hastily to hold your hand and show you. He squeezed your hand and the tears kept pouring, showcasing the life you two just created to the wife he loved so much.

“Oh Kuroo....” you whispered drowsily as your eyes filled with tears also. You looked up at your husband in amazement. “He looks just like you.” You whisper to him and then sit up so that you can hold your beloved son yourself.

“Yeah, he does.” Kuroo handed him over to your weak arms, still keeping his hands under yours to support you and the baby. He kissed you on the side of your forehead and wiped your tears. “I love him so much already, Y/N. I love you so much.”

You smiled through your happy tears and leaned your head in to reciprocate Kuroo’s embrace, then leaned down to kiss your baby boy. After a few minutes of admiring him, you handed him back to Kuroo and told him to show the baby to your families and Kenma who were all still waiting in the waiting room. You knew Kenma seemed disinterested to others because he was on his video game, but all who knew him well knew that Kozume was only distracting himself because he was itching to meet his new Godson.

“Okay.” Kuroo whispered into your hair before taking River and planting a kiss on your lips.

***

Returning from his flashback, Kuroo realized that you were in the middle of lecturing him about the balance between work and parenting. He was a phenomenal father and he was there 95% of the time, but he was still a businessman and that meant sometimes he had to work more than he would like to.

Your son started to cry because he didn’t like seeing his mum worked up, so like second nature, Kuroo gave his two index fingers to River to grasp in his tiny hands. That, combined with his dad bouncing him on his the leg (which is exactly what Kuroo was doing) stopped River’s crying in its tracks. River loved holding onto his father’s fingers for some reason, it soothed him. Baby River blew more spit bubbles and giggled.

Kuroo watched you lecturing him, biting his lip because damn was his wife sexy when she was mad. You were all dressed up for this day party in a long black sundress that hugged your curves and as his eyes roamed your figure Kuroo decided that the amazing morning sex you two had earlier suddenly wasn’t enough.

“—Kuroo!! Are you even listening?!”

He returned his eyes back up to yours.

“Uh yes. Listening and undressing you with my eyes. Yep.”

You narrowed your eyes at your man then reached over the expensive island to use River’s bib to clean your son’s snot and spit off his babyface.

You leaned in for a kiss from River and the angel cutely bumped his face against yours, getting saliva all over you. You used his bib to wipe your face too.

“River, honey? Mommy is going to go and have some fun at a party that mommy put on the obvious calendar weeks ago.....the party that she has been excited about going to FOR MONTHS! So, baby boy, your annoying twin will take you to see Dr. Wimble this time because he shouldn’t be working on his days off anyway not to mention he promised, okay my Riv-honey?”

Kuroo deadpanned. “I hate when you speak to our son but you’re really talking to me.”

“Don’t care. I left both your boys’ breakfast is on the stove. And Don’t forget River’s diaper bag!” You stole a sip of your husband’s French vanilla before snatching the car keys and your purse off the island.

Kuroo tried to think about what he was going to do as he continued to bounce his son on his leg, his analytical brain running through dozens of scenarios in a matter of seconds. No matter how he spun it—though, the sexy businessman knew he wouldn’t be without his son today. Looking down at his spiky haired mini-me that looked back up at him with bright, happy eyes, Kuroo realized that—no matter how he spun it—nor would he desire to be without his son today.

“Wait, Y/N! What time is the appointm—“

“—Calendar! Use it!” You yelled dryly before you shut the door and headed to the car Kuroo bought you for Valentine’s Day.

Back inside, Kuroo dragged his son’s high chair next to him at the island and served him the kiddie breakfast you made. Your husband sat beside him, giving River his finger while he drank his coffee and ate his food with one hand. When both boys were done he picked up River and walked over to the calendar.

You were right: it was there. In plain capital permanent marker on today’s date:

It read:

RIVER’S APPOINTMENT - 3:30PM

HAIBA’S VOGUE PARTY - 1PM

DO NOT MAKE PLANS KUROO!

River giggled as if he was making fun of his father and Kuroo looked down at the love of his life. “River, should daddy piss mommy off and erase it so that daddy looks like he was right?”

River stopped giggling and pouted up at his daddy, his tiny lip quivering like he would cry if he did anything to upset mommy.

“Okay okay!” Said Kuroo hurriedly, giving his son his finger again so he’d stop crying. River smiled. “We have 2 and a half hours until your appointment Rivs, which is on the other side of town, and in between is Uncle Kenma’s office. So we will stop there on the way and then the park. Let’s go, son.”

The raven haired baby cheered. “YWAY DA!”

In 30 minutes flat, Kuroo was decked out in an elegant Armani navy blue business suit. He had every colour and material. He collected River’s diaper bag, packed snacks and his baby chest carrier.

Locking up, Kuroo buckled his son in the back of his 2020 Jag, checking thrice if he was safe in his car seat. Then, he clicked the button to play River’s favourite kid show on the car tv and handed him the stuffed cat Hinata got River for Christmas. It was his all time favourite toy.

Once Kuroo parked in front of Kenma’s high-rise office, he strapped on his baby carrier over his Armani suit and placed River in it. The tall and sexy businessman garnerned SO MANY stares as he looked PRIMO SEXY DILF as he locked his car and strutted inside Kenma’s office building with his son, pressing the elevator button. As he waited, he called his best friend who was in Italy. Kuroo held his phone in between his shoulder and cheek before he snapped at his friend.

“Kenma. Do you need me to hop on a plane with River and crash your video game tournament right now?! Because I will.”

There was murmuring on the other line.

Kuroo gasped.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN RIVER CAN COME BUT I CAN’T?!”

River squealed loudly because he heard his name.

“Listen Kozume....... I have the keys to your loft, did you forget? You’ll come home to a mountain of River’s diapers in your game room if you back out now. You can’t just say no because my administrators are calling too much!!”

Baby River smiled cheekily and clapped his adorable hands as he rode the elevator with his daddy all the way up to his godfathers top floor.

That boy had a mother, father, godfather and a long list of pro volleyball player uncle’s who doted on him....

He couldn’t be happier.

————————————

#kuroo tetsurō #kuroo fluff #daddy kuroo #kuroo dad #haikyuu boys #hq headcannons #hq headcanon #haikyu headcanon #haikyuu headcannons #kenma kozume #kuroo x y/n #timeskip kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #haikyuu kenma #hq fluff #haikyuu x reader

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akaluan · 3 years ago

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Erich/Kisuke/Alexis: Soulmate AU + Character in Peril Part 19

((Warning for violence and POV char major injury at the end, but I promise everyone we care about is still alive))

Erich wakes abruptly, hand going immediately to his pistol, and listens—

“Morning, sir,” Degurechaff greets him as she stalks closer, her spiritual presence prickly with exhaustion-annoyance-exasperation as she comes to a stop a bare foot from his head. “I have the troops breaking camp already after a cold breakfast. Here’s yours. Major Schwarz will be along in a moment with theirs.”

Erich grunts and forces himself up, shaking off both Alexis’ and Urahara’s arms in the process and pointedly not thinking about… about anything related to how he was being held. By a Shinigami.

(Not now.)

(Not yet.)

He fumbles for his glasses with one hand while scrubbing the grit from his eyes with the other, then accepts the two mugs from Degurechaff and squints into them. “Trying to poison me, Degurechaff?” he asks dryly as he takes a drink of the lukewarm not-coffee that she’s presented to him, then blinks and frowns into the mug. “I still have no idea how Serebryakov does it, but this isn’t half bad.”

Degurechaff shrugs and says, “I’ve given up trying to figure it out and just enjoy the result.” She takes a step back and settles, arms behind her back and her gaze drifting between the three of them for a moment before she finally seems to make a decision. “Last night was peaceful,” she starts to report. “Watchmen say they didn’t hear or see anything of note, and the couple of scouts I sent out this morning haven’t found any tracks beyond what little of our own were missed in the dark. I sent a team out to erase what evidence they could, and to follow us to continue doing so as we move.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Erich says, mind already turning over plans for the day as he downs the barely appetizing food in the second mug and washes it down with the better-than-usual ersatz coffee.

(Real food is definitely on the list of things he’s looking forward to.)

Schwarz nods a greeting as he approaches them, four mugs held carefully in his hands, and passes them over to both Alexis and Urahara. “Sorry about the food,” he apologizes as Alexis gives the mugs a dubious look. “Not really much I can do about it, ma’am.”

“It’s fine,” she says with a shrug, then quickly downs what he gave her, grimacing at the taste. “Not much you can honestly do about it out here.”

Urahara just wrinkles his nose and stares at the food in disbelief, then casts a sidelong look at Erich and asks, “You’ve been living on this?”

“What other choice do I have?” Erich asks in amusement, then nods at the forest around them and says, “Armies make animals run. We do what we have to.”

Degurechaff makes a slightly amused sound and adds, “Can you imagine any of us trying to hunt for our own food? That lot wouldn’t survive a day if that was a requirement.” She watches him a moment longer, waiting for Urahara to make a move, before huffing in exasperation and saying, “You’ll get used to it after a while. Now eat your food so we can all get moving again.”

Urahara gives her a flat stare at that, then reluctantly lifts the mug to his lips and takes a sip, face scrunching up in disgust. “This is terrible,” he mutters, before tipping it back and quickly swallowing the whole thing. “Yuck,” he declares in Imperial as he hands the mug back to Schwarz, much to the man’s clear amusement.

“Going to drink your coffee?” Erich asks with a tiny smirk, indicating the second mug that Urahara had been handed.

“No,” Urahara declares after giving it a sniff, then offers it to Erich. “You have.”

“You can have it,” Erich repeats absently as he accepts the mug with a shrug. “Thanks.”

“I don’t blame him in the slightest,” Alexis grumbles as she finishes off hers, hands it back, then rises to her feet and begins to pack away the bedroll she’d been using. “I haven’t had real coffee in forever, but this stuff is positively vile.”

Erich snorts and mumbles, “This is better than usual,” before he drains Urahara’s mug without a second’s hesitation; it might not actually have the benefits of real coffee, but he can usually manage to trick himself into thinking it does if he downs enough of it.

(Sometimes, that’s the only thing keeping him going.)

(That and pure stubbornness.)

With a sigh he pushes himself to his feet, hands the mugs back to Schwarz, and sets about helping Alexis clear their little campsite up. There’s no way they can hide that a large group camped in the area, but the more they can muddle the signs the better.

“Let’s get moving,” Erich orders as soon as the area is put back to rights. He pulls on his pack, shoulders his rifle, settles Benihime at his waist, and steps over to Degurechaff as he waits for Alexis and Urahara to finish getting ready as well. “You will let me help you,” he says to Urahara as the man gets closer.

Urahara huffs but nods slightly. “So long as it doesn’t stress you.”

Degurechaff looks between them with narrowed eyes, then scowls when Erich gives a small shake of his head; still, she at least stops looking like she wants to question both of them. “Ready to go, sir?”

“Yes. Let’s get moving before we burn any more daylight,” Erich says, glancing up at the thick canopy overhead; there’s only barely enough light to see by at the moment, but it’s getting lighter with every minute that passes.

Time is wasting.

***

They set out, marching through the forest at a steady, ground-eating pace for the second day in a row.

(This time, he won’t let Urahara exhaust himself.)

(This time he’ll actually pay attention.)

(He swears it.)

For as tiring as the march is, it’s also boring, especially the longer they go without any indication of pursuit. There’s nothing but trees all around them, gigantic trunks rising up into a vast canopy that shades them from the sky, with only the occasional beam of sunlight to indicate that the sun is still out. And the more they march, the more it all stays the same: trees and trees and yet more trees, occasionally broken by rocky areas they need to circle around.

Each time they stop to rest, Erich settles beside Alexis and Urahara and uses the chance to center himself and help Urahara refill his reserves; it’s obvious that even with his help the man is beginning to flag — truthfully, even Alexis is beginning to flag — and that’s… he can’t do anything about that, no matter how much he might wish to.

(Marching is not a skill that anyone but an army needs.)

(And these two have never needed those skills before.)

(It’s only because of their inner strength that they’ve kept up so far.)

There’s little he needs to personally see to in the middle of a march — Degurechaff and Schwarz are some of the best officers a General could wish for — which unfortunately means that he has plenty of time to stew in his worries.

With every kilometer they cross, they come closer to Rerugen lands — to Quincy lands — and to the confrontation that he just knows is going to happen. The border guards won’t dare to confront them, not an entire Living World army marching directly at them, but they will send word ahead. Word that will mean that there will be a ‘welcoming’ party waiting for them. Word that will mean everyone on high alert.

(Word that will mean a confrontation as soon as they spot Urahara.)

(He’s leading danger right to their doorstep.)

(Not just the Republic’s army, but a Reaper as well—!)

A stir in the line drags Erich’s thoughts from their circling, and he quickly brings a hand up to signal a halt.

(Have they been spotted?)

(Have they been caught?!)

Degurechaff leaves her men and hurries to his side, her gaze hard as she glances back. “This doesn’t bode well,” she murmurs as soon as she draws even with him.

“Everything was going a bit too well, wasn’t it?” Erich can’t help but ask, before wincing internally at how exhausted he sounds.

Degurechaff huffs in agreement, and Erich fights back a grimace at the way Alexis and Urahara give them concerned looks and then exchange worried glances; while it’s nice that his two soulmates are agreeing on something, he really wishes it was anything but concern for him.

(He’s fine.)

(He doesn’t need their concern.)

(He just… he just needs some time to rest is all.)

A scout hurries towards them with Schwarz at his side, his mouth a thin slash and his presence bleeding concern-worry-despair into the air. “There’s a hamlet burning just to the north of us,” he reports as soon as he reaches Erich and Degurechaff. “My team didn’t spot whoever did it, but it looks recent.”

Degurechaff grimaces and looks up at him. “We should check it out, sir. If it’s the Republic…”

“Then they’re closer than we anticipated,” Erich agrees, then casts a glance at his exhausted men. He’d prefer to do anything but confront the Republic so close to Rerugen lands — so close to safety — but they can’t just leave it to chance. There’s also the possibility that it’s a feint meant to draw his men out into the open, but…

He can’t just leave it be.

“Colonel Degurechaff, gather a squad of your men and meet me back here in ten. We’re going to investigate,” Erich decides, then fixes Schwarz with a look when the man stiffens in realization. “Get me a small squad that’s up for a swift sweep of the area.”

“Sir,” Schwarz grits out, a wealth of meaning in the single word.

“You and Major Weiss will be in command here,” Erich says before Schawrz can protest further. “Be ready to get the men moving, but don’t waste your time trying for a rescue if things go wrong and we’re outnumbered.”

Schwarz’s lips thin, but he nods and turns away, striding down the line with his shoulders straight and his back stiff.

“Erich—”

Erich holds up a hand, cutting off Alexis’ attempt to speak, and says, “No. I need to see to this. If something happens, get the men settled in Rerugen lands and then send some of our people out—”

“I’m going with you,” Urahara declares firmly, something dark-stubborn-vicious about him that sends a shiver down Erich’s spine. “You are not my superior,” Urahara adds before Erich can try to reason with him. “And I don’t have anything else to do. You and Degurechaff-san are the only two who speak my language.” He pauses, hesitates a moment, then bows his head and whispers, “Please, I just found you. Don’t… don’t make me stand aside while you throw yourself into danger.”

Erich swallows, mind whirling as he tries to come up with something, anything, to get Urahara to stay behind, but— but he can’t. Not in the face of Urahara’s obvious distress. Not when he knows how capable Urahara is—

“You will stay at his side at all times,” Degurechaff orders, making Erich twitch at the suddenness of her arrival. “If you come with us, you will do everything in your power to keep General Rerugen safe. Understand?”

“Yes, of course,” Urahara answers as he straightens up and squares his shoulders. “I won’t let anything happen to him, I swear.”

Erich grits his teeth and spits, “I do not need watching,” before turns away and takes a breath, trying to pull his fury under control; he knows what Degurechaff is doing and he even understands it — if it was one of his superiors declaring they were going into a hostile situation with only a small squad, he’d leverage their soulmate’s presence as well — but that doesn’t mean he likes it.

(He doesn’t need to be babysat!)

Luckily, he can see Schwarz returning with the squad he requested, which means he can just… ignore the whole thing — especially Urahara’s watchful-wary-uncertain expression — and move on.

(Urahara will follow him no matter what.)

(Better to just save his energy for a fight he can win.)

Erich shrugs off his pack and hands it to Schwarz as the man reaches them, then hesitates, hand over Benihime’s hilt, and slowly forces himself to release the blade from his side. “Since I can’t make you stay behind,” Erich murmurs as he offers the blade back to Urahara.

“Thank you,” Urahara whispers, voice choked with something that Erich doesn’t want to understand, doesn’t want to face, because— because no one should be so damn thankful to be handed back their own weapon before heading into danger.

So instead of acknowledging it, he turns away. Shoves his tangled sorrow-frustration-fury deep into his soul and buries it beneath his mission mindset.

(If he ever meets the people who engraved such lessons into his soulmate’s mind—)

(Well, it certainly won’t be a very polite meeting.)

“Lead the way,” Erich orders the scout as he gestures sharply for Degurechaff and the others to fall in.

“Yes, sir,” the scout replies with a quick, sloppy salute, then turns and heads off into the forest.

Erich follows the scout through the trees, trying to place exactly where they are on his mental map; it is a bit further into Imperial territory than he expected the Republic to have already ventured, but if it’s a squad of mages…

(No.)

(Don’t assume.)

Urahara stays at Erich’s side as they hurry on, the connection between them humming with resolve-focus-determination as they fall into harmony, both of them preparing for a fight at the end of the march.

(Maybe this wasn’t a mistake.)

(Maybe they’ll be able to win.)

The scout waves them to a stop and gestures Erich forward: they’ve reached a small break in the trees, leading down into a shallow valley, and the air is thick with the scent of smoke.

