#or if the show can handle it delicately enough oof | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

poliel · 3 years ago

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Surprise Egg 4/13: Congrats

Filbo had just gotten the fire going in the pit for the evening when he glanced up to see Buddy wondering into town. Always happy to see them, he straightened to smile at them as they approached.

“Hey Buddy, how’s it going?”

“Filbo!” Their eyes sparkled with excitement, a wonderful sight after how exhausted they’d been lately. “You’ll neverguess what just happened.”

“You found out where Liz is?” Filbo almost didn’t dare hope for such a thing but if anyone could find her it was Buddy so… maybe.

“Oh uh… no, not yet. I will soon though, I promise.” Yeah, definitely too much to hope for. “But I did find something very cool. Or more like it found me. I’ll show you.” They walked over and sat down on the log bench by the fire.

Filbo sat next to them, close enough that he could see their camera’s screen as they lifted it from where it hung around their neck. It booted back up in seconds, allowing them to navigate to their recently taken photos.

“What is that?” Just a photo of it made Filbo’s fur prickle with unease. It was some kind of bugsnax? But grumpus shaped. And it might’ve just been the angle the photo was taken from but it looked big too.

Buddy flipped back through more, including ones that showed it did indeed have large googly looking eyes like bugsnax. “I’ve decided to call it Snaxsquatch because it’s like Grumpsquatch but a bugsnax. I also got a recording of what it sounds like. Wanna hear?”

Not really but Buddy was clearly very excited about this for some reason and it was nice seeing them happy so… “I guess.”

With a far too excited grin, they switched their camera back off and pulled out their tape recorder. After rewinding it a bit, the pressed play.

“Hello. Can you understand me?” There was a brief pause filled with the sound of Buddy’s camera snapping a few photos before their recorded voice continued. “I’m a journalist and I’m here to do a story on bugsnax. If you can understand me, I’d like a…”

A wet growl interrupted them, making Filbo flinch. Knowing something that could growl like that was on the island somewhere was the opposite of a cool find. And… and that thing had been right near Buddy, close enough that they’d talked to it. Did their bravery know no bounds?

Apparently so as their recorded voice continued without hesitation and full of even more excitement. “Growling works. How about a long growl for ‘no’ and short a one for ‘yes’?”

A short growl answered Buddy followed by an unidentifiable sound. Which was were Buddy stopped the recording. “That’s where it sank into the ground. And when I looked there wasn’t any trace of it, not even a hole for it to have sunk into. So I have no idea where it went or is now. But cool, right? I’m sure it’s the thing Beffica and Gramble saw that night when the spooky message appeared on the town sign, meaning it wasn’t aliens after all.”

“Uh… I don’t know about cool but it’s certainly scary. How much of a threat to Snaxburg do you think it might be?”

“Not at all. It’s friendly.” For how scary it looked and sounded, their nonchalant confidence was surprising even for them.

“How do you know?”

They slipped their recorder back into their back pack’s side pocket as they answered. “I was that close to it because it was dragging me back to town after I passed out in the Sizzling Sands. It even pulled down Shelda’s lean-to to transport me on.”

“Whoa, what? You passed out! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just…” They trailed off as a look of dawning realization came over their face. “Huh? I’m not sure how I forgot about that but uh…” They looked around for a couple seconds before turning back to look at him again. “I gotta talk to you in private.” All excitement was gone from their voice now, replaced by a chilling seriousness.

“About what?” What could be more important than the fact they’d apparently passed out in the middle of a hot desert and had to be dragged back by a monster? And why didn’t they seem to care?

“Just… something, okay? Now let’s…” They cut off as they stood up, teetering for a moment before he shot up to steady them. They leaned on him slightly as they lifted a paw to press to their forehead. It only lasted a few seconds but it was long enough to almost give Filbo a heart attack.

“Oof, that was… ugh,” they said as they pushed off him to stand under their own weight again. Before Filbo could ask him if they were okay though…

“Whoa Bestie, you okay?” Beffica said as she wondered into the campfire circle.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about me.” They lifted a paw in a weak dismissive gesture towards her.

“You should probably go lie down.” Unsure of what else he could do, Filbo stood ready to steady them again if they needed it. Oh, if only Eggabell were here.

It hadn’t been a commotion really but Cromdo had stepped closer too, looking maybe kind of worried. At that moment, Chandlo wondered in with a “What’s going on? Why’s everyone here look so worried?”

Buddy frowned at him before speaking. “I need to talk to Filbo about something.” They took Filbo’s paw and started leading him back towards the hut the two of them now shared.

As soon as they were in the hut with the door closed, Buddy pulled off their back pack and lowered it to the floor with a grateful sounding sigh. They then unzipped it and took out their camera’s case, placing that on the table before carefully pulling their camera off over their head and into it. They put that back safely in their pack before zipping it up once more. It was a familiar routine of theirs, one that Filbo had seen many times since Buddy had moved in but they did it with much more exaggerated care this time as if they were so exhausted, they could barely move.

“You okay?” Filbo asked as they finally turned to look at him. They’d been acting clearly unwell for a while now but this was different and worse. … If only Eggabell were here, she’d know how to fix it.

They looked at him in silent thought, one paw on the table as they leaned slightly onto it. After several seconds of this they pushed off and walked over to him still standing by the door and… hugged him. They pressed into him with a slight, exhausted sounding purr. “I missed you.”

He hugged them back of course, though he couldn’t quite muster up a purr himself right now. “Uh… I missed you too but… you weren’t gone that long.” They even still been here this morning when Filbo woke up, something that was honestly pretty rare with how busy they were.

“I know. But something happened and… it made me miss you.” That was strange but… okay.

Unsure what to say to that, Filbo just held them for however long they wanted to be held for. Which wasn’t long as they soon gave him one more tight squeeze before pulling back.

They stepped all the way back before speaking. “I finally found out why I’ve been so unwell lately. It’s kind of obvious now that I really think about it.”

“What is it?” And how seriouswas it?

“Um…” They looked away, lifting a paw to nervously rub the back of their neck. “You remember a few months ago when I was in heat and you helped me. And then you asked if I had any contraceptives and I didn’t but told you it would probably be fine anyway because having a hard time conceiving runs in my family? Well turns out it wasn’t fine after all. Whoops.”

“Wait! You mean you’re…” He cut off, unable to say it quite yet because how could they actually be carrying his egg? Yeah sure, it made sense given the whole heat thing and but still. That wasn’t at all news he was prepared for or had ever given any thought to possibly one day receiving or having to give to someone else. Kids were fine and all but never once had the thought occurred to him that he might someday have one of his own.

“I was pregnant but then uh… I laid the egg which is how I found out about it. I passed out afterwards. And that’s when the Snaxsquatch brought me back here.” They reached into their pouch where they’d taken to carrying Sprout. What they pulled out though was undoubtedly a grumpus egg. The faded splotches of colour on it were burnt orange and light blue, confirming its parentage. They tried to hand to Filbo.

He flinched, pulling his paws in close to this chest. “Why are you giving it to me?” Given his track record he should be the last one handling something as important and delicate as an egg.

“Just… because. I need sleep. You can tell the others about it while I take a nap. Or I guess you could keep it a secret for now if you want to. But regardless, we’ll talk about what we’re going to do about it after I get some rest, okay? So just take it for now.” They pushed it towards him again.

He wanted to refuse but… they were clearly beyond exhausted and utterly unwell. The fact that they’d just given birth to the egg not long ago certainly explained why. They’d done it all alone out in the middle of the hot desert too, how awful and scary must that have been? And yet they didn’t complain, they never did about anything. So… trying not to grimace too hard, he accepted it from their paws.

“Thanks.” Then, without further word, they turned and walked over to the bed and collapsed face first onto it. Probably not even five seconds later they were snoring softly.

Never the most dexterous of grumpuses, Filbo’s paws were even more clumsy than usual due to being like strawberries. So very carefully, before he could drop the egg or some potential disaster could befall him and it, he put it into his own pouch. Unlike some he preferred not to carry things in there but… it was meant for carrying eggs and the grumplings that hatched out of them so this was how it should be. … Still felt weird though.

Shaking it off, he went over to the bed to check on Buddy. … Yep, they were out like a light and they certainly deserved and needed the rest. So… with a deep breath he turned and left the hut.

As he walked back towards the campfire, he tried not think about tripping and crushing the egg in his pouch. Would that even crush it though? Eggs were supposed to be pretty sturdy, right? But how sturdy? This was his first time seeing one up close in real life so he had no idea. … And it was his! Oh gosh, he wasn’t ready for this. How was he supposed to…

“Filbo!”

He flinched and looked up at Beffica. She was still standing by the campfire with an air of having been waiting for him to return. Chandlo was with her and Cromdo had perked up from his stand again.

“What’s wrong with Buddy?” she continued. … She was concerned, it was written in her face and in her tone.

“Come on dawg, out with it,” Chandlo said before the silence could stretch for long. “What’s wrong with them? They going to be okay?”

“Oh uh… they’re sleeping. I think they’re going to be okay… well as okay as they can be… maybe. I don’t know.” Ugh, he was doing an awful job at putting anyone at ease but he was worried about Buddy and the egg that had quite literally seemed to have come out of nowhere and… it made it hard to think. He took a couple deep breaths and put on not a smile but a hopefully less freaked out expression because panicking about it wasn’t going to make it better. “The reason they’re so exhausted is because they uh… gave birth to an egg earlier today.”

That was met with surprised silence for several seconds before Chandlo broke it. “You mean they’ve been carrying an egg this whole time? Why didn’t you guys tell anyone?”

“We didn’t know.”

Beffica scoffed. “I thought at least one of you would have some kind of birth control and be smart enough to use it.”

“Well… we didn’t have any and it was kind of… urgent and they’d thought it’d be fine. And we’ve been careful sincethen.” Getting pregnant outside of heat was rare but not impossible so they’d done their best to avoid risking it as much as they could whenever they made love but apparently it hadn’t mattered anyway. “So we had no idea.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Well, let’s see the egg then I guess. Since I assume you have it now, right? Because what else would you be carrying in your pouch?”

Filbo wasn’t sure he wanted to take it out for fear of dropping it but… With a sigh, he reached into his pouch and pulled it out. Beffica snapped a photo of it as Chandlo stepped closer to look at it too.

“It’s a bit small and the colours are faded,” Cromdo said, making Filbo jump a little. He’d approached unnoticed and now stood on the other side of the log bench so he could get a good view of the egg. “That means it was born sooner than it should’ve been. Which with the way Buddy’s been running around, doesn’t surprise me. I’d say get it checked out by a doctor but we don’t got one anymore. So instead, just make sure to keep it as warm as possible. Like if you’re gonna have it outside of your pouch for more than five minutes put it in heated cradle, assuming you can find a way to make one that’s safe. Otherwise make sure someone’s carrying it around all the time, okay? And don’t let Buddy take it up the mountain or whatever.”

“What do you know about taking care of an egg?” Beffica asked pretty much exactly what Filbo was thinking but with far more scorn than was necessary.

“I just know, okay? It ain’t none of your business.” He turned back to look at Filbo again. “And don’t shake the egg neither or drop or anything else rough, got it?”

Under his stern gaze, Filbo carefully put the egg back into his pouch. “Got it. Thanks for the advice.” He’d take any from anyone who was willing to give it.

“You could maybe ask Floofty to examine it,” Chandlo said. “They’re real smart and know a lot about biology stuff even though they’re not a doctor. So they might be able to tell you if it’s okay or not.”

“All right.” It certainly couldn’t hurt.

The three of the followed as he started for the research tent. He’d really rather not ask Floofty for any kind of favor but… they were the only one here who might be able to examine the egg with any degree of accuracy. If only Eggabell were here. … Yeah, ifonly, and if only wishing for her return could actually bring her back to town. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Shaking off the bitterness of that thought as he stepped into Floofty’s part of the research tent, Filbo put on his best attempt at a pleasant expression. “Hey Floofty.”

Still leaning over the table and whatever they were working on they didn’t even turn their head to look at him as they answered. “Greetings.” Indifference was better than disdain but… still uncomfortable.

“We need your help with something,” Beffica cut in as she strode over and put a paw on Floofty’s desk, rattling it a little.

They looked up at her with an annoyed sigh. “What is it?”

“An egg,” Chandlo said. “It’s looking a bit unwell so I thought we could bring it to you and you could look it over, make sure it’s okay and stuff.”

“Ooh, an egg you say?” Triffany was suddenly in on the conversation too as she stepped over into this part of the tent. “Whose is it?”

“Buddy’s and Filbo’s,” Cromdo replied. “Apparently Buddy’s been pregnant this whole time and didn’t know. Unsurprisinglywith the way they’ve been running around it was born early so we need someone to check and see if the grumpling’s still alive inside it or not.”

Triffany grimaced. “Oh dear, yeah with the way they’ve been running around and stuff… I do hope they’re okay. Both Buddy and the grumpling.”

“Well, Buddy’s getting some much-needed rest right now,” Filbo said as he pulled the egg out again. “So Floofty do you think you could…” He held the egg towards them.

“I suppose with the use of Eggabell’s equipment I should at least be able to determine if the grumpling’s alive inside or not. Exactly how healthy it is, I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell, but something’s better than nothing.” They took from him. “Now someone go get me Eggabell’s medical bag.”

“I’ll do it,” Filbo volunteered, immediately turning to run over to Liz and Eggabell’s hut. He needed the distraction and to be moving and since he was keeping the place clean for their eventual return, he knew exactly where the medical bag was.

Standing around while Floofty examined the egg with Eggabell’s limited equipment was nerve-wracking. Was Filbo actually going to have to figure out how to be parent or was this was one big scary false alarm. … Part of him hoped for the latter. … He flinched internally. How could he even think that? Grumplings dying unhatched was always tragic and not something that should be hoped for. So no he didn’t hope that that had happened but… but… he wasn’t ready to be a parent!

Despite his inner turmoil he kept his expression as positive as he could. The one thing he was good at other than messing up was maintaining a positive energy. Like a good leader should. … Except for the fact that no one here respected him as a leader. Which he couldn’t blame them for given everything. But his chances to ever gain that respect from them or anyone else were severally hampered by the fact that he now had an egg and eventually a grumpling to take care unless… He wasn’t hoping for that though.

How did one even care for a grumpling after it hatched? They were mostly just carried around in their parents’ pouches, right? Until they were… whatever age where that wasn’t a thing anymore. What age even was that? And what happened then?

“Congratulations Filbo,” Floofty said as they picked up the egg and turned away from their desk to approach him. “Despite Buddy’s negligence for their own wellbeing, the egg and grumpling inside seem mostly fine as far as I can determine, certainly alive if nothing else. Which admittedly I’m not a doctor nor a proper expert on fetal development but I am fairly confident in my assessment nonetheless.”

As they handed him the egg, he put on a smile. “Thanks.” He slipped it into his pouch.

“You’re welcome. Now take Eggabell’s stuff back to her cabin and shoo, I have work to get back to.” They turned their back and went back to their desk.

Filbo quickly grabbed the medical bag and was out of there.

“Congrats,” Beffica said as she fell in step with him. She even sounded kind of sincere for once.

“Uh… thanks.”

“Yes, congrats,” Triffany added. “I’m sure you and Buddy will be great parents. I almost can’t wait to have a little one running the place. I’m going to go tell Wamby.” And she was off.

“Yeah, congrats dawg,” Chandlo came up on his other side. “What you going to name them?”

Oh no, they were going to have to come up with a name too? How? “Uh… I don’t know. I’m sure Buddy will think of something, I’m really bad with names.”

Before much more than even an hour had passed since he’d even got the news himself, everyone in town had approached Filbo to congratulate him on the egg. Gramble also offered to watch the egg and/or the grumpling if he and Buddy ever needed or wanted a break for a bit. Filbo was tempted to hand him the egg to watch right then and there but… just thanked him with a smile instead. If any of them even suspected how much he was freaking out below the surface, they didn’t say anything.

But when Buddy woke up and they talked about it some more, surely everything would be okay, right? Buddy would know how to handle the situation and thus they’d ease Filbo’s fears and… stuff. So everything was going to be fine.

#my writing #bugsnax #filbuddy #filbo fiddlepie #the journalist #pregnancy #grumpus egg

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leviskokoro · 4 years ago

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summary｜The espionage group consisting of Mari, Grimm, Ruggie, Leona, Kalim, and Jamil are in need of assistance in order to pull off the plan to take back the magic stone stolen from them by fairies. Fortunately, help has arrived in the form of a worldwide supermodel.

word count｜3385

credit goes to @wakaoujisenhime for giving me the idea to write this!

“Are you saying these guys will be performing during the fashion show? Perhaps you mistook it for a vegetable competition.”

“Puppies, it’s time for training!”

“You guys are…!”

And with those words, Mari knew they were in for a ride. Then again, she did expect this to happen as soon as the Headmaster had explained the situation to her. It seemed like it’d be fun, like an espionage mission for the spy movies she used to watch in her world. How exciting!

“Vil! And Sir Crewel!” Kalim exclaimed with a grin.

“With our support, you guys will definitely become the stars of the fashion show,” Vil spoke as he gazed at the group with a judgemental glint in his lilac eyes. He glanced at the teacher beside him, smirking. “Right, Sir Crewel?”

“Of course, Schoenheit.”

The both of them chuckled.

“The two most troublesome people are here,” Ruggie said, ears folded and eyebrows furrowed.

“Jamil, you asshole. Do you know what you’ve done?” Leona growled, glaring daggers at him.

“I also thought this was a tough decision.” Said boy wore his usual level-headed expression. “Top model Vil and fashionista Sir Crewel. If those two coached us, we could beat this challenge. But in order to make this show a success as amateurs, I could only seek help from them.”

“There’s no one better suited for the job than them,” Mari spoke up, shrugging. It was true. Vil was the one that had always been seen working relentlessly to maintain his beauty and Sir Crewel was known for his talent when it came to fashion. It was impossible to think of anyone else that would rival them in their fields in NRC.

“As expected of Scarabia’s dorm head, he’d do literally anything to achieve his goal. How amazing…” The hyena muttered under his breath.

“Distract the queen-- No, distract the entire audience then snatch the crown away in the meantime. “The title of this operation will be “Monopolize both the crown and their attention”! I will make this a success!” Vil exclaimed, a smirk of pure confidence on his handsome face. The girl often wished she had just an ounce of his self-confidence. Maybe then life would be easier for her.

“Ugh, what a pain…” Leona grumbled.

“Alright. First of all, you guys should have matching costumes,” Crewel told them.

“Would that include us? Ruggie, Grimm, and I won’t really be participating in the fashion show,” Mari asked, raising her hand as if she’s in class.

“Of course! You may not be part of it, but you still need proper clothes in order to sneak in,” he answered. “Entering a formal venue with dirty fur is unacceptable for my puppies.”

Right. Good point.

“Be grateful. I’ll make the most exotic and most exquisite costumes of all time.” Their teacher smirked. “I’ll be the one to make you guys stand out the most!”

And so it had begun. The group had been subjected to wearing countless fabrics to find the perfect one to use. Crewel got to work designing their costumes.

Bursts of sparkles enveloped them, then dissipated to reveal them in the costumes their teacher had designed for them. Everyone was dressed in pristine white clothes with floral patterns and flowers in their hair.

“How’s that? You could clearly see a bunch of puppies with gorgeous fur.” Crewel was satisfied with his own work, smiling at them.

“As expected of our teacher,” Vil commented, also smiling in appreciation of the craftsmanship. “The color is not too outstanding in order to draw out their own beauty, very stoic and kinda mysterious. The endless longing for the unknown, that is the true meaning of exotic.”

“Hmm. It’s easier to get along with someone who understands fashion like you,” the teacher said, glancing at him.

It’s nice that they were enjoying themselves, at least. Mari giggled lightly as she twirled in her dress. The light fabric was easy to move in and felt comfortable. If they ever needed to run, it wouldn’t hold her back at all. Their teacher probably considered this. She looked at the mirror to see how she looked and it’s fair to say that his work was amazing. It made her feel… otherworldly. She already was from another world but to look the part was a different matter.

“We’ve tried on different clothes again and again…” Jamil crossed his arms, eyebrows furrowed in irritation. His lips pulled downwards.

“I’m already tired and training hasn’t even started yet,” Ruggie sighed, closing his eyes. His ears were folded.

“Is that right? Designing costumes is always like this. Right, Leona?” Kalim spoke up, turning to the beastman prince.

“Kind of…” Leona crossed his arms as well, seeming disinterested in the situation.

“I think the trouble was worth it. Sir Crewel certainly did a fantastic job,” Mari commented as she stared at the floral lacing that ran across her waistline, fingers delicately tracing over it. A small smile graced her lips.

“It’s too early to be relieved,” Vil told her. “If the people wearing these clothes don’t act in a proper manner, the silk shirts they’re wearing might as well just be sack rags.”

“To become the center of attention on the fashion show, we must have some sort of performance.” He smiled. “A gorgeous walk with a gorgeous performance. Both of these are necessary.”

“First, I’ll have you guys show me your style of walking.”

Leona smirked. “All we have to do is walk? It’s so easy that I could do it in my sleep.”

Jamil rubbed his chin, a thoughtful look on his features. “If we’re too self-conscious, we might wander off at some point.”

Kalim gave a light laugh. It was as if he was the sun, radiating warmth. “No need to be nervous. Just relax and do it.”

Soon enough, the three were put to the test and let the model judge their skill.

“Very unexpected. I never thought that you could walk elegantly,” Vil said. “Impressive, Jamil.”

Said boy smirked. “It’s my honor to receive such praise from you, Vil.”

He turned to Scarabia’s dorm leader with a smile. “Kalim had a very noble posture. The education from your hometown has been beneficial for you.”

Kalim chuckled. “Is that so? Hehehe, I’m kinda embarrassed. Though, I only have great posture thanks to my love of dancing and not from the education I learned.”

“It’s true. Kalim had been learning traditional dances ever since he was a kid, while I took an interest in street dancing,” Jamil said, his lips pulled upwards. Nostalgia glinted in his eyes.

“I see. So that’s why you guys have such trained bodies.” Vil was clearly pleased with the two. Then, he frowned and turned to Leona, deciding to finally address the elephant in the room. Er, lion in the room. “Compared to that… Leona, what’s with your lame walking?” He glared at him.

“Ah? It’s the same as those Scarabia guys.” He closed his eyes, crossing his arms.

