#most of the rest of him comes from doc though either directly or as a result of his encouragement and nurturing

[timechange]

The two people Marty takes after in his biological family are his grandmother, Sylvia Miskin (with the stage name Trixie Trotter), and his great-grandfather William "Willie" McFly. Not only is there a strong physical resemblance (especially with his great grandfather), Marty inherits his grandmother's musical talent. Both also have a strength of character and spirit that Marty also has.

[dragonsarecool]

Day 7 - Suffering in Silence

A/N: One doesn’t get nearly hanged and walk away with no consequences. Can be read as a sequel to Day 1 ‘Helpless’.

Holy shit, I’m not dead.

That’s great.

That’s really great.

Dammit Doc, why’d you have to cut it so close?!

Marty massaged his throat profusely, quietly observing the tense stand-off between Doc and Buford.

“Doc!”

“Marty,” Doc’s voice carried a slight hint of disappointment. “I specifically told you not to come back for me, but to return directly to 1985!”

Dammit, I knew he’d start off with a lecture. Marty opened his mouth to retort, but found he couldn’t even defend himself when his attempt to speak faded into a squeak, resulting in a prolonged coughing fit. Geez, this is heavy…

“Marty?” Doc’s face quickly morphed into one of concern. He placed a hand on the young man’s back, mentally shuddering at the hoarseness of Marty’s cough. “Get it all out, Marty. You’ll probably be doing this for a while.”

Marty weakly raised his head, allowing Doc to get a proper look at the young man since his chaotic arrival. His face was streaked with enough dirt that he looked like a different person, with strands of hair sticking up all over the place. What concerned him the most, though, was the ugly red blotching that ran around Marty’s neck.

“Marty, let me look at your throat,” Doc didn’t wait for a response from his friend before gently pushing the young man’s chin upward. He forced himself to ignore the hisses of pain from Marty as he gently felt along the rapidly-forming bruises. Tiny splotches of blood decorated his fingertips as he pressed on Marty’s tender skin.

“There’s already some palpable swelling around your trachea, and without a CT scan to determine the-“

Marty grabbed Doc by the shoulder and gave him an exasperated expression. English, Doc! How bad is it?!

Realising he had to switch his language, Doc paused for a moment as he though of the best way to translate his diagnosis into layman’s terms. “I think it would be best if you rest your voice for a while, Marty. I can’t tell how much swelling there is in your throat without a scan, and I’d rather you didn’t engage with the town’s doctor if we can help it. We don’t want to risk altering the timeline any further than we already have!”

Marty’s face fell. No! He tried to engage his vocal cords, only for a hoarse whisper to escape his lips. Doc, I have to tell you!!

“Marty,” Doc’s voice took on a gentle warning tone. “It’ll only make things worse. I’m not a medical doctor, but this is the only thing I can think of that will help.”

But Doc, you’ve gotta know!! You die on Monday for Christ’s sake!

Marty was surprised to feel tears beginning to trickle from his eyes. I can’t let you die!

His disbelief quickly morphed into embarrassment as he realised his best friend was now seeing him cry. Geez McFly, you’re turning into a bigger wimp than your old man was-

Doc placed a hand on Marty’s shoulder, giving it a comforting pat. “It’s alright, Marty. It’s alright. You’re safe now.”

He wasn’t sure what came over him in that moment, but Marty felt the sudden urge to throw his arms around Doc, which the older man reciprocated.

“We’ve both been through a lot, Marty,” Doc said quietly. “I’m not surprised at your reaction, and I’m not angry, either.”

The teenager nodded silently, but Doc could tell he wasn’t convinced. He took the opportunity to gently extract himself from Marty and gesture towards his workshop. “How about we go get you cleaned up? Besides, you can’t be walking around in that outfit! People will start asking questions! Who dressed you like that anyway?”

It took a second before Marty smiled tiredly, poking Doc directly in the chest. You did.

____

The walk through town wasn’t a long one, given that Marty was used to a much bigger version of Hill Valley. He kept stumbling on the unpaved and rough pathways, the sound of his sneakers scraping against the dirt quickly becoming irritating. Deciding it would be wise to follow Doc’s advice, he wisely kept quiet and allowed his friend to ramble on about various aspects of the town’s history as they arrived at the workshop.

“I know it’s not exactly as comfortable as my lab, Marty,” Doc shouted over his shoulder as he unlocked the barn doors, “but unfortunately this is the best place I’ve been able to get around here!”

Marty craned his neck to observe the workshop. Technically, it was an old barn house, but Doc had spent most of the last nine months converting it into a primitive laboratory, whilst keeping a small space available for his blacksmithing business and horses. His nose crinkled as the doors opened and the glorious smell of farm animals hit his nostrils. Wonder if Doc could invent air freshener a bit early?

As soon as Doc secured the barn doors, he turned to find Marty gesturing for a pen. The teenager’s desperation to communicate was beginning to worry him. “Marty, I promise I’m not angry-“

Marty threw his hands up in frustration before an idea seemed to cross his mind. He held up a finger at Doc before he began desperately fishing around in his filthy pockets for something.

Doc found himself growing increasingly concerned. “Please, Marty, let’s at least get you cleaned up first-“

The scientist was interrupted as a photograph was violently shoved under his nose, with a suspiciously-teary Marty holding it with trembling hands.

Doc briefly recoiled before grabbing the photo. “Marty, what the hell-“

His retinas finished processing the visual information of the tombstone in the photograph.

Here lies Emmett Brown.

Died September 7, 1885.

His stomach dropped. He gazed up at Marty with eyes as wide as saucers. “Marty-“

“I had to come,” Marty mouthed sadly, his eyes almost welling up with tears.

Doc looked back at the tombstone, the pit of despair in his stomach growing deeper by the second. He found himself re-reading his name on the grave, ignoring the nausea that had suddenly appeared in his throat. “…Did you find this in 1955?”

Marty nodded. “With you,” He mouthed, pointing at Doc.

An icy sense of dread came rushing over the older man. He forced himself to look past the top of the tombstone and read the lower part of the inscription.

Shot in the back by Buford Tannen over a matter of eighty dollars.

Erected in eternal memory by his beloved Clara.

“September seventh?! But that’s this Monday!!” Doc yelped in surprise, running a hand through his hair. “Now I wish I’d paid him off! And who’s this Clara? I don’t know anyone called Clara!”

Marty shrugged. He thought for a moment before pointing at Doc and making a love heart with his hands. Girlfriend of yours, maybe?

Doc scoffed nervously. “You know perfectly well how determined I am to keep the future intact! Becoming attached to a woman of this period could potentially endanger the entire fabric of reality!”

Rolling his eyes at Doc and praying that he was exaggerating, Marty decided he’d had enough of masquerading as a half-dead Westerner for one day. He looked around the workshop, his eyebrow raising at Doc as he mimed taking a shower. Where’s the bathroom in this joint?

“Oh! Oh, yes, Marty, we need to get all that dirt off of you. There’s not much in terms of hygiene facilities in this time period, as I’m sure you’re aware, but I’ve done my best to rig up a primitive version of the plumbing we’re used to. Just be careful to not cut yourself on the tub,” Doc gestured towards the far end of the barn. “Chuck those clothes in front of the curtain and I’ll bring over some spare ones for you. That outfit isn’t good for anything now except kindling.”

Marty sighed and nodded wearily, walking to the back of the barn for what he hoped would be the best bath of his life. I would also kill for a nap right now.

Doc felt an intense pang of sadness in his heart as he watched his injured friend pull the privacy curtain across. He almost died trying to warn me about this!! What have I gotten this kid into?…

[idlyfretting]

Excerpt from another hp fic that just toppled out of my brain and into a google doc

Ao3: every door is hard to close

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

“Would any of you care to explain what just happened?”

Blaise was tired. He was sure the rest of his yearmates were as well. It had been a long day. Double Transfiguration followed by Runes followed by Herbology followed by double Potions. It was a truly exhausting Thursday schedule, and this early in the year with no established rhythm yet, made it near unbearable. 

Honestly, whoever had put double Potions with Slytherins and Gryffindors at the end of day with a schedule like that was a sadist. It was an explosion waiting to happen. 

Not even one week into classes and it already had. 

Though not in the way that may have been expected.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Snape was looming. The empty classroom he’d led them to was small, more of a study room really. It was dark and gray and, like most of the abandoned rooms in the lower levels of the dungeons, felt mildly damp. Their Head of House, with his long black cloak and general air of malcontent, cut an imposing figure.

It might have been more effective if he’d made them all sit down, but they’d gathered toward the front of the room near the abandoned teacher’s desk. Slytherins knew better than to give up the high ground voluntarily. The fact that all of the fourth year students from their house were present also made it so they outnumbered him. 

Blaise let himself lean more heavily against the wall, toeing the line between relieving his tired feet and slouching disrespectfully. Snape’s eyes narrowed in his direction. 

“Mr. Zabini, you were directly involved.” He glanced to Blaise’s right where Theo was standing, hands shoved in his pockets to mask the shaking that hadn’t stopped since they’d left the Potions classroom. Blaise straightened up, not quite rolling his eyes, he wouldn’t get away with that in front of Snape, but letting them wander over the man’s shoulder. It effectively redirected his gaze from Theo onto Blaise. 

He wasn’t being subtle by any means, judging by how half of the room’s occupants eyed him pointedly, but Snape seemed irritated enough to at least go along with it if he could get some answers.

Not that Blaise wanted to give him any.

“It was my cauldron that tipped over, yes. I’m very sorry about that, sir.” He didn’t pretend to actually be contrite. It would come off as condescending, which their professor would hate more than polite but empty words. “I can assist with the clean up. I know it burned a portion of the table.”

The smell of charred wood mixed with the various ingredients that had been on their workstation was still lingering on their robes. He caught a whiff of it every time either he or Theo moved. He was lucky it was just the scent that lingered and not any actual burns. As soon as his cauldron had knocked into Theo’s, sending the contents of both spilling over their station and onto the floor, Blaise had expected a hospital wing visit was in both their futures. Boiling hot half-finished Fire Breathing Potions were known to cause minor explosions under normal brewing conditions. He and Theo were lucky to have escaped relatively unscathed. 

In reality, they were lucky they’d been working at the station directly across from Harry Potter, whose situational awareness was thankfully just as strong in the classroom as it was on the Quidditch pitch. 

Of course, Potter was part of the reason that the whole Potions lesson had fallen apart the way it did. Not that Blaise was blaming him. If he was going to blame anyone, it would be their professor. But that wasn’t really going to get him anywhere except irritated.

Which is what led to the incident in the first place.

And now he was just thinking in circles.

Merlin, he was tired.

Snape walked up to him. Blaise had grown some since last year, but he was still a good few inches shorter than the other man. He hoped that wouldn’t be the case next year. For now though, the Potions professor looked down at him with a mostly unreadable look on his face. 

“The cauldron stands have sticking charms on them Mr. Zabini.”

“Perhaps the ones on mine and Theo’s failed.”

“I reapplied the charms at all of the workstations ahead of today’s lesson. And I saw no evidence of outside interference.” Snape’s eyes were starting to narrow. “Fire Breathing Potions can be very dangerous, which you well know. So please, tell me,” Snape said, voice starting to hint at anger, “why did you intentionally sabotage your own potion?” He gestured to Theo next to him. “You put yourself and Mr. Nott at great risk, Mr. Zabini.”

Blaise was impressed Theo managed not to flinch. He’d frozen, shaking hands going still where they were hidden in his robes, but Theo was likely the only one who noticed, pressed against his side like he was. He stayed silent in the face of the professor’s questioning. He had no desire to answer, and wasn’t even sure if he could properly verbalize it anyway without discussing things they were not supposed to discuss, except under very specific circumstances.

How was Blaise supposed to explain that he’d knocked his cauldron because of Snape himself?

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

read the rest of ao3

[aegagrusscholarship]

hi hello okay i think i've deciphered what's going on here. nothing super concerning, though we are given a few interesting implications. the descriptions are copied directly from the site; let's break them down.

Here's Deimos's description.

Deimos was on the fence about storming a zombie and soldier infested city until he came to understand his favorite burger joint was in there. His motivations are as confusing as his past, and the rumors that circulate about him might seem like an exaggeration were it not for the fact that Deimos is capable of miracles any time life-mangling pressure comes from all sides. His handler, Doc, knows this, and is happy to send Deimos on only the most hazardous of missions to ensure an elite combat performance. Bad habits included.

The first sentence is... readable. Nothing really new here. more confirmation he fucking loves Burger Gil's.

"His motivations are as confusing as his past, and the rumors that circulate about him might seem like an exaggeration were it not for the fact that Deimos is capable of miracles any time life-mangling pressure comes from all sides." this sentence is just a victim of awkward punctuation and krinkels' habit of using funny wording. basically- there are three parts to this sentence. Part 1: "His motivations are as confusing as his past," Deimos's past is fucking weird, his motivations are fucking weird, "we" (the reader this blurb is talking to) do not really know where he came from or why he's working for Doc. Fair enough. Part 2: "and the rumors that circulate about him might seem like an exaggeration were it not for [...]" Here, we see that there's some wild fucking rumours. Rumours that are, according to the blurb, nearly unbelievable, but there's a caveat. Part 3: "[...] the fact that Deimos is capable of miracles any time life-mangling pressure comes from all sides." This is the caveat to part 2. It is saying these fucking wild-ass rumours are actually reasonable, because Deimos is so good at getting out of fucked-up situations. Like the dedmos series. Basically pulling "miracles" to survive all the bullshit ("life-mangling pressure") he went through in purgatory.

"His handler, Doc, knows this, and is happy to send Deimos on only the most hazardous of missions to ensure an elite combat performance." Handler, definition used as in "agent handler", as in manager, to put it in the most simple terms. Doc's just the boss around here. Nothing to do with the other definition, as unfortunately fascinating as that'd be. The rest is self-explanatory.

Last sentence is self-explanatory.

On to Sanford.

Nothing screams 'weaponry specialist' quite like skewering your enemy with a meat hook and smashing them through a wall with it. Possessing a level of tactical intuition that borders on mind-reading, Sanford is capable of employing an inventive approach to combat which lends to him wildly outclassing even elite foes. Blessed with nigh unkillable resilience (or luck), this brawny wrecking ball of a soldier has absolutely been marked for death by powers that seem incapable of seeing him stopped. Keep them safe.

First sentence is exactly as it reads.

Second sentence is exactly as it reads.

"Blessed with nigh unkillable resilience (or luck), this brawny wrecking ball of a soldier has absolutely been marked for death by powers that seem incapable of seeing him stopped." Yeah this one's another case of Krinkels' writing style. There's some interesting implications here, though. "Blessed with nigh unkillable resilience (or luck)," This is... actually exactly as it reads. Basically it's just saying 'look, this guy survived way more than he should've survived. either he's just that good or he's just that lucky, it doesn't matter'. "[...]been marked for death by powers that seem incapable of seeing him stopped." Look I think this is just straight-up "Audi wants Sanford dead and the guy is Nevada's fucking cockroach and just doesn't die no matter how much shit he goes through" because. He is. Dude's impressive like that. To be less facetious, "powers" here is either referring to the Auditor or an as-of-unknown threat. We do not have any real threads to follow if it is a threat we've not seen yet. If it's referring to the Auditor, it is likely referring to the fact he's been a thorn in the A.A.H.W.'s side, and also referring to the events of Expurgation, where he... survived Audi's purgatory as a normal guy really. Anyways, my point is that. Either this is teasing something we don't have any way of knowing, or it's just restating what happened in the series. Kinda interesting, though.

"Keep them safe." ...Okay I've got nothing. This is concerning all right. I have a couple theories: 1. This is talking directly to Sanford, although I don't know who "them" is referring to, then. Hank, maybe? 2. This is talking to the reader, and, uh, congrats on the pronouns Sanford 3. This is talking to the reader, and it is meant to be read in tandem with Deimos's blurb. Therefore it refers to both of them.

Hope this helps. Sorry if I rained on the party.

GRIPS YOU BY THE SHOULDERS

YEAH DUDE IM FUCKIGB....?????????

DOESNT HELP THAT SANFORDS THE ONLY NAMED CHARACTER IN THE SERIES (BESIDES DOC) TO HAVE NEVER DIED ONSCREEN. FUCK.

THESE GUYS ARE SO COSMICALLY FUCKED. WHATS GOING ON HERE.....!!!!

[danses-with-dogmeat]

could you do the anxious tics prompt with fo3 and new vegas companions? sorry, i think i’ve asked you to add characters a lot but i just really love your writing ^^”

FO3 and FONV Romanced! Companions react to Lone's/Six's Anxiety Tics

Here you are, my love. Please never feel bad about requesting more people! It's honestly what I live for, and I loooooove making content for the FO3 and NV folks, since I feel like there's a lot less written about them in general 😊

So thank you so much for the ask!

Here is the prompt with FO4 Companions!

FO3

Butch:

     The flash of large red-framed letters had caught Butch’s attention as the pair stood waiting to speak to Doc Church outside his clinic in Megaton. “Whatcha got there, babe?” he had asked, before realizing that it was, in fact, exactly what he had thought. Lone blushed as they looked up at him, hiding behind the pages of their comic book. “You really kept that? After all these years?” They had nodded to him, explaining that it was a sort of security blanket for them, that they could always count on reading the same story, seeing the same happy ending each time they looked between the pages, each time they felt uncertainty or stress, they could count on Grognak to see them through it. He grinned whenever he saw them with it, often curling up beside them, or leaning his head on their shoulder to try and read along with them. In these cases, Lone had to read the pages slower than they normally would, reading the same comic book over and over for the last 10 years means you can skim through it pretty quickly, but they don’t really seem to mind. Now they get to watch as this person that they care so much for enjoys the comic book they relied on and adored for so long.

Charon:

     The ghoul was curious about Lone’s tendency to nap directly after dealing with stressful situations, but he decided not to voice any inquiries. His companion would explain themself if they wanted him to know more. One day, they did. Lone had thanked him for always looking after them while they rested off their anxiety, and mentioned that it was something they couldn’t help. Charon had nodded at them, acknowledging their gratitude, before his blue eyes had narrowed in his effort to process the rest of what they had said. It seemed strange to him, sleeping off nerves... Wouldn’t that make it more difficult to sleep? He decided that the logic of it didn’t really matter, whatever it was that caused it, he would look after his partner as they took the time to rest. Soon enough, they would beckon for him to join them, leaning against his shoulder or laying their head in his lap as he kept watch over them. A scarred hand would come to run softly through their hair, or graze lightly over their arm as they dreamed away their anxieties alongside their watchful partner.  

Clover:

     Lone wasn't quite sure why, but it seemed to them that Clover was always so handsy whenever they became anxious. They had to admit, they didn't necessarily mind it, but she always seemed to get frisky at the most inopportune times. Meanwhile, Clover just can't seem to figure out why Lone is always casting hints her way in the middle of stressful situations. She gets it, she totally is picking up what Lone is putting down every time they draw their bottom lip between their teeth and gnaw away so suggestively, but do they really have to do that right now?! Once Clover finds out it's just Lone's way of coping with their anxiety, she feels sort of foolish… but that doesn't stop her from getting a little turned on whenever Lone does it, even though the timing is usually inconvenient for both of them. But after the trouble and stress has passed, Lone will certainly need to blow off some steam, right? If that’s the case, Clover is more than ready for it. 

Cross:  

     Cross often noticed when Lone had trouble focusing, she tends not to miss a thing, especially when it comes to her Lone. When she sees her partner struggling to keep their attention trained on the person speaking to them, she usually will step in and ask if the person can speak to her companion again at a later time. Her direct and clear way of speaking is a relief for Lone when they are experiencing tension, as their listening becomes almost ineffective when they are being spoken to during times of high stress or anxiety. Paladin Cross understands this, and pays particular attention to speak slowly and with great care in these times. Due to her affinity for speaking this way normally, she and Lone tend to never have issues with communication; which evidently, tends to keep Lone from becoming anxious when they’re around their partner.

Fawkes:  

     Within his first couple weeks of traveling alongside Lone, the mutant noticed their need to constantly snack. When he decided to inquire about it, and they hesitantly explained their habit to stress eat, he wasn’t sure he understood it, but he knew that he had his own ways of dealing with his nerves, which came in the form of wringing his hands whenever he became anxious. So, if this is how Lone deals with it, he will accept it without question. It wasn’t until one fateful day, when Lone had realized they were completely out of snacking material and they were on the brink of a breakdown, that they realized Fawkes had taken their words to heart, as he reached out a large hand, filled to the brim with an assortment of their favorite snacks from one of his pockets. All this time they thought he only kept ammunition in there, turns out, their partner always had a well-stocked stash of their anxiety-repellent hidden away for cases just like these. They smiled coyly as they took a box of snack cakes, and a tin of crisps, settling down beside Fawkes as he lightly ran his hand up and down their back as they leaned into him, their breathing already beginning to return to normal with each passing moment.

Jericho:

     The ex-raider always thought it was a little annoying, the way his companion would stutter at him every time something got dicey, or when they had to deal with some sort of verbal confrontation. It was painful to watch, and when he brought it up to them, and they stuttered back an embarrassed response, he realized it was well out of their control. It would still bug him, and he might make an off-handed comment about it every once in a while, but the more he saw that those comments weren’t funny to his partner, the more they glared at him as he laughed at his own rude jokes, he decided he should refrain from such talk. Lone hadn’t developed a thick skin like most wastelanders he was used to, and certainly not like most raiders; and he would have to constantly remind himself of that. After his realization, he wouldn’t say a word about their stutter again, and God help anyone who did. You mention his partner’s stutter, you’ll probably have one too by the time he’s done with you. If you still even have a tongue, that is.  

FONV:

Arcade: 

     The doctor almost flinched at the feeling of Six’s fingers wrapping around his thumb the first time they did it, but he managed to keep his composure and simply utter a sarcastic comment in response to their sudden action. But when their stress passed, and they explained that it was a tic of theirs that they had trouble controlling, he immediately understood. Not only was he a doctor (so you know, he has pretty extensive knowledge regarding things of this nature) but he’s also had his own lovely tangles with anxiety in the past, and can’t really blame Six for their habit (despite the fact that he has absolutely no tics of his own to deal with). However, his understanding of it doesn’t mean he isn’t going to make some sort of humorous comment on the action whenever it occurs. At Six’s annoyed expression he says that he is simply trying to lighten the mood a bit, maybe distract them with his humorous musings. Six thinks he must not have a clue that he exercises his own coping mechanism (ahem, sarcasm) whenever their gesture makes him uncomfortable, so they end up trying to keep themself from grasping onto his thumb to the best of their abilities. But, to be honest, they’re relieved when Arcade begins reaching over his hand to them in times of stress, his eyes avoiding theirs, and his comments going unuttered, but his thumb extending outward to allow easy access nonetheless. This gesture usually results in a kiss on the cheek for the doctor when his partner has gotten through their bout of stress.

Boone: 

     He had noticed it when he first met the courier, the way they couldn't look him in the eye. Boone hadn't been sure if it was just him, considering his constant need to wear sunglasses and his somewhat stoic demeanor, or if it was the way they were with everyone, but either way, he didn’t mind in the slightest. When he found that it was a result of their anxiety, he simply nodded to them in understanding, and the pair went on their way. The sniper honestly wasn’t big on direct eye contact himself, another boon of wearing sunglasses was being able to keep your eyes trained wherever you liked, and so people tended not to notice his own habit of avoiding eye contact with them. He threw the idea out to Six one night, and soon enough the pair wore matching sunglasses nearly all the time. And though, as he said, he didn’t mind Six’s habit one bit, the knowledge that they only looked people in the eye when they felt completely comfortable and at ease with them made it all the more special when they did decide to look into his eyes when the pair was talking, or sharing a tender moment. In those little instances, Boone liked to study the details of his partner’s eyes, committing their warm and vibrant glow to memory, paying distinct attention to their unique shape, and the way their pupils dilated as they gazed back at him. He only wondered if they noticed his eyes doing the same in return as he took in the details of the one he loved.

Cass:  

     The caravaner always tends to offer some form of alcohol to Six whenever she sees their leg shaking in such a way. Cass is familiar with the side effects of withdrawal when she sees them, and she'll try to help her partner to the nearest drink as soon as she can. When Six finally asks her about why it is that she offers alcohol to them when they’re feeling stressed, mentioning that it maaaaaay not be the most healthy coping mechanism for anxiety, she is a bit confused. They were anxious!? Strange, she only tends to shake like that when she hasn't had a drink in a while. With the knowledge that it’s a nervous tic of theirs, Cass uses it to her advantage to better tell when her partner needs to take a load off, or blow off some steam. At the sight of their leg thrumming away, she’ll give their thigh a pat to get their attention, and then ask if there’s anything she can do to help them. As luck would have it, a stiff drink does tend to give Six the time to calm their nerves, so that trend isn’t completely abandoned once Cass has found out the truth about Six’s habit.