Erich scans the area with a frown, disturbed by the lack of visible enemies, though there does seem to be some movement down in the hamlet itself. “Anything?” he asks Degurechaff as she joins him.

“Nothing,” she confirms with a scowl. “I don’t sense any magic emanation, either. If the Republic is here, they’re hiding in the village itself.”

“I don’t like this,” Urahara murmurs as he steps a bit closer to Erich’s side, body loose and prepared for combat. “It’s sloppy,” he adds as he tips his chin towards one edge of the village, where only a few scattered houses are on fire. “I’ve seen how your people work, and if your enemies act similarly, this seems…”

“This is someone looting,” Degurechaff breathes in horrified realization, then spins back towards their squads and barks, “Senses sharp and weapons up! This isn’t the Republic, this is—”

Degurechaff yelps as Urahara darts in and shoves, sending her toppling to the ground, and Erich stiffens. Draws his pistol and turns—

Bark explodes from the tree behind Degurechaff. A gunshot cracks. Voices rise from the trees to their left, figures in familiar uniform darting towards them—

“Shit,” Degurechaff spits, scrambling to her feet. “Go, go, go! Ignore their uniforms and fight!”

Urahara launches himself forward, blade drawn and expression grim, and takes out a fake Imperial soldier with a single blow.

Erich ducks behind a tree. Levels his pistol and cracks off a shot. Switches aim to another. Fires again. Switches. Fires. Again. Again. Ducks away to another tree, mind blank and hands steady and aim focused. Cracks off another shot. Another. Reloads and darts a look—

The enemy is charging them. Knives and bayonets and blades and everything but guns but that makes no sense, why would they charge, why not keep firing, why give up their advantage—

His soldiers are good. Degurechaff is good. Urahara is good. Charging makes no sense—

“Bastard!” a voice to his left spits. “Officer over here! Take him down!”

Erich jerks his attention towards the newcomer. Swings himself around, pistol firing, but it’s too late, the man is too close, face contorted in fury and knife poised and Erich twists aside, praying it’s enough, praying he can escape—

Pain!

He stumbles, pistol falling from nerveless hands as the man staggers against his side and then collapses, the knife skittering across his ribs and then down, a line of vicious ice that ends when it jars against his hip and tumbles free.

He staggers back. Presses a hand to his side. Swallows a cry as ice becomes fire, wild-furious-consuming, and tries to think, tries to gather himself—

Strong-warm-steady hands grasp him. Tug him against a broad chest. Words in his ear that he can’t parse, should be able to, can’t—

Power crashes down, hate-rage-fury, and it’s like drowning, air stripped from his lungs and body unresponsive and darkness with no light, no direction, no hope— he scrabbles for air, for freedom, claws at whatever has him, every motion like wading through magma but he needs to escape, needs to get away, to get safe—

More words in his ear. A hand against his chest. Power sinking beneath his skin.

It’s cold. Cold enough to burn, cold enough to freeze, except it feels good. Feels safe. Feels like trust-home-loyalty.

Feels like a promise.

Erich slumps. Gasps for breath.

Surrenders.

#soulmate au #next segment is basically done and will go up tomorrow #I promise #i've been waiting to do THIS for... basically since about segment 7 or so #something like that #anyway it's fine!#everyone that we care about is fine i promise XD #cw injury

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ladyeliot · 4 years ago

Photo

Atoms.

Request: Anonymous: Heyy! Can you do a fluffy something like childhood friends>friends to lovers with Tony Stark? Thanks so much! And happy valentine's day!

Pairing: Teen!Tony Stark x Teen!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Tony have been friends for as long as you can remember, but sometimes the line between friendship and love is a fine one.

Warnings: Fluff / Childhood

Word count: 3359

A/N: Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

Valentine’s Day (Prompts)

In all friendships there is a fine line that separates love from simple friendship, in fact, on many occasions we cut that fine line without realising it. We come to think that things just happen, that there is nothing we can do to change the cycle of life, that everything is programmed and that those who are meant to be together, will be together.

It all began on a cloudy Friday, May 29, 1970. In a small town on the east side of Long Island, two new mothers were struggling fiercely to bring a baby into the world. The night had been long, a storm had left the town without electricity, a fact that had not hindered the delivery, but that had increased the nerves of these parents. After hours of suffering, screams and internal curses, at 6:29 pm two babies were able to see the world with their own eyes for the first time. At that very moment an invisible thread connected the two of them, so that it was at that very moment that they were brought together in the maternity ward and never to be separated again.

Childhood is the time when you can create the best memories that will stay with you for the rest of your life. Yours was shared with Tony, so he was present in virtually all of your memories. The fact that your mothers created a true friendship after the birth facilitated the deep connection you found on both sides. From birth you were never separated, you learned to discover the world together, you entered the first day of school together and you graduated together.

It was obvious that you had great things in common, but your characters were completely different, maybe that's what made you two work so well together, what limited one of you, the other one could overcome. When your fear prevented you from daring to do something, Tony was by your side to help you overcome it. In the same way, when Tony felt insecure about himself, you were there to erase all his insecurities from his mind. You both evolved and improved each other.

Your childhood helped you understand the importance of having each other, the value of your friendship, even if there were little bumps in the road. Tony was your first time at all times, he was the one you did your first prank with, the one you took your first swim in the pool with, the one you learned to ride a bike with, the one you shared your Halloween candy with, the one you celebrated your birthdays with, Tony was everything, he was even your first kiss.

It was 1978, innocence was still within you, causing you to see the world with eyes that were still unaware of the vast majority of things that lay before you. Laughter was coming through the wooden windows of your tree house. You were lying on a rug looking at a photo album that your mother had lent you, with some pictures of you and Tony from when you were practically babies.

"Look at you here," you said with a chuckle, looking back at the picture of two-year-old Tony crying next to you. "You're crying in all the pictures."

Tony bumped his shoulder against yours in complaint and turned the page.

"Why is it that in all the pictures of your parents alone they're kissing?" he asked quizzically, not quite understanding the act.

"I guess it's because they love each other," you said without making a big deal out of the gesture, as you were more than used to seeing them kissing in front of you.

"My parents love each other too and they don't kiss," Tony commented turning the page.

You shrugged, turning your attention back to the photo album. But Tony still had the idea in the back of his mind.

"Do your parents kiss every day?" he asked, sitting up.

"Hm..." you looked thoughtful at his question and also sat up. "Yes, whenever mum or dad comes home or leaves, or when we go to sleep..."

"Wow!" exclaimed Tony totally shocked by your words. "And... they like it?"

"I guess..." you shrugged holding up your palm. "Why else would they do it?"

"Makes sense," Tony nodded, processing the information. "Maybe my parents don't like it, that's why they don't."

That was the first time the two of you had broached that topic of conversation, Tony seemed more curious than you, as you had already gone back to further contemplating the photographs.

"Will we like it?" he asked, catching your attention again.

"I don't know," you said with a shrug.

" Should we try it?" asked your best friend cheerfully, expecting an affirmative answer from you.

"You and me?" you asked unreceptive to the idea Tony had just proposed.

"Yeah, why not, we love each other, that's all we need, you said it," he smiled brimming with innocence.

"I don't know..." you frowned thoughtfully, not sure if it was quite right what he was proposing. "What if we don't like it?"

"I guess it's okay," Tony stood up and grabbed your hand to pull you up.

"Wait, how do we do this?" you asked nervously, looking into his eyes.

"You just close your eyes," he informed. "I'll take care of the rest."

"Okay." You couldn't help but let out a small nervous laugh, which prompted another one from Tony.

"Okay, close your eyes," he said again. "When I kiss you, mentally count to five."

You finally agreed to comply with the guidelines offered by your best friend. There you were, standing in the middle of that cabin, wearing a yellow strapless dress with your eyes closed, waiting for your best friend to approach you and give you your first kiss. After closing your eyes, Tony took three seconds to approach you, put his lips against yours and you mentally counted to five. The sensation was strange, very particular, you didn't know enough words at that time to express it and you didn't know much about feelings and love, so you couldn't stand the five seconds he proposed and after the third one you broke away, wiping your lips vigorously with your hand.

"It's awful!" you exclaimed looking at your friend. "I don't understand my parents!"

Tony seemed surprised at your reaction, but quickly joined in your disgust, falsely, as he hadn't found the experience so terrible.

And he was also the second kiss.

It was the summer of 1984, two friends on bicycles riding through the wooded area that separated your houses from the lake, laughing, struggling to find out who would get there first, but a pothole appeared in the road and a badly positioned stone caused your front wheel to lose its balance, overturning your bicycle. Tony behind you, instantly slowed down with a look of concern on his face, contemplating Tony behind you, brakes instantly with a look of concern on his face, staring at your bloodied knee.

"Are you okay?" asks your best friend with a tone of concern in his voice rushing towards you.

Without responding you stand up, trying to recover from your fall and discovering the pain as your leg hits the ground, Tony is already kneeling down, analysing the scrape you've made on your knee.

"Come lean on me," he drapes your right arm across his shoulders. "Come on under that tree, I'll clean your wound."

After positioning yourself comfortably in the shade of the oak tree, Tony runs back to his bike to get the canteen.

"Don't worry," you squeaked from a distance, playing it down. "I'm fine."

"Are you going to stop your stubbornness and let me clean the wound?" Tony arched an eyebrow which elicited a chuckle from you. "Thanks."

As the water poured over your wound you felt a stinging prickle, which was relieved when you wrapped your hand tightly around Tony's arm.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed as he felt your strength in his arm.

"Ouch me!" you groaned at his complaint, generating a chuckle from your friend's mouth.

"Okay, that's it," he said, closing the canteen. "You know you're the poster child for Newton's three laws? The law of inertia, the fundamental law of dynamics and the principle of action and reaction."

"And you are the clearest example of the idiot's law," you said with a laugh, for I had just called you clumsy in a clever way.

"Of course!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around you. "But I'm your idiot."

That was one of those moments when Tony would crush you against him and start giving you quick kisses all over your face just because he knew how much that annoyed you, but it made you laugh at the same time.

"Tony!" you exclaimed with laughter, trying to run away from him.

Coincidences can happen, but you never knew if it was a real coincidence due to the fast movements of both of you or if there was really an intention behind it, but Tony kissed your lips, pausing a little longer than usual. You, thinking it was unintentional, kept pushing him and your eyes widened in laughter.

"Whoa! Sorry," he said quickly. "Law of inertia, not my fault."

You laughed and gave him another shove, leaving what had just happened forgotten in your mind.

And the third.

It happened when you were in eleventh grade, Tony had always been a very joking child and sometimes his innocence did not allow him to realise the level of his jokes or how they were going to affect the people who made them. He had discovered early on that one thing he loved most was making you laugh, so day after day he would try anything to get a laugh out of you. That ranged from pretending to trip, to throwing his spaghetti at the first person he passed in the school cafeteria.

Eventually his personality caught people's attention, let's say the law of attraction was in his persona and that became present by high school, so if you connect his joking side with the attractive side it creates a bomb.

For you that discovery came a little late, too late, at least that's what you thought at that moment when you saw him connecting intimately with a girl in a higher grade than you. You hated yourself for having been so blind for so long, for not having realised it before and also for having that kind of feeling towards your best, because they could destroy everything you had created for so many years, practically since you were born. You told yourself that it was stupid, that it was probably just a passing thought and that you would soon forget about it, that it would be better not to give it any importance. But it wasn't.

You decided that one of the best ways to let off steam would be to write down how you felt, to write down every thought that came into your head and let it go forever. It would have been the best way in the world if you hadn't confused that notebook with your physics notebook, put it in your backpack and forgotten your backpack at Tony's house when you decided to go to the movies instead of studying that afternoon.

It was too late when you discovered the event, you were about to free your mind when you picked up the blue notebook and discovered that it was the physics notebook, therefore the notebook where you were exploring your thoughts would be....

"Tony!" you exclaimed into the earpiece.

"What's up, it's 12 o'clock at night?" his sleepy voice could be heard on the other end of the receiver.

"Do you know... I don't know, did I by any chance leave my backpack with my books in it at your place?" you asked, praying that I hadn't been gossiping in it.

"Your backpack? Let me go," he asked and a small knock was heard from the other side causing a minute's silence. "Yeah, it's in my room."

"Okay..." you said in a whisper. "Uh..."

"Do you need it now?" he asked somewhat strangely. "Don't you have your homework done? If you want I can finish it in a moment."

"No, no, no!" you exclaimed quickly. "It's all good, all done, don't worry, everything's great."

"Okay," he said dismissively. "Then tomorrow when I come to pick you up I'll bring it to you."

"Yeah, great, yeah," your nervousness increased, you wanted to tell him not to look inside, but you knew that by telling him he would probably end up doing it, so you preferred not to say anything else and let whatever happened happen happen.

The next morning Tony turned up as usual, with a smile on his face, chatty, funny and you knew that nothing had happened and nothing had changed, in short, a big weight was lifted off your shoulders.

"Shall we go to physics class? Mr. Gilbert will be looking forward to my dissertation on atoms and the origin of the Big Bang," he said closing his locker. "I think you'll like it too."

"You go ahead," you said, waiting for him to leave to exchange notebooks. "I'll catch up with you."

"Alright."

You waited for him to disappear into the crowd to make the exchange, but first you glanced around checking for any sign that someone had read it, however....

"In the first seconds after the Big Bang, the density and warmth of the universe barely allowed life to generate. As the universe cooled, the matter we are made of began to appear: quarks and electrons, which gave way to protons and neutrons, and then nuclei. As it expanded, things began to happen more slowly, until electrons became trapped in orbits to form the first atoms. Those atoms gave way to stars and galaxies, which uniformly gave way to life, to you and me. So you see, you just have to let the universe do its work, because you and I are those atoms that came together hundreds of millions of years ago and were created to be together."

A structural blockage was happening inside you at that moment, you read that paragraph over and over and over again, until there was hardly anyone left around you. Your heart was pounding fervently, causing sweat to break out all over your body. Your sanity was gone, you didn't know what to do, where to go, or how to act, you just wanted to escape. When your physical block passed, you gathered all your belongings from your locker and headed outside, trying to get some air back into your lungs. The only thing that was going through your mind was that your best friend had read those fifty-seven pages you had written for the moment, where you expressed, without any caution, everything that was going through your mind about him, accentuating your romantic feelings.

You wanted to disappear at that very moment, to go into a burrow or a bunker and stay there until it was all over. Your heart was pounding in your chest, you were walking aimlessly, but as far away from that building as possible. How could you not have noticed anything about Tony to let you know that he had read it? You were so distressed that you barely analysed what he had written to you, where he also expressed his feelings in his own particular way. You finally found an escape at the bus stop, wishing for a bus to go somewhere far away as soon as possible.

Every word that came out of you was a curse, at you of course. Reminding you what an idiot you had been, that you had ruined the best thing you had, that you couldn't have been more stupid, and hundreds of negative things that prevented you from getting out of that black bubble you had created for yourself, but as always he had to appear to make you see reason.

"Y/N!" Tony's voice was heard behind you. "What are you doing?"

Your eyes closed and you prayed it wasn't true what you were hearing, but it was too late, you had to face the truth.

"Hey!" Tony stepped up beside you. "If we were going to make up from physics class you could have at least given me a heads up. I looked like an idiot when I saw you through the window walking out of school." You looked away, didn't say anything. "What's wrong with you?"

It was bad enough what you were going through without having to put up with Tony's attitude, who showed his indifference as if nothing had happened, a fact that pissed you off even more.

"No! What the hell is wrong with you?" you said angrily. "Why did you read my diary? Who the hell gave you permission?"

"Okay, fine. I did," he began, relaxing the tone of his voice and avoiding not smiling, because he knew it might make you even angrier. "But for my defence I promise you it was after I spoke to you on the phone, I saw you so nervous I thought you lied to me when you said you had your homework done, so I checked, and I must say I couldn't stop reading when I started. I know! I should have stopped, it's something very intimate and personal, but... I just couldn't," he paused. "And I don't regret it."

After hearing his last words you opened your eyes in surprise and shook your head indignantly for having heard him say that he did not regret doing it.

"No regrets?" you folded your arms, stopping the tears of anger that had welled up in your eyes from sliding down your cheek.

"No," Tony said firmly. "And I never will."

"This is insane," you shook your head turning away.

"Listen," Tony interjected, grabbing your arm and pulling you back to face him. "Have you stopped to think about what I've written or are you just focused on the fact that I've read your diary?" he asked searching your gaze. "Better yet, is it true? Is everything you've written in there true? Do you feel that way? Are you... in love with me?"

"Oh my god..." shame had taken over your anger and all you wanted to do was run away from there, but Tony's hand around your right arm prevented you from doing so.

"Please, just answer me," he begged.

"I..." you looked around avoiding answering that question, focused on your world and your feelings. "I don't know."

" Well, that's good enough for me."

That "I don't know" was enough for Tony, because he discovered that there was a "yes" hidden in them, therefore he didn't hesitate to approach your face and do what he had been wanting to do for so long, kiss you. His words were true when he said that he didn't regret it and he was never going to do it because probably if it hadn't been for his intention to do your homework, he would never have read that diary and neither of you would probably ever have told the other how you really felt, because you were afraid of breaking what had been created from the moment you were born.

As I said at the beginning, the fine line that separates love from friendship sometimes gets cut without us realising it, and when we do realise it, we think it's too late or that maybe it would be better not to take the risk, because things could turn around and change for the worse, but who says they can't get better? That love can't triumph?

Taglist Open (DM)

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noncombativednd · 3 years ago

Text

What Does a good D&D game.. look like?