“It’s not the same at all. Jamil’s light step, Kalim’s nobility. You have neither of those,” he berated him, giving him an icy glare. “Your feet are dragging along the floor and you have atrocious posture. Your head was swaying as you were walking. It feels like your shoulders are cutting through the wind. It’s very boorish!”

“The title of prince sounds incredulous to me.”

“How ironic that the feline can’t catwalk…” Mari mumbled.

“He literally just criticized Leona.” Ruggie’s eyes widened in shock.

“Schoenheit,” Crewel spoke up, “For a useless dog like him, shouldn’t we train him to walk on two legs first? If we let him be, it’d be like letting a newborn kitten walk on the runway.”

“Indeed,” the model agreed with him, a troubled expression on his flawless features. “Having Leona perform when he doesn’t even have the basis of walking is kinda hard. If we can’t handle both at the same time, then we should focus on walking.”

He sighed. “I hate to admit it, but he has a commanding aura that could make him the main model. It’d be a waste if we don’t utilize that.”

“Scarabia got 100 points for walking. So now, try challenging the dancing part.” Vil gave his underclassmen a pleasant smile. “You guys will have the role of making the festival livelier. Your performance could also make the shitty main model stand out more.”

“Ah, we must follow Schoenheit’s plan to fill the hole that Kingscholar built,” Crewel said.

“Leona is so hopeless. I wonder if the both of us can cover him well.” Jamil rubbed his chin in thought.

“Let’s do our best! I already promised Leona that I’m going to take care of him.” Kalim, the little cinnamon roll, had a look of determination on his face.

“As a student from Savanaclaw, I feel so ashamed. I’m so sorry that he’s such a troublesome leader.” Ruggie sighed.

Man, they were all roasting him so much. Mari bit her lip, trying not to laugh at the situation as she didn't wanna be mean to him.

“I could also be your coach on teaching you how to walk on two feet,” Grimm told him, smirking.

“You guys…” Leona growled, glaring at them. “The moment I stay quiet, you all really couldn’t shut your mouths.”

Then, Crewel hit him with his whip. “Stop barking!”

She flinched at the noise. Oof, that’s gotta hurt.

The teacher smiled and placed a hand on his hip. “Listen up, puppies. Take in Schoenheit’s lesson and finish up the most perfect show ever!” He ordered them.

“Come on. Immediately start the lesson for the Fairy Gala!” Vil smirked.

And with that, he started coaching the three performers. In the meantime, Mari and Ruggie decided to practice their part. She sat down on a chair, wearing a plastic crown that she pinned to her hair. It took them a few attempts to get it right.

“Wow, their performance is exquisite! I can’t help but keep my eyes on these mysterious fairies!” Mari exclaimed, doing her best to act her part as the fairy queen. It was difficult to keep herself from laughing.

“Got it!” Ruggie grinned, holding up her plastic crown that he swapped out. “Did you notice it?”

She shook her head. “That was perfect! I didn’t feel a thing. How long did it take?”

“Shishishi,” he did his signature laugh, “Only 6 seconds to take out the pins. Leona really thought that I’d need 10 seconds.”

“Great! Now all we need is for those three to get their act straight,” Grimm cheered and they decided to check on their progress, making their way to Pomefiore’s ballroom.

“It hurts,” Kalim groaned. “Sorry for bumping into you again.”

“Kalim, just now you were supposed to step forward. Timing is key,” Jamil told him in a calm manner.

“You have beautiful posture but you make too many mistakes when you swing your body that way,” Vil spoke up.

“When I get too excited, it’s hard to control my arms.” The white-haired dorm leader rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish expression on his face.

“And Jamil, you make no mistakes with your dance but it’s too perfect to the point that it lacks the atmosphere that would make the festival livelier.”

“Vil, thank you for your hard work. We came to see how practice is going,” Ruggie said, walking into the room with his hands resting behind his head. “Is our leader doing well?” He snickered, turning to Leona. They were greeted with a chaotic sight. Leona was balancing a couple of vases on his head and shoulders. Sounds of water sloshing around coming from inside the vases.

His eyes widened in shock. “What’s happened?!”

“Vil! Get these off of me!” Leona barked at the model.

“It’s a method for correcting your posture. You must walk around the room without pouring any water from the vase,” he responded.

“You bastard…!” Leona growled, before he got splashed with water. His clothes became soaked.

“Restart.” Vil remained calm, crossing his arms. “Don’t worry. We have plenty of water to refill.”

“AH I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE! I QUIT!” The soaked beastman cried out. “I don’t care if it going to keep snowing, I can’t keep doing these stupid things.”

Ruggie sighed, his ears folded. He shrugged. “Leona is hopeless. Kalim and Jamil keep messing up when dancing. Can we really keep up when the day of the Fairy Gala arrives?” He wondered.

“If they fail to capture the audience’s attention, we’ll be the ones in danger when we need to swap out the crown.” Grimm wore a fearful expression, holding onto Mari for comfort.

Mari caressed her partner’s fur, contemplating what’s to come. “Maybe we should try a different plan…” She mumbled. But then again, it’s likely too late for that.

“No problem,” Vil reassured them, still oddly calm as ever. “I’ll bet with my model spirit that I'll make the “Monopolize both the crown and their attention” plan successful.”

“But how are you going to do it?” Ruggie asked.

A smile formed on his handsome features.

“There’s only one way to make this work.”

Then his face broke out into a harsh glare, piercing the souls of anyone who dared look directly into his eyes. “By being stricter! If I need to force your own body to memorize the correct posture, then I will beat them into you so that you can never forget!”

SMACK!

The three men screamed in pain and shock. Everyone’s eyes were wide open, including the stealth group.

“He’s using magic to slap their butts!” Ruggie exclaimed.

Vil crossed his arms, continuing to direct his merciless glare at them. If looks could kill, they’d be sent straight to the Underworld. “Three of you, stand up. From now on, if you sit down without my permission, I’ll have you squat 500 times.”

“Leona, place the vase on your head and redo it. If you pour it, squat for an hour.”

His expression turned into one of exasperation. “We can’t keep doing this if you don’t train your body.”

He turned to the two Scarabia students. “Kalim and Jamil, three-legged run around the school if either one of you makes a mistake. It’s a joint responsibility.”

“No way…!”

Leona glared back. “Acting all bossy… Just who the fuck do you think you are?!”

“Worldwide supermodel, Vil Schoenheit!” he shouted and used his magic to spank their butts once more. The force was so strong that it caused tears to come out of Kalim’s eyes.

“What a demon coach…” Grimm muttered under his breath and hid behind his supervisor.

Grueling training has begun for the three poor unfortunate souls.

Today was the day of the Fairy Gala. The group had been preparing, making sure that everything was perfect. Vil was applying makeup on them, his expertise in cosmetics was truly something awe-inspiring. He made sure to accentuate their best features and give them makeup looks to die for.

“It’s your turn,” he turned to the prefect, who sat on a chair in front of him. His fingers hooked from under her chin and tilted her head up to get a better look at what he’s gotta work with. She gazed back at him with curiosity sparkling in her eyes. He hummed for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Your inner beauty revolves around your motherly heart. So, I’d like to give you a more innocent and demure, yet mature look.”

The model got to applying the makeup. She followed whatever instructions he gave her while he did so. It was quite a pleasant experience getting her makeup done by him. As he worked, the rest of the group fixed their costumes.

“Where do I wrap this cloth?” She could hear Kalim ask from behind Vil.

“Give it to me. Just put it on your shoulder… Okay, done.” Jamil helped him out.

“Wearing these expensive clothes really got me feeling nervous… And itchy,” Ruggie mumbled.

“Just act natural and the fairies will think you’re one of them. Don’t be nervous,” Leona spoke up.

Vil stepped back to survey his work, seeing whether he was satisfied with it or not. He leaned in and added a few more finishing touches and a small smile pulled at his lips. He took a small hand mirror and showed it to her.

Her eyes widened in shock. She looked… ethereal. The overall style was more natural compared to the others as he didn’t want it to clash with the overall aesthetic of her costume. She had dusty rose pink strawberry-scented lip gloss that shimmered in the light and highlights only served to make her seem angelic. A delicate beauty that seemed out of this world. The true meaning of exotic.

He took everything into account and made a masterpiece. And it was enough for Mari to see herself as gorgeous, which she believed to be an impossible feat until now.

“I take it that you’re speechless at my skill.” Vil’s voice reached her ears. All she could do was nod in silence, mouth agape. He chuckled. “You’ve graduated from potato to beautiful fairy. At least, for today. If you worked harder, you could maintain your beauty.”

She looked up at him with a shining grin and sparkling eyes. “Thanks, Vil!”

After sprinkling fairy powder on her, he stepped back and allowed the rest of the group to see her. But if one were to look closer, they might’ve noticed the red dusting his ears.

“Everyone is so sparkly...” Grimm smiled.

“That is thanks to the needlework, but the effect mostly comes from the fairy powder,” Jamil explained.

“It looks really good on you guys,” Mari complimented them, chuckling.

“That’s my line,” Leona said, then turned to her. He eyed her up and down before he smirked. “Not bad for a herbivore, I guess.”

“Yeah, you look exactly like a fairy.” Jamil smiled, crossing his arms.

She couldn’t help but blush at the compliments, “Thank you…”

“Are you guys ready?” Vil asked. He gave them a firm glare. “If you lose focus now, our strict lessons will be for nothing. Look at the mirror, check your makeup.”

They all checked their appearances one last time to make sure everything was perfect.

“We started from an unsightly situation so I wasn’t sure if this was going to work.” He sighed, before a smile creeped up on his lips. “But I guess it’s not that bad after seeing the finished look.”

“Vil…” Kalim sniffed, before he wrapped his arms around the tall blond and embraced him. “VIL! Thanks to you, I can dance on the runway. I’ll do my best!”

“Don’t forget about the original goal,” he reminded him. His features softened up, a gentle smile on his face. It was rare to see him like this. “The mission is to get back the stone that the fairies stole from us.”

Aw, they looked so cute like that. After that little exchange, Scarabia’s dorm leader let go of him.

Vil closed his eyes and crossed his arms. “If we lose the magic stone, the usual school life will never come back again.”

He gave them a harsh glare. “Listen up, okay? It’s war on the runway.”

Then, he smirked. “Grab the crown and their attention with the greatest performance of all time!” His words were encouraging, filling the girl with a sense of determination. The fire in her soul burned brightly, undying.

“Alright!”

Vil looked out the window with an unreadable expression. He was confident in his ability to coach, so he shouldn’t have to worry about them messing up. At least, that’s what he told himself. However, something else was on his mind. It irked him to think that a magicless potato of a freshman would have such an effect on him. But he remembered the way she gazed at him with such genuine admiration. Her smile seemed to shine brighter than any star.

He was no idiot, and he was certainly not the type to deny his feelings. He knew exactly what he was feeling. Rook had always blabbered to him nonstop about this sort of subject. Not only that, but he was aware that he wasn’t the only one. Other men had been vying for her attention for far longer than he has been.

But no matter. He just had to show her why he’s the best option.

#vil schoenheit #twst vil #twst vil schoenheit #twst #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit x mc #vil x mc #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #kalim al asim #jamil viper #twst grimm

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crystalwillow · 4 years ago

Text

Pitter Patter, Part One

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x Georgia Valentine (F!MC)

Collab With: @brycelahelalover

Word Count: 4.5K

We loved our last collab we done last time that @brycelahelalover and I decided to do another one. In this one Bryce and F!MC are having a baby and learning to become the best parents they can be, so their child doesn’t have to experience what they did as children. I am adding some personal feelings and thoughts to my part of this collab. So it is a little but about me and what type of person I was going through school and my thought process and how that has developed over the years up until now, when I’m 22. I hope you enjoy this one! Remember to keep an eye out for part 2 which will be posted by Chahnaz, as well as a little side story she wants to write too.

=================================

She had always had a hard time trusting people, but in particular, she’d had a hard time trusting men all her life. She was the shy kid in school who had a small group of people she would hang out with and if they weren’t at school she would always find a quiet spot to sit by herself and pass the time by sitting studying for a subject as she ate her lunch. She never caught anyone’s eye, meaning she never had a relationship. Though that was much to her relief as she already had enough to deal with, and there was no way she could handle a relationship. So when she started her time at Edenbrook hospital after graduating med school, she had no idea that she would be where she is now at 31.

--- 8 Years Earlier ---

“You seriously don’t see children in your future?! Like at all?”

Georgia shook her head as she swallowed her bite of pasta salad at the question asked by one of her friends, Angelica.

“Nope. Not at all.”

“Why?”

Georgia shrugged. “I just... don’t feel like that’s in the cards for me so why bother thinking about it?”

Angelica smiled sadly and gently rubbed Georgia’s wrist before saying goodbye and heading back behind the counter of the coffee shop to continue with her work, leaving her friend to study for an exam.

--- Present Day ---

Bryce sat up in bed with a loud yawn as he stretched out, the person beside him groaning in tired annoyance. “Shut up.” they mumbled, rolling over and stuffing the pillow over their head. Bryce grinned lazily before laying over them and resting his head on the pillow. “Ahhh yes. Much comfier... I should have ordered the Georgia style mattress when I brought the frame instead.” he teased. “Get off of me you fat oaf.” Georgia protested, her voice muffled beneath the pillow.

“It even talks.. cool. Creepy.. but still cool. Tell me, do you love me?”

“Yes. You know I do.”

“mhm. Are you in love with me.”

“Bryce...” she sighed.

“Tell me.”

“I can’t breathe. I’ll tell you that for free. Anything else and you’re gonna have to pay.”

Bryce Chuckled rolling off of her and back onto his half of the bed, Georgia throwing the pillow off of her head.

“Wow. You are RED.”

“And you’re clearly in the wrong profession, Sherlock Holmes.” She retorted smugly.

Bryce looked at his girlfriend with his trademark smirk and eyes sparkling with mischief before launching himself at her and smothering her with affectionate kisses and a massive hug, resting his head in the crook of her neck as she hugged him back.

“We need to get up Bryce.”

“I don’t want to.”

“We have to. I have work and you have shopping to do.”

Bryce groaned into Georgia’s neck and she laughed at him. “Come on.”

“Nope.”

“Bryce.”

“Ugh, finee. But you owe me later.”

“I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

“You had better.”

--- 4 Hours Later ---

Georgia was walking through a hall on her way to the cafeteria to get some coffee, when a blur of colour zoomed past knocking her into the wall. “Oof.” she said aloud as someone came back around the corner, when she met the persons eyes she took in a sharp breath. Bryce looked at her apologetically.

“Sorry babe.”

“No, it’s okay. What are you doing here anyway? I thought it was your day off?”

“It was supposed to be, but I’ve been called in to assist on an emergency surgery. We’ll have to finish the shopping together later.”

“Oh. Okay, well... good luck.” She smiled and went up on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss before he rushed off again. As she trudged onward, Georgia ran into Zaid who waved her over.

“What’s up?” she asked as she stopped beside him

“Baz told me that you’re needed upstairs.”

“Oh. Okay, thank you.” She smiled as Zaid nodded curtly and left, leaving Georgia to go up to the diagnostics office.

When she got there the team was already half way through a differential, she took a seat and done her best to catch up despite the fiery death glares her boss was giving her. They were strong enough that she could have sworn her skin was burning.

“That would be everything for now. And Valentine.”

“Y-yes, Dr. Ramsey?”

“I won’t accept tardiness on my team. If it happens again you can kiss your spot goodbye. Understood?”

“Yes, Dr. Ramsey, Sir.”

She bowed and backed out of the room as if he was royalty before turning around and heading off to her patients again. Later in the day she met up with Bryce and they went to finish the grocery shopping together. Though the car ride there seemed quiet and tense as Georgia looked out of the window with a distant look in her eyes.

“Are you okay sweetheart?” Bryce asked, concern on his face as he darted glances to the seat beside him. But he got no answer. “Geor-”

“I’m fine.” She snapped out of seemingly nowhere forcing Bryce into a silence making the atmosphere in the car very awkward. When they reached the parking lot of the store and Bryce killed the engine after parking the car she spoke up again. “You stay here. I’ll get everything we need.”

She still had that tone in her voice and Bryce could tell she was doing it again. Trying to put distance between them, and it was then he registered what the look in her eyes truly was. A mix of fear and uncertainty. Sighing, he locked them in the car and took her hand in his tentatively and stroked the back with his other spare one. “Babe. It’s okay.” He whispered looking at her even though she refused to look back at him. “I understand that you get scared. And that’s okay, Just please... don’t push me away. I’m here for you Georgia. Through whatever life will throw at you. I’m in your corner.” He watched for a reaction from her, but she just shook her head as she blinked back tears. “Oh sugarplum.” He sighed, unbuckling her seatbelt and pulling her into his lap. She silently snuggled closer into him as he rubbed soothing circles onto her back and kissed the top of her head delicately as if she was an expensive piece of antique china porcelain he couldn’t afford to break. Georgia cried quietly into his chest until she fell asleep, Bryce laying her in the back of the car and covering her with a blanket before locking the car and heading inside to do the shopping himself. By the time she woke up, they were back at Bryce’s apartment and her head was in Bryce’s lap as he watched a show on TV whilst absentmindedly playing with her hair. Her slight movement and yawn alerted him to the fact she was awake now. He glanced down to find her glistening green eyes looking up at him, they were still tired and had a mix of emotions flowing through them.

“Hey.” He said with a soft smile at her, which she returned.

“Hey.” She whispered back, sitting up to stretch some more before laying back in Bryce’s lap, his hand going back to playing with her hair. “I’m sorry for earlier.” She mumbled, staring at the screen as if it was a window.

Bryce sighed. “It’s alright. You’ve explained everything to me before. I’m not mad. You’re perception of men hasn’t exactly been the greatest growing up. Your dad wasn’t the best, your mom only ever dated men who would break her heart and was too stubborn to end things because she didn’t want to give the man the satisfaction of her doing so. And I’m your first ever love. Navigating a relationship when you haven’t had the best examples is hard, I get that. I mean, look at my parents. I’m blessed because they stayed together, but... they weren’t the best example of what love should be. When I say I’m in your corner, I mean it. We’re in this whole adventure together. It’s new and scary for both of us, but don’t let the feeling of fear rule your thoughts. I’m not leaving you, I love you too much. I’d be insane to leave such a beautiful woman. There’s nobody like you. You’re smart, funny, caring. You may not see it yourself but you’re also very courageous at times. Nothing is going to change the way I feel about you, ever.”

Georgia smiled at him as a tear rolled down her cheek. She had only been awake for approximately 5 minutes and he had made her cry. Bryce looked down when he heard a sniffle and looked at her with a look of adoration mixed with concern.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just... you’re so sweet when were together. Why don’t you show this side more often?”

“You mean in public with our friends?”

She nodded.

“Because this side of me is reserved for moments like this. Where it is just us, and I can be as sappy and loving and worshipping of you as I like without judgement from the likes of Jackie.”

“Bryce...” Georgia smiled genuinely as he bent down to press a soft kiss to her lips. She kissed him back, and when they pulled away their lips were a little plumper.

--- 3 Weeks Later ---

Bryce sighed as he got into his car after one of the most intense surgeries he had conducted, he was equal parts worried as he was tired. What was so urgent that Georgia wanted to speak about? He was taken over by confusion as he drove towards his apartment where he knew his girlfriend was waiting for him. As he parked in the lot of the complex, he took a moment to breathe as he killed the engine before heading upstairs on tired feet. As he opened the door, the familiar smell of his favourite rice dish hit his nostrils and he perked up a bit before dread overtook his senses. If she had cooked his favourite meal what was this about if not breaking up? He stepped over the threshold and closed the door, tossing his keys into the bowl on the table by the door, and hung his jacket on the coat stand, before kicking his shoes off and wriggling his toes with a sigh of relief.

“Bryce!”

“Ah!!” he screamed as his girlfriend ran over and jumped into his arms, hugging tightly.

“I missed you today.”

“I missed you too, honey” he yawned.

Georgia lead him to the couch and sat him down. “You relax here. Dinner is almost ready.” She said with a smile and kiss to his cheek before heading back to his kitchen. When she returned she was carrying a tray that had a massive bowl of rice and chicken on it.

“I’m too tired to lift a fork right now babe. I just got out of an 11 hour surgery and-”

“Stop right there. That’s why there’s only one bowl, I’m going to feed you because you need to eat.”

Bryce smiled with a small chuckle. “You’re going to make an amazing mother to our children one day. You know that?” He asked as he turned his head to look at her, suddenly feeling more alert when he registered how serious her expression had turned. “Is... Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Yeah...”

Georgia placed the tray on the coffee table and sat next to him as he sat forwards and turned his body to face her, and they took each other’s hands.

“Is there something wrong? Are you unable to have them? Because that doesn’t matter if that’s the problem, we can adopt. There’s hundreds of children looking for loving homes. And.”

“Bryce. Will you shut up for one minute and let me talk?” she asked as she cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah. Of course, sorry. I just.”

“It’s okay. I understand. But I wanted to talk about it because I think I’m ready. To start trying for a child. That is.. if you are too?” she said with hopefulness in her tone.

Bryce looked at her as a silence stretched out between them, he watched in awed perplexation as she lightly bit her lower lip, internally asking himself if this was really happening and if he was ready for this step in their relationship too. After a while, Georgia started to get worried.

“Babe? ... B-Bryce?” she asked, her voice loud in the silence bringing Bryce back to the present moment. He looked down at their hands held in one another’s a small smile creeping onto his features as hot tears of emotion pricked his eyes. He looked up to be met with her green orbs sparkling with a mix of emotions as he cleared his throat.

“Yeah.” He nodded, squeezing her hands. “I’m ready too.”

Time seemed to stop in that moment for them yet still go on around them as they hugged tightly whispering sweet nothings to each other and shared kisses that were equally as sweet. They shared the bowl of food and washed it down with their favourite drinks before they both headed to bed, exhausted from their days.

Two months after their discussion, Bryce and Georgia started trying seriously for a child. Soon the days turned to weeks, weeks to months and months to almost a full year until the morning of his 33rd birthday Bryce was woken up by an ear-piercing scream. He flew out of bed and into the bathroom where he found Georgia on the floor crying, and spotted a pregnancy test on the side. He walked over and risked peaking at it, breath catching in his throat as he saw it.