Raul:

     "What's the matter, boss? Can’t find the right word? Lo siento, mi corazón, English isn't my best language, but I can try and help if you want." Raul is… confused at first. Whenever Six snaps their fingers, he can't seem to figure out if they're trying to find the right word to say, or if they happen to be looking for something, maybe they're trying to keep time, or make a beat? Maybe they’re counting something, trying to remember a phrase? Once they tell him it’s just a nervous tic they have, Raul looks a little embarrassed at the fact that he didn’t assume this earlier on. The ghoul tries not to pay much attention to his partner’s habit, since he knows it must make them a little self conscious when people point it out, but sometimes he can't help but snap along, trying to make a little song to go along with their own improvised rhythm. When Six does finally notice his contribution, Raul just likes to wink at them in response, flashing a playful little smile as they blush in embarrassment at the fact that he caught them doing their nervous tic.

Veronica:

     When Veronica noticed that her partner had pierced ears, she was ecstatic. Ecstatic, and jealous. She always wanted to pierce her ears, to find or make her own pretty little earrings to decorate herself with, but alas, ear piercings were certainly not within the limits of Brotherhood dress and decorum. Given her interest in them, it’s no surprise that she noticed the way Six twisted the backs between their fingers, twiddling the bits of jewelry absent-mindedly whenever they became stressed or nervous. Often times, Veronica would reach a hand out to gently pry their fingers from their earring, pulling their hand to her lips so she could give it a small kiss before bringing it to settle somewhere else, to keep them from damaging the little bits of jewelry in their ears that she envied so much. 

[sugardaddytonystark]

Love Bites (Love Bleeds)

author: sugardaddytonystark pairing: vampire Tony Stark x Reader word count: 4000+

*Explicit*

🔊 Love Bites

At thirty-eight years old, Tony Stark was bitten.

That was ten years ago, and he’s been either blessed or cursed to live out eternity in that same body, hidden away from the light, from people. Few know that he’s fallen victim to the virus. Rumors say that he’s just a shut in, an eccentric, only leaving the house when he’s in his armored suit. But you know better.

You have been his court-appointed guardian for a few months now, and you’ve spent more time with Tony in that short time than most people have in the last decade. You two were getting close, but lately he’s been distant, holed up in his basement workshop. And that’s the one place you don’t go, his private sanctuary.

You have free reign of the rest of Tony’s house, it being your home now as well, and you make good use of it. It’s dark now as you make your way down the stairs in a half-stumbling, middle-of-the-night daze. But you know every step by rote, every creak and every corner. So, even though there aren’t any lights on in Tony’s Malibu mansion, you can navigate it just fine.

You do turn on the light when you round the bar nestled into an alcove in the sitting room. You don’t feel like walking all the way to the kitchen, and you know that the mini bar will have stocked some kind of juice for making cocktails.

As you sip on your drink, you look out into the darkness of the living room and see two shining eyes staring right back at you. The glass slips from your hand as you startle, and in your panic, you step directly on the broken shards.

“OW! SONUVA B—”

Before you even realize what’s happening, you’re off your feet, cradled in a pair of strong, solid arms. You look up and it’s Tony, brows furrowed above concerned, blackest-brown eyes. He tries to give you a little smirk when he sees you staring up at him, but the space between his eyebrows is still pinched, the look of worry on his face.

“If you wanted to join me for a nightcap, honey, all you had to do was ask,” he says, voice low and smooth as he carries you into the adjoining living room.

You clench your jaw, trying not to show how much pain you’re in. “Well, you know me,” you say, “can’t do anything without a little flair.”

“Something we’ve got in common,” Tony replies as he lays you down on the couch. He gently places your head against the arm before getting a throw pillow from the chair and placing it behind you. He sits down on the other side and puts your feet in his lap.

“Here, drink this,” he tells you as he leans over your legs to pick up a glass from the coffee table. “Your nightcap.”

You take the drink and just hold it for a moment, letting the cold radiating from the glass sink into your fingertips. You bring it up to your lips and catch the scent of whiskey, of citrus. You didn’t even know Tony could drink alcohol.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he mutters, looking at the sole of your foot, “next time, a little less flair.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, the glass perched at your lips.

He looks up at you beneath thick eyelashes, a flash of crimson in his otherwise dark eyes. He places two fingers under the glass and tilts it up. “Drink,” he tells you. “You’ll thank me later.”

You tip your head back as you down the rest of Tony’s drink. It goes does smooth, heating up the back of your throat, the warmth blossoming in your chest. You hand the empty glass back to Tony and he sits it on the table.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

You nod your head and close your eyes, fists balled and nails digging into your palm as you prepare for the pain. You can feel Tony’s grip on your ankle tighten, and when he pulls the shard of glass out of your foot, you have to try your damnedest to suppress a scream.

His grip tightens even more, managing to ease the pain a little, slow the flow of blood, as he gently slides your bloodied sock off your foot.

“Shit,” he says, dropping the sock from his one hand and your ankle from his other.

Tony grabs the hem of his shirt, brings it up and over his head. He presses it to the sole of your foot to stop the bleeding and you hiss at the pressure, recoiling at the touch. He wraps his palm around the fabric, keeping his shirt tight against the wound, fingers curled up and over the wounded appendage.

His hold on you is tight, forcing you to stay still. His other hand is stroking your ankle, up your shin - a soft, soothing motion. His eyes are cast downward, fixed on the place where you’re bleeding into his wadded-up shirt.

You watch Tony as he works, trying to distract yourself. He’s nice to look at. More handsome in person, even, than in pictures. He has a lean build, slender but with strong muscles under cool, winter-pale skin. His eyes are the darkest shade of brown, flashing with crimson when they hit the light. They’re big and round and warm, making him look innocent and young, even younger than his everlasting thirty-eight years. His hair is dark, his beard slightly longer than stubble. His lips are flower-petal pink.

The angle of the light from above the bar casts half of his face in the shadow, highlighting the slope of his nose, the curve of his cupid’s bow. A glow emanates from the metal embedded in his chest, and now more than ever, you’re reminded that Tony is part man, part myth, and part machine.

He is truly incredible, you think, and not for the first time. He glances up at you, catches your gaze, then quickly averts his eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

“I just… feel like I haven’t seen you in a while,” you reply, feeling like velvet – throat dry, head thick and fuzzy. You don’t know if it’s the blood loss, the drink, or just being in Tony’s presence, but everything is starting to feel slow-moving, like you’re stuck in a daze.

The corner of Tony’s mouth turns up in a smirk, but still, he doesn’t look at you. “Have you been missing me, honey?” he asks.

“Yes,” you tell him, unabashed.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, shakes his head, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he gently peels his shirt from the sole of your foot, inspecting the damage. It must be bad, because you can see his brows furrow again, his nostrils flare.

“Shit, you’re gonna need stitches,” he says. “I’m gonna call the Doc, alright?”

“Wait, Tony,” you say, before he can stand up. “Can’t you just… you know?”

His grip tightens on your ankle. “No,” he says sharply, but he doesn’t try to stand up again.

You’re tired and weak and in pain, so when you whine, “Why not?” you don’t even feel bad about sounding so infantile. “You can heal me in a minute. If not, I’ll be limping around here for weeks.”

Tony, being what he is, can heal a wound almost instantly. His saliva mixed with his blood, and whatever science or magic that is involved, can keep you from being bedridden for however long it would take your wound to heal on its own. You wouldn’t ask normally, but he’s here and, well, you’re curious, not to mention that you’re not ready to be without his touch once again.

“I don’t know if I’d be able to control myself,” he admits to you, softly, as if ashamed.

“I’m bleeding everywhere and you’re controlling yourself now.”

“Do you think this is easy for me?” he responds, almost a growl, his voice deep and low. “I wouldn’t call how I’m feeling ‘being in control.’”

“Maybe not, but you’re doing it!”

You two just stare at each other, neither of you budging nor relenting. It’s not even awkward, just tense, this silent battle of wills. But you know that Tony is more stubborn than you, so finally, you give in.

“Fine,” you say. “Just get someone to sew me up.”

But Tony doesn’t move. He just looks at your wounded foot, your ankle still in his painful grip. His stillness is almost unnerving, his dark brown eyes unblinking, his pale face statuesque against the darkness of the room.

“Tony,” you say, nearly frightened. “Please, do something. I’m bleeding!”

“I know,” he replies, his voice soft again, as he seems to shake himself from his stupor. “I know you are.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Tony lifts your leg and presses his nose against the inside of your ankle. He breathes in and closes his eyes, rubbing his cheek against the side of your foot, his short beard brushing over your skin.

“You have no idea how incredible you smell,” he says, so low you barely hear him. “How tempting you are. It’s not that I don’t want to…”

And as he speaks, your hands curl into fists beside you, his words shocking you into near panic. It’s too much, this quick shift, this sudden change in atmosphere. You’re suddenly too caught up in the scene playing out before you to manage any coherent though, let alone words. Do it, you want to tell him, but you can’t, heart pounding, voice caught in your throat. Do it.

“...it’s that I want it too much.”

Tony brings up one of his knees to kneel on the sofa so that he’s turned toward you, between your legs, your ankle still in his hand, your other leg resting across his thigh. He eases up on the pressure around your ankle and you can feel the blood start flowing to your foot again, wet heat running down your wounded sole.

You watch him, enraptured, as he wipes his mouth across the bottom of your foot. You don’t even flinch from the sting of it, too fascinated to move. But you can feel him trembling, his breath coming out ragged against your skin.

When he lifts his mouth from the arch of your foot, there’s a smear of dark blood against his lips. And then, behind, sharp teeth shining white and deadly. His eyes flash with a nocturnal sheen – deep, deep burgundy all but glowing in the darkness. He looks dangerous and feral and like nothing you’ve ever seen before in your life.

You barely register that the pain in your foot has faded, the wound now a mere memory. You can only focus on Tony’s lips, painted red, and the intense pounding of your own heart. Never have you been more aware of the blood rushing through your veins. Or the reality that you’re living under the same roof as the person who would desire it the most.

Tony doesn’t relinquish the hold that he has on your ankle, but the other hand lightly grabs hold of your calf on the same leg, and then slowly, slowly, you feel his palm slide up to the back of your knee. He doesn’t stop. He keeps moving up, palm sliding across the inside of your thigh, his hand squeezing your flesh and staying there.

In the stillness and in the quiet, you can feel your pulse pounding beneath his palm.

Tony then sets your ankle on his shoulder, his hold giving up its claim. He smears blood from his lips up your ankle, kisses the side of your calf. From behind coal black eyelashes he looks up at you, mouth hovering above your skin.

“Aren’t you gonna stop me?” he asks, placing his lips on the inside of your knee. He kisses you there and you shiver, almost tickled by the soft touch against your sensitive skin, overwhelmed by him worshipping places that no one else has ever even cared to touch.

You slowly shake your head no and he closes his eyes, dragging his cool mouth up the inside of your trembling thigh. You arch your back as he moves higher still, planting a line of kisses up your delicate flesh.

“There are places where you smell the most you,” he whispers, almost absentmindedly, lips grazing your skin as he speaks. “The back of your knee... the inside of your elbow... your throat, your hair… your cunt.” He buries his face between your legs and inhales deep, moaning. “You should really tell me to stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you tell him, your voice hardly even a whisper. “Don’t stop, Tony.”

“What do you want?” he asks, mouth hovering over your pussy, those shimmering black eyes looking up at you from behind dark lashes.

You roll your hips up. “I want you to bite me.”

He rears back so fast that you jump in surprise. You sit up and grab his arm, afraid that he’s going to leave. You must have gone too far this time. Too far too fast and now you’ve pushed him away.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he says, voice hoarse and rough. “You don’t really want that.”

You lead him closer by his arm, then wrap your other hand around the back of his neck. You lean your forehead against his and you hear him take a shuddering breath. You close your eyes and savor the feeling of him being so close to you – forehead to forehead, the sides of your noses resting against the other, your fingertips against his flesh and his hands noticeably absent from your body. You shiver, chilled at all the places that you two are touching, his skin cold against yours.

“I do,” you tell him. “I want you, Tony.”

You stare at him, waiting. He stalls a heartbeat before he tilts his chin, angling for a tentative kiss. He presses his soft lips against yours, wraps his arm around your waist. You cup his face in your palms, thumbs running across his cheekbones. He nips softly at your bottom lip, not even close to breaking the skin, before soothing the spot with his tongue.

It should disgust you – having Tony’s mouth on yours after he licked up your blood – but you only taste a slight metallic tang, mostly masked by the whiskey that both of you drank. It’s intoxicating, Tony’s cool mouth, his sharp teeth against your sensitive lip, his taste, yours, the sharp sweetness of the alcohol.

“More,” you moan. “Please.”

“Impatient,” he chides, then plants a kiss on the side of your mouth. “Greedy.”

Tony turns his head and kisses the inside of your wrist, your hand cupping his cheek. He runs his tongue over the delicate veins, and you gasp, trembling in anticipation. He doesn’t stop, though. He keeps moving, kissing up the inside of your arm, his mouth leaving a trail of goosebumps on the surface of your skin.

He moves his arm from around your waist, bracing one hand against the couch behind you as he slides his other hand under your shirt and up your stomach. His fingertips are cold and soft against your body, the temperature almost a shock, and you’re torn between moving away and arching toward him. But the sensation is nice, you’ve never felt anything like it, and you know you won’t be forgetting it any time soon.

Tony’s lips touch your bare shoulder, once, slowly, and then once more, lingering against your skin. He moves upwards and your breath catches when you feel his open mouth against your neck. He sucks the blood to the surface of your throat like he can taste it through your skin, marking your soft flesh with soon to be tender bruises that you’re sure will last for days.

You can feel your pulse in your throat, hear your quickening heartbeat. Tony is saying something, but it doesn’t register in your mind, you’re so caught in feeling of his lips against your skin as they move.

“Where –?” you sigh, echoing what you think you heard.

You groan as Tony pulls away from you, and when you open your eyes, he’s staring down at you, half-smiling. “Where do you want it?” he asks again, cocking an eyebrow. “The throat is conventional, but –"

“Yes,” you reply, impatient. “I – anywhere. Everywhere. Just… please.”

You want him to devour you, consume you. You want his lips against your body, to feel his teeth sink into your skin. You’ve dreamt about it almost every night, giving yourself to him, him having his way with you, doing whatever he wants to do with your body.

Tony’s smile grows wider, and he bites down on his bottom lip, sharp white teeth gleaming in the low light. He bends down, chest to chest, and kisses you again, his cold skin melting against your warm body, the two of you separated by just your shirt. He makes quick work of that inconvenient piece of fabric, his lips leaving yours just long enough to pull it over your head and throw it out of the way.

His mouth moves down your throat, slowly, across your collarbone, down your breast to latch on to your hard nipple. His tongue licks across it, then he lets his teeth graze the taut peak, his hand coming up to pinch and pull at your other one.

The chill of his fingers has you shivering, arching your back up toward him. Your eagerness must spur him on because he grabs your breast in his palm, almost too rough and desperate, fingertips digging into your flesh.

Too soon, Tony moves between your breasts, then kisses down your stomach. You roll your body to meet him at every place his lips touch – sternum, then stomach, then hips. He grabs the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling them down your legs as he sinks to his knees on the floor.

His hands grip the back of your knees and pull your legs apart, opening you up to him. The way he’s handing you now is neither gentle nor shy, maneuvering you so that he can get his shoulders between your thighs, his face level to your cunt.

It’s jarring, to realize that you’re naked on Tony Stark’s living room sofa, with Tony himself below you, in just his sweatpants and socks. That his blood, no matter how little of it, is inside of you now. Your blood in him. This joining seems irreversible, more momentous than you would have ever imagined. There’s no possible way that you will ever be the same after this, regardless of what happens.

What has happened will have been enough to change you completely.

And then Tony tongues the sharp point of one of his deadly teeth, a strange glint in his dark eyes, and you are thrust back into the present, aware and frightened of what you’ve asked for.

Tony no longer seems hesitant, not when he grazes the tip of his nose against your clit. Not when he inhales your scent, moans on the exhale. And certainly not when he covers your clit with his mouth, lips and tongue shockingly cold against your hypersensitive flesh.

“Tony!” your practically scream. “Fuck, Tony!”

And he moans at the sound of your voice saying his name, the noise vibrating against your pussy, making you squirm. Your hands find his hair, soft between your fingers. Having something to grab on to is somewhat grounding, but you can feel him move against you, your hands not guiding him but just touching, and that only adds to the realization of what you’re doing. Only makes you that more desperate.

There’s no build up to get used to the sensations. Tony starts immediately licking and sucking your clit like he can’t help himself. Like he’d want nothing more than to eat you up here on his sofa. And you’d let him too, let him have all of you if that’s what he wanted. More than just your blood or your pussy. You’d let him devour you whole.

Your body arches and you push against him, making him bury his face harder against you. Tony flattens his tongue and licks at your clit, then moves lower, and lower, tongue lapping at your entrance, then, the sensitive spot between your pussy and asshole.

You’ve wanted this, dreamed about it, and now that you have him, it’s so much more than you could have ever imagined. And when he slides a finger into you, easily with the aid of how wet you are for him, you can barely hold yourself together.

Tony pumps his finger in and out of you, slowly, while his tongue plays with your clit, explores your folds. You could cry, you feel so good, and when he adds another, you do. Tears spill down your cheeks as his fingers fuck you, pressing against your soft inner walls and curving just right.

As he pumps into you, the inside of his knuckles rub against a spot below your clit that you never even knew was there, and you can feel that pressure building, that feeling growing low in your belly.

Tony’s mouth leaves your pussy and his thumb finds your clit, his strong, dexterous fingers touching you in all the places that you need. He kisses your inner thigh, licks at the skin there, sucks, nips, and you jerk at the sensation. His works at the soft skin, sucking a bruise into your flesh.

You couldn’t stop it if you wanted. You come. Hips rolling as you fuck yourself on his fingers. You hands still gripping his hair tight. Your eyes are pressed closed, the wetness of your tear still lingering on your cheeks.

And then – he bites. And it’s euphoric. There’s ringing in your ears like the aftermath of a scream, and maybe you did, your voice rough and raw as you call his name, as you plead for something that you don’t even know you want.

Everything is black, your entire body narrowed down to his fingers filling you up and his mouth sucking your blood. You can’t even hold on to him anymore, your hands drop from his hair as you come down from your orgasm, Tony still sucking on the tender and bruised skin of your punctured thigh.

You feel weak, only moving when Tony wipes his mouth on the inside of your thigh. And then he lifts up, face to face with you and you make a feeble attempt to kiss him, instinctively. You can smell the bitter copper scent on him as he turns his face to the side, nuzzles his cheek against yours.

He’s warm now, such a drastic difference than from before. Warm, pink cheeked, thin lips red and slightly swollen. You could mistake him for human.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Tony says. “Can you walk?”

You nod your head, but you sway as you stand. Without hesitation, he picks up like he did before, and carries you effortlessly up the stairs and toward your room. The walk is peaceful, silent, and you let the lull of his footsteps calm you. You close your eyes and almost as soon as you do, you are in your bed, warm and comfortable under the blankets.

Tony stands above you and you hold onto his hand, then run your fingers up his arm, from his wrist, softly, to his elbow. How long will you be able to touch him like this? Now that you’ve had him, you’re not sure you’ll be able to let him go.

“Will you come see me?” You ask. “Tomorrow night? Please.”

Tony gently takes your hand off of his elbow and brings it up to his lips. He kisses your knuckles, almost chaste. “Goodnight,” he says, eyes shimmering in the darkness of your room. “And sleep well. You’ll need your rest for tomorrow.”

if you’ve got love in your sights,

watch out, love bites

[martuzzio]

The idea of Ren joining the Amputees-Only club sounds so bittersweet... cuz before he knew they were having fun, but also knew that they were allowed to have a bond like that. He never expected to join them.

I can honestly imagine in his first few meetings there's a few times where Ren just cries, poor guy...

Rendog's first Amputee's Only Club Meeting (written under the cut because this one is longer than normal)

Despite what the universe seems to think, Doc is a pretty easygoing guy. Yes, he does look scary as hell and yes, he was a mob boss at one point, but that doesn’t mean he’s a violent person. Well, he’s violent when he needs to be, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it. In reality, his favorite moments are all from quiet parts of his normal, boring, daily life as a hermit.

In these everyday moments, Doc likes to process things. He likes to sit in the greenhouse and watch the bio bees work alongside the robot bees. He likes to brush his fingers on the plants and let his half-robotic brain process the data into something that resembles touch. He likes to listen to Grian and Etho chat as they work.

He observes small moments like these because that’s all he really does. He takes in data and processes it. He uses the processed information to judge his surroundings and react accordingly. Sometimes this means that he uses his data to laugh at his friends who make dumb jokes. But sometimes he uses the data to run, hide, or fight back. When all you do is process data to keep yourself alive, it becomes very hard to ignore incoming information.

This is how Doc eventually locates Ren. He wasn’t planning on finding where his longtime friend wheeled off to, much less go searching for him, but Doc unfortunately decided to take a more leisurely route to the bridge and his camera eye caught the slight movement anyway. Doc has to give it to him; the man knows how to hide. The werewolf is in a lesser-used community room, curled into a dusty couch that’s been shoved into the corner. The chrome wheels of his temporary mobility aid reflect off of the window overlooking deep space. Ren has his left leg drawn up to this chest. His stump of a right leg rests on the couch cushion, shunned. Ren’s obviously hid because he doesn’t want to be found, but unluckily for him, Doc was specifically altered to notice things.

Ren’s flinch when Doc claps his hand on his shoulder is almost unnoticeable. Ren looks like he’s either been crying or had a bad allergic reaction to the dust. Doc assumes the former.

“Cub was working on your new parts earlier today. They look pretty sick,” he ventures.

Ren looks like he has the entire universe on his shoulders. “That’s wonderful,” he mumbles. He opens his mouth as if to say more, but instead sighs and slides his eyes shut.

Doc plops down on the couch and slings his arm over the back of the rest. The action makes Ren recoil again, this time more visibly, and Doc pointedly ignores it. Instead, he says, “As much as I want you to come see what Cub is making, you will go to him when you feel like it. There is nothing you need to do right now besides heal.”

Ren barks out a wet laugh. “Bro, I appreciate you so much, but how can stumps heal?”

Doc’s cybernetic hand twitches in sympathy. “You know what I mean, man, and we both know it.” Doc replies. He looks down at the sliver of space between his leg and Ren’s and chews his words. Ren shifts his gaze to Doc’s arm, then to gaze directly at the creeper’s face.

Doc feels uncomfortable in a way he’s never felt before. All of the other amputee hermits were already amputees when they joined the crew. They had time to heal, be angry, and let go in their own ways. He did, too. But now, with Ren sitting next to him, suffering through the same kind of anguish Doc felt when he first woke up from being operated on, Doc suddenly doesn’t know how to act. How do you comfort someone who literally lost a third of their body? As much as Doc knows what that feels like and as much as he wants to help his friend, he might not be able to. He might not ever be able to.

It’s the single most heartbreaking thing that Doc’s realized in a long, long time.

This revelation causes the duo to sit in silence for a long while. Then, Doc gets an idea. His eye shifts to look at his friend. Ren narrows his eyes tiredly but waits anyway.

“The Amputees-Only Club meeting is in a few minutes.” Doc murmurs. Ren is silent, but he plows on. “I think you should come,” he pleads. “I think everyone would be very happy to see you.”

Ren’s throat clicks as he swallows. “I’m sure they would.”

“I would be very happy to see you.”

Ren’s eyelids squeeze together. “I know you would.”

“Then let’s go,” Doc insists as he pushes himself to his feet. He turns around and smiles as much as he can at his friend, still curled up on the couch. Ren gazes exhaustedly back. “I think it would be a good idea.” He wishes his smile weren’t so frightening.

Ren moves to rub his eyes with his hands but remembers he’s missing one of his arms a little too late. The resulting crumpled expression immediately burns into Doc’s deep storage memory. “I don’t know, Doc.” The werewolf manages after a long moment. “I appreciate you trying to help, but…”

Doc understands. Of course he does. When he first joined the hermits, the idea of a weekly club meeting exclusively for amputees sounded farfetched at best and belittling at worst. Hell, he didn’t even think there were enough amputees on the team to warrant a club. Imagine his surprise when three other people showed up to his first session, all excited he was there to hang out with them.

With this in mind, all he can do is repeat, “I think it would be a good idea.”

Ren stares up at him, and in that moment, he looks as old as Xisuma. But then he gently closes his eyes, inhales slowly and shallowly, and motions for Doc to drag his mobility aid closer. Doc complies immediately.

