#so far fate of a coward remains at the bottom. and i know i never rlly like lofi one mic but also that was a cover so idk if it counts

[evandore]

alrighted cleared off my desk 👍 definitely not clean by any means and if you look anywhere but just the desk part its so ugly bc the boxes are notttt organized and theyre just shoved in the corners but WHATEVER !!!! its progress. its better then it was this morning. next week ill focus on cleaning all of the downstairs and probably the week after that ill actually sit down and spend a couple hours doing some proper organization

[bisexualklausmikaelson]

- fifty ways to kill your lover -

a/n: I have so many feels about this show :'( so it translated into this arumika/eremika/eremin fic, I've watched until aot s4 pt 1 so that's all the info I have to base on for this fic

-

Contrary to popular belief, Eren is not Mikasa's first kiss.

Back in their training days, the group got up to all kinds of mischief. Starting with Sasha stealing whatever food rations she could find, Reiner and Berthlot getting into the top secret liquor cabinets, Ymir sneaking into Historia's bed - they were all such trouble makers.

Of course, Connie is always putting everyone in the most uncomfortable situations.

They're all reluctantly huddled together, playing a game of spin the bottle and suddenly, it's Armin's turn.

"Eh?" He blushes, as there is so much laughter in the air when the bottle is flicked and ends up pointing to Mikasa.

Connie can't help but release a chuckle, "well Armin," he releases, swinging an arm around his shoulder. "You either get beat up by Jean for doing this or Eren - I wonder which fate you'll pick," he scoffs.

Armin avoids Jean's angry gaze and spots Mikasa's rosy cheeks.

He then turns to Eren - who is as red as a cherry. "Can I?" He wonders.

Eren widens his eyes. "You idiot, why the hell are you asking me for?" He asks, turning away .

It's unexpected and yet, it works.

He leans across the circle and softly pecks Mikasa on the cheek.

Strangely, she doesn't feel any discomfort towards this.

Hey, they hear Sasha yell, that's cheating! she wines, wanting a real kiss from them.

Mikasa and Armin don't comply and it's only later they realized that this gives Eren some relief.

-

Mikasa hurts her arm during battle and it is quite surprising that she even let this happen to her in the first place. Even more surprising is the fact that Eren happens to be the one to dress her wounds.

"Armin is much more gentle at this," he says, as Mikasa winces at the slight pain. "His hands are...softer, aren't they?" He looks up at her and it's only then she realizes how similar his eyes are to Armin's.

So youthful and full of hope and emotion.

Nothing like hers.

"It's fine," Mikasa quietly releases, allowing herself to relax her shoulder and unclench her jaw a bit.

Eren is not taken aback by the fact that she is always trying so hard to be so strong.

-

(They are eight when the three of them have their first sleepover.

It's all about Mikasa's hair in his face and Eren's snoring - Armin kind of hates it all, he barely sleeps that night.

It's weird - he's never been invited to a sleepover before, he's never actually had friends before, truth be told. He's not sure if this is how it's supposed to be.

"What's wrong?" Grisha asks, as he stumbles out from his basement with a little candlelight on. "Why are you still awake, Armin?" He asks, placing a kind hand on his shoulder.

Armin meets his gaze, all wonder-eyed and starry-viewed. "It's so noisy here," he murmurs softly, "I'm not used to it."

Grisha laughs, "I've lived in silence for most of my life," he sighs, "one day, you'll see, you won't be able to live without the noise," he says, pointing to Eren and Mikasa as they slept.

It's only years later that Armin is finally able to understand what Grisha actually meant).

-

Eren can be a bit of an airhead, at times.

Armin thinks, Mikasa knows.

They have their talks - one on one, like parents do, about how to take best care of Eren, what is the outcome for Eren, how to help Eren get better.

Eren. Eren. Eren.

"He doesn't know, does he?" Armin suddenly asks, as he's mid-way to flipping a page in his book. "About your feelings for him, I mean," he asks, sincerely.

Mikasa tenses up, biting her bottom lip. "Don't speak such nonsense," she tells him, swallowing hard.

He places a hand on her shoulder and this time, makes direct eye-contact with her. "It's obvious, to everyone, you know?" he says.

"Why are you saying this now?" she wonders, flustered. And then, it hits her like a ton of bricks. "Are you afraid we'll leave you behind?" Mikasa questions.

"I didn't say that," Armin sighs.

Their relationship remains strange - she's able to read him so well sometimes, it's almost scary.

"You don't have to," Mikasa whispers. "You should know, we never would anyway, leave you that is," she offers.

And she pretends not to notice the tremble in his voice.

-

Of all things - it is Eren who comes back first with gifts.

His training with Hange could be better - predictably. But, he still makes the time to sneak a visit or two in-between sessions with Mikasa and Armin.

"I got these for you," He gives Armin a pile of books - some on titan history, others just filled with drawings and sketches done by different members of the squad.

Not everyone knows how to appreciate art but, Armin does. Eren is sure of it.

He offers Mikasa some flowers he picked on his way to see her. "I thought it would match your scarf," he murmurs and she takes a moment before taking them in.

They were devoid of their natural scent since he'd been walking with them for so long - but they still smelled like Eren.

-

It seems that, at night, they tend to have the same dreams.

Playing in the meadow as kids, Carla calling them to get back soon and home-made meals.

Armin always wakes up first.

Only this time, he's holding both their hands. Mikasa on his right, Eren on his left - it must've been an accident, just something he unconsciously did in his sleep, he swears.

(He keeps remembering Grisha's words - he is truly never alone, not even in his sleep, there is always, always noise).

-

Eren is the first to realize he loves them both.

Consequently, he is also the first to leave. But truly, he is always leaving them - when he first died, diving head first into that damn titan and pulling Armin out.

When he was assigned to Levi Squad.

When he left for Marley.

It's always him - first to run, first to be the most afraid, a coward, through and through.

(He wonders if they'll ever forgive him).

-

Mikasa doesn't like to dwell on it, not too much - of how estranged they've become, of how he no longer looks at them with care and affection.

"The real Eren is in there somewhere," Armin tells her, the night they're both thrown in a prison cell together. "I just know it," he says, all beat up by his best friend and full of tears.

"You're always the one to bring him back," she still thinks true. "I believe in you - you always find a way," Mikasa hopes.

Armin doesn't know what to think - Eren just seems so far gone at this point, so beyond his reach.

It's hard to imagine him coming back.

"Ah well," he shrugs. "It's like you said, we won't leave any of us behind," Armin tells her, to comfort her at least.

They're going to be together forever, even if they must come between death.

