#or maybe it should be a gladiator ring?? h

[lavenderdiedforthetenthtime]

I was doodling and I accidentally created a Thing ™️

You have found yourself in the Card Carnival! Where the amazing Suits Sisters and their Wonderful Assistants will WOW you with their amazing acrobatics and beautiful singing! And hey, if you’re lucky… you may get and exclusive greeting from the King and Queen!

[thebibliomancer]

Justice League Indispensable: JLA #222: Beasts II: Death Games

January, 1984

I’ve noticed over two-hundred and twenty plus posts that villains love being tall and dangling heroes from their fingers.

That tactile sensation... It must feel amazing. And a little squirmy.

Not much else to say about the cover. Except that Hawkman’s legs seem to not exist.

Anyway.

Last time on Justice League: the Justice League have been dealing with a lot of weird animal/people hybrids. Has Dr. Moreau finally been adapted into DC? Probably not. But Flash, Elongated Man, and Hawkman all get badly injured in separate locations by these Ani-Men. And Firestorm catches a catgirl named Reena robbing the Empire State Building. She asks him for sanctuary so he takes her to the JL Satellite to spill the beans on the Ani-Men.

This time: Superman is in the hilarious position of interrogating catgirl Reena who has forgotten how chairs work.

Just sitting on the table. Probably getting hair everywhere.

Firestorm tells Superman to chill out with the hardnosed animated Justice League approach (I mean, he doesn’t, but animated Superman also needed to chill out, amirite?) because Reena volunteered to help.

Reena says she has no choice but to trust the League and that she’s lived in DAILY TERROR for the past few months.

She asks if any of them have heard of Repli-Tech?

Dang, shame Batman is off having recently formed the Outsiders because I bet he knows all the companies. All of them.

Ooooorrrr Aquaman does?

Aquaman: “Repli-Tech Industries... They were one of the first of the genetics companies to go public on the stock exchange, weren’t they? I remember they made quite a splash a year ago... But I haven’t heard anything about them since.”

Oh, Aquaman, you punster, you.

So Reena lays down some exposition about how Repli-Tech was a hilariously mismanaged company, where the executives forced a rapid capital expansion beyond its market niche and how a recession just bankrupt the overextended company.

But despite the dismay and panic of the other execs, hilariously mustached CEO Rex Rogan had a daring plan to save the company!

Rex Rogan: “Dr. Lovecraft and his genetic discoveries were the basis for our initial success, developing new forms of medicine -- new fertilizers -- even new fuels! He’s come up with a way out for all of us, involving a new, experimental form of DNA manipulation. It could kill us -- but the alternative is disgrace, financial ruin, and imprisonment.”

Oh, sure. Of course. Why not trust a guy called DR. LOVECRAFT.

But due to faith in Rex Rogan, CEO, or just fear of prison, the whole board all agrees to this wild plan.

And the wild plan?

Dr. Lovecraft uses SCIENCE to put them all in cocoons where they are transformed into furries.

Rex Rogan Maximus Rex: “We are reborn -- we are above the beasts, and above mankind! We will do more than merely survive -- we will conquer -- we will rule!”

Then with company guards also enhanced by Dr. Lovecraft, Rex has them steal a whole bunch of shit which is used to protect Repli-Tech from bankruptcy.

Huh.

Uh. I don’t really get how becoming furries was an essential part of this plan.

If the plan was just to steal a bunch of shit to make up for poor financial management. But live your best lives, Repli-Tech board of directors.

Anyway, having super hunky animal powers is handy when the superheroes inevitably become involved which oops look its happening. It happened last issue and this issue so good thing they had turned themselves into furries.

(Do the Repli-Tech board of directors not have to make any public appearances? They’re a publicly traded company, apparently.)

Also, Maximus Rex buys a warehouse to turn into an arena for some death games where humans fight beast-men for the amusement of the rich and powerful like politicians and corporate executives.

Not really sure how this specifically saves the company but I think that’s more of a personal project for Maximus Rex, lion hunk.

The blood sport did make Reena start thinking that maybe Rex was the asshole.

‘Uh no shit’ chimes in Hawkgirl and Wonder Woman who determine now is a good time to interject that Reena is just as much of a monster for sitting idly by as people were killed in blood sport.

Firestorm, Superman, and Zatanna counter ‘hey lets hear the rest of the story, mkay?’

Reena grew unable to stomach all the death and as luck would have it Rowl, one of the Repli-Tech guards recently transformed into an animal hunk also found the whole situation gross.

He helped Reena escape but wound up captured himself.

He did manage to high kick a scorpion man though. So that’s something.

Anyway, Rowl getting caught is why Reena was breaking into the Repli-Tech office in the Empire State Building. She wanted to find evidence!

Hawkgirl: “I don’t believe it. Not a word. She’s obviously a plant -- she said herself, she was Rogan’s mistress, that she always did everything he told her. Why should we believe she’d turn against him?”

Firestorm: “Look at her, Hawkgirl -- me, I believe her.”

Aquaman: “We can’t ignore what she’s told us, Shayera.”

Even Superman goes yeah lets believe the catgirl. And I’m sorta wondering about all the male Justice League members believing the catgirl while two out of three of the woman leaguers are like uhn uh I don’t trust that darn cat.

But we shortly see that Reena was telling the truth about Rowl, if nothing else.

Guards at the Arena snooze gas Rowl to drag him from his cell into the Arena.

A Guard: “Y’know, I used to be friends with this guy, when he was still human. Rex gives him a chance to be something special, and he goes and blows it helping some damn cat.”

Rowl comes to in the center of the Arena with the crowd roaring for his blood.

He tries to talk to the crowd, win their sympathy by saying he used to be human like them but they’re rich dicks who want to see someone horribly murdered for their amusement.

Trying to talk to them was a non-starter. And Maximus Rex even mocks him for trying.

Maximus Rex: “Human you may have been -- but you were never like them. Smell the air: it’s so thick you can taste it -- the oily sweat of a blood-hungry mob! They want a death, Rowl... They want your death!”

Maximus Rex asks the crowd what Rowl deserves and they chant DEATH and KILL HIM so Maximus Rex jumps down to the Arena floor to see to it personally.

He’s kinda like Roman Emperor Commodus from the historically adjacent movie film Gladiator who liked to gladiate instead of just watching Gladiator gladiate.

And unlike movie Commodus, Maximus Rex is no slouch.

Right off the bat, he blocks Rowl’s ultimate technique, a jump kick.

Poor Rowl is doomed.

And he doesn’t even know it yet. He manages to hit Maximus Rex once and thinks he’s winning.

Rowl: “You’re just as you were in the boardroom -- you’ve no stomach for a real battle! We used to laugh about you, Rogan, down in the ranks! All of us -- we called you a gutless wonder!”

Maximus Rex retorts by disembowling Rowl.

Maximus Rex: “So, Rowl... Which of us has no stomach now?”

Savage af.

Then he knocks Rowl down and RIPS OFF HIS HEAD TO SHOW TO THE CROWD??

Geez! This is a gory story! I mean, we don’t see anything really except for some dark blue blood but geez!

A lion man just ripped off a jump-kicking wolfman’s head in a gladiatorial arena for the ultra rich!

You’re bonkers, superhero comic books!

RIP Rowl, Justice League #222 (1984) - Justice League #222 (1984).

Back at the Justicey part of the plot, 22,300 miles above the Earth, the League receives an emergency message from Dr. Hamid of Cairo Hospital.

Or he says he’s Dr. Hamid of Cairo Hospital.

He looks like Tony Stark, that Ironman guy from Marvel.

Anyway, he got the JL’s top secret broadcast code from a device on Hawkman’s uniform.

Yeah. Hawkman. Remember how he was attacked by a giant scorpion last issue? Well, he’s in the hospital with an acute case of too much scorpion venom in him. And Dr. Toby Stark fears he may not last the night.

Hawkgirl is understandably upset and wants to rush to his side as fast as possible. And since the League has cool teleport booths, that’s... still not that fast because the booths only go to other booths and Cairo Hospital doesn’t have a booth.

She also asks Wonder Woman to go with her.

Superman wonders if Hawkgirl is maybe too emotionally torn up to go see her scorpion’d hawkguy.

Zatanna: “I won’t stop her, Superman. Will you?”

WHILE GIVING AN EXPRESSION THATS LIKE ‘please do not drag me into drama.’

Reena tries to commiserate with Hawkgirl but Shayera is having none of that.

Hawkgirl: “Your people did this. If Katar dies -- you killed him!”

Oof.

Zatanna tries to contextualize Hawkgirl’s outburst by explaining that Hawkman and Hawkgirl are just super close but Reena says she understands because she and Rex were that close.

And that despite everything she still loves him and it makes her feel like shit.

Oof.

Wonder Woman and Hawkgirl arrive at Cairo Hospital and Dr. Hamid tells them that Hawkman isn’t the only one who got scorpion’d.

Dr. Hall and his students were attacked by giant scorpion man to rob some archaeological relics they found. Several of the students are in the hospital after being stung and two have already died.

As for Dr. Hall, why he’s just plum gone missing. (Because he’s Hawkman)

From his hospital bed, Hawkman weakly (because of getting scorpion’d) apologizes for the argument they had before he left for Cairo and Hawkgirl claims she doesn’t even remember the fight. Because nothing makes you put aside hurt feelings like possible death by scorpion.

Dr. Hamid tells Wonder Woman that Hawkman is very likely to die unless they can get some giant scorpion man venom to develop into an anti-toxin.

And while they walk by, a random janitor mopping the floor reports the presence of the Justice League members to his ring.

HMMM.

I think that I suspect that this humble janitor is in fact actually a plant for the Rex Squad.

Yup.

Yuuuup.

That janitor was up to no good.

With two Hawks down with sleep gas, its left to the Rex Squad unit leader to handle Wonder Woman.

ITS A HECKIN RHINO MAN!

Of course, a hero as strong as Wonder Woman isn’t going down to a single rhino punch.

It takes a second whole punch to knock her out.

Womp womp.

Rhino Man: “Gas her and shove her in the ‘copter with the others, Mac. The boss wants ‘em all for a little TV show he’s planning. Way I hear, it’s gonna be a ratings smash!”

Rhino puns.

About an hour later, the Justice League subteam nicknamed Sit On Their Thumbs is still in the satellite wondering why Wonder Woman hasn’t called to tell them how Hawkman is doing.

But gosh darn it, if they don’t hear from her in two more minutes in time for the regular hourly check-in, then they’ll just have to do something maybe!

But they get a signal from Hawkgirl’s code and Aquaman main screen turns on... to reveal a big sneering lion man who is not Hawkgirl at all.

Reena: “oh god... he’s found me.”

Maximus Rex, full incoming ham: “Yes, Reena, I’ve found you. When this is done, you’ll suffer the fate of all who betray me. But first, tell your new friends who they face! I am MAXIMUS REX, LEADER OF THE NEW ORDER!”

Firestorm: “Y’know... Somehow, I’d already guessed that.”

Snrrk.

But Maximus Rex warns them not to mock his lionness and has the camera swung over to reveal that he has Wonder Woman and the Hawks as his hostages.

Hawkman is definitely going to die (from being scorpion’d) but Maximus Rex is Magnanimous Rex and instead of immediately killing them, he’s going to turn them into furries too.

Maximus Rex: “I think the Amazon would make a very proper pig, don’t you?”

Man, this guy must have loved the “This Little Piggy” episode of Justice League Unlimited.

Buuuut he won’t turn them into furries and make them fight in his Arena if the Justice League do him some small favors.

First thing, turn Reena over to him.

Second thing, “I want your full cooperation with my plans.”

When Superman tells him ‘obviously no’ Maximus gets mad.

Oh, Maximus the Mad. That’s a catchy name for him.

Maximus Rex: “In the hours to come, you will regret this decision, Justice Leaguers. My new order is the future. You cannot turn the tide of destiny. It will sweep over you... Draw you under... Drown you in the sea of history! Ours will be a struggle to the death -- your death! HA HA HA HA”

He is.

Frothing a little.

And as the mad lion lad continues just belly laughing on this collect call, Superman shakes his fist determinedly.

Superman: “Enjoy it while you have it, Maximus. We’re bringing you down.”

I mean, sure, half of the League is captured or in the hospital already from tangling with these Ani-Men but the League is probably due for an upswing, right?

Or maybe they’ll all get captured and I’ll get to see what the Justice League’s fursonas are.

My guess for Superman is the noble capybara, friend to all.

Follow @justice-league-indispensible or @essential-avengers​ which is my real liveblog. I’m sorry, this has all been a lie. A jape. A delightful jest. An April Fool. Like and reblog maybe. The more notes this gets the more I go oh no look at what kind of response Justice League gets and I’ve backed the Avengers horse, the April Fool turns out to be me! That’ll show me.

[bltzgore]

Enzo meets Atlas in the ring

Tw: blood, stabbing, gladiator ring, bait dog reference, muzzle, threatened with gun 

They had dragged Jirra from her cell earlier, leaving him all alone. Enzo didn't much like being alone here, he always felt vulnerable like this. Mostly it was the cell. The lack of a wall to put his back against, it made him feel like anyone could come form anywhere, exposed. 

A guard walked over and tossed the door open. "Get up."

He looked up, feeling fear starting to collect in his stomach. "Where are we going?" he asked, following the order but shrinking away slightly. 

The guard walked over and yanked Enzo’s shoulder until he was faced away from him. The guard secured his cuffs before answering, "Well, what do you think. You're going to do your job, bait." Following that there was no warning. The guard plunged a knife into his shoulder and twisted. The shock made it hard to breathe but it pried a scream from his throat, and left him panting as he tried to get his bearings. The adrenaline and blood loss made him slightly dizzy, and he started to fall to the right. 

The guard pulled him away, leading him off to the arena. He staggered a few times, and when he almost fell behind the guard plunged two fingers into the stab wound. That brought him back way too fast and he almost collapsed. The guard half threw half shoved him into an arena waiting stall. He closed the door and walked off, leaving Enzo to bleed.

Atlas had been ushered into the usual stall prior to the ring. They didn't have her on adrenaline... this wasn't a fight. What was she doing here? Was it a training session? She didn't smell Drake close by, or any of the others. The waiting stall was so tight. She couldn't turn, good for the handlers pulling off her muzzle though.

She had only a few seconds to enjoy her free jaws before there was a smell gliding through from the ring that distracted her completely. Blood, well sort of. It was a scent trigger. It was meant to smell close enough to the real stuff to set her off. And it usually worked. To her it was always the most intoxicating part of a fight. The smell of all that blood. It made her excited, it made her wild. Why did they want to make her wild? 

The door started to shift, raising up and out of her way. She stormed out into the sun light, snarling with flashing black teeth. The smell had changed from the smell trigger to real blood. This was usually the point when she sought it out and tore the target open. Spilling it everywhere. She should have been far more fixated, maybe drooling but... she knew this blood. 

Her gaze was immediately drawn to the source. Bait on the ground, a human. She bounded up, Atlas towered over the injured human. She stepped one paw behind his back to keep him from moving while she looked him over. She stopped at his shoulder, red rolling down from the wound. What did they do to you? Atlas lowered her head so that their eyes were closer.  

She recognized him immediately, but she was reasonably sure he had no clue who she was. He shook and braced, holding his arms over his head trying to protect himself from the attacks he was sure were coming. She tilted her head and carefully raised her paw. Despite her talons she did not cut him, she gently brushed his right arm aside, getting a better look at his shoulder. They had stabbed him but they hadn't left the knife in it so it would bleed freely. It was meant to set her off. 

He was still braced, so sure she was going to tear into him at any second. He was trembling, the air was thick with his terror, like breathing in mist. The fear in his eyes didn't fuel her, not like when she saw it in her combatants. Don’t be sacred. This wasn't someone to fight, this was her friend. I won’t hurt you. Atlas sat down then laid down, so Enzo was between her forepaws. She let her head down next to him and relaxed.