“Babe...” he said quietly as he crouched beside her and pulled her into a hug. Tears glistening his eyes too. Georgia couldn’t manage any words that morning as they got ready and made their way to work other than what food she wanted from the coffee shop as they stopped off on their way to Edenbrook. When they reached the hospital they stopped in the atrium and took a seat on a bench close to the main doors.

“How are you feeling?” Bryce asked

“.... Shocked. I...”

Bryce smiled and squeezed her hand tightly, conveying he knew exactly how she felt with his touch and the look he gave her.

“I wasn’t ready to see a positive after so many negatives. I just. I can hardly process my thoughts. I... How are you feeling?” she asked back looking into his eyes only to be met with a warm, excited smile.

“Honestly. Pretty great, this is like, the best birthday present ever.”

Georgia froze as she suddenly remembered what day it was.

“Ohmygosh. I’m so sorry, I’d planned to cook breakfast for you and everything. Not wake you up by screaming and crying on your bathroom floor.”

“It’s fine babe, honestly. But I have been meaning to talk to you about us too.”

“You have?”

Bryce nodded, uncertainty clouding his eyes for a brief moment before being replaced by his trademark happiness. “I’ve been thinking maybe we should move in together now. I mean, we’re taking the step of having a child, so it only makes sense we live in the same place now instead of separately. Which has been torturous for me by the way.” He said teasingly.

Georgia smiled at him. “We should give it thought for today and talk it over in more detail tonight after work, back at my place.”

“Yeah, sure. No problem.”

They both leaned forward for a kiss, but it was cut short at the sound of a familiar voice ringing out through the atrium.

“VALENTINE!”

Georgia cringed at the sound of Dr. Ramsey’s voice and pulled away with a sigh. “Sorry. I should.. get going.” She whispered.

“Okay. Come. Find me. Later.” Bryce said with a smile, kissing her between each word.

Georgia gave him a smile and returned his kisses before taking her bag and following her boss up to the office to start her day at work.

Inside the office before the morning consult started, Dr. Ramsey rounded on the young doctor.

“You’ve had all morning to suck face rookie, I suggest if you want to do it for longer that you give up your spot for someone who will value it and not act with such reckless abandon.”

“Are you a female, Dr. Ramsey?”

“I’m sorry?” He asked, everyone looking at Georgia confused.

“Are you a female? Did you find out this morning that your pregnant? Is it your boyfriends birthday? And last but certainly not least, is the topic of later discussion with your boyfriend already in your mind? In other words... Are you walking amongst the clouds this morning, Dr. Ramsey?”

“I-”

“You’re pregnant?! Congratulations.” Baz exclaimed happily, wrapping her in a hug. “I’m going to be an uncle, can you believe it?!”

“I’m sure Zaid is going to be thrilled.” A stuck up voice said

“Excuse me. Zaid Mirani is very good with children and not half as bad as he portrays himself.” Georgia said defensively to the posh, stuck up woman who had replaced June’s spot on the team.

“And for future reference, you address Dr. Ramsey with respect as he dese-”

“I suggest you, Dr. Portavia, address the members of my team who have been here longer than you with respect. Including myself. Dr. Valentine is well within her rights to talk to me as she was. We have somewhat of a friendship outside of these walls, I take the boss position too harshly sometimes in moments where I shouldn’t. Now. If we are done with the arguments?”

The team sat around the table. Baz next to Georgia as always and 2 seats left empty between themselves and Dr. Portavia as Dr. Ramsey briefed the team on their new patient.

---

Consumed by the busyness of her day and lost in the amount of tasks she had to do, Georgia completely lost track of time until she ran into Bryce and saw him in his regular clothes.

“Hey babe.” She greeted with a smile and quick kiss before turning to her patients chart she had placed on the desk of the nurses station.

“Hey.” Bryce said back with a yawn. “How are you?”

“Pretty good. Today is hectic but I’d be lying if that wasn’t one of the aspects of this job that excites me.”

“Today? Honey, when was the last time you sat down?”

“In the diagnostics office after I left you this morning.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes. I’ve had a cereal bar that was in my pocket. Other than that I’ve just been keeping my water intake way up. ... Not really had the chance to stop for longer than 2 minutes.”

“And... what day is it?”

Georgia gave a chuckle. “It’s your birthday silly.” But her expression fell as she took in the serious look of concern on Bryce’s face. “Wh-what is it?”

“It’s 4:27am of the day after my birthday.”

“What? No it’s not.”

“Georgia. I’ve been waiting at your place for you all night.”

“But...”

“No buts. You’re clocking out and coming home with me. Now.”

Georgia sighed as she felt sadness and a pang of guilt radiate in her chest. She’d missed her boyfriend’s birthday completely, and now she felt completely rotten.

“Oh. O-okay then. I’ll just... get my... stuff.” She stuttered before heading off to the locker room. Bryce flagging down a nearby nurse and asking them to keep an eye on all of her patients. On their way out they passed Ethan coming into the hospital. He stopped in his tracks as he heard Bryce’s hushed words towards Georgia.

“...you’re pregnant now. You can’t pull almost 24 hour shifts and survive on cereal bars and water anymore. You need to take care of 2 people now.”

Equal parts intrigued and worried, Ethan called out to them.

“Valentine. Lahela.”

Georgia and Bryce stopped in their tracks and turned to him.

“Hey Eth- Dr. Ramsey.” Georgia said sweetly whilst Bryce gave a curt nod to the attending.

“Are you only now going home?” Ethan asked

“I uh...”

“She is. Though I don’t see why it concerns you.” Bryce said coolly

“Bryce. He’s my boss.”

“Right.”

An intense awkward moment passed between the three of them as Bryce stared as Ethan with his chest puffed out, holding Georgia’s hand protectively. They all knew why, but Bryce needn’t worry. Ethan was aware that Georgia didn’t reciprocate his feelings towards her in a romantic way and they were contently settled on being friends. That didn’t stop Bryce from being protective of what was his though, he felt it was his duty to protect her from other bachelors. Young or old.

It was Ethan who broken the silence. “Right, well um. Take the day off and rest properly. I’ll see you tomorrow Valentine.” He said with a soft smile and single nod before heading to the elevators, Bryce walking out to his car still protectively holding Georgia’s hand. When they got back to her apartment Bryce carried Georgia up to her front door, only placing her on her feet to open the door before picking her up again and taking her inside and straight to her bed.

“Keep your butt planted here, I’ll heat up your dinner.”

“Okay.”

Bryce turned quickly and made his way to the kitchen so that Georgia wouldn’t see the worry in his eyes. When he came back with a plate full of steaming hot food, he found the bed empty.

“Babe?” he sighed, placing the plate on the bedside table

“Yeah?”

Bryce turned around and saw Georgia behind him.

“I thought I told you to keep your butt on the bed?”

“I needed to pee.”

“... so?”

“So I went. I wasn’t going to pee my bed Bryce.”

Bryce sighed with dejected tiredness. “Just. Eat your dinner, I’ll come by later or sometime tomorrow and we can talk about moving in together then okay?”

“You... aren’t going to stay?”

“I have a shift that starts in an hour and a half. I can’t.”

“Oh. Okay. Well um, see you later. I love you!” Georgia called out as Bryce moved past her and out of the front door. Guilt settled in Georgia’s chest as she heard the door close behind him, her ‘I love you.’ left unreturned.

--- The Next Day ---

It was late in the afternoon the next day and Georgia was half way through her rounds when she bumped into someone’s chest as she rounded a corner.

“Oh! Sor- Oh. Bryce.” She said as she turned her gaze to the floor and maneuvered around him and carried on her way. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since he left her in her apartment to head to work the previous morning, so she knew to avoid him. It had always been that way for her, she had a good relationship with someone, things went great, then she got carried away with something she loves to do and makes them mad, they don’t talk to her, she avoids them. So when Bryce caught her arm gently and pulled her back, it took her by surprise and her breath hitched.

“I have work to do. I need to get to the lab.” She said professionally never meeting his gaze.

“I’ll walk with yo-”

“No. I’m internal medicine. You’re a surgeon. There’s no reason we need to be walking together unless we’re heading to the same patient room.”

“I’m also your boyfriend.”

“Are you? Because the last time I checked, even if a boyfriend is mad with their other half, they at least send them a message saying hey, hoping their okay and ending it with I love you. Which by the way, you never returned. So if you’ll excuse me, I have to get some run-ups done on these blood samples.” Georgia huffed as she turned on her heel and stomped towards the labs.

“Georgia!” Bryce called out as he chased her through the halls.

“Just leave me alone, Bryce.”

“Would you just talk to me for a second and tell me what’s wrong?!”

Georgia halted to an abrupt stop.

“I told you what’s wrong Bryce. You’ve not text me back, you’ve ignored my calls and you never returned my ‘I love you.’ yesterday. I’m pregnant with your goddamn child and you’re acting like one all because I lost track of time and almost worked 24 hours! I get that could have endangered the baby but I’m a doctor, Bryce. I was going to eat a proper meal as soon as I got home.”

“And when was that going to be?”

“As soon as I’d filled in those charts and said goodnight to my patients. I was 20 minutes from being done for the day when you dragged me away.”

“I did not drag you!”

“I’m not saying you physically dragged me.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Georgia just gave him a look and just like he had done to her, walked away from him without another word, leaving Bryce to throw his arms up in exasperation before heading back to work. Soon months had passed, and Georgia was now 7 months pregnant. She and Bryce got over there little bump and had made the decision to move into a 3 bed house close to Edenbrook, which they had both gotten the day off of work to move into properly. Georgia watched from the top of the stairs as Bryce carried in the last box from his car, kicking the door shut behind him. Feeling her gaze on him, he looked up flashing his trademark grin with a wink.

“Like what you see?”

“What I see impregnated me, sooo..”

“Fair point.” He chuckled then pointed to the box. “Last one. Where’s it going? It’s not labelled.”

“In our bedroom.” Georgia smiled before heading towards the nursery to carry on clicking the pieces of the plastic drawers that would hold the toys together. She was clicking the wheels in place when Bryce came in the room smiling at her.

“What?” Georgia asked with a brow raised in curiosity.

“Nothing. I just feel like a proper adult now. I have a job, a beautiful girlfriend, we have a baby on the way and we just got our first place together.” He said, sitting next to her and pulling her to his chest as he leant back on the wall. Georgia smiling up at him. “Yeah. It does feel pretty great doesn’t it?” she smiled. They stayed there in the spot for a while, just looking out of the window and watching the trees swaying in the wind before carrying on with building, and setting things up. After a long day moving into their new house, they settled into bed after enjoying a warm bubble bath together, excited for the day they would be able to finally meet their bundle of joy.

#pixelberry studios #playchoices #choices stories you play #dr bryce lahela #bryce lahela #bryce lahela x f!mc #bryce lahela fanfiction #oph f!mc #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction #dr bryce lahela x f!mc

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lihikainanea · 5 years ago

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Oof, but also imagine Bill being particularly rough with you, manhandling, taunting, teasing, telling you to be a good girl but giving you every reason to disobey. The way Bill would moan when you clenched around him. Oooooooof

So your ask is not directly about their gentle dom/sub relationship but it’s on my mind a LOT and I need an outlet.

I’ve talked a bit a lot before (check out my #sub tiger tag!) about this concept that like....as much as tiger craves that small headspace and the feeling she gets, as much as she needs that release--Bill also craves her submission. Craves that sense of power, that magnitude and depth of trust that comes with her being submissive for him. It’s a delicate balance but a really beautiful one--at least I think it is--Tiger gets what she needs out of their dynamic, but so does Bill.

And that includes punishment. And listen, here’s the thing--I bet Bill needs this from her when he’s been having a really shitty time. He gets down on himself a lot, he’s prone to being insanely hard on himself, and when he’s feeling like absolute shit and berating himself it’s hard for him to feel worthy of...anything. But knowing that tiger trusts him--that makes him feel worthy. Knowing that he’s making her feel good--that makes him feel worthy. Knowing that she’s comfortable enough to show him all of her vulnerabilities and trust him to take care of her and make it better? That makes him feel very worthy indeed. Because he thinks the world of tiger, and if she trusts him with all of that--then god, he must be doing something right. He must be worth just a small something.

But now this is where I melt: Tiger needs the punishment aspect in their relationship. She needs it because it helps her feel forgiven, it helps her give up the control when she needs to, it helps her let go of a lot of what is stressing her out and it lets her mind go blank. She needs the total absolve of it, and she needs it because it makes her feel worthy, too. Worthy of his praise, his correction, his discipline and the opportunity to be good for him again. Punishment speaks to her vulnerabilities, it speaks to her need to let someone else worry about her safety and wellbeing and happiness.

But Bill needs the punishment aspect of their relationship because he needs the power that it brings. He needs the responsibility of her total and complete trust in him, the authority to enforce the rules in their relationship. And this is what kills me every time--for as much as punishment speaks to tiger’s vulnerability, it also speak to Bill’s need to care for her, and the ability to do so. To provide. To the be the only one who not only CAN give her what she needs, but the one who DOES give her what she needs. Every time.

So listen, if he’s goading her? If he’s trying to force her to misbehave, or at least making it VERY difficult for her to behave? it’s because he needs it. He needs to punish her, needs her submission. And this is only 100% if he knows she’s in the mindset where she can handle being disobedient and it won’t crush her. If she’s already feeling a little small for him--forget it, forcing her to be a little disobedient would be devastating. But if she’s doing alright in her head? If she’s getting a little sassy on him? Oh, she’ll be in for a world of pain.

And he’s a real dick about it, I’ll bet. He won’t tie her up, but he’ll lie her down spread eagle on the bed and go down on her--while ordering her not to move. Not to make a fucking sound. He’ll be real mean and menacing about it, and tiger will try so goddamn hard but forget it, it’s losing battle (and maybe she really doesn’t even try all that hard, she knows what her Big Dude needs). Or maybe he just tells her to keep her hands over her head while he trails his lips down her neck, across her chest, sucking lower and lower--and that too, is a fucking losing battle. He’ll bring her right to the brink and then tell her not to come, but he won’t ease up his pace or do anything to help her stave it off. He’ll have a mighty big hand in provoking her disobedience, because he needs the utter calm, the complete control, the power of her punishment and subsequent small headspace that she always gets into after.

And if we go one step further...once tiger knows she’s in for a punishment, I’ll bet she starts provoking him. Just to make sure it’s a real harsh one, to make sure that HE gets all of his frustrations out and gets what he needs from her.

It’s just....unf, it’s delicious isn’t it?

#sub tiger #BFF!Bill #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble

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mycupoffanfiction · 5 years ago

Text

His Second Chance Part 5

Bucky x Reader

His Second Chance Masterlist

Bucky comes back from Wakanda with Steve, ready to begin his recovery from his days as the Winter Soldier, but there’s one thing he doesn’t take into account - you.

Warnings: Angst angst angst, anxiety, fluff, language.

Word count: Approx 2700

Thank you to @whatsupbucky for the ideas for angst!

Masterlist

Oof okay, Bucky is struggling with his self sabotage and negative thoughts. I’m just gonna leave this here...

Happy Sunday everyone 😅

Please don’t hesitate to leave suggestions or thoughts! TAG LISTS ARE OPEN! (Permanent and His Second Chance lists)

_____________________________

Okay come on Barnes, she asked you to try. Is it so hard to just try? Bucky fiddled with the washing machine as you pottered about behind him. How do you… Okay, this button and then turn that thing to… Nope, I’m confused. Very confused. Bucky stood, towering over the washing machine, huffing and puffing as he panicked about which buttons to press and what all of those confusing and terribly non descriptive symbols meant. Come on, you have done far more complicated things than working out a washing machine.

“Remember it’s the symbol that looks like waves.” You called over your shoulder as you dug through the washing pile, butt sticking out. Why did you have a habit of sticking your butt out? Didn’t matter, Bucky wasn’t about to complain. Symbol that looks like… Waves. There were easily three symbols that could be interpreted like that. Was it, this one? Bucky twisted the dial, causing the machine to beep loudly. “Ooh.” Bucky retracted his hand from the machine. Nope, nope, nope. “Oh, no, it’s this one, silly.” You said so casually, twisting the dial for him to the correct setting. “And press the green button.” You pointed at it, causing Bucky to nod. This was much harder than he’d expected it to be. It was just washing.

“Are you okay?” You asked, head tilted to the side as you not so delicately rammed your pile of washing into an adjacent machine, probably with more force than needed. “Bucky?” You stepped towards him a little. “How was your day?” Bucky blurted out, turning back to the washer quickly and jabbing the green button. The washer gurgled and buzzed as it started up, startling Bucky a little as he stepped back. “Uh, well it’s only ten in the morning, so good so far. I baked some muffins after my session with Stevie.” You smiled; Bucky had never asked you how your day was. Hmm Muffins, chocolate chip I hope. “You can try one when we get back upstairs if you like.” You bounced on the balls of your feet.

“How is your morning going?” You asked, paying little attention to how confused and freaked out Bucky was by the noises the washing machine made. “Uh, it’s okay.” Bucky nodded, following you out of the room. “Did you do anything?” You asked as you both walked down the corridor to the elevator. “No.” Bucky shook his head. “Nothing at all? You know you can relax and do things you’d like to do, right?” You smiled up at him. I wish I could. Bucky looked down at you and immediately looked away. “Maybe we should cook together, I can show you how to…” Your voice became muffled in Bucky’s ears. He wanted to spend time with you, but it felt so overwhelming. “Sure.” Bucky nodded. No, what are you doing Barnes? “Perfect! We should make some brownies or something and then we can hang out together while they bake and have lunch together afterwards.” You beamed as you bounced into the elevator, waiting for Bucky to join you before pressing the button for your shared floor. “Sounds good.” Bucky nodded. No. No it does not, it’s too goddamn much.

Oh this feels weird. Bucky Barnes, a domestic man… No, that would never happen in a million years. This wasn’t right, it was too normal, it felt uncomfortable. Bucky stood in the middle of the kitchen, trailing behind you and ‘helping’ by taking things you were handing him and putting them on the counter. The big, burly soldier, who was effectively a very tall wall of muscle was wearing your bright yellow apron, it was too small for him, but you had just about managed to get the string to reach around the back. “Can you weigh three hundred grams of this please?” You ask, plopping a bag of flour into his hands. “Mhm.” Bucky nodded. Simple right?

No. Not simple.

Bucky poured the flour into a bowl on the scales a bit too fast, causing white dust to cloud everywhere. Bucky opened his eyes, he felt strange, but his heart melted a little when you started giggling. You were also covered in a puff of flour, although judging by your reaction, Bucky had it much worse than you did. “It’s all in your beard!” You laughed, grabbing a tea towel and reaching up. Bucky had to stop himself from catching your wrist with his hand to stop you from touching him, but he took a deep breath and let you brush the towel gently over his beard. Oh how he wished it was your bare fingers running through his beard, scratching and rubbing. He wasn’t ready for it though, but he ached for it, ached for your touch, even though he knew it might hurt.

Bucky accidentally and involuntarily hummed at the feeling of you wiping his beard for him and you grinned up at him. Mm, that felt nice. God that gorgeous smile, it was enough to get him to do anything you asked him to do. He just couldn’t refuse you. “There, perhaps be more gentle with the ingredients.” You giggled, putting the towel back on the front of the oven handle.

“Can we just have coffee. And uh- and talk?” Bucky asked as you slid the baking tray into the oven. You glanced over your shoulder at him, a small, shy smile on your lips as you nodded. “What do you want to talk about?” You ask, closing the oven and setting the timer. “You.” Bucky blurted out. “Well, I-.” He stumbled over his words. “Want to get to know you more.” Bucky managed to finish properly. Good, okay progress, gotta stop cutting yourself off when it gets too much. You grinned at him and nodded before padding over to the coffee machine to prepare a cup each. “What do you want to know? Hit me with your questions.” You threw him a smile over your shoulder as you loaded a coffee pod into the machine. “Not literally, I hope.” You added, giggling to yourself. Okay, what do you ask her? I didn’t think this far.

Bucky obviously paused to think for too long, so you just started talking about yourself to him, which Bucky actually appreciated, glad that he didn’t actually have to think of any starting questions. “Well, I’m from New York, I had a pretty horrible home life growing up. I don’t really have a biological family, but I definitely consider the Avengers as my family more than anything. I’m a complete nerd, I like videogames, movies, oh and comic books.” You listed off a few things. Wonder what you meant by a horrible home life, don’t ask, she probably doesn’t want you to ask. I wonder if that was why you were so anxious. “I also really like jumpers and soft socks, baking, eating too much chocolate, I also don’t like my morning sessions with Steve but that’s a secret and I’m trusting that you won’t tell him.” You winked at him, a little giggle passing your lips. Oof that cute little wink. “You can count on me.” Bucky smirked at you. Oh god, you felt like you had died and gone to heaven, that smirk almost killed you.

Sam burst into the kitchen “(Y/n)! Steve said you made muffins!” He practically barrelled into you, trying to reach around you for the rack on the counter where the muffins stood but you stopped him with your hands pressed firmly on his chest. Bucky wanted your hands on his chest, those delicate sweet hands. “Nah, ah, not for you Wilson.” You scolded, a finger poking out at him. Bucky had to stifle a chuckle at the way you scolded him. “Well who are they for?” Sam whined. “Not for you.” You maintained eye contact with him. “They’re for Bucky alright!” You caved. “Ooooh, look at you baking for Buckaroo.” Sam teased. “I made him muffins because you always get some and god knows how long it’s been since Bucky’s had a muffin or if he’s ever even had one!” You exclaimed, pushing Sam by the chest. Sam looked at you with big round eyes. “Pleeaase can I have one?” Sam begged. “You can have one.” You pointed sternly at him. “But you have to let me pick because I want Bucky to have the prettiest one, okay?” You frowned, crossing your arms. Why were you so cute? You had made muffins… Just for me, Christ what a lucky guy. “Here, now if you’ll excuse me, I was having a very nice conversation with Bucky.” You waved him away, Sam giving you a big cheesy grin as he backed away with his muffin.

You pulled your mug from the coffee machine and spooning a bit of sugar into your drink. “Here, I think this is the prettiest one.” You grin up at him as you slide a muffin across the counter to him. Not as pretty as you. God that was cheesy. I’m glad I didn’t say that out loud. Bucky scooped the muffin up, almost forgetting to peel the paper case off the base of it before taking a ridiculously large bite of the cake. Bucky let out a deep guttural moan, it was almost… Sexual. You blushed at the sound he made, watching as his eyes rolled in bliss. “So good.” Bucky spoke around the cake, voice muffled by the fluffy chocolate muffin. If you were going to get a reaction like that every time he tried something you baked, you would make him something every goddamn day.

