#scout is full of anger he is full of rage

[novaursa]

Legacy (the great war)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the silence

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

Casterly Rock was alive with chaos. The deep-throated clang of alarm bells echoed through the great fortress, reverberating through the stone walls like a relentless war drum. Shouts rang out from the battlements, the harsh barks of commanders directing men to their posts, the hurried clank of armor as soldiers rushed into formation. Something was coming.

The cold had settled in thick, far colder than anything even the endless winter had yet brought. The air was wrong—heavy with something unseen but undeniably present. The fires in the braziers flickered, their flames weak, barely holding against the creeping frost that coiled over the stones. Even the torches along the walls sputtered, dimming as if some unseen hand was pressing the life from them.

Tywin stood atop the outermost battlement, his gloved hands curled over the icy stone as he surveyed the lands below. His face was carved from granite, but his eyes burned—with rage, with concern, with an anger that only sharpened when he turned his head toward the castle behind him.

"One of them got in," he said, voice cutting through the night. "Into my home. To my son."

Beric Dondarrion stood a few paces behind him, his sword slung at his hip, his expression shadowed beneath the flickering torchlight. His men stood further back, some whispering quiet prayers, others clutching their weapons tighter than before.

"They're testing us," Beric said grimly. "They always do. Probing our defenses, searching for weaknesses before the full force comes." He exhaled, the breath misting in the freezing air. "If this was meant to be an omen, Lord Lannister, then it means their army is not far behind."

Tywin’s jaw clenched. He turned his gaze toward the gates below, where the guards had gathered, weapons drawn, shields at the ready. The thing that had managed to slip past their walls was dead now—burned by Thoros’ prayers, but the mere fact that it had come inside—inside his halls, his castle, had reached his child—

He would not stand for it.

Kevan approached, his face lined with worry. "We've doubled the patrols, my lord," he reported, though even his usually level voice was taut. "The scouts are already sweeping the outer ridges for signs of more."

"It isn't enough," Tywin snapped. "They killed our ravens. They have cut our entire realm from one another. And now they have slipped into my walls. We are blind."

Kevan nodded, though his lips pressed into a thin line. "Then what do you propose?"

Tywin turned back to the vast darkness that stretched beyond the Rock. He was thinking. Calculating. Every strategy, every contingency, every possible outcome that could be drawn from this damnable war that had been forced upon them.

"You said their army is not far behind," he said, eyes never leaving the blackened horizon. "Then we must be ready to crush them the moment they arrive."

Beric exhaled through his nose. "That is easier said than done, Lord Lannister."

Tywin finally turned his head to him. His stare was cold, sharp as Valyrian steel. "Then say something of use."

Beric held his gaze. "If they are gathering to march, then they already know what we are capable of. The wights alone may be endless, but their masters—the Others—they are not so many as the dead. They are few, but powerful."

Tywin nodded once, as if already weighing those words. "We must separate them. Divide them. And if they are as few as you say, then we kill them before they can command their horde."

"You can’t kill them with steel," Thoros interjected, stepping forward. His face was solemn, lined with something close to dread. "Not unless it's Valyrian or Dragonglass."

Tywin’s eyes flickered. "We have both," he said simply.

Beric glanced at Thoros, a grim understanding passing between them. "Then we fight," he said.

A cutting gust of wind howled through the battlements then, sending a shiver down the spines of even the most hardened men. Tywin's cloak billowed behind him, his golden armor catching the weak torchlight as he straightened, his shoulders squared, his stance unmoving.

Still, something nagged at him.

The lack of word.

He had expected it by now. Something. Even if only a single rider, a distant glimpse of gold-cream scales in the sky, the return of his wife.

The thought sank into his chest like a stone.

Tywin’s fingers curled against the cold stone of the battlements, his gaze flickering toward the sky. Where was she?

He had sent her out days ago, and now—nothing.

The wind howled again, a deep, hollow sound.

And for the first time in a long time, Tywin felt something dangerously close to fear.

The wind howls as Viserion finally descends, her massive wings kicking up a storm of snow and ice as her claws scrape against the frozen earth. The impact sends a tremor through the ground, a deep rumble that echoes across the lifeless landscape. The dragon trembles. The deep, guttural sounds of her breathing are uneven—pained—as though something unnatural had tried to burrow its way into her skull.

You sit slumped in the saddle, your body drenched in exhaustion, your mind a mess of pulsing pain that has yet to fade. You barely remember the moment you broke free of the unnatural darkness. The voice—the screeching, echoing shriek that had burrowed into your head—still lingers, the ghost of it pressing at your temples, a remnant of something wrong.

With trembling hands, you touch your abdomen. Beneath the thick furs and leather, you feel it—the small, barely-there swell. The life within you.

A child.

A secret you have kept.

A secret that you know now, deep in your bones, that the Others are aware of.

The mere thought of it sends a cold chill through your spine, something far colder than the frozen wind biting against your skin.

Viserion lets out a soft, warning growl, the sound vibrating beneath you. You lift your head, forcing yourself to focus. The world around you is empty—eerily empty. This is no simple field, no mountain ridge or valley.

It is a graveyard.

Abandoned wagons, shattered weapons, and frozen corpses lay scattered across the snow. The bodies—men, women, even children—are covered in a thin layer of frost, their faces frozen in screams. The sight of them is enough to send bile up your throat.

Then, you see her.

A lone rider sits upon a dark horse, a figure draped in red.

The Red Woman.

Melisandre.

Your heart lurches.

The last time you saw the woman, you had cast her out. Had condemned her for sending a shadow to murder your unborn son.

Yet here she is.

Standing before you, waiting.

Viserion lets out another low growl, but the priestess does not flinch. Her eyes gleam under the hood of her cloak, unreadable, calm—as though she had foreseen this moment long before it had ever come to pass.

You tighten your grip on the saddle, slowly sliding down. Your boots hit the frozen ground with a soft crunch, your body unsteady as the ache in your skull makes you sway. Viserion shifts, lowering her massive head toward you, protective even in her weakened state.

Melisandre remains still.

"You should not have come," you rasp, your voice raw.

Melisandre inclines her head. "And yet, I am here."

There is no mockery in her tone. No arrogance. Only certainty.

Your lips curl. "I told you once to stay away from me."

"And yet, you need me now."

You laugh. A short, bitter sound. "I need nothing from you."

Melisandre finally dismounts. Her steps are slow, deliberate, the hem of her red cloak dragging through the ice and snow as she approaches. Viserion stirs, agitated. The dragon’s molten eyes glow, but Melisandre does not waver.

"You are wounded," she says softly. "And there is much you do not yet understand."

You straighten, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. "You should choose your next words very carefully," you say, voice cold. "Because I am in no mood for riddles or games."

Melisandre studies you.

Then, she says simply, "Come with me."

You still. "Why?"

Melisandre exhales, a mist of white escaping her lips. "Because Jon Snow awaits you."

The name sends a shock through your chest.

Jon.

You haven't heard word from him since Winterfell. Since the final ravens had ceased to come. Since the silence had swallowed the realm whole.

Your mind races.

Is he alive?

Is he—?

You swallow. "What game is this, Red Woman?"

Melisandre shakes her head. "No game." She lifts her gaze toward the horizon. "The battle you saw is coming. The Great War. And you have a part yet to play in it. The Lord of Light has willed it."

"The Lord of Light is a liar," you spit.

Melisandre does not flinch. "And yet, he brought back Jon Snow. As he will bring you back to him."

You clench your fists. The voice. The thing you had heard in the darkness—it had called to you. Had known you. You had felt it in your bones.

And you had seen them.

An army of endless dead.

You look toward Viserion. The dragon has stilled, but her golden eyes remain locked on the red woman, her wings twitching, the heat of her breath melting the snow beneath her feet.

A choice.

You turn back to Melisandre. To Jon.

To the war that is coming.

You exhale.

"Lead the way."

The wind howled as Viserion’s wings sliced through the bitter cold air, the sheer force of them sending loose snow into wild spirals below. The encampment came into view—a cluster of tents, Northerners clad in dark furs moving like shadows between fires that barely seemed to hold against the creeping frost. Even from above, you could feel it. The exhaustion, the tension—a people fighting against something far greater than themselves, struggling against the inevitable.

Viserion let out a low growl, her golden eyes scanning the land below as she prepared to land. The moment her claws scraped against the frozen earth, the camp stirred. Men rushed out from their tents, gripping weapons instinctively, eyes wide with awe and fear as they beheld the dragon that now loomed in their midst.

You could hear the mutterings.

"A dragon… Gods be good."

"Is that one from Dragonstone?"

"Not the selfproclaimed queen, the other…"

"The Targaryen who married the Lion."

But you barely heard them.

Because the tent flap had flown open, and Jon Snow was running toward you.

His black cloak billowed behind him, boots crunching heavily against the frozen ground, his breath fogging in the night air. There was something desperate in the way he moved, his expression torn between relief and disbelief.

"Mother!"

Your heart lurched.

Jon reached you just as you slid off Viserion’s saddle, barely giving you time to find your footing before his arms wrapped around you. His grip was tight, unyielding, as if he feared that if he loosened it even a fraction, you might disappear like a wisp of winter mist.

You exhaled, pressing your face against the familiar black furs of his cloak, the scent of cold steel and leather grounding you in a way you had not realized you needed.

Jon pulled back just enough to look at you, his grey eyes scanning your face with fervent urgency. "You’re alright?" His hands cupped your shoulders, as though checking for injuries, for something that might explain why it had taken you so long to come to him.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I’m here."

Jon exhaled heavily, his grip on you tightening briefly before he finally let go. He shook his head, his lips pressed into a firm line. "We thought something happened to you. There’s been no word from the West—no ravens, no messages. Nothing." His jaw tensed. "We thought the Rock had fallen."

Your chest clenched. The isolation was not just on your end. Whatever had been cutting the West from the rest of the realm was far worse than you had thought.

"It still stands," you assured him. "Tywin has fortified it. The lords of the Westerlands have gathered, ready to make their stand."

Jon's brows knitted together. "And yet, you’re here."

Before you could answer, a rough voice cut through the icy air.

"Is she a bloody ghost, or do my eyes still work?"

You turned as Tormund Giantsbane strode forward, his red beard dusted with frost, his wild blue eyes squinting at you as if trying to determine whether you were real. Behind him, Davos Seaworth followed at a slower pace, his expression more measured but no less filled with relief.

"She’s real," Davos confirmed, his lips tugging into the barest smirk. "Or at least I hope so, else we’ve all gone mad."

Tormund let out a barking laugh, shaking his head. "I always knew there was something strange about you, woman." He gestured toward Viserion with a broad wave of his hand. "And I see you still have your beast."

Viserion let out a low huff, golden eyes narrowing at the Wildling as if she understood the jest.

"She kept me alive," you said simply, your hand grazing over the slight swell beneath your furs.

Jon caught the motion. His gaze flickered downward, brows drawing together, but he said nothing. Not yet.

"We should talk inside," he finally said, nodding toward the largest tent at the center of the encampment.

You inclined your head, but before you moved, you turned back to Viserion. The dragon watched you intently, her wings half-folded, muscles tense as if she could feel the unnatural presence in the air.

"Stay close," you murmured to her.

Viserion blinked slowly, but did not move.

Tormund let out a huff. "You think she understands you?"

You merely smiled. "I know she does."

Then, you followed Jon Snow into the tent, stepping back into the war you had fought your whole life to prepare for.

The tent was dimly lit, the only sources of warmth being the low-burning brazier in the center and the flickering candles lining the wooden table. The cold crept in regardless, biting at the edges of the canvas, seeping into the ground beneath their feet. The air smelled of damp wool, of wax, and of steel left too long in the frost.

You stood near the table, the weight of your furs heavier than usual, though it was not the cold that burdened you. Jon, Davos, and Tormund stood across from you, their expressions grim. Behind them, a handful of Northern lords and Free Folk chieftains lingered in the shadows, their eyes flitting between you and the map sprawled across the table.

"I thought the North had fallen," you admitted, breaking the tense silence. "When the ravens stopped coming, we feared the worst."

Jon shook his head, his hands braced on the table. "It hasn’t fallen." His grey eyes flickered up to meet yours. "Not yet."

You frowned. "Then why are the dead not here? Why did I see them—miles and miles of them—heading West instead of taking the North?"

It made no sense. If the Others had breached the Wall, if they had truly begun their conquest, Winterfell should have been the first to fall. But instead, their forces marched past it, like wolves that had caught a stronger scent.

"They’re being drawn to something," Davos said carefully. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, like a man trying to walk through a field of glass without breaking it.

You turned to him. "What?"

"Something—or someone—has them focused elsewhere," Davos continued. He exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his scruffy beard. "They passed through the North like a storm passing through empty fields. There were attacks, but not the full force of their army. No sieges. No massacres like what we’ve seen before."

"They move like they have a purpose," Jon muttered, jaw tightening. His fingers curled against the edge of the table. "A singular purpose."

A sense of unease coiled in your stomach. "And you believe that purpose lies in the West?"

Jon gave a slow nod. "They’re all moving there." His voice was low, heavy. "And if the ravens never reached you, it means someone or something is making sure the realm doesn’t see it coming."

Your lips parted, but no words came.

You thought back to what you had seen—the unnatural darkness, the snow that swallowed sound, the whispers that clawed at the edges of your mind. The creatures were not moving like mindless hordes. They were being led.

And now, every step they took brought them closer to Casterly Rock.

Jon’s gaze flickered toward you. He saw the way you stiffened, the way your fingers curled subtly over your abdomen again, as if shielding something.

He said nothing once more.

But Davos noticed, too this time.

"We assumed the worst when the ravens stopped," the older man admitted, leaning slightly on the table. "We thought the Rock had fallen." He gave you a pointed look. "You arriving here on dragonback—alone—doesn’t exactly help settle those fears."

"The Rock still stands," you said, your voice stronger now. "And Tywin Lannister has fortified it well. He has gathered every lord and banner under his command, all prepared to make their last stand if need be."

Jon scoffed. "I bet he has." His expression darkened slightly. "But we both know your husband, Mother. He won’t act until it benefits him."

You met his gaze squarely. "He will act because I will make him act."

Silence stretched.

Tormund snorted, arms crossed over his chest. "I believe that."

Davos huffed a quiet breath, shaking his head slightly.

Jon, however, did not look convinced.

His eyes searched yours for something. Some kind of assurance, some unspoken promise that you could do what no one else had—convince Tywin Lannister to fight for a world that was no longer his.

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

"If you can," he murmured, his voice just barely above a whisper, "then we might actually have a chance."

But neither of you were certain if even that would be enough.

The cold wind cut through the camp as you strode swiftly toward Viserion, your heart hammering in your chest. The moment you heard of the Others’ movements—of their march toward Casterly Rock—your body had acted before your mind. Your children were there. Tywin was there.

Viserion had barely begun to settle outside the encampment, her massive body coiled like a great snowdrift in the darkness, wings shifting restlessly. She knew. She always knew.

"You're leaving? Just like that?" Jon's voice was sharp behind you, hurried footsteps following.

You didn’t slow. "I have to. My family—my sons—they are there. I cannot stay here while the dead march toward them!"

Jon caught up to you, stepping in front of your path, blocking the way. His jaw was tight, the wind pulling at his black furs, his sword at his hip. Behind him, Davos and Tormund came just as quickly, their faces dark with concern.

"You’re not flying alone," Jon said. "It's too dangerous."

"Everything is dangerous!" you snapped, emotion laced in every syllable. "Every moment I waste here, they get closer! I cannot sit idly by while the Rock prepares for war—I have to be there, Jon!"

Jon’s eyes searched yours, frustration and something deeper warring behind them. "Sansa and Arya said the same when I left Winterfell," he murmured, voice low. "They wanted to go with me. To fight. But they had to stay behind because Winterfell needed them there." His fingers curled into fists at his sides. "And you are needed here."

Your chest tightened. "Casterly Rock is not Winterfell," you said, voice measured but firm. "And I am not Sansa or Arya."

Jon’s jaw ticked. He knew there was no stopping you, not when your children were at stake.

Davos stepped forward. "If you must go," he said carefully, "at least wait until we move. Our forces march for the Westerlands, my lady. If you fly alone into the dark, there’s no guarantee you’ll make it back to the Rock alive."

Tormund nodded in agreement. "Listen to the old man. You don’t know what’s waiting in that sky."

You shook your head, feeling the ache in your chest sharpen. "And if I wait? If I wait for your march to reach the Rock, what then? What if I return to nothing but ruins and ice?"

Jon took a slow, heavy breath. "And what if you return to your death?"

Silence stretched.

Viserion shifted behind you, her golden eyes locked onto the exchange, tail curling.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the hilt of your belt. "I have fought for my family before, Jon," you said, voice steadier now. "I will do it again. If my sons are in danger, I will not hesitate to act. Not now. Not ever."

Jon stared at you for a long moment.

And then, his shoulders lowered slightly, as if some great weight had settled there.

"...Then we will follow," he said at last, resigned. "We will all follow."

A sharp wind cut through the camp, rustling the banners, biting at the fires.

You turned to Viserion, who lowered her great head toward you, waiting.

Your hands trembled slightly as you grabbed onto the saddle, pulling yourself up.

Jon and the others watched as Viserion’s wings unfurled, the earth shuddering beneath her feet.

"Be safe," Jon called over the rising wind.

You looked down at him, your expression softening just slightly.

"Tell that to Tywin," you murmured.

And with that, Viserion leapt into the sky, her roar tearing through the endless dark.

For days now, Casterly Rock had withstood the encroaching darkness, fighting off scattered raiding bands of the dead. Scouts reported isolated skirmishes beyond the cliffs, testing their defenses—small packs of wights slipping through the snow-covered ruins of abandoned villages, probing the fortifications of the Rock. Each time, the Lannister forces managed to push them back, burning the corpses until there was nothing left but blackened bones.