Enzo watched the monster slowly sit down, then settle, setting its head down. How close he was to its massive jaws made him uneasy. Why wasn't it attacking him? Was it playing with its food? That thought brought on a whole new wave of anxiety. No, he wasn't going to just sit down and take this. He locked gaze with the monster, trying to look fierce, standing up, "Just do it! If you're going to kill me get it over with!" he yelled, then he froze. Something about the angle, the way the light danced off those eyes. He recognized them. 

"Jirra?" he whispered it at first. Was it really?

She growled a little, not aggressively, just responding. 

"Wow, you're... you’re huge!" he admired, hoping he hadn’t insulted her. He shifted a little to see how long her reptilian form ran. 

She wagged her tail a little. Atlas was relieved. Past introductions to her atler ego hadn't gone nearly as smooth. Usually it served as a wake up call to how the rest of the world saw beasts like her. But when he looked at her, he didn’t look at her like she was a monster. He looked at her like it was her. 

Atlas’s momentary sense of peace was torn away when she heard handlers beginning to enter the ring. She shot to her feet and stood over Enzo, turning to get a view of all sides of the ring. She lowered her head and tail defensively. They’d have to get through her.  

When Atlas had jumped up it had shocked him. Seeing Jirra like this was a little rattling, admittedly. But she was his friend, she had been so gentle. Stepping carefully, never treading on him. He would trust her, in either form. Enzo staggered to his feet, using one of Atlas’s legs as support, and glaring out at the advancing guards. 

The handlers had been called in when instead of tearing the bait apart Atlas had sat down and begun borderline snuggling up to it. It had made the trainers curious as to what was so special about this bait in particular. It warranted a closer look at said bait.        

As the handlers began to close in Atlas started instinctively lashing out, tearing into whoever she could reach. There was no getting close, but in her savagery she had moved from her defensive stance...

Atlas was bearing down on another of the handlers when Drake got her attention. "HEY! Atlas, you missing something?" He taunted. 

She whirled, glancing towards where Enzo had been before looking towards Drake. Drake had him restrained. Using his steel tentacle to restrain Enzo's arms behind his back and his hand to press a gun to Enzo's head. "Time to calm down Atlas." he warned. 

She flattened her ears and snarled, her muscles almost shaking in her rage. Her tail lashed furiously, but then she sat down. The handlers, that she hadn't ripped in two, began to move towards her again. She started to track one with a predatory gaze-

"Uh uh uhhh, I wouldn't." Drake warned, putting a bit more pressure into Enzo's wounded shoulder, eliciting a yelp, before pushing the gun harder against his head. "I'd hate to give the janitors more work."

She felt like her insides were burning. She wanted Drake in her claws, she wanted to paint the ground with his blood! But she looked at Enzo, he was trying to look tough, but just past that expression he was terrified. She would protect him, no matter what it took. She turned and set her snout against the ground, trying to keep herself still. The handlers moved quick after that, rushing in and getting the muzzle and harness back on Atlas. 

Drake watched intently, the edge of his mouth sliding up into a grin. He yanked Enzo to his feet. "Well well, maybe the bait found himself a use after all."

[pvntherz]

The Beauty Of Death

A/N: if you find this concept/fic to be interesting. Ignore all the other fic under the tag "hades and persephone" because this is the first part of the rewrite. Also Hades is Anne, Persephone is Cathy P, and Hermes is Kitty. Just ignore the fact that my casting choices place them in weird relationships biologically 💀 Also props to Megan for helping me write this

Episkyros: A game for kids to play in Ancient Greece; which was something of a cross between rugby and American football.

Ostrakinda: A game in which a shell was painted black one side. The black side was “night,” and the unpainted side was “day.” Children divided into two teams, one for “night” and one for “day.” The shell was thrown and the team whose color came up had to chase the other team.

Part 1 Part 2

TW: uhh,, scars ig? I really don't know

💙💚💜

The underworld was a cold place. It was a barren wasteland filled with nothing but souls of the dead and desolate.

Or at least, that's what mortals told Persephone. They told her it was empty and that she'd die the second she stepped foot in the underworld. She'd been told of the horrible things Hades did to mortals who entered the underworld. Granted, Persephone was no mortal, she wasn't exactly the strongest of goddesses and most confused her for a simple forest nymph.

However that's not what Persephone saw.

She saw life, but something was off about it. Small children ran around, playing games like Ostrakinda and Episkyros, but the children were all bruised and cut. Women grouped together in circles, weaving baskets and chatting amongst themselves, but many of them were pale and sickly. Young women walked the streets with babies strapped to their backs and small children holding their hands, but the children had large bite marks and some babies having nubs where there should be fingers, feet, or hands.

The people Persephone looked at were dead, yet there was something about them that made them seem alive.

On top of the citizens lively appearances, the city's structural layout seemed no different compared to the few big cities Persephone had been allowed to visit. The buildings had all been laid out in a neatly organized manner, with the most important ones being placed on some kind of natural elevation, such as a hill or mountain top. The only difference being that for some reason, it wasn't a temple that was at the highest point, but a castle.

Persephone simply assumed it was for the more important government officials or maybe even Hades themself. Either way, she took note of the fact that if she wanted to hide out here, she'd best avoid going near it.

After staring for what felt like forever, Persephone stood up straight and began wandering the streets. She took a deep breath and inhaled the many scents of the underworld. It was strange. The aroma of freshly baked bread and fresh fruit filled the air, but was contrasted by the harsh smell of metals and silver. Persephone found a strange sense of comfort in it. The underworld was the one thing she craved the most.

Change.

The underworld wasn't perfect. Far from it, really. It showed the pain of society, it exposed everything about mortals that made them, well, mortals.

Persephone had wandered across a stadium. She expected to see lions and gladiators going at each other's throats. Instead she was met with a rather quiet, peaceful aura. Instead of bloodshed and gore, a play was taking place in the central ring. Which one she couldn't really tell, but it was interesting enough for her to sit down and watch the rest of it.

"Hey lady?"

Persephone tore her gaze from the play and looked to her left. She saw a small child with a face covered in cuts and scratches.

The young boy cleared his throat and held up a small wilted flower. "I saw you bring some grass back to life when you stepped on it and then flowers grew from it, so I wanted to see if you could do the same thing with this flower.." He looked away nervously.

Persephone chuckled softly and tapped her finger against the flower. "There you go, but you're gonna have to water it every day if you want to keep it alive." She ruffled the small boy's hair and stood up. "Our little secret, okay?"

The little boy nodded and ran back towards his seat leaving Persephone alone.

Persephone stood up and quickly left the arena, not wanting to cause more of possible ruckus than she probably just did.

She quickly ran down the pathway and turned whenever she possibly could. Until she couldn't. Persephone felt on edge. Every bone in her body screamed at her to run, but she couldn't. She knew what the feeling was, or at least, what it meant.

Something was coming and it was something entirely out of her domain. It was fast, faster than the poor girl could even think.

"Persephone?"

The young woman flinched and slowly turned around. "Oh...Hermes?" She let out a sigh of relief. "I thought there was some big dead thing coming for you or with you." She swallowed nervously.

Hermes looked over her shoulder and shook her head. "No, it's just me and Cerberus. Nothing you need to worry about."

Persephone tilted her head to the side and furrowed her eyebrows. "What is Cerberus?"

"You know, the big three headed dog at the other end of the beach." Hermes shook her head and grabbed Persephone's wrist. "Doesn't matter, I need to get you out of here before my aunt finds you."

Persephone tugged back. "No! I don't want to go back just yet! It's not like I've done anything wrong." She crossed her arms and looked up at Hermes.

"Well for starters, you're in the underworld despite being very much alive," Hermes poked at the smaller woman's shoulder. "Two, you brought life to the underworld which is a big no-no if you don't have clearance," She stepped closer to Persephone. "Lastly, you know how your mother gets when you go too far without her! I don't wanna be held responsible for you doing something stupid and dying!"

Persephone flinched and covered her ears. "Okay, okay! I'll leave, just don't tell mom! Please, I really don't wanna deal with another talking to." She looked up slowly and froze in place. "H-hello ma'am.."

Hermes knitted her eyebrows together and sighed. "I hate to break it to you, but I'm not as stupid as Apollo and you can't-" She was suddenly aware of the presence of another person as she straightened her posture and gripped onto to the messenger bag and her caduceus. Hermes slowly turned around and looked up at the towering figure looking down at her. "Hey auntie." She stammered out.

Hades glared at her niece. "Go to the castle and stay in your room." She moved her hand and watched as Hermes sped off down the alleyway.

Persephone kept her eyes glued on the same path that Hermes had taken. She was nowhere near as fast as Hermes was, but there was a small chance she'd make it.

"Don't do it, you'll tear up your sandals," Hades said, eyes following Persephone's gaze. "Look, just follow me and don't try anything stupid. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

[closetofanxiety]

Beyond Wrestling: Americanrana 18

I got home after 1 a.m. today and woke up at 6 a.m. Then it was a full day of home improvement stuff. I’m tired. I’ve got ice on my bad foot. But I have some thoughts and impressions about the hottest US independent wrestling show of, uh, the month of July, at least. 

Big crowd: This was Beyond’s biggest live gate of all time, and at the same time the most-watched live stream in the young life of Powerbomb TV, AND the single event responsible for more new subscribers than anything else they’ve shown so far. At the venue, a Polish-American club in Worcester with oil paintings of the Old Country on the walls, people were berserk for almost everything that happened during the night. I don’t know how it came across on TV (or whatever, screen, I’m talking about watching it on a screen), but people were loud and excitable. Dan Barry got the biggest reaction Dan Barry has possibly ever had. People reacted to the surprise appearance of Anthony Green  like he was Mike Bailey, and they reacted to the surprise appearance of Mike Quackenbush like he was Steve Austin. It’s so much fun to be with a crowd of people who are just going nuts for professional wrestling.

Final appearance: Matt Riddle had what is almost certainly his last-ever Beyond Wrestling match, getting pinned by Nick Fuckin Gage during a tag match that pitted Gage and Matt Tremont (the New H8 Club) against Riddle and Filthy Tom Lawlor. It’s wild to think that a year ago he was putting his undefeated streak on the line in the main event at Americanrana 17, and this year he was in a mid-card tag match where he ate a pin. He’s headed for big things, though. Gage is great as the fan favorite, thanking people for willing him onto victory, and looking genuinely delighted when he got the pin. Awkward moment: the crowd, excited at the announcement that the winning team was now called “the New H8 Club,” started chanting “C-Z-Dub! C-Z-Dub!” despite Gage having gone over to bitter rivals GCW and Tremont wrestling his final CZW match on Saturday night. Just chant “Nick Fuckin Gage! Nick Fuckin Gage!” Speaking of which ...

Working blue: This was the sweariest Beyond Wrestling show I can remember for some time. They had pregame interviewers with Wrestling Social Media Personality Alicia Atout in front of a fancy Beyond/Powerbomb backdrop, and Janela and ring announcer Rich Palladino, of all people, kept using the word “fuck” like a comma. Kids in the room, gentlemen! 

Unpopular Opinion #1: I like intergender wrestling a lot, but in order for it to become a normal part of pro wrestling, promotions and wrestlers have to stop loudly drawing attention to the fact that THEY AREN’T AFRAID TO HAVE INTERGENDER WRESTLING, DAMN IT. The opening match on the show was a terrifically fun four-on-four pitting Team Pazuzu against “Team WWR”: Kimber Lee, Jordynne Grace, Mia Yim, and Skylar. It was fun and crazy, as you’d expect from that cast of characters, and Skylar did a good job of keeping up with wrestlers who are much more experienced and established than she is. But then after the match, Chris Dickinson cut a promo about how HE RESPECTS THESE GIRLS SO GODDAMN MUCH AND INTERGENDER WRESTLING IS HERE TO STAY. Good! I like that! But the more you act like it’s some remarkable anomaly, the more people are going to treat it like that. It’s just another variety of match, like tag team wrestling.

Oh, also: There was a GREAT moment in the match where Dickinson was about to give Jordynne Grace a Pazuzu Bomb, but she was saved by Kimber Lee, who then stared Dickinson down. This was a callback to the spot in Beyond years ago where Dickinson waffled Lee with a chair and then hit her with a crazy Pazuzu Bomb in a clip that went viral and gave both of them some not-entirely-wanted exposure to the wider world. The crowd, happily, recognized this immediately and went APESHIT. I loved it!

Loco spotfests: There was an announced four-way tag match with Team Tremendous, the Gentlemen’s Club, the Beaver Boys, and the recently renamed Massage Force. There was also an unannounced Chikara showcase, with Solo Darling, Fire Ant, someone working a “Dasher Hatfield’s kid” gimmick, and Quack himself against a Dungeon of Doom-esque cast of characters. Also Travis Huckabee. I honestly groaned when I heard “Chikara showcase,” but they tore down the house. Quackenbush may be a guy who talks like Darril and wants to turn wrestling into TED Talk fodder, but he’s one of the most important US indie wrestlers of all time, and I had never seen him wrestle in person before. At one point, a sea creature or maybe the Gimp or someone picked Quackenbush up by his feet and heaved him backwards over the rope, and he sailed higher and farther than any person I’ve ever seen launched out of a wrestling ring. It was just a hugely fun match, and the four-way tag managed to top it. There was no “storytelling” or “psychology” in either match, and honestly, that’s fine for a big-spectacle show like Americanrana. Just have a bunch of talented people come out and do stuff they don’t normally do in a show, and go wild.

The plot thickens: The big news from the four-way tag is Dan Barry’s betrayal of beloved partner Bill Carr (there was a loud, enthusiastic chant of “Bill Carr fucks! Bill Carr fucks!” after the big man launched himself through the ropes. “Oh my God, I love it! I love it, you guys!” he yelled back. He is like a big happy golden retriever and it’s impossible to think negatively about him). Betrayals don’t always work on the indie level, and I’ve seen my share of partners turning on partners that are greeted with shrugs by the crowd, but people went NUTS after Barry screwed over Carr. A louder, more sustained negative reaction than I’ve ever heard in Beyond. Should be a hot feud! In further plot twists, MJF was injured and couldn’t wrestle Gresham in their blowoff, so Trent was drafted as a surprise Dream Team member. The match ended in a DQ and Gresham roughed up Stokely Hathaway while MFJ watched helplessly from the outside. THIS SETTLED NOTHING. Presumably. 

Unpopular Opinion #2: I think PCO’s run as the TV veteran who has inexplicably become an indie darling is nearing its conclusion. I also think that run does not sit as well on PCO’s shoulders as it would Gangrel. It should be Gangrel out there, getting the big paydays and the crazy receptions from crowds. PCO does not have a lot in his toolbox, if I’m being honest. He had a sloppy, overlong match with Brian Cage that was full of blown spots and awkward pauses. Let’s all focus on Gangrel from now on. 

A new favorite: I’ve done a total 180 on “Hot Sauce” Tracy Williams, who used to bore me to distraction. I really like him now. I think it’s because I’ve heard him on commentary a bunch, and he reminds me of friends who lived in squats and punk houses in the 1990s but who now live in Brooklyn and have respectable jobs in the low six figures, but who are still capable of smashing a bottle in the face of a Nazi skinhead. 

Mayhem: What can I say about the main event, a no-ropes barbed wire death match between David Starr and Joey Janela, to settle a feud that’s been simmering on and off for years? It was extremely violent and bloody. It lasted 22 minutes but felt like 10. Starr won, and cut an absolutely searing promo afterward, calling Janela “a glorified stuntman” who only came to prominence because someone else made goofy Internet videos about him; seriously, it’s one of the best promos I’ve heard an indie wrestler give. Bile and bitterness from a man covered in his own blood; there would be no Triple H Handshake of Respect between these two gladiators.