The journey to the meeting room, like every other journey on the Hermit Craft, is long. It’s made even longer because of Ren’s inexperience with his aid, but Doc doesn’t dare to offer his help. They eventually end up in front of the elevator that Doc remotely called beforehand with his brain chip. When the doors open, Doc lets Ren wheel in first.

Ren is silent in the elevator. Doc tries to catch his expression, but his friend’s unruly hair blocks his vision. “We’re playing cards tonight.” He mentions.

“That’s what you do at every Amputee-Only Club meeting.”

Doc shifts his eye back to the elevator door. “…Correct.”

Ren doesn’t reply.

When the duo finally reaches the Club meeting room, Doc pauses outside for a moment instead of directing his brain to open the door like normal. He glances down at Ren again and murmurs, “if you don’t want to go back, or to your room or something, that’s—”

“It’s fine,” Ren interrupts. He sounds defeated. “We walked all the way here, so we may as well go.”

Doc activates the door without another thought.

The door slides open and reveals the club room. It’s small, smaller than the average community space on the Hermit Craft, but it feels warm. The soft yellow color painted on the walls matches pleasantly with the yellow of the couch cushions. Joe definitely was the one to orchestrate that. There’s a small kitchenette in the corner that’s set up to have nice views of outer space. Various game tables fill the rest of the room, a few surrounded by five chairs. Doc wonders if Ren will notice the new chair addition. Maybe he already had.

The most interesting part of the space, though, is the people within it. TFC is bundled up on the couch, snoring pleasantly and covered in at least ten blankets. His usual plate of cookies is already half eaten. Iskall is standing at the kitchen counter, fiddling with a teacup filled with a mysterious bright pink liquid. His outfit has a few suspicious-looking singe marks at the hem. Finally, Scar is sat at the poker table in the middle of the room, crossed legs resting on an adjacent chair. He’s sorting through a pile of yellow and orange chips. To Doc’s continued wonder, the stack of bright blue cards resting near Scar’s elbow have miraculously not been knocked onto the floor yet.

When the doors open, Scar and Iskall look over. Ren immediately shifts at Doc’s elbow. Doc waits a moment to let Ren speak if he wants to, but when his shorter friend remains silent, he clears his throat in a grinding noise and announces, unnecessarily, “We’re here.”

Scar is so excited that his eyes have turned into little slivers of green. “Ren, I’m so happy you decided to tag along!” He kicks one of the chairs out from the table and clonks his foot on it for emphasis. The blue cards wobble on the edge of the table but still refuse to fall. “Sit down! Iskall can get you something to drink. Have you ever played poker?” He leans forward with the question. “It’s difficult, but I think it’s fun!”

“Uh, I haven’t.” Ren replies awkwardly, still at the door alongside Doc. “I’ve never even heard of it before.”

“Yeah, I would be surprised if you knew about it. It’s one of those old-timey games from TFC’s era.” Iskall says from across the room. He is now by the couch and is gently patting TFC’s fluffy hair to wake him. “Don’t worry that you don’t know. We’ll teach you.”

Ren tries and fails to make a pointed noise of interest, but he still seems intrigued. Doc feels the knot in his chest loosen a little. He rolls his shoulders to relieve some tension and moves to sit down. By the time he turns his head to look back, Ren is already wheeling forward to join him but looks lost as to where he should sit.

“Howdy, Ren. Sit next to me so I can teach you, but I’ll only teach if you’re willing to listen.” TFC, now awake, grumbles good-naturedly as he heaves himself off the couch. With his large frame still wrapped in a dozen blankets, he looks like a huge bear compared to Iskall. Which is impressive, Doc thinks, since Iskall is nowhere near frail. TFC’s metal prosthetic clonks on the floor as he walks over to the poker table. As he sits down across from Scar, he says, “There’s no point in just sitting there and gawking at us. Grab a seat.” He uses his leg to nudge the chair to his left.

Ren blinks and maneuvers his aid to let him sit down next to the astronaut. TFC procures a blanket from his pile and offers one to him. Ren, after slowly settling in his chair, accepts the pink fuzzy blanket. Doc accepts a purple one.

TFC lances over to Ren as he saves the blue cards from the edge of the table. “Poker’s good fun. You’ll get it in no time.” He snorts and flicks his gaze to Scar, who is busy stacking the chips into a pyramid. “This one always makes sure we have a great, long game.”

Scar looks up and winces minutely in a false apology. “Sorry about that.”

TFC chuckles. “Boy, I’ve never had better games than when I play with you.”

Scar’s grin almost sparkles. TFC and Doc grin back and Iskall hides his laugh in his shoulder.

“Anyway, ready for your first game with us amputees?” TFC brings the conversation back to Ren, who suddenly looks a lot more uncomfortable.

“I,” he begins, his eyes flicking to TFC, then Doc, before looking down. “I, well, uh…”

The table is silent. Iskall is staring at the table with his hands in his lap. TFC sighs and begins shuffling the cards. Doc, as much as he wants to clear the air somehow, can’t seem to find a way to do so. Scar just looks sad. He looks right at Ren, almost through him.

Ren stares back, eyes wide.

“You don’t want to be here.” Scar says quietly, finally. It’s not a question. Ren’s choked response makes the ex-convex smile slightly. “You can say so, Ren. You’re not going to hurt our feelings. None of us want to be here. But, as much as we may want to, we can’t change what happened to us.” He falls silent again as he looks at a particularly twisted scar on the back of his left hand. He rubs at it harshly with the pad of his thumb before Iskall stops him. “This might be selfish,” Scar continues, softly, “but I’m happy that I at least don’t have to sit in here alone.”

For a long moment, the table is silent. Then, with a rush of noise, Ren makes a sound like he’s dying. In a certain way, Doc thinks, he is.

“I don’t want to be here,” Ren confesses as his open mouth contorts and tears roll down his face. “I don’t want to be here.”

All Doc can do is wrap his arms around everyone else, encasing Ren and his other amputee friends in his embrace, and wish he could do more.

[redwinterroses]

I’m doing my very best not to format this as a literary analysis paper but that’s basically what this is so forgive me if I slip back into those old habits at all. And I'm going to tag @betweenlands and @fluffy-papaya in this because guys look what your fic made me brainrot. XD

(This is a long one, y'all. We're talking 2k words. Sorry.)

That said:

Hey, let’s talk about the bead curtain in Dog at the Door.

That dang bead curtain, and why I’m currently fixating on it, and how I think it has symbolism that may or may not be intentional.

(At this point, I’m assuming it’s intentional. Everything about this fic is intentional. Including the pain. Heh. “The only difference between a running gag and a recurring theme is how seriously you take it,” says Solar. Cool. I’m taking it seriously.)

The curtain first shows up in chapter one. It’s one of the first things we see in the van, and the first thing we know about it is that Doc finds it obnoxious. Ugly. Revolting. Renbob loves it, obviously, but Renbob has odd tastes. Doc, on the other hand, literally uses his hatred of the curtain to motivate him to get out of bed in the morning.

The Red King, when he shows up, also has similar dislike of the thing, but his reaction is a little more measured, a little less extreme. More distaste, less disgust. He finds it “distasteful” and compares it to wearing a labcoat without a shirt (lol). But he doesn’t loath it like Doc does, and when Doc suggests (in chapter 13) that they take it down and use it for friendship bracelets, he’s as displeased with that idea as Renbob is. He has an ambivalent opinion, overall.

And then Ren. Ren actually reacts the least to the curtain—but ends up with the most dramatic interaction with it, which we’ll come back to in a second. He simply says (chapter 24) that normally he’d find the beads hideous, but that the light of Doc’s eye reflecting off it into the shadows makes it oddly peaceful.

There’s exactly one other use of the word “curtain” in this fic, and it’s this line right here:

“I haven’t done anything but possess him and lead his soul back to the controls.” RK throws his hands up in the air. “He’s put himself behind the curtain because he thinks I’m out to get him. My only crime is the original contract I made with him, doctor.”

In this instance, RK is talking about their “imperfect metaphor” of Ren being behind the curtain that separates the “driver’s seat” from the rest of the van that is Ren’s mind/soul. He’s saying that Ren has deliberately put himself in a position of defeat and surrender because he (Ren) doesn’t think there are any other options.

M’kay. Right about now, any sane person is going, “Red. Why are you so fixated on this bead curtain. It’s a running joke at best.”

And... I mean, sure. Kinda. But also definitely not.

This is the part where I really step out on a potentially-shaky limb with all the confidence in the world, because here’s what I'm seeing: the dividing line between life and death is often portrayed in literature as a curtain.

(And it’s interesting to note that the curtain is a barrier, a separation, but it’s only a curtain, and this one is made of beads at that. It’s a flimsy and fluid barrier, easy to pass through. Back and forth. Surrender and control, life and death.)

In fact, even in this fic it’s used that way: RK may be referring to the metaphorical bead curtain in their van of an explanation for how his and Ren’s relationship works, but in the story at that point Ren is convinced that he’s dead. Or is supposed to be dead. And by putting himself “behind the curtain,” he’s surrendering to that. Almost insisting on it, because that’s the truth of how he sees the world right then and he can’t process any other possibilities. He’s basically saying “I’m supposed to be dead, and this side of the curtain is death, so that’s where I’ll stay.”

So if the curtain in the metaphor represents the two sides of that, it’s really interesting to look at the various characters’ reactions to the literal bead curtain and see how it reflects their attitudes toward death—and specifically Ren’s death.

Renbob is... chill. He has an entirely comfortable relationship with the bead curtain, with life and death, with his own emotions—even with dealing with the emotions of the others he’s chauffeuring across the universe. While he isn’t immune to the grief of losing (or thinking he’s lost) Ren, he deals with it in a relatively healthy way—at least as much as we see. I think there was a possibly-canon ask at some point that said he was journaling and meditating so... yeah. Renbob’s got this. And 50 other bead curtains in storage. He’s the only character in the fic who passes in and out of the curtain regularly and without it being a big deal.

To put it simply: Renbob is on good terms with whatever happens in life, up to and including the end of it. (Renbob is arguably the equal and opposite of Grimdog. Two sides of the same coin in more ways than one.)

Contrast that now with Doc. Doc is... not a fan of the bead curtain. It represents a loss of control to him, (“freakin’ hippies”) and a separation from what he loves. In the past, he and Ren were on opposite sides of that conflict, and the beads still somewhat represent that tension (though in a mostly nostalgic, and not actively-antagonistic way.) But the language Doc’s narration uses to describe the beads is strong. “Obnoxious.” “Accursed.” “Horrendously evil.”

Nearly as scary as his best friend trying to kill him.

It’s played for laughs, obviously, and it is funny. But if we project the symbolism of “the curtain represents death” onto Doc’s reactions, it gets a bit less amusing. And it really fits with Doc’s attitude toward Ren’s death in the whole fic. It’s the worst thing he’s ever faced—to the extent that until RK’s seemingly-permanent presence forces him to, Doc doesn’t even try to process it. He goes right to work on the prosthetics, growls at anyone who tries to make him do anything he doesn't want to do, accepts RK as “New Ren,” and pretends that he’s going on with life.

He refuses to look at how weird the whole situation is, because if he does that he has to deal with Ren being gone forever. He ignores the thing that’s right under his nose and pretends it’s not there until a moment of quiet or actually having to interact with it brings it back to his attention, and then his reaction is vitriolic.

Doc hates that curtain, and he hates the concept of death, the concept of losing control. Even in his nightmares, he holds tight to what little control he can take, even if it’s just taking the initiative to sit in the snow and let it kill him faster. Hold onto that thought, because I’ve got more to it, but we have to talk about RK and Ren first.

RK holds both distaste and acceptance of the curtain. He doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t want it destroyed either. The distaste, notably, is when he’s with Doc, and the acceptance comes from being around Renbob. The Red King, as a blood god, is not exactly unfamiliar with death. It’s literally in his job description, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. A necessary evil, if you will.

It doesn’t hurt either that, at least up until Ren, RK has always been the one on the other side of the curtain, completely in control of the situation. He goes back and forth on his attitudes, but in the past he has been the one in control and the bringer of death. His reaction is negative, but not emphatic—the way someone who has plenty of indoor plans might react to a rainstorm.

Ren... now, Ren. Ren has, like I said, the least recorded reaction to the actual, physical bead curtain. But. But. While he normally would call it hideous, “there’s something oddly peaceful about watching light fractals spin off the walls, cutting off into the shadows.” The shadows, it’s worth noticing, are specifically implied to be RK/hiding RK in this moment. Doc’s light and RK’s shadows interacting with the curtain bring peace to Ren. He passes through it easily to find Renbob.

Ren has already accepted his death—he accepted it long before the fic even started—to an extent that he’s actively insisting on it for a large portion of the story. It’s only when he realizes that Doc is in potential danger that he starts fighting RK for control of the situation again. (“Stay away from Doc, you bastard. He wasn’t part of our bargain. Leave him alone.”)

He dislikes the bead curtain, but he doesn’t hate it, and when seen in the (literal) light of Doc’s protective, watching eye—even if he is asleep at the moment, bless—even the shadows of RK’s presence are suddenly beautiful and peaceful to him in a way that, without the “reflecting fractals” of the beads, wouldn’t be possible. Again: this is the chapter where Renbob’s influence is felt, and his peace with life and death directly affects Ren and his reactions. (“It’ll all sort itself out, eventually, and I’ll be here for you while it does.”)

And then...

And then Ren rips down the curtain altogether.

The separation is gone. For better or for worse, that divide between control and surrender, between RK and Ren, between life and death... it’s gone. It’s scattered across the floor of the van, glittering in Ren’s hair, and in the carpet. Ren has broken through that barrier, and now we just have to wait to see what the consequences of that are for him.

But... we can already see at least one consequence for Doc. Because now there is no more illusion of control and surrender for him to maintain. That division is no longer there, and we see Doc’s first real surrender in the whole story. Even in his nightmares, he was still in control: he knew it was a nightmare, and he fought against it until he “gave up”—in a way that still put him in control. He chooses to sit in the snow so it’ll kill dream-him faster.

He acts like he doesn’t care, but it’s still not that: he takes control in the only way he knows, aware that everything is only a dream and no matter what how it treats him, he’ll still wake up in the end. He looks at the nightmare and says basically “Do your worst, I dare you, but you won’t get what you want from me.”

But now—now he surrenders to Ren. He gives up. His core truth (“I’ll do anything to protect those I love,” which I talked about in this post) looks like it’s not going to be enough to save them. He can’t save Ren—from RK or from Ren himself—and that means he’s lost in the worst way possible. In this moment, it looks like Ren doesn’t even trust that Doc’s core truth—that he will do anything to save his friends—is true.

This is Doc’s lowest point: that Ren seems to think Doc’s loyalty and love have failed. And to Doc... that’s a fate worse than death.

So he gives up. He tells Ren to kill him, and he fully expects him to do so. Doc doesn’t want to die, but at this point he has completely let go of any control of his own fate. Even when facing down Ren with the Skizz blade, he held tightly to his control of the situation. He literally takes the sword in his own hand and removes it as a threat. But now—now the curtain is gone. The illusion of control is gone.

Ren is the one in control of the situation—for possibly the first time in the fic—and he chooses to remember that Doc is his friend, that he’s missed him. But Doc leaves it all to him. Even when Ren backs off, Doc stays in that surrendered state (“I can’t do anything right, unlike [Martyn.]”). He realizes that he's been in the passenger seat the whole time, and he’s now where Ren was before: no longer even trying to take back the driver’s seat.

The curtain is gone. Now we just have to wait and see who ends up on which side of it at the end.

[shoichee]

Rose-Tinted

Craving for angst with kise please!! Like both are afraid to act on their feelings which ends up hurting the both of them unconsciously. Idk, maybe kise is trying to “test” the girl, but went a bit too far i guess. Whatever floats your boat!! I just want angst but maybe hopefully still HEA in the end (or whichever your muse takes you) ;-; thank youu ❤️

Kise x Reader

Word Count: 6975

Note: oh my GOD, HELP THIS WAS 17 PAGES ON MY GOOGLE DOC I COULDNT STOP MYSELF………. angst, happy ending, fake dating!au, mean old kise ….. girl idk WHAT I WROTE I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT ????? reader POV first half and kise POV second half~

@knb-kreations

»»—————　☼　—————««

He holds you so gently, the touch so feather-light as he cradles your head and dips his own head in for a soft peck. The warmth of his lips makes you feel things you shouldn’t feel, things that you still chased for more in a never-ending cycle. You hold onto his hands thumbing your temples to try to anchor yourself further into the bliss, but it ends all too soon when he separates from you and gives you a radiant smile.

You were rudely pulled out of your rose-tinted trance when you heard gasps and chatter amongst the gawking students nearby, particularly Kise’s fans. He doesn’t pay any mind to their reactions and turns his friendly demeanor towards them.

“So you see everyone,” he cheerfully says. “I’m sorry I can’t accept any of your affections, as much as it flatters me so… after all, I have my dear (y/n)-cchi by my side!”

Groans and cries rung throughout the campus as most wail about missing out the opportunity to be Kise’s romantic partner, but before you can listen to their laments, Kise hurriedly tugs you away to the privacy of the back of a building nearby, away from prying eyes and ears. He drops your wrist just as fast and yawns with a stretch.

“What time should we meet up tomorrow?” he casually says, taking out his phone from his pocket.

“Huh?”

“Well, we can’t exactly sell our image of us being a couple unless we walk to and from school together consistently, right (y/n)?”

The rose-tinted lenses on your self-indulgent fantasy shatters to the ground instantly. You gulp, the swallowed spit hitting down to your stomach in heavy dread, where it was previously occupied by fluttering butterflies just moments prior.

This isn’t real.

“Ah… um,” you hesitated, thinking of a reasonable time, so you can wake up and get ready accordingly. “How about this time…”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he replies, shutting off his phone before he walks a few steps away from you but then stopping. “Huh, uh… should I walk you home first? There might be some nosy people around, and we might as well get some practice in as an official couple.”

“W-Why don’t we start tomorrow morning instead?” you suggest. “A lot’s happened today, and well, I wanna have some time to myself.” Kise impassively stares at you for a couple of seconds before he forms a grin.

“Ah ha, well then, (y/n)-cchi,” he shouts jovially, making sure that his voice rang throughout the area for anyone nearby to hear. “I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow morning, my love!”

“Y-Yeah…” you mumbled, your hand held up in a half-hearted wave. “See you…”

With that parting, you turned to the opposite direction to exit through the side gates to get to your home. Your mind scrambles to recall the impulsive decisions you decided to take on a whim today. The grip on your bag tightens as you finally realized what sort of situation you got yourself into.

You like Kise, plain and simple. You’ve always gazed longingly at him whenever his presence entered within your line of vision. You couldn’t even fault his fans for being so whipped for the basketball player in the first place, not when you felt like you were more enthralled by him than anyone else. So what does a love-stricken fool like you do when the source of attraction directly asks you to partake in a “relationship?” You immediately accept his conditional proposal on auto-pilot before he barely finishes his sentence.

It felt so wrong, yet so right. How can you hate this arrangement when you enjoyed that first kiss you shared with Kise earlier? But how can you love this arrangement when you knew Kise only kissed you to drive everyone off? You stopped on the sidewalk and heaved a huge exhale, and you continued to walk again, the action not even remotely able to clear your head. Your mind continues to swirl and race.

You agreed to this. He even laid out his intentions very clearly to you, and he was more than ready to leave you alone if you didn’t consent to this. But stupid, desperate you did. You were ashamed to feel even a shred of flattery when he told you that you were the only one he can ask to drive off his fans in this only effective method: a relationship.

“Why me?” you said, looking up at his casual posture. “Don’t you have someone you like to ask to be in a relationship? I’m sure they’d be more than happy to accept you…”

“Well,” he mumbled. “I don’t really have someone in mind… you’re kinda the only one who doesn’t drool over me whenever I’m near, and I just ought to ask for your help.”

“W-Well,” you slightly stammered. “I’m okay with helping you, right, so…”

“This isn’t something to accept so readily, you know,” he said, raising a brow. “I know this is super sudden, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to force an answer out of you right at this moment. Besides, I don’t think there’s any incentive for you to be in this either? It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“N-No!” you interrupted, but you coughed to regain your composure. “I mean, I do have something in this… maybe if I got with you, people would stop trying to harass and tease me if I had someone like you by my side.” That was a half-truth, but you knew there was no way you could reveal your crush to him… not when he believed you were “different” from the others. But can anyone blame you for sticking up for Kise when someone was talking about him like a piece of meat rather than a normal person? “Besides, for you to get to this point, things must’ve gotten too chaotic to simply tell them to stop, right?”

“Huh… is that so,” he said, stretching his neck, but you didn’t know whether or not he intentionally ignored your last question. “Well, if you’re fine with this, I’m letting you know now that we’ll be doing actual couple stuff, like…” He pauses for a second to gauge your reaction. “Hugging, hand-holding… probably kissing too…”

“Y-Yeah,” you nodded. “That’s fine with me! And we’ll have a code word in case either of us overstep our boundaries in any way… maybe…”

“Unagi,” he said.

“Huh? Why?”

“Because they’re the bane of evil…”

“It’s just a dish, but…” you laughed, giddy at how he already showed a different side to you apart from his cool persona. “Alright, let’s go with that.”

How long were you able to keep this up? You pat yourself on the cheeks to dismiss the rest of your fantasies. If you keep this up, Kise will soon notice how you actually were head-over-heels for him all this time, and surely you’ll lose any future chance with him. Besides, maybe you can use this unique arrangement to learn about Kise and his hobbies other than basketball. Yes, you tell yourself, jogging the rest of the way home. It won’t be so bad, after all.

———

Starting today, you’ll be officially dating Kise.

That’s how it is on paper, anyways.

How are you supposed to act while dating the Kise Ryōta? Equally cool and flamboyant? Athletically capable? Would you weird out Kise if you were the one initiating physical affection?

“(y/n)!”

You flinch, not expecting anyone to call for you so early in the morning, and your walking route to school was never shared with another student as far as you were concerned. After all, your path was a little more obscured and unorthodox compared to the majority of students traversing the main neighborhood paths.

“Sorry… did I scare you?” You stop and turn to the source of the voice, only to be surprised when you see Kise himself. “Why do you look so surprised? Didn’t we agree on the time to meet up and walk to school together?”

“Oh… yeah…” In the midst of your thoughts, it seems that you forgot the arrangements you made with him yesterday evening. “My bad?”

“Oh, come on,” he gives a mock-hurt face with a hand to his chest. “Am I that forgettable, (y/n)?”

“N-No!” you immediately deny. You knew it was more like the other way around, the way constant thoughts of Kise preoccupy in your head too much. How can you ever forget him when he constantly runs through your mind everyday for so long? Kise merely gives a good-natured sigh before he changes the subject.

“Kidding,” he says, holding out a hand to you. “Seriously though, get your act together. We gotta start acting the part if we want this to work.” You stare at his hand, hesitating for a split moment before you put your own hand on top. His large hand easily encompasses yours, and the warmth makes you widen your eyes. It… felt nice.

You were so entranced by your linked hands that you failed to notice how Kise was staring at your face with a sharp glint in his eyes, but when you look up back to his face, he easily morphs his expression into his signature grin. He swings your hands around like an excited kid and turns to walk ahead to tug you along.

“Alrighty!~ Let’s hurry together before I get chewed out by Kasamatsu-senpai!”

“Kise, have you ever considered that it’s not really your tardiness that gets the captain mad but more so about the way you seem to irritate him with the way you skip around?”

“(y/n),” he says with a pout, “you know you’re not being convincing when you use my last name to address me as your boyfriend.”

“R-Right,” you stammer, still not used to the entire situation. “Ah… wait. Don’t you uh… call people who are close to you with -cchi?”

“Huh…” he mumbles, looking up at the cloudy sky before looking ahead of the path. “Not necessarily people who are close, just people who I really admire. I guess I addressed you like that yesterday without really thinking.”

“U-Uh, right… sorry.” He stops walking with your hand still in tow, and you almost bumped into his back at his sudden movement. He turns to you with a quite serious look.

“Do you want me to call you that?”

It was a normal question, but for some reason it felt like the next sentence coming from your mouth would make a huge impact on the way the two of you would interact in the future. From the way Kise looks at you with such a scrutinizing gaze, it feels like a trick question, and you’re not sure how to answer it. Your mouth goes dry when you try to reply.

“I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Kise’s eyes widen a fraction before he gives an unexpected chortle. “Pfft… how do you not know what you want to be addressed as?”