“Those Lost Shall Not Be Forgotten” is what the flag says. That’s the Flag to the city of New Hope. It’s written in Infernal, and it’s about the previous city “Last Hope” that was destroyed by a powerful ritual that wasn’t stopped in time. Last Hope was the only Tiefling run city and when it was destroyed, the survivors were kicked off their “borrowed” Elven lands and forced to create a new city on new lands.

The flames and the colors on the “compass“ represent the 8 major families and the common colors of their houses. Those families are suppose to be direct bloodlines from powerful devils who’s powers they used to help keep the city in control. Those houses where not spared from the powerful ritual that destroyed most of the old city; and new young upstarts to these houses are starting to learn the powers their bloodline has, as they struggle to built up a whole new city on foreign lands.

Now here’s the kicker. That’s not Lore. That was the GAME. What started up as a joke with all three of us saying “Ha! Let’s all just play Tieflings! Oh, they have high Charisma? Why not make them all part of a traveling Band!” turned into a powerful story about a tiny nation struggling to survive against those who would rather see it destroyed; with us, the players, at the center of it. Each of us started as just children of the leaders of a powerful Tiefling house, but due to our own incompetence and inability to see the real threat.. We went from wanting to run away from home.. to being 3 of the 8 council members of the only Tiefling Nation! We would die to keep this nation afloat.

We would not forget those the died that day.

Now I’m not saying a game is only good if your players decide to make a fricken flag! Or even (and yes we DID do this,too) write a song to inspire the survivors of a tragedy... but it goes to show how engaged with the game we were by the fact that we did all this because we cared. We were invested! Now, how did we do this? How did we get so invested in the game we were taking time out of our life to slap together flags, songs, and business plans for our game? I’ll tell you how. We, the players, helped create everything.

The DM didn’t write a whole lore dump we had to create our characters against, she worked with us on the spot to write up the whole things about Us, our powerful bloodline families, and what it meant for us, why the city was the way it was. We, the players, were creating it; she just helped glue all the pieces together so it all made sense. It wasn’t just that though. Last Hope, the old city. We started there!

That’s right, we started level 1 in Last Hope. We were kids of the powerful adults, just starting to grow up enough to want to get the hell out of that city and out of the shadows of our parents we didn’t like. We wanted to, but.. then we heard rumors. That whole Ritual? We are the ones that failed to stop it in time. We were distracted, we were misunderstood, and not trusted. One of our parents died and we couldn’t figure out if the Half-Elf that told us that something worse would go down meant “assassinate all the powerful families” at the funeral, or “do some strange ritual” at the park that would damage the city. We split up, and failed to think that the ritual itself was what would kill our parents, our people, our... city. Half the city was erased from the world in a moment. Then the game kept going.

See, this was why it was so good. Everything was just part of the game. Our rolls, our choices, our story. We decided to get boats, and take all the survivors away when the Elves, who’s “land” the city was built on, decided that the giant explosion was our fault. Fuck em! We’d rebuild the city elsewhere, and we’d use the help of their enemies, a Dragon/Dragonborn empire. We took whatever we could and found a new island that wasn’t on the charts. There, we started to rebuild. More rolls, using an updated kingdom system to build a city, setting up defense armies using an updated army warfare system, and setting up a council of the 8 houses that made up the strongest and.. well richest of the Tieflings choose what resources would be spent on what. Our rolls, our choices, our story. The DM had never planned on this, she just.. changed things after every roll.

Now if not obvious enough, there was plenty of combat. We fought to stop the ritual, as my character who is affectionately called “En”, the fighter of the group, was knocked out in the fight, only to be woken up by Chant, the bard of our group, that had finished the fight, but too late to stop the ritual. Monsters poured out of the portal, and our parents arrived in time to tell us to help evacuate the city. Beaten, but not broken, we decided to do just that. As we fought monsters to buy time for the citizens to get to safety, En lost consciousness again as she once again jumped in the way of the blow targeting another, and was impaled by it’s horns. Tresse, the sorceress of the group, was able to finish off the monster, but En was in no shape to wake up anymore. En would have to be told what the explosion that left a giant crater in the city looked like.

En would have to be told what she had failed to stop.

The combat was just the backdrop, though. Our decision to not leave the city, our decision to investigate our cities problems, our decision to try and stop a dangerous ritual on our own; That was the story. It all added up to our story, where we now are trying to help our flegling new city grow and thrive on a large island that we found out once was home to a large empire once before. Nothing was prewritten problems, nothing was just about one player’s character, nothing was about our long elaborate backgrounds, and nothing was about the NPCs. It was all about us.

So when I talk about the game, I talk about what we all did together at the table. Not our character’s backgrounds. Not the grand lore of the world. Not just one small moment in the battle where ZOMG I Crit. No, the game was good because the DM let the players help guide the story. She took our ideas and built on them, not around them. It still ongoing, too. We had to take a break, but we’re in the middle of a tense situation as we later found the “old” empire actually still existed on the island. They had their own “magical” problems hundreds of years ago, and they had finally recovered enough to try and reclaim their old lands... our lands. Needless to say, we are not giving them up. We’ve learned what horrible things they did that killed off their own people, and we’re not letting them get back that horrible power. We will not let a tragedy like that happen again. We will not lose hope again.

We will not lose our city again.

TLDR; The DM of the game asked me to add this. At the end of the day, this is the player's game. They improvise and deliver lines for the main cast of characters, decide who they are, where they go, and what they do. They make up a majority of the game even! The campaign doesn't belong to the DM, though their job is important. They still have to manage background characters, keeping the pacing right, throw problems at the players, but the editor doesn't write the book, the authors do. The Players are the Author, the DM is the Editor.

#D&D #DnD #Dungeons and Dragons #5e #ttrpg #ttrpgs #Those lost shall not be forgotten #Are you? Are you? Fleeing this city? They murdered our own in a great conspiracy.#Strange things did happen here but not stranger would it be #If we fought for our own in Last Hope our city.

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ilguna · 4 years ago

Text

Anteric - Chapter Eight (f.o)

summary: secrets have more worth than you gave them credit for.

warnings; swearing, blackmail, mention of underage drinking, BURIED ALIVE IN DETAIL, GORE, DEATH, SPIDERS, mild CLAUSTROPHOBIA

wc; 14.1k

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

–

The hallway’s silence is deafening, filled with only your breaths. Bodies are lined up against the wall on each side, all sitting. Across from you are the Dauntless-born initiates, and on both of your sides are your fellow transfers. The person that stares at you through the darkness is Blaire, who twists the end of his shirt around his finger, stretching it and leaving wrinkles.

He’s obviously distracted, eyes not seeing you, but the space beyond it. It’s the exact same look that a few others have. It’s gone quickly, though, all with a simple accidental bump from Nestor. A smile spreads across Blaire’s face, eyes immediately going to his friend to give a gentle push back, ultimately starting a shoving match.

Down the line, from left to right, is Sydney, Nestor, Blaire and Ameer. As for Mirza, Horace, Cass and Lennox, they’ve already been called into the room with Laurel. She takes each of you one by one, in no particular order. You originally thought it was alphabetical, the theory was gone as quickly as it came when she called Thyme first. Her last name is Tattrie.

To your left is Trink, she twirls a strand of her blonde hair around her finger, laughing at Blaire and Nestor. To your right is Finnick, with Eytelle on the very end. There’s a large gap between you and Finnick, and that’s because Allio and Thyme were there before they were called in.

For the first stage of initiation, your two groups were ranked separately. The real challenge begins here, now that you’ve been combined. You had started with eighteen, but with four being cut in the last stage, there are now fourteen. On the way here, Laurel told you not to stress out, no one will be getting cut this time around. The next stage, the final stage, is when all final decisions will be made. This is just the preparation.

You watch as Nestor bounces against Sydney too hard, sending her to the side. Her hand slaps against the ground, stopping her from hitting the floor. Instantly, her hair flies out of her face as she glares at the back of Nestor’s head, “Can the two of you stop it?”

Blaire is laughing too loudly, causing Nestor not to hear. He knocks into Sydney, she doesn’t waste time making her point known. She shoves Nestor from behind, sending him flying into Blaire.

You crack a smile, watching as the two boys then go to gang up on her. In no time, the hallway is filled with screeching giggles, kicking to get them off. For a moment, Blaire turns his attention to you, eyebrows and hands raised as a challenge. If he even dares...

You back away from him, sitting flush against the wall, “Unlike Sydney, I’ll aim for the face.”

Trink lets out a noise that’s closest to a laugh, “Oh! That’s true, and she’s brutal.”

No one responds to what she says immediately, until Ameer is leaning forward, barely coming out of the shadows and into the soft blue light, “Brutal?” he challenges, “What did you rank, again?”

Sydney and Nestor are beginning to relax now, interested in the conversation that’s about to be had. You accidentally catch a glimpse of their hands intertwining, and end up forcing yourself to look at Ameer for a distraction. You can already feel the judgement rolling back on. After what happened during breakfast, you’re not sure if you want your friends to catch on again.

In Abnegation, relationships happen, obviously, but they are not physical and out in the open like this. They are supposed to be private and to keep others from feeling uncomfortable. Your parents had been married for years and there’s not a single time you can recall them kissing. Hugging, maybe, but all the intimate movements would have to be saved for private.

This is different, new and something you have to overcome before it’s recognized as a weakness by others.

Your eyes lock with Ameer, “Second.”

Something flashes across his face, disbelief, you think it is, “How many wins did you have?”

“Two.”

The doubt is settling in, you can tell by the way he squints his eyes, mouth puckering as he watches you carefully, “Who was first?”

“Allio, he had three wins.” your hands find each other, fingers intertwining. He’s going to come to the same exact realization that the rest of you did. That there is foul play and you are undeserving of your title.

Ameer’s eyes break contact with yours to find Finnick. His head is tilted in your direction, listening in on the conversation like he’s anticipating his turn to be the topic. But he doesn’t say anything, only waits patiently.

“I thought Finnick was leading?” Ameer asks, eyebrows drawing in.

“Not anymore,” your words are crisp, “He’s third, with three wins.”

There it is, the questioning look from Ameer. He doesn’t have to tell you that it doesn’t make sense, you’re already nodding. You know, Finnick knows, everyone else in your group knows. There is nothing you can do about it, not that you would want to anyway.

“I’m brutal,” you give him a smile, like that statement alone is enough to erase his questions. You won’t leave him hanging, it’s hard not to brag with the next sentence, “Who do you think did that to his face?”

Ameer doesn’t respond at first.

Since yesterday, you’ve decided that you shouldn’t let the others know that you’re semi-friendly with Finnick. On the off-chance that they let Thyme know, or she somehow finds out, you’ll automatically be fucked. However, it doesn’t matter that much, anyway. You were stopped in your tracks when you realized that this is the fastest that Finnick has ever turned around. It’s a red flag.

And it could be because of a number of things you’ve said to him. It could be because you’ve known each other since forever, since you were infants. To him, you are the last thing he has from home. He is almost the same to you, except you have someone to fill that gap of homesickness.

His name does not start with an F.

What you know for sure, is that you don’t want to head into things blindly regarding Finnick, not with Thyme around.

Ameer glances at Finnick again, the gears turning in his head. You watch his eyebrows raise slightly, “You have to be kidding. Finnick’s like a whole foot taller than you.”

You cross your arms instead, it feels more natural this way, “So?”

“So,” he mocks your tone, “You couldn’t possibly reach up that far, right?”

There’s a few things wrong with what Ameer is saying, and the first thing is that Finnick is not a whole foot taller than you. You and Finnick have got distance, but it is a much easier gap to close than what Amos had against Eytelle. The second, is that he’s suggesting that you’re not good enough. And you’re not sure if he wants to head down that path with you.

You can feel your face darken, teeth pressing into each other, “Would you like to test that theory?”

Ameer opens his mouth, going to speak, but nothing comes out. He closes his mouth, shakes his head, and falls back against the wall like he’s trying to escape the door he had just opened.

It’s too bad for him, because you still have more to say, “I’m not sure if you’re one to talk, anyway.” you lift your head back up, eyebrows in, “If I remember right, you placed fifth. Which is kinda embarrassing, considering you’re the son of one of the leaders.”

His eyes narrow, mind changing again, “At least we know I didn’t cheat.”

You smile, “Ameer if it’s a fight that you’re looking for, all you have to do is ask.”

He stares at you, jaw clenching and unclenching. It’s pretty obvious to you that whatever minor friendship that had been forming between the two of you, is now gone. Which means that you can probably go ahead and assume that Mirza is off the table too.

It’s a shame because Ameer isn’t all that bad to be around, but the timing of all of this is wrong. You’ve been walked on too many times in the past couple of days and it’s starting to get irritating. You’re not about to bite your tongue with him, especially since you don’t know him all that well, anyway.

In the end, this could all be reversed, you’re sure. A little spout like this won’t stick in Dauntless. Not when initiation ends and all of you have met the end of the tunnel. It’ll be like water under the bridge, a memory you can laugh at.

The door at the end of the hallway opens, making you all look over. Laurel is the one standing in the doorway, leaned up against the frame, “(Y/n).”

You rise from the floor, making a point to avoid Ameer’s extended legs, just in case he gets any bright ideas. Unfortunately, you think you’ve had more than your fair share of tripping during school. After Erudite started releasing the reports, it just got worse.

Laurel moves back and out of the way, allowing you to come inside. You only get a few steps in, looking around the room before you stop. Laurel has already reached out, pulling the door shut behind the two of you. She slips by as if your stillness isn’t a surprise.

In the middle of the room sits the same exact chair that you had sat in during the aptitude test. Beside it is the machine that looks a lot like the one that was used to measure your decisions for your future faction. However, in this room, there are no mirrors for you to stare into. There’s barely any light, and the only other object in the room is a computer sitting on a desk in the corner, emitting a small amount of light.

“Go ahead and sit.” Laurel says, standing in front of the machine, you slowly make your way over.

If the chair is here, it means that you’re going to be subjected to another simulation, there’s no question about that. What you’re really worried about is the results and whether or not they’re going to be reported. Laurel and Caspian might be okay with it, but they’re just two out of the several hundreds of people in Dauntless.

If Laurel has to report the results, there’s no way she’s going to be able to manually insert them like last time, not without seeming suspicious.

You slowly slide into the chair, “What simulation do I have to go through today?”

“You’ll be facing one of your fears today,” her eyes meet yours, “your results will be sent to the administrators for review.”

You press your lips together, wanting to ask her if there’s danger in doing this. But you don’t even have to ask, you already know the answer, and it’s yes. Mox told you plainly that this would be easy for you, which is basically a red flag, especially after how hard the first stage was. This should be just as, maybe more, difficult.

“Okay,” you say, as if you’re agreeing. You don’t really have much of a choice.

“Stay still, I have to inject the serum.” she says, coming around the chair. In her hands is the syringe, tinted orange because of the liquid. She has her thumb against the plunger, ready to go. The needle looks longer than what you’re used to at the doctor’s office.

With a shaky hand, you move your hair behind your shoulder so that she has easy access to your neck. You wonder why they can’t just make you drink the liquid instead of injecting it. Sometimes needles aren’t a bother with you--you’re sure that it won’t show up during the simulation--but it’s bigger than usual.

Either way, you sit as still as possible when Laurel presses the needle into your neck. The pinch is much more painful this time around, the ache begins before it’s even been removed. You stare straight ahead at the door, wondering what the others are talking about now that you’re gone. It might even include Finnick.

It’s an instant relief when the needle is removed, “You have sixty seconds before it kicks in,” Laurel sounds like she’s standing behind you, probably next to the machine again, “To put this stage simply, we’ll be training you to get over your fears--or at least make them manageable. Just in case you were to come across a situation that would involve it in the real world.

“The serum induces a hallucination, and I’ll get to monitor what you’re doing the entire time. After, this will all be submitted to the administrators, as I told you before. You will stay in the hallucination until you can calm yourself down by lowering your heart rate and controlling your breathing.”

While she talks, you can feel your heart start pounding in your chest, hands automatically gripping onto the arms of the chair. They slip against the metal because of the sweat, making it impossible for you to feel stable. When you realize this, you try taking deep breaths, desperate to know if you can end the simulation before it begins.

Laurel gently places her hand on your shoulder, coming around the chair and into your line of sight, near the door. Your eyes flicker to her.

“Take your time, you’ll be okay.” she smiles.

You fall back against the headrest.

And jolt awake hard enough to hit your head on the ceiling above you. A groan leaves your lips as you press your head back down against the floor beneath you. Wherever you are, it’s dark and it’s going to take you a second to adjust to see.

You run your fingers against the floor, eyebrows knit together as you try to figure out what it is. It’s not cold or grooved, so you’d like to confidently say that it isn’t concrete or wood. It feels smooth, almost soft against your fingertips--silk? You move your hand to touch your forehead, still aching from your initial wake, when your elbow hits a wall.

You lift your head now, staring down at your feet through the darkness. When you extend your toe, you can feel another wall. The final one sits behind your head, which has to mean that you’re boxed in somewhere. You press your hands firmly against the top, pushing as hard as you can. They don’t think that you’re claustrophobic, do they?

You could sit in this box for the rest of your life if it weren’t for the elements. The problem is that Laurel said she’s just monitoring, she’s not actually picking and choosing the scenes you go into, unlike the aptitude test. She might be able to end the test early if needed, but you think that would be the extent of it.

The top of the box isn’t budging, and you’ve got your arms locked out straight, shoulder blades pressing into the fabric beneath you. You don’t know what’s locking you in here, maybe steel or wood, but you’re pretty sure you’re not going to be able to get out. Even a solid half-kick doesn’t break anything, only sends pains shooting through your toes.

Well, for a fear-facing simulation, it really missed the mark. A box with no escape doesn’t really have any effect on you, which means that with a couple of deep breaths, you’ll be out of here in no time.

Resting your head against the box again, you close your eyes and try to focus on your breathing. Even a couple of seconds later, you feel much better. You can see yourself waking up in the chair, with Laurel standing two feet or so away.