Grace notes: This was the most efficiently run Americanrana I’ve ever attended. The doors were supposed to open at 6:30, and they opened EARLY. An indie show! This was good, but it trapped one of my friends outside, because he had gone to a bar, assuming it would take forever to get inside the building. I mean, he made it in eventually, he just had to wait at the back of the line ... There was a nice shoutout to Dominki Dijakovicokowiczogonov, gone but not forgotten from Beyond: during his match with AR Fox, Anthony Greene did the Feast Your Eyes and hit Dijakulakovich’s poses while the crowd chanted “Feast Your Eyes! Feast Your Eyes!” ... Chuck Taylor hit a Rainmaker during the four-way tag match and screamed “This one’s for you, Little Kazu!,” which is a reference to an ongoing Twitter joke that I’m almost ashamed to have recognized ... I bought a hat from David Starr and we talked about the need for national healthcare, which is a conversation topic that wouldn’t work with most wrestlers .... I don’t know why or how they do it, but Americanrana really feels special. Everyone seems to raise their game for the show, and the fans are really in a holiday mood. It’s not a show I ever want to miss ... The crowd went from skepticism over the Chikara wrestlers - one guy grunted, “Fuckin’ Vince Russo gimmicks” when the bad guys came out - to joyous acceptance, capped when the same guy yelled at the sea monster character, “Look at this big green bastard! How’s he able to breathe on land?” ... One of my favorite parts of the day was sitting in the bar downstairs while they broke down the ring and set up the barbed wire. Just seeing a bunch of the wrestlers relaxing and enjoying themselves, having a (non-alcoholic) drink with my friend Mike, enjoying the air conditioning on a summer night: this was a good night ... after the show, we stopped at a service plaza on the Masss Pike to get some unhealthy snacks and use the bathroom, and on our way in we passed Solo Darling. “Great match tonight,” we said. “Thank you!” she said. On our way out, we passed a much less happy Solo Darling as she walked over to the counter to give the McDonald’s people hell. “I distinctly said no cheese on ...” she began, as we hurried out. 

Final thought: There was a 20 or 25 minute break before the main event, where they set up the barbed wire and all that. Mike and I went downstairs to the bar while Mark stayed up in the hall. The first person we saw in the bar, sitting by himself at one end, was David Starr. He was hunched over a glass of water and a shot glass and staring into the middle distance, at nothing in particular. In a few minutes, he was going to walk upstairs and wrestle the most violent match of his career in front of 500 people and you could see the concern on his face as he went over the possibilities: barbed wire, steel chairs, staple guns, cinder blocks, baseball bats. One spot that goes a little sideways and someone leaves the building in an ambulance. That glimpse of David Starr brooding put the whole night - put all of wrestling, really - into perspective. This wasn’t an angle, this wasn’t a promo, he wasn’t in character: this was a man working up the courage to do something reckless and potentially dangerous because he wanted to do it more than anything in the world. It was the look of a man who has willingly taken a great weight onto his shoulders, as many of us have, or will have to one day. It was a wordless rejoinder to all those snide comments about how wrestling is fake: looking at David Starr’s face, sitting alone and being left alone by his friends and peers, his staring eyes showing exactly what he was prepared to do, one thing was clear to anyone who was paying attention - nothing is more real than wrestling.

[iron-touch]

My Name is Rumor Fleetwood

TEN YEARS AGO...

Growing up, Rumor only ever considered himself to be perfectly ordinary. His life was just as mundane as every other kid his age: he went to school and got average grades, had a host of friends that he didn't feel all that close to, and applied himself to a bunch of interests that he wasn't all that talented at. If anything, when he was left alone with his thoughts late at night with only the Liverpudlian rain to lull him to sleep, he wished that he could be more extraordinary. Even that desire, though, was nothing out of the norm.

To most children, however, seeing flowers rapidly bloom on trees as they climbed them would definitely not be normal. Rumor thought nothing of it, though, nor did he think much of the ripples that formed in his glass before he'd take a sip of water. How could he, when this sort of thing had happened around him for most of his life? It was as natural to him as breathing. Besides, a few flowers by his feet and some waves in his lemonade didn't make a significant impact on anyone's life besides his own, so why did it matter?

Even as his parents sent him away to live with a group of strangers, he still didn't understand what all the fuss was about.

It's just like a summer camp, Rumor thought to himself, repeating what his mother had told him. He had never actually been to a summer camp, but he had seen movies and cartoons about it. Visions of lakes encased by pine trees, incompetent councilors, and marshmallows roasting on a campfire with friends played behind his lidded eyes as he approached the gate to his airplane, only carrying the duffle bag his mother had packed for him and the ticket for his flight. The morning sun only barely peered over the horizon through the windows of the airport, mostly obscured by planes and other terminals. He yawned as his father shoved him into line to get on the plane. Where were they even going, anyways? Through sleepy eyes, he squinted down at his ticket.

PASSENGER: FLEETWOOD, RUMOR FLIGHT: AA735 DEPARTURE: 6:30 AM DEPARTING FROM: MANCHESTER ARRIVING IN: VENICE

Venice? No wonder they were at the Manchester airport and not the Liverpool airport. His parents trailed behind as he made his way to the front of the line. As the flight attendant checked his ticket, Rumor turned his head to see his parents sitting in the next to vacant gate behind him, his father reading a newspaper while his mother was snoring on his shoulder.

"Mum? Dad?"

Rumor's father shoved his newspaper down and scowled at his son, his wife still sound asleep.

"The plane's about to take off," Rumor pointed out. "Aren't you coming?"

"No, we aren't coming." He picked his newspaper back up and continued reading. "Someone named Tangerine will pick you up in Venice. Have fun, son."

Before Rumor could say anything else to him, the flight attendant checked his ticket and escorted him through the gate. Too tired to object, he followed her lead, his bag feeling much heavier now than ever before.

Unbeknownst to him, that was the last time he would see either of his parents.

~~~~~

The plane ride over had riddled him with anxiety. Luckily enough, the seat next to his was vacant, so he had ample room to pace around as his thoughts consumed him. Some of the other passengers surrounding him stopped and stared at him, whispering among themselves about why a nine-year-old was on a plane to another country. The middle-aged woman two seats behind him even tried to comfort him. However, Rumor brushed off all attempts at human contact. He had too much on his mind. Why were his parents sending him off to Venice of all places? Why weren't they coming with him to wherever in Venice they had sent him to? Who was this Tangerine person that his father had sent him off to see?

They're probably a nanny or something, Rumor eventually concluded. Or perhaps a chaperone. Mum and Dad wouldn't just hand me off to some random adult, right?

Whatever he was expecting Tangerine to look like, he was the exact opposite. A tall, muscular man greeted him at the baggage claim, holding up a sign with his name written on it in giant cursive letters. His stoic, stern expression contrasted against his flamboyant clothing—two sashes adorned with tessellated triangles that crossed over his chest and drooped down to his hips covered a bright red tank top; his pants, clearly a size too big for his already large frame, split below his spiked kneepads, exposing his calves; his gladiator sandals running all the way up to his knees. His auburn hair was tied back in a long, braided ponytail that reached down to his hips, a pair of sunglasses shielding Rumor from his thousand-yard stare.

His personality even clashed with his appearance. It didn't even take a full conversation for Rumor to realize that he was not the chatty type, mostly because he could barely even get him to converse. As soon as the two of them entered his car—a sleek maroon convertible with leather seats—Tangerine's lips were sealed, save for the cigarette dangling between them.

"So..." Rumor said as they drove out of the airport, "Where are we going?"

No response.

"Will there be other kids there?"

No response.

"Can I turn on the radio?"

Tangerine glared and shook his head.

"Your name is Tangerine, right?"

He nodded.

"How long did it take you to braid your hair this morning?"

No response.

Defeated, Rumor slumped in his seat and stared at his nervous visage reflected in the window. Maybe he just doesn't speak English very well, he reasoned. After all, he was probably just the chauffer. No doubt he drove hundreds of people back and forth from the airport every day. His parents had only said that he would be picked up by a man named Tangerine, they said nothing about anything past that. Surely he would drop him off at the fun summer camp that his parents had told him about with a group of welcoming, talkative adults that he'd feel safe and secure around. His parents wouldn't have dumped him off to some stoic stranger all by himself.

Right?

~~~~~

After a drive that felt much longer than it actually was and a trip on a private ferry, they arrived at Air Supplena Island. Though "island" may not be the best way to describe it. The complete antithesis to the warm and open Venice, where the water seemed to sparkle, Air Supplena was more like a giant, gothic castle with one prominent tower in the middle built on top of a cliffside. It just so happened that said cliffside was surrounded by the Adriatic Sea, which grew murkier the closer they got to the island.

Rumor felt his heart clench up at the realization that he was almost certainly not going to a summer camp.

"H-hey, I think there may be some mistake," he stammered as Tangerine parked the car in a dank underground garage. He exited the vehicle and marched towards a long, spiral staircase. Rumor fumbled with the lock on his seatbelt before following him. "I-I'm supposed to be at a summer camp right now. I don't know who you are or what's going on, but I—"

Tangerine spun on his heels to face Rumor, his arms folded behind his back. "You are Rumor Fleetwood, correct?"

"Y-yes, but—"

"Starting today," Tangerine spoke, his commanding voice silencing the boy in front of him, "you begin your formal Hamon training. I will be your tutor, mentor, and coach. From this moment forward, you will only address me as Master Tangerine. Any questions?"

Questions? Was that some kind of joke? Rumor could only pinch himself to confirm that this wasn't some weird dream. Unfortunately, he didn't wake up. This was really happening. Taking a deep breath, he catalogued all the questions he had; who are you, where are we, why am I here, but the one that came out was:

"What the hell is Hamon?"

His response did not come verbally. Rather, Tangerine extended his pinky and jabbed him in the chest. Rumor lurched over and coughed. It was only his pinky, but the blow carried the weight of a full punch. Thousands of tiny, golden shockwaves rippled from his body on impact, lingering on the pavement even after he caught his breath. They carried a distinctive ring to them, as his body was a tuning fork that had just been struck.

"That," Tangerine gestured to the sparks at their feet, "is Hamon. Or to be more precise, Hamon is a form of energy that is functionally indistinguishable from the rays of the sun. In order to generate it, most people need to learn and adapt to an advanced breathing pattern. It takes years, even decades, for most men to master it, even with a special apparatus to control the rhythm of their breaths. You, on the other hand," he took off his sunglasses to look Rumor in the eye, "you are capable of generating Hamon without even trying. Without even knowing. All on your own, as well. You are a one in a million chance, Rumor."

"I don't care!" Rumor stomped his foot. "What's the big deal with Hamon anyways? Who are you?" Tears began to burn behind his eyes. "I want to go home! Whatever this 'Hamon' is, I—"

He was interrupted by a slap to the face. "Go home?" Tangerine's thick Italian accent echoed off the walls and silenced the crackling Hamon ripples below them. "Tell me, what do you think waits for you back there? A warm bowl of soup and hugs from your parents? They abandoned you here. You should feel grateful that I'm taking you under my wing," he explained. "When I spoke with them, they used some choice words to describe you. Freak was among the tamer ones. Your mother thought you to be possessed by the devil himself. In fact, I only reached out to them after their inquiries about your Hamon had reached my ears, all the way in Italy."

Shell-shocked, Rumor's eyes widened. He had to be lying. What reason would they have to say such things about their own son? "I don't believe you," he whispered. "If I didn't even know Hamon existed, how could they know that I could generate it?"

"Have you ever noticed flowers blooming on tree branches after you touch them? Or stood perfectly still in a lake and have ripples form around your feet in the water?" Tangerine put his sunglasses back on and took another huff of his cigarette. "I'm assuming you have, because your parents certainly did. And it frightened them."

"No," Rumor denied, though the hateful scowl his father had shot at him before he boarded the plane still burned into his memory, "that can't be...it isn't..."

"It is, and the sooner you accept it, the sooner you'll find inner peace." The soles of his sandals clanked against the stone staircase as he ascended them. "There are horrors in this world that most dismiss as fantasy. Monsters lurking in shadows that humanity is too ignorant and stubborn to look into. Every day, these monsters grow stronger, preparing for a war that we have no hope of winning as things are. Vampires."

"Vampires aren't real! You're insane!"

"You only want to believe that." Tangerine stopped in place at the top of the stairs, looking down on Rumor. "You and I are different. It is our fate to ward off these monsters before it is too late. Still, I am not a heartless man. If you'd rather cower with your tail between your legs, then I will send for someone to deliver you back to your parents. Where they send you from there is beyond my control. Climb these stairs, however, and I will guide you on the path to your destiny."

With that, Tangerine opened the door at the top of the stairs. Sunlight bled into the dreary garage and created a backlight behind him. "I await your decision."

He slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Rumor alone with his thoughts.

Palms shaking and heartbeat deafening his surroundings, his eyes locked on the staircase in front of him as if he was drawn in by gravity. On all accounts, agreeing to train his Hamon with Tangerine (whatever the hell that implied) was a bad idea. Not only had they literally just met, but being dragged off to a secluded island off the coast of another country without a word between them and then being slapped in the face made for a poor first impression. Even to a child like Rumor, it was obvious that behind flamboyant clothing and darkened lenses, there was something very wrong with his would-be tutor. It almost made him wonder whether or not he was one of the monsters that he had described.

What other choice did he have though? As much as he didn't want to admit it, Tangerine was right—his parents had abandoned him. Shipped him off to some stranger with little regard for how he was treated or when he would return. His mother hadn't even been awake to wish him safe travels. Would they even give him the time of day if he told them about what Tangerine's "summer camp" entailed, or would they be too busy trying to find another way to get rid of him?

He always had wished his life had been more exciting, and now he was getting that excitement whether he truly wanted it or not.