So. Good. She’s too good for you, she’s too good to you. She doesn’t see the monster in you, that’s bad, you could hurt her. She’s too good to be hurt by someone like you.

Bucky stuffed down the rest of his muffin as his thoughts plagued him. You’re totally in love with her, if you just keep trying, things will get better.

No, things will get worse, she’ll start to see what a fucking monster you are, she’ll get scared. Bucky glanced across at you as you hummed the same rock song you always had stuck in your head whilst you sipped on your coffee.

Look at how pure and perfect she is and look at yourself, you’ll never be able to have that, you’ll never be able to have her. She’s too good and you’re not good enough.

Maybe the voice was right. Bucky’s positive thoughts were slowly drowning in the sea of negativity. You were going to hate him for sure, you’d see the monster he is and it would scare you, hurt you, drive you away. Bucky couldn’t live with himself if that ever happened. He needed to keep you safe, even if that hurt him to do it.

“Bucky, you have,” You paused, grabbing the tea towel again as you approached him. “Some flour on your beard still.” You smiled sweetly up at him as you neared his side. Your hand instinctively landed on his left pec, just below the metal and Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. Stop, stop it. Please don’t do that. Bucky fought the urge to yank himself away from you so hard as you slowly reached up with the towel. Bucky swallowed thickly as he watched your fingers curl around the towel, your eyes locked on his. The towel brushed over his beard and Bucky instantly relaxed at the feeling, his tense muscles loosening under your feather light touch. A little content sigh passed through his lips as he shut his eyes. “Do you like it when I touch you, Bucky?” You asked so innocently, a sweet little smile on your lips as you slowly replaced the towel with your bare fingers, the feeling of you brushing your fingertips over the hair there was heavenly for Bucky. You’re not allowed to like it, it’s not supposed to feel good, say no. “No.” he said gruffly. Are you kidding? That’s a straight up lie. Stop listening to that dumb voice and say yes. “Yes.” You looked at him thoroughly confused. You retracted your hand in confusion, did he want you to touch him? You weren’t sure anymore.

Nooo please come back. “Bucky.” You murmured. You were so close. So close. Your little hand on his pec, other hand hovering over his beard. “You confuse me.” You whispered. Bucky had to stifle a chuckle. It wasn’t funny, it shouldn’t be funny. “I confuse me too.” Bucky sighed, eyes not leaving yours as you stared up at him. You wondered what he could be thinking, he looked so void of emotion, so empty, you wondered what was going on in his head.

I wonder what it feels like to kiss someone again. Bucky maintained an inside smile as he looked down at you. Don’t be stupid, she wouldn’t want to kiss a monster like you. Bucky growled at his negative thought. You looked a little surprised as you stepped back at his growl. You pulled your hands away, thinking the growl was aimed at you. See you scare her, you idiot. Bucky frowned, brows knitted together tightly, eyes locked on you, but really his vision wasn’t focussed and he’d zoned out. She’d understand, give it a chance, give this life a chance. Bucky’s chest vibrated with a low growl. You backed off so much that you bumped into the kitchen counter behind you. There’s no way that can ever happen, she’ll realise how much of a monster you are, you’ll never be with her, she could never love you. The negative voice started to drown out the positive and Bucky’s growl turned into a gruff, angry outburst.

“Stop! Stop it! Fuckin’ had enough. This is fucking impossible!” Bucky raised his voice, much higher than he’d meant to, startling you as you slunk to the back of the kitchen away from him. Bucky’s towering figure, a wall of muscle, voice loud and angry was absolutely terrifying and you had hoped you’d never have to see him like this, but you knew it was inevitable, but you unfortunately were on the receiving end of it. “Bucky?” You asked just above a whisper. She’s scared of you, look at what you did! Bucky growled again, low and angry, eyes darkening in rage at himself, at the voice in his head doubting him. Without warning, Bucky’s metal hand balled into a fist, the plates shifting a whirring as he raised his arm. “Shut up!” Bucky shouted, slamming his metal fist down onto the island counter, crumbling the stone work surface like it was a block of chalk. You screamed, the act sending your anxiety over the edge and you started to breath fast and shallow, panic consuming you.

The commotion attracted Sam, the soldier running into the room from hearing the loud bang and your panicked scream. As soon as Sam entered, Bucky bolted, leaving you heaving for breath. “What the he-.” Sam looked at the mess, the island was crushed on one side, a huge hole in the top, one of the corners had been blown off, stone dust covering the floor and remnants floating in the air. You cowered at the back of the kitchen, the oven timer going off but it a was a dull buzz to you.

Sam quickly turned the oven off, along with the timer and then rushed to your side, scooping up your uncooperative body into his arms. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t focus on anything properly. You had no idea who was holding you, you had no idea what they were saying, it was all muffled and confusing. The only thing you could focus on was the way Bucky had looked at you, the way he’d shouted and broken the island counter, the way his stare and gone cold and dark, his tone had been deep and terrifying.

What is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with you?! “Bucky!” Steve’s voice echoed through the corridor as Bucky slunk away. “Buck, wait!” Steve called after him. Steve’s heart breaking as he watched Bucky shrink into his bedroom and hearing your little hiccupping cries from the other room.

“This is bad.” Steve sighed as he stood, forlorn in the hallway. “This is really bad.” He muttered to himself.

______________________________

Permanent Tag List:

@shygirl-00 @swanlakemikey @scuzmunkie @paintballkid711@lovelylilia @mapreza1 @love-bucky-3000 @cals-cigarette @scarlett-berserker @2407zzz @mercurybarnes @mywinterwolf @geeksareunique

His Second Chance Tag List:

@socialheartbreak @whatsupbucky @yesno18 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @crystallstaircase @megantje123 @fantua @lady-x-red @buckys-islandgirl@chipilerendi @butteryoptimisticpeanut @wowitsemilysblog @dark-night-sky-99 @marvel-ous-bucky @rand0mfangurlstuff @tfandtws

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multifandombitxh · 6 years ago

Text

Title: Handle With Care

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Genre: Fluff? I think? It’s open to interpretation

Warnings: strong language, blood, makie-outie, sass of the highest caliber from both parties involved

Request: “Touch starved Bucky” for anon

A/N: This ended up being a lot longer than it was supposed to be oof

“Would it kill you to be a little more careful out there?”

“This was what happened when I was careful.”

You huffed and tightened your grip around Bucky’s waist, helping him up the stairs as he grunted and groaned and dripped blood all over. The mission he was on had gone south, and luckily he was able to get out mostly unscathed, but not completely. He was injured pretty badly- by your standards, at least. By his standards, he had the equivalent of a paper cut.

You often wondered how the hell he was still alive.

After finally reaching the compound’s kitchen, you leaned him against the counter to grab the first-aid kit on top of the fridge. It was closer than the infirmary, and you figured you could at least stop the bleeding before he passed out.

Bucky lowered himself into a chair, letting out a loud grunt as he went down. He was cradling his arm when you approached him, thick streams of blood running down his arm like rivers, pooling at his fingertips and dripping onto the floor. You pinpointed the source at the back of his shoulder, and asked him to remove his shirt so you could get a better look at the damage.

“Aren’t you gonna take me to dinner first?” He asked, laughter lacing his tone.

“I’m getting the feeling you want to bleed to death,” You said, glaring at him out of the corner of your eye.

“You know me so well.”

“Just take your shirt off, asshole.”

“Whatever you say,” He replied, carefully lifting his shirt over his head. You rolled your eyes and helped, tossing the bloodied shirt to the side. As you began cleaning up his arm, you finally saw where it was all coming from; a large cut trailing from his shoulder blade to the base of his neck. Now that it was free from the confines of Bucky’s shirt, the blood was basically gushing down his back and his forearm. You had to stop yourself from gagging.

“Jesus, it’s like you got in a fight with a pair of scissors,” You muttered to yourself.

“Did I win?”

“Bucky.”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“It is that bad,” You sighed, “You might need stitches. How the hell have you lived this long?”

“Nazi’s kept me in a fridge for 70 years.”

“Right.”

Your relationship with Bucky hadn’t always been jokes and sarcasm. In fact, he was actually pretty closed off when you began working together, but you understood. He didn’t seem like the social type, so you did your best to remain polite and patient with him. It didn’t take long for the two of you to start picking on each other and spending time together outside of work. By now, you were basically inseparable.

Of course, you didn’t mind in the slightest. Having Bucky as your best friend was one of the best things you could have ever asked for.

After a very long and tedious fifteen minutes, his wound was cleaned and dressed, and the bleeding had finally stopped. Thankfully, he hadn’t needed stitches after all. As you were placing the bandage over the cut, you took notice of the many scars on his back- all varying in size and shape. There were so many that you couldn’t count them on both hands. Curiosity overtook you and you reached out, gliding your fingertips over a few of the scars gently.

“You’ve sure got a lot of these, tough guy,” You mumbled.

Bucky scoffed. “You of all people should know how much I love to pick fights with scissors.”

“You’re a sarcastic ass, that’s what I know.”

“Quit sweet talkin’ me, you’re makin’ me blush.”

You sighed, closing up the medkit and striding back over to the fridge. As you rubbed at a sore spot on the back of your neck, you glanced at the clock on the oven, groaning when you realized just how late it was. Apparently, playing makeshift nurse had taken a lot longer than you thought. Yawning, you made your way to the sink and washed all of the drying blood off of your hands.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Bucky said, “Really.”

“I wasn’t just going to let you bleed to death, Buck.”

You dried off your hands with a stray hand towel on the counter, then stretched your arms above your head. Sleepiness was creeping up on you every second and it was becoming more and more of a problem.

“You gonna be okay?” You asked through a yawn.

“Yeah, I should be fine.”

You gave Bucky two thumbs up, then shuffled toward the exit. Your bed was practically calling your name, and you weren’t about to leave it waiting.

“Hey, actually, I think I might’ve hit my head earlier, can you check if there’s a bruise?” Bucky asked, standing from his chair and limping over to the nearby sofa. He made tiny, strained grunting noises as he slowly lowered himself into the cushions.

“Worried you might’ve damaged your pretty face?” You joked, flashing Bucky a mock-pout over your shoulder.

“This face hasn’t been ‘pretty’ since the 40’s,” He shot back, “Would you just check for me?”

“Alright, alright,” You said, reluctantly dragging yourself to the couch. “Where?”

“Somewhere on my forehead, I think. It might be under my hair.”

You gasped dramatically. “Not the hair!”

“Now who’s being the sarcastic ass?”

You laughed a little, sat beside him on the couch, then gently brushed his hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ears. “Tell me if this hurts.”

With feather-light touch, you searched his forehead for signs of a bruise, even checking his hair-line for traces of purple or blue. Bucky was calm as could be, not flinching or protesting at all, which was a good sign.

“I’m not seeing anything,” You said, “You’ll probably be fine.”

He didn’t respond. When you looked back at his face, his eyes were closed, almost like he was asleep.

“Still alive in there?” You asked quietly, letting your hand fall into your lap.

Bucky’s eyes drifted open, fatigue keeping them lidded. Ever so slowly, he grabbed your hand and pressed your palm into his cheek. His hand lingered over yours, almost as if he was afraid you would retreat if he let go. You watched, confused but not opposed, and tried not to focus too much on how soft and warm his skin was. When his eye fluttered closed again and he sighed through his nose, you made the brave decision to place your free hand on the other side of his face. He welcomed the gesture by leaning into your touch.

You watched his expression as you ran your thumbs over his cheekbones, smiling softly when the tense wrinkles on his forehead became more defined. His brows had drawn together and his mouth was turned down in a frown, almost like he was concentrating on something. The hand that had been guiding your own had slipped down to your wrist, his grip relaxed and loose. The further your fingers traveled, the more obvious his breathing became.

Carefully, you let one hand wander into his messy hair, coming to rest at the base of his hairline on his neck. He trembled abruptly, taking in a sharp breath and sitting up straight. His hand gripped your wrist a little more tightly and you halted all movement.

“Shit, did I touch your cut? I totally forgot it-”

“No, it’s not that,” Bucky cut you off, “It’s not that. Really.”

“Are you... okay?”

“I’m fine,” He said quickly, “Just... don’t stop. Please. It’s really nice.”

An electric shiver ran marathons up and down your spine. Did he really just say that?

With that, you resumed exploring his hair, then let one hand wander back to his face. You memorized the texture of his skin, his hair, and took note of just how long and unfairly beautiful his eyelashes were. Every time you explored somewhere new, his eyebrows would knit together and his jaw would flex.

His free hand had initially been at his side, but as you continued to caress his bare skin, it had wandered to your knee. Absentmindedly, Bucky covered the space just above your kneecap with his palm, fingers spread out and his thumb gently stroking the area. The action was small but effective, and left you breaking out in goosebumps.

In truth, you’d wanted this for a long time. It wasn’t something you’d ever admit, but it definitely kept you up at night. You swore that you wouldn’t develop feelings for anyone you worked with, no exceptions. It complicates things too much, and you wanted to avoid complications at all costs. Yet, there you were; hands roaming every curve of Bucky’s face, jaw, and neck, and savoring every second of it.

You cautiously slid your hand down the side of his neck, grazing his ear along the way. He reacted by humming softly. With a delicate touch, you brushed your fingertips along his collarbone, to his clavicle, coming to a stop on his sternum. You weren’t sure exactly what noise he made, but it was deep in his chest, and sounded like he was struggling not to moan. The implications made your stomach do somersaults.

Bucky led your hand slowly along his cheek, to the corner of his mouth, then halted at his lips. He gently kissed the pad of your thumb, sending your heart into hysterics. It was in that moment that you knew you were a goner. Every ounce of reluctance was abandoned. A warm sensation spread from your head to your toes as Bucky opened his eyes to meet your gaze.

You thought you were about to pass out.

“Why are you kissing my thumb?” You blurted.

“Your lips were a little far away,” Bucky replied with a small laugh. His mouth was curled up in that classic smirk of his and you started feeling dizzy.

“Oh,” You said simply.

“You’re bad at this, aren’t you?”

“Bad at what?”

It took you a moment to realize that as you were speaking, Bucky had been leaning in close- close enough to clearly make out his darkened pupils and blue irises. Your breath caught in your throat, and you were praying your nervousness wasn’t showing on your face.

“It’s okay, Y/N, I’m a little rusty, too.”

In one swift movement, Bucky’s lips met yours in a single, almost teasing kiss; like he was testing the waters. It was painfully short and left you wanting more, so you did what anyone would do; you cupped the sides of his face, drew him in, and kissed him so hard he’d be seeing stars.

As if pleased with himself, Bucky smiled into the kiss. He welcomed the gesture, wrapping his arms around your middle to pull you in closer. You couldn’t help letting a hand get lost in his hair, making itself at home. The slight shiver that shook his body gave you the confidence you needed to deepen the kiss. Soft smacking noises filled the room every time your lips parted.

The arms around your waist tightened, then lifted you with ease into Bucky’s lap. Without missing a beat, you followed his lead, resting your legs on either side of his body. The hand that wasn’t lost in his hair was trailing down his front, pausing over one of his exposed pecs to gauge his reaction.

He responded by breaking the kiss to hiss through his teeth.

“I guess your not as bad at this as I thought,” Bucky said. His voice was slightly shaky, like he was just as nervous as you were, despite his initial confidence.

“Hey,” You said, leaning back. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Bucky asked, breathless and raising an eyebrow.

“You just seem kind of... sensitive.”

“Sensitive how?”

To prove your point, you placed your palm over the middle of his rib cage just above his stomach, which was unexplored territory thus far. He instantly squeezed his eyes shut and let out a quiet yet sharp “ah”.

“See? Sensitive,” You said.

“Okay, yeah, I get it,” He breathed.

“What’s going on?” You asked, dropping your hands and relaxing further into Bucky’s lap.

He seemed embarrassed; looking everywhere but at you, running his hands through his hair, sighing, and cursing under his breath. You watched on, slowly growing more and more concerned the longer he sat and angrily cursed at himself quietly. All it took to bring him back to reality was your fingers lacing with his.

After one last sigh, Bucky met your eyes. “For the last 80 years, any time someone put their hands on me, it was either to hurt me, or kill me. Almost all physical contact I get is someone trying to strangle me or break my arm. Being touched in a way that isn’t hostile is just... foreign to me, I guess.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, why didn’t you stop me?”

“I didn’t want you to stop. I wanted all of it. My body just isn’t used to it.”

You shook your head and smiled at him sadly. “You can’t dive head first into things like that. It takes some getting used to.”

“So, you’re sayin’ you’ll help me get used to it?” Bucky asked, his smirk bleeding into his words.

“Slow down there, tough guy,” You chuckled, “don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Y/N, you’re sitting in my lap. If anyone’s getting ahead of their self, it’s you.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining about it.”

“Just shut up and kiss me again.”

#i am the queen of grammatical errors so #if u see one please tell me lol #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel imagines #marvel fanfiction #tw blood #ask to tag #mywriting #q

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pangtasias-atelier · 5 years ago

Text

Master Turned Pet

So this C/u Alt/er idea just came out of nowhere and I really wanted to act upon it before my motivation went away. So here’s a 3k fic that doesn’t necessarily pertain the most to wg but it also was nice not having that be the main thing.

This was meant to be kinda dark but all these ideas I have all vanish once I try to type them and then I get grossed out anjdsifn. So the only really dark thing is physical harm/abuse though it’s not graphic since I can’t handle blood lol

While I do like copying F/G/O’s style by having the master not really speak, it kinda became meh as this went on to the wg portion but still enjoyed it lol

Talking about F/G/O with a friend who doesn’t know about this blog, and the homophobia of Da/vid’s Valentine scene being different for male masters, so maybe expect that in the next week or 2? Even though I’m pretty sure like none of you play F/G/O

I wish C/u Al/ter got a rate up, but he never does.... At least En/ki/du came to my Ch/al/dea

________________

"What?" Eyes narrowed, Cu nearly recoils from his master's body leaning against his arm. A pathetic, useless 'thank you' barely uttered before his master's tired breaths sound out, Cu lets him rest against him, his master's bloodied bandages slightly maring his own clothes.

A small, wacky singularity cleared before it could grow into anything concerning, his master had been dragged into it. His master too kind, a tired smile on his face as he steps into each consuming battle asked of him, bit by bit of himself getting consumed, Cu was at least willing to ensure to stay by his side. No other servant wishing to undergo such idiotic nonsense for a singularity, Cu grumbled and complained, but followed nonetheless. His master's reassurances that he could indeed stay, Cu ignored them under the pretense of getting to fight and kill.

And he enjoyed just that. Before any more childish activity could drag on, he had murdered all other servants. His master's wishes to at least reason with the others despite the nonsense ignored, the singularity was proving a breeze with brute force. Until he had reached the true culprit. No one to aid him, he had been foolish, caught off guard. Nearly killed himself, his master had to use a command spell to heal him.

His last command spell. The other two already wasted on sentimentality, his master not wishing for him to disappear in other singularities despite several other servants by his side.

Lifting his master into his arms, the task easy when he doesn't resist, too exhausted to nutter anything past an annoyed groan, Cu stares at his face. Face reaching its serene state as it always does once a singularity reaches its end, Cu stares at the way his master smiles at him, his eyes closing. His master's breathing slowly calms down. The sight enjoyable, all of his master's expressions delightful in some way, he can't help but wish to see his face strain, his master's worried face as he yells in concern for his servants always a sight to laugh at. His pathetic whimpers whenever blood gets drawn, the humans in each singularity so incredibly delicate against servants and threats to humanity. The way his face strains with exhaustion at the end of each day, more burdening work seemingly piling up each day despite his prior commending work. The shy, embarrassed way his master blushes, his laughter attempting to pass it off. His tears that seem to occur at random outbursts, everything too much.

Each expression so wonderful to him, he can't wish but to see more. The blood of a warrior pulsing through his veins, he can't help but yearn for less savory tactics, even fighting and killing appearing boring with his master beside him.

Cu stares at the way his sweat seems to line his face, his hair stuck to his forehead. Brushing a bit away, his master even leans into the embrace. Perhaps he's overstepping his role as a weapon, but perhaps it's worth it.

It's worth it when his master is an absolute idiot.

The singularity near its collapse, his master had just obtained the holy grail. Clenching it in his hand, fingers wrapped tightly around it, Cu smiles as his master whimpers. Ignoring his lance, the weapon dropped the floor, he wraps his own fingers around the holy Grail stealing it out of his hands.

Voices coming from the communicator, that shield servant who he still hasn't bothered learning her name concerned over his master, Cu ignores her, instead leaning over his master. Some more pathetic whimpering coming out of him as he struggles in Cu's grip, Cu holds him down, the effort minimal.

"Guess I was a fool for counting on one of these. But now," Seizing it in his hands, he laughs, his whole body reveling in the motion. His current desires being known, the singularity remains. Chaldea losing contact, their obnoxious concerns die out. Cu basks in the near silence, the pleasant strained breaths from his exhausted master sounding divine to his ears. No sense in being gentle, he lugs him over his shoulder, his master letting out an 'oof' as his stomach meets Cu's rough shoulder.

"I'm sure you'll grow to love our time together, master" Hands pushing against him, Cu ignores them, simply making his way to the enemy's castle, the entire area empty with all of them now dead.

Calmly making his way, Cu not willing to visibly show his enjoyment at his plan coming to fruition, he runs his tongue over his teeth, the sharp instruments nearly drawing blood. His master's pathetic struggles ceasing, he ignores it. A couple of minutes passing by, the looming castle draws nearer. The fauna unchanging, passing by tree after tree, the entire place is repetitive, no real distinctive locations.

The peace ends up disturbed, his master letting out a large sigh. Legs and arms thrashing about, his bandages slowly come undone. The act unable to harm him, Cu laughs at him, the sight pleasurable. Hauling his master further, Cu's smile dwindles as the thrashing lowers in intensity but continues. Some blood seeping onto his shoulder, Cu stops in his tracks.

Lifting his master up and placing him on his feet, Cu stares at him. His master barely able to even stand on his own two feet, he stumbles.