-

And there once was a time where they were all there - the sea, the usurper and the fawn.

It was her hand in his hair, and his lips reading them bed time stories, and the other's laughter ringing in both their ears. It was a litany of things - of memories between them that they all hold dear, that they'll never forget.

"Eren," that one day, after all is said and done, they'd find him in the ruins, and reach their hands out towards him. "Let's go home," they'd say, in unison.

And he'd smile and follow them both out of the dust.

(Later on, Flock would hover him when he woke up, the Jaegerists not too far behind him).

It's nice to dream about, though.

-

[havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong]

An Interlude — Warmth Under the Covers

The Master of Chaldea — Ritsuka Fujimaru — checks in on his allies, only to find them slacking off yet again.

What’s a Guda to do?

[POV-Ritsuka]

—

I am a Master of Chaldea.

That is what I am — nothing more, nothing less.

The guy operating the summoning system most of the time — one of the two guys who keeps the contracts between the Servants that Chaldea summons.

Mash’s Senpai.

I’m a Cause, and so is my coworker.

“...That’s right. That makes me a badass now, sort of!”

I can feel my fingers run through my hair as I wink at the mirror before me. Comparing my two options to figure out which one I preferred in the Combat Uniform, I ran over my daily routine.

Step one, of course, was figuring out how much I wanted to do myself up in the morning. The Chaldea bathrooms had the perfect lighting to check my face and skin, ensuring my skincare routine was up to snuff. Making sure my eyes weren’t bloodshot from the two hours’ sleep — making sure the bags under my eyes were concealed with a little bit of makeup.

“It’s like every day, Suzie’s training becomes a little more useful.”

That’s right — a closer look, and my cheeks were smooth as a baby’s bottom — my eyes as normal as they could get, considering their bright orange shade. At least the curtains matched the windows — always something that did bother me about my other look, that my hair wasn’t blue.

“...Then again, that would look awful with the uniform.”

The thought made my spine shiver. Like a genderswapped Rei — not bad, but not exactly the visual I liked seeing.

Truly, it was preferable to have that set form — anything else would be nauseating to even think about.

“...That should do it.”

Yes, truly — I looked perfectly fine, now. Care had to be taken to ensure I looked like my best.

That, of course, was easier than worrying the others.

...

...The bathrooms led to the Chaldea halls, just as well as they led to my quarters. Why the creators did this always confused me — even moreso, that the doors were one-sided, and were flush with the wall, so you couldn’t even get back in.

“Goddamned mages and their one-way bathroom door magic.”

Adjusting the plugsuit that never failed to get bunched up near my arm, and trying to imagine the map of Chaldea in my head, I put one foot in front of the other and started course to the cafeteria. Simply a hop, skip, and approximately twenty-five different hallways that look exactly the same away — my only saving grace being how many times I’ve made this journey before.

That, and the burning Olive Garden due east of the Cafeteria, whose smoke signalled the food area from a mile away.

And for much of the trip, it was the same as it always was — simply my footsteps echoing in an empty hallway, the only accompaniment being the odd intercom message from Da Vinci letting the staff know of a Singularity that had only recently cropped up.

“Just calling to let you all know that we will begin our scheduled Rayshift in four days~! Prepare yourselves for it!”

...We never really had a break. Even walking down these empty, empty halls, my footsteps served only to momentarily break up the endless thoughts of what came next.

‘A mystery Singularity. Is that what it is? I’ve never heard of it. We had the four Pseudo-Singularities handled already. There shouldn’t be any Pillars left! On top of that, we still don’t know the first thing about its location, and even if we did...’

Tap.

‘...It’s not like we can do anything to stop it. All my research, and nothing about this makes any sense at all. Maybe a Foreigner could do it, but—‘

Tap.

‘—Why? There’s no reason to make a Singularity anymore. No Demon Pillars left. The Lostbelts are already destroying mankind. There’s nothing left to do. And—‘

Tap.

‘...We need a break. We need a break from this — from ALL of this. Cadence needs a break, and that’s to say nothing of myself. Can’t we have a moment to sleep..?! Can’t we have even a second to rest our eyes, snooze, and..?!’

The smoke overwhelmed my thought. Against the harsh fumes of a burning building, and the strange smell of spice, rational thought was impossible to maintain — and the growing headache of a nightmare-riddled sleep wasn’t exactly helping matters.

Tap.

It wasn’t far now, surely. Another step forward, and —

...

...Between the tables of the cafeteria, there lay a kotatsu.

I made it with Da Vinci’s help just a few days before. A little wooden table, at least compared to the surrounding cafeteria tables — a red blanket sort of thing, and a heater underneath that Da Vinci cleverly placed carefully to avoid burning oneself. It could sit, I reckoned, four people on a good day —

—I didn’t account for Gorgon, clearly.

Finally directing my gaze to what was coming out of the blanket of the kotatsu — and moving forward as to get the damned Olive Garden smoke out of my eyes — I was met first with the ever-clear figure of Gorgon. Eyes just barely shut, a hand positioned to form a makeshift pillow, and a tail surrounding something out of view, she drew a figure much unlike what I’d previously seen — only made a little more curious with the resting Lobo just behind her, which made its resting spot close to her in order to be as warm as possible. Hessian, for what it was worth, was still awake, sitting at a table nearby — offering me a wave of recognition as I returned my gaze to the table.

Jeanne Alter lay — more accurately, sat — at the kotatsu, almost as if she were awake, her hand still gently grasping a bag of chips that had by now spilled across the oak surface of the table. If it weren’t for her loud snoring, and her face smushed against the table, she would’ve had me convinced she was still awake.

Circling around, I found an Artoria that seemed quite familiar — Lancer, clad in a black turtleneck sweater, dark grey jeans, and her esteemed headpiece, resting her head on her hand and looking almost wistfully at whatever Gorgon had wrapped up in her tail. Even as I approached, she didn’t even look back in recognition — as if I never existed at all, or as if she were staring through a window that wouldn’t accommodate for anything Ritsuka-shaped.

And as I followed her unshifting gaze, I found —

—Wrapped in Gorgon’s tail, a young lady, sharp black hair tied up in an impressive style I couldn’t quite describe. Her face, uncovered by a mask I’d grown accustomed to seeing, seemed at peace — eyes gently shut, arms wrapped around...

“...Cadence, you motherfucker.”

The careful, wistful gaze of Lancer Alter, the comically tight squeeze of a sleeping Gorgon, and the gentle hold of Ushiwaka, all contained a cowardly Master that somehow bonded with the most hateful, evil beings alive.