But this was different.

Tywin stood atop the battlements, his furs pulled tightly over his golden armor, the bitter wind slashing across his face. The cold had sunk into his bones, deeper than it had in his youth, but he ignored it, his gaze locked on the horizon.

The fires of the watchtowers flickered and died.

The torches along the walls shuddered.

A deep, suffocating stillness settled over the cliffs—one that clawed into the chest of every man standing guard. Even the wind had gone silent.

And then, they saw it.

A wave of darkness, stretching from one end of the horizon to the other. A wall of glowing blue eyes, unmoving, waiting. It was not like the previous raids—this was a force beyond comprehension, an army so vast that it swallowed the distant land behind it, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Thousands upon thousands stood motionless, weapons in hand, dead faces blank and hollow.

Kevan sucked in a sharp breath beside him. "Seven Hells…"

Thoros of Myr gripped the hilt of his sword, his breath a cloud of mist. "They’ve come."

The army of the dead had finally arrived.

A tremor ran through the castle walls, as if the very stone recoiled at the presence of such unnatural horror. Tywin’s face remained unreadable, but his mind was already calculating, moving through possibilities and strategies like a machine.

Behind him, Lannister soldiers shifted uneasily, gripping spears, axes, and swords lined with dragonglass. The men of the Westerlands had faced Rebellions, revolts, wars for crowns and vengeance. But never this.

One of the younger knights stepped forward, his voice almost a whisper. "What… what do we do?"

Tywin did not look away from the impossible force before him. His voice was calm, controlled.

"We hold."

The knight swallowed, fear visible in the tightness of his jaw.

"Send out the signal," Kevan ordered to the men below. "Every outpost, every soldier within a day’s ride. We need every sword at the walls."

A horn bellowed from atop the battlements.

The call echoed through the stronghold, a deep, ancient sound that carried across the windless night, bouncing against the cliffs. The men below began their preparations in haste—dragonglass weapons were distributed, barrels of oil were hauled to the ramparts, and the gates were reinforced.

But Tywin knew.

They could not hold forever.

His mind was keen, ruthlessly logical. Casterly Rock was strong, but not impenetrable. This was not an army that could be broken by sheer force or numbers alone. If the dead were here, then their leader was close.

A deep rumbling echoed from below the castle.

The soldiers stiffened as Arraxes let out a guttural growl from the depths of the mines, the dragon sensing something unnatural in the air. The men muttered superstitiously, casting uneasy glances toward the tunnel entrance, where the beast had taken refuge.

Barristan Selmy stood at the head of the soldiers, his hand resting on his sword. "Where is she?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the murmurs.

Tywin did not need to ask who.

He turned his gaze to the sky, looking for a flash of dragon scales against the darkness.

But there was nothing.

Only the sound of the wind, and the army of the dead standing in eerie silence just beyond their gates.

The siege of Casterly Rock had begun.

[lovebunnie]

the night spy decides to leave, scout’s mother finds him in the doorway with his back turned to her.

“oh,” she whispered between them, “not even a goodbye, i guess.”

spy turned around, eyes red rimmed and bags heavy under his eyes. she looked at his handsome face and how it seemed to be melting off of him, charming grin pulled into a miserable frown.

“ma chère... i am sorry.” spy spoke quietly as to not rouse the many many children. “truly, i am.”

“doesnt matter,” scout’s mother replied as she walked towards the man. “you can feel any damn way about it, but it won’t stop you from leaving, will it?”

spy sighed and looked at her slippers. they were worn from too many hasty trips outside to get mail, pick up trash, run an errand. “i wish it would.”

she extended her hand and guided the man’s face to look up at her, thumb carefully tracing the cloth around his eyes.

“ya haven’t been the first, but i hope to god you’ll be the last,” she whispered. “my boys can’t go thro this shit again, not with another man in their lives leaving. I only have so many excuses as to where your body ended up.”

“feel free to make my death as bloody as you like,” he murmured. “embarrass the hell out of me, i don’t mind.” spy inhaled the last smell of pine sol and mothballs as he turned to leave, forcing his feet to move.

she stepped back and folded her arms into her robe to keep herself from dragging him back into their house; her life was so defined by men and she promised herself that she wouldn’t let this happen again. even if this man came back, she would not give herself up wholly. too much of her heart had been given to men who had run off, any remaining fragments would stay with her children. she would not be alone, not ever, not with her sons. all her boys had been through the same song and dance, all of them except-

“jeremy will never forgive you,” she found herself calling out to him. “i’ll be mad as hell, but eventually i’ll find forgiveness for you in my heart. but jeremy... there won’t be anything that can make him forgive you if you walk out the door.”

spy clenched his jaw to bite back a retort. but he knew there was nothing more to say.

scout’s mother let her arms fall to her sides. “you’ll spend the rest of your life, doing whatever the hell it is you do. you’ll kill people, rid yourself of enemies and you’ll tell yourself you’re free from scorn. you will think one day you are free of those who hold hatred for you.”

she stepped closer, close enough to watch the man’s shoulders tense up.

“but there will be a little boy in boston, who will always hold a little bit of hatred just for you.”

after a moment, spy turned around. but she had already gone back to bed.

[the-californicationist]

Brisance (2/2)

Chapter 01 // Chapter 02

TW: smut, bombs, a random line about boot-worship (?)

Johnny stayed glued to the SAT-NAV screen, tracking his pretty little bombmaker’s every move. She was spending a lot of time on the outskirts of the Kotov bloc, and although none of his scouts had confirmed with a visual, he knew it was a matter of time before they discovered her safehouse. When she eventually found the tracker, the signal went dead, but the damage was done. She’d shown Johnny enough evidence for him to narrow down her base of operations.

So, in the middle of the night, without clearance, he cut out of camp and took one of the TAC-V trucks over to the site. He pulled out all of his stealthiest moves, trying to avoid detection. He was patient, watching for movement, staying hidden in the shadows, waiting for her. 

The snow crunched under his weight, so he slid in tiny steps toward a window in the side of what he thought was her base. It was a run-down lighthouse on the edge of the Urzikstani border with the Mediterranean Sea. There were no resources out here, and it was too small for any of Makarov’s men to use it as a fully-operational base camp, so it was almost completely forgotten. There had even been a dirt road leading to the lighthouse in the past – Johnny could see the old tire marks – but now, it was dark, windy, and uninviting. 

The sergeant peeked his head up over the window sill to peer inside. 

He could see her clearly through the open doorway of the adjacent room, her side profile backlit by a small fire she had going in the middle of the den, bent over her hands, tinkering with some wires. Unfortunately, there were only two ways inside of the building. The base only had one door, but the top of the structure had a hatch that would lead down to the main level. 

Johnny had made it this far, and he wasn’t leaving without some answers. So, he strung up his rope and hook to make a climbing lead. With a little skill, he was able to latch the anchor to one of the railings, and he prayed that it would hold. Then, he began the long walk up the side of the tower, feeling every bit like Gallahad, even if the woman locked inside was no wilting damsel in distress. 

He was breathless and sweaty by the time he made it to the top of the tower, hoisting himself up onto the rusted iron walkway as quietly as he could. Just as he was about to stand up, he heard the tell-tale click of a gun being cocked, and he froze in place, stuck staring into the sea and the wash of stars that glittered above it, his back to the light and the hatch. 

It was silent for a long time, almost too long. Johnny moved to turn his shoulders, but the cold metal of her gun barrel against the nape of his neck stopped him in his tracks. 

“Don’t…” She whispered. 

Even though she didn’t say anything more, he could hear the raw, painful emotion in her voice, her tone revealing her vulnerability.

“Lass, I wasnae g–”

“I should kill you!” She snarled, shoving the gun into his skin even harder, “Why did you come here? I can’t… I won’t let you ruin this for me. Not when I’m so close.”

“Alright, lass. You’re right. Kill me, then,” he said, his voice as serious as the grave he was angling for, and he turned to face her. As he moved, the gunbarrel dragged along the sensitive skin of his neck, leaving behind a red scrape like a lover’s hickey, evidence of her touch. 

For a moment, he thought she would follow through. Her eyes flashed hot and full of anger, she moved the barrel up and under his chin, forcing him to lift his eyes back to the stars, gazing up at Heaven before she delivered him to it. She gritted her teeth, her face twisted with rage, but as he peered back down at her, she was still as pretty as ever, looking like Athena at war, like a valkyrie on the vast battlefield, like Justice herself, wild and vengeful. 

And yet, she didn’t pull the trigger. When his warm hand slowly closed over her cold, trembling one as she clutched the pistol, she didn’t kill him like she said she would. She tried so hard to hold onto that anger, but she couldn’t do it. For whatever reason, she let him live. Johnny didn’t take the gun from her, but he moved it down, freeing his jaw from the bite of the metal. Then, she whispered, 

“I can’t stop.”

“I’m didnae ask you to stop, bonnie,” Johnny took a chance and reached up to touch her cheek, trying to comfort her through what was an unimaginable sort of pain. If Makarov had killed his sisters… “We’ll get that bastard, but you cannae do it alone, hen. Let me help you. Please.”

Her eyes peered deep into his, and within them, a darkness grew and grew, threatening to overtake her like a demon. She grabbed Johnny by his vest and yanked him even closer, her voice barely audible when she hissed,

“I need him to know it was me. I want to be the last thing he sees. For Sorcha.”

“I dinnae care how he dies, lass, but if you do,” Johnny nodded, “Then, let’s craft a wee plan. Perhaps not here on this fuckin’ balcony, but…”

That earned him at least the suggestion of a smile, and her gaze softened as she led him down the hatch and into the spiraling staircase of her lighthouse. Once inside, she reached up to latch the lock, and due to the lack of space, she had to press her chest in to his, arching her body over him and spreading her warmth through his clothes. 

His breath caught in his throat, and when she heard him, she paused, looking into his face to see how he was reacting. She turned to him, examining him like a curator examines a canvas, looking at him up close to see every little brushstroke. Johnny could feel her breath on his neck, and he had to hold back a rumbling moan. 

As she lowered herself down, she did so in a slow, dragging descent, rubbing herself down his chest and belly, testing his resolve. His face was twisted in a grimace, and when her thigh made brief contact with his, she knew why. 

He knew that she could feel his hardon through his canvas trousers, and when she raised her eyebrows in surprise, there was nowhere for him to run. So, he shrugged, explaining himself in a low, deep tone, 

“You look fuckin’ bonnie with a gun in your hand.”

His pretty bombmaker took the compliment, and she breathed with him for a moment. Then, he felt her hand slide around his waist to the front of his crotch, her palm pressed to his straining zipper, massaging the length of him as he stretched down his pant leg.

“I bet I look even better with you in my hand, huh, soldier?”

Soap grunted and lunged forward, catching her wrist to stop her from reaching his sensitive head, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she chuckled, bending to kiss his neck, and she squeezed the fat, lolling body of his prick as tightly as she could. He hissed, trying to back away from her, but she ripped her hand from his grasp and rushed down the stairs away from him, a wild look in her eyes. 

“Hey! Wait,” Johnny called after her, trying to command his tingling legs to pursue. 

He caught her about mid-way down the spiral, and they lost their balance, crashing into each other against the chipping, plaster wall. Johnny sealed his mouth to hers like she was his air, sucking on her lips like she was his sustenance. She was all over him. It felt like she had a thousand hands, all of them pushing and pulling and rubbing and pawing at his skin.

Eventually, Johnny managed to position himself below her in the steps, blocking her escape. They broke their kiss when they found their footing, and she stared into his eyes, that same fire repeated within them but instead of anger, she was fueled by hot lust. 

He watched her, waiting on a cue. She took one step back, raising herself taller than him. Then, another. Now, his face was at her breasts, and she began to unbutton her shirt for him. He let her go at her own pace, one hand on her hip and the other crushing the life out of his cock so that he wouldn’t finish before he started. 

As soon as her pretty tits were exposed, Johnny used both of his hands to rake down her bra until it snapped awkwardly around her belly, and her nipples were revealed to the cool air, tightening from the excitement and the rush. He put his mouth to one of them, suckling sweetly at first before locking eyes with her and biting down hard enough to sting. She cried out, but her hands were locked in his mohawk, fist over fist, tugging him closer, encouraging him to continue. 

Johnny moved to the other one, treating it better than the first, sucking in deep, long rounds of pressure, laving at her peak with his tongue. Then, suddenly, while he was lost in her, she took another step up. Now, his mouth was at her belly button. He gave it the same attention, teasing her with his mouth, kissing and sucking and licking and biting until she squirmed and squealed from the strangeness of his pressure. 

She took one more step, and Johnny was staring at the button fly of her trousers. He peeled apart the canvas, popping each button out of its hole. Each fallen button gave way to the soft pale blue cotton of her panties, covering her puffy mons. With the last button gone, Johnny wasted little time, using his hand to pull her panties down and over her sex, putting her on full display right in front of his face. 

Her scent filled his nose. She was wet, and her musk was warm and heady in the air between his mouth and her body. Johnny took a moment to admire her untrimmed curls, thick and soft as they lay against her swollen flesh. He ran his fingers over the top of her, petting the hair in a downward stroke, feeling it all the way until he reached her lips, over and over, forcing blood to rush to meet his hand with a trembling joy. 

Then, when he heard her sigh, he dipped one finger into the sweet honey that she had made for him, feeling the small pool of its warmth trapped behind her pubic hair, matting it down and hiding it from the cold air of the lighthouse. His mouth was on her then, and she gasped from the feeling. Her hands were back in his scalp, grabbing and scratching him, too wound up to say a word, but needing to tell him to continue his efforts. 

He licked her from her wet, slipping seam all the way up to her belly button in long, rushed licks, attacking her with the softest parts of his mouth, dragging his lips over her like they would paint her skin. Then, he rooted between her folds, pressing until he could feel the turgid rod of her clit, and he began to suck, bobbing his head against her as if it had been a drooling phallus, letting her fuck his mouth with her only rigidity. She hooked her leg over his shoulder and began to grind against his jaw, moving her hips into him in mindless, undulating circles, whimpering and keening in a steady, guttural rhythm. 

Johnny moved his fingers beneath her pussy lips, amazed by her warmth, and twisted his palm into her jeans, stretching her fly wider to accommodate his huge hand. It was a rough shove of fabric and flesh, but eventually, his fingertips found her eager hole and began to delve inside, prodding against her strong walls. When he was deep enough to find the spot that changed the timbre of her cries, he returned to suck at her clit, swirling his tongue through her to make sure he found every last drop.

“John…” She gasped. 

His name on her lips may as well have been a blinding flare for how quickly his eyes darted to hers, answering her call from between her legs. When he saw her face, he knew she was about to come for him, her expression frozen in an unfinished scream, her body trembling, the thigh looped around his shoulder squeezing to make sure he didn’t escape from his position. 

Johnny was lucky enough to feel her orgasm from the inside as well, her cunt clutching his fingers, holding him within her like a greedy little beast, hungry for whatever he would give her. The taste of her slick made him break out into a sweat, his own muscles shuddering from the excitement and the need. 

As she came down from her high, he let her go, slipping out of her gently, moving to stand. But, her boot heel stopped him in his tracks, pressing down on his shoulder to keep him on his knees. He cut his eyes at her, shocked by her challenge. 

She was fondling her breasts in both of her hands, smiling with visceral contentment, enjoying how he was trapped below her, smiling at him like she definitely had his number. 

“Wee demon,” Johnny chuckled, moving his mouth to the ankle of her boot, his lips crawling over the oiled leather like it was her pussy, smearing his spit and her slick all over the shoe. 

She gasped like it pleased her, so he continued, making his way up and over the boot until he came to her calf, scrunching up her pants so he could kiss her skin underneath, licking and sucking on her leg as roguishly as he would her tits. One of her hands found his scalp again and pet him gingerly, rewarding his dogmatic commitment to her pleasure. 

Suddenly, Johnny surged up the stairs, looping both of her legs over his arms and taking her with him, pinning her between his body and the inner wall of the staircase. 

“Fuck!” She grunted. The air rushed out of her lungs, and she tried to get it back. 

While she was stunned, Johnny raked down her trousers just far enough to give himself access, and he began to smear his cockhead against her folds. 

“Suppose you’re used to gettin’ your way, bonnie.”

Her wide eyes were her response, and the slow grind of her hips told him he would be rewarded for this, too. 

“I willnae take what isnae mine to have…” He whispered into her open mouth, breathing nearly as hard as she was.

While she was thinking about his words, both of them were rocking their bodies together, dancing to a silent song stuck in their heads. She smiled at him, and he caught the sinister tone in her voice just a moment too late.

“You can have me,” she showed him a little roll of paper that she had clutched in her fist, dug out of some pocket, crumpled and white like a cloud, “If you can catch me.”

The hiss of a lit match caught his attention, shoving his mind back into a semi-alert state. When the fire from her fingers touched the flash paper, it burned like dragon’s breath, spitting and raging. She’d put a little gunpowder in the roll, and the searing wrath of it startled Soap back away from the wall. He dropped her, but she landed in a crouch, and through the smoke, she shoved her way down the stairs and out of his sight. 

“Cheeky hen,” he laughed, waving the smoke out of his face and turning to race down the steps after her. 

There was a door on the second landing, and he burst through it expecting to find her there with a sly grin, but it was just a storage room. Boxes and boxes of equipment, but not her. He raced down the stairs to the main level and went into hunting mode. He crouched behind the countertop of her makeshift kitchenette, scanning the floor for her boots. As silent as a breath, Johnny slithered his way through the galley, keeping his eyes peeled for movement, trying to ignore his raging length pressing against his fly. 