"Away from me," Cu glumly thinks,his hand tightening over his spear. Placing both hands on his master's shoulders, keeping him in place, Cu stares at him. Then at the blood seeping through his bandages. Some pleas and questions escaping his master's hoarse throat, Cu's hands land on his master's cheek. Grinning down at him, his hands roam over his master, both traveling down. His master refusing the entire time, Cu's right hand rests at his torso; his left hand places itself between his collarbone. Left hand traveling up, Cu expectantly watches his master's face.

And then he squeezes, his fingers easily wrapping around his throat.

The weight insignificant, he lifts his master in the air, his master's feet dangling and kicking in the air. His master's hands wrap around his arm. Nails digging into him, he clenches tighter. Small chokes escaping as he attempts to breath, Cu brings his master closer.

"Don't make me have to hurt you," Lapping up the few tears that come out, dehydration taking a hold of his master as well, Cu eases his grip.

An inch given, his master attempts to take a foot, kicking Cu square in the stomach.

A human unable to harm a servant, Cu laughs at the attempt, his master's attempts at living so wonderful.

"I've missed this side of you," Enough air allowed, Cu tightens his grip once more. Oh to just squeeze even a bit tighter, to see his even more pleaful eyes, probably begging him and telling him where went all of his humanity. But that would just forfeit his master's life, and why waste all the time they have together to just end it so abruptly? So instead, he shoves him against a tree, some crack sounding from somewhere.

The tree unharmed, then that means he probably broke something of his master's. Cu shrugs, his master is still alive; that's better than what Medb would have done. She'd have killed anyone by now.

"I miss America; back when you'd struggled so much just to even run away from me," Cu whispers in his ear. "And I would have killed you, but even that damn mage knew you were going to be nothing but another body on my lance," Dropping him, his master raggedly falling to the floor, Cu crouches down. Coughing as he attempts to breath, his master keeps his head down. Hands reaching towards the bandages, he rewraps them, the trickle of blood stopping. "You can't even fight, you're not a warrior, yet you always rushed in to help. And I wanted nothing more to see you gutted," Silently drawing his spear, Cu places the tip on his master's stomach. No more words offered, he stares at his master, his face downturned. Struggling to even lift his head, dirtied sweat mats his pale face. Barely able to breath, to even hold consciousness, he still stares back at Cu. Despite his bravado, Cu can still see the fear. Everyone's fear of their death arriving. Always too soon, always wondering why me. Cupping his master's chin, Cu lightly applies some pressure. A whimper belying his bravery, Cu smiles as he tosses his lance.

"Good," His master like a cockroach, so damn resilient and ever struggling, that struggling led to him saving humanity. And that struggling would let him live again, not that he was actually in danger.

Making sure that the bandages are properly tightened, the activity foreign yet not unwelcome, Cu grabs his master's wrist.

"Now walk," Letting go, he laughs as his master's feet crumble underneath him, a face full of dirt meeting his face. Reaching down and yanking him up by the wrist, Cu drags him behind him, his master heavily breathing to even stand, let alone walk.

Occasionally tugging at him to hurry up, Cu kicks at the door to open it, the door easily giving way.

Perhaps having his fill for the day, Cu lifts him up. Thoughts of acting like Medb quickly thrown out of his head, Cu stares down at his master. If he is, then so be it, at least it's with one human, and he'll make sure to just break them enough to where it's fun.

Exhaustion tearing away at his master, it outweighs the pain, falling asleep in Cu's arms. Heading towards the King's Chambers, Cu places his master at the bed. Double checking his bandages, he readjusts them again.

A grumble escaping his master's stomach, hunger gnawing at him from the tiring day, Cu tsks. Heading off, his tail drags on the floor.

The place bathed in silence, the sound of his slow, heavy footsteps fill the area. Trudging along, he makes short time to his destination, a village.

Everyone wary of him before, his master barely enough to placate them all, the sight of a bloody Cu alone is enough to cause most of them to vacate the premises, doors to homes slammed shut.

Stalls and carts left unattended, he simply swipes at them, grabbing it and lugging it.

Those brave enough to remain outside do so, staring at him even. He ignores it, all pathetic civilians, the bloodshed would be nothing more than a quick activity. One with little enjoyment derived from it. He'll get plenty of enjoyment once Chaldea begins to make their move, masters from different areas possibly coming to repair this singularity. Or perhaps the counter force will act again. Not like it matters, he'll kill all of them, grail or no Grail in hand. He had nearly done so back in America, no master to aid him, calling Medb anything more than a nuisance would be too kind for her he feels. And with his master perfect for supplying mana, he has nothing to fear.

No one bothering to stop him, all too busy cowering, Cu makes it back to the castle with zero issues. The human body so damn frail, Cu grumbles as he brings the food to the kitchen. Rushing through it, the meat close to raw on the inside and burnt on the outside, he shrugs as he continues cooking some more. No seasoning offered besides grabbing what's there at random, Cu calls it. Frowning from the effort of cooking it, the chore unlike him anymore, he carries it up.

His master still asleep, shallow breaths struggling past him as his chest barely rises into the air, Cu wastes no time. Another crunch sounding as he lifts him up and slams his back against the headboard, the technique wakes him up perfectly. A coughing fit ensuing, his master clutches his stomach with his other hand. Body aching, he rests against the headboard, any stability appreciated.

"Eat," Standing to the side, arms crossed against his chest, Cu glares at his master. Cautious, his master picks at the nearly charred food. Hesitation taking hold of his body, Cu takes a hold of his head.

"You will do as I say," Yanking his hair, Cu grabs the food with his bare hands. Shoving it into his master's mouth, he holds his hand over his mouth, the food slowly getting chewed. "I can't have you dying on me yet," Cu teases, another handful getting shoved straight to his master's mouth.

Only allotting just enough time for his master to swallow the last bit, Cu always shoves in another piece, the pained muffled struggles reaching his ears, the sounds egging him on. His master trying to move his face away, Cu tugs harder. His master's breathing labored, Cu licks his lips; the pain nothing compared to just beating him senseless, seeing the discomfort and heavy breaths is a different joy. A much appreciated joy.

His master's hands pushing at him, he twists them. So close to just snapping them off, the desire burning in his heart, he resists. Point crossed, his master remains motionless, Cu resuming.

Each next handful is met with more resistance than the last, his master slowly chewing. Hands moving to rub his stuffed stomach, Cu moves them out of the way, not wishing for any relief.

The food eventually crammed down his master's gullet, his face is strained as he shakily rubs his stomach. Juices rest on his lips, the trickles dribbling down. Cu pokes at the small distended bump for a stomach. Adding a touch of pressure, he glances at his master's whimper, eyes shut tight. Dragging him into his lap, Cu holds him tight in his embrace, both sitting at the edge of the bed.

Both hands on his master's stomach, Cu pushes down on it. His master nearly hurling, he brings his hands to his mouth, swallowing the bile that threatens to spill.

"So precious," Cu lets out, lifting his master's hands and pressing down on his stomach again. The sight no longer obscured, he smiles at the scene, his master always so close to losing the contents of his meal.

Finding a different way to enjoy his master's expressions, the wheels in Cu's brain begin to turn.

His master falling asleep soon after, his gurgling stomach nothing compared to his exhaustion, Cu places him back down on the bed. Chaldean uniform snug on his master, Cu tears the shirt. Pale skin rising with each breath, Cu rubs it, the soft yet taut skin pleasant.

His master squirming under the touch, sleep still taking him captive, Cu removes his hand.

Warriors going to flock to him eventually, he might as well enjoy this as much as he can. Not like his master can stop him anymore.

Standing up, he hesitates by the door. Glancing back, he smiles at his master's frown, a nightmare seemingly taking place.

Already preparing his master's next meal, Cu swiftly grabs all the ingredients. The process as hurried as earlier, he quickly begins cooking again, eager to stuff him.

And stuff him he does.

The counter force taking a while to respond, Cu focuses his efforts on his master. No way to fight back, the task is easy. A little bruising here and there to control him, limbs bent dangerously close to ways they should never bend, that's all he needs, the tactic keeping his master under control. Food always plentiful, Cu always forces it down his mouth. Mouth crammed with food, Cu snickers at the way his master struggles to even speak or complain. Stomach continuously taut, simple jabs nearly does him in, his master's eyes shut.

Cu disregards any notion of ending or quitting, the fun granted to him far too pleasurable. Overfed like cattle, his master nothing more than such a thing, Cu pokes and tugs at each new curve that adorns his master as the weight sticks to his frame. Stomach gaining a small sliver, the insignificant weight barely noticeable before it grows even further with constant stuffings. A round potbelly great for shaking after a binge, his master nauseous. Barely developed love handles, both budding armrests a violet hue from Cu's incessant pinches. Moobs that are nothing more than markers signifying the beginning of something much greater. Chunky arms with hanging flab, the areas much more enjoyable to yank and pull to shut his master up. Widened thighs cushioned from adipose.

The effects on his master's body memorizing, he had no choice but to see it through. With all the time in the world, he was happy to see it through.

The world's counter force inevitably summoning some servants to stop him, the task was simple. Masterless servants stood no task against him. the fun only truly began once Chaldea managed to send in his master's own servants.

Despite being outnumbered and outwitted numerous times, they were still outmatched, all falling by his hands.

Another batch just slain, Cu smiles as he rushes back to his room. The grueling fight only invigorated him, his body screaming for more fighting, for more blood. The singularity, containing only himself, his master, and frightened civilians, punishing his master would have to suffice. Another servant caught in the act of aiding his master's, Cu throws his spear. Abdomen gutted through, the spear lodges them in the wall, unable to act as they fade away.

His master staring at his defeated servant, Cu cups his chin. Some resistant met, Cu glares before using his other hand. Both now needed, his master's attention snaps to him as he feels both hands on his neck.

"Good," Lesson learned, Cu goes easy, his hands wringing his master's neck for only a few seconds this time. His master coughing, Cu becomes entranced with the way his fat shakes from it. His master ballooning perfectly, Cu made sure to make him massive.

A gut sagging onto his thighs and the bed, the fleshy mound is the perfect punching bag. Love handles overflowing, they droop down as well, the piles of blubber merging with his master's multiple rolls. Breasts plentiful, they rest upon the mountain that is his stomach. Arms and thighs nearly unused at this point, Cu forbidding it, the appendages are swaddled with fat, the large cylindrical limbs containing no definition like they used to.

His master forced to sit on his legs the past hour, his crushing weight making it hard to do so, Cu urges him up. Fat shifting as the bed groans, Cu stands aside. His master struggles, breaks needed to regain energy. Arms quivering as they push against the bed, his master's whimpers delight his ears.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, his master rests his hands on his stomach, breathing loudly for air. Feet touching the ground, he remains seated.

"Stand up," Cu commands. Unobeyed, Cu grabs his master and stands him up himself.

Legs asleep, his master crumples to the floor. Fat squished against the tiling, he pushes himself. A boot stops his attempt.

Head kicked back down to the floor, Cu rests his foot on his master's head. The sensation not foreign, the mental crunch of a skull cracking underneath his weight nearly brings him to do the same to his master. Removing his boot, his master doesn't move.

"This is a warm up, pet," Circling his master, Cu keeps his head high. "Soon, it'll be reality where you can't walk," Sitting on the bed, Cu grins. "Now get up,"

His master attempting just that, Cu laughs as his master's asleep legs fail him once more. Brought back down to the floor again and again, Cu simply watches.

"I'm waiting," Cu not a patient man, the warning sends his master in a frenzy. Each trial of standing up failing, he instead crawls, Cu's wrath worrying. Closer to Cu, he reaches for the bed, leverage to stand up. A hand on his head stops him.

Cu's eyes wide open, he readjusts them, both squinting at his master. "I like your idea, pet," A collar materializing, Cu wraps it around his master's neck. Standing up, he yanks it, his master falling to the floor.

"I'll enjoy this while you can still move," Collar constantly yanked, Cu leads his master to the kitchen. "I'll make sure my pet never goes hungry," Cu growls, smirking as his master struggles to keep up, already tired. The image of him stuck on the floor, stomach so massive that his arms and legs can no longer touch the tiles spurs him on; no rest for the wicked.

#non fe #fat grand order #My writing #male wg #male weight gain

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ratchetsboyfriend · 6 years ago

Note

Oof I love me some angst- could you do 40 (for the writing prompt) with Ratchet and a human S/O who have a fight over jealousy (like Ratchet thinks s/o is flirting with someone else or somethin) but end up resolving it in the end? Thanks! And I love your writing, it’s so much fun to just binge your blog!

Ratchet tensed as you laughed again, his grip on the tool in his servo tightening. His back was towards you but he could picture the look on your face, the way your nose scrunched up when you laughed, how your eyes would shine with amusement, one of your hands moving to cover your sweet smile, and he could just as easily picture the flirtatious grin on Wheeljack’s face as he regaled you and the kids with yet another story about some epic battle he had fought and won. Another bout of laughter reached his audials, and without meaning to, he clenched his servo and snapped the tool he was holding. The sudden silence told him that the rest of the base had noticed and Ratchet gritted his dentae as Wheeljack approached.

“Woah Doc, you should be a little more careful. Don’t you need that?” Wheeljack’s tone was light and teasing but Ratchet’s foul mood only worsened as the other Autobot peered around him to look at the damage. “Give me a few hours and I can have it up and running again like new.”

“I am perfectly capable of fixing it myself.” Ratchet’s words were strained but Wheeljack either didn’t notice or was ignoring the moodiness in his voice, reaching to grab the pieces.

“I said I could handle it!” Ratchet snapped, snatching it up before Wheeljack could and moving past him to retreat to his habsuite. You all watched as he stormed out, Wheeljack waiting for him to be out of earshot before giving a low whistle.

“Something’s got him on edge.”

“Yeah”, you frowned, “I think I should go check on him.” You took off after Ratchet, easily navigating your way to his habsuite. He had given you the code to the door previously so you let yourself in, greeted by the sight of the medic hunched over and sitting on the edge of the berth that had been installed after the Autobot’s arrival.

“Hey.” You approached him slowly, waiting to gauge his reaction. “Things got a little heated out there, just wanted to check in and see if you were okay.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be back out there with Wheeljack?” You recoiled slightly, caught off guard by the venom in his words.

“I’m exactly where I want to be right now, so can you please just tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“We both know that’s a lie, and I can’t help if you don’t tell me what exactly is wrong.”

“The only way you could help would be if you stopped hovering over me, it may be difficult for you to understand this but I don’t need you! Why would I ever need a human’s help?” Ratchet regretted the words as soon as they slipped out but it was too late to take them back now, your expression already going flat and your eyes cold.

“So I’m just some stupid human to you then.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Do I?” You moved back to the door, pausing before the threshold. “I love you Ratchet but I can’t keep carrying this relationship on my own, not when you’re always looking for a way to sabotage your own happiness.” And with those parting words you left. Even with the door now between you Ratchet could still hear as you let out a choked sob, the sounds of your distress growing fainter as you moved away.

You were back home now, laying on your couch and staring at the television blankly. You hadn’t absorbed anything that had occured in the show you were watching, still too wrapped up in the day’s events to pay attention. You likely would have stayed there all night but the sudden flashing of lights in your front yard made you sit up. You peeked out your window, startled to see Ratchet, who so rarely left the base, parked in your driveway. Shoving on some shoes you slipped out the door, Ratchet switching off his emergency lights as you drew near.

“Ratchet! What are you doing here and why the hell were your lights on? Are you trying to draw attention?”

“Yes, yours.”

You sighed, far too tired to deal with this. “Yeah well you have it now, what do you want?”

“I wish to speak with you.”

“Oh so now you want to talk to me, huh?” You glanced around, checking to see if any of your neighbors had taken notice of your late night guest. “Fine. But not here, I don’t want anyone asking questions later about why there was an ambulance in front of my house. Open up.”

Ratchet’s passenger door swung open and you climbed in, settling yourself in the seat. It was silent as he drove out of town into the desert and once the two of you were far away enough he pulled to the side of the road, letting you back out as he transformed.

You watched with arms crossed as he knelt before you, servos hovering awkwardly in the air for a moment before he let them fall to the side.

“I am…sorry for what I said. It was not only cruel but untrue. I was angry and I took it out on you.” He paused and you looked at him expectantly. “And you’re right. I’m scared of losing the ones I love so I push them away and try to convince myself that they left because I wanted them to and not because of me, and I bottle up my emotions so that I can pretend I don’t have them. I was jealous of Wheeljack and instead of being mature about it I lost my temper. I know I haven’t done enough to show it but I do love you and I want the chance to prove it.”

“You’re kind of an ass, y’know that right? You shifted you hands to your hips as you stared him down. “Not to mention rude, prideful, and stubborn as hell. But”, you paused, giving him a small smile, “you are also selfless, hardworking, incredibly intelligent, and you care so much more than you let on. If you really mean it when you say that you’ll put in the effort than I mean it when I say that I want to be with you every step of the way.” At this point you had moved forward, hands delicately perched on his bent leg. “Now let’s go home and get some rest yeah? We can talk more in the morning.”

Bending forward carefully, Ratchet lightly pressed his face into your hair, sighing softly. “Yes. Let’s go home.”

#this ended up being much longer than i meant it to be woops #im both proud of this and not satisfied with it but its not too bad so its gettin posted #ratchet #transformers reader insert #transformers imagines #transformers x reader #transformers #sorry for always talking in the tags thats just how i am #and i think it helps keep things neater than if i included it with the actual writing #which im trying to avoid though i still do it sometimes #my writing #tfp

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kumeko · 5 years ago

Photo

Title: spring cleaning

A/N: For the @mmrikazine ! I wanted to do a bit of Rika and Yoosung’s relationship, before it all went wrong.

…

Dried by the harsh sun, the once soft soil had hardened until it was like armour. Rika pressed her fingers against the cracked earth, tracing the web-like lines that laced the surface. After a few minutes of prodding, she found a weak spot and pushed her trowel into it. The metal barely scratched the surface.

This garden clearly hadn’t been cared for in months. Frowning, she gripped her trowel tighter and shoved it in harder. Eventually, the earth gave in, revealing the dark earth underneath. An exposed worm wriggled from a hole, showing a good sign that at least the soil had some nutrients left.

“This is impossible!” Yoosung grunted next to her. Sweat dripped down his face as he stood, back bent, a shovel in both hands. Earlier in the morning, he had confidently taken the tool from her, claiming that he could handle the heavy labour. Now if she were to ask, Rika was certain the answer would be different. “Am I hitting a rock? Is this all rock?”

Rika chuckled, sitting back. Her knees sank into the brittle grass, a soft cracking as stems broke under her weight. “This garden hasn’t been taken care of properly,” she agreed, clasping her hands on her lap.

“That’s an understatement.” Yoosung shot her a baleful look, his eyes watery. Her teenage cousin had a sense of drama to him and she half-wondered if he should take the stage with Zen one day. “You sure this is even a garden?”

“Hmmm…” Slowly, Rika glanced around her. They were in the middle of a closed off courtyard, placed in the center of a senior center. Tall brick walls rose around diamond-shaped space, with a short path meandering through it from one doorway to another. There were two benches along the path and a large tree, its branches bare. Turning back to Yoosung, she cocked her head. “It looks like one.”

Yoosung flushed a bright red. Rubbing his wrists, he turned away and mumbled, “Well, yeah, I know that much, but…”

She giggled once more. Her cousin was adorable. Still, she couldn’t let him get too sore, not when he had school the next day. Standing up, she brushed the dirt off her cotton skirt. “We can take a break if you want.”

Yoosung perked up, excited. The shovel almost fell out of his hands. “Ye—” Quickly, he closed his mouth. He straightened his spine, standing straight and tall. “I can still work.”

“Really?” Rika glanced at his determined face. Yoosung really did like to push himself above and beyond what was required. Even this, helping her with all of her volunteer work, was something she didn’t expect from a highschool student. It certainly wasn’t the most exciting way for a kid to spend the day.

“R-really.” His arms trembled as he lifted the shovel once more, his body revealing just how worn out he was. Patches of sweat and dirt stained his ratty old t-shirt, an indication of just how much effort he’d put in so far. “I’m good.”

How stubborn. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she closed her eyes wearily. “It’s hot for a spring day. Water would be nice, don’t you think?”

“Water?” Yoosung swallowed, his grip loosening.

“And maybe a snack—we’ve been at this for hours, after all.” Rika rubbed her belly with a sigh. It wasn’t a complete lie; there had been a soft, gnawing in the pit of her stomach for a while now.

“…me too,” he admitted, finally letting go of the shovel. He gave one last look at the garden they’d spent almost the entire morning on.

While it wasn’t much progress, it looked much better than it had when they’d first arrived. The courtyard had three flowerbeds, all in various states of disrepair. Considering how long the first one was taking them, it’d be a couple of weekends before they got the senior center’s courtyard into a useable condition. At least this particular flower bed was cleared of all the dead plants now.

Well, almost all the dead plants. A single, withered sunflower stalk stood at the edge of the bed. Noticing Yoosung’s hesitation, she gave one final push. “How about we take a break after pulling out that plant?”

“Yes.” Eager to prove his strength, Yoosung marched over to the stalk and gripped it with both hands. Tensing his muscles, he pulled.

And nothing happened. Surprised, Yoosung stared at the plant. “Huh?”

“Try again!” Rika encouraged, following after him. The sun beat down on the back of her neck, her clothes sticking to her skin uncomfortably. A cold shower would be nice after this.

“Yeah!” Planting his feet firmly into the ground, he growled as he pulled on the stalk. It crackled under his grip, the stalk slowly breaking, yet the plant remained secure in the soil. Yoosung grunted, but no matter how he changed his posture, it refused to move.

Rika blinked. Now, this was strange. While her cousin wasn’t the most athletic, a sunflower shouldn’t cause this much trouble. Rolling up her sleeves, she stood next to him. “Here, I’ll help.”

Yoosung frowned, ready to protest, but he couldn’t deny the facts. Grumpily, he shifted his hands, clearing a space for her to grab. “Thanks,” he mumbled, his ears red from embarrassment.

“This is what volunteering is about, helping each other,” Rika replied tactfully. “On three—ready? One, two, pull!”

Synchronized, they leaned back as they pulled. The sunflower stalk splintered in their hands in a massive crack, snapping as their muscles strained. Still, the flower refused to budge. Even while seemingly dead, the sunflower didn’t want to leave its home, no matter how harsh it was to live there. Rika dug her heels in. The earth shook from the pressure before finally giving in, releasing the sunflower and its maze of roots. Surprised, Rika and Yoosung fell backwards onto the lawn.