In a sense, it would bring about the ultimate safety, being around those that would always fight to protect that which they care of — even if their ultimate fate is to burn all that lives, surely some safety remained in keeping close to those who would protect you from anything they hated most.

“...This guy claims he’s a one-on-one sort of guy, yet he ends up like this.”

...It wasn’t like I had any right to complain — I did have Mash, and that was utter perfection, so I supposed he had the right to find a portion of that.

“...I’m never letting him live this down.”

“...Ritsuka.”

...I glanced over to Lancer Alter, who seemingly only now clued into my existence — her almost hazy eyes, as if overlaid with a world both like and unlike reality, gazed both at me — and through me.

“What is it?”

“...Rest well. Your journey will not end so easily — you would do well to follow his lead.”

...Her gaze moved back to Cadence, who hadn’t moved a muscle. If not for the subtle sound of his breath, I’d have presumed him dead — though he wouldn’t have much room to move, the way he was.

“...I don’t think I can rest that well, Lancer. He’s got two ladies keeping him warm, and a third keeping an eye on him. Can’t tell me I’ll ever rest like that.”

...At that, the Lancer only smirked.

“...It shocks me as much as any other, Ritsuka, that this has happened. But... You have your own who would be all too willing to provide, no?”

I could hear myself let out a snort in a desperate attempt not to laugh.

“Only one with Ritsuka cuddle privileges is Mash. Serenity gets a pass, but the others terrify me.”

“...So be it. Find those two, and rest. If that is how you rest best, then so be it.”

...Keeping a close look at her eyes, the fog faded ever-so-slightly as she kept watch over the other Master. I reckoned it was probably due to the contract being transferred to him — though Cadence did always have the strange habit of bringing Alters down to earth. If he weren’t so scared of the others...

“...You do the same, Lancer. Don’t watch over the guy forever. If you wanna get in there, Gorgon could probably fit you, too.”

As I briefly procured me phone to snap a picture of the scene before me, to tease Cadence with later, Lancer only laughed back.

“I am already dreaming, Ritsuka. I have no need to rest.”

“Right, right.”

Even as I turned around, and began setting foot outside the cafeteria with a wave Lancer’s way, my eyes remained on the photo of Cadence.

A lot had changed — a lot would still yet change.

Friends had been made in unlikely places, enemies made of friends, and friends of enemies.

But in all this, even a guy as paranoid as Cadence found time to rest — he found company with Avengers, and those more evil than he could even hope to be, and he found safety in their loyalty and affection, so it seemed.

...

“...I guess I don’t need to worry about him, hm?”

...It was best to listen to that Lancer while I still had time —

—while, instead of the ceaseless nightmares, I would dream instead about teasing the coward that remained so affectionately in such a silly place.

...Perhaps it was time to dream.

[fallen-angel-92]

If I Surrender

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Depression, Attempted Suicide

A/N: Hello all. I am writing this one-shot (?). Lately I have been feeling really down and wrote this story based upon a song I heard of the same name. Please. Please head the warnings I have posted above, this story is a way for me to help myself with my own mentality. I may do this as a continuing fic, but please let me know what you think. Also please if you are feeling down and feel like you can’t go on. Please seek help as all life is precious as is yours.

Summary: The voices were so loud now. She couldn’t take it anymore. She wanted it all to end. One night she decided that it was the night that it would all end, however, fate had different plans for her.

Lately I’ve been feeling so ashamed

By these thoughts I’m hiding in my brain

Cause I’ve been holding them down 

But they twist me violently

She sat upon the ledge, the wind dancing around her, slicing through her body like cold blades. Her eyes stared up at the full moon as she began to wonder why she still existed. Her hands gripped the edge of the building as her gaze turned downwards. She watched as all the people walked underneath her feet, not caring about anyone else, but themselves. She could remember her friends calling her earlier to ask her to go to the bar with them. She declined as she always done, not in the mood to be left alone and forgotten about.

I’m hanging by a thread tonight

But this time I don’t wanna be saved

So, let me fall

Let me break 

Under everything unsaid

She clenched her arms to the side of her body feeling the icy cold winds, once again picking up. The voices that she tried so hard to silence began to return full force,

*Stupid woman. You won’t jump. You are a coward.*

*Come one coward, take a leap of faith. Bet you’ll look lovely at the bottom.*

*No one will miss you. You are nothing but a failure*

*Yeah all you do is sit on your fat ass as you write. You can’t even finish a chapter*

She bit her bottom lip, as the voice grew louder and louder. They all spoke in the different voices of the people she knew. Her eyes welled up with tears as her hands let go of the edge and covered her face as she tried to wipe away the tears that streamed down her chubby cheeks. 

Just let me die

Because I can’t take living

With what’s in my head

If I surrender; surrender

To the monsters in me

If I surrender; surrender

To the monsters in me

Will it set me free?

She could feel droplets beginning to fall onto her. Her hands traveled into her hair, nails were digging into her head as the voices got even louder. Her eyes clenched themselves as the voice continued to belittle her.

*Just die! You know they won’t care.*

*They have prettier women. They don’t need you. Just like you mother and father didn’t want you.*

She began to cry harder as she thought about the two men she fell in love with, but chose to remain silent. After all she was just a lowly secretary, she was nothing special, at least to her that is what she felt. Never truly, accepting that she was pretty, at least that is what people told her. She thought they were doing it out of pity for her. The rain became heavier soaking her clothes causing her to become extremely cold.

What’s the point of holding on like this?

When no one seems to care if I exist

There is no agony like being strong when no one

Knows you’re sick

So sick of hearing I should stay when I know I would never be

Missed

She didn’t want to hear the voices anymore and slowly stood up. Once she was upon her feet she slowly got closer. She ignored the rain as she looked down at streets once more, the heavy droplets caused many people to scamper into the nearest building to avoid getting wet. Lightning flashed above her, causing her to look up at the sky, hair sticking to her face, allowing the rain to run down her face, mixing with the tears of her own sorrow.

So let me fall, let me break

Under everything unsaid

Just let me die because I can’t take

Living with what’s in my head

If I surrender; surrender

To the monsters in me

If I surrender; surrender

To the monsters in me

Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself forward to allow herself to begin to fall forward and allow herself to plummet toward the ground. As she fell her body turned so her back was facing the ground, the wind whipped around her. She watched as the roof seemed further and further away. Closing her eyes she waited for her body to hit the concrete.

If you could see under my skin

You’d realize why I hold it in

Why it’s a fight I don’t wanna win

Why it’s a fight I don’t wanna win

If you could see all my abuse

And spend a day in my shoes

You’d realize why I just wanna lose

You’d realized why I just wanna lose

Will anyone believe the hell of being me

Before I decide to be the dying proof?