The silence is disturbed by a thudding sound on the other side of the ceiling. You stare, mouth turned into a frown, “Hello?”

As you wait, you press your hand to the ceiling in front of you again, wanting to know if it’s going to come loose now, but it’s just as stuck as it was before. There’s no vocal response that you can hear, just another thud, except it sounds like rocks raining down on the other side, dirt that sounds like sand.

Maybe you weren’t loud enough, “Hello?”

Still nothing, besides the rock sound.

Actually, there’s a faint murmur, you have to strain to hear what’s being said. Even then, you can make out only half of the words. You think you hear ‘dead’, ‘coffin’ and ‘dirt’ all in the same sentence. Which is ridiculous, right? You’re not dead, so there would be no reason to bury you. But it would explain the rock sound.

“Hey!” You scream, face twisting as you slam your hands against the lid. If this is a coffin, then the lid should’ve budged by now. It isn’t moving, though, not as far as you can tell.

You keep screaming, slamming the toe of your shoe in the same place over and over, hoping that you can kick a hole through the wood. Unless it isn’t wood, which would explain why they can’t hear you, concrete absorbs sounds like they don’t even exist.

They’re going to leave you down here if you don’t find a way to catch their attention. Then you’ll be left to starve, your family mourning even though they don’t have to. You scream louder, your throat becomes sore, tears appear in your eyes. You pause, huffing out air, making you realize just how warm it is in here, and how limited your air is.

“Help!” you fall back against the floor, breathing through your mouth, “please!”

The thudding on the other side of the coffin is much softer now, not as prominent before. You can already picture the dirt encasing you, ensuring that you won’t escape. It’ll look exactly like when your parents had been buried, one after the other. You remember thinking that you’ll never see them in person again.

You grit your teeth, letting the tears roll down the sides of your face and into your ears. You need to get out of here, and the only way you can do that is if you let this go.

Your nails dig into your palm, trying to ignore the music that’s playing above you. Laurel told you that the trick to this is deep breaths and slowing your heartbeat. It’s just a hallucination, you’re not actually buried underground. You’re in the chair, you’re in the chair, you’re in the chair…

You open your eyes, only to be blinded by the one light in the room. Without being prompted, you get to your feet, arms wrapping around your upper body as a hug. You don’t care what happens next, all you know is that you can’t be laying down anymore. The way that the chair is angled is too similar to how you were inside of the coffin.

Laurel is pulling wires off of her face with a neutral expression. Her eyes find yours briefly, before she heads over to the machine, which is clearly more important than your wellbeing.

A gust of cold air from a vent makes you remember the tears on your face, and you work quickly to wipe the wetness off with your shirt. You sniff and readjust and rub your knuckles, the feeling of pounding on the lid won’t go away. It’s a phantom feeling, the sister of the pain in your feet from trying to kick free.

“Well,” Laurel drags out the word slightly, “In comparison to the other initiates I’ve seen today, you were, by far, the quickest to come out.”

You have to ask, “Is that good or bad?”

“If you keep it up, you’ll be number one when the rankings come out.” She doesn’t say it outright, but her eyes do. If you’re in and out then you’ll definitely attract attention, something that you don’t want.

“What’s the average time?”

“Sixteen to eighteen,” she presses her lips together, “You were out in a little less than four minutes.”

Oh.

Oh, that is not good at all.

“Okay,” you say, but it’s not, you feel like screaming. You need to find a way to purposely spend more time in the hallucinations. But you’re not sure how to do that, because what felt like ten minutes inside of the hallucination, was only four minutes for you.

“You can leave the same way you came in.” Laurel gives you a smile, “Don’t worry about it too much, okay? I’ll see you later.”

“Thank you.” you murmur, slipping out of the door and back into the hallway’s darkness.

Unfortunately, on the way out, you have to pass by your friends. When all of the others had come out of the room, you weren’t paying attention to their faces. Most of them, like Horace and Cass, you didn’t really care for. But now it matters, especially since it’s only friends that are left. And they’re definitely going to want to look at you.

Their laughter quiets the closer you get. The first person to look up is Finnick, eyebrows together as he looks over your face. You force a quick smile, passing by him while being careful to avoid Ameer’s feet again. No one speaks, until Blaire grabs your hand.

“Any advice?”

You place your hand over his, “Focus on your breathing.”

He lets you go, just in time for the need to hug yourself comes back. You carefully wrap your arms around your upper body, before taking the next corner.

You wait in that hallway for a while, leaned up against the wall to blend in. You don’t know who you want to see first, Blaire or Trink? Or maybe Finnick? You’re hoping it’s not Ameer, but you really wouldn’t mind hanging out with only Sydney and Nestor again.

The person that rounds the corner first is Finnick, you reach out to grab his arm, ultimately scaring him. When his eyes land on you, you can see that he’s already pretty shaken, so maybe this wasn’t the best move. You’re not sure standing in the middle of the hallway would have been much better, though.

“Hey,” you say, “Are you busy?”

He shakes his head, you go ahead and readjust your grip on his arm, pulling him along with you. You make sure to take the hallways that won’t bring you to the dormitory, or anywhere near it. If there’s a chance that Thyme is waiting for him nearby, you’d rather take the long route to the chasm.

The silence isn’t as uncomfortable as you thought it would be. However, you are surprised that Finnick doesn’t try to start a conversation on the way. You guess that since you’re the one taking him somewhere, you should be the one to talk. But it’s always been Finnick that can’t stand the silence, you know how to sit through it.

He’s lucky that the chasm isn’t a far walk. As soon as the roaring of the rushing water comes into earshot, you release him and let him decide how close he wants to get. The first couple of times you came out here, you didn’t want to get near the railing, unsure of how sturdy it was. Now you know it can hold your bodyweight, doesn’t tilt or come loose or anything.

“I would’ve talked in the dorm but I thought I’d show you where I disappear to all the time,” you say, turning to face him while practically sitting on the railing. You can feel the breeze blow against your back, reminding you not to lean too far, “I don’t want to argue, Finnick, so please just bite your tongue for a minute.”

He’s making his way towards you at his own pace, “Okay.”

You watch his face for a moment to make sure that he actually is calm this time, because every time the two of you talk, it always seems to end in an argument. It doesn’t help that the irritation is already high because Thyme is trailing him. But for once, with her not here, you feel good.

“I want to tell you everything, but I would rather do the meaningless stuff first.” you can be honest with Finnick, you know this. You’re just afraid of creating a problem that doesn’t need to be made.

Finnick stops across from you, leaning against the rock wall. He hums out a response.

“You also can’t tell Thyme I’m talking to you,” your words pick up pace, “I’ll explain it all later, she just can’t catch wind of this.”

A crease appears between his eyebrows, “Okay.”

You begin picking at your nails, feeling smaller than him. This shouldn’t feel like a confession, but it does, “It was mostly during the first stage, because we were fighting the others. And kinda during the gun training too, actually.” you shrug, “I don’t like it when you brag.”

His face relaxes, a smile peeking at the corner of his mouth, “That’s it? That’s why you were going off alone?”

“I told you it was meaningless.” you roll your eyes.

He’s not hiding his smile anymore, “Anything else while you’re at it?”

You shrug, “You should probably get back to the dormitory before it looks like you got lost in the halls,” you smile, “After all, I disappear all the time.”

“Right,” he says, standing up fully, “I’ll talk to you later, then.”

“Yeah, remember what I said about Thyme.”

Finnick winks, takes a couple of steps to leave, and then pauses. When he turns to you, his eyebrows are raised, “Can I ask you a question real quick?”

You grip onto the railing, “Shoot.”

He’s no longer smiling, “Did Thyme say something to you?”

Finnick sits across from you in the hallway, patiently waiting to be called into the fear facing room like the rest of you. There’s a noticeable distance between him and Thyme, an unmistakable glare in her eyes. You’re not sure what he said to her yesterday evening, but it’s made her sour. Not enough to push her away, though, she’s still sticking pretty close to him. Still, the distance between them is satisfying.

Much to his annoyance, you couldn’t tell Finnick everything. The root of the Thyme problem starts with you, and you can’t just outright tell him you’re Divergent. You know you keep saying that the two of you have known each other since you were kids, but if a person like Thyme can come in and wreck shit within a week…

You told him what you could, specifically what Mox and Keely said about her. You couldn’t go into great detail, mostly because they didn’t give you anything to go off of in the first place. However, the moment you told Finnick that Mox was dead serious, he seemed to sober up and believe you.

If there’s one tell tale sign that Mox isn’t lying, it’s when he’s completely serious. It’s such a stark contrast to his normal lighthearted demeanor, and he never abuses the look. Unlike Reed, who’s had the same expression on his face ever since your parents died. It’s like the joy was sucked right out of him.

Anyway, you and Finnick are definitely making progress. He might not know all the details just yet, but at the pace you’re going, you two will be back to normal in no time. He knows that Thyme isn’t what she appears to be, and that she said something to you after your family left.

Thyme’s blackmail will end as quickly as it started.

“What was your fear?” Lennox asks Trink, fixing the laces on his shoe.

Trink half-shrugs, “Something stupid, I’m not even that scared of it.”

You resist the urge to contradict her. No one got a full night of sleep last night, which isn’t her fault. Everyone was stuck in their own personal nightmare as soon as they fell asleep. Sucked into a world they thought was under control and torn to shreds immediately because they didn’t make the rules in there.

Let’s just say you didn’t sleep in your bed for long after realizing that you might as well have been back in that coffin. Hard bed, dark room, only your thoughts to accompany you. There’s a sick feeling in your stomach each time you think about going back to bed.

“You don’t have to act tough,” you murmur, causing Lennox, Trink and Blaire to turn in your direction, “I couldn’t even sleep last night.”

“Yeah, we know,” Thyme says, not missing a beat, “You’re so fucking loud.”

You look at her, “Are you sure it wasn’t the sound of your own sobs that woke you up?”

Her face twists, “Don’t you forget--”

“Thyme!” a voice shouts, it’s Laurel. She’s a few steps out of the doorway, “Are you fucking deaf? Let’s get going!”

Thyme shoots you a glare, not finishing her sentence. She gets to her feet, shuffling down the hallway and vanishing behind the Door of Hell.

It’s quiet for a moment, Trink is the one to break the silence, “Forget what?”

You wave your hand, trying to come up with some excuse. Trink will pry, and Lennox will go with it to add peer pressure. You’ve seen it too many times now, with Sydney and Nestor. They are purebred Dauntless, and they will raise the stakes to get what they want.

You need a pacifier, a sacrifice that’s small and insignificant to keep them from pushing later on.

A laugh peels from you, “She found out the fear from yesterday, and she thinks that she’s going to use it against me,” your eyes find Finnick’s, hoping that he catches the subtle hint, “But if I tell you guys, it’ll have no effect, right?”

Trink nods, bobbing her head right next to Lennox. The two of them are so hungry for drama that it hurts. You’re glad to know that you have one humble friend, Blaire tells you that you don’t have to tell them if you don’t want to.

“Oh, it’s okay. I don’t think any of you will get the chance to bury me alive.” you wink at Blaire, who smiles shyly back at you, “It’s one of those things that are ridiculous.”

Trink keeps nodding, “Yours makes me feel so much better about mine,” her face is turning a slight shade of red, “Like, public humiliation is the least of my worries, honestly. Not getting into Dauntless is my big number one.”

“Isn’t it everyone’s?” Blaire sighs.

Lennox lets out a scoff that sounds like a snort, “Not mine, I’m going to trump you losers in the next ranking round.”

You press your lips together, because unless he’s going to magically beat four minutes, he’s not trumping anything. You’re sure that it’s important to be confident in Dauntless, but you can’t imagine how many times people have to eat their words.

And that gives you an idea.

You turn to Lennox, “I bet the remainder of my points that you won’t be number one.”

Blaire sucks in air through his teeth, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Lennox is the epitome of perfection when it comes to Dauntless standards.”

Lennox smirks a little, you know that he won’t turn down the challenge, “How many points?”

“I’m sporting nineteen right now.”

The smirk widens into a grin, “I have twenty.”

You hold your hand out, he takes it without a hint of hesitation. He’s going to get his ass kicked, and he doesn’t even realize. The two of you shake, and when you fall back against the wall, Finnick has a smile too.

“What do you even need twenty more points for?” Trink asks.

“A new wardrobe.”

She lets out a dreamy breath, “Okay, I approve.”

You let out a laugh, which the others join in on.

About fifteen minutes later, Laurel opens the door, letting Thyme out and calling you in, “(Y/n).”

You take your time getting to your feet, thanking your friends when they wish you luck. You’re sure you’re not going to need it, it’s them who will have to worry about the rankings when they come out. You slip past Thyme, the door clicking shut behind you.

“Good afternoon,” you say, heading over to the chair.

“Same to you.” Laurel murmurs, “The needle will go into your arm today.”

You’d prefer that, anyway. Having needles go into your neck is just wrong somehow. All the shots that have ever been delivered to you, have been through your arm. It’s less of a risk of doing permanent damage, besides scarring.

You slip in the chair, face twisting when you realize how warm it is.

“She was sweating,” Laurel comes around the side, syringe in hand, “You’re lucky that I could wipe it down.” You give Laurel a look, and after a moment she cracks a smile, “Sit still and stop mean mugging me.”

You let your head lay against the headrest, curling your toes when her needle breaks skin. The ache in your arm is a lot more forgettable this time, compared to your neck. The pinch is gone quickly, and you watch as she goes to tend to the machine. Once again, you’re left to stare into the empty room.

“You have sixty seconds before it kicks it.”

You don’t bother to tell her that you know already, and the fact that you can feel the effects begin to kick in around fifteen seconds. Unlike yesterday, today your throat squeezes tightly as if you’re having an allergic reaction, making it difficult to breathe. It doesn’t help that the urge to run is beginning to settle in, you grip the arms of the metal chair to keep yourself grounded.

“Remember to breathe,” Laurel’s voice is sounding faraway, a whisper compared to the rapid beating in your chest, “And take your time.”

You want to tell her that you will, but your teeth are glued to each other, mouth dry, and you’re drifting. Once again, you find yourself trying to hold on through the little things. Like how the metal is digging into your palm, and there’s sobbing coming from somewhere.

You fall, head slamming into the ground beneath you. Your face immediately twists, eyes squeezing shut. When you reach to rub the spot, you notice that you’re not confined in a coffin this time, but it is dark enough for you to feel like you’re blind. So, you take it easy while trying to sit up.

The floor beneath you is wood, you can tell because of the paneling. It feels worn, like it hasn’t been replaced in years. And a little uneven, some will dip in the middle, gaps between wood, drop offs that’ll catch the tip of shoes. Almost like the rock flooring in Dauntless, except wood is rare here. Besides the dormitory, the only other place is the training room.

With that, a single light floods the dark room as a reward for cracking the code. The light is on you, once again blinding you. You cover your eyes as you look around, you can see the door to leave is on the right, so you must be sitting where you used to stand during the fights. And if that’s right, then the circle is in front of you.

The light shifts as you raise to your feet, trying to squint through the white. You don’t know what fear this correlates to, but the sick feeling rising in your stomach is telling you not to underestimate the situation. Everything was fine in the last simulation up until you started to become aware of your surroundings.

You shuffle forward, being careful not to snag your shoes on the floorboards. As you get closer to the circle, there’s a familiar smell in the air. The stench is strong, though, enough for your stomach to hurl, pushing you to the edge. You cough to ease the tension in your throat, but it ends in a gag.

Sucking in air through your nose just makes it worse. The smell of blood is normally manageable for you, since it’s always been small or in adrenaline-fueled hazes, but this is different. This is all you can smell, all you can think about. You need to find the source, find who’s bleeding and stop it.

A few more steps, and you come crashing to the world. You slip hard, falling on your ass. The pain in your tailbone is enough to bring tears to your eyes, but you’re more concerned about the pool of blood you’re sitting in. And the person it’s coming from.

His face is tilted away from you, blood soaking his brown hair. You get on your knees so that you can lean over him, hands trembling. He’s pale, his green eyes are staring into the darkness. They quickly flicker to you when you accidentally let out the shaky breath you were holding.

Finnick Odair is bleeding out in the training room.

And you don’t know what to do about it.

His black shirt is stuck to his skin, riding up slightly. You think that the source is his stomach, but there’s no holes or anything. Which makes you think it’s his back, you shouldn’t move him though, right?

“I…” you whisper, he’s waiting on you, he wants you to save him, “I don’t…”

He looks exactly like he did after the fight, when you beat him to near unconsciousness. You can picture the way his head rolled to the side once he was on the wheelchair, Cleo pushing him out. How his eyes stuck with yours until he couldn’t look anymore.

Except, this time he’s bleeding out.

“Okay,” you breathe, even though it’s not, “I’m going to--I’m gonna help.”

You sniff, hands gliding through the air to grab the end of his shirt. You carefully pull it up, trying your best to avoid the red, even though your jeans are already soaked in it. If you took off your clothes, you’d be stained, permanently tinted.

No. No, only temporarily.

The wound is on his stomach, a slit that mimics the one of a knife, making you freeze.

This is what your dad looked light, bleeding out in the factionless streets, all by himself. Hurt, pale, the grey clothes of Abnegation selflessness soaked the angry shade of maroon. And he was dead, curled up and clutching to his wedding ring.

You sob, throat still swollen, the back of your hand pressed to your mouth. You tilt your head back, white light shining in your eyes as you cry. You try to suck in air through your mouth, but the revolting smell of metal and dirt has infiltrated your senses, and you can’t without violently gagging.

A gentle touch startles you out of your train of thought, reminding you that he’s there. Finnick gives you a closed-lipped smile that reaches his eyes. He breathes in through his nose too sharply, triggering him to cough, sending blood out. His face is twisted in pain, you jerk forward to help him lower his head back to the ground.