“Oof!” Yoosung gasped as his butt hit the ground. The sunflower stalk was still in his hands and he stared in shock. “We got it.”

“We did.” Rika rubbed her sore behind, looking back at the hole in the soil. It shouldn’t have been so hard. Maybe the earth was more packed in than she had expected.

“We did it!” Yoosung leaped to his feet, holding his trophy above him. He shook it and dirt rained down on his hair. Immediately, he dropped it, his hands running through his hair to clean it. “Oh my god, are there any worms? Bugs?”

Laughing, she got up and reached for his head. He still hadn’t had his growth spurt yet, their heights almost identical. “Lean closer, I’ll take a look.”

Obediently, he bent forward, pushing his hair into her hands. His eyes were squeezed close and his hands closed into a tight fist. “Are there any?” he asked in a high-pitched voice, shaking in fear.

“Let me see.” Calmly, she parted his hair, brushing through the locks and pulling out clumps of dirt as she inspected him. His black hair was soft in her hands. Humming as she worked, Rika combed through his hair twice before finally releasing him. “All good.”

He straightened up, gingerly touching his scalp. Cross-eyed, he impossibly tried to look up at the top of his head. “Thanks.”

It was only now that Rika realized just how dirty her cousin had become. “You’re a mess!” Quickly, Rika dusted off his shoulders and shirt. It didn’t help—instead, it made things worse as the dirt smeared against his blue t-shirt. With a sigh, she gave up and set her hands on her hips. “Auntie isn’t going to be happy.”

“Huh?” Yoosung stared down at his shirt, pulling at the hem until he witnessed the extent of the damage. His eyes widened before he covered his face with a moan. “Mom’ll never let me live this down.”

“I guess she won’t let you volunteer with me anymore,” Rika sighed ruefully. While her aunt was kind, that could only go so far and if she was anything like Rika’s mother…

“No, it’ll be fine!” Sensing her distress, Yoosung vehemently shook his head. “Mom’s happy you take me out with you—I don’t get enough sun otherwise, according to her.”

“Really?” Surprised, Rika stared at him. Could anyone be fine with their kid coming home a mess?

“Yeah, really.” Yoosung grinned brightly. He reached out and clasped her hands. “She actually wants you to take me out more.”

Rika didn’t know what to say. It must have been nice, growing up with Auntie. Overcome, she squeezed his hands back. Yoosung’s stomach grumbled at that very moment and he blushed. Letting go of her, he turned away and marched stiffly to the closest bench. “So. Lunch.”

Laughing, Rika followed him. His backpack and her picnic basket were sitting on the metal grate. The tree’s shadows created a lattice network of naked branches on the ground. Sitting down next to her basket, she rummaged through her basket, taking out plates and cups. She passed them to Yoosung, who neatly set them next to him. “I made sandwiches.”

“Nice!” Yoosung took one of the carefully wrapped sandwiches, peeling back the paper towel and saran wrap to reveal the white bread inside. Biting it, he moaned happily. “This is amazing!”

“I’m glad you like it.” Rika brushed a lock behind her ear, pleased. “V helped me with them, he made the sauce.”

“That’s…good.” Yoosung’s face fell, his voice stilted.

It was something Rika had noticed before, but she wasn’t sure she completely understood it. “You don’t like it?”

“No, no, it’s great!” He rapidly took bite after bite of the sandwich, stuffing his face. “It’s delicious.”

“Okay.” Rika watched him for a moment, concerned. When he didn’t say anything else, she took a sandwich of her own. Glancing around the abandoned garden, she took note of the leafless trees, the withered plants. There was a desolate beauty to the place and she could just picture her boyfriend with his tripod, focusing on the perfect shot. “V would like it here.”

Yoosung’s lips twisted, looking like he bit something sour. “Too bad he’s not here.”

Twice. This had happened twice and both times when she’d mentioned V. Scrutinizing her cousin, Rika delicately asked, “What do you think of V?”

Yoosung choked, dropping his sandwich on his lap at the unexpected question. As he coughed, Rika pushed a water bottle in his hand. Her other hand patted his back gently, trying to dislodge the obstruction.

He downed the water in three big gulps. Breathing heavily, he stared at her like a deer in the headlights. “What?”

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to ask the question anymore but if his reaction was like that, she had to find out the truth. “What do you think of V?”

“He’s…nice…and kind…” Yoosung mumbled, wiping the water from his mouth. He averted his gaze as he picked the sandwich off his lap. “And a good photographer.”

“Did he do something to you?” Concerned, she squeezed his shoulder. “You can tell me.”

“What?” Startled, Yoosung shook his head quickly. “Nothing—why’d you think that?”

“Because of how you’re acting.” Rika pulled back, perplexed. If V didn’t do anything to Yoosung, then why did her cousin have such an extreme reaction? “You don’t like him.” She hadn’t meant to say that, but as they left her tongue, the words rang true. Finally understanding, she repeated, “You don’t like him.”

“What? No! That’s—” Yoosung stuttered. When it was clear she didn’t buy it, he hung his head in defeat. “Maybe just a little.”

“A little?” she asked.

“A little,” he confirmed, indicating the amount with the distance between his thumb and forefinger. After a moment, he increased the distance. “…more than a little.”

“Why?” Rika asked, pressing her hands against her skirt. Her fingers clenched against the fabric as she waited for his answer.

“I…I dunno.” Uncomfortable, Yoosung peeked at her and then stared down at his lap. “I…just do.”

“Oh.” It was…not disappointing, to be exact. Sad? Her heart clenched. He didn’t like V. Her two favourite people couldn’t be together. “That’s…”

“But…” Yoosung interrupted. “You love him.”

Not sure where he was taking this, she nodded. Like. Love. She wasn’t sure she had a word that could describe her feelings, these emotions that threatened to overwhelm her at times. Brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, she gave a small smile. “I do.”

Puffing his cheeks, Yoosung looked away. Begrudgingly, he raised his hand again. The gap between his fingers was almost minute now. “Then…I can like him too.”

The feeling that overwhelmed her this time was love, was happiness, was joy. Without thinking, she lunged at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. Her cheeks were wet with tears as she pressed her face into his shoulder. “Yoosung!”

“Rika?” Struggling to adjust to the added weight, Yoosung grabbed hold of the bench.

“I’m just…” She didn’t know what to say. Long ago, she had assumed that she’d be lucky if even one person accepted her. And now she had two. “Thank you.”

“It’s…nothing.” Awkwardly, he patted her back. His stomach gurgled again, and she could feel more than see his skin turning red. “Not again!”

This time her stomach grumbled as well, reminding her about the lunch that they both seemingly had forgotten in her excitement. Pulling back, she wiped her eyes. “Come on, let’s finish eating.”

#yoosung kim #rika #mystic messenger #Yoosung & rika #fanfic #their relationship makes me sad

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imagine-darksiders · 6 years ago

Text

Cold Hands, Warm Heart.

Chapter 7 - Diamond in the Rough.

Summary: It's the age old adage that transcends species; Our hero doesn't believe in love at first sight until he sees 'The One.'

Karn had always considered himself to be the hero of his own story.

But then, you came along.

---

Far off in the western corner of the Forge Lands, beyond a ravine known to most as Charred Pass, where the ground has been burned black by a never ending barrage of fireballs spewed from the belly of an active volcano, is a lone maker, caught up in the rush of a heroic battle.

Or at least, he imagines it must look very heroic and extremely brave. Perhaps even the bravest a maker has ever looked.

Karn; by far the youngest maker in Tri Stone – if not the whole realm – has taken it upon himself to single handedly battle an army of Corrupted construct warriors; immense creatures of living stone that have been stitched and stuck together by thick, winding strands of Corruption, the inky substance seeping deep into their calcified bodies and connecting every boulder together like writhing, ebony veins.

Surrounded by a moat of molten lava, the maker whirls gracefully across the Cauldron's stone courtyard, swinging left and right with one arm behind his back and the other clenched tight around his trusty, double-faced hammer,,

Well.. Graceful might be a bit of a stretch.

There has to be dozens – No! - Hundreds of the reanimated golems, and he's ploughing through great swathes of them as if they were little more than glass figurines and he, a raging stalker.

The young maker bellows out a whooping battle cry and brings the flat head of his gigantic hammer down on the eighth construct that hurtles towards him.

...So, he might have to embellish a few of the facts a little when he returns to the village. After all, a good story just isn't worth telling unless the hero – that's him; Karn – is pitted against perilous odds.

Why, by the time he's finished regaling the others with this epic tale, they'll be singing his praises for centuries to come, no doubt.

Head shaking to flick away the beads of sweat trickling down his furrowed brow, Karn raises a thick, metal boot and stomps it over the back of a downed construct, grinding the stone-fleshed warrior beneath his heel.

That is....if the others even believe him...

Not that they ever do. Even when he is telling the truth.

'Unreliable,' is what Alya called him once, among other things. And that was to his face! Maker knows what she's said behind his back.

Like air rushing out of a popped balloon, Karn visibly deflates, his ears drooping and face falling as he tries to swing at another construct on his left. But in light of his momentary lapse in concentration, he overshoots, misses, and the beast is able to duck beneath the hammer's handle, bringing it close enough to pound a vicious stone club onto his gloved knuckles. Despite the added protection of hardy leather and the construct's much smaller stature, those things can pack one hell of a wallop.

With a yelp, he recoils sharply, shaking out the bruised hand and shooting his assailant a snarl, lips pulled back to show off a pair of gleaming fangs.

Luckily, although numerous and fiercely relentless, the reanimated constructs aren't particularly fast. Or bright, for that matter. Releasing a prematurely triumphant gurgle, it lunges at his leg, this time aiming for an unarmored tendon on the inside of his knee.

Having pre-empted the move, Karn lets out a derisive snort, and simply steps aside.

The stone warrior flies past him and lets out a bewildered grunt as it crashes to the ground in a heap. Wasting no time, the maker swiftly dispenses righteous justice for his hand, raising the hammer high over his head and plunging it into the struggling golem with the force of a falling meteorite, garnering no small amount of satisfaction from the way its body explodes into smithereens, scattering rock fragments all over the courtyard.

“Oof! Bet that hurt!” he mocks, slinging his hammer over a shoulder and puffing out a rough exhale. Muscles twitching from the lingering adrenaline, he turns in a wide circle to survey the damage.

Covering every inch of the hard ground are the splintered remains of a dozen or so ex-corrupted constructs, freed from their tainted bonds only by the cold embrace of death.

Heaving a weary sigh, Karn stretches out his back and grunts as several of his overworked joints click and pop in protest. Briefly, he laments being so thorough in his swathe of destruction and mayhem. There isn't a single, recognisable piece left intact that he could have taken back with him to the village as a trophy. A nice head or two would have definitely added to his story's authenticity.

“Ah well,” he announces to the lonely courtyard, “Can't be helped.”

Glancing around in the vain hope that one of the other makers had inexplicably turned up to witness his glorious victory, Karn’s ears prick forward, only to droop again when he realises that, no, he’s still on his own.

As usual.

All of a sudden, motion from the corner of his silvery-grey eyes catches the maker's attention and he tenses, fists coming up to curl around his hammer and hauling it back into two hands. Lips curling and arms quivering with pent up anticipation, Karn wheels about to face the stone steps leading up onto the entryway.....

...and is promptly sent tumbling head over heels in love.

There's a girl standing at the edge of the courtyard, staring up at him, her eyes bright and wide and curious. On her feet, she wears a pair of big, brown, clunky boots which aren't at all in keeping with the rest of her tidy clothes. The hair on her head is a dishevelled, windswept mess, as though she'd been running flat out for hours on end and has yet to find the time to flatten it down. But by far the aspect that holds him utterly spellbound is her open face, beset just slightly by a shadow of nervousness and fatigue that lingers around her eyes and lips, but otherwise bursts with wonder. And the fascinated, inquisitive expression she’s aiming at him is no doubt a direct echo of his own.

Karn watches, dumbstruck, as her delicate lips give a twitch, then a cautious smile begins to lift her cheeks and as a result, his stomach does an involuntary somersault.

Incidentally, having never actually been in love before, he can only guess that this must be what it feels like – stepping off the edge of a cliff in the pitch black of night with absolutely no idea what's waiting for him at the bottom.

In fact, falling in love doesn't seem at all like Eideard described in his tales. He never mentioned this sensation of tumbling into plummetless uncertainty.

Thousands of years ago, when younglings were a frequent sight in the forge lands, Karn – too old and too proud to count himself amongst them - would linger within earshot as their elder parked himself on one of the stone ledges in Muria's garden and regaled the littlest ones with stories of grand adventures, world-ending battles and doomed paramours.

The latter stories interested Karn the least.

They just seemed so farfetched. All that nonsense about legends like Halldora and Eda, two of the most powerful shield-maidens in maker folklore whose eyes met over a blood-soaked battlefield and they knew – in a single glance - that they were destined to be together.

Karn remembers vividly scoffing at that one.

How could they know they were in love with just one look? And if that were the case, how did they manage it without their palms sweating and breath catching in their throats?

Now though, staring down at the vision treading carefully in through the courtyard's entrance, he sends Eideard a quick, mental apology because evidently, the Old one had been right. Love at first sight isn't such a preposterous notion as Karn had originally thought.

So here he is, standing with his elbows pressed tight into his sides and feeling a lot like a deer in the headlights, rooted to the spot by her resplendent gaze. Suddenly, he blinks.

He hasn't got the first clue as to what she is.

He could almost mistake her for an angel, were it not for the obvious lack of wings, a total absence of self-righteous superiority and her face isn't schooled into that permanent, supercilious scowl the birds constantly seem to wear.

She's certainly not a demon, that much is undeniable. What’s more, she still has her skin, hair and she's surrounded by a healthy, radiant glow. So that ticks undead off the list.

Karn may not be the most intelligent of makers, by his own admission, but there are a couple of things he's almost certain of: Her face is etched with a story he's never heard, her eyes haunted by hidden nightmares and he is hopelessly, ridiculously smitten. Whatever she is, she’s got him. She’s got him good and all it took was one glance.

She continues to regard him, a shy grin playing at the edges of her mouth until a moment later, his ears are perking up at the sound of her voice, vibrant and musical and chock full of so much ingenuousness, his heart gives a noticeable throb. “Wow,” she breathes, “Dude, that was amazing!”

To his rapidly increasing distress, all Karn can muster up in response is a doltish, “I – Er...Whu?” and almost instantly, he wants to go off, dig himself a deep hole and bury himself inside it.

But her friendly, open-hearted eyes only shine with mirth at his stumble and she gestures towards the piles of rubble strewn about his feet, growing increasingly more animated as she speaks.

“Ah, sorry. S'just that we saw you fighting those things on our approach! When that last one nearly got you, but you just moved out of the way and pummelled it like it was nothing?” She emphasizes her point by smacking a fist into her open palm before looking up at him again, grin widening. “That was amazing.”

“A-...Amazing?”

'Oh Maker have mercy, now she's gone and done it.'

Karn has been many, many things in his life, but he's never once been amazing. He's been a 'pest,' a 'loudmouth, 'in the way,' and 'a danger to everyone around him.' But never amazing.

The young maker isn't prepared for the unexpected lurch as his heart throws itself against his rib cage presumably in an attempt to get closer to the object of its newfound affection. He actually has to discreetly slide a hand over his chest in case she notices the organ thrashing against his skin. Hell, he's half convinced she can already hear it.

Karn's tongue peels away from the roof of his mouth and he clears his throat to try and repair a remaining scrap of dignity. However, at that moment, a new voice twitches his ear and makes him jump, solely because he hadn't realised that anyone else had even been there.

“Not another one...” it grumbles brusquely.

Karn gives himself a quick shake to clear the fog that had settled like a warm blanket over his mind and finally manages to roll his mystified gaze from the woman to a much larger, much more ominous being at her side; one that he recognises almost instantly. The sight of a mouthless, bone-white mask snaps him out of his stupor and he breathes, “A rider? Here?”

No sooner had the words left his tongue than a rumble suddenly moves the ground underfoot and the strange woman throws her arms out, steadying herself on the horseman and exclaims, “Good god! What on Earth was that?!”

Any lingering wonderment falls from Karn's face. He recognises the rumble's significance first and groans aloud, eyes darting around the courtyard. “Ah, maker’s bones. Thought I took care of you lot already!”

As they had done before, the thick slabs of stone begin to shake and rattle as constructs burst through the cracks between them, scrabbling away at solid rock to force their own, vitrified bodies inlaid with ink black tentacles up and out of the ground.

Karn's eyes narrow, only to widen again moments later when a soft, gasped whimper leaps from the mouth of the little being beside the horseman. He glances down, ears flattening against his skull at the sight of the girl’s body turning rigid, her tiny chest heaving up and down as she fumbles with something at her side. He doesn't get to see what it is though because the next thing he knows, he's meeting Death's burning glare and a silent understanding passes between them, unmistakable in its meaning.

A shadow creeps over the maker's eyes, his brows drawing together into a tight, determined frown. Giving a hasty nod, he shifts, turning away and taking a few, gigantic steps backwards until both the girl and Death are bathed in his immense shadow. At the same time, the horseman whips out his formidable scythes and angles himself towards the outer wall. There's a small noise of protest from the girl that sends a beat shooting across Karn's chest when she suddenly finds herself being shoved, bullied and prodded backwards, crowded between the maker and horseman who stand fast and face the slowly approaching wave of corrupted constructs.

Chest puffed out and jaw set, Karn bends his head around to swiftly throw the petite thing a cocky smirk. “Stay behind me!” he winks, “I'll take care of this.”

The young maker can hardly believe his luck! Finally, a chance to prove he can be a hero. Heroes protect the small, don't they?

Just then, the boldest of the golems raises its stone club into the air and bellows out its gravelly rallying cry and the rest of them follow suit, pounding their fists against rock-hard chests and lumbering forwards all at once, straight at the trio in the centre of the courtyard.

“Come on then!” Karn stamps his metal boot on the ground a few times, hoping to intimidate, while the horseman merely rolls his eyes and plants his feet more firmly. As the first of the constructs charge within swinging range, Maker and Nephilim alike explode into murderous action.

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

The new maker had to be the youngest you'd seen so far, though he's no less enormous than the others. Not from where you're standing, head just a few inches shy of his knee. Unlike Eideard and Thane, this one doesn't sport an impressive, luxuriant beard. Rather, any hair that might have adorned his face has been shaven close to the skin, leaving a dark dusting of stubble on his head and chin, sweeping along his jaw to the base of his ears. Around his neck is a striped cowl of deep viridian, the same colour as his tunic which is nipped in by a wide belt, strewn with all sorts of pockets, pouches and satchels. A heavy, leather backpack is strapped to his robust shoulders, both of which are littered with long, pale scars rather than the forge burns you'd seen on Alya and Valus. On your approach to the Cauldron, you'd spotted him stampeding across a round-walled courtyard and flattening a vast throng of constructs with a gargantuan hammer, somehow larger than Thane's axe.

Even from a distance, the display was – as you'd said – amazing.

In fact, you'd much rather be watching this fight from a distance too, not sandwiched between the Grim Reaper and a literal giant.

You stand stock-still in place, half crouched and gawking as the horseman's arms whip through the air in an impressive whirlwind of motion. He hurls his twin scythes outwards, sending them spinning in a wide arc to cleave the heads from two of the golems before they curve right back into their wielder's hands, not dissimilar to a pair of deadly boomerangs.

He barely moves his feet, tilting on his heel every now and then which gives you the impression that he isn't used to fighting stationary like this. Three more corrupted constructs burst out of the ground a little too close to him, shifting one of the stone slabs he's balanced on and forcing him to jump to one side. The first grabs at his boot before it's even pulled itself free of the rock and Death's shoulders grow tense, rooted to the spot by one construct as the other two throw themselves into him at the same time, no doubt hoping to bring their opponent down by overwhelming him.

One of the remaining brutes that had been patiently hanging back from the carnage, waiting for the best opportunity to strike, realises that Death's attention is momentarily elsewhere. Its cumbersome head pivots slowly over to you and you watch as it tilts to the side, assessing you before attacking. The most unnerving aspect of the motion is that it implies this one is smarter than the others.

The construct has spotted its enemy's weakness within seconds, zeroing in on the soft spot, the vulnerability of the group. Even though it lacks any visible eyes, you still shudder, feeling rather than seeing its hateful gaze cut through to your soul, sharp as a knife. It stalks around to Death's right, allowing its corrupted brethren to feel the sting of his blades instead, until it lingers in the gap left bare between horseman and maker, your exposed flank. Realising its sinister intent, your jaw drops open around a scream, but it's as though your tongue has been coated in lead. All that comes out is a pitiful whine.

Like a gravelly bullet, the construct bounds into sudden motion and you blanch, frenziedly pulling your sword free of its scabbard and trying to bring the blade level with the creature's chest. It raises it's boulder of a fist into the air above you, ready to pummel you into an early grave.

Sucking in a gasp, you squeeze your eyes shut and wince as a rush of air whizzes past your nose....

….An earth-shattering boom lifts you clear off the ground, only to crash back down again with a startled yelp. Blinking your eyes open and staggering for a moment, you glance up to see that in the few seconds between your gasp and the construct's blow, the young maker has swung around and smashed his hammer down hard on top of it. The hard, metal face of the weapon rests flat against the stone, mere inches from the toes of your boots.

Gobsmacked, your heart trembling away in a dark corner of your chest, you watch as he lifts the hammer again, chunks of debris falling like dry rain on your head. When you twist to meet his gaze, you're surprised even further to see that worry has replaced the confident smirk he'd tossed your way just minutes ago.

“You alright?” he pants, ears pinned back against his head.

On autopilot, you gulp loudly and offer a shaky nod, opening your mouth to reply, but movement behind him snaps your attention between his legs. Another construct, bigger than the rest of them with dark tendrils flaring from its shoulders and neck, is lurching straight for his exposed back. Instead of a club, this one wields a long, rusted blade in its oversized hand – a blade that's aimed straight at the base of the maker's spine.

For someone who tends to overthink a lot of her decisions after they've been made, you don't put a whole lot of thought into your next one.

An eerie feeling – the same you'd felt back in Father Michael's church – washes over you. You'd felt it when you saw Death, at the time who you thought was a fellow human, and you can feel it now. At a speed you hadn't known you could reach, you've gripped the sword in your hands and dived beneath the maker's cloth hauberk. “Oi! What're you-”

You're vaguely aware of a startled shout rumbling from the body above and the horseman barking your name, but you're already too far gone, too focused on the corrupt warrior to register the tight edge in Death's voice.