Swallowing hard, he followed Tangerine's path up the stairs.

~~~~~

ONE YEAR LATER...

The weather had cleared up, clouds parting to make way for the sun's rays. Rumor couldn't tell, however. All he noticed was the air around him grow a little warmer, the oppressive shadow cast by the giant pillar in front of him alleviating. Light peered in from the balcony some twenty meters above him and stung his eyes. Running his oily hand over his face, he sat up, using the little strength he felt he still had in him. Dizziness wracked over his body upon moving. His stomach growled.

How the hell had things come to this?

Rumor's first year on Air Supplena had been lax, with Tangerine spending the mornings and afternoons coaching him on various breathing techniques and basics of a martial art called Sendo, then spending the evenings lecturing him on whatever educational topic caught his fancy at the time. Breaks were few and far between and food was only offered in the mornings, though enough of it was served to keep him energized throughout the day. Rumor felt less like he had been sent to a summer camp and more like he had been warped into a kung-fu movie. Every morning he woke up half expecting to wax his car.

What he was not expecting was to be shoved into a shallow pool of oil 24 meters below surface level with a pillar as his only means of escape.

Sometime before being shoved in, while Rumor was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Tangerine had called it the Hell Climb Pillar. The name was an understatement. Were Rumor alive during its construction, he would've added a few more adjectives to the title to better sell its challenge. "Deadly," "horrible," "unfair," and "stupid" all seemed like easy candidates.

"You have been under my tutelage for a year now," Tangerine had told him. "Consider this your first test. Tales have been told of a man who conquered the Hell Climb Pillar with nary a day of training under his belt. You are more than prepared."

I'd wager that he wasn't only ten, Rumor had silently objected.

How long had he even been stuck at the bottom of the pit anyways? The only indication he had to go off of was that it was sunny when he started, then he heard rain hammer down on the ceiling a couple dozen meters above him, then the rain stopped and sun snuck in through the balcony to greet him once again. It must've been at least a few hours, if not a whole day.

It wasn't like he hadn't tried—the way out was painfully obvious. Oil gushed down the pillar from a series of pumps near the top, coating it in a thin film of the stuff. Of the many tidbits on Hamon that Tangerine had drilled into him over the course of a year, none were as strange to him as the various liquids that conducted Hamon well. Oil, blood, even soap.

"Laugh if you wish for a beating, Rumor," Tangerine had threatened when his disciple stifled back giggles, "but my uncle kept a thin layer of soap on his clothes at all times just to create Hamon-infused bubbles to fight with."

Rumor rubbed his cheek, reminded of how hard he had been slapped when he erupted into laughter at the word "bubbles."

In a strange way, he was grateful for being hit, because now he remembered that lesson as clear as day. Of all of the conductors, oil was the most adept, both for storing and channeling Hamon. With gallons of it cascading over the pillar like a waterfall, the way out was as simple as channeling Hamon through his fingers to stick to the oil and climbing up the pillar like a spider.

Easier said than done. On his last attempt, Rumor only got seven meters off the ground before running out of energy and losing his grip. Ever since then, he laid at the bottom of the oily pool and prayed that Tangerine would fish him out eventually.

The fresh rays of the sun gave him new determination. Standing up, he readied his breathing, feeling Hamon flow through his body in weak ripples. Light sparks crackled on the tips of his fingers as he redirected his energy towards them. Still warn out and slightly delirious, he cupped his hands and stuck his fingertips to the pillar. Kicking off the ground and reaching his hands up higher, he restarted his climb.

"I'm getting out of here," Rumor reassured himself as he gently rolled his hands, dragging them further up the pillar. "Even if I have to chain myself to the top, I'm getting out of here."

A vein burst on his forehead as he continued to climb. Sweat began to dribble over the oil he was covered in, rubbing into his eyes and blurring his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut. Not like he needed to see; muscle memory was all the sense he needed. Something tugged at his wrist as his fingertips drug his body up with him, but he couldn't bring himself to check what it was. Probably just exhaustion taking its course.

As he readied his left hand to trudge up the pillar again, a smooth surface brushed against his thumb. He snapped his eyes open. A foothold perhaps? A relived grin plastered itself on his face as he grabbed onto it before looking. When his eyes caught up with his hand, he furrowed his brow.

Rather than a foothold or crevasse, Rumor had grabbed onto what looked like a mix between a translucent chain link and a double helix strand.

He bit his cheek. What the hell was it supposed to be? Curious, he gave it a small tug. His opposite wrist yanked along with it, knocking him off balance. He careened a few meters down before the mystery object he had grabbed broke his fall, somehow securing him to the pillar. His wrist burned now, almost like someone was trying to rip his hand off, his knuckles white from grabbing onto whatever he could. Now he was sure that something was wrong. Twisting his head, he stared at his wrist.

Though he remained confused, it didn't take long for him to realize what was going on. Emerging from his wrist was that same chain, seemingly emerging from his blood vessels. No cuts or gaps had marred his skin, nor were there any lumps from where it ought to be emerging from—instead, The Chain looked like it had phased through him.

Color drained from Rumor's face as he recounted his lessons with Tangerine. No matter how hard he scratched his brain, he couldn't remember one that mentioned a chain coming out from a Hamon user's body. What was this? Was he manifesting it somehow?

It was best not to question it too much, because whatever it was, it was the only thing keeping him suspended several meters off the ground. He shifted his balance so that his weight was centered then refocused on his breathing. Some stray droplets of oil sprayed into his mouth as he did so. A year ago, he would've gagged at the slimy taste as it stuck to his tongue. Now, he was able to brush it aside and push through it, his attention dedicated to each inhale and exhale.

That familiar buzz on his fingertips returned but much weaker than before. Rumor groaned and slouched his shoulders, darting his eyes to his hands. What was wrong now? Golden sparks of Hamon energy still danced on his fingertips, still clinging tightly to The Chain, but it didn't reach the oil parallel to them. Instead, it spread along The Chain, channeling through it from both hands.

Incredible, Rumor pondered, this...whatever it is, it's conducting Hamon flawlessly. Could it be due to the oil from the pillar? Or maybe...

Before he could think up of anything else, The Chain skyrocketed up the pillar and drug him along with it. He shut his eyes and turned away as oil splashed in his face, his knees scraping against the stone pillar. The Chain carried him higher, thrusting him into the air above the pillar. Rumor opened his eyes again for just a moment, only to see himself fall face first onto the landing platform.

Tangerine, sitting beside where he landed on a chaise lounge, promptly dropped his jaw and the glass of wine in his hands.

"That...was amazing!" He lifted a dazed Rumor off the floor by his shoulders and beamed at him. "I've never seen anyone ascend the pillar like that. What's your secret? You simply must tell me."

Those words didn't reach Rumor, who processed them as a garbled mesh of noise spoken by a blurry outline of what might be his teacher. His head felt light, his stomach tied in knots. The only thing keeping him rooted in reality was the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and out, in and out, in and out...

He blinked a few times, Tangerine's outline solidifying. He was smiling—a first as far as Rumor was concerned—and holding him up by his shoulders. "What," Rumor staggered, "what was that?"

Tangerine's smile fell as he shoved Rumor onto the chaise lounge. "That's what I'd like to know. From what I saw, it was like you channeled your Hamon in a circle around the pillar, then..."

"No, that's not what I mean." Rumor lifted his wrist, dragging The Chain up with it. "What's this? This chain thing?"

Tangerine tilted his head to the side and removed his sunglasses. "I'm afraid I don't understand what you're asking me."

"This!" He waved his hand around for emphasis, wobbling The Chain back and forth. "This thing coming out of my wrist! What is it?"

"Rumor." Tangerine furrowed his brow. "There's nothing coming out of your wrist."

A cold wave of shock seized up Rumor's body. Tangerine was many things, but a liar was not one of them. He really couldn't see it.

Then, as if on command, The Chain reeled up back inside his wrist and vanished.

"Either way," Tangerine continued, "do you realize what this means? Rumor, you're the youngest person to ever complete the Hell Climb Pillar!"

Though his teacher—cold, stoic, borderline abusive Tangerine—was lauding his success and toasting to him with his shattered wine glass, Rumor couldn't bring himself to soak up the praise. It seemed that fate had blessed him with another special ability, one that was bizarre even amongst the bizarre.

~~~~~

NINE YEARS LATER...

During his first year of training, Rumor would often spend his brief break periods napping or aimlessly strolling around the island. After his first challenge against the Hell Climb Pillar, his breaks were spent restlessly trying to figure out what the hell The Chain was.

One thing that he was certain of was that it was unique to him. Air Supplena's library had a section dedicated to documents on Hamon users throughout the years, chronicling everyone from the originators of the craft to Tangerine's soap-wearing uncle to a British noble who mastered his Hamon within a week only to die months later on his honeymoon. Not one of them mentioned something even comparable to The Chain. If several centuries worth of Hamon masters couldn't muster up a way to conjure what he did by accident when he was only ten, then it couldn't be something that was learned. Not to mention that Tangerine couldn't even see the damn thing.

With time he learned some of its other properties. He could summon it on command, but only out of his wrists and ankles. After multiple attempts to try and summon it from other parts of his body (including his elbows, knees, and the inside of his mouth), he came to the conclusion that his wrists and ankles were the only parts of his body that they could come from. That stunt he had pulled on his first attempt at the Hell Climb Pillar wasn't inherent to The Chain, but rather a reaction from the Hamon flowing through it colliding with the oil dripping from the pillar. The individual strands could be separated from his body by either clapping his hands or clicking his heels. Its range, Rumor eventually decided, was incalculable, as it was capable of stretching across the entire island several times over, albeit very slowly. Perhaps the strangest quality of The Chain was its ability to transfer heat from one object to another, an ability that he had discovered by complete accident one frigid winter morning while training. Not like he was complaining; Tangerine had insisted that he train in nothing but his underwear that day.

That had been many years ago though. Age had mellowed his once heartless teacher considerably; when Rumor first arrived on Air Supplena, he would be whacked in the back of the head as punishment for failing a Sendo maneuver or answering a question incorrectly during their tutoring sessions. One time, he was even denied breakfast for sloppy handwriting, a mistake Rumor was sure to never repeat. That behavior faded with time, his slaps getting weaker, punishments less severe. Usually, Rumor could get away with just a lecture. Lack of punishment never dulled his fear of failure, though. Ten years of training, and Rumor still flinched whenever Tangerine would lowly exhale in the way he always did when he was disappointed.

Not like he had anything to be afraid of. Tangerine had not aged gracefully; his once youthful visage had melted away to a pruned old man with gray hair and frizzy mustache in only a few years. His once vibrant and gaudy attire had been traded in for a simple beige cloak and baggy pants held up by a particularly boring leather belt.

"Hamon will keep you young so long as you do not fall out of practice," he explained. "However, it does not last forever. I'd wager I'm old enough to be your..." he tapped his finger against his chin, "Rumor, how old are you now?"

"Eighteen, sir. My birthday is in a little over two months." Had Tangerine ever gotten him a birthday gift? Or even celebrated his birthday before? He couldn't remember.

"I'm old enough to be your grandfather." He chuckled, his laughter eventually trailing off into a low cough. "I was already in my fifties when I picked you up from the airport that day. I was quite the looker back then, wouldn't you agree?"

Rumor did not agree. He never found anyone to be particularly attractive, least of all his teacher. "Of course, sir," he said. "Shouldn't we go inside? You're bound to catch a cold if you stay out here for much longer."

Tangerine shook his head. "What I have to say won't take long." He sighed and gazed up at the sky. "Besides, I enjoy sitting under the starlight."

Exhaling slowly, Rumor followed his teacher's line of sight. A host of stars greeted him, dotting the sky to the point where he saw more twinkling white than he did the cold blue sky. A rare sight this time of year, when the gray clouds of January usually shielded the sky. It was still chilly though. Rumor didn't mind the cold—not when The Chain was wrapped around his torso and attached to the coals of the toasty fireplace waiting for them inside. He would've offered the same comfort to his teacher, but although he couldn't see The Chain, he could still feel it. Having it slither up his legs and wrap around his body would only irritate him.

"These last ten years," Tangerine continued, "I've watched you mature from a squeamish child to a proud warrior. There is nothing left for me to teach you. It's time." He stood up from his chair and moved it aside, revealing a wooden box underneath. Tangerine started to kneel down to pick it up, groaning and grunting as his knees cracked, before Rumor picked it up himself.

"Time for what?" He weighed the box in his hands. The box itself was much heavier than whatever was inside it, and even it didn't weight much. Rumor put his ear to the box and jostled it around a bit, hoping to find out what was inside. Something thumped from side to side; small, light, but not hollow.

He was interrupted when Tangerine put his hand on his shoulder. Rumor flinched away. No doubt he was about to be reprimanded and smacked. How careless of him to get carried away like that, shaking around a present like a child on Christmas Eve. "My apologies, Master."

"You've nothing to apologize for, Rumor," Tangerine reassured. "It is time for you to leave this island. Tomorrow, I'll send for a boat to take you to Venice. Where you go from there is up to you. I would come with you, but I'm in no condition to travel anymore. Your skill with Hamon is without rival, and you exhibit a talent for strategy on the battlefield. Not to mention that I've never seen nor heard of anyone conquer the Hell Climb Pillar on several occasions, let alone with a different strategy each time."

Rumor clenched his hands into fists and bit his lip. Of the eight times he had successfully conquered the Hell Climb Pillar, only one of them had been with Hamon alone. All of his other climbs had been the result of him experimenting with The Chain. It was no wonder that he hadn't seen anyone climb it in the ways he had. "Yes, sir."

"I have two tasks left for you to complete," Tangerine instructed. "The first is to track down the last of the vampire scum that still roams the Earth and eliminate them. Bring me their heads as a trophy, if you can manage."

"Of course, sir." Rumor lifted the box in front of him. "What's this for, then?"

"Open it."

Rumor slid the lid off and tucked it underneath the box. Inside were two items: a long, orange scarf and a small black notebook.

"That scarf is specially made," Tangerine explained as his student took out the objects and examined them. "It is woven from Satiporoja beetles, so it will conduct 100% of your Hamon even without a conductor. And, since you'll be out on your own for the first time, I figured you might desire a journal to document your experiences in."

"I'll treasure them always," Rumor said, wrapping the scarf around his neck. "What is the second task you wanted me to complete, sir?"