“Arrgh, oh shut it!” you frown, hitting his arm in a fluster before stalking off ahead. You remember that you were supposed to go to school together, and you begrudgingly stop and turn back to wait for him to catch up. “Ryōta, just call me whatever you want. You’re already calling me by my first name, so I doubt anyone would care if you added -cchi or not.” Still, your cheeks turn pink at the realization that Kise would be uttering your first name for the next couple… whenever this relationship will last.

“You… wait up!” Kise wheezes dramatically, despite the both of you knowing full well how easily he can catch up to your stride. “You really shouldn’t be treating your boyfriend like that! Especially on the first day!” Kise holds your hand again to lead you to the rest of the way to school.

All the while, you’ve been staring at his back, your heartstrings being tugged so mercilessly at the cacophony of emotions you were feeling the whole time. He felt so warm, so inviting, but the way he held your hands felt cold and transactional.

———

You’re not sure how to react whenever Kise introduced himself as your “boyfriend” to everyone or whenever nosy students inquired about your new “boyfriend.” All you could do was gulp and manage the most convincing act you could do within different contexts. Smile, laugh, get bashful, be modest in talking about how Kise managed to “like” you, pretend you know many embarrassing stories and sides to him that no one else did. Truthfully, you were just as in the dark as anybody else.

You think the only reason why everyone bought the couple-act was due to how enamored you were in talking about him. This was the only response you could be truthful about. At least you could use your huge crush to your advantage in portraying yourself as the “lovey-dovey” half of the couple. Yet it feels unbelievably wrong.

You knew you had to prepare yourself some preset answers for curious students, but you didn’t expect yourself to be participating in neverending “interviews” in these social settings. You thought this relationship would entail a closer access to Kise’s true self, but things suggest otherwise.

“Ryōta,” you say, peering up at his face as the both of you walk down the hallway to your designated spot for lunch together. Even as you two walk, he puts a reasonable distance between the two of you when there is no one in close proximity. Even when you two are together, he only grabs your hand when it’s socially convenient. Even when Kise approaches you to talk, you know it’s never anything beyond for the sake of acting. And you agreed to this entire thing.

“Hm?” He spares a glance to your figure before returning his gaze ahead.

“Uh, I brought extra food today,” you say, trying to use this situation to try to express your genuine feelings to him in small increments. “I brought an extra bento box too… in case, you don’t wanna actually share one…” He was about to reply before a pair of students turned around the corner to head towards your direction. Kise narrows his eyes at the unexpected turn of events, and immediately turns to you brightly.

“(y/n)! You really thought that I wouldn’t like the idea?” he pouts. “Of course I wanna share a bento with you! Silly…” He slightly bends to your level to place a chaste peck on your forehead.

“Ah…” you freeze at his soft touch, your legs stiff in place as you stop walking. Kise, in response, moves his lips to your ears, and you slightly shiver at the unexpected intimacy… it was the closest he’s gotten to you ever since that public stunt when he kissed you in front of everyone the other day.

“Hey, don’t just stand there… you can’t overreact like this over something couples do everyday.” You bit your lip in an attempt to stop your heart from sinking from disappointment, but in turning your face to him to spill an apology, your face ended up right in front of his. Your eyes widen but he only stares at you with such an intensity that makes you hold your breath in anticipation.

But he immediately draws away and stretches with a yawn. “Looks like those people left right after they thought they intruded on a private moment between us,” he says. “Sheesh, people really do the most to be so nosy nowadays.” You wonder how he can be so casual about this all. Perhaps it was a mistake to be here like this when you were so in love with him, overthinking every single thing he did.

Why didn’t he kiss you this time? Did he not find you the teensiest attractive enough to want to kiss you even without an audience nearby?

“Come on,” he mumbles, waving a hand through your face. “Quit making that face. I won’t be doing that to you without warning anytime soon. My bad, okay?” Kise sheepishly holds out a hand for a handshake to make peace, and you wordlessly take his hand. One day, you’ll stop being his special someone to savor his warmth…

No, you thought, you’re an idiot… he’s never considered you as someone special.

You debated in telling him that you were fine with him kissing you, but you hold your tongue, afraid that he’ll realize your true feelings about him. Besides, were you really okay with him kissing you when he didn’t reciprocate the same feelings?

“It… wasn’t like what you think,” you hesitate. “It just caught me off guard.”

“Well,” he laughs. “That’s a relief! By the way…” He stops to settle himself on the bench. “What’s exactly your lunch? Since you went through the effort to bring extras, I guess I’ll eat them.”

“I packed salmon from leftovers I had from home,” you reply, taking out your bento box and utensils. You decide to shake off your negative thoughts and shove them to the back of your mind. He makes a horrified face at the lunchbox. “Kise, what’s wrong?”

“Do you… happen to have anything else packed?”

“Rice?”

“Well,” he coughs. “I’m not a fan of dishes with boned fish.”

“Didn’t you say you hated unagi too?” Kise shyly averts his gaze before he reluctantly confirms it so. “They’re delicious though! Especially when they’re grilled!” At first, he refused to answer, but the more you tried to poke and prod (literally too, at his ribs), he finally gave in.

“Alright, alright! But I swear, you better not tell anyone!… I choked on a fish bone one time…”

“… And?”

“And yeah.”

“You choked on a bone once and you got scared out of eating fish—”

“Shhhh!” he hushes, emphasizing his hiss with a finger to his lips. At this very moment, you saw a glimpse into who Kise really is, and you can’t help but bust out a genuine, carefree laugh for the first time in front of him. In embarrassment, he bonks your head with his fist to get you to stop laughing, but it only makes you more conscious of how close he is to you.

But just as quickly and telepathically, Kise puts some distance between the two of you, sitting closer to the edge of the bench. He opts to hunch over casually and keenly watch you scarf down your meal in minutes without a care.

You wonder if you should feel guilty for enjoying this moment with Kise, even if he was only waiting with you out of obligation of being your “boyfriend,” but right now, you allowed yourself to indulge, letting your heart beat sporadically without guilt and fear for once. You continue to savor your lunch in silence, concentrating on munching around the fish bones, while Kise sat in contemplation all the while.

———

“You should come watch our practice game today, (y/n).”

“Eh?”

You tilt your head at him in confusion. It’s been two weeks since you started this arrangement with him, but nothing extraordinary or groundbreaking happened between the two of you, much to your despondency. But you knew, you shouldn’t be asking for too much when you already have the once-in-a-lifetime chance to be close to him like this.

“There’s going to be a lot of people coming,” he explains. “Even if it’s just a practice game… it’d be weird if you weren’t there, because, you know, we’re dating.”

“I don’t mind going,” you reply. “It sounds fun.”

“You know, you’ve been agreeing to everything I’ve been suggesting the entire time,” he mumbles to himself, but he zips his mouth shut when he sees you instinctively moving closer to try to catch what he said. “Uh, in any case… just stop by the gym whenever you can.”

So here you are a few hours later, being the first person to settle yourself on top of the 2nd floor of the gym. You rest your arms on the railway, fascinated by the Kaijō basketball team and their skills. As they warm up on the courts, it’s the first time you see Kise truly at ease and happy with the people he cares about, and your heart pangs in jealousy seeing his genuine smile. You were pulled out of your thoughts when you realized the gym became completely crowded, the constant chattering announcing huge crowds along the entrance and the lucky watchers at the 2nd floor with you.

You didn’t mind the onlookers when all you were focused on was Kise throughout the entire game with a smitten look, and you weren’t surprised when his team easily won against the other local school.

“That’s Kise isn’t it?” You were about to turn to leave the higher floor to wait outside the gym when you heard his name. You stop to eavesdrop on the conversation next to you.

“Yeah, I’ve been hearing about him way too much. Something about him dating now?”

“He’s dating (l/n) right now, which is super weird because they never even talked… and all of the sudden, they’re dating? I didn’t think of him to be into short-term flings.”

“You think he’s using (l/n) in some way? What an asshole.”

“Yikes. You’re probably not even that far off the bulls-eye. He’s a really heartless guy, from what I’ve heard.”

“Hey,” you interrupt, scaring the two girls out of their wits before they turn to you. “I don’t think you should talk about Kise like that when all you know of him is through speculation.”

“Ugh, here we go again with his fans…” one of them groans, rolling her eyes. “Look, I get it, he’s good-looking and all, but I don’t understand how you can defend him to death when he doesn’t even spare a glance at you… ah… shit, you’re (l/n)?” A flash of hurt was visible on your face for a split second before you frowned. Their words unintentionally hit the nail in the coffin.

“Whether I’m (l/n) or not doesn’t really matter,” you say angrily. “Gossiping about anyone like that isn’t something you should make a habit out of.”

“Jeez, let’s just leave,” the other girl whispers, dragging the first girl along.

You simply stand there watching them leave, but you can’t shake off what they said. They were right… how could you be so whipped for him when you know he’ll never see you the same way?

“Oy!”

Kise’s voice brings you back to your consciousness as he waves at you from the court. “You’ve been standing there for a while! Hurry up, or I’ll leave you behind, (y/n)-cchi!”

“Coming!” You race from the 2nd floor to the ground level to catch up to him, your heart pounding all the while. Did he… did he just…?

You shake your head before you reunite with him to walk home together. Stop it… don’t overthink it.

———

Kise waits at his usual spot to wait for you before walking to school together. It’s been three weeks since he’s approached you to “date.” He’s grown quite comfortable with this arrangement, being close to you and backing off when it’s convenient. After all, if you somehow showed a gruesome true self of yours, he’d be able to separate himself from you with no consequences… even if his heart would cry out not to.

“Ryōta!” There you are, running down the path towards him so cheerfully. Could you really be an awful person when you have such a pure smile like that?

“Ah, (y/n)-cchi,” he says. “We should hurry if we wanna be inside campus. It’s a little chilly today, so being indoors sounds really nice right now.” He peers over to your face to see your nose slightly red from the cold, and he huffs out a chuckle, noting the warm puff of air escaping from his own lips.

“I guess it’s a little cold today,” you say, looking up at Kise with a slight childish wonder. “Hey, that’s a pretty cool cloud that you puffed out.”

“You have some clouds around you too.” He gently smiles, and he notes that your eyes widen at the sight of him. “Wha? Is my face that horrific, (y/n)-cchi?” You avert your gaze as your cheeks grow just as red as your nose.

“Nah… i-it’s nothing…ah—” He holds your cheeks to turn your face back to him, and he draws near with a serious gaze, bumping his forehead against yours.

“You’re actually really cold…”

“Uh, um… I don’t think I’m c-cold anymore—” you stammer, your eyes darting to look everywhere but his face, and Kise’s eyes only scrutinize your behavior further.

“Hm, if you say so…” he mumbles. Your eyes flutter close at the anticipation, and he feels the pull towards your lips, closing his own lids shut…

Wait, what was he thinking? He snaps his lids open and slightly draws himself away to look at you, still vulnerable with your closed eyes. It’s only when he drops his hands from your cheeks and turns to walk ahead when you flutter your eyes open again. Don’t let your feelings for (y/n) blind you into figuring out who they really are.

“Come on,” Kise calls out to you. “We should get going… we don’t wanna be late.” Besides, what if there’s a possibility that you don’t really like him at all?

“Y-Yeah…”

The rest of the walk was in silence, with Kise slightly ahead of you. Perhaps if he turned around at least once to check on you, he would’ve seen the consequences of his actions.

You were silently crying the entire walk.

———

Nothing seems to change much for the entire month. The way the two of you dance and sway around each other, while never being too close, never being too affectionate, never being completely honest. In this shared rose-tinted world, the frail glass that holds these moments together threatens to break with every fickle interaction. Every shared kiss constitutes another small crack to the rose-tinted crystal.

And both of you are content with just the way things are.

Or that’s what you both mutter to yourselves like a mantra.

“Ryōta!” you call out to him. “Did you wait long?”

“Not really,” he says. “I just barely got out too… the teacher was really lenient on dismissal today, actually.” His heart swells at the sight of you as usual, but just as quickly, he’s always managed to quash his emotions in check.

For the first time, you initiate physical touch with him without hesitation, linking your hands with his and snuggling up to him. He flinches, not fast enough to process the sudden warmth of your body, and he immediately separates himself from you. Do you actually like him after all?… No, something is up, right?

“Ryōta…?” You flinch just as severely from the sudden reaction, and he turns to avoid looking at your face, knowing that his resolve would crumble right in front of you. He’s a coward, and he fucking knows it.

“S-Sorry, (y/n)-cchi! I don’t know what came over me like that, but you know you don’t have to force yourself to do things like that, right? There’s no one here, so let’s just walk home together like we always do, yeah?”

He turns to already walk ahead, too afraid of hearing your response and hoping you would follow and catch up to him… like you always do.

You simply stood there for a few moments, anguish clear as the sky above you as you keep telling yourself to manage your own expectations. Still, your voice croaks out quietly to respond to him, even if you knew he wasn’t going to hear it.

“… But I wanted to do these things with you, Ryōta.”

———

It’s been several days since that incident.

It was very awkward for the most part, the walks to and from school silent and suffocating. He’s not quite sure how to go about it while trying not to sound disingenuous about it. Nonetheless, even through his quiet apology, your face still lights up, and he’s confused about why you would ever be so forgiving of him.

Although today, lines have been crossed and this shared secretive world between the two of you have completely shattered to the point of no return.

It was quite a blur, an instinct that Kise has developed over the course of this relationship. Every time a group of students drew near, he was always ready to tug you close for a kiss until they left and carry on with their day. Today was usually no exception.

Another group of students was hanging around the corner, presumably spying on you two, and Kise did what he’s always done, grabbing your hand and embracing you for a kiss. Your eyes were blown open in surprise, but when you saw Kise’s eyes elsewhere, something finally snapped inside.

You push him away at his chest.

“U-Unagi… unagi…” Your voice trembles, and you use your arms to cover up the fresh tears. The code word sounds unbelievably stupid out of context, but at this moment, the word alone stabs Kise in his chest. “I-I… just stop… please.” Kise stares dumbly at you, processing the fact that you just used the agreed safe word against him.

“… (y/n)-cchi?” Kise asks with a confused smile. “You’ve never objected to kissing before… I’ve even told you what we’ll be doing if you agreed to this…?”

“How…” you choke on tears. “H-How can you kiss me like that while your eyes are on someone else…?”

“I don’t understand—”

“A-Am I that atrocious to kiss unless you stare at something else or there’s some convenience?”

“I don’t get it, (y/n)-cchi,” he frowns. “Did you expect more out of this or am I missing something?”

“There was no reason to kiss me like that,” you softly wail. “Everyone already knows we’re a thing for… o-over a month now. There’s no reason to kiss me around people anymore when they won’t suspect us anyways…”

“So you don’t want me to kiss you anymore?” Kise’s heart sinks in thinking about where this is going.

“No!—you don’t… you don’t fucking get it! I don’t get it—! Why are we doing this anymore—I just, I see no reason to continue this anymore… you already shooed off your fans, right? Why haven’t you ended this?!”

“(y/n)-cchi—I…” He reaches out for you, but you immediately recoil.

“No—please… no more, I can’t do this anymore!” you sniffle. “I can’t fucking do this… I’m done, I’m tired—please… just look for another person to take my place… I… I’m done—I can’t pretend with you anymore when I always expect more out of it like a love-stricken fool!”

“I…”

“Look—see,” you choke. “I’m just like everyone else who’s in love with you, I’m no different than everyone else R-Ryōta… so that’s why, I-I… can’t do this anymore!”

Kise stands there, staring at you running away from him. It was like everything had gone silent, save for the sound of his blood pounding in his ears.

“You think he’s using (l/n) in some way? What an asshole.”

“Yikes. You’re probably not even that far off the bulls-eye. He’s a really heartless guy, from what I’ve heard.”

He hated rumors, he really did… but for the first time, he feels like he deserves every word thrown at him around the hallways and classrooms. His memory flits to the time when he felt warm from seeing you standing up for him, even if he wasn’t bothered by them before. Now, the warmth is replaced by agonizing regret and guilt wracking through his entire body. His hands feel cold with you gone from his side.

What has he done?

———

He’s grown quiet for the next week.

It’s been a week since you ran from him, and it’s been a week since he last talked to you.

Even his teammates were concerned about his reserved behavior, but just as always, he’s managed to shoot them a convincing smile. Kasamatsu was more persistent about this but eventually dropped it seeing Kise’s refusal to talk about it.

That day when you pushed him away, he couldn’t sleep, his thoughts keeping him awake the entire night. He resolved himself to talk to you the next day… but he changed his mind the last minute… and then he told himself he’d do it the next day… and then he changed his mind again.

He tells himself that it’s because you rightfully hate him, with the way you’d surround yourself with other crowds and groups to prevent him from walking up to you when you were alone. He tells himself that it’s because both you and him needed space to cool off and go back to the way you two were. He refuses to tell himself that it’s because he’s an honest-to-god coward.

He misses you. He misses you damn badly. Why the fuck did he go through such lengths instead of confessing to you straight up? He tells himself that he was being cautious. He tells himself that he doesn’t want his heart to be broken again. He refuses to conclude that it’s because he’s a fucking coward.

“I don’t know what’s been on your mind, idiot,” Kasamatsu says. “But you better solve this yourself quickly if you’re not opening up to me about this. We can’t have your performance quality be dropping even in practice. Hurry up and fix this shit with (l/n)-san already.”

“H-How’d you know?!” Kise raises his head from his desk in astonishment.

“Tch, idiot,” he glowers, chopping Kise’s head with a swift hand. “It’s too obvious from the way you’re moping around… from the way you two stuck together all this time, who wouldn’t notice something happened from the way you’re at your desk watching (l/n)-san like that?”

“O-Ow…” Kise grumbles rubbing his head. Ironically, his captain’s hit cleared up his doubts and he took a deep breath before exhaling. “Got it, senpai.”

“You better.” Kasamatsu goes back to talking to his classmates during break, and even despite not knowing the truth of the relationship, he manages to give solid advice as usual.

Tomorrow. He’ll find you tomorrow.

———

He doesn’t know where else to find you alone other than the place he’s always waited for you before you two used to walk to school together. So he stands there, almost an hour earlier in case you had the idea to walk to school extremely early to avoid him at all costs.

He was right.

Here you are, shuffling your feet as you trudged yourself along the path and looking down at your feet. You even manage to walk past by him without noticing his presence.

Even if you’ve grown to hate him, he’s willed himself to come completely clean about his feelings to you for once. But a part of him is thinking to change his mind again and just let you slip away from his fingers. It’d spare the both of you the inevitable, right?

“R-Ryōta…?”

He was pulled from his thoughts, startled to see you staring at him from a short distance away. Apparently you did notice him after all.

“… (y/n)-cchi…” He swallows his words, knowing full well that his stupid words might blow this up for him again, his words responsible for all the rumors at school, his words responsible for hurting you and will hurt you again.

He wordlessly walks up to you and holds your cheek, and waits. He waits for you to push him away again. He waits for you to say the code word to let him know that you don’t want him near you again. The thought of you running away from him nearly brings him to tears, but he gulps his emotions down and stares at you calmly, with only his upturned brows hinting to his inner turmoil.

“Ryō—”

He swiftly brings his head down and kisses you. In feeling the warmth for the first time in a while, he greedily drinks from your lips, holding your temples more firmly as he searches for more, more, more.

You push him away.

Kise immediately lets go and stares at you like a lost child, unable to mask the devastation from the implications of your actions. But you’re still gripping his uniform tightly, almost as if you didn’t want to let go.

“W-Why…?” you croak, biting your lips to stop any tears from breaking through. “There’s no reason to kiss me. Don’t you know that we’re done? There’s no one to watch us here, no reason for you to walk me to school anymore. You know that, Ryōta. After all, we haven’t talked since a week ago, and you have the audacity to come here and kiss me like everything is okay—”

“… I want to kiss you, because there’s no one around, because there’s no other reason for me to.”

“Why…?” your voice softens to a whisper. “Don’t you hate anyone who likes you in that way? I… I already told you that I see you in that light, like many of your fans do. Don’t you hate me? Don’t you hate me for using this arrangement to get closer to you? Don’t you hate me for expecting something real out of this?”

“I already had an inkling of suspicion that you liked me, (y/n)-cchi,” Kise turns away to look at the bright morning sky. “I just didn’t know if I was wrong or not.”

“Then… why did you ask me to do this whole thing with you…?”

“Because I’m a coward,” he says, looking back to you. You were stunned into silence. For the first time, he finally admits what’s been weighing on his mind for weeks out loud, and his eyes, while drenched in shame, were full of resoluteness. “I liked you, but I was too afraid for the day when you ended up being not like the person I ended up liking. I liked you, but I was afraid of a real relationship that would tie me down. I liked you, but I was afraid of making huge decisions that involved another person into my life. I didn’t want to end the fake relationship because I was too fucking selfish… if I ended it, I’d lose the only connection I had with you… I’m sorry.”

Both of you went silent, bathed in the light of the rising sun. Kise drops to a squat to hide his face from you, and you knew he was trying to stop himself from tearing up. He knows how uncool he looks, but he had no right to cry when you were the one who got hurt the most.

“Ryōta, did you really find it difficult to kiss me…? Just… be honest.”

“Yes,” he looks up from his squat to stare at you with an intense look, even despite his puffy eyes. “Everytime I kissed you, I found it hard to control myself. I thought, what if you were using me to somehow get a kiss from me? or what if I couldn’t stop myself from kissing you and I ended up taking things too far? Looking anywhere but you at least stopped me from getting too invested…”

By now, both of you had turned completely red at his honesty, but he still found you frankly stunning even with your red, puffy eyes. “Look, (y/n)-cchi, don’t you hate me? I used you. The rumors are right—I’m a complete asshole. Just… I won’t blame you if you walk away right now.”

“You do know that I used this opportunity to get closer to you, right?… I wasn’t a saint about this either, so… I’m sorry too.” Both of you go silent again, and you slowly drop yourself to his level in a squat of your own in front of him.

“… C-Can we… can we start over?” you whisper, your warm breath tickling his chilled nose.

“(y/n)-cchi, I don’t think I’m capable of continuing this arrangement…”

“No,” you huff, before you tentatively press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I mean… can we… start over, but this time, as a real couple? I… want this relationship to be substantial. I really do like you, Ryōta.” You murmur against his lips with your hands on top of your knees, waiting for him to rebuke you away with an easygoing comment or a plastered smile.

But he doesn’t do any of that.

“I… guess we can try that,” Kise mumbles, gaze averted as his cheeks flame brighter than his nose and ears.

“Can you kiss me again?” you ask, your voice cracking at the end out of fear he’d turn down your request. Kise flicks his gaze back to you to see you equally red with a hesitant expression.

“Could you… close your eyes?” he asks with a frown.

“H-Huh?”

“Y-You don’t need to see me looking like a mess, I don’t look charming right now.”

“I… guess…” After a few moments of hesitation, you flutter your eyes shut, waiting apprehensively for his lips to descend onto yours again. Kise holds your cheeks and takes the time to admire your features for the first time, and his smile grows wider with every passing second.

‘R-Ryōta…?” Afraid of the fact that he actually may not like kissing you after all, you worriedly open your eyes, only to be greeted by the most brilliant smile from Kise, his figure illuminated by the sunshine hitting the back of his head at the perfect angle.

“(y/n)-cchi,” he teases with a small pout. “Didn’t I tell you to close your eyes?”

Who needs a rose-tinted lens when the sight before you is already so radiant to behold?

[moregaythanyourealized]

The Mayor

Part 3

“We start this evenings broadcast with shocking news from town hall. This morning at roughly 8:30 our dear Mayor was killed by none other than Doc Ock. Luckily for us though he is behind bars thanks to the efforts of Y/n L/n, who is now being sworn into office.” The camera showed the procedure and Y/n in a new outfit. A blue dress that fir her quite well. Otto couldn’t stand it. He had only been in prison for a few hours and he already hated his life more than before. He was drugged up and his machine felt much heavier than it used to, he had next to no control of his body. His only way to see the world was through a small grainy TV that was posted in the corner of his cell.

His cell was incomprehensibly unfitting for a man such as himself. An old bed that left a crick in his neck. A toilet which he thankfully hadn’t needed to use yet. And a small table in the corner with the even smaller TV. The walls of his cell were unbreakable. Some material he didn’t know the name of surrounded the outside of it. He could chip at the concrete but the outside wouldn’t budge. Somehow he was sure you had funded the building of this cell. Just to spite him. The TV showed you suddenly and his attention was drawn back,

“It was terrifying to be in the clutches of such a lunatic. I did what anyone would do, if only I could’ve done more to save our dear Mr Thomas. May he rest in peace.” What a load of shit, he thought. You had fooled the people just like you had fooled him,

“What will happen to Doc Ock?” Y/n brushed her hair out of her face and looked directly into the camera,

“After I visit him tomorrow, he’ll be getting what he deserves. I demand justice for the death of Mayor Thomas.” People clapped in the background and Otto shut off the TV trying to get some sleep. He dreamed of you and this morning. He dreamed of how he wished it went.