There were two doors on the east side of the room, one led outside, but the other led to an inner chamber. The inner door was slightly ajar although the room was pitch black. Johnny slowly stepped toward it, shouldering it open as quietly as he could. When his eyes adjusted to the low light of the room, he saw what awaited him. 

His gorgeous little demolitionist was laying atop a huge metal crate made of tightly looped chain link, low and wide like a grand sarcophagus. Inside of the crate, green lights blinked intermittently, each one on its own independent pace, twinkling like stars. She was fully nude, her clothing discarded behind her, stretched out over the metal box, touching herself and moving her body like an invitation. 

“You caught me, soldier,” she purred, rolling another spool of flash paper in her fingers.

“Aye,” Johnny whispered, his hand reaching out for her ankle, pulling her leg up to his mouth to kiss the protruding bone, “But, what is this, lass?”

“A gift,” she sighed, pulling Johnny onto the crate with her, listening to the creaking metal complain about his weight.

Johnny kissed her, slotting himself between her legs and pressing his cock on top of her mons like a promise,

“For who, bonnie?” 

He asked the question like he already knew the answer, but she told him anyway,

“Vladimir Makarov.”

Johnny’s cock was already jerking to be stuffed inside of her, but he ignored it. He could only hear the blood slamming against his ears, rushing through every vein and blazing into his belly. 

They were laying on a giant bomb.

She hooked her legs around his waist and flipped him over, slamming him onto the crate flat on his back.

“Steamin’ Jesus!” Johnny looked below him at the blinking lights, praying that his presence hadn’t disturbed one of the punks or starter coils, “We cannae ju–”

Her hand coiled around his neck, and she applied just enough pressure to stop his words. Johnny let her do it, and his body seemed to take some sort of sick thrill in his compliance, his cock lunging for her as she straddled him. 

She sat up tall, her knees digging into the metal loops of the crate, her pussy rubbing back and forth along the heavy meat of his prick, and her free hand pinching the soft flesh of her breast, hurting herself more than she was hurting him. Her eyes gleamed with mischief, 

“Careful, soldier. Better stay very… very still… I’ll keep you safe, baby.”

Then, she released his throat and slid his cock inside of her hole, her aim true and sure, swallowing him up inside of her core in one smooth drop. Then, she began to grind against him, using his rigid tip to press into her pillowy g-spot, forcing him to feel the heartbreaking texture of her walls, drowning him in her orgasm-seeking revelry. 

“Bonnie,” Soap panted, trying to stay focused lest he lose himself to her magic, “I cannae do this. I… fuck… I cannae stay steady.”

“Shh,” she cooed at him, taking her time as she slowly stuffed all four of her fingers into his mouth, holding onto his bottom jaw to silence him, “You’re the one who wanted to join me, Mr. MacTavish. Now, hold still, or I’ll have to introduce you to my sister.”

Her grinding continued, luscious and sticky, the wet sounds of her cunt loud in the stone-walled room. Johnny tried to look away, tried to concentrate on the fifty-some kilos of Semtex below his arse, but he couldn’t. Not even a bomb could pull his mind from the view of his lover’s plump little body, round and soft and full and warm, all of her curves and edges trembling as she thrust him inside of her, fucking herself with his rod, taking her time with him. 

Johnny could only see her, could only stare at the glistening jewel of her pussy, giving her his thick fingers to rub against, addicted to the noise she made that came from deep inside her chest when he hit the spot she liked. He was almost ashamed at some of the sounds that were emanating from his own mouth. It was all he could do to keep from bucking himself up into her like some wild stag, blind with his rut and horny to the point of self-harm. So, if he couldn’t move, his body released that energy through his lungs, and he was moaning like her paid whore. 

Between all of her sweet, sing-song yeses and oh-my-gods, he was grunting and hollering like he’d been stuck with a knife, the aura of his climax threatening him with every exhale, her pussy pulling his pleasure from him like a water from a well, dipping him in, milking him out, soaking him inside of her. 

“How…” Johnny looked up at her with pleading eyes, “How will I come, bonnie? I cannae help tae move in you. I cannae… Oh, Holy Christ!”

All at once, Johnny grabbed her by the hips and lifted her up, following her with his own, pounding into her as his shoulders tried to stay pinned to the box, pushing down into the crate with all his might as his cock pistoned inside of her, humping her hard enough to leave stinging welts across her thick arse, pumping her full of his come.

She was above him, riding him like a bull, screaming for him, basking in his affections, free like a bird with her arms outstretched in rapture. For a moment, Johnny thought the worst had come over them. He came so hard that his vision flashed, and he imagined her bomb vibrating to life, consuming them both in its predetermined fury, taking him, her, and this godforsaken lighthouse with it. All for naught.

Yet, as he came to, he felt the cold chill of the crate against his skin and knew that he was alive. Only a petite mort had befallen him. His skin was electric, buzzing at every point that she touched as she rubbed his body with her body, letting him lower her back down as gently as he could. 

“Mmm,” she groaned with satisfaction, “Who knew switching sides would be so rewarding?”

“Gonnae have to do somethin’ about that wee death wish you’ve got, lass. Made me come so hard, I thought I’d have to see Peter at the gates with my bloody trousers around my ankles,” Johnny sat up with her still in his arms and slid off of the crate, holding her and looking at her like she had gone completely mad.

She looped her arms and legs around him and threw her head back in laughter,

“Blasting pin isn’t even set, soldier. I can’t bel–”

Before she could finish her sentence, Johnny’s mouth slanted over hers, kissing her as deeply as he could, feeding his tongue into her throat, his movements desperate and full of heat. 

“Shouldnae’ve told me that, hen,” he threatened her as he pulled away for a moment, his eyes darkening, “‘Cause now, you’re mine, and I’ll have you how I like.”

idek yall lol sorry

[multiheadcanons]

MERCS AND ANGER

scout: explosive like a firecracker. kinda boring from a distance but a danger in your hands. you really don’t want to be the guy he’s mad at, and probably not like a good friend of the guy either. otherwise the absolute grudge is really funny because he’s so creatively aggressive with how he insults people. and he doesn’t let shit go. it takes him a good long while before he’s ready to drop a feud. however, firecrackers, if you’re fast enough and ballsy enough, can be put out. you’ve maybe got a minute to take back what you say and all will be just fine. he might be annoyed with you for a couple of days, but you can bounce back.

soldier: explosive like a rocket. don’t give him an insult he has to think about. he’s gonna get madder that he had to think about it and he’s gonna come and kick your ass until he’s bored. and he will never get bored. has tried in incremental amounts to not get that mad anymore; nobody has a good time when he’s that mad. also a big shit talker, but the better term is “war decree”, because getting him angry is declaring war on him. and he is very frank with what the plan is when it comes to the attack. can, has tried, and actually has on two occasions involved the team in revenge plans. i don’t know how to quickly disable a rocket; so i would hope you do.

pyro: pyro will take their anger out on the battlefield. that’s when pyro gets weird and nobody wants to be around them at the base because they’re being weird on the battlefield. but at the base they don’t act any different. because normally the team does not anger pyro. sometimes pyro wakes up and is fueled with rage. at anything. at everything. sometimes they get so mad at themselves, and they don’t know why they get so mad. they’re just being themselves, as they were yesterday, and the day before, and the month prior. their imagination can buffer that with making the enemy team seem… squishier. fun to throw around because they just return back to their shape. they enjoy that. that’s really fun.

heavy: here’s the thing; heavy is a good and not messy guy, so heavy will make all efforts to discuss any problem he has with anyone, and does expect vice versa. if you’ve got a problem with him, his door and ears are open. he’s willing to talk about it. however, do not mistake that for weakness. i mean, come on. literally look at him. do you want to push him there if he’s willing to discuss it? really?

demo: demo will give you one (1) opportunity to course correct. after that you’re on his shit list. he’s got a physical list, a couple of pages, front to back, of peoples full government names, a glued on ID picture, and their most current address. not enough names on the list for a journal yet but he’s always willing to add. and getting on his shit list is permanent. you are not to speak to him. you are not to be within his eyesight. and if you are, there’s a problem. and you’ll get one (1) opportunity to course correct before it gets physical.

engineer: engie doesn’t get messy with his anger unless you take it there. and if you take it there, buddy that’s a game he loves to play. already has issues with people being in his space, so frankly if he’s mad at you, or getting to be upset with you, he will tell you, point blank “get somewhere away from me. immediately. don’t let me see you again today.” and within 24 hours he will be okay and ready to talk to you, and you can attempt to patch things up. but if you keep bugging him and keep bugging him and keep bugging him… he will absolutely have a conniption. he will yell. he will get in your face. however, that has nothing on his grudges. talk about a stew. he will sit on it. sit on it for days. process it while tinkering with his machines. and if he decides that what you did truly wasn’t forgivable? there is no one who can warn you about the storm coming your way. he makes your life miserable and you will never see him do it. first of all, anything you own with a wire is getting cut. batteries stolen, sockets with broken off fork teeth in them. he does not care if your whole house goes up in flames. he simply does not. so don’t ask. but also, he’ll disable your garage. he’ll put bleach in your engine. he’ll funnel your muffler into your AC if he felt justified in it. and you don’t know; nobody knows how he’s accomplishing it. and he won’t tell.

medic: medic, like pyro, takes his aggression out on the battlefield. except the doctor is worse because he’s just in general one to express his anger explosively. like you can’t miss the way his face will contort at you when you’ve pissed him off. petty things will earn a sorry soul the privilege to be a free fill of the doctor’s quota. he’ll go out of his way to find someone on a map so he can hack them to pieces. but when he’s just… angry, just wakes up angry; angry at himself because he knows if he wanted to he could change; he could have changed, he just didn’t want to, still doesn’t want to. some people call that regret. but he just gets mad. he pockets pyro those days. he pockets pyro when pyro is angry too. it’s always been a good time for him. he’ll feed into their delusions; yelling in their ear “don’t they look soft? don’t they look like they could stand some force?” and pyro gets so excited for it. they will rack up body after body after body, and normally they both would laugh. they would cackle. they would taunt their corpses. but pyro is the only one laughing. medic stands there and watches. and they go to the next one. and the next one. and the next one. and medic doesn’t laugh. but he’ll assure pyro he’s having fun. he’s having the time of his life.

sniper: sniper doesn’t really get mad. he gets annoyed, he gets irritated, and he talks mad shit about whoever he’s annoyed or irritated with; but he doesn’t ever get mad. because when he does he’s ready to fight and he does not care who is in the way. there’s no other way of putting it, he’ll beat the brakes off you and lord help whoever’s trying to hold him back because they will not be treated kindly either. so he has worked very hard to not make anger an immediate emotion.

spy: spy also does not get mad, because any situation he could possibly get mad at was a situation he didn’t predict and account for. and that’s on nobody else but him. spy does not normally get above extreme irritation before it becomes divinely gifted vitriolic annoyance. which he voices. loudly. to anyone that will listen. it is his sermon; you are a son of a bitch and should never be trusted again. and he spreads rumors like a motherfucker. and everyone spreads them?? it genuinely makes no sense when his teammates know this man is a liar. these men are just messy, because there’s really no way they could actually believe that scout’s hair was a well done toupee. THEY LIVE WITH SCOUT. THEY LIVE WITH SPY. THEY SEE WHAT THESE MEN DO EVERYDAY. they’re just messy and love gossip because there’s nobody else to talk to except for their scheduled monthly off day, which they normally get called in for anyway!

[cozzzynook]

Angsty Anon back with part 3. Ft: Starscream's POV

A deadly still chill filled the dark purple halls of the Nemesis as the SIC slowly walked down its halls. Dread filled the seeker's spark the closer he got to the office, he knew what this was about and he hated it with every glimmer of his spark. Taking a deep vent Starscream settled his nerves as he straightened his back as he came to a stop outside the office door and with one servo he knocked on the door.

"Come in" The voice on the other side rumbled.

Starscream then entered the office, his wings flicked as he slowly walked up to the desk before pausing just in front of it. "You wanted to see me Lord Megatron?"

Megatron slowly raised his gaze from the data pad he was currently reading through. The tank's optics narrowed sharply as he cleared his intake while his field flicked with waves of disappointment. "Yes I did Starscream. As for the reason I'm sure you are very aware?"

The seeker's wings fluttered nervously as he lowered his gaze slightly. "Ah...that. I assure you that was a complete accident! Skywarp was messing around with his outlier ability again then he-"

"Not that!" Megatron growled as his plating flared slightly while his red optics burned with anger. "I'm talking about them, Starscream...not your Trine Mates" The large grey mech had finally stood up to his full height and slowly began to slowly circle the seeker like a hungry Sharkacon. "But I'd must admit...its been months since you promised me you'll get a-hold of the sparkling, yet no results. Perhaps I should revoke my end of our little deal, hm?"

Starscream bit his glossa as he felt his spark burn with both anger and worry. He then flared out both his wings and plating as he narrowed his optics as he let out a low growl rumble in his intake. "You promised you wouldn't bring any harm to him! You can't revoke that!"

Megatron smirked as a cruel chuckle escaped him as he loomed over the seeker, his shadow casting a deadly warning most feared. "I did promise, but that was if you kept your end of our deal and I don't see your sparkling among our ranks Starscream" The grey tank took another step closer until he could faintly feel the seeker's field twist and turn with both fear and anger. "So what shall it be? Either you bring your sparkling here and I keep my word or...you'll never see that yellow scout again, do you understand?"

Starscream balled his servos into fists as anger slowly prickled and burned itself into his frame. He hated this! He hated everything about this! The seeker wanted to turn back time and slap himself in the face for getting himself into this mess in the first place. "Fine...I'll head into the Autobot base tonight. I'll see what I can do..." He then lowered his helm in order to avoid seeing those optics staring at him.

"A wise choice Starscream" The tank rumbled as he finally stopped circling the seeker like prey. "I'll have Soundwave assist you with the security cameras. Oh and don't fail this time, my patience is wearing thin these days..."

"Understood my Lord" The seeker grumbled as he slowly turned and headed for the door. He quickly looked over his shoulder one last time to make sure Megatron wasn't watching his every move before he finally slipped back into the hall. Once he was far enough away from the office Starscream finally let his bottled rage finally escape, letting out a frustrated snarl he punched his servo into the smooth purple wall. He felt some satisfaction watching the cracks form on the wall but it did little to drown out the dread and regret in his spark.

"Oh forgive me little Bee...I put you into this mess. I put you both into this mess" Starscream placed his helm into his servos as he slowly sank onto the floor with his back against the cracked wall. His wings drooped low as another wave of guilt washed over him. "I'm going to get you both out of this, somehow...I'm sorry" At lest for now he prayed tonight that this mission of his would go horribly wrong. At least then both his former conjunx and sparkling will be safe.

Yoooooooo 👏🏽 this is so good!!

[sketchnskribbles]

A03 | Rectifying Fallacies

The rhythmic clacking of keys echoed through the main room of the hidden mesa base. The noise was level. Controllable. Soothing. A familiar presence. One of the few things that this organic planet had in common with his wonderful homeworld.

It brought a sense of ease that lulled him into the calm of a mindless task. A quiet chore that brought a peace that he could hardly find at any other point within this senseless war. 

A silent alarm popped up in the bottom right corner of his screen and he gritted his denta at the reminder that the children were nearly done with their last day of school before summer break. Because that was just what they needed. Sparklings underpede. 

He shuttered his optics, stretched his digits, and continued his current job. He only had a few short earth hours before the next two months. Which would be filled with youngling fun and fancy free. An absolute boon to the war effort, he was sure. Note the sarcasm. 

He pushed away the souring thoughts. They wouldn't serve anything other than ruin his mood more than it already was. 

He'd gotten back into his groove when a Deception proximity alarm screamed through the mesa. 

A window concerning the potential danger popped up in front of his work and he nearly threw one of his tools in a fit of rage. He didn't, as he was a fully grown cybertronian and he needed those tools.

He maximized the window and narrowed his optics at the information. The signal was unknown. Meaning that it wasn't of any decepticon that they'd been in contact with since they'd moved into this mesa. Magnificent. He wished yet again that they had access to Teletraan I. But Primus-only-knew where the Ark was in this blasted universe.

The bot sighed and notified his team of the disturbance. He got four acknowledgements and ETAs. The heavy pedefalls of his oldest and closest friend coming near brought down some of his frustrated anger. He breathed in a deep breath and closed out of all his open programs. Leaving only the map showing the signal.

Moving away from his monitors, he turned around to greet his Prime. "Optimus."

"Ratchet." The deep baritone welcomed back. The Prime settled his hand on his shoulder plating and giving it a comforting squeeze, as he walked past. He peered at the screens to oversee the tripped alarm and hummed in consideration. That familiar gleam of the infamous strategist brightened up his gaze. "It is of unknown origin."

"Indeed. A new menace to grapple with." The older bot rolled his eyes.

"Or… perhaps a weary soul in need of better allies?" The Prime retorted back with his usual bout of hope.

"As if any Con would understand the meaning of the word." The medic huffed. "You expect too much out of thieves, societal rejects, and ex-convicts."

For a moment, the taller bot looked surprised. Then pained. Ratchet felt a lurch at his spark when he actually took the time to analyze his words. 

He blinked and pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor. There he went, shoving his pede into his derma. Again. "I… I'm sorry Optimus. That came out wrong."

"But full of truth." His leader gently chided. That look of disappointment never faltered. Ratchet sighed and looked away.

"I am sorry. You know of my past and how I was raised… but that is no excuse." Ratchet felt the familiar weight of his friend's servo land back on his shoulder. A comforting weight. Forgiving. The old bot looked back over to the younger mech. They smiled.