You burst out from between the giant legs and lift your sword, pointing it as steady as you can at the first vulnerability you find.

The neck.

Thick, oily tendrils dig into the golem's torso, stretching up and wrapping around its boulder head to keep the two connected together. It's into that stoneless gap between the body and face that you bury your blade up to the hilt, letting out a very unimpressive, garbled yell.

The golem, startled at the sight of a tiny, fleshy something barrelling towards it from under a maker's tunic, slows and all of a sudden jerks to a stuttering halt, finding a small sword sticking out the back of its neck. If it had any eyes, it would have blinked them, hard.

The sword and its wielder, though neither are at all daunting to look at, managed to sever the crucial strand of Corruption tying the head to its body and if the construct wasn't utterly brainless to begin with, it might have taken umbrage to meeting such a humiliating end. As it is, with nothing but a solid hunk of stone where a brain ought to be, it merely shudders once, teeters forwards and releases a final, rumbling moan. The heavy load brings it crashing to its knees, forcing you to stumble back and tug the sword out as you go, gaping dumbly as the golem's head wobbles, then tumbles down from its shoulders, bouncing off the huge chest before it drops heavily to the ground and cracks clean in two.

The volcano chooses that moment to give out a bellowing rumble, as if your impromptu slaying of a monster thrice your size had warranted a round of applause.

Gulping down desperate lungfuls of air, you hesitate a further second before exhaling loudly, your body folding in half as you rest your head on the pommel of the sword, tip stabbed into the ground for stability.

Corruption however, robbed of its host, is less inclined to suffer such a defeat.

All of a sudden, your head snaps back up as the black ooze begins to wiggle and squirm, a high pitched screech ringing out of an unseen mouth. It moves as a whole, coagulating onto the shoulders of the construct before it slips and pools into the depression where a head used to be like a sentient, bubbling puddle of viscous tar.

And then, it rises as one, stretching from the neck up and elongating into a thick, wet tendril, rearing back like a snake ready to strike. There are no eyes to meet, but you stare up at the rounded tip, knowing that it's staring right back, filled up with hate and malice as opposed to your horror and alarm.

You have all of a second to realise what it's planning before it suddenly strikes, moulding its head into a piercing spine that it aims directly at your vulnerable chest.

There isn't any time to think. Your hand remains frozen around the hilt of your sword, instinct screaming for you to move but your brain remains empty, a husk awaiting instruction from its host, and you have none to give it. There isn’t even the time to scream but you give it your best shot. However, as soon as your jaw drops and you suck down half a breath, a familiar, rawboned hand clamps around your shoulder and wrenches you backwards.

Death hurls you to the ground, out of his way and out of the rogue corruption's reach. You land painfully on your arm and cry out, dropping the sword with a loud clang.

Behind you, the horseman's scythes make short work of the liquid ooze. He drives them clean through its host's body until the rancid stuff gives out a final shriek, shudders and collapses in thick globules, splashing to the floor and seeping through the grout, finally silent.

Placidity settles over the courtyard, save for the occasional hiss and spit of the lava flowing around in the burning lake far beneath your feet.

After a minute or two, a slow whistle to your left breaks the silence. “By the Stone!” the maker breathes, “That was....was-”

Suddenly, Death cuts him off, rounding on you with eyes brimming with explosive rage. “Foolish!? Idiotic!? Blindingly stupid!?”

Startled by his sudden ferocity, you try to back-peddle along the ground but he marches over to you and roughly grabs the scruff of your jumper, jerking you onto your feet, taking hold of one of your arms and lifting it away from your body, eyes narrowed suspiciously as they inspect you from head to toe.

“Death!” you try to protest, more embarrassed than nervous at this point. However, he puts one of his cold hands on your forehead and tilts it back, peering unscrupulously into your wide eyes.

“Death!” you bark again and grab his wrist, pushing it up to duck out from beneath it. Retreating to a safer distance, you brush yourself down and shoot him a wary frown. “What was that for?!”

His fingers twitch and he narrows his eyes back at you, thoroughly displeased. “That corruption came damn well near enough to touch you,” he retorts sharply, “I thought I told you not to let it close!”

“But-!”

“What if you'd been corrupted?” he continues, blatantly disregarding your attempted objection, “You know, difficult though it may be to believe, I wouldn't actually enjoy putting you down if that were the case.”

“If you would just listen-”

“You may well be the last human left alive. What were you th-”

“WILL YOU LET ME FINISH!”

The shriek that bursts from you without warning smacks the horseman square in the jaw, knocking any more words of anger off his tongue and startling him into silence.

Meanwhile, staying wisely out of the argument, the young maker winces at the volume, his ears twitching in time to your echoing voice as it bounces and reverberates around the mountainside.

You stick your chin out and tilt it at Death, chest heaving and glare hardening. “I was trying to stop it from corrupting him!” You jab a finger at the startled maker. “He didn't see it because he was busy saving me from a different one! What was I supposed to do? Just let it stab him first?”

Right as Karn opens his mouth to claim that he knew the golem had been there all along, Death's head snaps in his direction and he balks, glancing away from his fierce stare.

For several, tense moments, the horseman switches his focus from your timid face to the young maker, then down at the dead construct until eventually, his whole body seems to deflate. Eyeing you warily, he mumbles, “You're certain? You're certain it didn't touch you?”

You shake your head.

The horseman's chest swells and shrinks with a slow breath, aiming his harsh glare at the construct's severed head before his expression softens a little, barely enough to notice, and in a voice so gentle you can scarcely hear it over the distant rumbling from the volcano, he says, “Well done,” appraising you coolly.

Bowing your head, you rub sheepishly at one arm and turn to the maker, only to find him already staring down at you with a senseless smile pushing at the corners of his lips. When he notices you watching though, his titanic shoulders tense and he subtly snaps his head back to look up at the sky, eyes following the movements of a random cloud. “Oh – would you look at tha'....” he mutters distractedly.

Tentative in the face of a stranger now that the greater danger has passed, you stoop down, retrieve your discarded sword, pause to straighten out your jumper and venture a little closer, stopping once you're several feet from his metal boots.

His gaze roves down from the sky and he blanches at how much closer you've moved, looking up at him with those big, curious eyes. “Hello,” you chirrup.

“Uh...Hullo.” Drawn by a dull glint, he absently glances down to your hands. The moment Karn registers what you're holding onto, all the colour rushes back to his face, with a little extra it would seem, given the flush that tinges his cheeks and ears a soft rouge.

Rocking back on your heels, you force yourself to stand a little straighter so as not to betray your nerves and try to meet his eye, a difficult task considering he's no longer looking at you. “Hey, thanks for saving me back there.”

The maker doesn't say a word, only continues to stare at the sword in your hand.

“Um. You okay?” you ask, half as a general inquiry and half because he hasn't blinked yet.

Ever so slowly, mouth hanging slightly agape, he shakes his head from side to side. “No, no. I'm....M' Karn...”

You blink at him, thrown for a second before your lips quirk up and you snort.

At the sound of your amusement, he finally tears his eyes off the sword, realising what he'd said and immediately shakes his hands through the air, stammering, “Oh! N-No, I mean – I'm okay! You're Karn! Ach, no! I meant-” Mortified, he pinches his broad, flat nose between thumb and forefinger, slowly sighing, “I'm Karn.”

Your smile has been replaced by a full blown grin.

It feels good, having your mouth stretched open wide like that again.

“Well, it's very nice to meet you Karn. I'm Y/n.” Saying his name out loud clicks something together in your brain and you suddenly gasp. “Oh, you're Karn!”

“Ye'v heard of me?” he chirps, blinking in surprise before shaking his head and swiping a thumb beneath his nose. “I mean, course ye'v heard of me!”

“Yeah, Thane mentioned you. It's nice to finally meet you in person,” you reply warmly.

A pang of jealousy slugs him unexpectedly in the gut - jealousy that he hadn't been the one to meet you first.

Hesitant, your hands wring around the hilt of your sword until you finally hold it up for him to see. “Um, I think I found something of yours.”

“Heh. Yeah....yeah, you..you did.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he gestures at it with his chin, coughing softly. “How – er. How'd you find that then?”

“Oh, well, Thane wouldn't let me leave the village without a weapon, so I dug around in a crate and just....sort of found it, I guess.”

The maker's eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Ol' Thane kept that? Huh. Thought Valus'd melted it down for scrap.”

Taking a breath, you're about to tell him that that's exactly what the warrior had said, but decide against it when you see Karn's pleasantly surprised expression. Instead, you purse your lips and shrug. “Welp. Apparently not!”

He falls quiet and gazes at you for several seconds whilst you chuckle awkwardly. It occurs to you that he might be waiting for you to give the blade back. After all, he did craft it and supposedly thought it lost. Now, he probably wants it returned.

Hurriedly unclipping the sword belt, you ask, “Oh, do you want it back?” and hold it out for him to take only to jerk back a moment later when the enormous man suddenly raises his burly hands and shakes them frantically in front of you.

“Oh no! You can keep it, s'yours!” As he speaks, he takes an involuntary step forwards, freezing with a grimace the instant you stumble away from him, worry etched between your brows.

“S-sorry!” he stammers and retreats again, tugging at the scarf around his neck, “Didn't mean to scare you! M'just..surprised!”

You quirk your head, heartbeat slowing. “Surprised? Why?”

“You could've chosen any weapon out of Thane's arsenal, and you chose that one?”

Frowning, you turn a quizzical squint onto the sword. “Yeah? What's wrong with it? You made it, didn't you?”

He gives you an incredulous look and glances from side to side, as though he's waiting for you to reach some sort of conclusion on your own. When you still look as lost as ever, he bobs his head and carefully drawls, “Aye, that would be what's wrong with it.”

Without missing a beat, you harrumph and take a step closer, brushing his self deprecating comment aside easily. “Ah, no artist is ever happy with their own craft. I happen to think it's great.”

Behind you, Death crosses his arms, sporting an expression that falls flatter and flatter with every passing second. 'If this maker turns any redder, he'll explode.'

Oblivious to the horseman's inner monologue at his expense, Karn audibly gulps. “You do?”

Tutting, your grin widens. “Yeah, course I do. It killed that golem, didn't it?”

“Aye-” He laughs breathlessly, glancing over at the pile of rubble. “-Aye, it did.” From the ground, you watch his face go through several different expressions as he stares at it, working a tusk between his upper lip before he looks back at you and simply blurts, “Can I ask you a question?”

Death has to resist the urge to throw his head back and groan.

A little self conscious under his sudden, excited gaze, you rest your hands on your hips and shrug. “Okay, I guess?”

Once again, he seems to struggle through another couple of expressions, from ecstatic to nervous, doubtful and back again, until at last, he drops to one knee so heavily, you have to throw your arms out for balance when the ground shudders beneath your feet. “What are you? Exactly?”

Now it's your turn to be surprised. “Oh! Well, I'm...I'm just a human. You've never seen a human before?”

“Ach! A human! Of course!” He thunks a hand against the side of his head. “That makes more sense, sorry.” Resting one forearm over his bent knee, the young maker gives you a slow once-over, starting at your boots and ending at the hair on top of your head. “No, I've never met a human, heard about you though. Probably should have connected the dots.”

“Yes, and your ignorance doesn't show. At all,” Death grumbles, at last electing to break up whatever odd little greeting is happening here. He steps up next to you, eyeing the maker boredly for a minute before declaring, “You're different than the others...” Then, leaning back and placing a hand on his cocked hip, he adds, “Less pleasant on the eyes, for one.”

You shoot the horseman an exasperated glare whereas the maker simply huffs through his nose, brow drawing together. Not wanting to lose face in front of the first human he's ever met, he retorts, “Feh! I could say no less for you.”

“Death,” you interject before someone decides to take real offence, “this is Karn. He made my sword!”

Death casts his calculating eyes up and down the giant and hums dismissively. “So I gathered.”

Karn plasters a grin back on his face as he pushes himself upright again and stretches his arms up towards the sky, biceps flexing imposingly. Peeking one eye open, he's put out to discover that you're too busy trying to stuff the sword back into its sheath to notice his impressive display.

Faltering for just a second, he quickly drops his arms, hoists the thick, leather belt up higher on his waist and clears his throat, effectively getting your attention. “Aye, you've probably heard folks around town calling me 'Pup,' or 'Lad.' But, uh...” He scratches his chin stubble and sends you a shy smile. “But I prefer my own name.”

'S'pecially the way you say it,' he thinks to himself.

“Pup it is then”

Karn blinks, then shrinks.

Sparing the smug horseman a dirty glare, he stuffs his hands under his armpits and shrugs. “As you will. Matters not to me.” The dark scowl falls away as soon as he catches your eye again. “So, what're you two doing here?”

“We took a wrong turn,” Death quips, “Now it seems we're stuck here with the rest of you.”

“No, I mean - what're you doing here, at the Cauldron? Didn't you hear? It fell to Corruption fair long ago.”

A fleck of burning ash flutters out of the sky to land on the horseman's shoulder. He watches the feeble embers flicker and die as they touch his cold skin before raising a hand and nonchalantly brushing it off. “I'll take my chances. Your elder seems to think that I'm the best hope you have of restoring the mountain's fire.”

“That's why I'm here!” Karn exclaims and taps his chest enthusiastically, “I came here for that self same purpose!”

“Really?” you chirp.

The young maker practically glows under the warmth of your impressed stare. Lifting his chin and hooking his thumbs into the backpack's straps, he sniffs, “Oh, aye. Figured I'd pop the cork, so to speak. You know, be the hero.”

“So why haven't you?”

“Whassat now?”

Karn falters, his focus moving back to the horseman, who blinks languidly up at him and repeats, “Why haven't you then?”

“Oh..I – er...Well, I..” He trails off into an awkward silence, painfully aware of your curious eyes peering up at him. “Well, I tried!” he insists eventually, “But the Cauldron is locked up well and tight, and the way through is swallowed by fire!”

Just then, Karn's ears perk back up and he sweeps a proper look over the horseman. “Say...You look capable enough. Perhaps you can find a way. I'll wait here with...with Y/n and guard the entrance.”

An explorer at heart, first and foremost, Karn's natural curiosity has been gnawing away at his belly from the moment he first laid eyes on you and he'd be lying if he said he hasn't been itching to learn as much as possible - although the prospect of spending time alone with you sets his heart thundering and causes the palms of his hands to grow slick with sweat. Still, this could be the perfect opportunity to-

“Oh, I'm going with Death.”

Now, as most people do, Karn would like to consider himself a fairly composed maker, definitely not the kind that chokes on their own spit and has to thump themselves in the chest several times while a radiant human and glowering horseman watch on.

Coughing and spluttering, he eventually manages to blurt, “You what?”

Casting him a bemused smile, you repeat, “I'm going with him.”

“Are you now?” the horseman muses beside you.

Your fists clench and flex for a moment, glancing tentatively between the Cauldron's ominous front doors and back to him several times until your mouth sets into a firm line and you give him a tight-lipped nod. “Yup.” To stay behind means to be still. To be still means to think and to think means to dwell....You dread the stillness, dreaded it more than you dread whatever lies in wait within the Cauldron.. It leaves you no protection from your ghosts. You'll have to face them eventually, of that you have no doubt. But not yet.

“Are you sure?” he presses, turning to face you, peering down into your darting eyes, his own unblinking. It suddenly occurs to you that you might be undergoing some kind of test. “I never said you couldn't change your mind,” he continues, tone unreadable.

At your back, the maker shifts noisily, worrying at his lower lip. 'No, no, no! We've only just met! Don't leave now!' In a ditch effort to sway your decision, he pipes up. “It's dangerous in there!” Inquisitively, you swivel your head around towards him as he stammers, “S'pecially for a little feller like you. You thought that last fight was bad? It – It'll be ten times worse inside!”

“I know, but I said I'd help Death.”

The horseman snorts. “It's far more likely you'll be a hinderance. Particularly,” he emphasizes, raising his voice, “if you go haring off on your own to tackle something that's almost triple your size.”

Wringing your hands, you swallow down on your fear, insisting, “I'm sorry. It won't happen again.”

Skeptical, he quirks a brow and peers down at you. “So, you'll stay close?”

“Yes Death.”

“But not so close that you'll get in the way?”

“No Death.”

“And you'll do precisely what I say, when I say it?”

Squashing down the urge to groan and roll your eyes, you mumble, “Within reason.”

One of the horseman's eyelids gives a volatile twitch.

“I mean, yes Death.”

The stern Nephilim scrutinises you for another long moment. Finally, he uncrosses his arms and nods slowly, the hard edge vanishing from his tone. “Alright then.. Good.” Jerking his head for you to follow, he spins on a heel and marches for the square, stone doors set into the mountain, calling, “Because I do not want to have that conversation with the Old ones if I return to Tri Stone without you.”

A little taken aback that he’d conceded, you stare after him dumbly.

“You've already failed the first step!”

You jump, shaking yourself and hurrying to catch up whilst throwing Karn a tentative wave over your shoulder. “It was nice to meet you by the way! See you around?”

Karn, for his part, wants to scream.

Instead, he can only seem to stare helplessly at you as you jog further and further away from him. His hand raises of its own accord to reach out while his heart, mind and soul shriek at him to just snatch you from the horseman and retreat back to the safety of Tri Stone.

But he doesn't.

Because he's a fraud, too ashamed for wanting to remain outside where it's safer while you – a human – willingly head inside, armed with nothing but the shoddy sword he crafted almost five hundred years ago.

Once you've crossed the long portcullis and made it to the entrance, Death throws the door open and ushers you through.

Quite abruptly, Karn's feet come unfastened from the ground and he finds himself stumbling several, heavy steps after you, thoughts of just going with you leaping to the forefront of reason. If you can go and try to help, then why can't he?

As he reaches the foot of the bridge however, the young maker suddenly lurches to a stop, another, unwelcome thought springing up and cutting through the rest.

He already has tried...

He'd gone in another dungeon with someone before; Alya and her brother, guided them through a place known as the Shattered Forge.

And in trying to 'help,' Karn had almost cost the twins their lives.

His hand drops to hang limply at his side, mouth twisting into a dejected grimace as he watches the doors slide shut in Death's wake, sealing you inside and leaving him alone in the courtyard.

Perhaps...it would be safer for everyone if he did remain behind.....

As usual...

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

“That...is a big cork.”

“Very perceptive.”

Standing in front of you, rising from the hard floor of the Cauldron like an oversized bath-plug, is the very obstacle that needs to be shifted if Death is to restore fire to the maker's forge. The 'cork,' as Karn had dubbed, is about the size of a small house, made entirely of thick, dark metal and shackled to the bale on top are the most impressive chains you've ever seen, bigger and wider than the ones that cargo ships drop to weigh anchor.

You gawk at a pair of immense weights hanging from the ceiling while Death scouts out the room, eyes landing on an unassuming door in the closest right hand corner.

”How're we ever gonna shift that?” you wonder aloud, “No way you're that strong.” Then, after you feel the horseman's terse stare hit the side of your head, you flatly point out, “Death, I refuse to believe you have the same upper body strength as a maker.”

Giving you his best 'offended' glower, he scoffs and shakes his head, starting for the door. “Be that as it may, I doubt the ancients intended for this ‘cork’ to be removed....manually..”

“What're you saying, there's a button somewhere that can do it for us?” you ask, hopeful.

“Perhaps. We just have to find it first..”

“The solution's never in the first room, is it?” Blowing out a sigh, you trail behind him through to the next room, sweat already beginning to pour down your forehead. “Whoo boy! It is hot!”

“Is it? And here I thought we'd found ourselves back in the Crowfather's realm..”

Suddenly, Death tenses at the feeling of your fingers brushing against his tricep, a soft gasp pushing your lips apart. “You might as well be, how're you still so cold!?”

Groaning, the horseman thinks back on the days where he could travel in and out of dungeons like this one without the sound of inane chatter filling the silence. Conversation and Death have never gone hand in hand, a fact you seem to be blatantly unaware of. As you remark upon how lucky he is not to be suffering in this stifling heat, he sighs, shoulders slumping. “This will take some getting used to...”

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

For the better part of the next, Earth hour, you and the horseman traipse, traverse and fight through the Cauldron's depths. Well, Death does all of the fighting and most of the traversing whereas you handle the traipsing.

Vast, twisting corridors stretch from chamber to chamber, their ceilings caved in or crumbling to reveal the blue sky above, rays of sunlight falling in through the gaps. Tiny specks of volcanic ash flit around in the air, perpetually lifted by the warmth underfoot. Every now and again, in the more cavernous, lava-choked rooms, you hear the call of strange birds echo from the leafy foliage and vines growing in and along the roof. Sometimes, Dust even issues an answering caw from his various perches. Once or twice, he's hopped from Death's shoulder to yours, then from you to the head of a statue resembling a strangely familiar maker.

Thirst tickles at the back of your scratchy throat every time you swallow, though you push through it, knowing that while Death may be a perfectly adequate line of defence against the beasts of this dungeon, you can't afford to lose focus for a second. Not in here.

The air is thick with heat and it had taken nearly ten whole seconds for you to peel off your thick jumper and tie it around your waist. Clad in a skirt, black tank top and the boots Valus made, you pad after Death beneath a stone archway into a rectangular room that falls away on one side into a deep pit filled with broiling lava. Your path continues on the other side but so far as you can tell, there isn't a way across, unless you fancy trying to jump and grab one of the thick, rusted chains that hang from the ceiling high overhead and extend down, disappearing into the lava.

To the left, a strange type of what you assume is the local flora grows on the wall, bursting out of the stone work and your eye is caught by a spiked, black ball with sickly-green light pulsating from several, deep cracks running along its surface. “Hey, what's this?”

Death turns from where he'd leant over the side to peer into the river of lava and starts to ask what you're talking about when his body suddenly freezes.

“Y/n!” he snaps, “Don't!-”

But it's too late. You've already pulled the otherworldly football from its nest of sticky webbing and glanced over at him. “Don't what?”

If he had any time to spare, Death would have smacked a hand over his mask.

In three seconds flat, he marches over, snatches the growth out of your hands, spins on his heel and pitches it across the gap, not a moment too soon. It soars in a graceful arc before sticking to a long, metal bar set against a round platform unindented from the newel post at the bottom of a stone staircase.