The rain pouring down over the both of you as he held you close. You’d look up at him and pull him in close kissing him softly and thanking him for saving the city. For saving you. His hands would wrap around your waist and he’d carry you back to your apartment and you two would dry off and have a romantic dinner together. Sharing your plans for the future of New York....

He awoke with a start. Some guard yelling at him to get up. Groaning he lifted himself from the bed and walked sluggishly towards the door. A series of clicks and other strange noises come from the other side of the wall before the door swung open. Being handcuffed yet again he was led to a glass enclosure. This is miserable, he thought. They’re treating me like an animal. He was sealed inside the glass and felt cool air conditioning by his feet. A large vent blowing freezing air and making the space breathable. It woke him up a bit. The effects of whatever they injected slowly wearing off. One of his claws knocked on the glass, no damage. He couldn’t just break out either, there were guards all over the entire prison. When the door opened again he scowled. You looked tiny compared to the metal door and waltzed in as if you were an old friend. You wore a long pale pink coat and black gloves finished off with a black ascot. You looked unbearably cute but knew what you really were,

“What do you want L/n?”

“I listen to the people, and they demanded I see you to know you’re reasoning for killing a public figure.” Slamming his fist against the glass he stared you down,

“I did it because you told me to, you crazy bitch.” You nodded in agreement pulling off your gloves gingerly and setting them in your pocket,

“And I did it because you made it easy, if you had been smarter I might’ve avoided you and picked someone else to help me.” His appendages moved like protective snakes behind him.

“Did you come here just to mock me?” You got closer to the glass tilting your head to see his expression he looked distant. It made you a little sad,

“I don’t want you to rot here in prison. Because despite all that I’ve said...” You cleared your throat,

“The greatest thrill and joy I’ve had so far was the short time I worked alongside you.” He met your eyes and did nothing for awhile. Then he just sighed and turned away from you,

“I can’t deal with this right now.” You frowned and stepped back,

“Fine. I understand you don’t exactly like or trust me. But if there’s anything I can do...just let me know.” God! You really were confusing. One minutes you’re kissing, then you have him thrown in jail and now you’re asking about doing him favors? What are you trying to do to this poor mans head?

“Tell the guards to give me some time before they take me back to my cell.”

—————POV CHANGE—————

He hears the door close and looks around before using one of his metal arms to pry the top off the air vent. He wasn’t going to fit through it but he could tear up the floor around it to make him fit. And that’s exactly what he did. While you told the guards to give him time and to treat him better than other prisoners the doctor was wondering through the giant vents. His brain felt sharp and alert again. So did his tentacles, a flicker of red warned him to stop but he wouldn’t, not when he’s gotten this far. Finally he found a vent to a control room. He burst through the ceiling and killed both the guards. He sat at the computer and began typing. Y/n was going to regret this. With a few clicks and the push of a button all cell doors, outside doors, and gates were unlocked. He’ll had been released and so had New York’s greatest super villains. The city would be chaos and with the record for shortest office time ever, Y/n would be kicked out and replaced. Maybe the new shmuck in charge would know how to handle the city. Leaving the room he flew down the halls. His tentacles taking him to the personal belongings room. Searching the drawers he found what he was looking for. Grabbing his jacket and glasses he exited the building (cue epic music). Walking over crowds of anyone from petty thefts to fellow evil doers he stepped into the freshly fallen snow. It was around noon, by nightfall this place would be a wreck. He saw your car leave the parking lot. His tentacles took over, the flashing red now bright and constant. One grabbed the car while another ripped the door off. He heard your screaming from inside and did nothing to hide the joy spreading across his face. Your face paled when you saw who had wrecked your car and you pushed yourself as far away as you could. He got closer to the car and looked in the gaping hole on the side. You were shaking against the door on the opposite side. A limb reached in and wrapped around her neck. She closed her eyes expecting the worst. But the machine only untied her ascot from her neck and tied it around her mouth. She tried to scream again but it was muffled by the gag. Then ripping leather from the interior of the car it was tied tightly around her wrists and ankles. Pulling her into the cold air she shook her head,

“I think it’s time Brooklyn sees the type of leader you really are. Let’s have some fun.” His voice was different now. Dark and clever. The wreckage of downtown broke your heart. Historical buildings destroyed or burned down. Hundreds of not thousands of criminals on the streets. Between the speed you were going at and the ice in your eyes they all looked like blurs. The wind stopped whipping at your face, you couldn’t see what was behind you but you could tell where you were. The bank, of course. It was hard to process everything. Eventually you stopped trying and just laid across his shoulder. Setting you down he demanded the bank teller open all the safes,

“If you don’t, I’ll break every bone in her body. One by one. When I’m done she’ll be so deformed her own mother won’t recognize her.” The teller scrambled with the keys and began unlocking everything. He laughed and began bagging what looked the most valuable,

“I hope you know this is very much your fault.” He smiled at you. The sinking in your stomach only went deeper. When he finished he picked you up once more like a rag doll and exited the building. Crushing the ceiling on the way out,

“Where shall we go? The city is ours.” He said nothing but got a devious glint in his eyes before taking you back through downtown. He stopped in front of your apartment. How did he know where you lived? When you entered the building it was like a ghost town. No employees or lobby boys. Only the distant sounds of chaos and the ding of the elevator as you ride it up to the top floor. Thankfully he didn’t know which exact apartment belonged to you. He set you down and you pointed to a door near the end of the hall. He didn’t bother to pick you back up or untie your feet so you could walk. He just dragged you behind him along the carpet while he talked about the design of the building. He stopped in front of your door. His human hands found their way to your waist. You tried to wiggle away from him but he reached down. You sighed when you realized he was only getting the keycard from your pocket.

You apartment was cold. He set you on the couch and began trying to light a fire in your fireplace,

“You have a lovely place, sure know how to use the tax payers money huh?” He let his jacket fall to the floor, revealing his bare chest. He must’ve been cold outside without a shirt on. He was out of sight and into your kitchen. He came back with a bottle of wine and a large glass. He left your hands tied but undid the restraints around your ankles and mouth. Taking a deep breath in you went to yell at him. Before you could you were pulled into his lap. Switching the TV on he shushed you and ran a hand down your back making you shiver,

“Is it the end times? Citizens of New York are wondering what is happening? Mere hours after Mayor L/n is elected the city falls into destruction. On her trip to visit Doc Ock it’s believed he escaped and freed the other prisoners. Riots, fires, building destroyed and collapsed in what’s possibly New York’s worst day yet.” The camera switched to different people getting interviewed,

“It’s terrible! I’m afraid to leave my home!”

“I knew we shouldn’t have elected a woman.”

“I heard she was working with the Doctor the entire time!” Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t reach the remote, and if you tried to get up he’d just pull you right back down. Guilt was the main emotion, but you felt some resentment as well. These people knew nothing! You were tricked... kinda, not really. But you never intended for this mess to happen. Karma had finally caught up with you. The people on the news kept taking and talking. You couldn’t take it anymore,

“Turn it off! Please!” Otto shrugged and changed the channel to a hockey game,

“Is all the pressure getting to you, Mayor?” His hand was resting on your thigh while the other held his wine glass. You wanted desperately to shower and go to bed. To wake up in a different dimension where nothing ever happened. The room became unbearably hot. You weren’t sure wether it was the fireplace or the guilt (or maybe something else),

“Could you untie my hands please? I’d like to get out of my coat.” You got off his lap and stuck your hands out for him to untie,

“Last time I trusted you, you and me thrown in jail. I’m not making that mistake again.”

“I’m not asking you to trust me, I’m asking you to untie my hands.” He stood up and began slowly uniting them. He watched you intensely as you took your coat off. Turning away from his gaze you walked into your bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. You were a strong powerful leader who was going to get out of this mess....somehow.

[thisnoodlewritesao3]

Regrets | Yamaguchi Tadashi/Reader

Characters: Reader, Yamaguchi Tadashi, Tsukishima Kei. Mentioned: Hinata Shoyo, Kageyama Tobio, Oikawa Tooru, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Tendou Satori

Pairings: Tsukishima Kei/Reader, Yamaguchi Tadashi/Reader

Warnings: Angst, mentioned emotional abuse, swearing (lmk if I missed anything)

Word Count: 2560

Summary: After the downfall of your relationship with Tsukishima Kei, Yamaguchi stays behind to pick up the pieces.

A/N: Look, I know I haven't posted in a while, and this isn't the ONE THING I NEED TO POST. But that will be done soon. I was having issues with google docs, and anxiety, and AAAAAAH but! we will be back to our regularly scheduled nonsense soon hehe. Anyway, have some pain. Also! Big thank you to @pies-writes-and-more for briefly Beta-Reading and then I went off on one hehe. Sowwy

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There are a few things you know, for certain, in this world: love is a fickle thing, pizza is the most comforting food, and Yamaguchi Tadashi had done few things wrong in his life.

And yet here you sit, with your back pressed against your bedroom door and knees pulled close to your chest, tears stinging your cheeks with such aggression you briefly fear they might be acid. He’s on the other side of the door, probably in a similar position, mumbling his most sincere apologies for your current heart ache.

But why?

You ask yourself this so often when it comes to him. Why is he always the first to apologise? Why is he apologising to begin with? This wasn’t his issue. It didn’t matter what you said, he would still apologise, because that’s just how Yamaguchi Tadashi was.

Sure, he had his behind-your-back snarky remarks and that mischievous giggle you’d hear when he was around. But on the inside, oh so deep inside, he was just as weak and as vulnerable as you were.

You knew it wasn’t his fault, yet you couldn’t stop the words flowing from your lips.

I wish I’d never met you.

You don’t mean it. Not really. Well, it was more like you wished he’d never introduced you to him. According to him, he’d wanted you to be his little secret for just a little while longer. So he could protect you for just some more time. But as fickle as love is, so was that.

You can still remember, clear as day, the night you’d met Yamaguchi.

He was walking outside your family restaurant with two other first year boys. Just outside of the front was yet another ever so loud “conversation” between Aoba Johsai’s pretty boy - Oikawa Tooru - and Shiratorizawa’s powerhouse - Ushijima Wakatoshi. The resident redhead who’d often stop by your restaurant with soft apologies and sorrowful gaze - Tendou Satori - was cringing behind Ushijima. If it hadn't been for the surprise visit of Yamaguchi and his first year friends, you might never have gotten rid of the pair that night.

They didn’t say much, but the tall first year with the black hair seemed to piss off Oikawa enough to make him leave. And - for whatever reason - Ushijima was either intimidated or annoyed by the smaller first year with vibrant orange hair.

As Tendou apologised, you locked eyes with Yamaguchi. To say the rest was history would be the easy thing to say. But you weren’t too good at doing things easily.

It was too often you’d see this particular green haired boy appear in your restaurant, looking a little intimidated, but elated nonetheless.

You’d entertain him with small conversation about your life and about his. For whatever reason, time seemed to pass by so easily when he was around. The two of you clicked well, sharing these weekly dinners together like they were your most solid form of comfort.

Until one day, Yamaguchi brought a friend. Brought him.

Tsukishima Kei was the perfect example of everything you shouldn’t love, but that only makes you love him harder. He’s cocky, arrogant enough to be tolerable - unlike Oikawa - a bit more difficult to talk to. A lot of work. It really was a shame you liked things that were challenges.

Because Yamaguchi was easy. Maybe that’s what drew you more to his tall friend.

All smirks and side glances, snide remarks about your food or the restaurant itself. You almost wanted to kick him out right then and there. But you had a soft spot for Yamaguchi, so you let the boys stay.

That would be your first mistake.

Your second was something so seemingly innocent, yet it would be your complete and utter downfall in the end. Your second would be falling for Tsukishima Kei. Hard and fast, with no mercy or care in the world. No time to think about your feelings when your thoughts were filled with him.

Tsukishima Kei was everything that Yamaguchi wasn’t. He was hard to have conversations with, harsh on his wise remarks about you, and time with him went by in a second. You had no chance to reflect on the things you’d said or the way his tone of voice shifted between words; it was over just as quickly as it started.

At first, you took it as a good sign.

You thought that it meant you enjoyed his company so much that it would be over so quick. Even when you tried to think of it as the most boring thing you’d ever done, it didn’t work. Not when he turned and looked at you with that smirk. Not when you blinked and he was grabbing his things to go.

Of course, you didn’t even take a second to think that maybe the reason time went so fast was because he was leaving so much earlier than Yamaguchi would. But as you continued to work, you didn’t think about it. Especially not when your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met.

"It's all my fault." Yamaguchi leaned his head back against the door a little too hard, the noise making you wince.

"It isn't." You said, because it wasn’t his fault. Well, it wasn’t all his fault. Even a blind man could see that. You aren’t even sure how you manage to keep your voice so strong, but you know that it won’t happen again.

“It is.” And this time, you didn't stop his explanation. “When I found out he liked you, I knew he wasn’t going to be good for you. But I saw how your eyes lit up around him, and you’d been talking about him for two years so… I didn’t stop him. I didn’t tell him you deserved more than this. More than what he could give you.” He paused, probably running his hand through his hair. “And then you’d talk about the things he’d do like they were normal, like you were laughing. Like you were begging me to make you stop it.” And he was right. Because you were. Because you hoped he’d see the signs and make you turn around. You probably wouldn’t have listened though. “I’m not going to say I could have treated you better because that isn’t for me to decide. But I will say that I wish I’d never introduced you to him.” He shuffled behind the door, probably getting up to leave. “You know, Y/N, you deserved so much more than that. You are worthy of more than that.” He assured you, and you could only laugh - it really didn’t feel like that right now.

As he left you alone, you wanted to scream more for him to come back, but you knew it was for the best. Yamaguchi was his friend first. You were barely an afterthought in the grand-scheme of things.

Every night you lay awake, panic sewn into your skin that he’d show up, begging you for forgiveness, begging you to take him back, and you lived with the fear that you would do exactly that.

Why?

Because you hated the thought of him being hurt. Hated the idea that, even after everything he’d done to you, you still couldn’t put yourself first.

And, after all this time, there was only one person you could call when things got bad.

Yamaguchi had gotten pretty good at putting on a brave face around Tsukishima when the other first years he’d shared his high school experience were around, but when the pair were left alone, he didn’t have a good thing to say to the blond.

“You really stopped clinging to Tsukishima,” Hinata said in passing one day, almost making the green haired boy hurl. Because if only they knew why. If only they’d seen what he’d seen. If only they’d heard your cries when everything happened.

Instead of answering directly, Yamaguchi just shrugged and laughed lightly, closing his eyes for fear they’d betray him with his true emotions. “Just thought I should start living for myself. You know, you can’t rely on someone forever.” When he opened them again, Tsukishima was looking the other way, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Come on, Tadashi.” Tsukishima called out to him; it was one of those days they’d all planned to be here together, but life happens, and it left Tsukishima with a very pissed off Yamaguchi. “God, you need to stop being such a pussy. Who even cares about her anyway?” Tsukishima asked him, his tone of voice making it very clear that he hated this topic.

It stopped Yamaguchi in his tracks. Because he cared about you. He was there for you. He saw the aftermath, the way you almost refused to tell him what had happened with a serious tone; he saw the light in your eyes shatter and break, and the confident girl he’d known was gone.

You were gone because of the man behind him right now. He clenched his fists, trying to calm the increase of his heartbeat. Trying to resist the urge to punch him in the face. Trying to find the words that would make this boy understand what he’d done.

“Just because you never cared, doesn’t mean other people didn’t.” Yamaguchi spat, walking away from Tsukishima.

He would come to you every time you called him, late at night, early in the morning. Whenever. Wherever. It didn’t matter. Not when you curled up in your bed with your head pressed into his chest, tears staining his shirt and assuring him it would be another long night.

He’d do anything you’d ask, if he were being honest, but you never asked him more than that. For him to stay the night and hold you was all you ever needed, and he thought you were brave for being able to admit just that.

Slowly, you were getting better.

And then you called one evening, crying so hard, voice so filled with panic that he practically ran to your dorm- no, he did run. His legs were burning, his lungs squeezing closed with every sharp exhale. But he was here.

And so was Tsukishima.

The blond was knocking on your door, cheeks tear-stained in the most pathetic way as he begged you to let him inside. Yamaguchi had never been more proud of you; in this moment, you were going against everything your body told you to do.

Yamaguchi acted on instinct, pushing Tsukishima away from your door, and he tumbled onto the ground, looking up at his friend who radiated rage. His blood was boiling, any pain throughout his body long forgotten because you needed him to protect you. To do what he should have done years ago.

“What are you doing here?” Tsukishima didn’t bother pulling himself up, not yet, not when every muscle in Yamaguchi’s arms flexed, threatening him just enough. But Yamaguchi actually hurt him? He actually needed to think about that; right now, it really looked like it.

“I was actually invited.” Yamaguchi hissed behind gritted teeth. Had his senses ever been so awake? He didn’t think so. Pure adrenaline rushed through his veins. “What are you doing here?”

It almost felt wrong to talk to Tsukishima this way - so wrong, yet so right - he didn’t understand why. Sure, when they met as kids, Tsukishima had never been the nicest to him. But he’d never been horrible either. Not the way he was to you - not the way he was to anyone else. It made him feel special, that Tsukishima’s friendship was special - no matter how wrong that was - and maybe when they got closer in high school, he let himself be blind for just a little bit longer. Because Tsukishima Kei called him cool, so wasn’t that a big deal? It shouldn’t have been.

“And what are you going to do?” Tsukishima asked, standing up slowly, he was watching Yamaguchi carefully, he could see the hesitation in the boy's eyes. So, maybe he did have the upper hand, or some sort of ground after all. “Because I really doubt you have it in you to hit me, Tadashi, so just move out of the way and let me talk to my girlfriend.”

That sat wrong with Yamaguchi and his glare hardened. He could hear you crying on the other side of the door, God, you must have been so scared. “She isn’t your girlfriend anymore.”

“Is she yours?” Tsukishima looked down on him, sneering. He already knew the answer.

“Why do you care so much? Because if I remember correctly, you’re the one that broke up with her. You’re the one that did this. And now you’re crawling back?” Yamaguchi scoffed, trying his hardest to make sure his walls weren’t going to break down, he could feel them crumbling already. “That’s pretty lame, Tsukki.”

“Because I fucked up.” Tsukishima rolled his eyes, hands shoved deep into his pocket.

“When did you fuck up exactly?” Yamaguchi stepped closer to him, pointing his finger at him almost violently. “Was it when you told her she wasn’t good enough for you? Was it when you tore her apart for your own entertainment? Was it when she opened up to you, and you shamed her for that? Or could it have been when you left her standing in the rain on your first anniversary? Maybe it was when you abandoned her at her own mother’s funeral because she ‘hurt your feelings’? God, I really just can’t pinpoint when you fucked up,” sarcasm dripped from his tongue as he grabbed Tsukishima by the shirt (when had he gotten so close?) pulling his face down until they met eyelines, “fucking enlighten me, Tsukishima!” He yelled. “You know what, Tsukishima, I think your biggest fuck up was following me to her restaurant, when I told you not to, all because you were bored.”

The tension held in the air was strangling them both. It was all a case of who would let go first - who would be the first one to back away?

They both knew the answer.

Tsukishima pushed Yamaguchi away, scoffing at the green haired boy, “I get it. You hate me.” He rolled his eyes, straightening out his shirt. “But I did care about her.” His voice was softer now, like he was scared that you’d hear him.

“Well,” Yamaguchi cleared his throat, “you have a really funny way of showing it.” They turned away from each other, not wanting to see the changes in their face. A silent agreement between them that things would never be the same. Maybe that was for the best.

When he was sure that Tsukishima had left the building, Yamaguchi reached a shaking hand out to your door.

Your soft whimpers were barely noticeable, but they were there. You opened the door, practically throwing yourself into his arms when you confirmed he was okay; you didn't ask what happened between the boys and he didn’t tell you.

Sure, you never liked doing things easily before, but right now, easy was what your heart needed. Yamaguchi took the lead in making sure you were getting help with the trauma; and he let you take the lead in your relationship.

And sure, you’d always regret the night you’d met Tsukishima Kei. But, no matter what you said, you would never regret the night you’d met Yamaguchi.

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[ninjago-happens-here]

'Bandages come in many ways. There are gauze bandages, treating all kinds of wounds the Ninja may have. There are bandages used to prevent injury in Martial Arts. What P.I.X.A.L. is wondering, is that if mankind has a bandage for the heart.'

@ninjago-angst-week am I late or what? Sorry but I think spewing out 21k words over teh course of 3 days killed my motivation. It took 3 days just to write 6.1k words.

Summary:

P.I.X.A.L. notices that the store of bandages is running low. She thinks about all the times she had to use them on one of her teammates, and its purposes.

“Hey Pix! We’re running low on bandages. Can you help us order some before we go to Shintaro?” Nya’s voice came from the medical bay of the Destiny’s Bounty. The Ninja and Master Wu were going on a trip to Shintaro. Unfortunately, Pixal never got an invite, but she has long been used to being left behind. It’s not that it was a bad thing, per se. Pixal knew the importance of having a backup, and having someone watch over Ninjago whilst the Ninja were gone. Still, to distract herself after placing a digital order, she thought about anything that could distract her. That thing just happened to be about bandages.

Bandages. Neat, white little things that wrap around any land or sky creature. According to Wikipedia, a bandage is a piece of material used either to support a medical device such as a dressing or splint, or on its own to provide support to or to restrict the movement of a part of the body. When used with a dressing, the dressing is applied directly to a wound, and a bandage is used to hold the dressing in place. Other bandages are used without dressings, such as elastic bandages that are used to reduce swelling or provide support to a sprained ankle. Tight bandages can be used to slow blood flow to an extremity, such as when a leg or arm is bleeding heavily.

At first, that was all P.I.X.A.L. knew about bandages. Given that she was built with the main purpose of being Cyrus Borg’s assistant, her primary knowledge consisted mostly of the ins and outs of Borg Tower, emergency protocols, customer service skills, and basic first aid, given that her maker was frailer than your average Ninjago citizen.

Of course, the longer she worked under Cyrus Borg, the more she learnt about the medical field. Curious about Mr Borg’s special circumstances, she was permitted to look through the internet for more information. In no time at all, she learnt about surgery, prosthetics, all different kinds of medication, and how to diagnose illnesses. In her given free time, she studied all the information available on the internet about the medical field. Even though the information was useless to her, an android who had no physical weaknesses like the humans do, her system determined that whilst the knowledge was a bit excessive, it only helps to prepare her to care for Mr Borg.

She never really needed to apply all that knowledge about serious and fatal cuts, but when Borg gets even the slightest injury, P.I.X.A.L. was there to offer her assistance.

A year after she had been created, Cyrus Borg had offered her to take a test of the field in medicine. P.I.X.A.L. had immediately felt lighter and better somehow. When asking Borg why she was feeling this way and if robots could get sick, Borg had laughed in surprise and shock.

“That feeling is happiness, P.I.X.A.L.! It’s an emotion that all living creatures feel, you included.”

“But I am not living-“ Mr Borg cut her off.

“Technically, you are right, P.I.X.A.L., but you are intelligence, and intelligence is what defines life. You can adapt, change, and overcome as all living beings do. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise! Because that would be an insult to my intelligence!” Cyrus Borg said encouragingly. “And robots can technically get sick, from a digital virus. But I created you to be strong, stronger than I ever will be. You should not have to worry about them.”

P.I.X.A.L. nodded her head to show her understanding. “Then I will go to the exam.”

P.I.X.A.L. didn’t pass on her first try, but Mr Borg told her that it was alright, given that she still did very well considering that she only had the free internet to look for answers to a test she was unprepared for. It was human for her to have failed.

“So why did you send me there with no preparation?” P.I.X.A.L. asked with a shaking voice.

“To prepare you for failure, my dear!” Cyrus Borg said patronisingly. “Since I’ve built you, you’ve been perfect in many, many ways. And that isn’t a bad thing! But life isn’t that simple. You may fail in one way or another in the future because like humans, the circumstances may not be what you desired and plans can fall apart due to errors. What I want you to know is how failure feels like, and I will help you recover from it.”

P.I.X.A.L. nodded. It won’t be long before she faced her first, real big failure.

- Lloyd - The first time she had to really apply those skills that she learnt was when the team had seen Lloyd in the village. After he was pulled out of the ocean because he had to escape from an exploding plane that the Digilord had trapped him on. The locals had wanted to help, but Lloyd wasn’t feeling like having strangers cut him up, so they offered him some basic and outdated medical supplies.

P.I.X.A.L. could see him trying to treat himself and to stay awake, and she could see him hiss as the alcohol drizzled on his wounds.