However, her wish didn’t come to pass as two strong arms caught her before she hit the ground. Her eyes snapped opened, meeting a pair of bright blue eyes that seemed to stare down at her with fear and worry, plain as day. Instantly, she looked down not wanting to look into the eyes of Superman. A man she had hoped she was far from, after all she didn’t want to be saved. She wanted everything to stop, she could see out of the corner of her eye that they were returning to the rooftop that she tried to jump from. To her surprise, noticed the familiar figure of a tall, blonde, blue eyed Steve Rogers was standing there as if waiting for them.

She could hear Superman land upon the roof, allowing Steve to run up to her as Superman set her down. As soon as her feet touched the roof she allowed herself to just fall to the ground, unwilling to get up even as Steve crouched next to her. She could hear them saying stuff to her, but the voices tuned them out as they began their venomous verses:

*Useless!*

*Can’t even succeed in killing yourself.*

*Failure! Failure!*

Once more, she covered her ears, clenching her eyes shut as she pulled her knees up and allowed her forehead to touch her knees as she began to cry again. She could feel herself being pulled into a warm chest as she sobbed loudly. Unaware of Steve looking up at the brunette, who looked at her with worry before quickly kneeling next to them and hugging her as well. 

So let me fall, let me break

Under everything unsaid

Just let me die because I can’t take

Living with what’s inside my head

If I surrender; surrender

To the monsters in me?

If I surrender; surrender

To the monsters in me

Will it set me free?

Both men could hear her sobs lessen as they noticed she had slowly fallen asleep. Steve to her into his arms and stood up with her before looking over to Superman and spoke softly,

“I’ll see you when you get home, Clark. Thank you for listening to me.”

“I am glad I did, Steve. We’ll have to try and see if we can help her or if someone can.” Clark responded softly as his blue eyes landed upon the sleeping woman.

Nodding to Clark. Steve watched as Clark flew away allowing him to look down at the woman for a moment before heading toward the door that led to the stairwell. He knew that it would be a long road, but he planned on being there for the woman that had captured both his and Clark’s heart. It would be a long hard road, filled with tears, and doubt and a lot of patience for one another. However, Steve knew that they would all pull through in the end and maybe come out of this stronger than ever.

[hitbythunder]

Chandrilan Moons -3

A Kylo Ren x Reader story with much angst, possessiveness and dark themes (warnings will be updated as the story progresses) –> Read also on AO3

Summary: Growing up under the loving care of your foster-mother, Leia Organa, there had been nothing for you and Rey to want for. Though not of kin, you loved Rey as your sister and spent a happy childhood with her on Chandrila. But when the boiling galactic politics demanded for Leia to take action, for the Resistance to rise and fight, the girls could no longer evade the cruelty of the world. Kylo Ren sought a map as a key to revenge, to freedom, and had no use for a force-unsensitive young girl like you. You were simply a means to an end. Until his darkness latched onto you, drawn in by your light as you were by the demon that is Kylo Ren - inevitably gravitating towards each other, bound to be one. Like the Chandrilan moons.

**** WARNING: description of violence, mentions of rape

____________________________xXx____________________________

3- A disturbance in the Force

+Takodana - neutral territory+

 Flying through space was amazing and although two experienced and trusted Resistance pilots had accompanied us girls on our mission, the glistening stars as far as one could see was worth it all. While Rey remained slightly pouting for most of the flight, I was glued to one of the side-windows of the ship. It was a small but bulky transport ship, for a star-fighter couldn't hold that many people and would have attracted too much attention once we landed on Takodana. Albeit its neutrality in the war, one should never act foolishly, especially since neutrality itself depended heavily on the benefits of a foregone alliance. But with Maz Kanata, the owner of the famous castle that granted sanctuary to everyone for one night, and proved friend of the Resistance, nothing could go wrong today and the whole mission seemed as good as done.

Leia had sent us there to retrieve the Jedi texts Maz had bought from a smuggler who had passed through weeks ago, hoping that they might help Rey's training in the Force. Or so I assumed as I curiously scanned the texts before Rey put the few scrolls and loose pages in a safety-box inside her back-pack.

 "There's one more thing." Maz rummaged in a small chest among the sheer endless heaps of stuff in the castle's vault, leaving me to wonder how she could possibly remain an overview of what was down here. But perhaps that was why it was such a good hiding-place for forbidden artifacts such as Jedi-texts - as well as the light-sabre Maz now held solemnly in her wrinkled hands.

"Oh my stars, Luke Skywalker's light-sabre!" Rey was beyond herself with joy, her hands trembling slightly as she took the legendary weapon and gingerly inspected it from all sides. Ever the technician, Rey simply had to understand how that thing worked exactly and probably would disassemble the sabre if it hadn't been Luke's.

While I shared my sister's excitement, I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as I watched Rey posing with the sabre. As so often, I found myself lacking as compared to my sister and Maz's talk about destiny and great deeds to be done with that sabre didn't make it any better. So I zoned out, sulking quietly in the background, until the three of us left the stuffy vault via seemingly endless stairs. We reemerged back into the dining hall of the castle's ground-floor where the canteen was, without drawing attention of the guests there. In one corner of the hall, a band played jolly tunes, which echoed off the thick castle walls and arched ceiling in a cacophony with the chatter of people. Because of many nooks and columns, the canteen could house many guests without seeming stuffed and a social-introvert like me could feel quite overwhelmed by all the noises, smells and visuals. I had never seen such variety of alien races, humans and droids gathered peacefully in one place.

 With our mission virtually accomplished, the Jedi texts secured, it was time for us to return to the base and thus I scanned the canteen for our two escorts. But fate had other plans, for suddenly three very familiar faces appeared at the entrance of the dingy dining hall.

"Han Solo!" Maz cried out, shifting everyone's attention to the smuggler and his companions Chewie, a startled guy in Poe's jacket and Poe himself, his loyal droid BB-8 at his heels.

 What in the galaxy are they doing here? I wondered while they approached us, an uneasy tingling overcoming my nerves. In hindsight, to give in and investigate this strange feeling more closely would have spared me so much trouble. But instead I pushed it down and greeted the guys as friendly as ever and soon later we found ourselves seated at the last available table. After getting us some food and beverages, Maz joined us at the round table, listening intently to the quiet conversation. We informed Han about our mission before he could get any wrong ideas (e.g. that we stole a ship and went against Leia's orders) and it felt nice that he cared about our well-being.