Optimus looked back up to the signal and then teasingly back down to the medic. "What do you say we scout out the signal together? It's rather close to being time for our charges to be picked up by their guardians."

"I'd say we're asking for trouble."

"Hmm, that doesn't sound like a no to me." Optimus had already inserted the coordinates into the ground bridge, powering it up. 

Ratchet felt the tell tale of a ping reverberate through him. One that he was sure was felt by the rest of the team. It notified the rest of their orders from the Prime, to retrieve their humans and to join them at base on standby at the soonest opportunity.

There were more pings that flew in soon after. Full of complaints and acknowledgments. They were happily ignored as the two walked through the gate. 

It led into a road through a forest of trees. 

From the position specified on their internal maps, they were about a couple hours away from the heavily populated city of Los Angeles.

It was honestly not too far away from their own home base in Nevada. Less than a day, even. Which was much too close for comfort in Ratchet's opinion. 

He followed Optimus through the trees. Their optics to the skies as they scanned for the source of the signature. It didn't take very long to find the jet. 

They heard the engine long before they caught sight of it. A worryingly familiar palette of purple and black made it ever obvious just who it was, despite the unfamiliar altmode.

" Skywarp." Ratchet growled, his optics narrowing at the jet above. 

He slipped a servo into his subspace and brought out a tiny gadget given to him by Wheeljack. The wrecker had created it on a whim and given it to the medic proclaiming that it needed to be "field-tested" by the team. 

He hadn't yet brought it up with Optimus. A fact that was backed up when the Prime looked down at the medic's arm cannon in confusion while Ratchet inserted the device within a small port that seamlessly opened up.

"...What is that, old friend?" Optimus looked back up to meet Ratchet's optics, wariness pooling in his own. The medic didn't hold the same concerns.

"Jackie said he needed this field-tested. So here it is!" His answer didn't seem to be to his leader's satisfaction.

"Ratchet… let's not be too hasty." A servo found its way over top of his weapon. With enough pressure to imply that he needed to put it down, rather than forcing him to do so. The medic rolled his optics.

"If all goes well, it'll merely incapacitate him. Not kill him. Wheeljack knows of how you operate and wouldn't dare to go outside of those bounds." Ratchet looked over to his old friend, the corners of his lips curling downward the slightest bit. "For all my misgivings with him, I know he respects you too much to do something like that."

With that said, the old medic took aim. An optic closed as he aligned the sights with the plane overhead. He took the shot.

The old bot turned around to smile with pride at his leader, as the plane stalled in the distance. Blue arches of electricity danced along Skywarp’s frame as he was forced down to the ground by gravity.

“I'm quite surprised you actually agreed to test it, old friend.” Optimus sighed and shook his head when the ground shook and a few of the trees ahead cracked and fell. 

“Oh, no. I've run test after test on my terminal on this thing. Also checked the power output and many other things.” Ratchet nullified with a shrug. “I kind of liked the idea of temporarily incapacitating a foe. Just too bad that some of the materials to obtain it are either expensive or hard to obtain.”

“Is that so?” Optimus began his trek forward toward the decepticon. His medic, right on his heels.

A03 | Rectifying Fallacies

[tfp-stubborn-spark-au]

Chapter 8: punishing

Starscream has an epiphany, and sets his mind on something.

[First] [Previous] [Next]

He trudged through the dark and steely quarters of the nemesis, ignoring the stationary vehicons as his pedes slowly dragged him towards his masters' quarters.

His processor took him back to lacon's warfaring district, where him and his trine were given a sensitive objective.

His...trine...?

Something felt off, a sense of longing mixed with deja-vu... he could feel it in his spark that something, something, had to be wrong.

He began to overwhelm himself again, as he often did when he got into his own processor. Against his better judgement, he took himself back to lacon.

This time, he was tasked with tracking autobot movements; a reconnaissance operation, and it was never supposed to erupt into a full-scale conflict...

The keywords are "never supposed."

Skywarp, in all their ingenuity, forgot to block out their signal. It took mere moments for them to be found.

And before he could get a handle on the situation, it was all over... the autobot scouts lie deactivated among the asphalt and rubble, but not before calling in a report of decepticon activity in lacon... which just lessened their chances of ever re gaining access to the councils' jewel.

All this led him to this moment, standing outside his masters' door, steeling himself to deliver the news to Megatron.

As he approached the door, it opened on its own.

"Enter."

He slowly waddled in on his tip-pedes as though any small sound would set his master off.

"I trust you bring good news of our latest scouting arrangement." Megatron drew out, not bothering to turn and face his SIC.

Starscream gulped.

"U-uhm... not-not exactly master..." the seeker choked out.

He felt megtrons EM field rise in rage, although the mannerisms gave nothing away, starscream skidded back nonetheless.

"It was going well at first!" He began.

"We'd made it into lacon, and the mission was going smoothly. B-but when we got there, s-" he stopped short, reluctant to pin the Blame on skywarp.

"-omeone must have forgotten to mask their signal!"

"Dearest starscream..." he turned to face the seeker, optics dead tired but now looking to unload all their anger on the seeker currently trapped in their sights.

The seeker yelped and jumped back as Megatron took a step towards him.

Then another.

And another.

He grabbed starscreams helm and jerked it to the side, so that megatrons threats could sail smoothly down starscreams audials and (hopefully) into his processor.

"Do you know... just how difficult it was to get you three in lacon..." he hissed in starscreams ear.

The seekers wings angled down more as megatrons EM field raged at the news.

"I do master! I do, I swear it!" Starscream stammered out.

"It was going well, you see! It was a simple miscalculation! A simple mistake!" He wailed out but was interrupted by a strike to his faceplate that made his audials ring.

"You are many things starscream, nimble yet clumsy, proud yet pathetic..." he trailed off as his field burned even brighter.

He lunged forwards and grabbed starscream by his neck.

"One thing I will not allow you to become, is a burden to my cause... strength gets results and I have no use for weaklings, this isn't a charity for sparklings!" His masters words rumbled through his processor.

A burden... he couldn't be a burden!

"So don't you dare blame your failure onto your subordinates! That is not the decepticon way!"

His optics widened, he remembered this. He knee what he'd say next and he knew that what proceeded it wasn't pretty.

"...you are not qualified to speak of the decepticon way!" The words tore themselves out of his intake before he could even slam a servo over it.

Megatrons optics narrowed and his field began to steady itself.

But that didn't mean the anger wasn't present.

Megatron drew and breath that sounded more akin to a snarl.

"I will not stand for this insolence."

And then the beating began, worse than he'd ever taken in vorns upon vorns.

"You lecture me?!" He landed another heavy hit on starscream's frame, sending him careering on his side.

"You, who's traitorous ambition knows no bounds!" He kicked the seeker hard on his chasis, sending him skidding to the wall with a resounding clang.

"You, who've undermined this cause and my work since the moment I took you in!" He lifted him by his neck, landing a solid hit to starscreams helm, then another.

"You, who back-stabs your glorious leader at every given chance.... but know this, my dear Second..."

His servo transformed into his fusion blaster, Megatron smiled cruelly and pressed it against starscreams chasis.

"Any and all attempts to flee your responsibility to me, will only land you right back in this same position... you can't escape from me, starscream." Megatron cooed as starscream bit back his namesake for as long as he could, but soon failed.

His vocalizer sent out waves of static due to the sheer volume of the screams that ripped themselves out from his spark.

He held the hot canon there as he felt metal plating melt and cables merge into one another.

He held it there for what felt like forever, too long, far too long!

Finally, the decepticon leader relented, dropping starscream's delicate frame as though it were an inconvenience.

His frame clammored to the floor clumsily while the heat seared him up his frame, unrelenting.

Starscream lie on the floor, panting and groaning from pain.

"You ought to thank me for not snuffing your miserable spark Here and now... lacons' defenses will now be doubled!"

He looked up to his master, everything spun and he could only make out the first half of thay sentence.

"Th-thank-"

"You're a decepticon, are you not?! Stand!" Megatron bellowed, startling the seeker twice more.

Starscream obeyed, as he'd always done. Climbing up to shaky, unsteady pedes. How many times had he done this before, again?

"Th-thank you mast...master for- ghhg!" He keeled over as more agony soared through his frame.

"Hmm? I can't quite hear you..." the leader said in a low, threatening tone.

"Thank you for sp-sparing me master... i am... evermore in your debt!" He croaked out as quickly as he could before the burning and throbbing could interfere with his speech.

Megatron smiled, starscream felt his spark drop.

"Good... and as compensation, I want you to take a battalion to lacons west gate... and smash through."

Starscreams eyes widened.

"Wha- but master its.... very heavily guarded... you just said so yourself! It's suicide!"

The leader turned sharply and sped over to starscream, who froze and felt abject terror well up in his spark.

Megatron roughly grabbed one of starscreams wings, earning a wince from the seeker.

"As far as I'm concerned, this disaster is one of your making. If we can't get into lacon your way, we'll do it my way."

The seeker gulped again.

"May I at least visit... the med bay?"

He could really use Knockouts company right now. Anything was better than his current company.

The 'con leader chuckled.

"Soundwave has already assembled the battalion you will be leading... better to lead on the field and leave true leadership to me." He smiled darkly at starscream from over his shoulder.

Starscream opened his intake but was silenced by the ever-present threat of megatron's short fuse, so he took his leave.

"Starscream?"

"Master?"

"...I won't tolerate another failure." His master said, nonchalantly.

He hated the implication behind that tone Megatron seemed to use with him so much, as though snuffing starscreams spark were only an inconvenience, rather than having his entire faction crippled by the loss.

Maybe that's how it truly was.

"...I understand, master."

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

The seeker bolted upright, moss stuck to pieces of his frame that he was far too panicked to notice.

He stayed in that position, scanning his surroundings again, and again, and again.

The air in the room was heavy with tension, and yet supposedly starscream was the only one there...

It terrified him even more.

The darkness of his room seemed to scream at him. It pinned him in place, did some sort of psyop that prevented his frame from cooperating with him. There was no other explanation.

He carefully swung one pede over the berth, then another, before deciding it was safe enough go stand.

It didn't shake the feeling of unease he had.

He knew by the tension in his spark that he was far too alert (anxious, but he'd never say that) to go back into recharge. He grumbled, knowing he hadn't gotten a full recharge since... he couldn't even remember.

He sighed and inched towards his monitor, squinting as the unexpected brightness slammed into his optics.

He scrolled through his preferred (favorite) forum, fightgeekz.net.

He scrolled down the [great fights] tab, looking for anything that may enamor him in his time of need.

After a bit of scrolling, he came across an older fight. Consisting of "sugar ray leonard" and another human known as "Wilfred Benitez."

Soon enough, he found himself thankful that he watched, as this was basically an entire textbook chapter on defense and feints.

He watched as the lightning-fast leonard swung at air again and again. It almost seemed as though Benitez already knew what punch Ray would throw next.

But he didn't just use movement as his defense, although it was his most glamorous, most captivating tool. He also mixes in simple blocks as well.

But what took starscream by surprise was just how much of a system everything was with Wilfred.

"Every little move it makes is an effort to draw out a certain attack..."

Every small movement of his servos, peded, shoulders, even the way his helm would move served to draw out attacks with the sole purpose of countering. It was why he seemed to know what attack his opponent would throw.

It's because he presented the perfect opening for a certain punch with a counter already in mind.

"It seems these... 'counters" cause much more damage than simply landing on a stationary target. Makes sense given that the weight of both is moving into the hit." He recorded to his datapad.

He watched Ray, noting that all of his attacks seemed to start at his pedes. He never did anything without first stepping, his pede-work was so smooth he could sometimes use it instead of a jab to set up more attacks.

He saw the speed of leonard and how much more deadly it seemed compared to the larger fleshlings from his last binge.

"Power punishes, but speed kills..." he recited the adage unconsciously.

The fight was dead even, and as the rounds wore on he saw what Wilfred was doing.

He was letting Ray tire himself out, or letting him "punch himself out"

But he wasn't just sitting there taking damage, even with his back against the ropes he ducked, slipped, blocked and parried almost every punch his quick adversary threw.

And then, it was as though a roadblock was cleared in his processor.

"Defense isn't just weathering the storm..."

In other words, he didn't have to take punishment, not without giving it back on the counter.

And even though leonard would rally to stop Benitez in the 13th round, it still left starscream with much to think about.

Before he could stop himself, he began to watch "El radár" more often, studying his every move.

But he soon realized that he could only learn so much by just watching, he needed to practice.

He assumed his usual posture, taking a southpaw stance.

As embarrassing as it felt, the humans had stressed the importance of practicing in this manner.

Not everyone had a training partner, anyway.

He soon realized how much his struts compromised his balance, especially on uneven surfaces.

After the 5th time tripping and falling on a pivot, he had enough.

He hissed and went towards his supply room, he found and only pulse rifle and tore the lower receiver out of it, exposing the solid block of steel in the assembly.

He measured out the slope from his strut ti his pede-tip, wrote it down, scratched markings on the block, and began cutting.

As soon as the sloped block fell, he sat down to test is it filled in the space properly or not.

Thankfully (and expectedly) it worked, and he bit his glossa while he welded it to the bottom of his pede, then repeated it for his other one.

He stood for a second. He wasn't used to being able to plant his weight on more than 2 points of his pedes. Now, he had an entire surface area to provide stability.

He practiced with simple walking, then small hops, jogging, then running before he decided he was comfortable enough with his equilibrium.

He practiced everything he saw, the constant feinting with the lead hand, the small movements and even envisioned the punch coming at him so he could counter.

Truth be told, he was enjoying himself. Sure, it wasn't the same as the thrill of a real battle, but it was a more controlled environment. One where he didn't have to focus on survival about all else.

One where he could hone himself as much as he needed.

After a few hours that passed in moments, stopped, satisfied with the practice he's put in.

Now he wanted to go practice punching technique.

He hopped side-to-side on his pedes before heading outside, where his bag was.

He wrapped some excess foliage around his servos this time for a bit of cushioning.

He didn't go all-out straight away, not like last Time. He slowed everything down, just so he could get it right.

He found that when he threw a hook, if he aligned his servo with his elbow joint it caused the force to travel more efficiently up his arm, lessening pain he took.

After some more hours, he sped it up slightly, with sugar ray neonard and evander holyfield on his processor.

As he tried the two tactics he realized how much different they were.

Whereas holyfield could use each punch to set up the next, Leonard's combinations were pre-thought just moments before throwing it. Each hit was calculated and carefully measured to take advantage of multiple openings in a rapid sequence.

He didn't exactly have a point of reference for anatomy and the bag was too misshapen to mimic cybertonian anatomy, so he just alternated low punches with high ones.

He stopped again, he took a deep vent as exhaustion began to get to him. He'd been training non stop for almost the entire day and he hadn't even noticed.

"Well... that was..." he said to himself.

"Im... im..." he began.

His vents became normal again, and he destroyed strength rapidly return to his frame, as though he'd just guzzled down a dozen cubes of energon!

Until it expelled itself from his intake.

He fell to his knees as he violently retched out a jet black substance that upon a tad closer inspection (not that he cared to look, he'd rather not hurl again thank you very much!) Seemed to be almost metallic in nature, even polarized in a small form.

He looked down at his servos. Even with the violent motion, he still had plenty of strength left now. It just made no sense.

He took a mental note to test that out, along with a few other things.

Things...things!

His things, on the nemesis!

A vent hitched in his throat at the mention of his old warship.

They might still be there!

He wasn't much interested in his material things. His room was as plain as plain got since whenever he tried to liven it up, he only got chastised.

So he didn't really bother with keepsakes or trophies, except for one thing.

His old datapad; it was all he had of his old life before the war. Before the pain. Before the death.

It had faces he could hardly remember, names he dare not speak aloud out of shame and guilt. But leaving it only disrespected their memory more than his continued existence did.

The only issue, though, was that his old room was on the nemesis, and Megatron was also on the nemesis.

And also all the other decepticons but he wasn't too worried about that right now.

What he was worried about, was getting his data pad back. It was the only thing he was going there for, and it was the only things that held any value to him

He shut his optics and envisioned his old quarters. It was a room he knew better than his own spark.

There one small piece of the floorboards, a small, unnoticeable rusty part that easily gave way when the seeker gave it a tug.

"He thinks he can take everything from me, but he'll never take you away!"

His own voice echoed, a promise made and hopefully the only one he'd be able to keep.

The nemesis wouldn't be too hard to track down, even with soundwaves' tampering it still had a very distinct frequency if you knew what to look for.

It was getting there without attracting attention that would be his problem.

He dug through his processor, using his quarters as a reference point to feel out the ships layout.

As his minds eye went around each corner, he felt himself being refamiliarized.

"That's the med bay... energon storage, t-cog storage, spare parts, Breakdowns quarters...." he went over with himself.

He figured if he crawled through one of the exhaust vents, it'd be his escape. He wasn't going in without an escape plan.

Another issue, he figured, would be avoiding megatrons' lackies.

And that included breakdown and knockout.

"Dumb and dumber..."

He went over a few more details, planning for every little thing that could go wrong. He couldn't risk anything, both sides seemed to think he was either dead or MIA so that gave him an advantage.

"Yes.... okay...." he tapped his chin.

But soon, a pit of anxiety opened. It'd only be a matter of time until they ransacked his room, if they hadn't already.

He'd be lucky if they didn't find it then.

He shook his helm.

"Slag it all, I have to do something! I'm running out of time!" He scolded himself.

He changed into his alt mode after stepping outside, beginning his search for his old vessel.

But in deep space, an old escape pod ventures towards earth, the autobot it housed still In stasis.

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

[5eraphim]

HGHHBK I love your work! Everything is so well written and just amazing.

Can I request yandere Scout eating out captive reader as a form of punishment because they tried to escape the night before?