You need to focus.

“Okay,” you breathe again, tilting your head to the side, “This will hurt.”

And it does. You press your hands to the wound on his stomach, hoping that will be enough to stifle the blood. There’s not much you can do in the first place without a doctor, and that job is normally dedicated to the Erudite. In the meantime, you need to get out of here.

The moment you start breathing deeply, a new problem arises. A second hole that you didn’t see before, further up his chest. But the more you move his shirt, more appears, like the simulation is trying to keep you from saving him. You have to, though, and you will.

You move to take off your shirt, placing it on the--what you now recognize as--bullet holes. You press down on the area with the other hand, since it’s separate from the first. You try to give Finnick a comforting smile, it’s hard to because you don’t know what you’re doing. The pool of blood is just widening, reaching the circle’s white line.

It gets worse, some pain in his leg appears, and then his arm. You can hear him moaning in pain, but there’s only so much you can do. You try to cut off the blood flow, and a wound will appear above it, defeating the purpose, getting you more wet. You’re sure that he should be dead by now.

It’s like he’s a test dummy, seeing how many injuries they can rack up on him. And instead of torturing him, it’s torturing you. You’ve used your belt, and your shirt. His shirt is too risky to take off, and Finnick doesn’t normally wear a belt. And you have both of your hands stopping blood, both of his barely pressing hard anymore, and a leg draped over his thigh as if you’re fucking helping anymore.

All the while his eyes are drooping, and you think he’s saying something to you but you can’t hear him, can’t read his lips through the tears in your eyes. Not to mention, you can’t breathe, can’t speak, can’t keep him awake. You can’t fucking help. Why was it you that found him? Why couldn’t someone else have walked in?

“Finnick, please,” your voice is scratchy, throat incredibly sore from the sobs, “Please don’t go, please stay with me.”

His head is rocking from side to side, is he shaking his head? You don’t know, you don’t understand. He can’t leave you, Finnick can’t leave you, not like this. He’ll hate you forever because you can’t fucking save him. All you want to do is save him.

You rock forward, hands sliding when you press your forehead to his collarbone. All you can do is apologize as you clutch onto his shirt. You can feel his arm shift from beneath you, rubbing up your back. You can’t do it, it’s a simple task and you can’t even do it.

“It’s okay.” Finnick’s voice is small, but it cuts through the silence. You raise your head to look at him, he’s got so little time left, “Breathe.”

You let out a sob, hand over your mouth. You don’t think it’s you controlling your body anymore. You think it’s autopilot, because you reach forward and cup his cheek in your right hand. A tear rolls down, creating a streak of cleanliness in a sea of blood on his face.

“Let go.” he whispers.

You jerk forward, suddenly awake in the fear facing room. Your hand is clamped over your mouth to make as little noise as possible, but you can’t help the cry that comes out.

“Three and a half minutes.” Laurel says.

You slide out of the chair, wanting to scream because you don’t care. Five minutes, thirty minutes, one minute, it all feels the same! It feels like you’ve been holding onto dying Finnick for days, pleading for him not to leave you. You’ll be living this woken nightmare for the next few months, and you’re supposed to care that it took you three and a half minutes to get out?

You can’t shake the look that Finnick gave you at the end, the look of knowing. He knew that his time was up, and he opted for you to leave. And the worst part of it all is you don’t even know what fear that was supposed to encompass.

“I’m done,” you say, “I can’t fucking do this anymore, I’m done.”

Laurel lets out a quiet noise, when you look at her, she’s shaking her head, “It gets easier.”

“Easier?” You ask before yelling, “Easier?! I just watched Finnick bleed to death in my arms, how does it get any easier?”

She hushes you, setting the face wires off to the side, “That’s one of your fears, something you need to come to terms with.”

You grit your teeth, “When is Finnick ever going to bleed out? Chocked full of bullet holes with no origin?”

“Fears are typically irrational, you have to know this already.” She reaches for the sleeve on her arm, yanking it up to reveal the mannequin tattoo, “I work with mannequins all day, so tell me why I would feel afraid of them if I already know that they’re harmless?”

You don’t know, how are you supposed to know?

She must not like your silence because she lets out an annoyed sigh. One that you’re all too familiar with, it sounds just like Reed’s sigh. The lecture is coming, “Haven’t you noticed the pattern so far? It’s been two days and I can already tell what you’re afraid of.”

“So tell me.” your voice is hoarse, a side effect from the simulation.

“Maybe you should spend some time trying to figure it out by yourself.”

The problem is that you don’t want to. You’ll already suffer later on tonight, so why should you bother torturing yourself right now? So much is on your plate, and more keeps getting shoved on.

First it’s Caspian finding out that you’re Divergent, second it’s Thyme blackmailing you with it. Then Finnick crawls out of hell and decides that he wants to be friendly again, and you can’t even get help from Caspian because he’s been interfering too much already. And now you’re suffering through your own fears just so you can stay in a faction that--surprise, surprise!--is more ruthless than you initially thought.

And she wants you to spend your time thinking it over.

No. No, if anything, you think you need to get away from here.

You wave your hand, heading for the exit.

“Take the other door, you won’t be disrupted.” she says.

You spin around, heading for the door she’s talking about. It’s on the left wall, in the back corner. Compared to the right, which has the computer that contains your escape from Finnick’s demise.

You shove the door open, letting it slam against the wall on your way out. The hallway is a straight path for a while, there’s no side paths that you can take and it’ll magically bring you back to the others. Not that it matters much, it’s not like you can talk to any of them about it.

Your feet know where to bring you, straight to the same place you go every time there’s a dilemma. You don’t sit against the railing today, there’s no reason to. Finnick’s not here to talk to you, and you’re pretty sure that he’s not going to be out of the simulation for a while. And that’s under the assumption that he’s next.

You close your eyes and rest your head against the wall. The sound of the water is similar to the noise of static, making it easy to numb the mind. You need to seriously make a dent on Finnick before Thyme finds a way to draw him in again. The two of you are tugging at each of his arms, trying to get him to stay long enough to hesitate on going back to the other.

It’s been three days since the final fight, and two days since Thyme has blackmailed you. You want to think that it’s too soon to start pulling harder, especially since the peace has only been recently established, but you also don’t know how much time you have before Thyme comes in.

Plus, it’s not like Finnick has given up on you completely, right? There’s been a few instances where you’ve hit a chink in his armor, and all of them start with you. It’s never been the surface stuff, like the fact that you came from the same place. That can be easily forgotten, the saying ‘faction before blood’ doesn’t come from nowhere.

As soon as you told him that you left your family for him, he broke. And you’ll bet it’s because he knows how much family means to you. After everything that’s happened in your life, the one thing you had going was family, something that you would have never traded, but you did it for him.

It happened again later on, during the fight too. It was the vulnerability of your voice that made him hesitate. He also trailed you into the bathroom that morning, despite being tired. And you’ll bet that he wanted to talk to you, not use the toilet or whatever.

You think you’ve done it, finally cracked the code.

He lives for the real moments, and you’re not talking about the heat of the moment when the two of you are arguing. It’s the softness, no secrets, no guards in front of the palace. The second it all started falling apart was the second you were told you were Divergent.

You and Finnick have never really had a reason to keep secrets from each other.

The sound of someone clicking their tongue fills the air, making you jump slightly. When you open your eyes, you’re met with Sydney and Nestor, both of them staring down at you. Sydney’s pulling her hair into a ponytail, Nestor has his hands shoved into his pockets, leaning back with a ruined posture.

“Are you crying?” Sydney asks, the words are slightly muffled because she doesn’t move her teeth. You think you can see a hair tie in her mouth, which is probably why.

“No,” you say.

The tears dried themselves on the way here.

“Are you sure? Because you’re sitting out here all by yourself.” Sydney speaks normally.

“Looked like you were having a moment.” Nestor agrees.

“Haha.” you roll your eyes, getting to your feet, “What do you two want?”

Nestor half-shrugs, “Banding together a party. Ameer found some alcohol in the kitchen.”

You press your lips together, not sure which part of this story you don’t like, “Found it?”

“Ameer has sticky fingers, Mirza knows how to get in,” Sydney says, “If it helps, Maarja and a bunch of other older siblings will be there.”

You tilt your head, a sour face coming on, “Are you sure that Ameer wants me there?”

Nestor lets out a laugh, “Ameer doesn’t care, he’s probably forgotten about your argument already. Same goes for Mirza, the two of them don’t get hung up. They give it up, forget, and forgive. It’s their whole motto.”

“Which is lucky for you, because Maarja knows how to throw bomb ass parties.” Sydney says, “We just need to know whether or not Finnick should come.”

“Thyme’s already out of the question, no one wants to deal with her.”

“She’s going to know something’s up.” you say.

Sydney shrugs, “So? What’s she going to do about it?”

They’re right, as long as your name isn’t connected to the party in any way, you can’t be blamed for the fact she wasn’t invited. However, Finnick is another story. She might think you’re the one that wanted him there.

“Finnick is okay to come, but I can’t be the one to invite him. It has to be Blaire or something.”

“We gotcha covered, we’ll pass on the message.”

Sydney grabs your upper arm, pulling you with them, “In the meantime, we’re gonna drop you off with the others.”

“The others?” you ask.

“Maarja and them, they think that you’re going to help out and get shit done since you’re from Abnegation,” Sydney says, “And we tried to tell them it was a stereotype but they said it’s worth a try.”

You can’t help but laugh, this is exactly the type of behavior that you’d expect from them. Pick at the stereotypes and hope for the best, they never really think things through. Yet, they’re in charge of important jobs like security and the entire army.

God, is Dauntless ridiculous.

“I mean, I guess they were right.” You laugh, Sydney cracks a grin.

She slaps your upper back, “That’s the spirit! The more people you please, the more people will like you.”

“Or they’ll keep going to you for help, one or the other.” Nestor shrugs.

“And by the way, we were going to invite you either way, help or not. Maarja just wanted to push her luck.”

“I don’t mind, seriously.”

And you don’t, because this is what Dauntless is all about. The ziplining, the fighting, facing your fears, and going to parties. You rinse and repeat the next day, and it’s just like this, over and over for the rest of your life. This is why you’re here, this is why you can’t quit.

Your two friends bring you down a series of hallways, straight to a single door. Sydney pushes it open with her hip, opening out one of your arms, as if she’s telling you to marvel. There’s not much to be amazed at, so you shoot her a questioning look.

She cracks, her laughter echoing through the large room. She catches the attention of the older siblings, they turn their bodies so that they can see. Sydney holds up a hand, “It’s just us, (Y/n) said she’d help out.”

Maarja cheers.

The floors in this room are wood, the walls rock and stone. Basically like the training room, except this room is much smaller, brighter, and there’s only one exit. You guess that makes it an easy way to lock up, but it’s definitely a fire hazard. You can’t imagine the last time anyone has been in here, though.

“I knew you’d help,” she smiles, “Do you think your Abnegation friend will too?”

“He hasn’t even been invited yet, Maar.” Sydney says.

“And he’s not exactly the selfless type, anyway.” you slide your hands into your pockets, “Hated it there.”

She shrugs, “Whatever, bring him anyway.”

You crack a smile, “So what do you need help with?”

“Everything, but shit will start coming in one at a time. We should be done before dinner.” Maarja looks past you, “Keep taking people, will you?”

“Sure.” Sydney begins backing up, “Good luck, (Y/n).”

You don’t need luck, because spending time with Maarja and the others isn’t nearly as bad as Sydney and Nestor makes it out to be. They’re fun to be around, they know how to break someone out of their shell if they’re shy. In no time, the lot of you are laughing, tears in your eyes as you change lightbulbs and set up speakers for music.

You can definitely see the resemblance between Sydney and Maarja, they’re sisters through and through. Of course, they look a lot like each other, but they also have the same laugh, the desire to be on the edge of danger all the time. Sydney had stood on the edge of that building, and Maarja stands at the top of her ladder on her toes, with no one to steady the bottom.

They playfully fight, as all siblings do in Dauntless, and bounce back as if hurtful words were nothing. If you tried half of this with Reed, you would have been scolded. Mox might have been easier, but it would have never been this fun. Mox and Reed are alike in most ways--more than you will ever know, according to Caspian--but you and Finnick are closer.

You guess it’s the age gap that does it. Mox and Reed are only two years apart, Maarja and Sydney are one and a half, you and Finnick are the same. Compared to Mox, who’s three years older, and Reed who’s five. It doesn’t seem like a gap, but it really is. Plus, all three of you have managed to have different childhoods, you can’t imagine what’s in store for Alyssum.

It’s weird to picture you and Finnick as siblings, though. The two of you don’t fight like that, don’t talk to each other like that. You wouldn’t exactly call each other polar opposites, either. However, you guess that definition fits better. You see the things he doesn’t, and he sees the things that you don’t.

“You know what they say about polar opposites,” Daziel says, he’s Lennox’s older brother.

He’s got the exact same looks as Lennox, with the brown hair and brown eyes. He’s taller than Lennox, but shorter than Horace. When he laughs, it’s childish, yet there’s an edge to him. He leans forward as he talks, like he’s always delivering some sort of threat.

Because of him, you’ve noticed that there’s two ends to Dauntless. The first side is like Maarja, carfree, party hard, laugh as loudly as you can and have fun because this is your youth. On the other side is Daziel, intense, scary, probably guards the walls or patrols the factionless areas, and he talks quietly because he knows that the room will fall quiet to hear. Everyone else, besides them, falls somewhere in-between.

If you were to put Daziel and Lennox together, you’d go ahead and say that they’re siblings. Their personalities don’t come close to each other--although, you do have a suspicion that Lennox looks up to Daziel, which explains the behavior--but they aren’t the same person. And yet, they were born a year apart, which contradicts what you said earlier.

You suppose that every statement has an anomaly to make it false, right?

“What do they say?” you ask. You’re currently crouched down to the floor, opening a water bottle. You’ve been trying to get the speaker to work for five minutes now, you’re sure that Trink would be better at this than you.

Torrac, Nestor’s brother, says, “They attract.”

It doesn’t take a genius to decipher that one.

You roll your eyes, drinking the water. Like Daziel, Torrac looks a lot like Nestor, except he’s shorter. He doesn’t have that same bad posture either, and his voice is a whole lot deeper. On the spectrum that you made, he’d be closer to Maarja than Daziel.

“No, I’m serious.” Torrac stops, “It happens a lot. Sydney and Nestor weren’t always dating--”

“Much less, friends.” Maarja mutters.

“--but suddenly they came to some middle ground and started dating. Now there’s almost no difference between them. They balance each other out.” Torrac finishes.

There’s a long silence between you all, allowing actual work to get done. You get the speaker to work, and after that Daziel thinks it’s funny to speak into the mic and not help out. It’s a little annoying at first, but once Maarja cracks, you and Torrac aren’t that far behind.

“You know, you talk about Finnick a lot.” Maarja says, “Are you sure you don’t have some sort of crush on him?”

“Are you kidding?” Daziel doesn’t give you a chance to answer, “Lennox says Finnick talks shit about her all the time.”

You were right when you said that Lennox is hungry for drama.

“I think you missed the part where she said that they were like this--” she crosses her fingers, one over the other, “--besides, a lot of people hate each other and then get together. Torrac literally said that ten minutes ago. Do you have cotton for brains?”

Daziel, who still holds the microphone, says, “You are the one that nearly killed yourself because you didn’t know how to harness yourself correctly. Please, keep talking.”

Maarja points her finger at him, which quickly changes into the middle finger. After that, she looks over at you, “Anyway, do you have a crush?”

You shrug, shaking your head, “No…?”

“Oh, she’s unsure!” Torrac says, he’s smiling.

“It’s official, (Y/n) has a crush on Finnick.” Daziel’s words echo loudly, “A stiff likes a stiff, why am I not surprised?”

“It’s not like that,” you say, looking to Maarja for help.

“You’ve just never thought about him like that before?” she says, you nod, “Well, congrats on your awakening, good luck.”

You open your mouth for a sarcastic response, but the door opens. The four of you look up and over to see Finnick, Ameer, Blaire and Horace. They’re all carrying different objects, with the exception of Finnick, who looks like he just came from facing his fears.

“We brought the goods.” Ameer says, holding two bottles of alcohol by the neck.

“Over here.” Torrac says, motioning them over, “Finnick, you can join (Y/n).”

You don’t like the wink that Torrac sends you, but the wolf whistle that Daziel lets loose into the microphone is worse. You cap the water bottle in your hand before hurling it at him. He has enough time to dodge, laughter filling the air.

“Hey, Finn.” You stand, he’s coming into the room, heading towards you, “Maarja is the one on the ladder, she’s Sydney’s older sister. Torrac is the one setting up the tables, related to Nestor, and,” you shoot a glare at Daziel, who gives you a bright smile, “the dumbass on the mic is Lennox’s monkey brother, Daziel.”

“They’re all older siblings?” Finnick asks.

“Yeah, they’re cool. Daziel’s on thin fucking ice.”

“I can tell,” he smiles, “Have you been here all day? Trink’s looking for you.”

“Yeah, Sydney and Nestor found me. Did Trink say what she needed?”

He shrugs, stopping next to you. He takes a look around the room, “Doesn’t look like much of a party.”

“We still have a long way to go,” Maarja agrees, she’s coming down the ladder again, “I think we just need to remove a few more bulbs and cover up the windows. Torrac can set up the tables with Blaire…” she trails off for a moment, looking at Ameer, “Hey, that’s not all you took, right?”

Ameer scoffs, “Of course not. Mirza’s taking more and he’ll be over with Lennox. I have to find a way to get us snack food, though.”

“We’ll have some chocolate cake, I know that for sure.” Horace says.

Maarja snaps, “That’s right. Okay, so snacks won’t matter, just drinks.”