Tangerine hobbled back over to his chair and sat down. "Will you watch the stars with me one last time before you leave?"

~~~~~

IN THE PRESENT...

Four months on his own, and Rumor had just killed someone for the first time in his life.

It hadn't been intentional, of course. All he was trying to do was remove Sting's mask; how was he supposed to know that it would cause his head to explode? He wasn't a murderer. Even if he was, he only ever resorted to violence against evil. Vampires and other creatures whose entire existence was violent and malicious. While Sting wasn't inhuman, he was still a monster. All the Masqueraders were. They attacked fellow Stand users without warning or reason and refused to so much as consider a more peaceful resolution. Violent, killing machines; no different than the vampires he had been engineered to destroy.

If it hadn't been torn off and crushed to a bloody mess, Rumor would've considered delivering Sting's head to Tangerine as a trophy.

The fact that a man laid dead by his hand near a known tourist attraction was no longer of any concern to him. Rumor was more worried about finding his way back to the café where he left Cab. On his way to the belfry, he had only focused on the path The Chain lead him on, not bothering to note the path he took or any other landmarks he passed. For once in his life, he wished that Cab and his compass-head was with him to offer up some direction.

"So, um," Michelle stuttered, eyes still wide from seeing Sting's face rip clean from his head, "what was up there at the top of the Belfry?"

"Well, it is a belfry," Rumor bluntly responded. "So, bells."

"That's it? Nothing else?"

"What, aside from the masked lunatic trying to kill me?"

Michelle huffed out her nose and folded her arms. "You know what I mean."

A small chuckle rumbled in Rumor's belly. "If you're expecting some grand cathedral or hidden passageway, then I'm sorry to disappoint. There was a certain beauty to it though, as if decades of industrialized tourism all but stopped once you reached the room. Not to mention that the view. You could behold the entire city from there. Honestly, if I had the time, I'm confident in saying that I could locate where we stashed Cab away from up there."

"Oui, I'd bet," Michelle responded. "Sounds like a good place to watch the sunset, right? Then maybe watch the stars afterwards."

Rumor felt his heart clench. He hadn't watched the stars since the night he left home. It wasn't out of a distaste for it, far from it, but clouds followed him from place to place no matter where he went and he was often fast asleep by the time they parted. Truly, his last day at Air Supplena must have been preordained. The only day of clear skies for an entire month, and it was when he bid farewell to his teacher? Fate always did have a tendency to favor him after all. Now if only it could point him in the direction of a vampire.

For only a moment, he worried if Tangerine would think him a failure for not finding one already.

"Don't be ridiculous," he responded to Michelle. "The windows are too narrow to see the sky from."

[talesmaniac89]

The Costume Party

Summary: Dean x Reader - Dean and the reader go on a hunt at a costume party, where Dean has to deal with his jealousy as the guys can’t seem to keep their eyes off the reader.

Triggers: Jealousy

Word Count: 3671

Y/N = Your name ¦ Y/H/C = Your Hair Colour

---

“Remind me again… Why are we doing this?” You asked under your breath, tugging at your costume before reaching out and ringing the doorbell. Your eyes leaving the door to glance over at Dean. His cowboy hat slightly hid those gorgeous green eyes of his as he adjusted his holsters and smiled wryly.

 “It’s our job,” He said as he looked up, tipping the cowboy hat towards you with a crooked smile. The gesture making you roll your eyes as you looked from his cowboy costume and down at your own Poison Ivy choice. Damn it, all the damned leaves were tickling your bare arms and honestly you missed your comfy cotton t-shirt. But, it was a costume party. And to fit in you had to dress up. With a sigh you glanced up at the still closed door, waiting for someone in the house to notice the doorbell over the loud thumping music from inside.

 “Our unpaid, thankless job you mean?” You said, the sarcasm dripping from your painted lips akin to the poison that was the weapon of choice of your costume character. You loved what you did, you were a hunter - which meant you saved people. But, hell, normally you didn’t have to wear a green corset to do so. “Oh joy…”

 “Yeah…. That one,” Dean chuckled as the two of you shared a wry grin, just as the door opened to reveal a man dressed as a typical Hollywood-esque zombie. Shouting over the music to apologise for not hearing the bell as you twisted your smiles to instead just look happy and maybe slightly tipsy before you entered the door into the Halloween party.

 Someone within the house had messed with forces they shouldn’t have. All in the spirit of Halloween. Which might be why you had such a bleak view of the holiday. For some stupid reason there was always someone that thought that old creepy book with incantation would make for good party games or, like in this case, thought that old cursed object would be a perfect halloween decoration.

“Damn… What was it we’re looking for?” Dean asked, leaning close and speaking the words directly into your ear to be heard over the music. The close proximity of those full lips and the slightly woody, smoky scent of the hunter sending involuntary sparks of electricity through your body and into your heart. Of course, by the boyish grin was a clear indication of the hunter knowing exactly why you were there as you laughed along with him.

 There were masks, everywhere… People wearing them, on the walls, hell, even the decorations had masks on. And it just so happened… The damned cursed item was, you guessed it, a fucking mask.

 “I guess we’ll just have to go with the process of elimination,” You said, giving an overacted sigh as you looked around the room, accepting a bottle of beer from Dean as you kept glancing at the already drunk partygoers. The glass bottle was wet and cold in your hand from the already melting ice in the bucket Dean had swiped them from. “I’ll start… We can rule out the horse mask on the dude in the corner,” You added after a grateful smile and a quick sip of beer.

 “And the feathery purple mask on the girl on his lap… Unless the demonic masked cwarriors had a flair for the dramatic,” Dean supplied, teasing a small laugh from you as you continued your cursed mask version of where’s Wally whilst walking among the busy crowds at the party.

 Sure, it was a hunt, and both of you knew the importance of retrieving the mask. But, hell, it wasn’t as if the mask had killed anyone as of yet. It normally only did so after several days, and never when anyone but its owner was around. You might as well enjoy the little time alone you were getting with your crush in the midst of the loud Halloween crowd. No matter how hard enjoying yourself could be when the crowd around you only seemed to be getting louder and wilder with every new song.

 What was it that made people wearing costumes act so strangely? Was it because they got to pretend to be someone else for a while? Hell, if someone had decided to wear the mask and was acting strangely in some way, would you even know in the already drunk crowd?

 ---

 “I think we should split up, we’ll cover more ground that way,” You finally said with a sigh after a preliminary walk-through of the ground floor had yielded little result other than some drunk guy spilling some of his drink on your corset. Yet, no answer came from the older hunter, making you turn around to face him and figure out why he was so strangely quiet all of a sudden after having filled the whole evening with jokes and puns about costumes and masks.

 Turning, you caught him glaring in the direction of someone across the room. The sight of his set jaw and burning green irises enough to make every muscle in your body tense. That was the look of a hunter. Meaning, he’d found something. Turning your head in an effort to follow his line of sight you saw nothing out of the ordinary at first glance. Speaking up as you turned back to face him and looked away from the small group of guys gathered by the wall he had been glaring at.

 “Did you find it?” You asked, unable to hide your excitement at the prospect of leaving the party behind and finally being able to breath again once the costume and corset came off. But as Dean quickly tore his eyes off of whatever he had been glaring at he shook his head with a sigh.

 “No, no sign of it…” He said, his voice still thick with some unidentifiable emotion that sounded suspiciously like anger. “Sorry, did you say something?” The hunter added, his eyes remorseful for his momentary lapse into… Something… You still couldn’t identify the reason for his glare as you looked in the direction of the group that had held his attention before you spoke up.

 “Let’s split up. We’ll cover more ground, and once we find it, we can text each other to meet up,” You said, looking back up at the cowboy-clad hunter and repeating your original idea. Already pivoting to take a step in the direction of the kitchen as you expected nothing more than an easy yes from the hunter. After all, it wasn’t that dangerous of a situation. You could deal with the drunkards, and the mask was not a threat until someone was left alone with it.

 “No way (Y/N), it ain’t safe,” Dean grumbled, his words stopping you as you looked back at him, raising an eyebrow at the cowboy before making a point of looking around at the drunken masses. “I mean… We don’t know everything about the mask, better we stick together,” He added when he saw your confused look.

 You shrugged and started walking together with him through the rooms again. You honestly didn’t see the danger. Not when you could pretty much kick the ass of everyone in the room. But hell, you weren’t gonna complain when his suggestion let you walk side by side and share a laugh with the damned sexy hunter. The perks of the job and all.

 ---

 “Hey there, think I would survive a kiss?” The slurred words came after your second round around the house party. The clearly drunken man dressed as a gladiator took an uneven step towards you as he smiled at his own ‘genius’ pickup line. Clearly a reference to your costume. “I think we should give it a go… For s...psy… science,” He slurred as he stumbled close enough for you to smell the whole brewery off of him.

 As you wrinkled your nose in disgust, at both the excessively heavy smell of liquor as well as the awful lines you took a quick step backwards. Readying yourself to turn him down and send him packing. Yet, before you could tell him off, Dean had stepped between you and the drunk Don Juan, blocking him from your view with his broad back straight and tense.

 “Dean, it’s not worth it. And gladiator boy, thanks, but no thanks… Go sober off,” You shot out before the two of them would start comparing testosterone levels. Pulling at Dean’s arm, you sighed and rolled your eyes at the clear macho display in front of you as the gladiator and cowboy squared off. “What the hell Dean?” You added with a final tug on Dean’s arm to make him turn to face you again.

 “He was being an asshole,” Dean grumbled, the dark look in his eyes not fully having the time to disappear before they met with yours again. His glare softening quickly as he refocused his attention on you instead of the drunken man. “Sorry,” He added sheepishly as you set your eyes on him, giving your best impression of Sam’s bitch glare.

 “I could’ve handled him myself Winchester,” You said with a sigh, the worst of your annoyance fading when the hunter threw you a boyish grin.

 “I know… You kick ass. Sorry, I guess the case has me acting a bit tense,” Dean said, finally returning to his bright self, though you could tell that he was still wound somewhat tightly. Like he was ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. “Let’s look in the next room,” He added with a quick glance thrown over his shoulder where the gladiator was leaning against the nearby wall, still looking in you direction.

 Placing his hand on the small of your back, Dean led the way towards the door and another crowd of party guests, as if he was whisking you away from the spartan. You wanted to stay annoyed, or at least once more push your “I am woman, hear me roar and fucking demolish everything” thoughts, but the proximity of the hunter made that hard.

 The heat of his hand on the small of your back thawed the butterflies in your stomach, bringing them back to life as your heart thumped along to the heavy bass of the stereo system. Having Dean Winchester that close was like wrapping your mind in cotton. Only the sound of his voice, the feel of his skin on yours and the waves of safety blanketing you seemed able to break through the chaotic mess in your head.

 Over the years you had started falling for him, harder and harder. These hunts that only included the two of you were always the hardest. Usually when Sammy was there, it was easier to keep things platonic. But when it was the two of you… Damn it… You couldn’t even stay annoyed at the adorable bastard. Not when you knew, deep down, that he was only looking out for you in his own clumsy way.

 Dean Winchester always felt he had to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. And that included keeping the few people he let in close to his heart safe. Even from perceived dangers. He knew very well that Sam, Cas and you could protect yourself. Yet he always tried being your shield. Never letting you step in front to protect him instead.

 Sure, he might be wearing a cowboy costume, but to you Dean always seemed to try to act like a superhero. A knight in jeans and flannel. Giving up everything for those around him. His heart too big to let others carry any of his pain in fear of hurting them. And you loved him for it, albeit silently, though he could sometimes annoy the hell out of you.

 Like right that second, you noted. As you watched Dean’s whole body tense up again. His eyes hardening and jaw locked as he wrapped his arm fully around your waist before speaking up over the music towards the man you hadn’t even seen reaching out for you. Damn it, so much for hunting reflexes. Dean’s arm around you had you on cloud nine to such an extent that even a civilian could sneak up on you. The kid seemed to be a few years younger than you and clearly had decided to go the killer clown route in his costume choices and he wasn’t the first one of the night. It was probably a good thing Sammy hadn’t come along.

 “She ain’t interested,” Dean barked, before the guy could even speak up. The drunk guy’s eyes widening as they left your corseted cleavage to look at Dean’s arm around your waist instead. His hands shooting up in a sign of surrender as he stepped quickly back, nearly falling over in his two sizes too large clown shoes.

 “Sorry dude, didn’t know” The clown said, his words apologetic, though you honestly didn’t need to hide behind Dean to put a kid in a clown costume back in place.  

Raising an eyebrow at the annoyed, yet clearly over-protective tone in Dean’s voice you tried to catch his eye from where he was still busy glaring at the clown. Damn, you’d think the drunk civilian was a Rakshasa instead of just a party boy with the added social lubrication of a few drinks too many from the way Dean was looking at him.

 Sighing you tugged at Dean’s arm, unwrapping it from your waist before using your hold on his wrist to force the hunter to follow you over to a relatively more quiet part of the party. Keeping silent on your full walk over until you finally pivoted on your heel to turn to face him, letting your (Y/H/C) hair whip around with you for added dramatic effect.

 “What’s your problem Winchester?” You said, your voice more tired and annoyed than actually angry as you let go of his wrist to fold your arms across your waist. “You know I can handle myself,”

 “I don’t have a problem, they do,” Dean said his voice still deep with some unidentifiable emotion as his green eyes burned like a forest fire. Unlike last time, Dean seemed unable to quickly let go of his annoyance with the drunk man. His words coming out rushed as he continued speaking before you could ask him to clarify. “They think they’re good enough for you. They won’t ever be…”

 The hunter caught himself a moment too late. The words were already out as his sentence died down and his eyes widened in shock at what he had just said. If you didn’t know better, it would have sounded to you as if the hunter was jealous. But… That couldn’t be true. Could it?

 “Dean… What’s up? You’re not making much sense,” You said, trying to urge the hunter to continue as he cleared his throat, the fight finally leaving him completely.

 “Nothing… I mean, I just think you deserve more than some drunk guy hitting at you at a party,” Dean mumbled, his words barely eligible through the chaotic mess of people talking and the loud music of the party. Still, you caught them clearly. “I’m just sayin’... You deserve a good man, one that can make you happy. Not like them, and not a hunter either. Someone real, good, and safe,” He continued, clearly noticing your incredulous look as he kept digging the hole deeper for himself.

 Though you found his protective nature endearing at most times, you couldn’t help the annoyance you felt bubbling to the surface. Sure, it wasn’t his fault. He cared for you, as a friend, and he didn’t know how much it hurt to hear him say you deserved someone who wasn’t him. Not when he was all you could think about.

 “I deserve to be happy!” Unable to stop yourself you felt your hands curl into fists as you spat out the words. The words seemed to leave you on their own, leaving you powerless to stop them as annoyance turned into a pained anger at his words. “I know I have to give up on you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wanna be happy!”

 “Wha…” Dean’s stunned silent look and the breathless half-question that left him, was enough to make you catch what you’d just said. Your anger-fueled words had basically been a confession of your feelings for the hunter. A shitty confession, but a confession nonetheless… And after you’d managed to keep them hidden for years, misguided protective feelings would be the end of you. Typical.

 “Shit…” You groaned, trying to figure out how to explain away your words. To at least keep the hunter as a friend. You knew Dean, you knew how hard things hit him. The guilt for breaking your heart would surely weigh him down and destroy your easy friendship. That fear had kept you quiet for years. What the hell was in the beers at this party? Some kind of fucking truth serum?

 “What did you just say?” Dean’s voice was low, but in your panic of trying to find a way to suck the words back in the rest of the world had gone static and quiet. Only your own frantic mind and Dean’s words could break through as you looked for the right words to say. Opening and closing your mouth before deciding to take the cowardly way out and just push it all back down. The hunter’s choice. Don’t deal with the emotions, just push ‘em back down and bury ‘em under enough bodies to make everyone forget you even had a heart.

 “Look, just forget it. Let’s find that damned mask,” You said with a sigh as you turned to run away from the conversation you honestly didn’t think you could ever have. Not without your heart suffering the consequences. And hell, even if you had to have it. You definitely didn’t want to have it at a drunken house party surrounded by people dressed in costumes who were busy taking part in some seasonal mating dance. With a cursed mask on the premises as the cherry on top.

“No, I’m not gonna forget it and that mask ain’t going anywhere,” Dean said, his voice taking on a nearly panicked tone as he reached out and stopped you from running away from your own mess. “What did you say (Y/N)?”