“LLOYD!” Kai shouted in a tone that conveyed panic. This made the young ultimate spinjitzu master look up from his handiwork and immediately break into a smile. As the team had rushed forward to greet him, P.I.X.A.L. could see that his shoulders were sagging, probably from relief.

“I’m so sorry that I got caught guys,” Lloyd wheezed with an apologetic smile before keeling over, to which Cole caught him with shaking hands.

“Oh god, Zane, quick, do your thing!” Kai panicked even harder, hands jittery as if he was in an internal debate about whether he should do something or not.  “I’m trying Kai! I just- my hands keep shaking for some reason!” Zane gritted his teeth in frustration. “I’m gonna run some diagnostics on him” “Okay, Cole, lie him on a flat surface- medic! Medic!” Nya screamed out.

It was at this moment that P.I.X.A.L. knew that was her chance. To repay Zane for his heart. To prove to the team that she was useful. To finally implement her knowledge. Sometimes, she wonders if she’ll ever have what Zane has with the other humans, but for now, she is glad that she can separate her emotions from her work.

“Let me handle it,” P.I.X.A.L. said authoritatively. Running a scan with her own diagnostics, P.I.X.A.L. isolated the most dangerous injuries before telling the group out loud, staring at her apprehensively.

“Master Lloyd has suffered a concussion, lung damage due to smoke inhalation, and fractured bones in his tibia. He also has a sprained ankle and several bones on his upper chest area have several bruises. Luckily, there is no internal bleeding. He also has some first and second-degree burns, but those look like they have been treated by the ocean water. However, he is at risk of hypothermia should he not change out of those clothes. Other cuts and bruises should not be life-threatening as long as we keep the infection away, and-“

“WE GET IT! Can you just PLEASE start treating Lloyd NOW?” Jay shrieked in frustration. P.I.X.A.L. blinked. Oh right, the ninjas are still panicking.

“Apologies, can I have a look at the medical supplies?” Taking a scalpel out of the medical box, P.I.X.A.L. removed Lloyd Garmadon’s shirt and so multiple bruises as well as the look of someone who’s emancipated. It didn’t really make any sense to her, but she supposed that being drained of his elemental powers must have caused some damage.

“To treat his concussion, he needs peace and to rest. I would like if all of you can speak in whispers from now on,” P.I.X.A.L. began. The soup suddenly looked ashamed and guilty, with Jay whispering a soft ‘sorry’.

“To treat his hypothermia, we would need blankets-“

“Why can’t I just warm him up with fire?” Kai cut across. “Well, the extreme heat can damage the skin or, even worse, cause irregular heartbeats so severe that they can cause the heart to stop. However, starting a campfire some meters away could help a little. using this fire, we can make some warm beverages and some food.”

“Just say what we gotta do doc, we’ll listen!” Nya begged swiftly. P.I.X.A.L. thought for a moment, before choosing to sort people out based on their perceived abilities.

“Kai, Jay, Cole, Sensei Wu, and Sensei Garmadon- please look for blankets in the village and start a campfire over there,” Pointing at a spot a satisfactory distance from Lloyd, P.I.X.A.L. continued with giving instructions. “Start making some sort of soup- not too heavy. Zane, Nya- you’re with me.”

Garmadon, who was silent all this time, started to protest. “I cannot leave my son, Pixal.”

“Fine, you may stay and just keep tending to the campfire,” P.I.X.A.L. conceded, not wanting to waste time arguing. There was the matter of fact that the smoke inhaled by Lloyd Garmadon could be fatal, but there was not much that she could do in his location. All she could hope to do was to treat his minor injuries before ensuring that Lloyd is stable enough to go to a hospital in Ninjago. Which would have been impossible, given that the Digilord had control of the city already. What could she do? Maybe there’s an elemental master of the air who could treat Lloyd?

“Pix, do you not have any ideas on how to treat the smoke inhalation?” Zane looked at her with kind and understanding eyes. Pixal nodded, defeated, before preparing a cast. “We need concentrated oxygen and a nose tube or a tube down his throat. Unfortunately, there is nowhere in Ninjago where we can get to such technology.”

Hearing this, Nya immediately perked up. “But we can make them. Zane, do you have any wires that you can spare for a bit?”

“Redirecting power from the right hand,” Zane replied as he opened up his arm to take out a tube. He’s so self-sacrificing. For some strange reason, P.I.X.A.L. felt her heart beating faster. Maybe Zane was nervous? “Nya, if you could please clean this?”

“Of course. HEY KAI!”  “Yeah, sis?”  Nya was looking at P.I.X.A.L. expectantly. Oh yes. she was supposed to know this, wasn’t she? “Can you get us 10 cups of potable water and 1 cup of vinegar? Also, get some detergent or soap.”  “Okay Pix, not gonna question this at all!”

Meanwhile, Nya was using pure H2O to just start blasting the tubing As much as they wanted Lloyd to not die from smoke inhalation, they also didn’t want him to be infected. Speaking of infections…

“Ow!” Lloyd woke up sleepily as Zane used one hand to dab his cuts. Looking sheepish, Zane immediately offered an apology before Nya cuts in and admitting her mistake.

“Go back to Lloyd,” Nya said, petting his hair. Once Kai had returned with the necessary materials, Nya sanitised her hands before delicately cleaning the tube with 10 parts water and 1 part vinegar.

Tightening the wrappings around Lloyd’s ankle, Pixal studied her handiwork. The splint was holding up nicely against Lloyd’s leg, and all the infections on Lloyd’s legs were taken care of. Seeing as Zane is treating Lloyd well enough, P.I.X.A.L. immediately began to start diagnosing Lloyd’s burns before seeing blood flow from Lloyd’s back.

“Oh, dear.” In her hast, P.I.X.A.L. had forgotten to check Lloyd for injuries from behind. Maybe she wasn’t as professional as she thought. There was no other choice. Looking at Zane firmly, they pushed Lloyd onto his side as he gave a pained groan.

P.I.X.A.L.’s mechanical heart sank. Lloyd had a reason for sitting up without any support. There were several pieces of debris stuck to his back, and they were all pushed in due to them lying Lloyd on the desk. Nya looked up from her task in horror.

“I’m so sorry Lloyd, I didn’t know-“ “Nya, please focus on your task,” P.I.X.A.L. cut her off before she could begin crying. She felt bad, but what’s done was done. Blocking Lloyd from’s Nya’s view, P.I.X.A.L. picked up a pair of tweezers before picking up the small pieces. But the large piece of metal stuck in his shoulder blades- Pixal had to cut Lloyd’s skin to get that out. Eyes narrowing, hardening her resolve- P.I.X.A.L. lightly cut Lloyd’s skin using the scalpel before pulling up a long shard of bloodied glass. Picking up some of the unused water, P.I.X.A.L. quickly cleared Lloyd and the flat-surfaced of their blood. Applying pressure to those wounds would be hard from this angle, so after disinfecting the openings, P.I.X.A.L. took several rolls of bandages before tying them around Lloyd’s chest. Not too tightly, that would further bruise his ribs- but tight enough to ensure a sense of security and staunch the oozing bleeding.

“Zane, do you have an oxygen filter?” Nya asked, having been satisfied by the cleanliness of the tubing. Sanitising her metallic hands, P.I.X.AL. heard Zane sigh before declining.

“I do. Mr Borg wanted us to be at least a little environmentally friendly, given that the Nindroids would be using large amounts of energy every day. So I can filter out excess greenhouse gases in the air and store them in their solid form before giving the raw materials back to Borg Industries,” P.I.X.A.L. offered.

“You’re a lifesaver Pix,” Nya said in relief, handing P.I.X.A.L. the tubing. P.I.X.A.L. smiled. She supposed that she actually was. Opening Lloyd Garmadon’s mouth, P.I.X.A.L. inserted the tubing down his throat with NIndroid precision. Connecting the end to her oxygen filter, P.I.X.A.L. adjusted the settings so that she was inputting air composing of at least 60% oxygen into young Garmadon’s lungs.

As Zane finished applying some frost to Lloyd’s burns, the 3 of them stood there and watched as Lloyd breathed in and out.

“If you guys don’t mind, I’ll go find what the guys have been doing,” Nya informed their group. “I too will go into the village, but to ensure that we have permission to stay here for the night,” Zane stated, giving a nod to P.I.X.A.L., before walking away into the dusk, right hand locked and useless.

P.I.X.A.L., knowing that she can’t really move, sat next to Lloyd Garmadon as she watched the campfire grow as shrieks from the ninja team rose. At the end of today, all P.I.X.A.L. wanted to do was to just shut down and recharge. She knows she doesn’t need to know that she had half of Zane’s heart (which just skipped another beat for some unknown reason), but all she wants was a break.

Too bad that being a ninja means that you don’t really get to choose when to stop. P.I.X.A.L. thought to herself.

But at least today, I’ve proved my usefulness. I can repay Zane for his heart.

- Kai - Having been stuck alone, disassembled and scrapped, P.I.X.A.L. found that she really, really missed the Ninja team. She also missed Zane, though he was in a cell next to hers. He’s been offline for such a long time, P.I.X.A.L. had fears that he would never wake up.

But he did. And the ninja had rescued them from Chen. But along the way, they had lost Sensei Garmadon, and the year apart had caused some major issues.

Kai doesn’t know that they’re here. But he shouldn’t be here either after Zane had ordered that everyone go to rest after this long day. Still, the glint of red from his eyes even scared P.I.X.A.L., but she would never tell anyone that. She watched as Kai shredded the bandages he wrapped around his hands by destroying a metal training dummy, before turning around to wrap some more.

“Why is he doing that?” P.I.X.A.L. wondered from inside Zane’s head. Zane started whispering, “He… has some anger issues.”

“I get that Zane, I mean why’s he wrapping his hands in bandages?” P.I.X.A.L. corrected herself. Zane quirked an eyebrow but continued with answering P.I.X.A.L.’s questions. “Well, martial artists wear hand wraps and bandages because they can prevent injuries and improve the power of their punches. Wraps and bandages also protect the martial artist’s skin and soften the impact on hard surfaces.”

“I see,” P.I.X.A.L. stated whilst both of them cringed, as Kai delivered a particularly hard blow to the metallic dummy that Zane was supposed to fight with.

“KAI, PLEASE SHUT UP!” came Jay’s voice from down the corridor, moving closer towards them. Zane and P.I.X.A.L. watched in apprehension as Kai breathed heavily, staring down the metallic dummy before all the tension from his shoulders sagged.

The Nindroids watched as Kai cleaned up the training room and head out to use the bathroom to wash up.

“He’s being too hard on himself for the death of Lloyd’s father,” P.I.X.AL. commented blandly. Zane shifted from his position. “I’m afraid that that’s not the only reason. Do you remember Jay telling us that Kai had almost killed both Lloyd and Skylor using Chen’s staff?” P.I.X.A.L. stayed silent.

Bandages come in many ways. There are gauze bandages, treating all kinds of wounds the Ninja may have. There are bandages used to prevent injury in Martial Arts. What P.I.X.A.L. is wondering, is that if mankind has a bandage for the heart.

- Jay - It was only a few days after Master Wu had been lost in time. Whilst the Ninja team were recuperating and in shock, Pixal has been remotely using Samurai X to patrol the cities whilst maintaining in the current Ninja’s headquarters- the electronic system of Yang’s temple. P.I.X.AL. had really wanted to go full into Samurai X, but she knew that she could not just desert her teammates at this moment. But there wasn’t much she could do, other than counting reps for Lloyd. (You skipped a number, I know what you’re doing Pix, and I ain’t gonna stop training-) helping Jay prepare breakfast (Jay! The pancakes are burning!) or accompanying Zane as he retrieved bits and pieces from all the fighting. (Someone has to clean up Ninjago city, and I guess that that would be me and Samurai X.)

P.I.X.A.L. knew that she shouldn’t be keeping Samurai X a secret, but she couldn’t help herself. She felt a strange sense of duty, and the ability to finally be on the front lines, fighting the same enemies as Zane. And she wanted some secrets to herself.

Still, it surprised her when Jay had demanded her full attention during one of her free times.

“Hey, umm… Pix? Do you- do you think you could maybe check out my left eye?” Jay stammered whilst twiddling his fingers. Pixal was curious, but she’s already moved to Jay’s laptop. “Why do you ask so? Did your eye get hit sometime recently?”

Jay had flinched at the word ‘hit’, but shook his head at the word ‘recently’. Huh. Maybe it was phantom pains? Still, Pixal had run a diagnostic on it.

“I can’t seem to find any physical abnormalities, but if this is a case of phantom pain, over the counter pain relievers should work.”

Jay nodded whilst his eyes were blank seemingly off to another world or lost in his memories.

“Jay? Jay, can you hear me?” Pixal once again ran a diagnostic scan. It seems that Jay was slipping into dissociation. Dimming the lights in his room as well as all the screens the blue ninja had put into his room. Pixal started playing a calm Ninjago lofi mix from the speaker she was in. She gently called Jay’s name and he slipped back into reality.

“Jay, just take 2 doses of ibuprofen. They’re at the lowest shelf at the kitchen counter. If it hurts again, tell me and we’ll bring you to a professional.”

Jay who was nodding at the instructions froze at the thought of being taken to the hospital. Still, he slid off his bed and made his way downstairs. Pixal filtered through the electronic system of the temple, landing new the smart fridge and watched as Jay swallowed 2 pills dry.

It seemed to create some results because Jay stopped shivering and shaking. Pixal wondered if that was just a placebo or an actual effect. Still, watching Jay’s face relax in bliss, free from whatever pain that was bothering him, Pixal knew that she made the right call.

- Nya - S9, fight with SOG

It had been brutal. Pixal was just treating the training injuries Lloyd had when Skylor came into the noodle house, helping Nya to walk as her left arm dangled without any purpose. Immediately, Pixal stood up and took quick strides, scanning Nya for all her injuries.

“We were getting supplies when a bunch of Harumi’s goons jumped on us, we had to be quick so that none of them could call up for back up, when-“  “When- fuck, when this dude pulled out a fucking gun,” Nya said, pained and heaving as Skylor slowly helped her to sit on the training mat.

“So you were shot?” Lloyd’s voice came from behind Pixal as he took the medkit to the mat. Nya eyes looked everywhere but at him. Gesturing to her limp and bleeding arm, she gave up all her dignity. “Yeah, right here.”

“Okay, Nya, here, take these.” Lloyd handed her 2 tablets of ibuprofen and a cup of water. “W-what? No, I can’t take these!” Nya hissed in pain.

“Yes, you can!”  “What if we need them later? What if one of us loses an arm or something happens where we have a worse injury?” “That does not matter, Nya. Look, I’ve been shot in Ninjago city before, I know how it feels.”

Pixal immediately flashes back to the nights where she had to help Lloyd through a computer screen, and her metallic fingers curled up. It was horrible, watching him choking down painkillers before trying to pull the bullet out himself. Never again.

“Nya, it would be alright, just take these- we can always go out to get more,” Pixal tried coaxing Nya to just swallow the pills.

“Take them or I’ll force you to take them, Water Ninja.” Skylor admonished. With the combined strength of their motley crew of 3, Nya hesitantly reached for the medicine, almost choking as she had swallowed too much water at one go.

“Okay, good, now we just need to pull the bullet out,” Lloyd reached into the medkit, pulling out a pair of tweezers. Pixal watched as his hands, fatigued from all the trains, couldn’t stop shaking.

“Wait, Lloyd, let me see if the bullet should be removed at all.” Pixal interrupted, taking a more in-depth scan at Nya’s shoulder. In the meantime, Lloyd started to check through Skylor, who said that he was all clear except for a few knuckle bruises. Of course, Pixal would check on her later, but now she had to make sure that Nya would be alright.

“The bullet has missed your major arteries and it actually isn’t in too deep, possibly because of the protection offered by your suit-“ “Just tell me when you’re gonna remove it!” Nya snapped as her brow furrowed in anticipation.  “Well, let’s see… first, we need to remove the clothing around the area of the wound, which-“

“AHH!” Nya shrieked as Pixal twisted and pulled out the bullet without any warning. “Sorry Nya, sometimes fear of a thing could be greater than the actual danger that it poses,” Pixal explained as Nya stared at her with a look that could only scream betrayal.

Dropping the bullet to the ground, Pixal took up some disinfectant and sanitised the area around the entry wound. Nya hissed as Pixal gently presses a cotton gauze to stop the bleeding before finally applying some sort of disinfectant cream. She finished off the wound with a bandage around Nya’s arm, with extra padding using gauze at the point where the wound is at.

“Alright, so now you should not move this arm too much for the next few days, and in the next few weeks, you would not be able to raise it over your shoulder. But in a few months, you can use it again and in a year it would be pretty much healed up so that you may do your weight lifting sessions with- with Cole again…” Pixal said, starting brightly but dropping to a small whisper.

The mood suddenly went from cheery to depressive. “Remember to take lots of rest,” Pixal finished lamely. As Lloyd escorted Nya to the sleeping bags they had gathered, Skylor picked up the bullet Pixal had removed.

“Girl, you were quite mean back there,” Skylor began. “And I think that you’re cool. One problem- the pharmacies have not been able to continue business as normal. All the drugs have to be given to the Sons of Garmadon. In the meantime, all supply chains are disrupted. Over the counter medicine won’t be so easy to find. “

Pixal kept quiet. “Well, I’ll have to keep this bullet as a souvenir for Nya. FSM knows that she deserves this.”

Of course, the bullet would be lost later as they were hunted down throughout the city. But every time Nya changed into her swimsuit, Pixal could see the bullet wound. The scarring left wasn’t pretty, but Pixal thought that the courage Nya showed made her the most beautiful woman she’ll ever have the chance to meet.

- Cole-  Cole was alive. Cole was alive!

Pixal watched as the Ninja went into a momentary stop before cheering and becoming more alive. She saw Nya pass the Scythe of Earth to Cole, who promptly swung it into the oncoming Oni. Pixal was trying her best to fend off the Oni herself, but her mind, or rather, motherboard, was spinning really, really fast. How did Cole survive? It should have been impossible!

Pixal heard that Cole justify his survival, stating that the Oni clouds must have broken his fall. He didn’t know how he wasn’t attacked at first, but many tendrils then came to attack him.

Still, this was impossible for Pixal to figure out. Was it because Cole had been a ghost? Maybe it was his elemental power protecting him? Or perhaps it was divine intervention? Either way, Pixal was going o scan him later if there was even a later.

“Watch out!” Pixal saw a blast of green hit the Oni in front of her. I can’t afford to get lost in thought now! Come on Samurai X, focus! She chided to herself.

Yet, as the battle once again turned tides, and the elemental masters got together to do the Tornado of Creation, Pixal watched from her position behind the holding doors to see Lloyd Garmadon get thrown out of the tornado, hitting his head with an earth-shattering crack as he collapsed against the walls of the monastery before debris-covered him.

Frantically approaching him, Pixal saw out of the corner of her eye that the rest of the ninja were left dizzy, exhausted, and possibly some having passed out. That was alright. It was time for her to do her duty anyways.

However, whilst lifting slabs of concrete, Pixal felt her heart drop. The calculated survival rate of the impact sent shivers down Pixal’s circuits as the percentage just kept. Dropping. Lower.

Heaving the last piece of concrete off the young bearer of green power, Pixal heard her teammates rushing into the scene. She could have warned them, said something, said anything. But her joints were frozen in place with something much colder than what her sensors had detected when she went into the Oni cloud.

The motley crew, now only 5, took the last piece of debris off from their teammate.

“Lloyd. Buddy, wake up,” Kai pleaded, desperate.  “He-He's not moving!” Nya exclaimed, voice shaking as tears start to form. She looked at Pixal, asking for anything, anything at all.  “Someone find Wu. Where’s Wu?” Cole ordered.

In no time, Master Wu arrived and lifted Lloyd’s arm, checking his pulse. He would find nothing there.

“You can do something, right? Right?!” Jay panicked.  With a defeated look that Pixal knows is mirrored in her eyes, Wu shook his head and said, “There’s nothing to be done.”  Nya finally cries out, sobbing. “Oh, Lloyd!”

PIxal wanted to cry as well, but she never could. When rebuilding her body, she had used the same blueprints that Cyrus Borg had with some upgrades. One thing she didn’t consider adding was the ability to cry because there wasn’t any time. She had to save Lloyd from the vermillion. But what she can’t save Lloyd from, was from an early- early- d… fate.

There’s nothing Pixal could do. And she felt hopeless.

She watched from the corner of her eye as Garmadon backed away from their small group, and in a flash, she felt her wires burning. She couldn’t just let him leave. Not after what he’s done.

Yet, just as she was about to boost straight towards the Oni and tackle him off the mountain, Lloyd started to cough. Lloyd. Started to cough.

Whipping around to see a golden petal float away, she watched the team cheer as Lloyd started to breathe. How- this was impossible!  Pixal almost short-circuited from shock. There had been no way! No way! She didn’t even go through all 5 stages of grief yet.

And not too soon, Lloyd woke up from a sleep that she was sure that he never would.

Catching him mumbling something about the First Spinjitzu Master, Pixal smiled. Divine intervention had definitely happened at least once today. The first time being….

“Cole, please come with me to the med bay,” Pixal requested with a smile. Divine intervention or not, five-sixths of the Ninja team knows how to hide a serious injury, and she had to be certain. Cole, who looked shopped, resigned himself and walked with Pixal o the medical centre. For now, she trusted that Zane was doing all the scans that he could to make sure that Lloyd was right in the head, and sought out to take care of her own, albeit selfish, worries.

Scanning Cole on both sides, Pixal noticed a particular bad bruise on Cole’s spine. Yet falling from that height and the fact that Cole isn’t paralysed due to spinal injury made Pixal reaffirm her theories that the First Spinjitsu Master was alive, just in another realm.

“You know, Lloyd might have actually seen the First Spinjitsu Master,” Pixal began, which led Cole to choke on the water he was ordered to drink. “No way, he must have just hit his head hard…”

“I’m sorry Cole, but the injuries you have is comparable to sleeping on a rock hard bed for one night, not falling from a height of 500m, even if your fall was broken by the Oni cloud, you should still have been paralysed,” Pixal explained.

“So God is real and Lloyd’s sharing a fourth of his blood? Neat! Next time tell him to not scare us with a fake-out,” Cole brushed it off.

At this time Pixal was about the shutdown and delve deep into theorising. Lloyd technically had a fourth of his grandfather’s blood and possessed the same power, could he possible have powers that control life and death-

Yet, she watched as a steady stream of Ninja enter the medbay, and resolved her thoughts to her inner GPU. She can think later. For now, she had to make sure that everyone is okay, and everyone will be okay. Even if she threatens Loyd to shave his head so she can get a better look at his skull, to which a chase around the monastery ensued. Her family was alright for now, and the concerning mortality of humans was left deep in the recesses of her mind.

- Zane - Too soon, Pixal had to face her own mortality. Being a Nindroid, her lifespan would naturally be much longer than a Ninja’s. But she still could be erased, dismantled, destroyed, sent to another realm-

The days waiting for the group of 6, not 5, to come back were some of the hardest. Even though all Pixal wanted to do was to shut down, lie on her bed and stare into the picture they had taken on their first date, Pixal knew that the team was entrusting her to keep Ninjago safe. Even if it means recapturing escaped convicts. Even if it means fighting the… undead-dead Preeminent (Pixal still hasn’t figured out how she worked). And they had to find ways to reach the Never Realm, by going through different infusions of travellers tea.

Yet, all the waiting and longing was worth it. Pixal prefers a Zane stuck in another realm for 40 years as to no Zane. There was no other choice. Yet, as she sees her loved ones trudging out of the frosty realm, some of them had worst frost bites than others. Even though all Pixal wanted to do was to smother Zane in a hug, she can see the edges of Lloyd’s skin turning a deep, dark black. From the corner of her eyes, she can see Nya taking care of Cole whilst Jay and Kai attempt to remove the ice from everyone else, including lubricating Zane’s frosted joins. She had not a single moment to lose. This kind of frostbite was not exactly lethal immediately, but losing limbs could mean the end of Lloyd’s ninja career. So calling everyone to attention, she went all in to salvaging Lloyd’s limbs, doing everything she could.

Later that night, Pixal spotted Zane wandering around the outskirts of the monastery whilst the Ninja finish up dinner. She watched as Zane’s hands gripped the staff so tight that the wood would be snapping in 3…2…1.

A harsh crack and splinters flying out later, Pixal could see the shaking in Zane’s hands as he cursed, something that the Zane she knew never would.

For her, it had been a hellish week. But for Zane? It must have been a hellish 40 years.

“…Zane?” Pixal called out from the monastery doors. Zane immediately whipped around before pointing the tip of the staff towards her, to which Pixal reflectively grabbed. Zane, eyes widening in shock and horror, immediately released his grip on the now shorter staff, before turning around, trying to run away. Pixal won’t let that happen.