“And we’ve got that covered.” Ameer is heading towards the door with Horace, “See you guys in a few.”

“Thanks!” Maarja says, she then turns towards you and Finnick, “You two work together to pull out lightbulbs.”

“Sure,” you push Finnick forward, “He’ll be the one on the ladder, though.”

“I thought you got over your fear of heights?” Maarja asks, Blaire briefly looks up from his table.

“Chicken shit.” Daziel says.

You ignore him, “I don’t feel like risking my life today.”

And you’re not lying, because you honestly don’t feel like standing on the top of the ladder like Maarja was. But the moment you see Finnick start going up, you begin picturing him standing at the top, falling, cracking his head and bleeding out on the floor, and you change your mind.

You grab the end of his shirt, “Get down.”

“What?” he asks, his face twists as he looks you over.

“Get down, I’ll go up,” you say.

“I can do it, if you don’t want to. It’s not a problem for me.”

“I know that, just... get down, please.”

He gives you a weird look, getting down. You head up the ladder, ignoring the screaming in your head. If you fall, Finnick will probably be able to catch you, but not the other way around. And you’d much rather take the chance, anyway, because he’s still recovering from the beating you gave him.

Finnick holds the ladder while you unscrew the light bulbs. When you ask Maarja how she expects all of these to get back in, she shrugs and says it’s not her problem. They plan on leaving the bulbs in a box by the door. You don’t bother to mention anything about someone stumbling along and turning on the colored lights.

Finnick does, and he’s immediately met with Daziel’s criticism.

“You know, the older siblings are typically the smarter ones,” Finnick starts, he has to look over his shoulder to see Daziel, “It’s nice to know that you’re helping Lennox break the standards.”

You can see the sarcastic smile Finnick gives Daziel, you can’t help the giggle that leaves you. Daziel mocks it into the microphone, “Shut up and work.”

“You should be on one of these ladders, actually,” Maarja says, “You’re the tallest out of us.”

Daziel shrugs, not moving from where he sits.

“What did Daziel place in the final rankings?” Blaire asks.

“Like, fifth or something,”

“That’s not hard to believe.” Finnick mutters.

The room slowly comes together, with the lightbulbs out and the windows covered, the atmosphere is already setting in. There’s a row of tables along one wall that’s covered in the food that keeps coming, and Daziel gets up to start mixing the alcohol into other juices with Torrac and Lennox.

At some point, the only job left is to wait for the cake and start retrieving the only people that don’t know how to get to the room--Trink, Eytelle and Allio. Everyone else is on their own time schedule, and they look right at home when they enter. It’s always in clusters of three to four, with brightly colored hair and piercings that catch the light.

Maarja takes the microphone from Daziel and hides it somewhere. Then, she starts to play music somehow, none of which you and Finnick are familiar with. Music is typically only for enjoyment, so that was out of the question in Abnegation. Plus, you thought it was supposed to be an Amity-exclusive thing to listen to, anyway.

The tempo is typically upbeat, and if the artist isn’t screaming the words, then you can understand it fairly well. It isn’t long before Finnick has blended into the crowd, singing along to the repeated chorus and bouncing around. You watch him for a while, standing off to the side with Maarja as she watches the scene she created.

“Have you ever been to a party before?”

“Dinner parties with the neighbors.” you tell her.

“Dinner what?” Daziel shouts, leaning forward.

“Dinner parties! You guys probably don’t have those very often,” the looks on their faces makes you stop, “or at all, I guess. We all eat in the same room so it’s a foreign concept to you.”

“Not to me! I know what you’re talking about.” Trink nods, “Normally you invite someone over from a different house and cook for them. Sometimes they bring food so that they don’t feel awkward.”

You motion to Trink, “Except, in Abnegation it’s a custom to bring a few dishes. To let the entire other family cook would be extremely rude.”

Maarja and Daziel look vaguely horrified, “Okay, what do you do at those parties?”

“Eat, but you can’t talk about yourself. And typically gossip is rude, unless you know the family you’re eating with, really well.” you say, “You could always run the risk of someone else hearing, and reputation is very important.”

Trink’s twirling her hair around her finger, “Intelligent conversations, mostly. My family would have competitions to see who could come up with inventions that could improve lifestyle. I always won.”

Daziel stands up straight, “You two are incredibly boring.”

“How are your factions not getting along? Like, seriously?”

“Power.” you say, Trink’s bobbing her head in agreement.

Somewhere in the middle of the crowd, you spot Finnick motioning to you. You tilt your head, beginning to shake no, but Daziel shoves you forward, “Go get him!”

“I don’t dance.” you say, “It’s self-indulgent in Abnegation.”

“It’s a good time to learn, you’ll be doing a lot of it in Dauntless.” Maarja says, she then leans forward on your shoulders, talking in your ear, “Have a drink, if you’re really that nervous.” She pats you once or twice as encouragement, letting go.

You sigh, dragging your feet as you go to find Finnick. He’s easy to lose in the crowd, since he’s just as tall as the rest of them. Still, you manage to catch a glimpse of his hair in the purple light, eyes locking with his. He moves forward slightly, hand extended to you. You slip your hand in his, and instantly get yanked forward.

It’s too loud to just speak normally here, so he leans down, “I figured out the trick, it’s just a bunch of jumping.”

He backs away, joining the crowd’s rhythm, a smile on his face. You stare at him, not moving at first, so he grabs a hold of your hands and starts moving them like a puppeteer.

“Come on, (Y/n)! Feel the music!” he laughs, forcing you to twirl.

You want to tell him no, but you’ve already done a lot in Dauntless that you never pictured yourself doing. You’ve broken so many boundaries, disobeyed everything you’ve learned in Abnegation, and you’re refusing to dance? You ziplined off a building, hung hundreds of feet in the air, and you can’t do this?

You know, there’s a lot of things that you couldn’t do today, but this is something you can do. As long as it keeps that smile on Finnick’s face. If it stays, then you think you can do this.

“Okay!” you agree, waiting a beat or two before beginning to bounce too.

Finnick’s laughter fills the air, and for the first time in your life, you finally notice the butterflies. Light, swarming, and suffocating. You laugh too, holding onto his hands a little tighter. This is how it should be between you.

You’ve got a hold of Finnick again, and you’re never going to let go. Thyme can try to get in the way, but she won’t succeed. Finnick’s yours, he’s always been yours. By the time the rankings come out, she’ll be gone. Finnick will know your secrets, and he’ll help make sure that they don’t get out.

His smile fades a little, hand tilting your face up, “What’s wrong?”

You hadn’t even realized that you stopped smiling, “Nothing.” you grab his hand, squeezing it, “I’ll tell you later.”

Finnick gives you a look, “Promise?”

You won’t ruin tonight. You’ll tell him tomorrow if you can.

You beam, “Promise.”

It’s so painfully obvious that something went on last night. Every single initiate, with the exception of Thyme, is dragging their feet. A few people act like they turned into vampires overnight when they wince at bright lights and loud noises. Others are just in irritable moods in general, hungover from the alcohol.

Thyme is still sour from yesterday, you think, so there’s that. However, when you all came into the dormitory at three in the morning, she exploded. She didn’t yell, she managed to keep her voice level, but it was like all of you were in an interrogation.

One of the Dauntless-borns had said something to her along the lines of, “Shut the fuck up, this is why you weren’t invited.” and it worked. Thyme just glared daggers at the back of their head as they trudged their way to the bathroom. Now that you think about it, it might have been Lennox.

You also may have forgotten to mention an important detail about the dormitory now--it’s now occupied by the Dauntless-borns too. As it’s been said a hundred times before already, your groups had been kept apart. Now they’re combined, there’s four new bunk beds, and you get the pleasure of listening to Lennox and Sydney bicker in the mornings.

Anyway, Thyme went to bed after making a fuss with Finnick. He didn’t say much to her at all at first, then she wore on his patience--as she always does--and he snapped and told her to leave him alone. He was just invited to it, it’s not like he controlled the guest list. It was run by a bunch of the older Dauntless siblings.

And Thyme went, “Like who?”

Which made, literally everyone, point to either Sydney, Nestor, or towards the bathroom, where Lennox had disappeared inside of. Three people she doesn’t know, and therefore had no chance to actually build up some sort of friendship. It did raise the question on how Finnick got in, which was quickly answered by Blaire.

And, as if the salt wasn’t already bad enough, Cass went ahead and said, “Just face it Thyme, you’re fucking unlikable.”

A line with such irony, since the Amity are supposed to be the most liked. Yet here, she’s the most hated. Anyone could go ahead and say that Dauntless just hated Amity, and by default, Abnegation too. But then they’d have to explain why, especially since a former Abnegation is helping lead Dauntless, and you and Finnick are good in the books too.

Anyway, you can confidently say that Thyme is pissed. She’s been giving you a few looks every now and then, which is your fault because you’re the only other person that hasn’t been a complete asshole today. It’s weird to see, you came back with the rest of them, a little buzzed too. You shouldn’t be as on-top of it as you have been this morning.

You think it might have something to do with the adrenaline. To be completely honest, you don’t remember falling asleep, and each time you think of talking to Finnick, your stomach flips. Most of it has something to do with the fact of telling him you’re Divergent, but the other…

“Thyme.” Laurel says, hanging out of the door.

Thyme doesn’t move from her spot in the hallway, eyes on you, “Can you call someone else in?”

“No.” Laurel says, “You’ve had a shitty attitude all day, I want you over with. Get in here.”

Today also happened to be the day where gun training resumed. So, the first thing you got to do this morning was shoot. A lot of people complained, namely the ones who drank too much, but Caspian and Laurel were thoroughly enjoying themselves. You guess that the party was no secret, and you can’t really be surprised. The music just seemed to get louder the more time went on.

Not to mention when Maaja started playing popular songs, and the sing-alongs started. You swear that you’ve never heard a crowd yell that loud, drinks protruding into the air, swaying, harmonious. You and Finnick didn’t know what to do besides watch in awe.

Thyme gets to her feet, purposely kicking your ankle. You dig your nails into your palm, staring after her. Once the door swings shut, conversation takes over, forgetting her immediately.

“Does anyone remember how we got back?” Sydney asks, her hair is tied up messily, it looks like she got dressed in the dark.

“We walked back in a crowd.” you say, Cass immediately nods.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Cass agrees.

“I wish someone could tell me how much I drank.” Lennox groans, leaning his head back onto the wall.

You could probably tell him, but you think you stopped counting after three. Plus, you think he likes the attention he gets from Trink in response, how she immediately leans into him with a coo.

“We have to plan another party, right after initiation,” Ameer says.

Mirza nods, “We probably won’t be able to get as much alcohol as we did, but if we start taking some now…”

“I wouldn’t push it, we’re lucky we got any at all. Caspian had to pull some real strings.” Nestor says, earning two agreements from Sydney and Lennox.

“Wait,” you say, “Caspian helped?”

“Yeah!” Cass sits up straighter, “He’s the one that started the tradition, after all.”

You share a look with Finnick, “Why am I not surprised?”

“Caspian would start something like that.” Finnick laughs, you join in.

“Is Thyme always like that?” Horace asks.

There’s a lot of nodding, “Yeah, pretty much.”

“It’s a good thing she wasn’t invited, then.” Cass says.

“You can thank (Y/n) for that,” Sydney tucks some of her hair behind her ear.

Finnick gives you a glance, and for some reason, you remember that you need to talk to him. The only problem is that Thyme is obviously on your tail, so it might not be the smartest idea to talk to him just yet.

While the others talk about the party, you lean to the left, into Finnick. He leans back, already knowing what’s going on. He tilts his head a certain way, offering his ear to you. It’s a habit for the two of you, never listening to the Abnegation ideals. Abnegation says not to disturb others, which is typically interpreted as silence, Finnick finds a way to speak quietly. It took a couple of weeks for you to master, but you’re just as good as he is.

“I think we should cool it for a little while.” you watch his face, the crease appearing between his eyebrows, “I don’t want to upset Thyme, and after last night, she’s definitely pissed.”

“So when?” he asks back, it’s his turn to watch you.

You press your lips together and shrug, “A couple of days?”

A warning look.

“I promised.” you remind him.

He nods, sitting up. It doesn’t look like any of the others noticed the brief conversation. Which would be good, but it’s not like it matters anymore. Everyone saw you with Finnick last night, and you two hardly left each other’s sides. You’ll be lucky if they don’t say anything to Thyme, especially since you haven’t told them what’s happening between you and her.

Slowly but surely, one by one, you all get called into the room, with the previous person coming out. When Thyme comes out again, you criss-cross your legs, and watch as she gets to Ameer before his leg shoots out to trip her. She barely catches herself, and doesn’t even dignify Ameer with a look.

However, you all know she’s fuming when the laughter starts.

About eight people later, the only people left are you, Sydney, Lennox, Cass and Blaire. The conversation isn’t so much about the party anymore, and more so about what you think of their siblings. You had been left with them for four hours by yourself, you got the authentic experience.

Honestly, they aren’t all that bad. For Dauntless members, they’re pretty chill. The only intense one was Daziel, but it wasn’t all the time. Blaire is glad to know that he’s not the only one that thinks that. You go ahead and tell them about the microphone and most of the things that he said while he was in control. And then you inflate Lennox’s ego a little bit by saying he’s definitely the smarter one.

Sydney is proud to know that you think she has a cool older sister. She says that she’ll pass on the word, because there’s no way in hell that Maarja hasn’t grown attached to you in some way. As for Torrac, there’s not much to say, besides he was the most level-headed one, and he shares a close resemblance with Nestor.

“But would you hang out with them again?” Lennox asks.

“Oh yeah, for sure.”

Ameer comes out of the room, keeping you from going any further. Laurel points at you, gives a big motion for you to go after her, and then disappears into the room.

“We’ll see you later.” Cass says.

You give them a smile, rising to your feet. Ameer looks like a zombie when you pass him, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was in some sort of autopilot mode. You gently push the door shut behind you, heading toward the chair. Laurel lets out a breath of air.

“How’d you like your first Dauntless party?” she says, you can see her preparing the syringe.

“It was exactly how I expected it to be.”

She laughs, “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure I saw you having fun.”

Your eyes flash to her, “You were there?”

“In the corner, I was there for Caspian. He couldn’t make it.”

“Leader business?” you guess, sitting in the chair.

“Something like that,” she comes around the side. You offer up your arm for her, she slides the needle in and slowly presses down on the plunger. “I need you to focus for a moment, okay?”

You nod.

“Let’s say you have twelve fears, about four to six of those will come out in the second stage, and the other half or so will stay hidden until the final stage. There’s a good chance that your fears will start repeating, since we still have a week and a half of initiation left.”

You don’t have the heart to tell her that you can’t focus on her face for more than a second. You know that the simulations are hallucinations, but this is a pre-hallucination hallucination. There’s little black objects zipping across her body, and the urge to reach out and grab one is strong.

You are hearing what she’s saying, though.

“You’re going to get a lot of practice in with the fears that do repeat, but you’ll be left in the dark when the final stage comes around, because all those hidden fears will reveal themselves.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” you murmur, you think you’re going to be motion sick. The jolt from setting your head against the headrest, is enough to make you want to puke.

“It is. There are advantages, especially for people like you.”

“That’s phrased like an insult.”

Most families in Abnegation are religious, it’s part of the traditional family roles stereotype. It was never that way for yours, and after your parents died, the idea was buried with them. You like to think that hell isn’t real, then shit like this happens. You’re staring face to face with Laurel, who no longer has eyes, just black holes and tiny black dots coming and going as they please.

With that, you’ve decided that you won’t try and fight off the simulation.

You think you hear Laurel say something back. The words don’t sound like they’re in your language, much less coherent. And really, that is the least of your concerns, mainly because you blink and the scenery changes around you. You’re inside of an empty tank, which is, of course, inside of a dark room.

You let out a huff of air, getting to your feet, “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

There’s no one around you this time, no dirt to come raining down. You shift on your feet for a while, calves incredibly sore from all the jumping. Torrac had set up no chairs, claiming that no one would want to sit down, anyway. He must’ve forgotten that he had six inexperienced partiers inside of the room.

Needless to say, getting down from the top bunk was, most certainly, your own personal nightmare.

A tickling sensation ghosts over your ankle, making you absentmindedly lift your other foot to itch through your jeans. The feeling leaves for a few seconds, before quickly returning. It’s not just your right leg anymore, though, it’s both, and it kinda hurts. When you look down to see where it’s coming from, you see why.

A scream rips through your throat, loud and raw. It’s been less than a second, and tears have already appeared in your eyes. You can’t escape this box, yet you slam your hands against the walls anyway.

Spiders coat the floor, hundreds of them, of all different sizes, climb up anything possible, including your jeans. On top, underneath, the floor, the walls. You slap a shaky hand over your mouth, sobbing through your fingers, struggling to breathe.

You try to dodge them, kick them off. In an adrenaline rush, you try brushing them off your jeans but end up making it worse when they hang off your arms. They jump, attach themselves to your shirts, staring up at you.

“No!” You scream, stomping to get them off, “No, please!”

A strike of pain goes through your arm, a red welt immediately forming. You can hardly see, hardly breathe, anymore as you brush them off. This is worse, this is so much worse. You brush off the spiders that you can’t, and you’re forced to watch them crawl up your body in front row seating.

The lightheadedness only gets worse with the hyperventilation. You lean against an empty part of the wall to keep yourself upright. You need to get out. You need out. You need to leave.

You close your eyes and grit your teeth hard enough for them to squeak. With your head leaned up toward the ceiling, you try to breathe normally. You’re going to get out now. You don’t care how quick it is, you want out immediately. It hurts, the spiders bite, and you think it’s starting to itch.

“Please.” you moan, the inhales through your nose are full of snot. A shudder runs down your spine when you feel a spider coming up, “Please…”

And just as it comes up your neck, heading straight for your chin, you wake in the metal chair.