 "Kriff, that is amazing!" Rey nearly burst with excitement as Poe, with interruptions of Han and Fin (the new guy), told us about what had happened on his mission. To sum it up, Poe had been on Jakku to get a map leading to Luke Skywalker but had been caught by the First Order and tortured by Kylo Ren himself. I shuddered at that part, because everybody knew not to cross paths with this merciless demon. Ren's cruelty and thirst for blood-shed seemed endless, his hatred for the Resistance only fueling his powers, and I could not fathom to imagine what Ren had done to squeeze every ounce of information out of Poe.

Luckily, Poe had entrusted the map to BB-8, who had remained hidden on Jakku the whole time, until Poe had managed to escape by the help of Fin, a renegade stormtrooper. Well, and as if fate had decided to stir things up even more, they had bumped into Han and Chewie on the way - something concerning smugglers and gross aliens, I didn't listen too carefully then - and due to low fuel and necessary repairs they had to make a stop here on Takodana.

"Wow, what a ride..." I said with awe and respect for their courage and luck, which had at least Fin and Poe smile proudly.

"Yeah, didn't exactly go to plan-" Poe replied between sips of his beer, Han scoffing beside him and mumbling something to Chewie about the recklessness of youth. "-but here we are, map in hand."

 "And as soon as the Falcon's refueled we're leavin'!" Han declared as soon as Poe finished, his tone harsh but one could tell he only meant well for all of us. "Gonna make sure y'all get back in one piece." Obviously, Leia would have Han's head should anything happen to her girls, her best pilot and the map under his watch. And although I sensed his reluctance to face Leia, I was looking forward to the resemblance of a family. Hopefully they wouldn't quarrel from the start on.

 Somewhat lost in my fantasies of a happy family life, I hadn't registered the growing debate between Finn, Rey and Poe.

"... you don't know them as I do! There's no fighting the First Order because they'll slaughter us for even trying. I've seen enough of their horrors and I want nothing to do with them!" Finn declared heatedly and barely kept his voice low as Poe repeatedly urged him to, also keeping the renegade in his chair.

"But that's the point! You have so much detailed insider-information which we could use to fight them! Why would you waste that and cling to the illusion of outrunning them?" Rey retorted with unabashedly directness and not less heatedly, the spirit of the Resistance burning fiercely in her hazel eyes. "Fleeing like a coward."

Finn rose then, anger and shame written across his face, though he didn't come up with a response and after a few seconds gave in to Poe tucking at his sleeve, sat back down and glared into his cup. A tensed silence hung over the table, until Maz subtly changed the subject by engaging Han in a conversation about a mutual smuggler-friend of theirs. With a fuming Rey beside me, I shot Poe a questioning glance, but he looked as helpless beside Finn as I felt and began to talk some sense into Finn in a calm manner. That he should come with us to the base, at least for a little while.

 Next to Han, Chewie was eager to get out of here, groaning impatiently beside his friend and rubbing his bandaged arm.

"All right, Chewie, go on and check on our baby." Han said between Maz's babbling and quickly grabbed his beer before Chewie would knock it over as the giant jumped to his feet.

"I'm coming with you." on impulse I rose too, dismissing everyone's questioning looks as I added: "I need some air anyways."

 Let them cool their heads while I'm gone, I thought and jogged after Chewie.

   Since Maz's castle was built on a cliff surrounded by the ocean on one side and dense forest on the other, the landing-places were spread to a few clearings nearby. So we had to walk a little and although Chewie wasn't particularly chatty, I didn't mind either and enjoyed the beautiful landscape. At the bottom of the weathered castle's stairs, we turned right and followed a lovely path between lush grassy hills at the border of the forest, the rush of the nearby sea accompanying our steps. Suddenly Chewie halted, his hairy arm on my shoulder stopping me too, and pointed towards the thicket. There, half-hidden by the greenery, two humans were carrying a seemingly shut-down BB-8 further away from the castle.

 Hasn't BB-8 been with Poe and us the whole time? I wondered briefly. But then, BB-8 was a small droid and many people had squeezed themselves past our table in the brimming canteen. Perhaps we had all been too distracted by the heated conversation between Rey and Finn to notice BB-8's absence.

"I'll follow them and stop them from leaving. You go use that long legs of yours and get the others, Chewie! Rey'll find me through the Force!" I declared in a split-second-decision, already dashing away into the dense forest and leaving a groaning wookiee behind.

  Deeper and deeper I ventured in my pursuit, steadily closing the distance between myself and the thieves without alerting them of my presence. As children, Rey and I had often played hide and seek in the forests of Chandrila and I had to develop some pretty decent sneaking-skills to diminish her advantage with the Force. Rey had only once admitted that she wouldn't have won all those times if she hadn't used the Force to sense my approach. Thus, even if my sneaking skills should fail me I trusted that Rey would be able to find me. I just had to stall some time, delay those thugs from leaving, until Rey and the others would arrive. At one point, the two thieves halted to catch their breaths and looked around. I quickly ducked behind a tree, easing my nerves. Suddenly I noticed a bright red stroke on the otherwise blue sky above, far away yet ominous to watch. Though I had no clue what it was, I instantly had a bad feeling about it. But more pressing matters were at hand, and after another deep breath I dared to peek around the trunk. There was only one thief beside BB-8 then.

 Kriff, where did the other go?!

  Maybe Chewie should have chased them, not me, I admitted to myself as I was hauled by a pair of large hands and thrown very harshly on the forest floor next to the motionless droid.

"Look what followed us, mate!" said the gruff guy to his companion, who looked terribly scrawny in comparison. Both reeked of ale and whatnot, their ugly visages distorted by sinister smiles.

"A pretty thing like that will make a good price, I wager. Not as high as for the droid though." the scrawny one snickered as he mustered me, while the bear-like guy's eyes roamed over my body with a different kind of greed.

"How 'bout a taste..."

 "No!" I screamed as he grabbed me, trashing against his hold, and somehow I managed to draw my small combat-knife from its holster at my hips. I thrust without much consideration, nor proper aim, stabbing bear-guy right above the knee. The blade sunk hilt-deep into his thigh-muscle. He howled in pain and repaid me with a hearty slap across my face, sending me flying back against BB-8 and onto the mossy ground. The impact caused the droid to reawaken and a small safety compartment at its front jumped open, the object within landing a few feet ahead of me.

 The map! my dizzy mind concluded with horror.

 Ignoring the rising pain in my body, I crept on all fours and frantically scanned the forest floor with my hands in a panicked search for the map. Scrawny guy was still laughing at his companion. Knowing that the guys and Poe in particular, had risked their lives for this map and that finding Luke was vital for the future of the Resistance, I simply couldn't loose it nor let it be taken by those thugs. It was my chance to prove my value as part of the Resistance and failing wasn't an option.