“Zane,” Pixal said once again, hand now gripping onto the collar of Zane’s Gi. “Please don’t run away from me.”

Zane, froze, hands twitching before dropping them to his side. Pixal released her grip before tapping Zane on the shoulder, asking him to turn around.

“Pixal, I’m- I’m sorry…I just can’t- I can’t trust myself right now,” Zane vented out hands fidgeting with each other. Pixal smiled sadly. She knew that not everything could go back to normal so fast, but still, she had hoped that it would have been easier than this. “If you don’t trust yourself right now, why not spend some time with me?”

“Pixal- I…I could hurt you-“  “Yes you can, but don’t think that I can’t protect myself,” Pixal snapped back whilst carefully reaching to hold Zane’s hands. Once she made contact, Zane flinched back, before slowly reciprocating the action. “C’mon Zane, let’s go back into the monastery-“

“No!” Zane protested, wrenching Pixal back. Pixal clasped her other hand on top of Zane’s. “Not to the dining room. I’m thinking med bay.”

Pixal could see Zane’s processing unit cycle through his thoughts, noticing that it had considerable frost damage. Before long, Zane nodded his head, allowing Pixal to pull him into the light.

Opening the cupboards, Pixal took out a few rolls of bandages before carefully wrapping them around Zane’s hands. The ice ninja watched with curiosity as Pixal carefully finished tying and tightening the strips of cloth.

“Why are you doing this? You and I both know that Nindroids don’t need bandages,” Zane asked. Pixal smiled, looking at Zane’s now steadier hands. “Maybe bandages can’t fix our metal skin, but it still makes us feel better.”

Zane paused, looking down at his hands. “I don’t know how you’re right PIx, but they do make me feel more sure that my powers won’t hurt anyone accidentally. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now let’s get back to dinner, we have some desserts to bring out.”

Bandages. As much as PIxal uses them and finds them efficient, she can’t help but hope that team doesn’t need to use as many. But this time, t’s just a trip to a legendary city full of peace and prosperity. Maybe this time, Pixal doesn’t need to bandage their wounds away.

[nebraska-is-a-myth]

innocence never lasts - crime au

I’m back boys with another part, were getting closer to war time now dudes. This takes place before part 3 just if you wanted to get a better understanding of the timeline. 

part 1 & 2 & 5

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Wilbur came to town on an invitation from the masked man himself

Dream had enticed the brit with promises of riches and power, and he already had connections within the city so really what had he to lose

Wilbur was supplied with a small team, he was in charge of one of the larger drug trades and production companies on the east side of the city. His job was to eliminate any competition and regain complete control of the eastern drug exchange, how he did that was completely up to him. 

However, when dream sent a duo of teenage criminals to his door, Wilbur was less than impressed

“Dream, how do you expect me to run a drug cartel when two thirds of the cartel are fucking children”

“You'll figure it out dude, I believe in you.”

“No this isn't an ‘I believe in you’ situation dream, they aren't even allowed to drink in this country let alone kill a bunch of drug lords that by the way, are probably predators!”

“Admittedly, yes, they are a little young. But Tommy is one of the best kids I know, everything he knows he either learnt from me or the blood god himself.”

“Wait?” Wilbur moves his eye in front of the peep hole in his front door to inspect the blond on the right. “This Kid is technos?” He watches him pull a face at the shorter boy before punching him in the arm.

“Yup.”

“And you're okay with that?”

“It's a long story but yes.”

Wilbur looks back through the peephole at the smaller of the two and distantly hears “What if we just stab him” through the thin wood of his door. The older brit shakes his head and turns back into his living room

“And who's the kid threatening to stab me”

“Friend of Tommy's, I think. And don't worry about the stabbing, it's probably his way of saying he likes you or something.”

“If any of these kids die it's on you green man.”

“I can live with that.”

When Wilbur opens the door again, Tommy has his head in his hands and sighs as Tubbo puts a knife to his throat.

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It's a week in and Wilbur has considered shooting the both of them more than he would like to admit.

He's not really one for killing children, but he's not a fan of being outnumbered by the little fuckers. So to make it even he calls up some of his contacts in the city.

He almost regrets it immediately when Tommy asks who the furry is

Wilbur tries to hide his laugh when the blond boy says this, but in the child's defense, Who the fuck wears a fox mask

Fundy and Eret get along fine after their first meeting and Wilbur is just happy he doesn't have to sit around and listen to Tommy and Tubbo argue over who can fit more breadsticks in their mouth without breaking any on his own anymore.

The drug business continues under Wilbur's power and surprisingly, no one dies. They take down competitors and pump out more and more supplies to companies that are willing to pay higher prices than ever. He hates to say it, but maybe he's glad he took this job from Dream

That is until Tommy almost punches his front door down at 1am covered in smoke and blood, Tubbo barely breathing on the porch next to him.

Wilbur panics and shoves the both of them in the back seats of his car, instructing a shaken Tommy to put pressure on Tubbos wounds as he floors it to the nearest hospital. He can deal with the repercussions of running red lights after he comes up with a plan to get through the hospital without being noticed. Sure maybe Wilbur wasn't on anyone's radar yet, but Tommy definitely was, and who knows how many people Tubbo has actually stabbed.

Dream has to have some sort of protocol for something like this, a secret entrance or a codeword or something. He reaches to grab his phone from his jean pocket and swears as he realizes he left it on charge on his night stand, looks like he's on his own for this one. He can do this, just focus and fucking drive Wilbur

When he gets to the hospital he parks right out front in a place where he definitely isn't supposed to be and helps Tommy and Tubbo out of the car and practically has to carry the brunet through the front doors. As soon as he walks in he knows people know, they've been on the news more than once and it's not difficult to keep up with the city's most wanted list these days, but Tommy's limping now and he knows the adrenaline is wearing off so he drags tubbos bleeding body up to the front desk and swallows his pride.

“Help them, please.”

The woman at the front desk looks Wilbur directly in the eyes, sees the way tears are building there and switches her gaze between the two younger boys.

“Please.”

The woman takes a breath and nods. “We need help here.”

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A few hours later when both boys are patched up and on the mend the doctor lets him in the room. Tubbo is out and hopped up on pain meds, recovering from smoke inhalation and a shrapnel wound on his left side. Doc said it looked worse than it is, he was only out to let his chest ease up a little. Tommy's wounds on the other hand were a little more permanent.

He’s sat on the bed next to Tuboos watching his chest rise and fall. There were bandages wrapping around his left leg, a mix of shrapnel and soft burn marks underneath, and his right arm is in a sling meaning he wouldn't be able walk on his own for a while. Wilbur sits next to him but Tommy doesn't stop watching Tubbos breathing.

“They almost put him on a ventilator.”

Tommy says it so softly, Wilbur almost doesn't recognize it was him at first. He's got a few stitches on his forehead where a purpling bruise blooms underneath, he almost doesn't want to know what happened. Almost.

“What happened Tommy.”

“What, not even gonna compliment my wheels.” He gestures to the right where Wilbur sees a small black wheelchair next to Tommy's bed and he tries not to choke on his breath. He hates being right sometimes.

Tommy sighs and closes his eyes, his head droops and Wilbur rests a comforting hand on the young boy's shoulder.

“It was one of the warehouses on the outer perimeter of the east side, Tubbo had asked me to help him take stock, it was already late and he thought if we both did it we could catch the last bus home together.”

He imagines the two of them dancing to stupid music and running around the warehouse playing tag or something stupid, it wouldn't be the first time.

“We weren't even halfway done before one of the alarms went off, didn't think much of it, smoke alarms go off all the time for stupid shit right. Didn't even reach the office before the first blast. Was a Molotov I think, probably what set the alarms off, no idea what turned the warehouse into a fucking bomb though.”

“Something exploded, don't know what but it got both of us. Landed on my shoulder real good. We ran to the back entrance, or as close as we could get before another blast went off, fucking ceiling came down on me. Hurt like a bitch but at least it's nothing permanent. Think I was out for a bit, not for long but long enough for Tubbo to hurt himself trying to get shit off me. ‘Rest is a bit of a blur to be honest, don't remember much between getting hit and ending up at your door.”

Wilbur takes a deep breath and shakes his head, it's not gunna help anyone if he starts getting emotional right now.

“Who would have done this.”

“That's the thing, I got a call about two minit's before the alarm went off from the master arsonist himself asking where I was. He never calls me will, not once. I didn't even know he had my fucking phone number.”

“Wait, why would sapnap want to blow up one of our warehouses.”

“I don't know, but Will, I lied. He asked if were were out on any jobs and I fucking lied I don't know why but I told him me and Tubbo were playing fucking video games at home, and not two minits later the place where I told him we weren't goes up in fucking flames.”

Wilbur sits in silence and looks between the two injured boys. He can't help but feel fury building in his chest, he doesn't care about the thousands of dollars lost in the fire, couldn't give less of a shit about Dreams fucking money. He’s angry that two teenage boys had been ambushed in an attack at a warehouse that his employer had promised were protected. God only knows what would have happened if Wilbur hadn't been home. He tries not to think about what would have happened if Tommy hadn't been there either, he stands and tries to get the image of Tubbo being trapped in that warehouse out of his head.

 He grinds his teeth together in confusion and anger hopes to god Tommy's wrong.

“Where are you going.”

Tommy looks up and meets Wilbur's eyes, the young boy sees the fury burning in them, he knows the older brit is mad and to be honest, he doesn't blame him. He watches Wilbur walk round to Tubbos bedside and picks up his cracked phone, he doesn't mention the way he’s sees Wilbur's hands shake.

“Ill be back okay, I've got a phone call to make.”

[agntofhydra]

Sawbones // FIVE

(gif credit) 

summary: Red String of Fate Soulmate AU

Soul mates have a red thread tied to each others pinkies that only one of them can see.

You’re the Resistance’s head medic. You can see the red thread of fate that leads you to your soulmate. Poe doesn’t believe in the soulmate / thread theory. You don’t agree with his tactics, nor does he approve of yours. Leia and Holdo just really want a win.

pairing: poe dameron x reader

rating: mature for later chapters

read me on ao3!

part one. part two. part three. part four. 

read on till the end for notes! 

((the gif if 100% poe’s face in the cafeteria just read you’ll know what i’m saying)) 

SAWBONES 

FIVE // WRONG CONVERSATION

“I’m gonna tell him.”

“You’re not gonna tell him.”

Jasti looked at you bitterly as she stabbed at...whatever was on her metal tray. The two of you were having lunch, or at least trying to. You rarely visited the base’s cafeteria, opting to just grab your meals and go, but you decided socialization might be good for you. Get your mind off things. And it was good, until Poe and a couple pilots from Red squadron walked in and were now sitting two tables behind you, directly in Jasti’s eye line as she sat across from you.

“Tell who what?” Ziff asked as he sat down next to Jasti, accompanied by another engineer whose name you could not remember.

“Doctor,” he nodded to you, and at your hesitation he supplied his name. “D’an Ralac. Blue squad calls me six, ‘cause uh, I’m Blue Six.”

You nodded back at him, still picking at your own food as Jasti seethed across from you,

“Seriously, tell who what?” Ziff tried again.

“Commander Dameron’s soulmate is a fake,” Jasti aggressively shoved her forkful of food into her mouth. Ziff turned to you, eyebrows raised as Race silently began eating his meal.

“There’s no way, he wouldn’t believe it unless he was absolutely sure.”

“Maybe he’s just stupid,” Jasti muttered and you kicked her shin under the table, earning you another bitter stare.

“I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s not like you’re his actual soulmate, right?” Ziff tried to laugh off his question, but voiced his concern subtly when he looked at Jasti and repeated, “Right?”

Jasti’s glowering caused her to completely miss the tone of Ziff’s voice, and you restrained yourself from kicking at her again. Just because your relationship was officially in the compactor does not mean that hers had to be, too.

“She’s overreacting,” you told him, bringing your water to your lips.

“You’re underreacting,” Jasti replied incredulously. “Are you kidding me?”

Your foot met her shin again on its own accord. “Keep your voice down!” you warned her, though you knew the boisterous laughter coming from Poe and his table made it impossible to overhear their conversation.

“There’s something going on you two aren’t saying,” Six spoke.

“We know who his soulmate is,” Jasti’s voice was finally neutral, though the expression on her face was begging you to come clean to the table. “And it’s not that pilot from Coruscant.”

Ziff, in his surprise, slammed his hands on the table. Hard. “Are you kidding? We have to tell him!”

You winced at the sound which, of course , interrupted the laughing from the table two behind you. The newfound silence that befell the cafeteria, coupled with the widening of Jasti’s eyes made your stomach absolutely flip.

“Blue Two,” you cringed when you heard Poe’s voice behind you, “you alright?”

Ziff’s eyes mirrored Jasti’s. “Uh,” he cleared his throat. “Yes, Commander! Impressed with the kitchen staff on how they prepared the fried prog today!”

You eyed the prongs on your fork, noting the durability and sharpness. If you were to stab the utensil into the side of your neck to hit your carotid, or in one of your intercostal spaces to pierce your lung, which would kill you quicker? If you went lung, you’d be dealing with tension pneumothorax, and ultimately would be waiting for the compression on your heart to lead to cardiac arrest. The whole ordeal would take around half an hour, whereas bleeding out of your carotid would take maybe 10 minutes. If you did either, you hoped FX-7 would take pity and let you wither away.

Ziff gave you a wink at what he thought was a great response and you begrudgingly put your fork down. You spared a glance over your shoulder to peek at Poe.

The table directly behind you was empty, allowing you a clear view of Dameron and his crew. Poe was sitting in your same position, and offered you a slight smirk when the two of you made eye contact. You hid your scowl by turning around.

“Y’should give your compliments back there,” Dameron said. “I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”

Ziff nodded immediately. “Yes, Commander.” Maybe you’d stick the fork in his lung.

After a beat of time, Poe’s table returned to their previous conversations and Jasti turned to Ziff. You watched as she flexed her right fist, and you weren’t sure if it was to restrain her arm from jutting her elbow into his side or something else. You hadn’t had time to think about it before she was once again giving you a pleading expression.

You returned a flat look, blinking at her. She took it as reluctant acceptance.

“Y’know how Doc here can see her string, right?” Jasti began, her voice lowered. Six obviously didn’t, but he nodded anyway just to be included. She paused, looking at Ziff pointedly.

He nodded at her again, still maintaining eye contact. “Yes, I was present for that conversation. And?”

Jasti gave him the same blank look until the table could hear the gears in his head finally turn. You were pretty sure that Six had understood right away, judging by the way his lips pursed as he slowly let out the breath he was holding.

“You’re fucking kidding!”

Jasti laughed as she lightly bumped her elbow into Ziff’s side. “That’s what I said!”

You resumed poking at your tray. Unlike Ziff, you were not impressed by the fried porg.

“How long have you known?” He asked.

“Since the day I met you two in the med bay,” you murmured. It sounded way worse when you said it aloud.

“Doc, that’s been weeks. You’ve kept this from Commander Dameron?”

You nodded. “I didn’t think he’d believe me, and I was waiting for the right time. But it never came, and when it almost did I work-zoned him. And then he went and left for stupid Coruscant and met that stupid pilot that I have to do stupid paperwork on. They sent over her file this morning, and I looked at her measurements. I’m a little pissed.”

The table let you rant, this was the most you’d probably talked in one beat and they didn’t want to interrupt. They knew you needed to get it all out.

“So yeah, I fucked up,” you admitted. “And it’s way too late to do anything about it, because the damage has been done and I just need to get over it.”

You heard someone let out a low whistle from behind you and the hairs on your arms stood on end.

“That’s not very Doctor-like of you,” Poe said as he came up behind you and stood at the edge of your table. You reluctantly looked up to meet his gaze. “You’re supposed to fix damage, not cause it, right?”

The taunt was harmless, playful even. But since Poe had been boasting non-stop about his soulmate, and the fact that she’d be here within the coming days left you angry and raw. You felt like an exposed nerve, every touch and breath felt like an assault on your entire being. You’d kept your interactions with Poe at an absolute minimum, keeping him at arm's length. If you felt callow and bare now, imagine how hard it was to restrain it when he was talking to you about her.

“We all make mistakes. Surely you know that, don’t you Dameron?”

He narrowed his eyes, the faint upturn of his lips turning sour. You hated when he looked at you like that, with contempt. Like the thought of you left a bad taste in his mouth. He should be looking at you like he probably looks at her, laughing with you like he did with his table, touching you and putting his fingers in your mouth like he had in your dream.

Dream, you repeat to yourself firmly. You’d be lying if you said that dream wasn’t the only reason you were able to fall asleep most nights.

But this look that he was giving you right now was something that you deserved. Why would he treat you any different, treat you like his soulmate when he didn’t fucking know? He was too busy deluding himself  that his soulmate was on Coruscant, counting the days until she was to arrive on D’Qar when in all actuality it was you, the woman sitting at this stupid metal table berating him, that was his soulmate.

“Maybe I need to come into the medbay for a check up,” he scratched at the scruff on his chin that you definitely had not fixated on these past couple days, “I must need to get a brain scan done since you’re so concerned with these helpful reminders.”

“Door’s always open,” you said with a sweet smile. The two of you held each other’s gaze for another few moments before Poe finally broke it with an eye roll. He nodded at the rest of your table.

“Have a good rest of your lunch, if you can,” Poe withheld his side glance back to you, “Glad you like the porg, Blue Two.”

With that, Poe was finally the one fleeing.

“Stars, you didn’t need to be a bitch to him!” Jasti kicked your shin this time. “Could you dig the hole you’re in any deeper?”

“Probably,” you offered. Jasti let out a groan as she rested her head on her arms on the table. Ziff and Six looked at you, puzzled.

“Don’t know why you did all that,” Six started. “Why further the animosity? Are you hoping for the thread to snap?”

You turned your attention to the green-tinged man to your right. “Can it do that?”

He shrugged, taking a small sip of his blue milk. “I’ve heard rumors, basically myths about it. If a soulmate dies, or gives up on the search, the thread will break. I don’t know if it can by the sheer power of will. You’re on your way to finding out, though.”

You frowned. “I don’t know what I want.”

Jasti threw her crumpled up napkin at your forehead. “You want him! Soulmate or not, that little squabble had some tension of the sexual kind to it.”

“Poe has sexual tension with everything,” you rolled your eyes. “The man reeks of it.” Ziff nodded in agreement and you gave him a weird look. It made you wonder what life looked like under Poe’s command. Especially for someone like Ziff. Six had also mirrored your expression, which made you feel a little bit better. Or worse. You really didn’t know.

Ziff was smart, talented and you were pretty sure he put all of that into being a pilot. He was tall, broad and his sandy blonde hair made many of the women on the base turn their heads. However, he only had eyes for his x-wing. That was, until a few weeks ago when he and Jasti had been side by side in your medbay. Now, Ziff had eyes for Jasti and his x-wing.

“I think you should just tell him,” Six shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen? He doesn’t believe you?”

“Yes?” you said. “And he humiliates me, discredits my position and authority across the base. How is anyone going to come into my medbay and not look at me like I was another poor girl who made up the soulmate thread to bed Dameron?”

“But you didn’t make it up,” Ziff frowned. “It’s true.”

“How am I supposed to prove that?”

The table fell silent, Jasti Ziff and Six all deep in thought. You gave them a minute, but your patience was wearing thin. You’d been out of the medbay for too long, and FX-7 was sure to let you know that as soon as you got back.

“Thanks guys, but I really can’t do this right now,” you offered them a weak smile. You grabbed your tray as you got up from the table. Jasti opened her mouth to stop you, but fell silent. You dumped your food and placed the tray on the conveyor.

✗ ✗ ✗

As per usual, you were back in your office sorting through the mountains of files on your holopad. Specifically, you were sorting through files for the new incoming pilots from Coruscant. Five, to be exact. Physiologically speaking, they were all perfect. Maybe you’d get lucky when they got here and you’d have to ground one or two for high blood pressure or a heart murmur. You found yourself constantly going back to one file, though. Of the five, two were female. Yet one was human and the other Togruta. You’d heard a tale of one of Poe’s many escapades involving a Togruta woman that had not ended well, so you decided on the human.

Scoria Tane.

Fuck, even her name was pretty. You honestly were dreading her arrival in the coming days. Coruscant had been vague, giving the generals a time frame of arrival for the pilots. D’Qar and Coruscant did have different orbital periods and hours in the day, so you understood why you didn’t know an exact date. It added to your anxiety nonetheless.

In spare moments of time, you found yourself lapsing back to her tab. No photo, just the basic demographics. Although your mind wanted to inch there, you refused to compare her measurements to your own. A dangerous place, that was. A place you didn’t, couldn’t enter.

“Strange to find you here,” soft footsteps preceded the voice. “Do you usually linger here for long periods of time?”

“You’re very funny,” you lifted your head, hoping Leia wouldn’t notice you move Scoria Tane’s file off your screen. The voice in your head said her name like a slur.

“Someone has to be,” she smiled at you, lowering herself into one of the seats across from your desk. “It’s so...tense here. And I think to myself, tense ? In my resistance base?”

“Blasphemy, I agree,” you couldn’t repress your wide smile.

“You wouldn’t happen to know why it’s tense around here, would you, Doctor?”

“I’m afraid not,” you answered honestly. “Pilots haven’t been out in awhile. I’m sure they’re just antsy.”

“You say pilots, as in plural,” Leia raised an eyebrow. You furrowed yours.

“Yes?”

“You’re the funny one now. I happen to think it’s just because of one pilot in particular.”

You powered down your holopad as you placed it back in your drawer. “I’m not sure what you mean?”

Leia gazed at the wall, a soft smile on her face as though she were gazing out a window. Yet, nearly the entire Resistance base on D’Qar was underground so windows were not an option. You liked to assume that’s why they built your medbay so white and...bright. Create an atmosphere of pseudo-sunlight. She continued to gaze for a few more seconds until she returned her attention back to you.

“Your right hand, has it been bothering you, lately?”

“Occasionally,” you admitted. There was no use in hiding anything from Leia.

“I understand why you’ve kept it from him,” she folded her hands in her lap, “but what has it cost you?”

You bit the inside of your cheeks, releasing a deep breath that felt like you’d been holding for days. Leia had opened the floodgates, uncorked the bottle that you’d been stuffing this whole situation into. You felt the air of the room sting your eyes, or was it something else? Ignoring it, you pulled at your right pinky finger on top of your desk.

“Peace of mind,” you answered, then laughed. “My sleep.”

“He was so close to figuring it out,” Leia frowned. “I gave him a push, figured that would be all he would need. I should’ve known better - men almost always need you to spell it out for them.”

“Do you think I’m too late?”

Leia shook her head. “No, but you’ve certainly created yourself quite the challenge.”

Leia was right, reiterating what your friends had told you previously. Not only was it a feat in and of itself just to talk to Poe, but to change his mind? Especially about her, about Scoria Tane? To convince him that he’d been wrong - again? And that your callous words and strained relationship that you’d created with him was only because you were scared, and insecure.

As if she could hear them, Leia interrupted your thoughts.

“He’s more sensible than you think.”

“Respectfully,” you began, “have you been in the same room as the two of us? The way Poe interprets my words and opinions would not justify him as sensible.”

Leia rolled her eyes. “That’s because the two of you are always having the wrong conversation.”

“And what’s the right one?” you pressed.

“You think I would tell you?” Leia smirked at you as she stood. “That would be too easy. You have a couple seconds to figure it out though.”

As soon as you processed her words, Poe was entering your office, the whoosh of the double doors preceding his entrance. His stupid beautiful teeth shone under the fluorescent bulbs when he saw Leia. He regarded her warmly after she winked at you and made her leave.

As much as you repressed, you couldn’t ignore how fucking good Poe looked in his casual clothes. He looked good in anything - but today was just...too much. He was wearing his usual dark pants, loose enough to be comfortable and to move in, but still tight on his ass. He must’ve changed after eating, because the faded baby blue button up he wore with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows was a shirt you hadn’t seen, or at least noticed before. With the way the lightness of his shirt juxtaposed the black of his hair, his stubble, his eyes - you were sure it was new. There’s no way you would’ve missed it before. However, the subtle, almost pleasant softness that befell his features was something you did almost miss, though.

“Hey, Doc,” Poe sat down. You didn’t respond - not verbally, anyway. Your breath was caught in your throat as your eyes focused on the small, gold chain that hung around his neck and low on his chest. Your eyes traced the way it arched over the curve of his collarbones and disappeared past the neckline of his shirt. Poe cleared his throat again and your eyes left his chest to meet his eyes.

“Here for your scan?” you asked nonchalantly as you pulled your holopad back out of the drawer, giving yourself something to fidget with.