This wound up being a bit longer than i thought it would, but i feel like that happens every time ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ , I liked your premise a lot anon, I hope this works for ya! I wanted to write this to make up for how much I've bullied him, like in (this post lol) and actually this one too, yes this is a dark!scout story, but canon scout is a sweet boy who is kinda pig-headed, but genuinely means well and i like to think of him as a frat boy wrapped around a boyscout's heart, and if he's your fave, i support you <3.

Character: The Scout 🐇 (Team Fortress 2)

Rating: X (MINORS DNI, YOU KNOW THIS ISN'T FOR YOU)

Content Warnings: afab reader, dubcon, forced intimacy, oral (female receiving, scout is kinda weird about feet for a moment i guess?, biting, kidnapping, yandere, toxic relationship

Word Count: 3.4k

MASTER LIST

TIP JAR

(Song Inspo- Time is Running out, Muse)

"Wrath is the desire to repay what you have suffered." — Kaveh Akbar, from “Pilgrim Bell.”

Cornered, the walls were closing in, and you were stuck with nowhere left to go. Yet another escape attempt ending in failure, as you were practically dragged back to Scout's bedroom, the door slammed shut behind the two of you as you were pushed onto the shared bed, knowing well enough to stay put when he walked back to lock the door. You heard him speak in an uncharacteristically low voice. "Ya oughta know you'd need to be quicker than that to ditch me."

He was pissed, "No one is faster than me- Why did you even try!?" He glared at you, his bright blue eyes narrowed, teeth bared in aggression, his neck tense and left knuckles white where he gripped his bat. It wasn't uncommon for you to try and escape, but every time you tried, you swore you were caught and brought back faster than the last time. Not for lack of trying, but you were too weary to honestly try and fight back anymore; you learned quickly Scout was not afraid to do whatever it took to keep you in line, as well as often being blinded by his own rage and hurt you more than he intended in moments of high intensity. The situation was hopeless, but your resilience wasn't gone yet.

"Shut up already! I wasn't even trying to escape! God forbid I get a little fresh air-"

"You are so full of shit." He spat on the floor, leaning his bat against the bed as a warning as he stood over the side of the bed, arms crossed, looking down at you. "I know you were tryna run. Tell me why."

You shot back, "Take a wild guess-"

"No, go on; tell me why you wanna leave so bad since you think you know so much!" You made the dire mistake of underestimating his anger before, and you knew him well enough to know he wasn't in the mood to show you mercy. Scout's face was flushed red with rage and exhaustion. Being so naturally pale, he could never do much to hide his own anger. You wanted to fight back, to take out your frustrations on him, but while his metal bat was still within arm's length, you knew better. So you decided the wisest course of action now was to try and de-escalate things, to try and calm him down, you couldn't pull off your escape, but you prayed there was still some way you could make it through the night unharmed.

"Scout, please. I wasn't running away; you know I wouldn't do that to you." You sat up a little in bed, slowly inching away from his body, looming over the bed's side to sit with your back against the pillows, knees bent towards your chest, unbothered by the dirt you likely tracked onto the bed with your shoes, it's not like Scout would care either. But he didn't look convinced, and you sighed, "Scout, can't we just talk this over? I know you're confused and all, but just hear me out."

He didn't answer, gritting his teeth, crawling into bed over you suspiciously quiet. Thankfully, he was not yelling, but his fury was still clear as day on his face. At first, you tried to scoot over to the side and give him space to sit next to you, but he was quicker, keeping you pinned as he crawled over you. "Ya know, I'm getting real sick of you and your pissy little attitude. So I think, if you know what's good for ya- You're gonna lay down right here and stay nice and quiet for me."

You opened your mouth to say something, but the way he stared you down, almost challenging you to even try and keep resisting, killed the words before they could leave your mouth. For a second, the two of you appeared locked in place like that, making you feel like a deer caught in the headlights. While you knew it was dangerous to try and run away while he was on a mission, it wasn't until you were here and directly under Scout's mercy that you entirely realized how dangerous the situation was. While you and the rest of the team loved to tease Scout about his babyface and un-intimidating disposition when he wanted to be, Scout could be scary as any other. "So what's it gonna be, princess? Are you ready to say you're sorry?"

Meekly you nodded; the sound of your heart hammering in your chest made his threat all the more intimidating, forcing you to submit before things got even worse for you. It was hard to say anything now that your mouth had gone dry, nor could you think of what to say. But you managed a " Yes, Scout, " using all your strength to stay still and hide your fear the best you could. Earlier in the relationship, you remember crying at times like this, how terrified you were to face Scout's inner anger. Now you could hold in your tears, but the fear was as intense as ever.

"That's my good girl." You could practically feel your skin crawling every time he spoke using one of his cruel little pet names, his little way of trying to keep you feeling small and beaten down, to remind you how you were nothing compared to the likes of him. The pillows slightly propped up your upper body, your lower half lying flat against the mattress. Scout began to tug at your cotton t-shirt, you fumbled awkwardly, and he helped him get the garment off before he went to work on your bra, which you reluctantly shed to allow it to join your poor top abandoned on the floor below. You felt sick to your stomach, feeling him undressing you so effortlessly while you were forced to lay back and take it. You felt too embarrassed being bare-chested in front of Scout to look him in the eye, much less in such a compromising position, forcing you to stare pathetically off to the side, face hot with shame.

"Don't gimme that look; ya brought this on yourself. Remember that."

You cringed in dual disgust and apprehension when you felt his thin lips connecting with the bare sensitive flesh below your navel. The contact was surprisingly gentle coming from him, but this did nothing to calm your rising anxieties, he wasn't messing around this time, and you didn't want to imagine how far he would take this. A shiver ran down your spine when you felt his tongue testingly swipe over your lower belly; the tiny wet trail left behind made you groan in the back of your throat as you wriggled in discomfort.

For a moment, he entertained himself by playing with the sensitive skin of your stomach, feeling goosebumps prickle as your clammy palms fisted at the bedsheets, your legs trying to remain still, despite twitching restlessly as he continued to tease. Then, Scout wrapped his arms around your naked torso, inhaling deeply and feeling your softness with his own face as he licked and kissed his lower and lower.

"Now let's getcha outta these."

As usual, he reacted without waiting for your response. Scout unwrapped his arms from under you, using them to help push himself all the way back to sitting on his knees over you, scooching back so he was leaning over your ankles. You didn't protest when you felt him pull off your shoes, a bit comforted by the feeling of the cool air through your socks. He absentmindedly dropped the shoes off the bed. You turned your gaze to the ceiling, nervously gripping the blanket and sheets with your clammy hands, waiting for him to strip you of the rest of your clothing with a likewise disregard. Scout caught you off guard by using two fingers to tickle the bottom of your feet, still covered by socks.

With an ugly choked-laughing sound, you glared back at Scout's all too-happy face. He pinched your little toe between his thumb and index finger, "Ticklish?"

He continued to use his fingers to trace up and down around the underside of your soles, the ticklish sensation still unpleasant but nowhere near as powerful now that you were no longer caught by surprise. In any other context, with any other person, the interaction might've been cute, but not like this. Your feet already felt hot and raw from trying to run away from the maniac, and the way he continued to tease the sensitive area felt beyond gross. You drew your feet away slightly, pressing the bottom of your feet to the mattress to prevent him from trying to touch you again. "You are so fucking weird." Scout merely shrugged, still smiling maliciously as he pulled down your socks. He dropped back down to his elbows to get his face nice and close to your legs, rubbing the side of his face over your legs. His soft cheek brushing against the top of your lower high gave you butterflies, a feeling of equal excitement and disturbance. What bothered you more was remembering that his actions were ones of lust and love as he looked at you with wide blue eyes, his smile much softer now. You wondered if maybe he wasn't trying to embarrass you earlier but genuinely trying to get you to laugh. Scout loved you with his entire heart, despite your best efforts.

For a few moments, he took great efforts to make himself as comfortable as possible, no doubt thinking in his mind his actions were as soothing to you, which, while you were glad he wasn't enraged enough by your betrayal to really hurt you, was still cold comfort. You swallowed hard, feeling him tracing his hands up the sides of your thighs to rub gentle little circles, inching closer and closer to the edge of your cut-off shorts. 

You felt your temperature climbing as he trailed kisses to the spot just above your knee up the length of your leg, again with a kind of romantic gentleness you'd never seen from him before. It disturbed you, and you hated how uncertain this made you feel he was up to something sneaky or seconds away from biting into your leg as hard as he could. Scout sensed you were staring at him as his eyes flicked up to meet yours, his head falling to the side to rest his cheek on your thigh. 

"Babe, ya know I'm crazy for you, don't ya? I'd do anything for you, so why'd ya try and run away like that?"

His puppy eyes were almost strong enough to make you regret what you'd done, but you knew the cruel man behind that baby's face too well to be fooled. He wanted to get a reaction out of you, but you forced yourself to remain as rigid as possible. Finally, he gave you a sweet, crooked smile as he continued, "I could spend all night like this. I just wanna hold ya, but since ya wanna get me heated so bad, I oughtta return the favor."

It was like he was trying to get you to fold, to offer to hold him like this for the night and save yourself from the humiliation of whatever perversions he had on his mind, but you had a feeling agreeing to cuddle would only lead to the same outcome. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. When you didn't respond, he turned his attention to your shorts, unbuttoning them and pulling them past your ankles as you shifted awkwardly to help him. Now you were almost entirely bare before him, with just one last scrap of fabric left to protect your modesty. Not like that mattered to him; without waiting another moment, he dove his head straight between your legs.

"H-hey! Easy now-"

"Relax, relax, I'm not gonna hurt ya, baby, just givin' ya another reason to stick around." He didn't even bother fully dressing you down, merely pushing the fabric to the side with his skinny fingers as he finally tasted you. His tongue ran over the sensitive area, not deep enough to enter you, but enough to make your eyes flutter shut, your head rolled back a bit, and a moan, halfway between despair and arousal, filled the room as he continued to drink in all you had to offer. Even muted between your thighs, you could hear him moaning too and didn't doubt he was either dry-humping the mattress or using his free hand to palm himself while still between your legs. He liked to start out slow like this, to try and savor the "first taste," but you knew he wouldn't last too long like this. Especially not after he was already pissed.

His fingers moved from between your legs to using both hands to grip the waistband of your underwear, harshly pulling suddenly, quickly snapping the elastic, and doing the same to the other side just as quickly, Scout managed to easily remove the rest of the fabric, giving him full access to your body. He was done with trying to go slow and gentle, using both hands on the inside of your thighs to push them further apart, causing your pussy to spread wide open for him. You squirmed a little in sudden discomfort; feeling his hot breath fanning directly over your exposed sex felt pleasurable but not enough to make you forget your guilt. "Scout, cmon- can't we just-"

"Nope." He wasn't about to turn back now, not after he finally had you exactly where he wanted you. Especially not seeing you already beginning to "soften up" under his touch. You hated how turned on you felt watching him act so rough and demanding over your body. He was an annoying, self-absorbed brute, and you hated the way your body continued to heat up as he kept you pinned down and wide open. 

He took another long lick, his tongue flicking over your clit, the feeling causing you to tense up instantly. You tried hard not to give into him here, to keep your hips from bucking against his mouth, but Scout knew you better than you wanted to admit. He used his fingers to massage your thighs before retreating his right hand to join his mouth at the entrance to your core. The feeling of his eyes against yours was enough to keep your eyes scrunched shut, not daring to actually look down and risk catching the sight of him watching your face intensely as Scout lapped against your pussy. He suckled away greedily, wanting to feel as much as he could of you with his mouth, using his nose to bump against your clit as he used his tongue to press a little deeper inside you. 

Scout pulled one of your thighs over his shoulder, forcing you to bend your knee and bring him closer to your wet opening. The longer this went on, the harder it was to keep still, and once you gave up on that, it wasn't long before you gave up on keeping quiet as well. And you gasped out loud when you felt his fingers prodding at your entrance. Scout moved so his mouth could kiss and suck away directly on your clit while his fingers began to work against your pussy. Thankfully you were more than wet enough to help his fingers get a feel for the sensitive tissue, which began to stretch to accommodate as he pressed them deeper inside you. The pleasure was building fast, and you felt your head lull back, breathing ragged, your body throbbing and wet around his mouth and fingers. Like always, he moved quickly and adeptly with his fingers, curling them and helping you open up more as they became coated in your slick. By now, you were becoming blinded by pleasure, your thighs squeezing against Scout's head, wanting him to make you come; the moment you felt his fingers curl upward inside you, all initial self-restraint was forgotten. 

You could practically feel your end coming closer and closer as you rolled your hips against his face. You were aware of Scout's moans and sounds of pleasure reverberating between your legs, but the two of you were practically seeing as one here, knowing you were just seconds away from climax. Sweat clung to your back, soaking the sheets under you, your body felt too hot, and you were practically begging Scout to "go harder, please- as hard as you can!" The spots where he held you down in his tight grip were beginning to ache and feel sore, but you were too close to care; your back arched off the bed while you finally felt your orgasm beginning to dawn. Scout could practically feel it too, your body so erotic, moving against his touch like an angel, this one moment of intimacy feeling hotter than anything the two of you had shared before now. Scout could feel how swollen your clit had become since he started, and he focused on using his tongue to wrap and twist against the sensitive bundle of nerves until he felt your thighs tense up, gripping him even tighter as you came. Scout didn't stop sucking away at your sex as you ground mindlessly against his face, riding out the climax.

The fatigue following orgasm hit you all at once; all the tension you felt in your joints and muscles gradually began to melt away as your heartbeat slowed. Thought the head fog of pleasure lingered as you felt your ragged breathing begin to regulate itself again. Even as Scout continued to lap up as much of your fluids between your legs as he could manage, inciting the occasional throb of after-pleasure. While your relationship with Scout was far from what you ever wanted, a part of you was thankful he was here to hold you during your comedown. To have a warm body wrapped around you to satisfy that primal part of your brain that longed for companionship, no matter who it came from, to be there for you after the pleasure ended. You kept your eyes shut, knowing if you were to open them, you'd be brought back to reality all too quickly. It would end the light, almost floaty feeling in your chest as you felt Scout gradually draw his head out from between your legs. He placed one last kiss over your right hipbone before laying his head down to rest his head on your lower belly, both arms wrapping around your torso to pull himself closer to you, unintentionally smearing the mess on his lips against your naked skin.

"You're my baby; you'll always be my baby. No matter how far you make me chase you- I'll never give up." Usually, after he made you come, he was so loud, so proud of himself, but he sounded completely different now. Scout sounded almost shy, so hushed but at the same time sincere. One of the few times he ever seemed to actually try and choose his words carefully before speaking. Almost like he was begging you.

"Scout-" But you were cut off.

"I know you still want to try and escape, but I'll never let you get away with it. I don't want to hurt ya; just- I mean, I'll do anything to protect ya from other guys, but if it means I gotta keep ya all locked up or knock some sense into ya when you're acting crazy. I'll do anything."

Despite yourself, you forced your eyes open slowly, trying to focus your fuzzy vision on the boy lying over you; it was a pitiful sight. Scout was violent, dangerous, and you hated him, but you couldn't help but feel pity for him. You didn't want to be here or be a part of this, but you couldn't help but wonder if Scout felt just as much a victim of his obsession as you were.

Scout didn't look up at you with puppy eyes or ask anything of you. Likely, he wouldn't want your pity, and you didn't want to divulge that sentiment anyhow, but still, with a moment of hesitation, your hands lightly rested on the top of his head. Using your fingers to stroke gently over his hair while you stared blankly up at the ceiling, praying sleep would find the two of you quickly.

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

3 and 8 for writing prompts. Eddie and the Catholic Reader for your series please!

note: this is an au within an au! meaning, this is likely not gonna be part of the main series, and just an au of the series! and, as per usual, reader & all characters are 18+! ❤️

—————-

The dreaded day had come, when The Hideout’s star groupie set her sights on Eddie.

Her name had been Teresa, but everyone called her Tipsy. y/n didn’t know why, exactly, but she could venture a guess. She was undeniably beautiful, too—pale skin like glass, gorgeous red hair, green eyes, a body that would fare well in a world full of rockstars, long legs, prominent cheekbones. y/n had heard about Tipsy from other bands that played The Hideout, the ones Eddie had been friends with. She hadn’t shown her face at a Corroded Coffin show before that night, and y/n wondered if it was because she deemed the members not to her tastes. But Eddie, now twenty-two and working on making it big with his band, would be ripe for her pickings. He had it all—good looks, tongue & nipple piercings, tattoos, long hair, a frontman persona, a sexy voice.

A talent scout was allegedly coming tonight to watch them play, and y/n was hoping for smooth sailing, a night to watch her fiancé play his heart out with his band and celebrate after. But what she was met with was the sight of Tipsy, standing at the front of the stage in y/n’s usual spot, having a chat with Jeff. Good, y/n thought. Jeff is single, and he has nothing to tie him down. Eddie, on the other hand, was very taken, and rage bubbled up inside of her at the very notion of the woman trying to flirt with him. She hated to say that she was feeling jealous, but that was exactly what she was beginning to feel.

Tipsy then set her sights on Gareth, who immediately shot down her advances. Next was the other friend, who seemed as into it as Jeff had, and then there was Eddie. He was still sound-checking his guitar and mic, getting everything ready so that the performance tonight would go off without a hitch. He wasn’t even paying attention to Tipsy, or anyone else; he was lost in his own world, in the prospect that tonight could change his life forever. His tongue was poking out as he dialed up his amp, then back down, trying to find the perfect volume. y/n sat at the bar and watched the interaction closely, and she could feel white-hot anger rising as she saw how Tipsy was looking at Eddie. She circled him as a shark did with prey, the lusty, hungry look on her face nearly sending y/n off that stool.