 “Dean…” You hesitated, unwilling to look up at him as you instead focused on his cowboy boots. Your mouth dry and throat burning as you tried to figure out what you should say. Should you come clean? Tell him you’d loved him for years. How standing shoulder to shoulder with him through several apocalypses, as a hunter had made you fall harder for him than you ever thought possible? What would happen then? Would you have to leave the bunker?

 “Please, please tell me I didn’t hear you wrong,” Dean’s voice nearly broke over the words when you didn’t speak up. The pleading, nearly sorrowful tone to his voice making you finally look back up where green eyes were watching you carefully. A small hopeful light brightening them, though you could see that hope wavering more for every second you kept quiet. ”Look, (Y/N), I admit it… I’ve been a jealous bastard all night. It’s just… You look so gorgeous, and I mean… I’ve loved you for years. And I’ve never worked up the courage to say anything. Yet these guys think they can just…” Dean was rambling. You knew it, he knew it… And as his voice finally died down with a sigh you couldn’t help yourself. Smiling at the adorable dork of a hunter in front of you.

 “Took you long enough Winchester,” You said with a laugh, reaching up before the last hope in his eyes was extinguished and pulling at the lapels of his black shift as you lifted yourself up to give the man a soft kiss in lieu of an answer. “You didn’t hear me wrong,” You mumbled against his lips, your own smile brightening as you felt Dean’s full lips spread into a happy smile before his arms wrapped around you and deepened your kiss with a hungry need.

“Should’ve dressed as batman,” Dean mumbled once you parted to breathe as his arms still held you close. Though his tone was light and joking you could feel his heavy heartbeat matching yours and the small quiver of nervous elation in his voice. “Then we would’ve matched,”

 “Nah… I like the cowboy costume,” You laughed, giving him a quick peck on the lips before making a show of pulling slightly away from him to give him an appreciative once over. Damn, the man really could pull off the cowboy look. “You look good,”

 “Yeah?” Dean gave you a boyish grin and tipped his hat. The last of the slight worry and pain in his eyes gone after your whispered confessions to each other during your desperate kisses. Finally the hunter was back to the man you loved, his green eyes warm and bright like a summer’s day as he lifted his eyebrows in a show of hiding his own bashfulness.

 “Yeah, y’know what they say…” You said, letting your words die out with a teasing grin as you waited for the hunter to take the bait. Which he oh so willingly did.

 “What?” He asked, once more pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t bear to be away from you anymore.

 “Save a horse… Ride a cowboy,” You said, holding back your own laugh until Dean’s surprised half cough, half laugh pulled you along with it as it vibrated from his chest and into your body.

 “That can be arranged,” He chuckled, lifting your head by your chin before cutting short your bubbling laughter with another mind-numbingly soft kiss.

 Sure, it was a thankless, unpaid job… But it sure as hell had it’s benefits.

---

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[starryeyed-char]

I’ve Got You

IT’S WHUMP WEEK! Hope you’re all as excited for this as I am. I’m going to try and throw some (k)lance whump at you every day!

Day One- Fever

Lance glared up at the ceiling with narrowed eyes, as if its very presence offended him. “Why do we even make plans?” he wondered aloud. “They always go south, anyways.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “If we just stormed into Galra bases with no idea what we were doing, then we'd be caught pretty easily.”

Lance eyed him, unimpressed. His skin looked unusually pale in the dim, purple light. “Kinda like how we are now?”

Keith shot him a glare in return. “We should be thinking about how to get out of here,” he pushed himself to his feet, pressing his hands to the wall.

“We wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you and your stupid recklessness,” Lance muttered under his breath. Keith whirled around.

“And what's that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“You never listen to me!” Lance said. “My plan would've worked, but you had to just rush ahead, like you always do. And now we're both stuck in here!”

“Well, my plan was going great until you messed it up,” Keith pointed out. “You kept missing shots, and that's why we were overwhelmed!”

“Oh, I'm sorry that I'm not absolutely perfect, like you obviously are,” Lance fired back. “Maybe you guys should just—” Lance interrupted himself with a cough. “Just kick me off of the—” he broke into a fit of coughing, burying his face in his elbow.

When he finally caught his breath, Lance looked up to meet Keith's bewildered gaze. “Are you sick?”

“Uh... no?”

Keith crouched down to Lance's level, eying him skeptically. “You sound sick. And now that I think of it, you kind of look it, too. Were you that pale earlier?”

“I'm not—” Lance tried to say, but Keith had already pressed a hand to his forehead.

The red paladin drew back almost immediately. “You're really burning up,” he bit his lip. “How do you feel? Be honest with me.”

“Headache?” Lance smiled sheepishly. “Well, more like a migraine. Kinda exhausted, just in general? And, um, my sinuses are pretty stuffed up.”

Keith cursed. “That would've been useful information to have this morning! You know, before we got stuck in this cell?”

“Well, I tried!” Lance threw his hands up in exasperation. “But you guys didn't want to hear it! 'This mission is very important, Lance', 'We've been planning this for weeks, Lance', 'Suck it up, we're all exhausted!' Any of those ring a bell?!”

Keith flinched, now vaguely recalling how Lance had stumbled into the dining hall in his pajamas earlier, claiming that he wasn't feeling well. “How were we supposed to know it was this bad?” he countered angrily. “You're always complaining! You should've tried harder to tell us than just saying 'I don't feel so well!' What kind of bullshit understatement is that?!”

“Well, excuse me if I didn't want to disappoint you guys again!” Lance exclaimed, before his angry expression dropped into one of exhaustion. “I guess I did that anyway, though...”

Again?

“And... it wasn't as bad this morning,” he continued to argue weakly. “But getting knocked out and deprived of water and food for who knows how long we've been in here probably hasn't helped my situation.”

He broke into another set of wet coughs, and Keith winced. “This is bad.” Keith was honestly a bit angry at himself for not noticing earlier. Just the mediocre aim alone should've been telling. Normally, Lance could be counted on to never miss a shot.

Shiro probably would've noticed. The thought hurt more than he liked to admit.

“Nice observation,” Lance grumbled sarcastically. “What could've possibly given you that idea?”

“Lance, this is serious,” Keith insisted. “We've got to get you out of here. Things weren't looking good before, but if you're sick then we really need to escape, or you'll get worse.”

“Keith, relax,” Lance said, sounding way too calm for Keith's liking. “The others will be here soon to break us out. We've just got to wait.”

“The longer we spend in here, the worse you'll get,” Keith had begun to pace around the cell. “And who knows what the Galra will do to us in here!”

The door to their cell was opening before Lance could reply. For a wonderful moment, he thought the person standing before them was the princess, but he soon realized the long white hair was considerably less curly. The figure stepped forward, standing at about a head taller than Lance with eyes glowing a Galra yellow behind the irises, and smooth purple skin. He held a sword, which he lowered to point deliberately at Lance's throat. “What, indeed?”

He shuddered involuntarily.

“Lotor,” Keith growled. “What do you want with us?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Lotor swept his free hand across the cell. “Killing off two Voltron paladins would considerably boost the odds of my father's empire.”

Keith's blood ran cold. He chanced a look back at the blue paladin to see Lance staring at the Prince with wide eyes.

“Kidding,” Lotor chuckled. “But you should see the looks on your faces! No, what I want from you is information. Perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement?”

“We're never telling you anything,” Lance said, furious. “So you can go quiznak yourself.”

“Lance,” Keith warned, voice strained. The sword was still only inches away from Lance's face.

Lotor's eyes gleamed. “Interesting. One would expect such fire from the pilot of the red lion,” he eyed Keith with distaste. He doesn't know about the lion switch, Lance realized. He's basing his analysis off of our armor. “Then again, the last blue paladin had it, too. He never knew when to keep his mouth shut. Perhaps this could prove useful.”

“Hey, genius, I just told you,” Lance bit out, ignoring Keith's obvious disapproval. “We're not helping you with anything. Fuck off.”

“Hmm,” Lotor mused, tapping a long finger to his chin. “We'll see if you can keep that attitude intact for the rest of your stay.”

Keith edged himself in between the Galra and Lance. Lotor drew the sword up so it was directed toward Keith instead. “What're you gonna do, then? Torture us like you did to Shiro?”

Lotor just glared at them, clearly unimpressed. “Yes, your black paladin was renowned in the Gladiator ring, wasn't he? I've had several victories there myself, though I managed to keep all my limbs.” Keith's vision went red. “As clever as Haggar thinks she is, I wish to make allies out of you. Hopefully you realize that all of the Universe being under my control will bring the peace your Princess so desperately wants.”

“You're not bringing peace! You're eliminating their choices! Their freedom!” Lance protested, struggling to stand up.

Lotor sighed, turning to leave. “We'll see if you still feel that way after a day or two in here.”

“We're not telling you anything,” Keith spat.

“Are you sure about that?” Lotor smiled at them over his shoulder. “Did you really think we'd keep you in here and not monitor you? Your friend is clearly ill, and while I don't know much about you... humans yet, with a temperature that high? He won't last long without treatment, let alone food or water. I hope you'll make the smart decision, and reconsider.”

Lance shivered again, rubbing his hands over the goosebumps on his arms. “I'll be... I'll be fine. There's nothing I can't... can't h-handle.”

Keith shook his head, eyes dark and angry. “I'm going to get you out of here.”

Keith grunted, hacking repeatedly at the cell walls with his bayard. Since they were still in paladin armor, they had their weapons, but they did little good against the smooth metal walls of the prison. And there were no scanners or keypads on the inside.

“I could try and shoot Lotor when he comes in next,” Lance offered weakly.

“We both know you're in no condition to make an accurate shot right now, Lance. Besides, he'll probably have his own weapon, like he did last time,” Keith pointed out, still furiously stabbing at the walls.

Lance's vision was, admittedly, losing focus with each passing second. “Keith, stop it. That's not going to do anything, either, and the noise is slowly driving me insane. We just have to wait for the others to come get us.”

“I'm not going to just sit there hopelessly! We've got to do something! It could be days before the others get us out, and we might not have that long! They don't even know that you're sick, so they won't be rushing!”

“I'd like to think they'll get us out as soon as they can, regardless of the fact that I might be feeling a little under the weather.”

“Yeah, right, a little,” Keith crossed his arms. “Pretty sure that back on Earth we'd be taking you to a hospital right about now. I don't have a thermometer, but that fever is way too high.”

Lance tried not to wince at the mention of their home planet. “We may not have thermometers, but we have magical healing pods. I'll be fine as soon as we get back to the castle. We just need to be patient.”

Keith's mouth quirked into something like a smile. “Patience yields focus.”

Lance grinned. “There's the fearless leader we all know and love.” He drew his knees up to his chest, breathing out a small sigh. “I wish it weren't so cold in here, though. The guy won't give us food, water, or medicine, sure. But turning down the thermostat? That's a new low. I'm from Cuba, for crying out loud. Anything below seventy degrees and I start to feel like a popsicle.”

Keith's half-smile disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. “Lance... it's not cold. Actually, it's kind of warm in here I... I thought you... but you're sweating...?” Keith reached a hand to touch Lance's forehead, and promptly swore. “How long have we been in here?! It's only been... what? A few more hours, and you're getting worse, again! Why didn't you tell me you were feeling worse?”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Because I knew you'd freak out, and there's not much we can do about it right now, is there?”

“I'm not freaking out!”

Lance opened his mouth for a witty response, but closed it again as the room began to spin around him. Black spots danced on the edges of his sight, and the last thing he saw before the floor was rushing up to meet him was Keith scrambling towards him.

“Lance? Lance?!” Keith shook him slightly, but the blue paladin's eyes remained shut. The only sign that he was even alive was his slow, congested breathing. “No, no, come on, don't do this to me, Lance.”

He didn't budge.

Keith felt panic beginning to flood his veins. He still had no idea when the others would be able to get to them, and at this rate... at this rate...

Lance could die.

The realization was a shock to Keith's system. Lance could actually die. Not while fighting a courageous battle, not while saving those in danger, but because he was sick, and Keith couldn't get him help in time.

No. Lance wasn't going to go out like this, not if Keith could help it. He knew that Lance would never want him to do it, but he didn't care. If it meant Lance would live, then that's what was most important.

“FINE!” he shouted. “I'll tell you whatever you want, just help him! Save Lance, and I'll tell you everything you want to know!”

There was no response. If Keith hadn't been so focused on the blue paladin's breathing, he might've heard the boom that shook the ship.

“Lotor, do you hear me!?” Keith called again, voice rising. “I'll do it, just—”

The door burst open, and this time it was Allura, in her pink paladin armor. She held the detached arm of a sentry in her hand, and she visibly tensed as her eyes took in the scene. “Get him to the red lion,” she said firmly, but Keith didn't miss the worry in her eyes. “It led us here, it's on the ship. You can fly it back to the castle, but you must hurry. Coran's already prepped a pod. Hunk, Pidge, and I will deal with the soldiers.”

Keith nodded, already lifting Lance into his arms and rushing down the hall at a sprint. He could still sense his bond to the red lion faintly, and he silently asked her to let him in. Please. I know he's your paladin now, but I need to save him. Help me save him.

He heard the red lion roar, and looked down at Lance to see his eyes fluttering open. “See, what'd I... what'd I tell you?” he said softly, a smile overtaking his features. “Just had to... be patient.”

“You were right,” Keith told him, ignoring the sting of his eyes. “You're going to be just fine. I've got you.”

[fizzyren]

@shangst-week Day 4: Captivity/Gladiator Ring

I did not get to write this chapter the way I wanted due to me being on vacation, I’m visiting Niagara Falls and so I have no time to write except when I’m finally in bed at the hotel. This fic will most likely be written again, more expanded details and much more plot.

TW: stalking, possessive Shiro, nsfw (masturbation), kidnapping, 

Posted on AO3 here!

It all started with those blue eyes and a smile. It was, “And what can I do for you today?” said with an air of warmth and genuine curiosity.

Shiro had gotten his typical coffee, an iced americano with an extra shot of espresso, and when he reached for his drink to take from the barista, he’d purposefully brushed his fingers over soft knuckles and smiled in appreciation.

On the barista’s name tag was ‘Lance’, scribbled in all capital letters and followed with a winking smiley face.

Lance had blushed softly as their fingers touched and he immediately withdrew his hand, hiding behind a customer service smile and a shaky, “Have a nice day, sir!”

It wasn’t often that Shiro’s interests were taken, and taken so quickly. Shiro had a meeting to go to that morning within the hour but Shiro spent half of it sitting at a far table and scrolling on his phone. His eyes would come up every so often to take in Lance, smiling brightly at customers and chirping out pleasent queries and goodbyes.

His skin rivaled that of the smooth and creamy coffee he served, flecked with a light soatter of freckles across his cheeks and nose.

It drew in attention, brought people to be captivated by summer blue eyes and a white smile.

Shiro picked up a few of the barista’s quirks within the fifteen minutes he watched him, that he always had some kind of music playing in his head, faster and with more rhythm than the classical piano music tinkling through the cafè speakers. His hips would sway to that unheard beat and when he was standing at the register with no work to do, his fingers were drumming it on the counter.

He tidied the small cups lined in front of him, filled with little magnets and pins and trinkets that were to lure customers into spending a bit more money.

The barista also talked to himself. Mostly under his breath and with such secrecy it would have gone undetected by most. But Shiro had his eyes firmly set on Lance, never leaving him as he twirled to make more caffeine for tired business people.

When Shiro’s americano was half empty, and his phone buzzed with an angry text, it snapped him out of his staring. He pulled his phone in front of him and a half filled message box stared back at him from his locked screen.

MATT HOLT:

‘Your 8am interview is already here, dude where the h…’

Shiro didn’t want to unlock his phone and see the rest of the message. Yet with a sigh he stood up and did so anyway.

‘Your 8am interview is already here, dude where the hell are you? Did you get mugged? Should we send out the police? I’m going to be in so much shit if you slept in.’

‘Please text back.’

‘Shiro.’

‘This isn’t funny anymore.’

The small grey bubble appeared when Shiro opened the messaged, revealing that Matt was still planning on messaging him further, and if Shiro didn’t stop him quickly his poor phone battery would die from the load.

To Matt Holt:

‘I stopped to get coffee. The line was really long. On my way now.’

Shiro pocketed his phone and looked back to find Lance once last time, to look at him again and commit his face to memory but standing at the counter was a different barista, one with flour on his shirt sleeves and green apron, frantically pushing commands on the register while he nodded, trying to take multiple orders. The line had backed up significantly in the few seconds Shiro had looked down.

With no time to dwell on it any longer, Shiro grabbed his coffee and left the little shop. He tugged his scarf up his chin, bearing against the cold and the falling snow as he walked down the sidewalk to his office.

The interview was pointless, since all Shiro could keep thinking about was the cute barista with blue eyes and warm skin. Matt scolded him for zoning out during such important decisions.

Shiro was making all the important decisions in his life though, during that stupid little interview. Shiro decided he wanted Lance. Wanted to know more about him, wanted to be his friend, wanted to be more. He wanted to have him.

“Back again?” Lance laughed, elbow on the countertop to balance his squished up cheek, “are my americanos that good?”

Shiro watched him happily, a coy smile on his lips as he studied every way Lance moved and held himself. The way his eyes roamed over Shiro appreciatively.