 What would Leia think if I screw this up? Or Poe?

 Then, finally, my right palm touched a metallic longish object and instantly I closed my fingers tightly around it. The very moment I did so, a flash of energy shot through me, momentarily blinding all my senses in its immense light and suddenly the outline of a star-constellation appeared before my inner eye. Planets and stars twinkled in a blueish hue, in between a red dotted line that led to a particular oceanic planet. Though somehow familiar, I could not place this constellation and this strange vision lasted only a few seconds, before a sudden sharp pain in my hand brought me back to my present predicament.

  +++

  In front of Takodana castle, the fight between stormtroopers and Resistance had just begun by the time Kylo arrived there. His ship landed like a looming black bird among the First Order transports and agitation spread in his muscles upon the pending blood-shed, especially since he had sensed another force-user inside the castle. By far not as strong as him, but hopefully they would do for some entertainment compared to the other scum-bags that died like flies at his hand. Kylo was marching determinedly towards the building, when he felt it.

A disturbance in the Force within the forest to his right, faintly but clear as a lightning-bolt at distance and vanished just as quickly. Kylo paused, scanned the area with his powers and concluded that the other Force-user was up ahead at the bottom of the castle - not in the direction of the disturbance. Weighing his options, Kylo dismissed the distraction for being just that and walked on to find his opponent. The Force, however, tickled his senses again, rippling with distinct restlessly as if to tempt him and now it seemed foolish not to inquire further.

 "Find that droid at all costs! And take no prisoners!" Kylo barked towards a nearby officer, before he stormed off into the forest.

 The lightning-bolt had pinned down the exact location and the closer he got, the stronger the Force seemed to pull him there, becoming more insistent with each step. Faster, it seemed to whisper and spurned his steps beyond the capacity of men, neither rocks nor tree-stumps posing a real obstacle in his path. Kylo felt some human presence long before they came into view, two men beating and kicking a woman cowering at their feet. Judging by their appearance, they were either smugglers or Resistance-fighters and either was good enough reason to kill them.

Silent in his approach, Kylo descended upon them like a dark shadow from behind, the hiss of igniting his light-sabre the only foretelling sound of their demise. Effortlessly, the red crackling blade cut through cloth, flesh and bone, drenching the nearby greenery and earth with blood.

[stuckonvenus]

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 » Ellie & Becca

 Ｊｕｌｙ ３１ｓｔ， １９９８

The saying goes as such: the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb... or whatever. Honestly I have only ever applied this proverb to my relationship with my sister whenever we weren’t in mortal peril. While I have plenty of friends and acquaintances who I’ve shared battlefields with (i.e. the morning after a party), that never made me any closer to them in a real crisis. I would say about seventy-five percent of the time that the blood is thicker than the water, and the remaining twenty-five percent is when the water isn’t necessarily thicker, but more pressurized. That’s the only time in our lives when we’ve ever come together as sisters.

Well, this is the twenty five percent, and never has the feeling of being sucked and trapped against a fissure at the bottom of the Challenger Deep been more realized than now. It doesn’t help that my bladder is about to implode and leak the citrus-flavored toxic waste I’ve consumed in rapid succession over the past half hour into my visceral fat and contaminate all my vital organs. 

I waddle awkwardly through the narrow doorway of Page One and slam my tiny palm onto the countertop. A bookkeeper who I can recognize as my lab partner from sophomore year chemistry pokes his nose out from the novel he’s immersed in. Moby Dick. Jesus, who reads school assigned books after graduation?

“Hey, Drew-Drew,” I greet him, a lopsided grin fitted on my lips as he brushes his hair out of his eyes and offers me a smile in return. He has a lot more charisma than I remember. I think his eyes have gotten bigger and bluer, too. It reminds me of the water’s surface I’m staring up at from the very bottom of the ocean. “Where’s Becky at?”

Drew dog-ears his page — which is kind of disgusting to me, do they not sell bookmarks in this busted ass joint? — and he points toward the graphic novel section. “Over there, we just got Spider-Man #76, she’s stocking up.”

“... Didn’t #76 come out in January? Of last year?” I ask him. He opens his mouth so he can answer but I stop him with a raised hand. “No time. You’re lookin’ good, Drew-Drew, considerably less like a delicious pepperoni pizza. Keep it up with the Oxy Pads.” I say before pushing away from the counter and venturing off to my destination.

Indeed, my older sister is crouched down and rustling with a display, slightly disgruntled by the symmetry of the copies of Spider-Man she’s stocking. I don’t really have any witty remarks as a smooth enough introduction, so I settle with, “Need help?”

She whips around and I can almost hear the crack in her spinal cord from the velocity. “Lily?” she half-whispers. I forget that I haven’t seen her since late May, and also that I swore I’d never see her again.

“In the flesh,” I confirm and do a curtsey, which threatens my full bladder. I really need to piss soon or else I’ll die a terribly death in the shittiest bookstore on the eastern seaboard. “Do you have a sec? It’s 9-1-1.”

Becca’s expression shifts from awe and minor annoyance to something resembling concern as she pushes herself off her knees. “What is it?” she asks me, crossing her arms over her chest as a last resort defense mechanism. 

I don’t hesitate to hold up the plastic Walgreens bag I’ve carted with me for two blocks. She recognizes the items inside and her eyes go all moony and her jaw slacks a bit. I jerk my brows up expectantly and she assumes the position of utter bewilderment.

“Do you have a place I can empty the biohazardous contents of my bladder? It’s about to necrotize,” I hiss at her. She reaches down, digs in her pocket, unearths a bronze key and walks ahead of me at full speed. I have to waddle after her like a newly hatched penguin chick. It would be more humiliating if over half the population of Eden were literate, but alas...

Becca jams the keys into the lock and just about bodychecks the door so we can enter the rectangular bathroom. It’s cramped and the lighting resembles something out of a Hitchcock film, but who the fuck am I to be picky about where I take the most important whizz of my life?

I place the bag on the counter and take out the three empty full-sized cans of Surge I used to fuel my bladder before picking up the grossest thing I have ever held: a pregnancy test. I keep it in my grasp for a few passing beats, nearly crushing the box underneath my iron-tight grip before man-handling it open and tearing out the plastic stick that will determine my fate.

“This is by far the most unholy fortune telling experience ever,” I decide to joke as I witness my sister cower in the corner. You’d think by the looks of it she were the one whose life was about to change forever. “You think if I shake it a genie will come out and grant me three wishes?”