“Hello there, handsome,” she said to Eddie, biting her red-stained lower lip. “Looking good with that guitar.”

“Huh?” Eddie asked, turning to see who was speaking to him. “Oh, uh…thanks, I guess?”

“Looks like you know your way around an instrument,” Tipsy said, running her fingertips, which were topped with red Lee press-ons, over the neck of his guitar. “I’ll bet you know your way around a lot more, too, don’t you?”

“I suppose,” he said with a shrug, smiling softly at her. “Who are you, again?”

“Teresa,” she said, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Everyone calls me Tipsy, though; truthfully, I prefer the nickname, so don’t be afraid to call me that. Or anything else you want; I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

“Would you play the part of the girl who backed off?” Eddie asked. “I’m engaged—“

“Is she here?” Tipsy interrupted. “I don’t see any girls around here. She wouldn’t have to know.”

“Look, I’m sure you’re a nice girl,” Eddie said, and he froze when her fingers ran through his hair. “But she’s the love of my life. I would never flirt with, kiss, or fuck any other woman. Ever. Whether she was around or not.”

“Oh, come on,” Tipsy said. “Just one time. I’ve been told I give amazing blowjobs.”

“Congratulations,” Eddie said, turning his attention back to his guitar. y/n was watching the entire interaction from afar, full of pure, unbridled rage. “I’m sure my friend Jeff or my other friend would definitely be interested in that. They’re single; me, and also my drummer, are not. We each have a fiancé, so you’re going to have to excuse us for not wanting to fuck you.”

Tipsy’s fingers ran over Eddie’s chest, before caressing over his biceps. That’s all it took for y/n, who sprang into action immediately. She sat down the Coke she was drinking, and made her way to the stage. She ran up there, before grabbing Eddie’s arm and swinging him around to face her. His expression went from uncomfortable to joyous, and she smashed their lips together in a hard, passionate kiss. She mewled against his lips, her hands tangling in his hair as her tongue delved into his mouth. He groaned pleasurably, before drawing away with reluctance. He expected Tipsy to be gone, but she still stood there, watching it all with a raised brow and a look on her face that Eddie couldn’t identify.

“Who’s your new friend?” y/n asked, not even bothering to hide the venom in her tone. “Looks like she got lost on the way to the Motley Crue concert.”

“Oh, this is, uh….Tipsy, right?” Eddie asked. “Her real name is Teresa, but she likes being called Tipsy instead.”

“And who are you?” Tipsy asked, eyeing y/n up & down in jealousy. “He just told me he had a fiance.”

y/n laughed, holding up her left hand to show off her ring. “I AM the fiance, dumbass. Did he also tell you we have a baby on the way? I’m almost five months pregnant, so…”

Tipsy looked between she & Eddie, before biting the inside of her cheek. “Didn’t think that cheap was his look.”

“Hm, must be why he didn’t go for you, then,” y/n said smugly, her expression telling Tipsy that she was ready for a fight.

“I just know his dick is big,” Tipsy provoked, looking at Eddie as she said it. “Something to really fill a woman up, so fucking well.”

“Oh, it’s massive, actually,” y/n said, moving closer to the other woman. “Too bad you’ll never get to see it.”

“Who says I won’t?” Tipsy asked.

“Alright, enough,” Eddie said, standing between them. “It was lovely meeting you, Tipsy. But you really should go bother someone else now, before my fiancé decides she wants to fight.”

“Bring it on,” y/n said. “He isn’t some fucking toy you can play with, and he also isn’t some fucking piece of meat for you to eat when you feel like it. He’s my fiancé, the father of my baby, and you’re not going to treat him as anything other than a human being. Now, not so kindly, fuck right off.”

With one last distasteful look at y/n, Tipsy walked away. y/n still felt anger, and she looked at Eddie, who was also shaken by the entire ordeal. “Shit, y/n. I’m so sorry—“

“Were you flirting with her?” y/n asked.

“What?!”

“You heard me, Eddie. What was going on over here?”

“I wasn’t flirting with her! You know I would never do that.”

“She’s pretty, though.”

“She’s not pretty at all to me, and she also isn’t you. Stop being so jealous, baby.”

“I’m not jealous.”

Eddie sighed, pulling her to his chest in a hug. “Baby, you’ve got nothing to worry about, okay? Not from her, or any other woman on this planet. You’re the only one I want, and nothing & no one will ever change that.”

“Do you really mean that?” y/n asked.

“Of course I do,” Eddie said, laying a hand on her stomach before kneeling in front of her to kiss it. “You, and this little one growing inside of you, are my entire world. I would never do anything to endanger that. I’m going to marry you, y/n; you know I never wanted that before you, because of my parents and their shitty marriage. But you changed that for me; I would never, in a billion years, cheat on you in any way. Ever.”

“I love you so much, Eddie,” she said. “You always know just what to say to set me at ease.”

“I love you, too,” he said, standing up. “And today, just now, I learned how much you never want to lose me, either. Getting jealous like that—“

“I wasn’t jealous!”

“You were. It’s okay, but you have no reason to be.”

“Eddie, I was mad. Not jealous.”

“Whatever you say. Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Was I ever going to tell you what?”

Eddie smirked, drawing her close and giving her a hard kiss. “That I have a massive dick. I was not aware of this.”

she rolled her eyes, giggling as she did so. “I only said that to throw in her face that I get to have you.”

“So it isn’t big?” Eddie asked, feigning disappointment.

“Well, it’s big enough,” she said.

“Just enough?” Eddie asked with a playful pout.

“Well…” she said, grinning at him. “Maybe we should go backstage so I can see it again. Seems I need my memory refreshed a bit.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Eddie said, his lips finding her neck as his hands caressed her sides. “Let’s go.”

———

mini taglist: @littledemondani @wroteclassicaly @andvys @boldlyvoid @sunkillerdreamer @emmyshortcake @hbaramas @singledadharrington @munsonsbelova @courtingchaos @strangermarvelss @corrodedcorpsess @happylilthought @persephonevlahos

[azuremliam]

More writing for this and art underneath the readmore! Not very descriptive, but heads up Scarab fries the bird. And then deals with fixing Liam's dislocated arm (blood stained armor) + helps calm Finn down. This leads to Scarab accepting that Liam is his friend.

Scarab could hear Finn and Jake screaming from their hiding place under the thick foliage the moment he stepped through the portal.

And then felt a rush of dread and rage at the sight before him.

Liam was getting crushed into the muddy earth by giant talons, their arm mangled and bloodied, twisted in a way that made his carapace rattle with rage. The Beast tormenting them leaning over, readying up to take a bite.

His grip on his crystal tightened and he immediately took aim at the wretched thing. The plates of his mask separated and he snarled, teeth bared, "Get off of them!"

The "small" bird Beast paid his sudden appearance and outburst no mind- its teethed beak beginning to lift a now quite Liam's arm up. That is until the crystalline powered beam of energy hit its eyes!

The wren squawked and stepped off of Liam in a brief panic, the stench of burnt feathers filling the air to his spiteful delight.

Its attention now completely focused on the new threat toward it's hunt- but Scarab wasn't letting up.

His previous encounter with that gigantic mutated woodpecker taught him to not give these creatures any respite.

As the birds wings flapped to right itself, it was met with another blast of light to its underside, again, and again!

Scarab could hear Liam's brothers shout something to him, but his ire had him deaf to their cries. Instead, storming his way to the squawking, pitiful, smouldering Beast writhing on the ground.

He dug his foot into charred feathers as he climbed atop it, the Beast weakly snapping at him in distress.

He simply narrowed his eyes and glared down at it with complete disdain.

How dare this creature have the absurd audacity to think it could harm him- and to have injured the one he was charged to protect!

The crystal hummed as Scarab began to charge it up to its full potential.

How dare this damned Beast hurt his friend.

'...Wait, what? Friend?'

A close nip at his legs had him shake the thought from his head. That wasn't important , he'd deal with that thought later. For now, this was about enough of this creature's gall he could stand. "Good riddance."

The crystal's charge blasted forward, the force of it making his arm recoil back, the bright ray of light engulfing the Beast's head and it fell back to the floor with a loud thump. Underneath him he felt it twitch a few times... and suddenly still.

'Finally', he growled and kicked off of it, landing closer to where Finn and Jake were huddled around Liam. His anger was quickly replaced with worry as he rushed over to them.

Glancing over the two brothers, he was relieve to see that they were more or less fine. Finn was a mess of tears and boogers. His eyes were red and his leather armor had signs of being tossed about and slightly torn. Jake's shell was scratched up a bit, but other wise nothing a few days of rest couldn't fix for the both of them.

Liam on the other hand...

Scarab grimaced. Their carapace armor had impressive dents on the chest plate and a small cut on their forehead. Despite being crushed under the Beast's foot, their armor and mud appeared to had saved them from further damage thanks to how soft it was. They were simply shoved into the earth and didn't take too much of the brunt of the weight.

But that all paled in comparison to the state of their bloodied right arm. He needed to get to mending them right away.

The only relief he had was the fact they were still breathing, but their face was slightly pale and the cut on their head had him worry if they potentially had a concussion .

"What happened?"

Jake and Finn both started at the same time-

"We were with scouts and- "

"-the caravan we were with had to escape-"

"-Liam distracted it-"

"-and it tired to grab Finn and, and-"

His extra arms formed out of his carapace to grab the two's shoulders. Jake quieted down, but Finn was still breathing hard. He let of Jake, but still held onto Finn as he set about carefully removing Liam's vambrace. "Deep breaths, copy me-"

Finn was thankfully, getting calmer with each round of the breathing exercise. And with Jake now by his side, Scarab was relieved to see the boy begin to fall asleep. He didn't need the young human worrying more about what he had to do to help Liam.

The counting and breathing honestly had helped him recollect his thoughts too.

Now he could get to the literal meat of things.

Scarab set the crystal sap bottle down and rolled up Liam's sleeve, silently thanking Glob they favored that baggy clothing of theirs, and gauged the situation of their arm.

The blood made things look worse than it seemed. Still, there were deep punctures where the Beast had sunk its teeth into their arm, the unfortunate spots not covered by their gear. Besides the bite, it appeared to be dislocated at the shoulder as well. He grumbled, he'd have to set that back into place before he used the sap- otherwise it could fuse itself awkwardly.

'Aaugh,' he hated how his insides turned at the state of Liam unconscious and bleeding. “Jake, while I'm tending to them, calmly now, tell me what exactly happened while I was away.”

Jake leaned a now sleeping Finn onto his side, his antennae swaying, “Well... Um. After you left to go do your report, Li got an urgent package delivery requested to them. So we did what we always did and joined a scout and caravan group to go about our usual pathways-”

He paused and winced as he watched Scarab grab at Liam's wrist and guided it straight out to their side. “Everything...everything was fine at first- the scouts had done their survey work for the past two weeks down this path, so we expected no Beasts to interfere.”

Jake paused again, now confused as Scarab moved their arm in a small slow circular motion, as if he was shaking their hand. “Continue.”

“O-oh right. So we were halfway on our route when one of the Scouts spotted it flying above us. So we all went into cover of the underbrush. But I guess it spotted the Caravan before they could completely reach cover and dived down at us.”

Scarab angled Liam's arm again and repeated the motion. “Me and Liam ran out of cover to distract it so the caravan could make its way back to the hive- and we had left Finn with the three scouts just in case- and we were handling taking turns distracting the big jerk pretty well, but...”

His antennae twitched when he heard Scarab making a clicking noise. “But what?”

“The Scouts figured it was a good idea to come out and try to help too- I mean one did fire off a flare so we'll be getting a Beast Rescue ride to the Hive we were planning to go to soon thankfully, but them doing that made roasty and toasty over their really irritated. It started pecking everything and anything.” Jake rubbed one of his arms. A habit Scarab noticed that Liam also tended to do when nervous.

“And it kinda, well, skewered and ate all three scouts. Then it was about to take a jab at Finn- he was trying to rush to me so I could grab him and we could buzz on outta here. Like how Liam always tells us to in situations like this. But we were too far a part and Liam was closer to him- and, and...”

“Liam got him out of the way and got plucked up instead, didn't they?”

Jake's antennae drooped. “Yeah.”

Had Scarab not gotten used to how Liam usually acted before hand, he would've cursed them out for playing hero. Granted...they had even more reason to, given that their own little brother's life was on the line. Had any of the three died while he was away...

That irritating feeling welled up inside of him again and he clicked in annoyance again.

Carefully, he moved their arm close to their head and rotated their arm once more. Ah, there, it sounded like it was back in place-

“Uugh.” Both of their attention went to Liam when they groaned, but still, they remained unconscious. He paused in his ministrations to look them over again, and sighed. Now it was time to deal with the cuts.

“It shook them by the arm for a while and then threw them at the ground. They're gonna wake up right, Scarab?”

Scarab bit back a growl. That stupid bird... “Yes. Speaking of that, I'm worried about them having a concussion. And their arm, it was dislocated-” He popped open the crystal bottle and let a small amount of sap ooze onto his hand. Just a bit should do wonders for them. “Where were headed, does it have a medical facility suited for humans?”

“Our aunt Abegail lives there. She's a human medical specialist, she'll be able to help.”

“Good.” Scarab massaged the sap into the wounds of their arm, Jake watching mesmerized as the sap cleared away the little remnants of mud and sealed up the cuts. Then, with a bit more care than he intended, caressed the remainder into the cut on their forehead.

Behind him, he heard Jake snicker. Scarab's hand twitched and he pulled away from Liam, choosing to ignore him.

Them moving around in their sleep could undo his work he did with their arm, it needed a sling. He thought of removing their belt, and his eye twitched. No. What else... ah. He hissed quietly and undid his tie. “You're in charge of carrying Finn. Now, where's Liam's pack?”

Jake looked confused at why he was removing his tie while he picked up a now snoring Finn. “Its right under those ferns over there.”

“I'll carry Liam,” This better not become a habit with them, getting injured and him having to pick up the pieces, “and their backpack.” Scarab wrapped the tie around their arm and neck, satisfied at the makeshift sling, and ignored Jakes, 'Oooh that's what you're doing' as he hefted Liam up.

Him carrying Liam like this was beginning to feel like deja vu.

He huffed. His...dare he admit it?

Scarab clicked his tongue again and tapped his foot.

They were, weren't they? He held Liam tighter to him, mindful of their arm.

His first friend and they were such a literal handful.

“We'll wait for the Beast Rescue team by their pack, come on then.”

Jake did his best impression of a smile at him, “Right!”

Them being his friend wasn't going to save them from the earful they were going to get once they properly recovered, however.

[thenewfuture]

I hate that school SO much. :)

Me too...!

But anyway, I think I have the timeline sorted out. Just a few more questions.

Mahiru. When you had your falling out with Natsumi, was this before or after you were scouted by the Academy?

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

I think like....a week or two before...

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

Okay...

And Fuyuhiko. Did you face any sort of jeering before you became the clan leader?

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

Uhh...I dunno, maybe...? I know my face makes it hard for others to take me seriously. And I can't escape this "baby gansta" crap.

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

Okay, thank you. I'm pretty sure I have the full timeline now.

Hope's Peak's focus on talent forced many teenagers to develop a mindset of "having no talent means someone is worthless", and this too affected Natsumi...

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

Mahiru: Seeing her friends develop talents better then her scared her, so she tried to cut ties with them...

Miaya: But she cared a lot about her brother as well, as gave him the go-ahead to become the leader of the clan, just so he would be taken seriously.

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

Still, Natsumi hoped for a talent. And kept trying to become an "Ultimate Little Sister" and was eventually accepted into the Reserve Course for the time being...

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

Miaya: Her constant attempts to push back her past friends further, invoked Sato's anger. Sato loved Mahiru dearly, and though if it meant committing a vile act, she went on anyway because she cared so much. And Mahiru, feeling the same way, became an accomplice...

Miaya: But Fuyuhiko soon learned of it anyway, and in an understandable fit of rage, murdered Sato.

Miaya: And Hajime, wanting to know what happened to those two for the sake of clarity attempted to go into the main course building, but was stopped and assaulted by the security head, Juzo. And his path was set....

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

It's a tragic tale....

And I'm so sorry that happened to all of you...

[ohmytomorrowisthursday]

Until I Fall - Part Ten

Levi Ackerman x Fem Reader.

Eventual romance but this is a slow burn, definitely angsty and darker. It will also focus a lot on Hange, Erwin and the original scouts. Eren and the 104th training corps will be around but I’m focusing on the older characters in here. Your self insert name is ‘Azeria Becker’ pronouns She/Her/Hers. Using a name because don’t like using ‘y/n’.  

Cannon universe. I wrote this for myself but I hope that you enjoy it, too lol <3

cw: imagine literally every awful/gory thing that happens in SNK. Death, violence and gore. Drinking, sex. (bolded ones in this chapter)

I will be releasing 2 chapters at a time every few days. You can find all chapters here.

Things had gone to shit. There were 20 survivors from the entire expedition and Shadis stepped down as Commander. The Scouts had been nearly obliterated in one day, and the remaining few were beaten, bruised and injured. Levi rested his hands on his knees, his head full of a mixture of sadness, anger and exhaustion. So many people had died, and it was all for naught. They couldn’t even draw the maps without being decimated. He was so tired of having to carry peoples remains home to their families. Why couldn’t everyone just survive? 

He looked over at you, sleeping on the bed that he was sitting on the edge of. Your forehead bandaged your body bruised from head to toe. Why did you come after me? He was angry that you’d be so rash. But then again - hadn’t he done the same thing?