At least his suspicions were confirmed, Lance was totally into him.

That morning, Shiro had pulled on one of his long sleeved henleys and dark washed jeans. He knew that the fabric of the shirt showed off his muscles, enough that it wouldn’t be overbearing but if someone wanted to dream a bit about what was underneath, they wouldn't have to think too hard. The dark navy color looked nice on him. It brought out his eyes and accentuated the angles of his face. It made him look more like a relaxed dad and less like a businessman with a night job as a hitman.

Lance was totally digging the look, not at all trying to hide his stares. He smiled up at Shiro again and blinked, waiting for an answer.

“I’ll have to have a second one to really make a solid assessment.” Shiro said.

Lance’s eyes checked behind Shiro to make sure there wasn’t a line before he held the man up.

“Sure thing. Extra espresso, right?” Lance pushed away from the counter and tightened the straps of his apron behind him. Shiro took a quick look over Lance’s back.

The barista looked lanky from afar but up close and with the right eyes, it was easy to see he was nothing but lithe muscle. Shiro wondered if Lance played a sport. Soccer? Baseball? Maybe he did track and swim.

“I’m surprised you remember my order, it looked like it was really busy yesterday.”

Lance shrugged one of his shoulders, working with no hurry as he put grounds into the machine and grabbed a cup.

“I remember orders that come from interesting people.”

“You find me interesting?”

“Yeah, a bit. But not in a bad way. It’s a good interesting.”

Lance turned around with the open americano, taking a plastic top from the stack and pushing it on.

Shiro expected him to just hand it over, but when Shiro reached out, Lance held it back with a tut.

Shiro frowned, watching Lance smile at him and then take a sharpie, wiggling it.

“Can I get a name for this americano?”

Ah, now Shiro saw the game here. But he could play, no issues. He could also turn it to be in his favor, to get what he wanted.

“Your number is just fine.”

“Oh.”

Lance muttered, eyes widening a bit before he chuckled and went to write on the cup, cheeks rosy.

When he held it out for Shiro this time, and when Shiro brushed their fingertips, Lance didn’t jump away from him.

“Thank you, Lance.” Shiro poked a straw into his drink, sipping at it and then turning to leave the cafe.

Lance behind him made a flustered attempt to ask him to actually use that number on his drink, it wasn’t fake, and Shiro gave him a wave and said, ‘see you around’.

And yes, Shiro did see Lance around. It was just a matter of waiting for Lance’s shift to end.

He was the last to leave, twirling keys on his finger and then pocketing them as he came out of the side door of the cafè. He held his phone between his shoulder and cheek as he dug around in his bookbag, slung around to his front so he could dig something out of it, or put something inside, Shiro was too far to see, the angle was awkward.

With the camera Shiro had, he could see that Lance’s phone wasn’t in use though, simply being held while Lance finished up with his bag and then pushed it back into place on his back.

Lance turned his phone on and text messages waited for him, filling the entire lock screen and then going further down.

Shiro snapped a photo of it, planning to read what he could, see who all texted Lance during his work hours.

Lance quickly pushed in his phone code, all zeros, and unlocked his phone. Now, Lance was getting too far away and Shiro had to move from his spot between buildings. He shrugged his coat on tighter around himself and looked up and down the street before stepping out, able to blend in behind a couple walking.

Shiro left his camera hanging around his shoulders, instead taking his phone out to make it seem as if he too were coming home from work. No one spared him a glance.

Shiro followed Lance for three blocks before Lance disappeared into a nice looking apartment, one Shiro recognized as one of the cheaper and more run down places that still had a great location in town and even better hospitality.

Shiro leaned back on a storefront across the way, learned the store hours for a quick moment before his eyes were tracking every window.

From the little grid of dark windows sealed shut with curtains, a light stuttered to life.

Shiro had pulled his camera up by now, pointing it at the window to see in closer. A slender shadow tracked in the room, milling around before the light became dimmer.

Shiro guessed a lamp was turned on in place of overhead lights. When no more movement shifted the curtains, Shiro snapped a few pictures, close up of the window and then of the front of the complex, to keep the address for safekeeping. Not like he would forget it anyway.

Shiro stayed until the light went out, until the second light (Lance’s bedroom, Shiro figured out) went out as well.

And then he stayed an extra hour, just to make sure, just to feel like he was there with Lance while he fell asleep.

Shiro began to spend his lunch breaks watching Lance. Every new picture he got was precious and unique.

He loved when Lance was focused on his work, or if he happened to be laughing at something funny Hunk or Pidge said. His two closest friends. Hunk worked at the cafè with Lance and Pidge worked at a tech store down the road.

Lance worked every day except Saturdays, his lunch was typically taken from 1 to 2, he closed the cafè on Wednesdays and Thursdays and headed home thirty minutes early on Fridays.

With the month that followed, Shiro watching Lance every day he could, even taking time from work, Shiro amassed thousands of pictures. Pictures of the most mundane things, and pictures of Lance in his room, sleeping, dancing, naked.

Shiro wanted to tell Lance to keep his bedroom curtains closed more often, to keep that window shut and locked and not cracked open. It was dangerous, anyone could have been watching him, Lance was so beautiful, he was so perfect that Shiro believed everyone was out to have Lance as well.

Instead of telling Lance to shut his windows and lock his door, Shiro began to talk to Lance in a friendly way, to make him more comfortable.

When he had first texted Lance, he kept his name hidden from Lance.

They spent their first hour texting going back and forth about Shiro’s name.

Finally, finally, after weeks, Shiro agreed to say it if Lance would call him. The call had connected and Shiro said, I’ll tell you my name if you meet me in the park tomorrow night. I hear the stars are really pretty.

The smile he heard in Lance’s reply had Shiro smiling as well, rolling over in his bed to look at his newest string of photos, preciously hung along his wall. He would have to take them down soon. Take more to replace them.

Lance didn’t give Shiro an opportunity to end the call, instead, Lance excitedly talked about astronomy, how perfect it was that Shiro would take him to see the stars.

“Now don’t go getting any ideas.”

“You’re too late, mystery man. My ideas have built monumentally.”

Shiro hummed at that and shut his eyes, just listening to the little noise that came through the line.

“Hey?”

Lance broke the silence, the sound of sheets rustling signaling Lance’s movement, either sitting up or rolling over in bed. He always looked peaceful and beautiful in his sheets, pale blue sheets that had little golden stars and stitched lines on them to form constellations.

Shiro didn’t know how Lance acquired them, just that he valued those sheets dearly, yet whenever he got too hot on a humid night with the window cracked open, he would carelessly kick them off his body.

“Still here, Lance.”

“Um. I don’t mean to flake out on you or anything but tomorrow night isn’t actually the best time…”

“What do you mean?”

“Uh, I totally forgot that I have class tomorrow night.”

Shiro frowned, feeling not only pulled around in a loop, but also angry that he didn’t know something about Lance.

“Class? Like, you’re in summer school?”

“No no no. Class like. Uhh. It’s an extracurricular class. Don’t worry about it,” Lance sounded rushed, and in the background there were frantic, hushed whispers, “hey, I gotta go, okay?”

Shiro barely had time to part his lips and think of a goodbye before the line went dead.

Lance is a liar, he thought, a terrible liar. Shiro thought how dare Lance lie to him like that, he should feel comfortable with him, to be fully honest with everything. Granted, he still didn’t know Shiro’s name, but they had talked so much!

No, Lance had to be in trouble. And if he was in trouble, Shiro needed to do something about it.

That night was when Shiro decided just pictures wouldn’t do anymore, that Shiro could no longer peacefully watch Lance from the sidelines.

Shiro waited, patiently, because as he always told himself, patience yields focus. And focus brings him to find the perfect opportunity to make the night go well.

The roads were clear tonight, most people going out to begin their nights partying and bar hopping and drinking.

But Shiro was checking in to Lance’s apartment, room 503, he remembered.

The front clerk at the desk frowned at him when he asked for a key, frantically saying he had lost it and would do whatever it was to pay it back in full.

The woman sitting at the front smiled sympathetically and said, “Sweetheart it’s fine. People lose their keys all the time.” She took her time to lean back and search through the wall of keys behind her before pulling a ring off from the top corner.

It had multiple keys on it, but the woman took one off, handing it to Shiro.

It would do him a whole load of nothing if he couldn’t get into the room before Lance came in. He was getting off of work soon, and if Shiro knew Lance, the barista would head straight home, wanting to shower and then sit on his couch for two hours while listening to music.

That was his favorite time to watch Lance, relaxed, hair dripping softly on his shoulders and neck.

Shiro shook himself from his daydreaming and sent the woman a wave, “thank you so much.”

Taking the stairs, Shiro got up to Lance’s floor in no time, turning right into it once he got into the hallways.

The key slipped into the keyhole and turned, the lock sliding undone with a click and Shiro felt giddy with excitement. It would be the first time in Lance’s apartment, the first time Shiro could see it all up close and not through a viewfinder on a roof or down from the street.

It was dark when Shiro opened the door, but he already knew where the light switch was, already knew where the furniture was as well. There would be no need for Shiro to turn on any lights, he wouldn’t want to startle Lance.

With the door locked behind him, Shiro moved through the small apartment with every intent to burn the details into his mind, he’d left his camera at home and was now regretting it terribly.

Shiro glanced at his watch and cursed at himself, Lance would be home in five minutes, maybe less if he’d not been held up by traffic.

There were no places to really hide, but Shiro wasn’t here to hide, exactly. He just needed to talk to Lance, to have a face to face conversation and have Lance explain to him why he lied.

Didn’t they trust each other? Weren't they friends? Didn’t Lance love him?

The lock on the front door suddenly unlocked with a sharp click and Shiro jumped into action, silently stepping into Lance’s bedroom and easing into his closet behind the door.

Shiro didn’t want to hide, but there were voices with Lance. And when the door finally opened, Shiro knew it was Hunk and Pidge.

They were noisy in the living area, someone sitting on the couch with enough force for it to wrench across the floor an inch, Lance shouted something about Pidge being reckless.

The three’s nonsensical conversations went on for an hour before it grew quiet, replaced by the soft static of Lance’s tv.

Shiro didn’t want to make himself known, knowing that it would easily be taken the wrong way that he was here. So he had to wait, wait until he and Lance were alone and could talk.

Three hours passed, and finally, Hunk and Pidge had gone, tired goodnights exchanged between the three friends.

Shiro wanted to moved from his spot when he heard the door shut again. He was finally alone with Lance. They could finally–

Lance’s bed, not even five feet from where Shiro stood, squeaked loudly. Shiro turned his head, enough to see out if the closet space to find Lance flopped over on his back, arm over his eyes.

He was snoring, already asleep and still in his clothes for work.

Shiro watched on in disbelief, wondering what was so tiring that Lance didn’t even wash his face. He had a routine every morning and every night.

Shiro guessed they really wouldn’t be able to talk tonight, not when Lance was like this and so tired.

Besides, Shiro already found his answer. Lance had no class, but simply wanted to hang out with his friends. That was okay, it was understandable. But Lance shouldn’t have lied, no, not to Shiro.

Now, Lance’s friends were a threat, a small one, but those were the kind that needed to be watched, able to grow into bigger problems as time went on.

Shiro took his time tonight, watching Lance up close, his soft breaths, the way he rolled to his side.

Without noticing it, Shiro was at the side of Lance’s bed, standing over a sleeping Lance with nothing but awe.

He was so close, so close to Lance that all it would take–

Shiro’s knuckles brushed softly against Lance’s cheek, a whisper of a touch so light that Lance didn’t even twitch. Shiro’s chest was warm and he smiled, fingertips now playing with Lance’s hair.

Lance made a soft noise, turning over again into Shiro’s touches. It caused the man to yank his hand away and step back, hoping the shadows of the room would keep him hidden.

But Lance didn’t wake up. Not when Shiro came close again, and not when he leaned down and pressed his lips to Lance’s slack ones.

Shiro left with barely a noise, locking the door behind him to make sure Lance was safe. With his walk back home, his lips tingled. He’d gotten a kiss from Lance. One that was dangerous and too daring, but a kiss nonetheless!

Maybe Shiro could forgive Lance just this once. So long as he didn’t betray him again.

When Shiro got home, he immediately stopped at his bed, hand clutched in the sheets while the other worked on his cock, pumping himself hard and quickly.

His breaths fell heavy from his lips, and as he imagined Lance laying there in front of him, about kissing him one more time, Shiro shot off against his sheets, grunting out a moan.

Two more weeks had gone by. Shiro knew that now was the time, Lance was finally ready.

They had stopped talking, Shiro no longer responding to Lance’s calls or texts ever since that night.

It gave him more time to follow Lance, to find out where he liked to eat often, where Hunk and Pidge lived, where his parents lived.

Everything was just a precaution.

Tonight. Tonight was the big night, where Shiro would finally take Lance home with him.

He’d spent his whole day at the back of the cafè, watching Lance make drinks for the customers, flirt with small groups of girls that came by.

When it was thirty minutes until closing, Shiro left. His home was already prepared for Lance, so all he needed to do was go to Lance’s apartment.

He still had the key, used it many many times when he wanted closer pictures of Lance, sleeping peacefully in bed.

The door opened for him and he locked it back once inside. This time, Shiro took his seat on Lance’s couch. The coffee table on front of him would be able to hold Shiro’s gear.

Ropes, cloth, and a bottle of chloroform were among the two towels and blindfold.

Shiro was busy tidying up, a mask over his face and gloves on while he poured the clear liquid onto the cloth, when the door clicked.

Lance walked in with a tired sigh, keys tossed on the counter with a clang and his bookbag–

Lance had frozen in his spot at the doorway, the small entry leading from the kitchen to the living room. He’d spotted the man sitting on his couch and his heart lurched into his throat.

Shiro smiled, happy to be seeing Lance again.

“Who- What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“Shh. Don’t bother your neighbors.” Shiro said, standing up, a gloved finger pressed to his mask.

Lance stepped back, his bookbag falling to the floor with a thump. He looked terrified, and Shiro didn’t mind that. If it kept him quiet, then Shiro had no problems making himself look bigger, stepping closer, scaring Lance more.

Lance immediately bolted, turned around to head for his front door but all it took was for Shiro to see Lance’s flinch in the dark. In four long strides Shiro was on top of Lance, pulling the cloth over his mouth and nose as Lance screamed.

Shiro pulled Lance in hard, hushing him gently against his ear, trying to get him to quiet down, to get him to stop struggling.

Lance had been trapped in the corner, between the hinges of his door and the wall, unable to back up with a strong body behind him, and unable to breathe with a sickening scent in his nose.

Shiro’s heart panged for the scared, and small whimpers. The soft noises died down as Lance lost his grip on consciousness, tears wet on his cheeks as he finally slumped back into Shiro’s arms.

Shiro sighed thankfully, pressing a kiss to Lance’s temple as he held him closer.

“There. Nothing hard at all. It’s okay, Lance.”

Shiro dragged Lance back into the living room, careful to set him on the couch.

Shiro pushed the cloth and bottle back into his bag. Now taking the rope, Shiro bound Lance’s hands in front of him, looped around and around in the form of handcuffs.

He took Lance’s shoes off next, setting them nicely in his closet. He contemplated bringing some of Lance’s clothes but decided against it, Lance could wear his if he needed to.

Shiro came back out to the living room, putting Lance’s face washes and his lotions into the duffle bag.

Once that was done, he hefted the bag onto his shoulder, carefully picking Lance up in his arms. As he left the apartment, he locked the door behind him.

Lance slept the entire car ride home, head lolled softly against the seat belt, shoulders dipped. Shiro thought he looked cute, so tired after a long day of work.

He would sleep better in Shiro’s bed, and so would Shiro.

It was quick work of taking everything into the house. And once Lance was secured to Shiro’s headboard, Shiro got into bed. His stomach was filled with butterflies, excited that he had Lance here with him. That they finally got to sleep together, after waiting so long.

It was the best night of sleep Shiro had ever got.

He woke up to heavy breathing, crying.

The squirming of the warm body next to him wasn’t he issue as much as the noises were. Shiro rolled to the side, peeked an eye open at his clock and sighed.

5 am.

“Go back to sleep. I have work today.” Shiro whispered, turning around to see Lance. His eyes were wide, taking in everything around the room but more fixated on the wall of pictures Shiro had on display.

“Ah. You look gorgeous in every one of those.” Shiro smiled and rolled over to slide an arm around Lance. Every muscle under his arm tensed and Lance cried out. His shoulders wracked with sobs and Shiro finally sat up.

He didn’t want Lance to be so distressed. And he didn’t fully understand why. Maybe he needed a room of his own, his privacy.

“I see. I’ll call in sick today. We can work out some living arrangements for you, okay?”

Lance shook his head no adamantly, yanking on his wrists harder. Shiro hissed at the blood staining the tan ropes, staining his white pillows.

“Lance! Stop!”

He reached up and pinned thin wrists down to the bed. Lance squeaked, either in pain or fear, and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Calm down. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

But Lance wouldn’t listen. He cried harder, body shaking.

Shiro knew he didn’t have any other option but to sedate Lance before he hurt himself further.

Reaching over Lance, he pulled a small syringe from the bedside dresser. They had been prepared last night, incase a situation just like this had happened.

“Please! Please don’t! I-I’ll give you anything you want. Please let me go. Please.”