A beat passes in which you open your mouth to protest. Then -

'BOOM!'

The spiked ball hisses once before exploding in a flash of blinding light.

Death pivots his head around stiffly to glare at you and he raises his forefinger, pointing it warningly at your stunned expression. At that moment, a grinding sound echoes throughout the chamber and you both look across the gap to see that the metal bar that had suffered the brunt of the explosion is slowly sliding into the newel, shrieking in protest against the tight confines of the stone notch. It slots into place with an audible click, and seconds later, a steady rumble jerks you on your feet as the heavy chains begin to clank and creak, raising up out of the lava and pulling something heavy up with them. In no time, a long, blackened metal bridge lifts into view, fitting perfectly across the wide gap and screeching to to a noisy stop.

You glance over at Death, just in time to see his scowl darken. For a moment, thick, impenetrable silence hangs over the hallway, until a grin brightens your features. “Ha, ha! You can't be mad at me. I solved a puzzle!”

He grumbles something under his breath and stalks across the new bridge. “It wouldn't have been difficult to figure out. Your idiocy just beat me to it.”

Put out by the harsh term, your smile fades and you kick at a loose stone, sending it tumbling off the bridge into the lava below. Death gives you a sideways glance and heaves an exasperated sigh. “Just...don't go grabbing any more shadow bombs. Emphasis on the 'bomb' part.”

Nodding sheepishly, you reach the other side and find your attention immediately snatched by something else.

“What about that? Can I grab that?”

He follows your line of sight to a small table, tucked away in a dark corner behind the staircase, illuminated by a lonely wall-sconce. Resting on the slab of wood is a round object about the size of a bicycle wheel. It glitters prettily in the fire's glow and casts tiny freckles of light all along the wall. Before he can tell you to leave the mystery object, you've veered off towards it.

“Y/n, no. We cannot afford to keep stopping to investigate every piece of rubbish you find,” he gripes, huffing as he's promptly ignored.“Honestly, you're worse than Dust.”

He receives an objectionable hiss from the crow perched on a finial by the steps.

“What is this thing?” you murmur, grabbing a pair of handles sticking out on either side and heaving it into your arms. Though made entirely of a green metal, inlaid with a coppery trim, it's surprisingly light. “It...It's a platter!” you exclaim to a thoroughly uninterested horseman.

“Marvellous.”

“It is!” you insist, running a hand over the inside of the bowl, your warped reflection gazing back at you from a solid silver interior. Curious, you flip it over to look at the back as well. Intricate, golden patterns circle the outer rim and scribed in the centre is a pair of hammers, one crossed over the other.

“I..I think this might be Karn's.”

Pausing midway up a step, Death's face twists behind his mask. “How in the world did you come to that conclusion?”

“S'got hammers on it.” Keeping a tight grip on the golden handles, you trot up the stairs after him.

Scoffing, the horseman continues the ascent. “Most makers have used a hammer at one point or another. It's crafter is probably long gone by now. Leave it.”

Instead, you hug it tighter to your chest. “I will not. What if it is Karn's?”

“So what if it is?”

“Well, he'd probably want it back! I know I would.”

Death's face refuses to drop its incredulous expression. He shakes his head and strolls off the top step into a huge, empty room. “You don't owe him anything.”

“He saved me from that construct,” you point out.

“And then you saved him. So, you're even.”

“You ever think about doing nice things for people without expecting something in return?

“....Quiet.”

“I'm just saying - Mmph!”

Without warning, Death has spun around and pressed a gentle finger to your lips, eyes narrowed in concentration and head cocked, listening. Pulling a face at the proximity of his grimy wrist wrappings to your taste buds, you pull away and throw him a questioning glance. In a flash, his hand moves from your mouth to his scythes, drawing them and spinning around in a slow circle, head darting in every direction, searching for an unseen threat.

Unseen, but not unheard.

You can hear it now, a low, steady hum, growing louder and louder until the tiny pebbles at your feet begin to dance and jump, skittering across the ground. Heart in your throat, you stare at them, whimpering quietly, “Something's coming!”

He growls, hackles raised. “Something's already here.”

But where? The acoustics in the room throw any sound around sporadically, rendering it nearly impossible to pinpoint the exact origin of the odd humming. Keeping his back to you, the horseman strains his sensitive ears and grits his teeth.“We need to move towards the middle of the room. We're too close to the w-”

Without warning, an explosion of dust and stone detonates just metres away and you're thrown forwards, letting go of the platter and landing in a heap on your stomach, cracking your jaw painfully on the hard stone.

Over the ringing in your ears, from somewhere nearby yet strangely far away, you become aware of Death's gravelly voice repeating, “Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

Coughing up a mouthful of dust and grit, you push yourself onto shaking elbows, rolling over with a strained grunt and blearily squinting up at the out-of-focus shadow towering over you. Another slow blink or two and your vision clears, revealing the source of the explosion.

What little moisture is left on your tongue instantly evaporates at the gruesome sight.

A colossal construct has burst out of the wall behind you. This one...this one is bigger, much bigger that the rest you've encountered so far. It's covered from the dark barbute helm on its bulky head to stumpy feet in jet black corruption which rises in thick, wobbling globules from its back, breaking off when the strands are pulled too thin and sinking again like the world's most sinister lava lamp.

Patches of moss grow all over it's body, between the cracks in the stone and the massive spikes jutting out from the shoulder pauldron, blunt and weathered from age. It has an arm held aloft threateningly, the entire forearm made up of a rigid sphere of solid rock where a hand should be. Thick prongs of corruption stick up all over the rough surface, reminding you of the medieval maces they keep in museums.

The giant construct rumbles low and menacing before it rocks back on its heels, spreads its arms wide and bellows out a sound that could be a name if it weren't so warped and garbled. “GHARN!” Several corrupted tendrils roiling between 'Gharn's' joints peel away from the stone flesh and begin extending down towards you.

All of a sudden, a flash of grey and brown obscures the golem from view.

“D-Death!?”

You stare up at the horseman's sinewy back, pale skin stretched so taut over his vertebrae, you're surprised it hasn't split around the bone. He's dropped into a low crouch above you, one boot braced on either side of your knees and a scythe poised behind his back, ready and waiting to be brought forwards at a moment's notice. The construct groans, confused for a second as its dull intellect races to register the new opponent.

Slowly, Death stalks forward and circles around it, making sure the huge brute swings around as well, keeping it's 'gaze' fixed on him instead of you.

The tension is so tightly drawn, you could pluck a finger in mid air and hear a chord play. Then, just when it reaches snapping point, Death lunges.

Gharn flinches at his unexpected burst of speed but recovers almost immediately, throwing its mace-fist down into the space he'd occupied just milliseconds before and letting it spin like a buzz saw, grinding the floor up into rubble.

Death ducks beneath its arm and strafes behind the immense construct, forcing it to yank it's still spinning hand from the ground and make a tight turn, teetering on its struts. From behind, Death slashes at it, pulling an enraged bellow from the depths of its body and as it tries to land another devastating blow, he leaps right for it and slides between its legs, righting himself on the other side and carving his scythes across the width of its back again.

Belting out another infuriated roar, the golem heaves its bulk around. With impossible grace, Death jumps straight up into the air and gives its head a few, sharp strikes with his blades. To defend itself, it brings its arms up to cover its head, the corrupted tentacles on its shoulders screeching raggedly.

Dropping to the ground, Death spares a few, fatal second to turn to you, pointing towards a door at the far end of the room. “Go!” he orders, “Don't just stand there! Mo-”

He hadn't expected the golem to move so fast. Neither had you, to be honest, and you'd been looking right at it, saw it pull back one arm and thrust it at a startling velocity, connecting with the horseman's ribs and knocking him into the wall on the far side with a resounding 'smack!'

“DEATH!” you screech, a swell of terror pinching your voice while ‘Gharn’ marches after him.

From across the room, Death's eyes flutter open and closed and he groans, glancing up a mere fraction too late.

The construct's fingers close around his skull, enveloping his entire head in its stone fist and lifting him up off his feet before it slams him into the wall again and again, even as his hands come up to scrabble at the immovable arm.

“Put him down!”

Either it doesn't hear your frantic shriek, or it simply doesn't care.

Sweaty, trembling fingers take hold of your sword but you pause. Against a monster that size, what good will a blade do? What about your gun?....No, even more ineffective...

Looking wildly around the room for something, anything else that could help, your eyes eventually settle on the discarded dish resting several metres to your right. Jaw set, you scramble over to it and snag one of the handles, lifting it into the air and grabbing a loose chunk of brick that had once been part of the wall in your other hand. Holding both in the air in in front of you, you will your legs to stop quivering, face contorted in abject fear. “I said, LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

Fuelled by panic, you swing the rock and platter together with all your might. The resonant clang produced by stone on metal rents the air asunder, loud as a gong, shrill as an alarm. It sets the teeth in your skull rattling and finally, finally draws the construct's attention away from Death. Sluggishly, almost leisurely, its head slowly swivels around to find you.

Corruption senses life, not from the body dangling from its fingers, but from the audacious little creature challenging it from the other side of the room.

Parasitic, discontented with its body of heavy boulders, it puppeteers the construct, dropping Death in an undignified heap on the ground and trundling in your direction.

You watch it come, blood roaring in your ears as tendrils of dark ooze stretch from its body, swaying hypnotically before they cluster together into one, thick tentacle.

The gentle sigh that slips out between your lips is resigned and quiet, worlds away from the shout that had preceded it.

The stone giant trudges to a lazy stop several feet from you, its head angled down, corruption sliding an little rivers along its bulky arms before lifting from the cold rock and stretching, reaching out towards you.

Holding the silver platter close to your chest, you gulp and take a single, stiff step back. On shaking limbs, you fight to remain as upright as possible, grinding out through clamped teeth, “I'm not afraid of you...”

A blatant lie. Not even a very good one.

The hatred pouring out of the putrid substance is as tangible as the stone it clings to. You can feel it. A thicker, wetter heat than the Cauldron's atmosphere. From this proximity, it sticks to your skin like a feverish sheen and invades your throat and nostrils with its stench of rotten meat.

And then....the fear, the ubiquitous dread....vanishes, like it had never been there at all.

A heavy weight droops over your mind and lays there, lazily swelling and bulging outward to push everything else aside. All that exists in these few moments is you and the Corruption.

Dimly, you have to wonder if you'll even be aware, if it'll hurt, if you'll hurt anyone else...

...If it would be better this way...

You don't even notice that your legs have stopped quaking, nor that you've lowered the metal dish, exposing your shivering heart. You are very tired. What if you just....L̴et́ it̀ ͢h͢a̡p͝p̵e͝n̶?

You could just.....L̶et͡ me in

Yeah.

Yeah, why not?

Aren't yo̡ú t͟ir͟ed of f̵̶͡ig̢̛͏ht҉i͝n͏g̀͞?

The fog grows denser. Even the voice in your head sounds strange, as if it isn't your own anymore.

Out of nowhere, your brain explodes when a howl – deep and powerful – rips right through it, forcing you to drop the platter and clutch frantically at your ears, watching through squinted eyes as the Corruption recoils, flaring up above you and thrashing wildly through the air. With a pop, your mind abruptly clears and you let out a scream of your own, an influx of terror flooding back into your body. 'Where the Hell had that gone?'

Prying the hands out of your hair, you crane your neck back to look up at the construct and gasp.

Death has leapt up onto its back and in one, swift motion, he's hooked his scythes beneath its chin, braced his legs against the solid trapezius and pulled.

A sickening squelch curls your stomach when he wrenches the head clean off its neck and severs the corruption's connection along with it. The Construct begins to teeter backwards on its struts, so Death kicks off its back, somersaulting forwards to land expertly in front of you. He merely regards you, still as a statue whilst the rest of the giant golem collapses to the ground, its body crumbling now that corruption no longer holds its pieces together.

Only when the room settles, when the walls have stopped shaking and the booming vibrations have dissipated into the regular murmur of the volcano, do you dare risk meeting Death's irascible eyes.

He's angry, that much is obvious. But it's different from of anger he'd expressed outside with Karn. This anger is cold and dangerous, a jagged edged sword that he holds - not pointed out - but in.

The horseman's chest doesn't move around rigid breaths like yours does, he doesn't blink or shudder from adrenaline. All he does is look at you and ponder. Oh, he's enraged, of course. He's livid at you for intervening....Yet there's something else mingled into the mix, something that reins in his temper and curbs it in another direction.

He hadn't expected the blasted construct to move so fast. He had gotten complacent, and it almost cost him dearly.

It's the same sensation he gets when he considers his little brother's predicament, of laying chained before the Charred Council and subjected to all manner of cruel punishments.

War can endure, he's tougher than the rest of them, but that doesn't stop Death from doing as older brothers often do. Not even the Reaper is an exception to that universal rule.

He worries – is worried - about a human.

The moment he places the familiar, uncomfortable prod at his gut, he squashes it down, letting his eyes slide shut at last. 'Three times,' he growls internally, 'Three times she's done that. Three times she's rushed to the defence of someone else, but failed to defend herself.'

Troubled, Death's eyebrows furrow even further, casting dark shadows over his luminous eyes. The first time had been on Earth, where she'd bolted into a horde of demons to help him – a stranger. However, when those same demons turned their attention to her, she froze.

Again, outside the Cauldron, a construct had been mere inches away from pulverising the jittery human, yet her feet remained stuck fast to the ground until that maker, Karn, saved her life. Then, as soon as she realised he was in trouble, she didn't hesitate to intercept his attacker.

And here, moments ago, she drew Gharn away from him, even though it meant risking her life, a life that she then seemed ready to cast aside all too easily.

It's a pattern he recognises all too well, having walked a similar path himself. The path to self destruction.

'Survivor's guilt,' the Keeper of Oblivion had said to him once eons ago, mere months after he and his siblings had purged the Nephilim from existence once and for all. The wizened old maker had received a cutting retort for his observation, and a new, unsightly hold in his front door.

It took a full century before the horseman was ready to admit that the Keeper had been spot on.

Death has never once regretted what he did to the Nephilim. What happened was necessary. Necessity however, did not grant him immunity from guilt. And guilt is as far from regret as angels are from demons.

This mindset would need to be nipped in the bud if you're to stop almost getting yourself killed every five minutes. 'But how?' Challenging you about your behaviour now would only prove counterproductive. The Cauldron is neither the time, nor the place. And he is probably not the most qualified person to be confronting you to begin with. No, deft though he may be, you're in a frame of mind that even he's too heavy-handed to fix. As much as the proud horseman is loathe to admit it – he may have to consult with Eideard about this. Death barely suppresses a groan as he resigns himself to the long, uncomfortable conversation he'll be sure to have upon the return to Tri Stone.

Peeling his eyes open again, he catches your grimace, and frowns.

You're cowering - down and back - submissive, as though you're expecting him to lash out.

He supposes that's fair, given his initial reaction when you were attacked outside. He might have to blame that one on an eternity of being the eldest brother of four.

Willing his hackles back down to their rightful places on either side of his spine, Death expels a steadying breath and lowers himself onto one knee in front of you. Even at half his height, you barely stand a few inches taller than him.

Gradually, your grimace falls at the un-horseman-like motion, replaced by cautious curiosity that escalates after he murmurs, “Are you alright?”.

Uncertainty plaguing your expression, your eyes dart left and right before finding his again. “Y-yeah. It...it didn't touch me,” you utter, hugging your sides, “You're not angry?”

The skin under his eye sockets crinkles, moved by a hidden smirk. “Why would I be angry?”

“Beeecause you were before?” you cautiously point out.

Death blinks. Then, quite suddenly, he ducks his head low, shoulders quaking behind silent laughter.

A little affronted, your face twists into a frown. “What? What's so funny?”

“Ah, forgive me,” he chuckles, waving a pacifying hand through the air, “I just - ahem -That was quite endearing, you assumed I was angry? Because I raised my voice at you outside?”

“Isn't that what angry people do?”

“That wasn't anger, that was-” Death falters, jaw clacking shut around the word that almost escaped him. Clearing his throat, he instead veers the conversation in another direction. “You haven't seen me angry, girl. Not yet, at least.”

“Oh...” You bite your lip, focused on the ground. After another second, you raise your head again, some of the tension gone from your shoulders and tone. “Well...You let me know if that ever happens, okay? I want a good head start.”

Telltale smirk creeping back into place, the horseman nods,“I'll do that.”

Glancing back at Gharn, he gently adds, “By the way, good thinking with the dish. It was starting to get claustrophobic in there. That was rather brave, on your part.”

At his words, you perk up. “It...It was?”

Hands twitching sporadically, Death begins to reach out for your arm only to hesitate halfway there. Then, clearing his throat, he draws it back, fingers curling in on themselves as he drops them across his bent knee instead. Whatever tenderness had been present in his tone is promptly flushed by a gruff cough as he pushes himself back onto his feet. “Yes. Brave - but it was also foolish. You're only lucky that my recovery time is so impeccable.”

“Yeah,” you hastily agree, “Yeah, I guess I am...Thanks, Death.”

Humphing, he spins about face and makes for the door, though not without gently murmuring over his shoulder, “Thank you, Y/n.” Just like that, his regular tone returns, gruff and business as usual. “Now come. We should move on before any other surprises decide to burst through the wall.”

In higher spirits, you pat straighten up, pat down your skirt and jog after him. “Right, good pla- Oh! Hold on a sec!”

Death throws a cursory glance around and finds you back-peddle a ways, bend down to pick up the discarded platter and brush it free of stone chips. “Okay, got it!” you chirp and scamper back towards him, prize in hand.

“Still keeping that thing are you?” he remarks as you fall into step on his left.

“Yep. If it weren't for this thing doubling as an excellent gong, that construct would never have let you go.”

You pass underneath the low, door frame into a grand, ruinous hallway. Urns, pots and ceramic vases lay scattered all along the sides. Death places a hand on his chest and splays his fingers wide in mock surprise. “The dish made that sound!? I thought that jarring noise came out of your mouth!”

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

The two of you continue walking down the corridor in companionable silence for a while.

Something appears to have shifted out from between the two of you. Just a small thing, a sort of wall that had been thrown up haphazardly upon meeting each other. Oddly enough, you don't feel quite so alone walking next to the Grim Reaper anymore.

Unbeknownst to you, his piercing gaze has turned subtly to one side, roving up and down your figure before it flicks forwards again.

Perhaps it was just Death's imagination, but in that rapid glance, he would swear he noticed you walking a little straighter, steps a little longer and surer, and beneath his bone mask, the horseman's lips stretch a little wider.

After a few more minutes, you step through another doorway and emerge out into another high-walled chamber, finding yourselves standing on an overlook, affording you an impressive view of the floor below. Meanwhile, sitting in the middle of the overlook, on a raised dais surrounded by circular, crumbling steps, is a sturdy capstan winch, set upright into the stone.

“Hey!” you suddenly pipe up, springing over to the dais and round the small staircase, skidding to a halt before the drop off. Leaning over and blowing out a shrill whistle, you swipe a hand through the sweat gathered on your head. “There's the cork!” Indeed, stretched out before you is the entrance to the Cauldron, and the colossal plug keeping the Fire of the Mountain under a tight lid. From up here, you can see steam built up under pressure escaping through the tiniest gaps in the metalwork. “All that work and we end up back to square one? Boo.”

On the other hand, Death is busy casting his eyes over the dais and humming thoughtfully. “Perhaps not. Look there.” He rubs at his mask's chin. “I think this might be the solution to our problem.”

Spinning about, you follow his line of sight and smirk. “Famous last words,” you pant, stretching out your back and wincing at a series of loud pops and cracks following the motion. “You said that about the last lever.”

Turning his mask to give you an uppity glance, he promptly scoffs, “Yes, well when I'm wrong, it's never twice in the same day.”

The sound of your stifled snort reaches his ears, no matter how quickly and firmly you slap a hand over your mouth to disguise it.

Grumbling halfheartedly under his breath, he stalks up the stairs and stops to stroke a palm over the winch's handle. “Perhaps I should let you do the honours?”

“I mean....I'll try if you want me to. Wouldn't want to steal your thunder though.”

“Of course not,” he rumbles, getting into position.

Bracing his hands on the horizontal lever, he gives it a shove to get it moving. At first, the metal cog wheels screech objectionably, fused to each other under years of rust but with another, firm push, they bow under the horseman's might and finally begin to turn. You watch, spellbound as he throws his whole body into turning it, leant forwards, arms tense and steady on the bar, he digs his toes into the ground with every step, forcing the winch to turn in a tight, concise circle around its pivot.

There's a loud clang behind you, and upon whirling about, you realise that the two monumental weights that dangle from the ceiling above have begun to gradually lower as the chains connected to the plug raise higher, pulled taut by their burden.

Death's movements come to a jarring halt once the weights hit the ground and shoot resonant tremors throughout the whole chamber. He stands, swiping his bandaged hands together and makes his way down the steps to watch next to you as the 'cork' gives an almighty groan, and then, it shifts, twisting a foot or so to the right before sluggishly lifting up and out of the hole it had been slotted into, tugged free by the gargantuan chains.

“You did it!” Bouncing on your toes, you point excitedly down into the pit that slowly fills with molten lava and pours down a carved, stone trench, disappearing underneath the Cauldron's front entrance and no doubt flowing its way through a subterranean tunnel into town.

Your shoulder is unexpectedly bumped by the horseman's elbow. “I think you participated just enough to consolidate this a 'we' situation.”

“Seriously?” you ask, turning an owlish stare to his mask, “I helped?”

Cocking his head, Death makes a big show of considering his answer while you watch, that dull glimmer of hope refusing to die out. Eventually, he looks at you again, holds up a hand and curls his thumb and forefinger together until the pads are almost touching. “Just barely.”

The grin that breaks like sunshine across your face is so immeasurably wide, he nearly tells you to stop it, lest you hurt yourself.

Instead, he rolls his eyes and places his knuckles on the base of your spine, giving you another nudge towards a door on the far side of the overlook. “Now don't go getting too cocksure. You're still as breakable as a porcelain doll.”

Even his dig at your fragility can't quite extinguish the tiny flutter of elation in your stomach. It won't last, of course. You're sadly aware of that. So you plan on riding the precious feeling for as long as you possibly can.

With your hands still clasped safely around the silver and gold platter's handles, you mosey alongside the horseman, glad to finally be leaving the oppressive heat.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #cold hands warm heart #death x reader #fluff #karn #love at first sight

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