“Levi, we need to fallback, there are too many!” Erwin shouted across the field to him. Levi had just slain yet another titan. “Where are the others?” He yelled back to Erwin. “Over in the west at Hange’s post. We will rendezvous back with them closer to the gate!” Levi wasn’t quite certain about that idea. “Captain, I’m going to join them and then head north back to the wall!” He hopped on his horse, ready to find you. “Levi,” Erwin said, “She is safe.” But Levi had let himself be separated from people he cared about before. Unless he saw that you were okay with his own eyes, it didn’t matter. “Erwin,” He replied, “I am going there.” 

He found you just in time; the titan had caught you between his legs and you were screaming. The rest was a flash; before he knew it, the thing was dead, and you were nearly crushed and burned by steam. The only thing that seemed to bring him back down to earth from the adrenaline fuelled rage that ran through his body was your embrace. Your body holding his; your skin so warm and wet with blood and rain, it was so nice to feel you that he didn’t mind that you were dirty. The smell of your hair that brushed against his face, it was so nice; it was you. He hadn’t been so close to someone in so long, it felt so good it almost hurt. 

Looking down at you now, he just wanted you to wake up from your sleep. You were probably exhausted, physically and mentally and the whole ordeal was insurmountable for anyone to handle. You were still just a rookie out in the field, surely this would be hard for you. He knew what it was like to lose people. It sucked. But each time it seemed to numb him more and more. He only really ever felt the pain of the losses months after; when the sadness rolled through him like a storm. He hoped that the world wouldn’t make you like him. You had so much more lightness to you, he never wanted to see it dim. After awhile he lifted himself off of the bed and went to see Hange. 

“Oh, you’re here” They said, seeing Levi step into the doorway. “Don’t sound too excited,” Levi scoffed joined them inside. Hange was sitting at the end of the long table in the meeting room, their hair a mess and papers scattered in front of them. They looked tired, but focused. Everyone’s spirits were down, but Hange still tried to muster the courage to wear a brave face. 

“I thought you were with Erwin,” Levi said. Hange stretched her arms out, “No, he’s gone to the interior with the rest of the section commanders. The MP’s and Chief in command want some answers. Plus, Erwin has to take over for Shadis, and plans need to be made.” 

Levi sat at the table with them and sighed. He was exhausted, “When Erwin becomes commander, what’s the plan for us?” 

“I don’t know,” Hange said resting their hands on their face, “I’m fairly certain that we’ll become captains. I mean, there’s no one else to lead.” 

Silence filled the room. They had lost so many people in just one day. Levi didn’t want to think on it anymore; not the scouts, or the deaths or even Erwin for that matter. The halls were empty and quiet and he hated it.

“What’s all of this, four eyes?” He said, gesturing to the scattered papers; it was the Scout’s data on titans. He scanned the sheets in confusion. Hange blushed and let out a laugh, “Oh, nothing! I just have a little idea about something! I’ll tell you when Erwin gets back!” Levi knew that they were lying. This was definitely not a ‘little’ idea, but he couldn’t even begin to imagine what Hange was thinking. 

“Levi, is Azeria awake yet?” They asked. Levi looked down at the table, “Not yet,” he replied, the tiredness and sadness sinking him further into the seat, “She has a concussion, I’m sure she’ll be sleeping for a little longer. Besides, she’s probably exhausted.”

Hange smiled, “I’ll bet, she took down four titans today. That’s a lot to handle on her second ride out.” He let out a feigned laugh, “Yeah, she probably isn’t in a rush to get back out there.” 

“At least this recent defeat will give us some time off,” They paused, their face turning from optimism to sadness again, “This was a tough loss.”

Levi frowned, “Yeah.”

The room was still, and like most of the Scout HQ, silence filled the room like lingering perfume. How long would it take to have these halls filled with noise? How could they ever replace their comrades? After a while, Levi lifted himself from the table. “I’m going to make some tea,” he adjusted his shirt, “do you want some?”

Hange offered a smile. “No thank you, I appreciate it.”

He wandered into the kitchen to make his tea, rubbing the space between his eyebrows with frustration and lost in thought. Captain Levi? That’s fucking ridiculous. How in the hell did he even get here? Sometimes it felt like life just happened to him. There were choices to be made, sure; but everything always seemed to come barreling at him head on. Did he even have a choice in the matter? He’d need to become a captain. Erwin would need to make that a promise to the MP’s and Chief. He’d need the scouts strongest soldier to lead. How did he always end up in this place? Running some kind of play seemed to come naturally to him. But even through all of the success he had; sometimes he wondered what it would be like to just be normal. Nothing in his life had ever been normal; who the fuck throws themselves at titans for a living? But he couldn’t quit. He’d never leave. Because in spite of the envy he had for those who never had to worry; he had finally found a place in the world that he would be useful in. All of those ugly years of living in the dank basements of the elite had led him here. And even if his life was still full of the horrors of this world, deep down he believe that maybe there was something beautiful waiting for him on the horizon. Maybe he could take all of this filth and make it something nice for others. Besides, in life we’re all given what we can handle. 

The kettle boiled and he poured the hot water into his cup, watching the dried leaves unfold and turn the water dark. He looked and it and frowned. Tsk. Idiot he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he grabbed an extra cup. He made the same tea in the new cup. Why was he doing this? He was so annoyed at himself. I don’t have time for this, he thought. Still, he carried the cups back to your dorm where you were sleeping. He placed your tea on the floor next to your bed and pulled up a chair to sit. Why was he back? He had so many things to do, why did he keep coming in to check on you? Maybe that was it. Maybe he just wanted to not think about the rest of the world for a minute. About the dying and injured soldiers he should be visiting. About the inventory scouts who would want a full list of items lost. He didn’t want to think about the veterinarians who would be furious and handing him bills in the absence of Erwin, or all of the broken hearted parents demanding answers from the scouts. In here, in your empty dorm room with you soundly sleeping, he could close the door and shut out the world for just a few more minutes. He just wanted a few more minutes of peace. He wanted a few more minutes with you. 

“Mmpff,” You groaned, rolling on to your side, face in a wince. “Ow,” you let out flatly. He was relieved to finally see you awake. 

“Rise and shine, princess,” He remarked sarcastically. You were trying to stretch but your bruises seemed to hurt you when you moved. He watched as you lifted your arms and stretched out your toes, causing your shirt to lift a little. In your cotton under shirt and pants, he could see all of the curves of your body; the shape of your hips and the lines on your abs. He tried not to look at you; his heart fluttered and his cheeks were hot. You’re fucking gorgeous, he thought, but just as soon as the thought came into his head, he pushed it down. He didn’t have time for this. He shouldn’t feel this way. 

Your eyes finally opened and stared out to the window. He knew that look; the bewildered and lost face on every soldier whose been through hell and manages to survive. The recollection of what happened after adrenaline finally wears off and you come-to, trying to comprehend what is real. You took deep hard breaths. Panic was common, too. Your searching face finally calmed and you rubbed your eyes and groaned, “I feel like shit.” Levi smiled, “You look like shit.” 

“What happened?”

“We got back. The good news is that Erwins Signal guns work, bad news is that we’re almost the only people that survived. Shadis stepped down as commander and now Erwin is heading to the capital explaining how shit hit the fan so fast. Most of the survivors are injured at the infirmary. All Scouts are on hold from duty until Erwin gets back. Congrats, brat, you’re on involuntary vacation now,” Levi sipped his tea. Your eyes widened as he told you.

“Twenty? That means-“

“-yeah” he cut you off. Just don’t say it, Azeria.

“Oh,” you frowned. The air filled again with that same stale silence. Your tear filled eyes were full of shock. Please don’t become like me, Levi thought. He looked at you and your broken heart. Long ago he used to feel that way when these things happened. Now it was like a dull bruise. Always lingering. Your pain was like a cut, it was fresh and bloody but maybe it would get better one day. He hated the thought of you becoming calloused like Erwin, like Hange, like himself. He hated telling you. He hated being the one to deliver the news. 

“Here,” he said, handing you the cup of tea, “drink this. It will make you feel better.” You blinked away the tears and wiped your eyes. “Thank you,” you said reaching for the cup. Your voice was small. The two of you sat there for a few minutes as you both drank your tea in silence. Slowly, you calmed down a bit, which made Levi feel a lot better. 

“Why is my head bandaged,” you finally asked, running your hand along the cloth. “When I killed that titan that grabbed you, you took quite the fall and hit your head pretty hard. Medics think its a concussion. It’ll go away but you’re probably going to be a little sore and slow for a while. No more recklessly risking your life for the next few weeks,” Levi could see that you were embarrassed from the whole ordeal. Your face turned pink and suddenly your eyes were full of tears again.

“I’m sorry for being stupid,” You said, voice cracking, “I should have just obeyed commands. I was just worried.” Azeria please don’t talk like that. Don’t worry about me, Levi thought.

“Hey brat, enough with the apologies. You just did what you thought was right. No need to feel bad about it,” Levi was trying to get you to calm down. You wiped your eyes, “Okay. Thank you,” you paused and let out a sad sigh, “I can’t believe they’re all gone.”

He frowned, letting his eyes slip into the sadness with you, “I know. They were good people,” there was a silenced that filled the air. You reached out and grabbed his hand with yours, tears falling down your face, “It’s not fair,” you huffed. You looked so small in that moment. He just wanted to hold you again. Instead, he squeezed your hand back, “We wont let them die in vain,” He said. You nodded. The tears fell out of you still, the pain was a fresh wound. You tucked your knees into your chest and hid your face. All Levi could see was your back moving with each breath, watching you try to calm yourself from the pain. All he could seem to do was hold your hand through it. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry so much,” You sniffled, your face red and wet with tears, “It just wont stop.” He rubbed the top of your hand with his thumb he had no idea what to say, he wasn’t good at this. “Its okay. It’s not easy. It never is.” Slowly your eyes finally dried and you let out a sigh of relief. 

You still looked sad, and Levi wasn’t happy about it, “Hey, did you know that you killed four titans? What do you think you’re doing, trying to make me look bad like that. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

That made you smile, which made him smile, too. He nudged your arm, “Annoying brat.”

“Someone’s gotta humble you,” You said with a smirk. Your eyes both locked in that happy melancholic gaze, your nose and cheeks still red from sadness. What else can you do when things go to shit? He didn’t what to deal with the rest of it, he just wanted to shoot the shit with you. 

You turned your body and sat on the edge of the bed, moving carefully to not shock your sore joints. “So, what happens now?” You asked. Levi sighed. He didn’t really know. 

“Erwin will become commander and we will have to restructure once we get back on our feet. For now; I guess we wait.”

Chapter Eleven

[lovebunnie]

scout rounded to face spy, an accusatory finger pointed. “look spy, i know im not the son you wanted to have and im sorry i never lived up to any big ideas you had for me, but youre not exactly the guy i wanted my father to be. life is full of disappointment and im yours just as much as youre mine!”

spy delicately took his cigarette out of his mouth, eyes never leaving scout. he noted that he had that same angry look in his eyes that his mother got: one that burned and sizzled. “this was a long time ago. you throwing a tantrum like this changes nothing of the past.”

“long time ago for you maybe, but this has been my whole freakin’ life spy. every day i was forced to think about you. i didnt ask to be here, ya know. i didnt ask to be so awful that you left my ma all by herself.” scout’s fists clenched. “we were scraping by before i came around and i damn well didnt add anything besides more to the freakin’ grocery bill.” he looked up. “what did i do to make you leave, huh? spit on your tie or some shit? did i piss you off while i was in freakin’ diapers so much that you would have rather left me than be around me another second? leave my ma all heartbroken?”

something in spy softened. “scout, it had nothing to do with you-”

“give me a fucking break, thats bullshit and you know it,” scout sneered. “tell me spy, would you have left my ma like that if i had never been born? if i werent never around, would you have left her like ya did?”

the silence between the two grew, and spy dropped his cigarette to the ground, stepping on it to avoid looking at scout. “what i would or would not have done does not matter anymore. it happened and we must move on.”

scout felt a few tears drip down his cheeks, full of rage and agony. “yea, you do that spy, you move on and forget, like you do best.”

when spy looked up, he saw scouts face pinched and before he could say another word, scout turned on his heel and stomped away while angrily wiping his eyes.

spy stood for a moment, reflecting on the fact that while scout had his mother’s anger, he had his sadness; they shared bitter tears and an ugly blotchy face from heaving sobs.

he watched scout leave, and he did not follow.

[keevansixx]

I've seen monsters all my life, par for the course for my clan, and way of life. we learn at early age from the elders through stories and examples of what is dangerous, what is deadly, and what is mildly annoying. the massive creature before the party stood firmy within the very "deadly" category of elder lore. something of nightmares told to young children as moral lessons on good behavior, or simply out of spite to frighten the young.

I see the ranger laying in a heap to one side of the battlefield. this fills me with rage, and anger thinking of the worst possible outcome. I focus my gaze on his still form for the slightest of pauses, and note the slight rise and fall of labored breathing. Good. still with us.

when i was around 10 cycles of the great wheel old, my father took me up into the mountains to long forbidden places as a test of skill and manhood. there we faced hardship after hardship, all the while, my father teaching me the old stories and how to defeat monsters in the most efficient manner. Old places, where the curses of ancient humanity still lingered after milllenia, and the abhorrent roamed unchecked and wild. these were the playgrounds of my youth, and lessons most harshly earned.

the wizard is shouting profanities in my general direction again, some plea to unseen gods to spare them from the stupidity of barbarians and their ilk. I've learned to oft ignore the petty mewlings of magic weilders too weak to adequately defend themselves from lesser creatures. why should i harken unto someone who let themselves become gravely injured at the weakest encounter of a goblin scouting party. I focus my thoughts to tune out the wizard.

I recognize this particular branch of evil. I've encountered something like it before in my youth. the fetid stench of sulfur mixed with rusty iron. A fabrication, something unnatural and manufactured. the slight flinching movements of it's limbs, i know this...

the healer is trying to get to the ranger. i hold her back, blocking egress to the left because i've seen the reach of this monstrosity and know that she'd be in deadly range of the creature if allowed to continue. the paladin is standing in the circle of combat there within the radius of the monster's reach, the paladin's shield taking the brunt of blows, but there is now a stalemate. he can't attack, cannot progress forward to victory, spending all his effort defending from the enemie's attacks.

my memories flash back to my 16th cycle, when my hunting party was ambushed by a few golems way up in the highlands. creatures of the old world. tough as stone, impervious to most attacks outside of great mace or blunt hammer attacks. They all behaved the same, turning their bodies to face foreward towards their targets. flanking was difficult, but not impossible. I saw my openning and lept past the golems while the rest of the hunting party held their attention. It was then i noticed the glowing sigil and shimmering stone imbedded in their backs, and attacking the new found targets, I was able to defeat those hulking monsters of the past. It was then that i learned from the elders the sins of humanity and all that they had wrought. I gained in knowledge that day, and was sad in the learning thereof.

I feint towards the right, trying to draw it's attention away from the paladin and healer allowing her to make her way left towards the fallen ranger to render assistance. I need to draw it away from that area, it's the most practical course of action to allow for the most successful outcome. No one dies today! I won't allow it.

another old memory surfaces. in my 19th cycle i was taken to a hidden grotto by the elders upon completing the trials of ascention to become a hunter and protector of the clan. The grotto was an old library, full of the spoils and trophies of battles long since won. Knowledge gleaned from a thousand generations of hunters, tribesmen, and tribeswomen. the weaknesses of a thousand foes. the most efficient means to defeat monsters. what was valuable when harvesting a kill. Identifying the signs and behaviors of enemies. lifetimes of knowledge to glean and grow.

the monster has all but ignored the paladin, by my design. this is a good thing. the paladin needs the break to regroup and hopefully mindful enough to protect the healer, and i can't find out what i need to know with him in the way. I pick up a heavy chained censer where it fell from the ceiling onto the combat floor and begin to swing the long length around my head. If all goes according to design, i should find out what i need to know in the next few moments. if not, well....today is not a bad day to die after all. at least i'll be taking out a great evil with me when i go. My clan can honorably celebrate my funeral in a spectacular fashion, and my legacy will be preserved in the grotto for future generations to learn and draw inspiration from. i am content.

the enemy lunges at me in a mindless rage. at the farthest apex of my swing of the heavy censer, i let out a mighty battlecry like my ancestors of old did, and pour a burst of strength into the return swing which wraps thick chain swiftly around the monster twice before the heavy head of the censer impacts heavily into the back of the massive creature. i hear a sickly thud and slight metallic clang of false bones, but no tell-tale crack or tinkle of broken vials, shattered crystals, or mangled machinery. the monster bellows rage before tripping on what remained of the heavy chain that i whipped in the counter direction as a distraction. Damn! not good, not what i needed to hear. when the monster fell i was able to briefly see it's back. where there should have been a ring of glowing sigils, maybe a stone or two, or some sort of contraptive mechanry embedded within, there was a sickly concaved crater oozing where once it's control would have rested. What devilry is this? the signs all pointed to a golem, or flesh construction of the old world, but this? this should not be possible. with no control mechanism, this golem should not be able to function, much less move about independently like it has been since the fight started. think! I'm sure the elders spoke to me about this decades ago....i just need to remember.

the wizard finally finished their mumblings and finger waving, don't know what they were trying to accomplish, but to me, it's always too little, too late. some sort of barrier forms over the flesh golem, but i know it won't last long. unnatural things tend to have resistances to magics and the wizards attempts will be for naught if we can't find a way to kill it permanently.

the ranger comes to with the help of the healer, he got smashed up pretty badly so it's going to be awhile before they are hale and whole again. wordlessly the ranger points to a little alcove indention off to the right of where the golem began attacking. I think that's where the ranger was standing when they got sideswiped by the golem. there must be something there we havn't seen before.

the paladin is conferring with the wizard about what the party should do next, with one eye on the bound golem struggling on the floor against the heavy chain and the wizard's barrier. it's lifeless eyes scanning everything trying to find a way free, stretching the bonds as far as it was able to. i can hear the straining creak of the wrapped chain, and the sound of resistance tensioned against a magical barrier. the slight electrical crackle of tremendous force against immovable object. I also hear under baited breath what they think of me when they think i'm out of earshot and cannot hear them. we're not out of danger, yet, why is the rest of the party acting like we won? this is just the warm-up for round two. i feel it in my bones, like that tingle at the nape of the neck when you know someone is watching you from hidden places. for so called intelligent and enlightened humans that come from what they call civilization, their situational awareness leaves much to be desired, i know of 6 cycles old children back in the creech that are more aware of their surounding environment than these people. I'm constantly amazed that they've managed to survive this long on the earth with what little they know of monsters and basic survival knowledge. the ranger gets a pass in my ledger, at least they have some semblance of situational awareness (when not pummeled to an almost bloody pulp), and know how to basic survive in the wilds...it's their general monster knowledge i tend to question, but other than that, they're alright and would pass a basic muster back home.

the healer is helping the ranger across the floor towards the entrance and to relative saftey, i can tell from the bruising around the neck and upper chest area that the ranger still has a few broken ribs, a collarbone even with the healers touch, and can't really talk at the moment. he keeps trying to elder forest hand sign a danger at the wizard and paladin, but they are too busy coming up with a plan to notice. the ranger has those pleading eyes, and keeps siging danger while trying to point at the plinth in the tiny alcove. i notice a misshapened lump proped up in the shadow upon the plinth, sometimes, i hate that i'm right and didn't catch it early enough to swiftly act.

there is a sudden explosion. bits of shattered chain and the force of a broken magical barrier knocking everyone off their feet. the monster screams it's rage into the sky. the wizard was protected by the paladins shield and begins to chant another barrier again as the paladin recovers enough to stand between the rest of the party and the foul monster. i know what i have to do. it's in my blood.

the helm is stifling. it narrows my vision so i am forced to focus only on what is in front of me, to the exclusion of most distractions. in battle against monsters it's a boon that helps me hone my concentration only on the target i need to eliminate. I take off the helm to the cries of dismay from the rest of the party. I need to see the bigger picture, and to do that, i need to breathe. the target is small. the wizard calling me a stupid barbarian, the paladin calling me crazy, the horrified look of the healer thinking i've lost my simple mind. the ranger staring blankly with that look of knowing, and then the frown. I nod. to those who know, it's a sign and affirmation of intent. to those who don't know, it just looks like another barbarian about to do something completley reckless that to them seems stupid or foolish. it's all calculated and planned based on a life of combat, honor, and skill.