“... Only if it’s negative, as a gift,” Becca chimes in at last. “Otherwise not even God can save you.”

I let out an involuntary snort, because while my reflexes register this as a funny joke, I am actually scared shitless.

I stare at the porcelain toilet bowl. I feel sicker now looking at it than when I’ve genuinely been at risk for vomiting up my lunch. I could still do that, I’ve been puking like a bulimic for weeks now. The thought is almost comforting. Almost. I bite the bullet instead and yank my pants down, my boy pants, which I normally wear as a boy when I’ve got slightly wider hips and more junk to hide and taller legs to protect with denim fabric. Fuck me.

“I just... Hold it and piss, right?” I ask her, as if she’s gone through this before. I know for a fact she hasn’t, or else this wouldn’t be our first time. I’m surprised it’s our first time, actually, thinking that karma would’ve caught up with me a long time ago. 

“Just don’t get any on your hand.” Becca replies. Very helpful, I think, but rather than respond verbally I give a sigh of defeat and do what needs to be done. When my bladder is emptied an eternity later, I pull up my oversized pants and briefly grieve my dick before I place the test on the counter.

I glance over my shoulder at Becca, “It’s seasoned. Just gotta let it marinate.”

“Gross.” she says with a scrunched up nose.

I turn around and slide down the wall, an action she mimics a couple seconds later. I stare ahead, up at the light that’s screwed into a 70s pendant-shaped fixture, and pass the silence by making them flicker. I do this as a distraction from the materializing tension between us. Normally, this doesn’t happen, but then again our peril has only involved either extreme intoxication, pedos on AOL (during high school), or something about her and Gabriel’s arguments, which felt like walking through Reactor 4 in Chernobyl.

She’s the first one to say something.

“Whose is it? ... If it’s a thing,” she wonders, and as I look over at her I notice that her eyebrows are knitted together and her mouth is fixed downward. “... Please don’t tell me Topher’s.”

I chuckle at the idea. “I think if it were a thing and Topher’s, it’d have grown like a xenomorph baby and ripped itself out of my stomach by now,” I tell her. “I’d deserve that kind of karma for getting knocked up by him.”

“Xenomorph?” she says, and I open my mouth to offer an explanation before she finishes, “Alien. Right.”

“... Yeah, exactly,” I nod along. How in the hell did she remember that? We only ever sat through Alien and Aliens once, and I could’ve sworn she was too preoccupied reading a magazine to actually notice what was happening on screen. 

I also notice that she’s wearing my favorite striped turtleneck. Stone cold bitch.

Some things never change, huh?

Shit, I think I might cry.

This is why we’re siblings, I think, so I can hate her for wearing my favorite turtleneck while sitting by her side as we await Satan’s final decision on the state of my cursed uterus.

Tears prickle my vision but I blink them away. 

“Whose is it, then?” she wonders again. I visibly tense. This is probably where our unspoken, once-in-a-blue-moon loyalties end. How do you tell your sister that her ex-boyfriend is the reason you’re sitting in the dingy bathroom of her workplace with a piss-riddled stick inches away?

In the end, I don’t have to say anything at all. We look at each other simultaneously and she reads my expression with ease. Her features soften and I can see a glint of hurt in her eyes, and I expect ripples of betrayal to make themselves known across the rest of her body soon enough. But those ripples never come. The water I thought was loosening from around me doesn’t make a goddamn move. 

I’m still at the bottom of the Deep, but she’s with me now.

Her hand grips mine. Tight. I can feel our pulses match up in our paralleling wrists.

“I think it’s been enough time.” I say eventually. She doesn’t release my hand. Our shared warmth creates a comfortable friction between us. “... Will you hate me after this?”

Becca squeezes my hand. A heart beat jumps out from her touch to mine. “I think I’ve hated you enough for one summer.”

A smile flickers on the corner of my lips and I slowly depart my hand from hers. My palm is slick with sweat but I don’t mind. I stand up and feel my equilibrium struggle to steady itself before I’m ready to approach the counter. The test is still there, so I know this wasn’t an abstract fever dream I’ve had after discovering so much eerily similar history.

I’m not a fucking coward. I’m looking this shit straight on, no matter what. Do you think I’m afraid of a sign? Totally not. I lean over and stare down, my gaze idling at the base before finally fixating on the panel.

+

Holy shitstickers.

“... Becca?” I call out, my voice half gone from unknown forces. She perks up and I see her reflection in the mirror with widened eyes. “Do you have five bucks? I’m gonna need more Surge.”

[kaibacxrps]

Duelists kingdom - The stage has been set up.

This is a discord thread with @kaibacorpbros​

CW for: Suicide atempt

Kaiba had his strategy all planned out. It was perfect. Unbeatable. But yet again Yugi was determined to prove him wrong. They had come here to rescue Mokuba, and that's all Seto cared about. It was on him, and only him. It was his little brother. He would protect him. Which was why he had a firm girp over the control of his body. He would not listen to any protests from the spirit. If Kaiba won, Yugi would be out and unable to protect what was important to him. It was only fair, it was how the world worked. If Yugi wasn't strong enough, that was his problem. But now that Kaiba had the Ultimate on the field, this duel was his. So long as he had that, Mokuba would be saved. "You can't beat my dragon, just admit it, Yugi."