Lance hiccuped, meeting Shiro’s eyes.

Shiro just shook his head and sighed. He uncapped the needle, tapping it to ensure air bubbles were gone, and then gently pushed it into Lance’s arm.

While he waited for the sedative to run it’s course, Shiro went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, washed his face.

When he came back, Lance was slumped back into the bed.

The ropes slipped off easily as Shiro worked his fingers between them. It was saddening to see Lance’s wrists rubbed so raw, but he would just have to wrap them and keep Lance from being restrained.

This was moving so quickly, Shiro was growing frustrated. He wanted it to go all to plan, wanted everything to be perfect.

As he took Lance downstairs into the basement, he shuddered at the thought of him. He didn’t want Lance to end up like that. No. He would make sure Lance was safe.

The metal shackle was lined with soft cotton and leather, not able to allow chafing or injury. The hard steel chain led into an eyelet in the wall, strong enough to hold Shiro up if he tugged on it.

It fit softly around Lance’s ankle and Shiro left Lance on the soft bed, covering him with the blankets to keep him warm.

Shiro stayed with Lance the rest of the day, to ensure he would sleep peacefully and comfortably.

They would have a long chat when Lance next woke up.

[spacekeets-artistic-madness]

Viggo Gladiator ‘What if’- chapter 2

Chapter 2 of my tiny au thing, also probably the longest chapter because it has more detail

Rated T for language and themes

word count: 3,326

The next morning everyone awakens, walking out to Viggo sitting up in his bedroll and dipping his head back to drink some water from a canteen that Catcher no doubt swiped from somewhere.

Ryker approaches his brother as everyone meanders about, “Sleep alright?” he asks, perhaps a bit concerned if he slept well.

Viggo nods, “Slept like I was knocked out with a brick, nightmares didn’t even come,” he says, slightly giddy again.

His older brother raises a brow, “Painkillers?” he questions.

He nods, “Leg woke me up,” he says, earning a sympathetic wince from Ryker when Viggo seems to recall something, “Last night I overheard the conversation you had with Hiccup, did you bargain for their help, brother?” he asks, no ill-intention behind his words.

Ryker is a bit taken aback by Viggo’s sudden question. He nods, “They caused this, essentially, Hiccup was the one that brought up the Dragon Eye. It was a month in and our Hunters found nothing, the riders I knew could cover more ground in a faster time-frame than us,” he informs watching Hiccup root through a box of leather.

“Aha,” Viggo says, satisfied as Heather offers him some breakfast porridge, the injured man taking it with an audible thanks, Stalker and Catcher inspecting the bowl when Fishlegs puts a basket of freshly caught fish down for them.

The two dragons look between the bowl and the fish, Viggo jerks his head towards the fish, both dragons letting out happy noises as they head to the basket to eat breakfast, letting Viggo enjoy his.

Hiccup walks over holding several pieces of leather, “Ok,” he starts, sitting down a fair ways from Viggo whom paused with a spoon in his mouth, looking at the rider with curiosity, Hiccup continues, “How the Thor did you get a Night Fury?!” he exclaims.

Viggo swallows the mouthful, “Choice Match,” he answers with a small grin, scooping up more of the porridge.

Hiccup gets even more confused as Heather insists that the Hunters get some of the fruit porridge as well, the rider leader looks at Viggo, blowing on a hot berry, “Could you maybe expand on that, perhaps?” he asks, still very confused.

Viggo gives him a look, “Could you maybe let me finish my food that I don’t have to share for once?” he counters before getting Stalker’s tail slightly smacked against the back of his head resulting in the Viking making a surprised noise of, “Bweuah!” trying to prevent his food from spilling to his lap.

He turns to his assailant that almost made him loose his food, raising a brow, “Oh Stalker you agree too, you’re wolfing down all that fish!” he counters to the female Night Fury, earning a snort from her, Catcher laying on the Night Fury’s scarred back, having already eaten her fill.

Viggo rolls his eyes, turning back to finish his food, Hiccup waiting with restrained patience as the injured hunter finishes his bowl, putting it down next to him, Stalker padding over to clean the bowl, giving the spoon to Catcher.

Viggo faces Hiccup, making sure to speak loud enough for everyone to hear he starts, “For my first Choice Match to chose a partner, I had to choose between someone that would sooner stab me in the back than help me, and Catcher here. I chose Catcher because she was more terrified of the ordinator rather than the one choosing her fate,” he breaks, patting Catcher in question as she steps up to his right shoulder.

Hiccup nods, waiting eagerly for the story on Stalker, the female Night Fury laying down behind Viggo, the Viking leaning up against her.

An odd look passes his face and everyone pauses eating, watching Viggo as he seems to go through a small internal battle, “I… Had to make a very difficult choice for Stalker,” he starts, rubbing her massive as she croons sadly at him, he continues, “… I had to choose between a back stabber, Stalker and… A child. I didn’t want to put the child through what I was going through, this was three weeks into the first of the four months I was fighting. I couldn’t make the child suffer through any of that, so I chose Stalker, and made the child’s death quick and painless,” he finishes, rubbing his dragon’s head trying to comfort himself more than everything.

It takes everyone three minutes to think of something to say after hearing that, Tuffnut’s the first to break the ice, “Y’know, not really fond of the dagger-cut short beard, I liked his other one better, the neck length hair on the other hand...” he trails off calling attention to Viggo’s unwashed hair, draped over his eyes, Viggo taking his right hand, pushing a bit behind his ear, Fishlegs’ eyes going wide as he notices the wound on it.

“Um, Viggo, your hand...” he says, pointing to it, Viggo looking at the big Viking with confusion, pulling his hand out of his hair to look at it.

“Oh yeah,” he says with a loopy grin, “That,” he starts, holding up his hand for everyone to see, his ring finger shortened into the second joint and the entire first joint of his pinkie, gone, “Was during a Timed Duel and I couldn’t kill the crazy guy that had my fingers between his teeth,” he says, flexing his hand.

Ryker’s eyes where wide, spoon frozen in his mouth as he watches his younger brother’s nonchalance to this whole thing. He swallows his mouthful before speaking, “And you cut your fingers off?” he asks, keeping himself from yelling the question.

Viggo looks at his older brother, “He was already biting through the bone, had no choice, plus I won that match, I was on top,” he finishes before something seems to come to him and he starts giggling with joy, struggling to breathe and keep his left leg steady at the same time.

Ryker just shakes his head, going back to finishing his breakfast as the Twins seem to be on the same page as Viggo, also laughing really hard.

Dagur, after snooping around the armour pile, pulls out a sword, drawing it from it’s sheathe, “Hey Viggo, this blade looks just like Queen Mala’s!” he says, giving it a few tests swings away from everyone.

Viggo and Stalker bristle, “H-hey! Dagur, put that back! It’s called a katana and the combatant that had it, gave it to me at the start of our match and trained me to use it to kill him,” Viggo says, clearly not happy that Dagur grabbed it without asking.

“Oh,” Dagur says, sheathing the blade and putting it back down, “Sorry,” the Berserker apologises, walking away from Viggo’s stuff.

Heather finishes her bowl, setting it down for Windshear to clean, “Viggo, you killed the ordinator, right? And all of his men, I understand that, but why evacuate the civilians?” she asks, walking around to stand by Hiccup as he fiddles around with making a saddle.

“The civilians where worse off than the combatants, the child I killed belonged to one of his civilians, I saw the mother in the crowd I knew that he could not get away with this. I would never do such thing like what I saw, so I evacuated them, I don’t know where they’ll go,” Viggo admits while patting Catcher.

Everyone nods in agreement and sympathy.

Hiccup lifts up the saddle, “Alright, made a saddle for Stalker, now I just need to put it on,” he says, standing up. Stalker removes herself as Viggo’s lean, getting up, Hiccup bracing himself to run after her when she approaches him, surprising the Viking, he looks to Viggo.

“She knows what a saddle is, not the first time we’ve done mounted battles,” Viggo informs.

“Ah,” Hiccup says, setting the saddle on her scarred neck, beginning to strap it on, “So, her scars, has she fought other dragons?” he asks, mildly surprised at how still she’s standing.

“I was not the only one that went into solo matches,” Viggo says gravely.

Hiccup purses his lips as he finishes strapping the saddle, “Alright, there you go, should be more comfortable than the armour,” he says as Stalker checks out the saddle, padding over to Viggo to show it off.

He smiles at her, “Yes it’s nice saddle,” he confirms, as Ryker picks up Stalker’s helmet looking at it, “Of course it’s uncomfortable, it has no padding, that can be easily fixed, just got to remove the straps, fix up the metal,” Ryker starts muttering to himself about how to make the armour better.

Stalker leans down slightly over his lap, Viggo shakes his head, “No girl I don’t want to get on just yet, unless we plan on leaving soon?” he asks after patting Stalker’s head, the dragon crooning sadly.

Hiccup shares a glance with Ryker after he sets the helmet down, “Errrr, well we can start packing up now but once we get to the Edge you may have to choose between staying with us or going with Ryker to recover,” Hiccup says.

While Viggo starts to think on that choice as everyone departs to start packing up camp.

Ryker takes a seat next to Viggo, “So how’s the leg?” he asks, worried slightly on how it’s healing.

“Can’t feel a damn thing, but it woke me before you guys woke up, Catcher asked Heather for water so I could take the painkillers,” Viggo informs, answering his brother’s question easily.

Viggo turns to Ryker, opening his mouth to say something before turning back to face forward. Ryker senses something, “Alright, out with it,” he prods.

“Sorry,” comes Viggo’s response, catching Ryker off guard, “What?”

“Six months ago, my behaviour towards you, I didn’t have a very clear head,” Viggo expands, actually looking pretty apologetic.

“Wow, the painkillers must be making-” a Hunter begins before being silenced by Ryker holding up a hand. He turns to his brother, “We all didn’t have clear heads six months ago,” he says, sensing that Viggo meant it.

They sit in silence for five minutes, listening to everyone pack up the camp, discarding things they don’t need to bring, one of the Hunters sliding over Viggo’s bag and blade over to him, going ahead and packing up Stalker’s and Catcher’s armour, ripping off the straps to package easier.

“Extra stuff on Stalker, no one rides with Viggo on account of the leg,” Hiccup briefly orders everyone, attaching a saddle bag strap onto Stalker’s saddle, grabbing Viggo’s bag he attaches it to the strap along with several other items, he’s about to grab the deep red of Viggo’s sword when Stalker picks it up with her mouth, dropping it on Viggo’s right side.

Viggo pats Catcher as she lands on his right shoulder, on the odd shoulder pad, attached to a sleeve that goes down his arm with an arm guard. It’s brown in colour, Ryker points to it, “Let me guess, you won that?” he asks.

His brother looks down at it, Catcher following his eyes, “Yes, from a woman oddly enough,” he informs, his smaller dragon grinning at him.

“Oh, it fits you perfectly then,” Ryker teases, getting socked in the shoulder by Viggo, his younger brother putting his right arm down to balance while hitting Ryker.

Ryker rubs his arm after chuckling, “Ok, that actually had a bit of strength behind it, you now know how to throw a punch. Catcher responded pretty smoothly to the sudden movement, and you said nothing to her?” he inquiries, watching how smoothly the Terrible Terror adjusted to the change of position.

Viggo nods, “In the Ring, I had no time to bark out commands to them, all my commands are non-verbal, we watch each other and work in sync to win,” he informs, lifting up his right arm, Catcher stepping up onto his hand.

“Right, well it looks like we’re all packed, you can continue thinking on the flight back, here, I’ll help you onto Stalker,” Ryker offers, noticing that everyone was waiting on them, getting up, Stalker crouches down as Ryker helps Viggo onto her back, lifting up once his feet were in the strirups.

Ryker turns to walk over to Dagur when Viggo stops him, “I have another alternative to hunting dragons,” is all he says when Stalker takes off, following Toothless.

Ryker gets on Shattermaster rather confused by what Viggo ment, “You’ve sent a message ahead to the Hunters holding down the Edge, right?” he asks.

Dagur nods as his dragon lifts off, “Yeah, I’ve also sent one to Queen Mala,” he says, following the others, Stalker playing in the wind by soaring from current to current.

***

Three days later they all touch down on Dragon’s Edge, one of the Commanders walking up to Ryker as he dismounts, Viggo landing behind him slightly. The commander takes note of this, “I see you’ve found him sir, and he has an impressive dragon,” he comments.

Ryker nods, “Yes, he’s using her as mobility, he took an injury to his leg,” he expands, watching the riders and Hunters dismount from dragons, starting to help unpack, “The dragons’ armour goes on the ship!” he orders one of the Hunters that removed the bag from Hookfang and was about to put it on Stalker. He nods, heading down to the docks.

Ryker starts talking with the Commander, filling him in on the extra details not mentioned in the letter.

A Hunter, approaches Stalker from behind, preparing to bind her tail so she can’t fly, thinking that Viggo would want that. He doesn’t notice the Terrible Terror watching him from Viggo’s shoulders.

Stalker waits until the Hunter gets on her tail, then, with practised smoothness she leans the front of her body down, flicking her entire tail, lifting the Hunter off of the ground and flinging him a metre across the ground, the Night Fury bounding over, Viggo still attached to her saddle, he draws out his blade, holding the tip against the Hunter’s throat, looking at him coldly as Stalker matches her companion’s gaze.

Everyone paused what they were doing when that happened, now watching to see what will happen next.

“I’m sorry,” Viggo starts, “I didn’t give any orders to ground her, in fact, I don’t want Stalker grounded. She likes helping me. So, do not do that again unless you want to find out how much I’ve learned in my six month absence, are we clear?” he asks harshly, at the Viking’s terrified nod, Viggo grins, sheathing his blade, Stalker backing off to allow the guy to get up.

The guy gets up, mildly confused and scared about what just happened, walking away at Stalker’s snort.

The Commander that was talking with Ryker, turns to him, “Are we going to be doing something else instead of hunting dragons?” he inquires after watching his other boss nearly kill one of the men.

Ryker nods, “Apparently, though I’m not sure what, brother!” he calls out, both man and dragon swinging their heads over with questioning looks, trotting over at Ryker’s beckon, the Commander nodding, “Sir, and, dragon,” he greets.

He watches Viggo wince as Stalker greets him back with a small friendly warble, “Sir? Don’t you have strong painkillers?” he asks with concern, preparing to run.

“I was starting to hallucinate with them, so I switched to moderately strong ones. At least the pain in my leg is telling me that I’m still alive,” he informs with no hostility.

The Commander winces in sympathy, “Sir if I may make another suggestion,” he starts, Viggo and Stalker looking at him with raised brows, “Why don’t you fly on ahead and start making some changes, not that a lot of the men will like some of them,” the Commander continues, not preparing to flee.

“I was just about to suggest that myself, actually,” Viggo says with amusement, Stalker laughing along with Catcher.

“Well, brother, get going, you’ll beat us, see you in a week,” Ryker says, shooing Stalker towards the cliff, the Night Fury playfully bounding towards it.

Viggo grin, “See you, Ryker,” he says, Stalker opening her wings, dropping off of the cliff before rising up, heading towards the Hunter’s island.

“Oh that really hurts,” Viggo mutters to himself and Stalker as she climbs up in a way that doesn’t stress his leg too much.

She croons at him, earning a pat from her rider, “It’s quite alright girl, the wind-flow is what I meant,” he expands as they soar through the air, Viggo not stopping the happy grin from spreading on his face.

***

Twenty six hours later he reaches his island, immediately ordering all men that want to continue hunting dragons to leave now, but ordering those that wish to stay, to stay. Some assistance from Stalker and Catcher helped the men decide faster, soon a ship with all the dragon hunting gear and a hundred men with a few good captains left the island.

Lars number two approaches Viggo, sitting on Stalker’s back as they watch the ship depart, “So what now, Cousin, shoot them?” he asks, readying his bow.

Viggo shakes his head, turning his body for Stalker to turn around and walk away, “No, leave them, they made their choice, we made ours,” he says, causing Lars to quicken his pace to catch up to them.

“Wait! What will we do for gold?” he asks, practically running to catch up to the longer strides of Stalker, the dragon seeing this and slowing down a bit so he can catch up.

“Sell trained ones, and medical supplies, found some really good ideas where I was for four months,” Viggo answers, petting Catcher.

Lars looks at him confused, “But you were gone for six?” he asks.

Stalker stops so that both her and Viggo could look at him, “I was stuck on a boat for the first two,” he informs.

“Oh,” comes Lars’ answer as Stalker shakes her head, walking off, Viggo greeting some of the men they passed.

“So what now?” Lars asks, catching up to them.

“Now, we wait for Ryker to get back, we do nothing because I still need to recover,” Viggo answers, Lars pulls a face when the wind changes, “Yeah you could also use a bath, haircut and shave,” he says.

Viggo pauses, “That too, I will go do that,” he says, Stalker bounding up into the air letting herself be guided to his tent to gather up a change of clothes and soap as well as dropping off his sword before heading into forest, medical bag still attached.

She lands, walking up to a small pool with a waterfall feeding into it, Catcher helping her take of the medical bag to keep it dry before walking straight into the water against Viggo’s protests.

“Oh whatever this stuff needed washing too anyway,” he relents, getting out of her saddle, considerably easier since he’s in water. She laughs as she stands up once he’s out, finding a rock underneath the water he starts to remove his gladiator armour and clothes, throwing them to the bank as he starts to clean off all the grime, watching Stalker and Catcher play.

He was careful taking off the bandage of his injured leg as well as washing it, soon he finished and started to carefully work his way back to shore, Stalker coming by to assist him, carefully pulling him up onto a dry rock to dry off.

Eventually he finished drying off with some difficulty as well as putting his old clothes back on after he reapplied the new bandages to his leg, soon he’s back on Stalker’s back after putting the damaged clothes in a bag as well as re-attaching the medical bag to his dragon’s saddle.

She lands outside his tent, pushing the flap aside and crawling in so Viggo can finish cleaning up his face.