I reach behind me to withdraw a small piece of home. an heirloom handed down from father to son and so forth down my lineage for generations. the folded bone axe is ancient. chiped and shaped from the pelvic bones of a young dragon, it's blade edges lined with sharpened mithril, each blade tip capped with the diamond hard venom teeth of a wyvern. each half nestled cleanly against the other until one twisted the haft handle allowing the blades to spread open into it's final scalloped batwing glory. a child's toy that was meant to teach one how to hunt around crowded trees to hit game hiding behind them. the fluted hollows of the blades acting like an airfoil to sharply curve the thrown blade around an object to strike a target beyond.

a reminder of home, a makeshift altar to my gods, and of a promise unkempt. i kiss the haft, shout my fury to the heavens, and throw it at the monster bellowing before me.

it's a beautiful sight, watching that toy fly, always brings me a sense of joy watching it arc knowing i will hit what i aim for. i've had lot's of practice in my youth to the point of almost absolute control. the right flick of the wrist, the proper release, the slight adjustments from my fingers as the haft leaves my hand to allow for optimal flight... after all, the target is small.

I spread my arms wide in the face of mindless fury ready to die, as i stare deep into the monsterous golem's lifeless eyes, and shout my final defiance into it's form willing it to cease to exist.

*whoosh.... ka-thunk* (cracke/tinkle)*

*massive thud*

____________________________________

several months later at a pub.

Ranger: "hey, remember that temple we were sent to retrieve that tome for the wizards council?"

Barbarian: "Yes, i recall the deed, i also recall you getting nearly mauled to death by a foul creation."

Ranger: "i've always been curious to know, did you always know how to defeat it? I mean, that's something your people prepare for? right? i still can't get my head around the paladin's notion that you beat it with a crude toy! i'd have never believed it if i didn't partially see it for myself through a fog of pain. still think i was dreaming the whole thing."

Barbarian: "Best not dwell long on what your people call the imposible my young friend, better to let the rest of the party, especially the wizard, think i got crazy lucky. I don't think his heart could stand a notion of a primitive society more knowledgeable in the workings of the natural and unnatural world than his own lofty orders. best to let sleeping dragons lay, and ignore the workings of barbarians....after all, i gots a simple reputation to maintain."

As a Barbarian, you hate that just because you have a different lifestyle, your party looks down on you and assumes you are incapable of basic intelligent thought. Today you had enough.

[notmuchtoconceal]

He ended frowning, and his look denounced Desperate revenge and battle dangerous To less than gods. On th' other side up rose Belial, in act more graceful and humane; A fairer person lost not heav'n; he seemed For dignity composed and high exploit: But all was false and hollow, though his tongue Dropped manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, to perplex and dash Maturest counsels: for his thoughts were low; To vice industrious, but to noble deeds Timorous and slothful: yet he pleased the ear, And with persuasive accent thus began.

"I should be much for open war, O Peers, As not behind in hate; if what was urged Main reason to persuade immediate war, Did not dissuade me most; and seem to cast Ominous conjecture on the whole success: When he who most excels in fact of arms, In what he counsels and in what excels Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair And utter dissolution, as the scope Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. First, what revenge? The tow'rs of heav'n are filled With armed watch, that render all access Impregnable, oft on the bordering deep Encamp their legions, or with obscure wing Scout far and wide into the realm of Night, By force, and at our heels all hell should rise With blackest insurrection, to confound Heav'n's purest light, yet our great enemy All incorruptible would on his throne Sit unpolluted, and th' ethereal mold Incapable of stain would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope Is flat despair: we must exasperate Th' almighty victor to spend all his rage,

And that must end us, that must be our cure, To be no more; sad cure; for who would lose, Through full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night, Devoid of sense and motion? And who knows, Let this be good, whether our angry foe Can give it, or will ever? How he can Is doubtful; that he never will is sure. Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire, Belike through impotence, or unaware, To give his enemies their wish, and end Them in his anger, whom his anger saves To punish endless? 'Wherefore cease we then?' Say they who counsel war, 'We are decreed, Reserved and destined to eternal woe; Whatever doing, what can we suffer more, What can we suffer worse?' Is then worst, Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms? What when we fled amain, pursued and strook With Heav'n's afflicting thunder, and besought The deep to shelter us? This hell then seemed A refuge from those wounds: or when we lay Chained on the burning lake? That sure was worse. What if the breath that kindled those grim fires Awakened should blow them into seven fold rage And plunge us in the flames? Or from above Should intermittent vengeance arm again His red right hand to plague us? What if all Her stones were opened, and this firmament Of hell should spout her cataracts of fire, Impendent horrors, threat'ning hideous fall one day upon our heads; while we perhaps Designing or exhorting glorious war, Caught in a fiery tempest shall be hurled each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey Of racking whirlwinds, or for ever sunk Under yon boiling ocean, wrapped in chains; There to converse with everlasting groans, Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved, Ages of hopeless end; this would be worse. War therefore, open or concealed, alike My voice dissuades; for what can force or guile With him, or who deceives his mind, whose eye Views all things at one view? He from heav'n's highth All these our motions vain, sees and derides, Not more almighty to resist our might Then wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles Shall we then live thus vile, the race of heav'n Thus trampled, thus expelled to suffer here Chains and these torments? better these than worse By my advice; since fat inevitable Subdues us, and omnipotent decree; The victor's will. To suffer, as to do, Our strength is equal, not the law unjust That so ordains: this was at first resolved, If we were wise, against so great a foe? Contending, and so doubtful what might fall. I laugh, when those who at the spear are bold And vent'rous, if that fail them, shrink and fear what yet they know must follow, to endure Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain, The sentence of their conqueror: This is now Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear, Our Supreme foe in time may much remit his anger, and perhaps thus far removed not mind us not offending, satisfied With what is punished; whence these raging fires will slacken, if his breath stir not their flames? Our purer essence then will overcome Their noxious vapor, or inured not feel, Or changed at length, and to the place conformed in temper and in nature, will receive Familiar the fierce heat, and void of pain; this horror will grow mild, this darkness light, Besides what hope the never-ending flight Of future days may bring, what chance, what change Worth waiting, since our present lot appears for happy though but ill, but ill not worst. if we procure not to ourselves more woe."

Thus Belial with words clothed in reason's garb Counseled ignoble ease, and peaceful sloth, Not peace; and after him thus Mammon spake.

"Either to disenthrone the King of heav'n We war, if war be best, or to regain our own right lost: him to unthrone we then May hope when everlasting fate shall yield to fickle chance, and Chaos judge the strife: The former vain to hope argues as vain The latter for what place can be for us Within heav'n's bound, unless heavn'n's Lord supreme We overpower? Suppose he should relent And publish grace to all, on promise made of new subjection; with what eyes could we Stand in his presence humble, and receive Strict laws imposed, to celebrate his throne with warbled hymns, and to his Godhead sing Forced hallelujahs, while he lordly its Our envied Sovran, and his altar breathes Ambrosial odors, and ambrosial flowers, Our servile offerings. This must be our task In heav'n, this our delight; how wearisome Eternity so pent in worship paid To whom we hate. Let us not then pursue By force impossible, by leave obtained unacceptable, though in heav'n, our state Of splendid vassalage, but rather seek Our own good from ourselves, and from our own Live to ourselves, though in this vast recess, Free, and to none accountable, preferring Hard liberty before the easy yoke of servile pomp. Our greatness will appear Then most conspicuous, when great things of small, Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse We can create, and in what place soe'er Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain Through labor and endurance. This deep world Of darkness do we dread? How oft amidst Thick clouds and dark doth heav'n's all-ruling Sire Choose to reside, his glory unobscured, And with the majesty of darkness round Covers his throne; from whence deep thunders roar must'ring their rage and heav'n resembles hell? As he our darkness, cannot we his light Imitate when we please? This desert soil Wants not her hidden luster, gems and gold; Nor want we skill or art, from whence to raise Magnificence; and what can heavn' show more? Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements, these piercing fires as soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper; which must needs remove the sensible of pain. All things invite To peaceful counsel, and the settled state Of order, how in safety best we may Compose out present evils with regard Of what we are and where, dismissing quite All thoughts of war; ye have what I advise."

He scarce had finished, when such murmur filled Th' assembly, as when hollow rocks retain The sounds of blust'ring winds, which all night long had roused the sea, now with hoarse cadence lull seafaring man o'erwatched, whose bark by chance of pinnace anchors in a craggy bat After the tempest: such applause was heard as Mammon ended, and his sentence pleased, Advising peace: for such another field they dreaded worse than hell: so much the fear Of thunder and the sword of Michael Wrought still within them; and no less desire To found this nether empire which might rise By policy, and long process of time, In emulation opposite to heav'n.

[survivorsfm]

* PLOT DROP # 1 : the one with the rescue.

it was supposed to be our first approach beyond the borders of boulder after the infiltration, it was supposed to be okay …

for the first time in more than a year, after the trauma caused by the coalition’s schemes and violence, after the losses and the efforts, our scouts and scavengers ventured on the far side of their usual spots, to the borders of the city— beyond them. with resources scarce and dangers abundant, after much preparation, a visit to the next closer town seemed like the best course of action. and it was proved right when the nearest village was not only devoid of others, but plagued by very few infected and useful supplies still standing and around despite the pass of time.

the trip resulted in such a success that whistles and soft singing hums vibrated from some of the team’s members’ throats as they made their way back, hands full, bags even fuller, hearts thumping in their ribcage at the wonderful news they knew their community was in such strong need of.

                              but it was too good to be true.

or maybe it was bound to happen, although nobody could see how.

the hums and the singing and the quiet laughs were quickly shushed by nearby noises, alerting the scouts who deployed immediately, seeking the danger, ready to neutralize it. they found it only a few blocks from the uec’s grounds and the sight made anger simmer within them — a coalition’s camp had been set, too close to them, too close to the place they had promised to destroy come hell or high water, even after being defeated and outcast more than a year ago.

rage harbored deep inside the scouts at the realization, bile rising with it until it seethed in the hollow of their throats. nonetheless, they managed to act carefully, getting close only enough to listen, to gather something relevant if they were lucky and take it to their people, to alert them, to prepare them.

“ nobody is taking our home from us not again. ”

yet the luck bestowed upon most of them ran short for one. josephine barlowe’s scout, young and astute and good - willed got caught spying right the moment he was making his retrieving, the panic and rawness of his voice echoing against the walls of the wrecked city — shouting for help at first, voicing whatever he could recognize at last — the last piece the rest of the team got from him, from their youngest, the one who was barely a man, too often still a child, yet had the will and commitment of an entire army.

“ he’s going to be fine, he has to be. we’re gonna get him back. ”

but none of them was sure of that, none of them could think how to, however … maybe their people would.

TL;DR — returning from the first expedition outside boulder’s limits, the scouts and scavengers found a coalition’s camp being set only a few miles away from the sanctuary. while trying to get intel on whatever was happening and to get any information regarding their home or their enemies intentions for them in the near future, the scouts ventured closer, and in the retrieving from their position, in a situation none of them could foresee, the youngest of them ( and josephine barlowe’s guardian ) got caught by a coalition’s member who approached the boy from behind. desperate at the loss and lost about what to do, aware they were outnumbered to attempt a rescue, the team goes back to the sanctuary in desperate need of help. but how are they gonna tell the rest of the residents this ? how can they reignite the fear and the pain that for so long kept them angry and terrified in equal measures, when only days ago they were finally feeling able to celebrate for the first time in ages ?

                                        this could break them .

⸺   ONE  ,     RELEVANT  PLOT  INFORMATION .

once the team comes back and informs the rest of the community about what happened, the survivors quickly, driven by adrenaline and fear, but also determination and love, organize themselves into two groups.

group one: the rescuers. these are mostly people with considerable physical abilities and / or exterior experience. they’re basically going out there with the risk of never returning looming over their heads.

group two: the holders. these are the people who stay at the sanctuary for whatever reason ( lack of physical / fighting skills, loved ones they have to take care of, authority figure  roles, owner of abilities or jobs more useful inside than outside ) and prepare the place to receive the rescued, even in the worst case scenario.

the ambiance at the sanctuary, especially after group one leaves, is heavy with tension and underlying fear, yet the people get to work anyway, encouraged by the same negative emotions that threaten to paralyze them. they work fast and hard and hold each other during the nerve - wracking waiting. if your character is part of this group you can write about how they feel or reacted or are acting as much as what type of work they’re doing.

the plot development starts the moment group one leaves the school grounds and ventures in the direction of the coalition’s camp, so feel free to explore feelings and first impressions as much as actions or behavior regarding what’s happening and the different outcomes this could have regardless of the group your character is put in.

the  rescuers  leave  at  night,  close  to  midnight,  just  as  a  heavy  rain  starts  to  fall.  the  weather  is  chilly  and  humid  and  it  can  interfere  with  some  of  the  members’  vision  and / or  pace  sometimes.  it  also  makes  it  difficult  for  the  holders  to  get  the  necessary  outdoor  work  done.

⸺   TWO  ,     OOC  INFORMATION .

as  decided  by  the  majority  of  our  members,  the  event  duration  will  be  of  two  ( 2 )  weeks  ( from  wednesday  november  15th  to  friday  nomvember  24th )  with  the  possibility  of  extending  it  a  third  one  if  the  muns  think  it  could  be  beneficial  or  needed.

since  she’s  our  only  playable  radio  operator,  paige  dolian  ( @paigedolian ),  will  be  the  character  in  charge  of  holding  constant  transmissions  with  the  rescuers  while  on  the  mission.  all  updates  and  news  will  be  delivered  by  her,  feel  free  to  use  this  information  to  plot  and  write.

remember  major  plot  lines  ( i.e.  injuries,  death,  getting  lost,  getting  caught  or  wounded )  must  be  run  through  the  admin  team  first !

regarding  ongoing  threads,  you  can  continue  them  only  if   1.  they  are  with  someone  who’s  not  part  of  your  plot  group  ( so  you  can  keep  exploring  your  interaction / give  the  opposite  mun  something  to  write  if  they  don’t  have  much )  and  you  both  have  leave  to  modify  or  carry  on  with  it  as  you  please.   2.  it’s  a  closed  starter.  all  remaining  threads  must  be  closed  or  dropped  to  favor  new  ones  related  to  our  current  event.

⸺   THREE  ,     MEMBERS  PER  GROUP .

group one, the rescuers : cameron miller , jack behrens , josephine barlowe , lucas beckett , lucky fletcher , madison fraser , noah sallow , reuven aronov , santiago silva  ,  theo  coyne , william barlowe , zoya suvedi  ,  lina  seong .

group two, the holders : alistair blair , astoria lewis , aurora myranda , danny summers , david adebayo , eunchul song , link palmer,  nash  everett  , nyla everett , page dolian , teddy delgado , thérèse pillet  ,  isobel  howard  ,  flora  chen .

* admin note: if you don’t like your character placement and / or you think it does not fit them or that in the opposite group they’ll develop better, please let us know so we can switch them to the group of your preference. we did the grouping according to their occupations, facts, and personalities, but we’re aware we don’t know your character as you do, hence the request wouldn’t be a bother at all !