He shook his head. “Just wanted to know how the new recruits are looking.”

“All of them, or just one in particular?” you arched one of your eyebrows, your finger hovering over her tab.

He smiled, shrugging. It made you simultaneously want to gag and rip your clothes off. The buttoned collar of your medjacket felt like it was constricting on your airways as you swallowed thickly.

“Can I ask you a question, Dameron?” you gripped the holopad tightly. At your sudden seriousness, Poe rectified his posture and nodded.

“How did you,” you wanted to stab yourself, “How did you know? That it was her?”

You braced yourself, expecting him to lash at you, tell you it was none of your business. But when he didn’t, when he licked his lips slowly as he pondered his answer, it made you wish he would’ve. His response wasn’t one you wanted to hear, but you needed to know his reasoning.

“I can’t see my thread, but in these last few weeks, my finger has been throbbing. I can only imagine it’s tied there,” he rubbed at his left hand and you watched as his movements vibrated the string, causing yours to ache in turn. The thread was taught in the small distance between you, almost daring you to try and cut it.

“So, I just knew whomever it was, they were close. And when I went to Coruscant, and she told me we were connected, I just knew.”

The weight on your chest felt like your ribs were cracking, heart straining to pump your blood that felt like it had congealed in your veins.

“What if,” you tested your voice. “What if it isn’t her?”

“Wow,” Poe scoffed. “You’ve only read her file, you think that gives you a right to pass judgement?”

“No!” you cut him off. “I’m just offering another point of view. Like I always do. I’ve heard the stories, Dameron. I just think you should be carefull.”

Poe rubbed at his hand again. “Do you know how it feels, Doc? To search the whole galaxy, trying to find them? Only to fall short countless times?”

You shook your head. Of course you didn’t. You’d spent almost the entirety of your life on only three planets, and really hadn’t felt the desire to branch out to anymore. With the First Order gaining traction, it’s threat of another galactic war looming, you placed your work first. You always did.

“Can you even see your thread?”

You didn’t respond, eyes holding his as you saw your vision blur. You willed the tears away - not here, not now.

It was evident Poe was waiting for your response, so you swallowed before answering.

“Yes.”

“And you’ve never been curious to know who was on the other end? Never wanted to go out and find them?”

“It’s complicated,” you answered, eyes falling on his finger. The knot on his finger was mocking, almost taunting you.

“How is it complicated?” Poe asked. “You either want them or you don’t.”

“I do,” you said through your teeth. “But it’s not that easy, Dameron. You have no idea.”

He leaned towards you, hands on his knees. The length of your thread shortened, and momentarily you wondered what it looked like if the distance was closed.

“So help me understand,” Poe pleaded. “I just,” he stopped. Stewing on his words before he opened his mouth again. “I don’t get you. At all. You’re so hot and cold - mostly cold. We get along, and then we’re at each other's necks. I’m getting tired of this game, Doc. Aren’t you?”

He would make it so easy, you thought. It would be so easy to fall in love with him. You did want it, more than you’ve wanted anything in your life. To walk side by side with him amongst the halls of the base, kiss him before and after flight missions, actually go back to your quarters at night and know that he was there. Stars, you wanted nothing more than to have Poe Dameron in your bed, waiting on you. You wondered if he ever entertained the thought of you two together, maybe as soulmates or maybe not. Has Poe ever wanted you like you wanted him in this moment?

The thought scared you, the possibility that he hadn’t kept you silent. He closed his eyes, shaking his head as he sighed. Poe stood up, looking at you dejectedly.

“I am tired - “ you began quickly, not wanting him to leave. He paused, waiting to hear you out before the base rumbled with the force and scream of aircrafts entering the atmosphere.

Poe’s face lit up.

“We can make up later,” he smiled. “She’s here.”

- 

and the plot thickens. i hope you enjoyed - how excited are we to meet these new pilots?? as always, love & feedback is appreciated and encouraged. xoxoxo. also, ziff = himbo. i do not makes the rules. but we love him. 

TAGLIST (send a message / ask to be added!) 

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(please please send an ask or message to be added! it’s getting a little hard to check every chapter’s replies so i dont miss anyone! & if i did miss you, i’m so sorry please lmk). 

[dragonheart-swtor]

Friends and Fears

Summary: Eris is the Alliance Commander, Cipher Nine; Reykal is the most recent champion of the Great Hunt. Each of them finds someone utterly unintimidated by them in the other - something both of them need, especially when discussing old fears usually best left buried. Or, Just a quick one-shot of a bar chat between friends that should've taken me a week and instead somehow took me the better part of a year because I kept getting stuck. (Title subject to change, I've been sitting here for twenty minutes and can't think of anything better so it's either this or the doc name which is just "Spooky", if anyone comes up with anything better feel free to give me a heads-up)

Tags: Female Bounty Hunter & Female Imperial Agent, alcohol consumption (not excessive)

Find me on AO3 at Dragonheart37!

-----

The tiny, grimy cantinas that dotted the streets of every space station like this one were always bustling with activity, rowdy with fights and gambling and music, and this one was no different. It wasn't the kind of place where you couldn't take your hand off your credit purse, but it definitely was the kind of place you wanted to keep a vibroknife on you at all times, just in case. Any self-respecting citizen – Imperial, Republic, or Alliance, and probably Zakuulian too – would steer clear of a place like this. Which was, of course, exactly why it was the best kind of place for an Alliance Commander and a Great Hunt champion to disappear; Reykal always fit right in without even trying, and all it took was a change of makeup and a less formal outfit for Eris to go unnoticed in a place where no one was looking for her.

Reykal had promised this particular spot had the best food and drinks this side of the station, and she wasn't wrong – the fare here was greasy, but good, and came in truly enormous proportions. Better yet, it was busy and loud, and after a quick scan and sweep for bugs – purely out of habit, of course – Eris could actually believe that she didn't need to be on high guard for people listening in. It was nice to just settle in and amiably listen to Reykal spin dramatic stories of her most impressive hunts – even if she'd heard one or two of them before – and of her most recent ones as well, side jobs taken while the Alliance didn't have anything of import for her.

She was just wrapping up one such story when Eris spotted the Sith.

Eris, through sheer power of habitual control, did not stiffen at the sight of him – masked and robed in full Sith garb, clearly just passing through the cantina on his way out from a back room somewhere. She tracked him for a moment – but he didn't turn to look at them, just swept past as if the room were empty instead of crowded with people. She carefully didn't turn to watch him go, despite the urge to do so and despite seeing Reykal turn out of the corner of her eye. Instead, as soon as she was satisfied he wasn't approaching them, she locked her eyes on the reflections in her glass to the exclusion of all else, using the visual focus to shutter everything else away. If there's nothing else in your mind, there's nothing they can read. Just glass, light and color reflected over the curved surface, playing shapes over the pale green liquid inside, tiny bubbles floating to the surface – no thought, no emotion, just glass. Nothing they can read.

“Kinda spooky, aren't they?”

She glanced up at Reykal's interruption. The Togruta sipped her brandy. “Sith. Jedi. Force people.” She wiggled her fingers as if that needed further explanation. “The way they move, the way people move for 'em without even realizing. How they answer questions you haven't even asked sometimes.” She snorted into her glass. “Fuckin' spooky.”

Eris chuckled despite herself, tension easing at the sheer casualness of Reykal's blasphemy. The Sith was gone, the door swinging shut behind him as Reykal spoke – out of the usual range of mental contact. Reykal's eyes sparkled with humor too; she stretched her arms out in front of her across the bar like a cat, all relaxed grace despite her bulk. “It's not the way I would have put it,” Eris admitted, “but I can't say you're wrong.”

“They make everybody nervous. It's not just you. Though I'm surprised you haven't gotten more used to 'em, considering.” She smiled when Eris blinked, a little surprised. “You hide it well. But you quit moving for a split second every time one of 'em comes into the room. You spend more time watching them than me, or Dad, or Hylo. Which probably isn't good for your wallet, knowing Dad and Hylo.” She grinned to take the edge off the joke, points of her fangs still hidden.

“Apparently I don't hide it well enough,” Eris remarked, sipping her own drink – some bubbly lime-and-mint mix she'd already forgotten the name of that the bartender promised tasted almost exactly like its alcoholic version – as she scanned the crowd once. “I've had some... bad experiences. Let's just put it that way.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. You worked with 'em back in the Empire, right?” Reykal rested her chin on one hand, fingers tapping her temple absently. “I did a job for some Intelligence guy, back in the day. Forget his name. Seemed pretty skeeved by the whole thing. Ended up having to kill him after he did try to murder me. 'Loose ends,' or whatever.”

Eris blinked. “Oh, that was you? I think I heard about that.”

Reykal raised her eyebrows. “Really? I thought it was supposed to be under the table, nobody was supposed to know about it.”

Eris laughed aloud at that, shaking her head. “Intelligence always knows.” She paused. “Which probably wasn't the most comforting thing to say, was it?”

“Probably not.” Reykal grinned at her again. “I figure if Intelligence was going to come after me, they'd have done it by now.”

“You were a low-priority target,” Eris assured her, smiling back wryly. “We had bigger fish to fry, at the time. That would have been right before the Dominator blew up and everything went to hell.”

“Bigger fish to fry, eh?” Reykal chuckled. “I'm insulted.”

“Intelligence deals with pretty big fish. Be glad you weren't one of them.”

“Speaking from experience?” Reykal asked, arching an eyebrow.

Eris shrugged, sipping her drink again to hide her smile. “That's classified.”

Reykal scoffed, mocking exasperation at the old half-joke. “'That's classified.' Someday I'm going to have to get some actual drinks in you to get all those classified stories out of you.” She winked. “Personally, I think you just can't hold your alcohol and that's why you're never caught dead with it.”

“That's also classified.” She didn't bother to hide the grin this time.

“Kriff's sake,” Reykal exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “You're impossible. I don't know why I bother.”

Eris laughed. “I'm sure you're very put-upon to deal with me.”

Reykal downed the rest of her glass and turned to flag down the bar droid; Eris took the opportunity to sip her drink and sift through her thoughts again, deliberating. “You're right,” she murmured after a moment of quiet. Reykal turned back to her, raising an eyebrow, and she clarified, “The Sith do... make me nervous. They all do, but... Sith especially.” She huffed a half-hearted laugh. “It's not exactly a secret, at least not to them. They can feel fear a mile away.”

Reykal took her refilled drink absently, attention focused on Eris much more seriously than she had been before. “Working with 'em doesn't help?” she asked. “You and Beniko seem... close.”

Eris tapped the rim of her drink, staring down into it as she thought through her next words. “Minister Beniko and I have worked together closely for long enough that I'm no longer concerned about her...” She trailed off.

“Acting like a murder-hobo Sith?” Reykal filled in. Eris gave her a look that made her snort and raise an appeasing hand. “Sorry. But you were thinking it too.”

“I would have phrased it more tactfully,” Eris sighed, “but... yes. Sith... they tend to use their power to its utmost to control those around them. It's just how things are in the Empire. And they have a great deal of power.” She pursed her lips. “Do you know some cultures worship Force-users as demigods?” Reykal shook her head. “It's true. And who can really blame them?”

Reykal nodded. “A lot of people are scared of them. Not just in the Empire, either. Anyone in their right mind would be wary.”

“It's... bizarre, to be equal to a Force-user,” Eris admitted. “In the Empire, even the lowest Sith acolyte ranks above the Force-blind. To have Minister Beniko and Darth Nox at my war table – my war table – and not be answering to them as superiors... I'm still not used to it, even after all this time. And Master Garen'ishta, and the Barsen'thor – even Senya. I'm used to having to be afraid of them. At this point, I'm not sure I'm capable of not being nervous around them. Not...” Not after Jadus. And Zhorrid. But that she couldn't say out loud, not here, not even to Reykal. “Not after working directly under them for so long.”

Reykal hummed sympathetically, running a finger around the rim of her glass. “I don't blame you. I talk a big game, but really, Force-users have been some of my most dangerous targets. There's a reason most hunters don't take contracts on them at all.” She took a sip of brandy, jaw working as she thought. Quietly, barely audible over the noise of the bar, she added, “D'you actually think any of 'em might turn on you?”

Eris pursed her lips, but shook her head. “Not at this point. The Jedi will fight alongside us for as long as they're convinced our cause serves the greater good – no matter how much the Barsen'thor pretends to be aloof. If Nox were going to turn on us, she would've done it by now; she's had ample opportunity, and in any case, she hates Zakuul and Arcann for stealing her place in the Empire from her too much to ally with them. Senya... Senya will stay loyal for now, at least. And Minister Beniko has long since proved her loyalty, as I said.”

“Well, that's good, at least.” Reykal cracked a grin. “Better'n if you were actually logically worried about 'em.”

Eris smiled. “Are you insinuating that I'm being illogical?”

“Hey, you said it, not me.”

“You are insufferable,” she said mildly, taking another sip of her drink.

Reykal laughed aloud, fangs flashing in the light. “Eh, that's why you like me. None of that faffin' about trying to be dainty and diplomatic about it.”

Eris shook her head, still smiling, but didn't deny it. It was true, really – Reykal was perhaps the only person she talked to on a regular basis who wasn't constantly embroiled in politics and diplomacy, who was brashly open about her thoughts and feelings. It was refreshing, if she was honest – a chance to relax for once, to not constantly have to be watching her every word and gesture. To pretend they were just two friends at a bar and nothing more, for a little while.

Reykal spun around on her stool and leaned back against the bar, flipping her back lek over the edge so it wouldn't get crushed. “We should go shooting after this,” she offered, grinning lazily at Eris. “See if your pistol aim's gotten any better.”

Eris arched an eyebrow, eyeing her skeptically. It was hard to tell in the cantina's soft mood lighting, but she was fairly sure Reykal's lekku were flushed a deeper red than usual. She half-smiled. “I think you've had one too many drinks for that, Master Candessan.”

“Pah, too many drinks. I've shot in worse situations'n this, more drunk'n this.” She grinned again to take the edge off the comment. “Suit yourself, though. What do you do for fun, anyway, when you're not gettin' swamped by hell-knows-what kinda work from the Alliance?”

“You might have heard of this thing called 'reading,'” Eris said, allowing herself an impish grin.

Reykal scoffed playfully through her teeth. “Oh, sure, now the high-and-mighty Imperial act  comes out.”

“Don't tell me you're a literary connoisseur.”

“Doesn't mean I don't read.” She stuck out her tongue at Eris in a gesture so childish it startled a genuine laugh out of her. “Miss Hoity-Toity Imperial-Logo-Boxers over here, makin' fun of us peasant folk. What's the Alliance come to?”

Eris swatted her shoulder, trying and failing to stifle her laughter. “Why do I tell you anything?”

“'Cause you like me,” Reykal reminded her cheerfully. She slid off the stool to stand next to the bar. “C'mon, finish your drink already and let's get outta here. We can go window-shopping on the boardwalk and see if there's anything to spend the night on.”

“I do have work to do tomorrow,” Eris told her, but she swallowed the last of her drink and stood as well, sliding a credit chit across the counter to the bar droid as it clanked over.

Reykal wagged a scolding finger at her. “Ay, none of that. You said we'd get a night on the town, you're getting a night on the town. You work yourself too hard.”

“Very well,” Eris agreed, shaking her head with a fond smile. “But I draw the line at drunk bounty hunting or robbing anyone in an alley.”

“You're no fun.” Reykal offered her arm with a dramatic flourish and Eris took it with another laugh, letting the bounty hunter lead her out the door.

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 56- Ancient Quarrels

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Ex returns home with new friends, but struggles with the reality that his old stomping grounds have grown up without him, all while learning more about the history of dark magic.

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“I thought I told you to come alone.” Xisuma states, staring at the rainbow haired twins. No matter how much the two try to blend in, the ever shifting colors of their locks always stand out. 

“I thought you could use the help. You clearly need it if you reached out to me.”  Ex steps off the pirate ship, followed by the king and his brother. Ex tries his best to keep his gaze on the ground at his feet, the grass, sand, and dirt. He doesn’t want to see what Xisuma and all his friends have done to the safe haven they found together. As brothers. He doesn’t want to see what he's missed, what he’s been too afraid to claim for his own. He doesn’t want to see how much time has changed the island he once called home. 

But Ex stumbles over a rock, his books scattering from his arms, while he plummets to the ground. He could let go of his remaining scrolls and books, but these articles are ancient and invaluable. He’d rather break his nose than let go of them. 

Lucky for Ex, he doesn’t have to choose. One of the hermits grabs him before he gets a mouthful of dirt. Ex opens his eyes, forced to look at the island. And he sees everything. 

It looka exactly the same. It looks completely different. The grounds were the same- the same rocky shores, soft beaches, hills, forest, even the lake at the center on the north side of the island. The grass the same green color, the sky the same blue, the distant mist and waves dancing together. But dotting the island now stood a menagerie of buildings. Where there used to only be the tower of stone he and X built, now a glass biodome rests on one side, a barn on the other. Smoke rolls free from the chimney of a weaponsmith’s house, and just off the island a cloud floats low, the white tower upon it open to the breeze of the sea. 

Ex collects his books, and slinks off to the guild hall. Sor follows Grian to help with Apatia, to make the decision on how to move forward with his recovery. Tris follows behind Ex, taking in the open sea and sky. So unlike Milliara. 

It was exactly that which drew the void twins here in the first place. They dared enter the Ashioll sea because it was quiet, peaceful, unlike Milliara. Back when there were only two- they didn’t need anyone more. They didn’t want anyone more. In the end, Ex got to be alone, moreso than ever. Without even a brother. 

Being back on Eremita was painful, but as a healing wound would be. For the first time in years, his brother reached out to him. For the first time, they were putting aside the argument so long ago and working together. Like they did when they were young. 

At the same time, both X and Ex set out their books on the same table. At the same time, like mirror images of one another, they set out their maps, their inkwells, their quills, even their books ordered the exact same way. The similarities between the two were uncanny, leaving the hermits baffled as they watch them. If it wasn’t for Ex’s white hair, it’d be impossible to tell them apart. 

Ex speaks first, pulling the red fabric of his cloak away from his face so the hermits can hear him. “The last known insurgence of dark magic was over a thousand years ago. Before Lairyon became a kingdom, near the end of the ancient ones’s time. As we all know, Addows is the only place that still has significant and readable history of the ancient ones. Everything disappeared just like them.” 

“And no one knows why.” Tris adds in, sitting down and plucking a book. He flips through the pages. “The ancient ones had magic more powerful than most wizards. Very few forms of ancient powers survive today- including angelic magic.” 

The hermits look at Grian, but he simply shrugs. He knows nothing about the ancient ones, just that they’re… well, ancient. Iskall speaks up, resting his cheek on his hand. “Could it be that it was the dark magic that wiped them out?” 

Both of the void twins and Tris shake their head, and begin to answer at the same time. Ex and X glare at one another, and Tris takes the moment to answer instead. “No, it’s not like there’s a sign of a fight, or a struggle, or anything. Just...one day they were all over this kingdom, and then- poof, gone.”

“But the ancient ones weren’t the only people here. The kiplings have been living in these waters longer than anyone. And if we cross reference the information King Sormena gave me access to in the royal library, and the deep sea libraries of the Kiplings, we can start to get an inkling of understanding.”

“My gods you’re so boring even now.” Xisuma groans. “We dont need the whole story, and Lairyon doesn’t have time. What did you learn and how can we use it to defeat Dolios?” 

“Well…” Ex bits his lip. “We didn’t learn how they defeated the dark magic all those times before. But we did find the location of one of their lost cities. Tris and I believe it could even be the ancient capital of theirs.” 

The hermits groan, some even dramatically flopping back in their chairs. It seems all they ever have are breadcrumbs, leading them around in circles all across Lairyon. TFC speaks up first, though even he seems exhausted. “It’s better than nothing. It’s our only hope at this point. So where is it?” 

“Tris had pinpointed the general location of the lost city in the Ashioll Fjords, but together we were able to determine the exact location.” Ex plucks a quill from the table, dipping the tip in the ink and marking one of the many divots and crests of the northernmost part of Lairyon. All the hermits lean in, peering at the location. It looks no different from any other part of the fjords, or even the rest of Lairyon. 

“If anyone knows how to defeat Dolios’s dark magic, it has to be the ancient ones.” Etho states. “They did it before, we just have to do it again.”

It gives the hermits hope to know this isn’t the first time, they aren’t the only ones in all of history to face dark magic. Ex looks up at the hermits, a question that’s been dancing in his mind finding its way to his tongue before he can stop it. “Why did you guys ever decide to do this? What in the world made you guys think you could take on a dark wizard? Be the chosen few like the ancient ones?”

The hermits look at one another, as if they’d find an answer in the stares and faces of their peers. But no one has the answer. Though Joe is more than willing to come up with his own. “Perhaps, in this story, there are no chosen ones. No destiny or prophesied heroes. Perhaps it is just by the choice of normal man, who chooses to make a difference, who chooses to stand up and fight, that is really what makes a hero?” 

“Is this what I missed when I left?” Ex questions Xisuma, who nods solemnly.

“What will we find in the lost city?” Grian questions. 

“I dunno, it’s lost.” Tris quips, causing Grian to blush when he realizes his question. “But if it’s anything like Addows, you should be prepared for ancient ones magic and the stone buildings they made their cities from. Apart from that- you just gotta look in the right place.” 

The hermits realize they’re going in on this blind. Once again, they have little more than a hope, a thread of a lead, taking them somewhere in search of answers. Whether it was Gildara, or the Champion’s Cup, or even the Forest of Memories, they’ve always been chasing the same specter of knowledge. Hoping to find something more. 

“But you won’t be alone this time.” Ex points out. The hermits turn to face him, his face so familiar, yet so vastly different. “King Sormena volunteered to go along with you, to give aid on your search.” 

Tris averts his gaze, his jaw set tight at the mention of his brother joining the hermits. Doc raises his hand, almost condescending. “Won’t Dolios notice the king is gone?” 

“He’s not in Milliara right now. The Wanderers informed me of that- where he is, I don’t know, but this is a rare opportunity that we can’t waste. You’ll need every mind and magic to figure out the puzzles and clues that the lost city may have. I’d best get packing if i were you guys.” 

Groups disperse off, back to their homes, caves, ships, and clouds. Once again preparing, as a whole guild, to go off on another adventure. Even Tris disappears, either to go find and argue with his brother, or get a pint of beer from Cleo. But one person stays behind. 

Xisuma doesn’t ever look directly at his brother, but he always turns his head just slightly to be able to see Ex shuffling papers. His body is aimed out from the guild hall, looking over, across the island of Eremita. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, X speaks up. “Will you be able to take care of Apatia while we’re gone? I don’t think he can go back to Milliara with you.” 

Ex raises an eyebrow. It almost sounds like an invitation to stay on the island. Almost. “I guess if no one else will, I can offer my help. And glean information from him about the magistrate. Perhaps I can talk to Ian about engineering a prosthesis… Kiplings aren’t really meant to live without their fins.” 

The void mage shakes his head, listening to his brother continue to ramble on under his breath. So many years apart, and yet the same old Ex. For the first time in years, after so long hating his twin, refusing to talk to him, removing every sign he ever existed on this island, now he’s standing in their guild hall. And for the first time in years, Xisuma feels like he can let go of the anger and tension from that fight so long ago. 

Ex steps up beside Xisuma, and the two gaze over Eremita. They watch as Keralis and Zedaph round up sheep for their midday meal, Iskall, Mumbo, and Grian arguing over what kind of redstone they could possibly need on their journey, Wels and False sharpening the blades of their own weapons and others. 

He doesn’t want to admit it, but Eremita looks more alive than it ever was when it was just the two of them. The colors of all different wizards, from all walks of life. All a part of this guild that Xisuma has found. All this, that Ex was afraid of. “You’ve done a good job building yourself a home. Finding yourself a family. Guess you didn’t really need me.” 

Xisuma turns, and removes his mask. For the first time in years, Ex can see his brother's face. They can both see the scars they left on each other. On their skin and in their hearts. Xisuma’s fingers run along the scratched out marking in the metal. Wishing he could take that fit of anger back and fix it. “I didn’t do this without you, though. When I wasn’t sure what to do, it was always your annoying voice that guided me to the right decision.” 

“We have the same voice.” Ex points out. 

“Exactly. No matter what, no matter what I did, you were still with me, a part of me. But when I didn't know what to do, I thought about what you would choose. And it always led me in the right direction. Even though you weren’t here, I still needed you. I still needed my brother.” 

To hear that word come from Xisuma’s mouth, to hear him call Ex that- brother. All these years, all he ever wanted was his brother back. To have a family again. Ex can feel tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t want his brother to see him crying over such a simple thing. “I think it’ll be nice to have a family again. It...it feels good to be home.”