“One minute--”

Your scream cuts her off.

ANTERIC IS A SPIN-OFF DIVERGENT AU //MASTERLIST//

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shirtlesssammy · 3 years ago

Text

6x21: Let It Bleed

Then:

Dean and Cas broke up

Now:

March 15, 1937

Providence, Rhode Island

It was a dark and stormy night, and HP Lovecraft sits at his typewriter clicking away. He finishes his manuscript, and his door slowly creaks open. He pulls out a revolver and heads to the hallway, but quickly backs back into the room and locks the door. A window blasts open and a shadowy figure is there. He pleads with it --but becomes blood cannon fodder anyway.

Dean continues to dissect what could have gone differently to prevent his breakup with Cas. Sam tries being the logical friend --but there’s no explaining heartbreak, folks. Bobby comes in to tell them that when Cas popped in for his late night tet-a-tet with Dean, he stole a journal. But don’t worry, Bobby had a copy.

Upon reading it, Bobby discovers a mention of HP Lovecraft. Dean doesn’t know who that is --and you’re going to tell me the dude that knows horror movies like the back of his hand and reads Stephen King doesn’t know who the father of horror is? And I know that Dean lies to cover up things he thinks other people would look down on him for, but this would be a weird moment to do that.

Anyway, Bobby thinks Lovecraft knew something about purgatory.

Meanwhile, Ben is chilling in his room reading Cthulhu graphic novels while his mom is watching the sportsball with her new beau. Demons bust in and gut the boyfriend right away. One takes after Ben. Ben gets to his room and calls Dean in a panic. He doesn’t know what’s out there and he can’t get to the shotgun in Lisa’s closet. Dean tells him to jump out his window. It’s too late --Crowley’s there and has both Ben and Lisa.

Crowley tells Dean that no harm will come to them if he backs off from the purgatory plan.

Sam throws some salt on Dean’s wound and asks if Cas knows about this. “We gotta assume that he does.” OUCH.

While Bobby heads off to follow the Lovecraft lead, Dean and Sam set to finding Lisa and Ben. They summon Balthazar and tell him that Crowley is alive. He blinks and tells them Cas already informed him. They then tell him about splitting the souls in purgatory plan. Balthazar knew that too, ahem. He refuses to help find Ben and Lisa.

Sam thinks they should call Cas. “WE’RE NOT CALLING CAS.” This is a man in pain, Sam, he needs time.

Bobby, meanwhile, interviews someone who possesses a large collection of Lovecraft’s private letters. He asks about March 10, 1937 specifically, and the dude wonders if he’s working with the other guy --”trench coat, looks like Colombo, talks like Rainman.” We’re supposed to assume he’s describing Cas, but ?? okay. They’re competitors actually.

The guy tells Bobby that Lovecraft had a dinner party with other blackmagic followers. They were getting together to perform a ritual to open a door into another dimension. He has --or had-- letters describing the dinner. Bobby leaves, knowing exactly how the letters disappeared.

Bobby discusses the case with Sam, revealing that one guest of the party -the maid’s son- didn’t die and has been in a mental ward since that night. He’s gong to interview the man now.

Dean, meanwhile, is lining the demons up and taking them down if they don’t answer his questions.

For Murderous Rampage Science:

Sam tries to get his brother to take a break, but Dean is 100% on an emotional bender and will not stop. Sam then heads outside to pray to Cas --pleading with him to bring Ben and Lisa home.

When Cas doesn’t appear, Sam walks away, dejected. Only Cas is there, invisible to Sam. AND I WANT TO TEAR OUT MY EYES.

Cas confronts Crowley. Crowley was “merely exploiting the obvious loophole.” Cas demands he tell him where they are.

Crowley tells Cas the only way to save Lisa and Ben is for him to find Purgatory.

For Literal Science:

Cas flaps away when Balthazar summons him. They meet in a wooded area, and Balthazar confronts Cas about his partnership with Crowley.

Balthazar confirms that Cas would be the vessel to take on the souls from purgatory. He could explode from all that energy. Cas assures him he won’t (weeps). Cas demands Balthazar tell him if he’s with Cas, and Balthazar laughs but agrees.

Bobby interviews the maid’s son, and discovers Cas was already there. Bobby asks for the story. The man tells what was said at the time, but then asks, “Do you believe in monsters?” He tells Bobby that the door did open that night, and whatever came through took over his mother. Then the others died. Bobby gives his condolences to the man, and he shows Bobby a picture of his mother. Bobby recognizes her.

Dean prepares his Tortures for Demons™ when his foot drags part of the devil’s trap away. The demon immediately gets the drop on Dean, only for Cas to flap in (or turn visible) just in time to save Dean’s bacon.

Dean’s...ungrateful. Surly, even! Cas apologizes about Lisa and Ben, and he’s hurt when Dean doesn’t believe that he had nothing to do with their abduction.

“Dean, I do everything that you ask,” Cas pleads. “I always come when you call and I am your friend - still. Despite your lack of faith in me, and now your threats.” Cas is just asking for backup this ONE TIME. (And you know what? Knowing the crap these Winchester boys have pulled, I always felt like Cas made a good point here.) They lob soulful looks at each other. Cas promises to rescue Lisa and Ben if Dean will just PLEASE stand down and let him absorb every single monster soul EVER it’s NOT A BIG DEAL. This is entirely the wrong tactic, and Dean tells Cas to go back to Crowley and he’ll save Lisa and Ben on his own.

Cas flaps away. Soulfully.

Bobby arrives at Eleanor-the-Dragon’s door. She’s at a little cabin in the middle of nowhere - one of her safe houses. He confronts her with the old photo and demands to know her agenda. “You know, we’re not all alike,” she retorts. She reacts similarly poorly to Bobby complaining about sleeping with her without knowing she was a monster. BOBBY! WASH YOUR MOUTH OUT RIGHT NOW. She tells him that the world’s lucky that she’s who popped through the portal. The professor is on Team Earth. Bobby begs to know the secret of the portal so that he can protect her from Cas.

Balthazar flaps in on Sam. He’s joining Team Winchester because he’s terribly concerned about Cas’s life choices. He flies them close to Crowley’s angel-warded lockup, and Dean and Sam swoop in to save Lisa and Ben.

They split up inside the warehouse - always a sensible plan. Sadly, Sam “Soft Noggin” Winchester gets knocked out IMMEDIATELY. Sam plz. Dean bursts into Lisa and Ben’s prison like a little angry blur of knives and in short order, he’s killed all the demons standing guard. They start to flee, when Lisa holds Ben at knifepoint, her eyes flashing black.

The demon goes all in on the mental torture, telling Ben that Dean’s his real father (JK!) and that Dean is Lisa’s WORST EVER MISTAKE. While Dean catalogues the internal damage, he and Lisa fight. He sheathes the demon blade and starts an exorcism, and I look directly at the camera. Demon Lisa’s got another trick up her sleeve. While the exorcism progresses, the demon grabs a tool and jabs it into Lisa’s gut. Then, she gives Dean a choice: exorcise her and Lisa bleeds out or let Lisa remain animate (but a demon puppet). Wrenchingly, Dean finishes the exorcism.

He makes sure Ben’s armed with a salt-round shotgun and then they head out of the factory. Ben shoots his first demon while Dean shouts at him to “pull it together” and I...just…….

Guys.

I’m just going to box these feelings up and stuff them in my Dean Winchester is a Sad Child attic, while humming Cat’s in the Cradle to myself.

They find Sam and head for a hospital, Dean muttering the whole time that she’s FINE Lisa is JUST FINE she is FINE. Cut to the hospital where Lisa is NOT FINE, but also is not dead! Yet!

Cas flaps in.

Dean refuses his apology. REFUSES IT. But Cas didn’t come to apologize. Okay, he DID, but he primarily came to heal Lisa miraculously. Dean looks up at him like he completely forgot that Cas can heal.

For Healing Cas Science:

In Jensen Ackles your face is a menace news, Dean displays grief, joy, relief, anger, betrayal, sad cat memes, and more in like less than five seconds of screen time. He thanks Cas for healing Lisa. “I wish this changed anything.” Regrets lie thickly between them. Dean asks for one more favor. He wants himself erased from Lisa and Ben’s memories for good.

When Lisa wakes, Ben explains that they were in a car crash. Dean enters, and introduces himself as the guy who hit them. GAH. The shitty things these characters do!!! Excuse me while I hurl knives at the wall for a solid thirty minutes!

“I lost control for a minute,” Dean says, not AT ALL metaphorically about their time together. “And I just want to say that I’m sorry.” He heads out, leaving the Braedens entirely unprotected from future supernatural threats and missing a substantial chunk of their lives. Hope Cas also cleaned up Matt’s body??? And the busted door??? (Side note: does anyone else have weird squid emotions thinking about Cas willfully blanking their memories when his own memories have been tampered with time and time again? I SURE DON’T!)

Dean meets judgmental Sam back at the Impala. Sam, I see your judgment, and I judge thee valid. Dean talks about his emotions in an open and healt----hahaha nope. Dean tells Sam that if he ever mentions the Braedens to him then he’ll break Sam’s nose. He punctuates that with mournful, red-rimmed eyes which definitely deal at least 1.5X damage against Sam’s puppy eyes. They drive off into the sad music.

Elsewhere, Eleanor Visyak leaves her cabin, only to encounter Cas behind her. Cas flaps her away. CAAAAAAAAS!

You QUOTE Miette??!!

Your chocolate's been in my peanut butter for far too long

What’s with the slow burn?

You’re just a man. I’m better off protecting myself

I’m officially on your team. You bastards

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #Lisa Braeden #Ben Braeden #spn 6x21 #let it bleed #supernatural season 6 #bobby singer #balthazar

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fictionadventurer · 4 years ago

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Thoughts on "the comedy genius of the first 100 episodes of the pbs' Arthur series"?

I really, truly believe that the early seasons of this children’s show can stand among the great sitcoms of American history. It pains me to see the Internet reduce it to stupid memes, because this show deserves to be recognized for its high-quality humor. It might be aimed at elementary-age children, but it’s full of jokes that would be funny enough for any adult sitcom. The jokes range from sharp to satirical to just plain silly, but they’re never anything that’s inappropriate for the children watching, which takes talent.

Some of my favorite categories of jokes include:

The one-liners. This show is intensely quotable, and to this day, my adult siblings and I will come up with quotes fitting to any given situation. D.W. is an excellent source of these, but the show’s humor, ranging from dry to sassy to just plain silly, provides quotations from all the characters that are useful for all sorts of situations.

The background jokes. The early seasons are filled with visual or audio gags that provide extra hilarity if you take notice of it. One of my favorites was the time that Arthur’s parents watched Extreme Knitting on television, showing two old ladies knitting massive scarves beneath a digital clock keeping time like it’s a sporting event. The other major example is “D.W. Gets Lost”, where the store’s overhead announcements are unfailingly hilarious. (”Books without vowels now half-price.” “Carbonated milk. It’s the drink that puts you to sleep, and burps you, too.” “Chocolate-covered cabbage. The dessert that makes you go, “Blech.”)

The parodies. The early-season writers were masters at writing parodies that were funny even if you didn’t know what they were parodying. One of the prime examples is “Buster Hits the Books”. As Buster tries to find a book he likes, he reads things that are parodies of everything from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to Dr. Seuss, which capture the spirit of the story while making a segment where the jokes stand on their own. I had no clue what “The Jolly Jollisters” was a parody of (until about a year ago, when to my great delight, I stumbled upon “The Happy Hollisters”), but that didn’t stop the segment from being funny. The parodies here are funny without being mean-spirited; they poke fun without lazily relying on references. They have heart and intelligence like all good parodies should.

The adult jokes. Not the “we secretly put some innuendo in here” type of adult jokes. I’m talking the types of jokes that fit more adult concerns; they don’t take away from the humor for the kids, but add something extra for the grown-ups watching. One of my favorite examples is the family reunion episode, when all the adults are playing charades. The team fails to guess the clues Arthur’s pseudo-intellectual uncle gives, and he says, “It’s Over the Bridges of Medieval Paris.” “We said pick a popular book.” “Well, all my friends have read it.”

That’s just jokes. What about stories? My favorite episodes to bring up when I say that Arthur can stand up against any sitcom are two Joe Fallon classics:

“D.W. Goes to Washington”: This episode is great gag after great gag.

We start out with the hilarity of Arthur remembering all the terrible vacations that D.W. has chosen before, such as “Share a Sundae with Santa”, which turned out to be a guy who put a false-front igloo on his house, comes out in a half-torn-off fake beard and a tank top, and says, “Didn’t you bring a sundae? How can you share a sundae with Santa if you don’t bring a sundae to Santa?”

Then we get D.W. snarking at every single attraction in Washington D.C. (”Oh, look, another closed door. We could have stayed at home and locked each other out of the bathroom. It would have looked just like this.”)

And we finish off with gags coming from the Secret Service. (”Her name is D.W.” “That’s it? Initials? You didn’t give the kid a whole name?”).

Yes, it’s an implausible plot, but I maintain that any sitcom would kill to have jokes this sharp.

“The Rat Who Came to Dinner”: Mr. Ratburn is staying with Arthur’s family. (Oh, the horror!). The classic plot of “Oh, no, the teacher has a life outside of school” is full of hilarity.

We have one liners: “Is it true what Arthur says about you hating all children?” (Strong contender for my favorite line in the entire show).

We have silly imagine spots as Arthur considers what it’ll be like to have the teacher there: “Are you doing homework?” “I’m taking a bath!” “I’m sliding a waterproof pad under the door. Write the names of the continents in order of size.”

We have parodies, like when Arthur desperately turns to educational television: “Today, we watch grass grow, in real time.”

We have character moments: “I couldn’t help overhearing, because D.W. handed me this juice can and told me to listen.” (He says while holding out string-and-can phone.)

It doesn’t matter that this plot is based around an elementary student’s concerns. These jokes are just plain funny.

Like any show, there are weak episodes mixed in with the strong ones, but the early seasons have a relatively high level of quality. It gets a little rockier as the seasons go on, but I’ve long considered the 100th episode to be a decent dividing line between the good and bad eras of the show. The 100th episode two-parter (which is excellent) occurs in the middle of Season 7 (aired in 2002). Some terrible episodes occur early in that season, and a few classics air after that. Once Season 8 hits, though, there’s a painfully obvious drop in quality. The good episodes stop being the norm and start being exceptions. The characters stop being endearing and start being annoying (do not get me started on the wrong done to Muffy). The parodies become lazy and trite, and the jokes are few and far between. However, the terrible decline of the show does not erase the roughly-seven seasons of high-quality children’s comedy that came before it. This was a smart show, a funny show, that also contained some good lessons for children. It really doesn’t get much better than that.

#thank you for asking and giving me the chance to talk about something dear to my heart #answered asks #ask games #arthur #pbs #iseult-blanchemains #i could have gone on longer but i restrained myself #(believe it or not)#i had to cut out my songs of praise for joe fallon and ken scarborough #i may fit it into another of the children's television questions in my inbox #but i'll have to see how it turns out

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writingmorsels · 3 years ago

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Prompt: Missing

You suddenly disappeared on the journey between your workplace and your home.

Alex, your current fiancé, is informed about this and wants to be involved with the search. Sullins gets him off the case almost immediately when foul play is presumed, considering Mahone one of the first suspects because of his (lately rocky) relationship with you.

Eaten by the thought of you dead, Mahone launches himself in a private investigation to try and find you.

Based off the song “Where’s My Love” by SYML

It had been Lang, that saint woman, who told Alex the news: you were gone and no-one knew where.

After leaving the administration building next to Alex’s office, you didn’t come home. People noticed only because you didn’t show up at work the next day and the interviewed doorkeeper of your apartment building confirmed never seeing you that night.

It had been also Lang, who kept him in the loop. The first days of your disappearance Alex had been shaking with adrenaline, sifting every video, every photo, every interrogation transcript Felicia gave him after Sullins took him off the case.

“I know that look,” Felicia spoke softly as her hands went to grab his ones. “You were out of State, it’s not your fault.”

Was it not?

The both of you didn’t stop fighting about anything, in the last days before her disappearing. Sullins thought it was obvious proof of Mahone’s culpability and Alex couldn’t but agree with his superior, just on a different note.

It was his fault.

He pushed you, pushed against your love and your presence because it was too good, too warm. You were too good for him and he broke you.

How many times he snapped at you? How many times has he let his work take priority over you?

Did he see the signals and didn’t care?

Or was he so blind he didn’t even notice?

Did you just… run away from him? Or were you in danger?

“How many hours, now?” Alex asked, his voice a whispery, ragged strand of what originally was.

Lang sighed, seeing his friend with his head hung forward and shoulders slouched down. He didn’t even try to hide the lack of sleep and food, at that point. “Alex…” “how many hours...days…?” his voice didn’t stop breaking from time to time, hardly keeping emotions where they had to stay.

Felicia remained silent, thinking about the last time she saw you, waving as you came out of your small little office. “Five days, more or less.” she confessed. “We searched along the road she usually takes, but nothing came up.”

Alex didn’t move, but his brain churned. “Have you checked-” “Looked at the CCTVs, in the park near her home, around the neighborhood...we even asked for security footage from civilians. I went out there myself and found nothing,” Lang exhaled, shifting on her side of the sofa, uncomfortable.

“Search dogs?”

“It had been raining since she disappeared. They can’t find a lead.”

“Interviewed coworkers? Someone that fancied her? Hated her? Or me?”

“He asked everybody, twice. Nothing came up beside office gossip. Listen, Alex, I know you know your stuff, but we know too. God’s know how much I want to find her, but you need to listen to me.”

Mahone went silent again, for a few seconds.

“Have you… looked where I told you to-” “...Alex,” Felicia's voice grew stern. “We looked. Every. Where… You need to start thinking that...maybe... she might be-” “DON’T-...Don’t say it. Please Felicia...just...let me...” and with that Lang couldn’t speak more.

Her chest tightened as she saw Alex curl up, hands gripping his own hair and tremble in what little tears he still had left.

With a small, weak “I’ll see myself out” she walked out of Alex’s living room, leaving the man to be with his sorrows with just a soft pat on his shoulder.

They didn’t search enough, Alex thought as he jumped up from the sofa, starting to pace around. He looked at your face peppering the place with various photos, smiling memories he still could feel, trapped underneath the surface of that agony.

They didn’t search well enough…! She had to be somewhere! If only Richard would listen to him!

She could die!

She could…

She is…

Anger came over him in a wave and Alex let out a pained roar, as he kicked over the coffee table, sending all its nicknacks flying.

A glass vase shattered, papers and flyers and documents flew around, the small piece of furniture rolled to the other side of the room.

You weren’t dead… you were just out of reach of anybody else.

That was it.

Fuck Sullin’s suspects, fuck everybody’s incompetence.

You were somewhere out there and if Alex found killers, rapists and even former military, he would find the love of his life.

He exited his house like a hurricane, not even grabbing his heavy coat to fight the cold of mid-autumn.

He had to check that place again. Even if his colleagues assured him the place was empty when they looked, Mahone had a feeling.

Because if you weren’t there...then you really just up and left him without a trace.

Five Day Earlier:

“What?!” you snapped, pressing your phone against your ear. You barely heard Alex through it, the sound of chatter and keyboards muffling his voice. “But we had plans...you know we had plans!” you whined, making some coworkers turn their heads.

You huffed, storming out of the office and on the emergency stairs, just so you could chew him a new one in peace.

“We found a new lead for the Ragman case-” “Like I care! You’re not the whole fucking Bureau, Alex! Let someone else handle it!” you barked, your free hand grabbing the railing.

It was that or it was crossing the street, up to his office and smacking him to kingdom come.

He sounded angry just like you, his voice cold and strained. “I can’t just step down! I’ve been following this case for weeks, you know it!” “I know that I’m planning this fucking dinner since EASTER, Alex! It’s not even the real Thanksgiving because you ALREADY HAVE that day filled, but no! No, you HAVE to be on the other side of the fucking Nation even tho you assured meー no, SWORE me you WOULD BE FREE!” you found yourself basically screaming into the phone.

It was like a dam exploded and now days and months of pushing down emotions kept pouring out.

It wasn’t only for a missed dinner, it was for the rest. The feeling of being less than his job, being unimportant. Not being enough for him.

Those thoughts gnawed at you for quite some time and now they came back in full force. “You know what?? Fine! Go be a superhero! Go hunt your next bone, good doggy! While you’re there, marry your fucking job too!”.

With that you slammed the phone shut without even listening to his voice anymore.

One after another, his promises kept missing...and you were at your wit’s ends. There was some talking to do, for sure, but before that you absolutely had to cool down or you would totally wreck what was left between you two.

So, after finishing your boring day at work you went out and, instead of going back to your shared home, you got on a bus and straight to your favourite place.

The park was nice even when the summer was just a memory, a thick fog rising from the browny waters of the lagoon.

You walked down a wooden path, feeling the wet earth beneath it shift slightly, and you breathed a long, long sigh; you didn’t need to be so mean, but you were so tired. Tired of battling for every inch of attention. Tired of tiptoeing around Mahone’s always full agenda.

You didn’t mind his line of work, being a federal was a very dangerous and busy occupation, but Alex seemed to always do more of what was expected of him. No one ordered him to travel and manually grab the killer of choice to bring back. No one ordered him to stay afterhours for days on end, leaving you to wait up until midnight with an empty plate in the kitchen.

He was the one going the extra mile for his job...but lately, you wanted him to take some, not all! But some of that mileage and invest it in his relationship with you.

Especially now that he proposed.

You chuckled a sob, remembering the day.

Was it just so you wouldn’t run away? Did he really love you?

Or did he love the cooking, the cleaning, the company?

You stopped in the middle of the wooden road and looked left, seeing a faint path in the tall grass.

That small, invisible trail led you to the best place of the park, where you played cop and thief with your friends.

It was a small, round clearing among the trees, with one L-shaped stone covered in moss you called ‘The Couch’.

You hopped on The Couch and groaned your anger away, laying down on the soft greenery.

You didn’t know what to do anymore...

Mahone stopped his car inches away from the main gate of the park, leaving the engine on as he got off.

He grabbed a torch from the glove box and ran inside, moving the light around like a blade cutting the darkness. His eyes swallowed every little detail as he walked, combing with his gaze through the trees, the grass, the waters.

Frantically he moved along the main path, flashing the wooden boards now dark and soaking wet.

The recent rain erased any single footprint that would have existed, but Mahone knew your favourite place.

You showed him once, making him find a basket full of good food, a blanket and some wine. “Twenty steps from the crooked tree… thirtyfive to the left,” he mumbled to himself, finding the faint trail almost immediately.

He walked like a pirate in search of a treasure, careful to never stray from the path.

“Y/n! Y/n honey!” he shouted.

Alex had this foolish thought, this little movie in his head that, once he overcame the underbrush and pierced the thick veil of trees, he would find you.

Maybe angry, maybe scared, it didn’t matter. He just wanted to hug you tight, to never let go.

As he walked up into the clearing, his already broken heart shattered.

Everything was as he remembered: the long, thin trunks of the ashes, the big green rock, the blades of grass.

Even the smell was the same, humid and woody.

But you weren’t there.

You weren’t sitting on that strange rock or maybe laying in the grass. Not you or your body or any kind of hint you were ever there.

Alex’s hand trembled, the light of the torch vibrating. “No...no no no…” he sobbed. “Y/N! HONEY!” he started to shout, “Y/N PLEASE! Y/N!” his eyes darted left and right as the realization started to really hit him. “Y/N I’M SORRY! PLEASE! DON’T...Don’t...p-please come back...” his voice crumbled as did his body, overexerted by the long days without respite.

The flashlight flew from his fingers in a fit of desperate rage and Mahone wept alone in the woods, almost wheezing in the constricting pain holding his heart.

Tears streamed down his face as his palms pressed against his temples, nails digging into his scalp.

It was his fault, all his fault...if he just said no to Sullins, if he sent Wheeler instead...if he listened to Felicia…

You would be home with him.

Eating a warm, good dinner together and then crashing into bed, holding each other until morning.

Now you were gone and his heart was, too.

c l a c k c l a c k c l a c k s p l a s h

Amongst the sobbing and the sounds of the night, Alex’s ears picked up on something. A sound that seemed to come almost from underneath him, faint and muffled.

Then, raising his head, Mahone noticed he was in complete darkness. His torch was nowhere to be found.

No, there was something: a few strands of grass seemed to shine, but the light was too feeble to be his flashlight...or was it?

He moved slowly, furrowing his eyebrows for a moment...and then his eyes shot open wide, for what he saw there, at the foot of the big green rock.

You lingered in that place for at least a couple of hours, watching the sky turning from grey to black as the night progressed. Your phone pinged a couple of times with messages from Alex, asking you to answer his calls, to stop being childish, to please reply. The last one was a defeated ‘we’ll talk when I’ll be back. Write when you’re home. Love you’ that made you melt a litte. You sighed, closing the phone with a little clack and laying it on your forehead, thinking. Now that you were calmer and level-headed, what had happened seemed a little excessive. Sure you’ll speak to Alex about your insecurities, about how you felt being always brushed aside, but at the same time you had to make peace with the fact that you still loved him, so very much. He had that job before you came into his life, it was one of the things that made you fall in love with him: his stubbornness, his logic, his courage. It was a new point in your life and it just needed adjusting, that’s all… “ehh...fuck me…” you whisper with a strange, sweet tone in it, as you took your phone and started to slowly type ‘Going home. Love you too’ to him. As you hit send, the phone froze for a second before giving you a small error message. “No signal? Where am I, Narnia?” you grumbled as you jumped off The Couch, lifting your cellphone at arm-high in search of signals. You stumbled around in the clearing, eyes transfixed on the little screen above your head. “C’mon, now that I wasn’t that angry anymo-” your voice yelped as your heel sank into rotten wood. Something behind you, on the ground, gave away and your entire weight dragged you down, down deep into the earth. You dropped like a stone, your fingers trying to grab the wet, rough walls as you plummeted down. Then a splash, cold water enveloping you with its sharp claws, but it didn't stop gravity enough for your bones not to break. You heard a snap and suddenly a jolt of electrifying pain shot all along your right leg. You cried in agony, scraping your nails against the rocks like running away from the hurt. After a few minutes of intense panic, your eyes started to watch around, to assess your position after the fall. You recognized it, between tears. It was a well. An old well hidden from everyone's eyes but nature, still filled with a couple of feet of freezing water. “Oh no...oh--ffffuck…!” you wailed as you tried to stand up, letting out another cry as you immediately fell down again, your own body too shocked to manage to stand up. The sandy bottom felt grimy underneath your hands, your phone dead in the water where it fell right after you. “HELP! SOMEBODY!” You passed all night screaming for help, watching the mouth of the well light up with the cloudy sky of the morning after. If you squinted enough, its form could be mistaken for a full moon in the middle of a dark sky. Unable to stand on your remaining leg for more than a few seconds, you leaned against the stone walls around you, trying to stay as far as possible from the water. It was too cold to sit in it without freezing to death and you surely didn’t want to die. You screamed and screamed until your throat felt raw and your voice cracked. Your thirst found solace with the same water threatening your life and you drank it with small sips, feeling its coolness fight your body temperature as you gulped it down. Another night came and went. The light grey sky became black again. It rained, water trickling down the walls and slowly pooling at the base of the well, around her legs. You drank your hunger away, using the rain to quench your thirst now that your small reserve of water got, alas, corrupted by your bodily function. Your voice carried less far away, tired but still trying. Third day and leaning against the wall with just one leg had been unbearable. Your knee buckled from time to time, sending you into the water now one feet higher. You convened with your body that sitting down, even if in freezing water, could be done for a couple of minutes at the time. You tried to scream for help again, but your voice croaked pitifully

and never reached the edge of the well, hidden among the grass. Surely someone noticed your disappearance. Surely there was police involved already...it had to be. You secretly hoped he noticed, too. Would he care, after what you screamed at him? You could not feel your leg anymore and looking at its bent shape made you nauseous. Or was it the hunger? "Please….! Someone…" Fourth day. You could not stand anymore. Water reached your chest now and the only moments of warmth is when your bladder empties itself. Rain stopped flowing down that night and you waved goodbye at your only source of clean water. He wasn't there. No one was. Death was. Fifth. Cold. Light. Alex…?

Mahone carefully palmed the edges of the well, double the size of a manhole.

He looked down, the light of his torch now reverberating along stone walls, impressing on them the dance of water. And his heart sank down the same moment he saw you.

You were sitting down with water lapping at your collarbones, your skin so pale you looked like a ghost.

His voice hiccuped a second, before coming out in full force. “Y/N!” he cried, but you didn’t move.

Only a slit of your beautiful, beautiful eyes was open. So were your lips, turned a dangerous shade of blue.

Quickly, Alex grabbed his phone and dialed Lang’s number, knowing full well she would still be in the office. She was leading the search, despite her pessimistic view about it.

The woman replied almost immediately, her voice tense. “Yes?” “I found her!” he hissed, panicked. “Send me the firefighter, now! And paramedics! Please she’s unresponsive I can’t reach-” “Alex, breathe! I’ll send you a backup, but you need to calm down! Where are you?”.

Mahone breathed in, tensing his jaw, before moving his head to search for something to try and pull you out. “She fell into an abandoned well,” his voice was colder, professional. “There’s no time, just track my phone. I’m going down…!” “Alex wait-!”

With that, Mahone closed the call and safely left his phone a couple of feet away from the mouth of the well.

Without a second thought, the man slid one leg into the hole, then the other, slowly lowering himself inside with his feet searching for pursuit on the smooth stones. His fingers found cracks in between the rocks and slowly started his descent. Alex slipped a couple of times, holding on just enough for his shoes to find a ledge again.

The journey you made in a few seconds five days prior, took Alex at least one solid minute of intense climbing. When only a couple of feet separated the both of you, Mahone let go of the wall and fell down into the freezing water, feeling it gnaw at his legs. “Y/n…! Oh God honey...please answer me…!” he panted as he reached you, kneeling down into the stagnant water. His hot hands cupped your frozen face, thumb caressing your cold lips and your damp cheekbones.

For a moment there was nothing. No movements, no reactions but only the sloshing of water around your bodies.

Slowly, then, you came up from the dark, fuzzy place where you were drowning, your eyelashes trembled, stuck, unable to open.

Resuscitated by his warm touch, his presence. “A...lex…” your voice was barely a raspy whisper, but that was enough for Mahone.

He exhaled a deep breath, a smile cracking his tense expression as he lowered his head to kiss your damp forehead. “I’m here love… I’m here.”

For a moment you thought about wrapping your arms around him, searching for more of that scalding sensation against the skin. As you tried, a new explosion of pure agony rebounded in your body.

You couldn't move, almost frozen solid in that curled position. Your stone-cold body started to shake visibly, like a broken machine trying to power on. “h-h-he...reー” you whined under your breath, one hand fighting against the cramping muscles to reach his shirt.

You gripped on him with all the strength you had left, eyes rolling behind the eyelids from time to time.

Mahone immediately wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you in his body warmth. “Yes Y/n I’m here. I’ll take you out darling...I’m here, I’m not leaving…” he whispered hurriedly in your ear, a big lump forming in his throat.

You yelped softly when he touched your broken leg, your only functioning hand pulling at his clothes in pain and Mahone furrowed his brows, watching down in the muddy water.

He saw your injury but didn’t say anything about it, only shifting his body to be able to hold you without causing any pain.

Cuddled into his arm, you let yourself mold into him, your heavy head resting on his shoulder and face searching the hot angle of his throat. “I’ll not let you die…” he sweetly spoke onto your wet hair. “You will not...leave me like this.”

You sighed against his skin, your trembling starting to subdue. Oh you were so tired, the weight of entire oceans on you… but you could not stand losing his voice into the fog. “h--urts-…” you let out a soft noise, desperate and scared.

Your eyes finally managed to unglue, lashes thawed and gaze glassy, but you watched his face, crossed by the undulating lights the torch created from the bottom of the water. If you died there, at least you managed to see the summer skies in his eyes one last time. “I let you down so many times darling…” Alex hushed, his voice low and closed in his throat. His hand never stopped caressing your face, brushing away locks of hair and heating up your skin with his palm. “But I’ll get you out of here...this is a promise I’m going to keep...you just...you just have to keep holding on.”

You wanted to speak, to reply to his sweet, sweet words. Transform your groan into words of love and pureness, but your hand felt heavier than ever before and your aching fingers lost grip on his shirt.

It had been difficult to even remain conscient at that moment, focusing on the beating of his heart in his throat. Focusing on your body now split in two: freezing death on one side, burning pain on the other.

“Stay awake Y/n, don’t sleep…! C’mon honey you have to stay with me now. Please..!” you heard Alex as if he spoke to you from the other side of a glass, the voice you always loved now muffled.

As your mind started to drift off again, a thought came into your mind.

You never managed to reply to his message.

You never said that to him. “ ーove... you…” your tired, hoarse voice managed to claw out of your mouth before passing out again.

Red and blue lights pierced through the trees and seconds after a group of men in uniform came rustling into the clearing.

Guiding them was Felicia Lang, her phone in her hand trying to reach out for Mahone without success. “Where are you, you dumbー !” her mumbling stopped as her eyes saw light coming through the earth, then a little mmmmhz-mmmmhz of Mahone’s vibrating cell phone.

“HERE! HERE!” she shouted, waving her arm. Both police and firemen crowded around the well for a moment, assessing the situation.

There was a man on the bottom of the well, standing in water up to his knees. He was holding a woman in his arms, trying to keep her as close to him as possible. “WE’RE COMING DOWN! STAND BACK!” one of the policemen yelled, as one of the firemen wore a harness.

Alex made one step back, watching intently at the man being lowered into the well by his colleagues. “C’mon…! C’mon!” he hissed under his breath, his body trembling with adrenaline while time slowed down to a crawl.

As soon as the fireman reached them, Alex neared him. “She’s hypothermic, unresponsive...I can’t find a pulse but I see her breathing…!” he spoke quickly, agitated and the fireman nodded. “Paramedics are on the surface, sir, don’t worry.”

You didn’t even make a sound as your frozen body passed from Alex’s determined hold to the arms of the unknown man.

Slowly, you were brought up and out of the moist hell you fell five days prior, and while the fireman carried you towards the on-coming stretcher, Alex was given a rope to use as a way to climb up right behind rescue.

He didn’t even feel the pain in his arms as training and fear both pushed him to move quickly, grasping at the edge of the well with one hand and the other being grasped by Lang. “She’s there, go…!” she whispered to him as soon as he came out.

Mahone neared the stretcher the same time the paramedics put it down for you to be laid on and start first aid.

They couldn’t find a pulse for a good thirty seconds, before one of them confirmed that yes, heart beats were present but slow.

“Shallow breathing. Have you temp?”

“25 degrees. She’s gonna collapse, wrap her!”

“On three. One, two, three-up!”

“Gently!”.

Alex walked near the stretcher, watching you being wrapped up in insulation blankets and with one of the paramedics pumping air into your lungs through a mask.

He never left your side, as the little procession sped through the park, towards the exit and into the back of an ambulance.

On the ride to the hospital, Alex never left your hand.

Your fingers never left his, too.

#prison break #Alexander Mahone #Alexander Mahone x Reader #oneshot #angst prompt #missing people #fanfiction

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