Something changed in Kaiba, after their brief run in with Pegasus- after they caught a glimpse of what the man had done to Mokuba. Trying to communicate with Kaiba was a monumental feat, by itself. Making his vessell give him ears, somehow was even worse than that. Set and Seto never had the best relationship ever since he entered the boy’s life, that was a given by now. However, most would have assumed that due to their current situation- these two would be in perfect sync with one another, in order to work together due to their shared goal. Of course, this really wasn’t the case here. Set is obviously upset- mad, at Kaiba’s attitude, Despite everything, he insisted in doing all of this alone- essentially shoving him aside, taking him out of the equation in order to try and save Mokuba. The spirit could only watch over the duel from the sidelines, he had given up arguing by the time the first turn had ended. There was no point in wasting his energy like that, especially at what appeared to be an imminent victory to his vessell. He watched him prepare and build his deck, just for this duel. He has learned from his mistakes, and is ready to crush his opponent without giving them the chance to even breath. Set’s gaze shifted from Yugi’s side of the field, then back to Kaiba’s. As much as it pains him to stand against who he assumes to be his pharaoh, he can’t help but be on his vessell’s side. ’This duel is close to ending.’ The priest thought to himself, as soon as the Ultimate blue eyes hit the floor. There is virtually nothing in this world, that could possibly stop this three-headed beast. Yugi no longer had the Exodia cards, a good chunk of his deck had been destroyed by Kaiba’s crush card virus’ effect... This duel would swiftly come to a close, he should probably try to save his energy for Pegasus. Yugi’s defeat would be so ironic to him, but at the same time so disappointing given who might be inhabiting that boy’s body. Maybe he was wrong, about that entity. For now, that answer satisfied him, and Set was ready to vanish - return to his soul room and wait there for the end of this game. “Thanks to these cards, I'll use shining arrow on your Ultimate blue-eyes, Kaiba!” The voice tone he had just heard didn’t suit at all someone who was close to meeting their doom, by the time Set turned around he heard the sound of an arrow piercing the Ultimate blue-eye’s body. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “Se-Seto!” The spirit exclaimed, as soon as he spotted Mammoth graveyard’s skull and tusks going right through the dragon’s body. Did they make the same mistake from the last time? How did this happen? Why? So many questions flooded his mind, as he stood there- gawking at the scene in complete disbelief. In a single move, Yugi managed to turn the fate of this duel. That became obvious to him, when the blue-eyes body began to melt- and rotten right in front of their eyes. However, things only got far worse at a very short timespan. Set couldn’t hear or even feel Kaiba’s presence, but he was still very aware of his surroundings- there was a high-pitched scream- that came from one of Yugi’s friends. The spirit’s gaze quickly looked over at where Seto supposedly was meant to be, only to find that he had just climbed on top of a wall’s border- edge. What was he doing?! “Seto! Come down from there! SETO, WHAT’S HAPPENING?! SETO!” He needed to regain control over that body, urgently- that was his priority in that moment. 

It had all been so perfectly locked down. Kaiba had full control over the field. And then Yugi pulled the rug out from under him once again. As the zombie monster fused with his dragon, it started to corrode like rotten flesh. How had this happened? He was already scouring for a solution somehow to keep the Ultimate alive, for it was his ace. And then he heard a familiar scream. Pressure closed in on him, as if he were underwater, the rest of the world falling away. It was just him, his trapped, screaming and scared brother. And the coward unable to save him. Kaiba wasn't sure how much time passed. But he did know one thing. He needed to win. The way it happened, didn't matter. He took a step back. And another. And another. Until he could feel the wind all around him, the gaping drop mere inches away. None of it mattered. Because nothing mattered without Mokuba. He showed no sign of hearing Set, and even if he could, it wouldn't matter. Sure, logically it would be unfair to pull the spirit into his suicide as well, but that was at the bottom of his current list. "My life points hit zero, and I will step back off this castle, Yugi. Go on do it. Unless you don't have what it takes."

“Kaiba, this is madness!” Yugi shouted at his opponent, but he still refused to give up. They have gone through so much to get here, and they are so close to reaching their goal... They can’t go back or give up on it. Despite the clear goal- image of grandpa in his mind, he felt like something pulling in the back of his mind. What an odd sensation... He never felt like this before. For the split of a second, it felt like he couldn’t control or move his body. This never happened to him, what was going on? Yugi couldn’t think about that now, he must stay focused in the duel. Yet, drawing the next card felt like a chore- as if his body was fighting against his will. Did his other self wake up- become self-aware? Meanwhile, on the other side of the field Set was still calling for Kaiba. This wasn’t normal at all, something was awfully wrong about all of this. Sure, the other soul had the tendency to ignore him- but nothing came to this level, it truly felt like he was screaming at a wall. “That’s it Seto,” the spirit said in a lower tone, he could no longer stand as just an onlooker- he had to take a drastic measurement. “This ends now, Seto! I’m taking over!” However, when he approached- reached out his vessel’s body in order to swap places with him, he was met with a sharp pain. It felt like a current of electricity ran through his body, repelling his soul from getting any closer- taking over it. A loud cry of pain escaped Set, who tried to force himself in as much as he could, before being completely thrown away from his vessel. “Wh-wha?! N-No way, what’s going on?!” The spirit spoke out loud, as he tried to get back onto his feet. Finally, Yugi managed to draw his next card however there was nothing that he could do in that moment so he simply passed his turn to Kaiba. Meanwhile, his giant wall of Kuribohs, kept growing exponentially. “Your turn, Kaiba.” He exclaimed, while his eyes remained fixated onto his opponent.

It it weren't for the situation perhaps Seto would have heard, and even given pause at the priest's words.  But the after affects of that horribly vivid hallucination had it's grip on his mind. He couldn't lose. Wouldn't. A life for a life this may be, but it was Yugi's own fault if he couldn't protect the one he wished to. Mokuba was all that mattered to him in this world. If Seto couldn't save him, then there was no point in existing. His responsibility. His mission. His reason. 'Take care of your brother.' In Kaiba's mind it was obvious, and proven. No one swooped in to save him and Mokuba from the system. From what Gozaburo did. Standing around, hoping and praying would do nothing. The only power one could ever depend on was their own. That damage sponge of Yugi's wasn't going anywhere. Blue Eyes was falling apart, its attack would just keep dropping each turn. A pitiful version of the powerhouse it once was. Kaiba drew. Was this a saving grace, or irony dragging out his misery? It depended on what the result became. "I activate Monster Reborn and bring back one of my dragons!" But only one of the heads of his dragon could come back with that. Blue Eyes didn't deserve this, to have it's suffering dragged out, defanged. If it were a real creature, anyone with a right mind would put it down. "Because this Blue Eyes is fused with the ultimate it can't attack this turn..." There was nothing more he could do, but keep his chip of life planted on the field. Now it was a just a matter of seeing if Yugi would play his as well. His eyes glance over the edge. It would at least be a instant death, once he met the ground. Approximately twenty seconds of terror as well. Pegasus couldn't have built the caste a bit to the left or the right, could he? The heel of his shoes were only inches from the edge. It would be easy. Victory was in his rival's grasp. All he had to do was attack with Celtic Guardian. "Turn end... Attack me Yugi!" 

As time passed, Yugi’s sensation of losing his grip over the body only increased and grew. He needed to end this duel quickly, before anything else happened and got in the way of their victory- and their entrance to the finals. They are so close to their goal, they-- no. He can’t let it pass, even if it meant--... The boy drew his next card, and his gaze fell upon his other monster on the field. Even though he still had to give his command, the spirit of the rod knew very well what was bound to come next and for the first time in a long while, he felt true fear. Set couldn’t regain control over the body, Kaiba didn’t listen to him, this is how they ended. “Celtic guardian!” Yugi exclaimed, then pointed a hand at the rotten three-headed beast. For a brief moment, he remembered of his time training, how none of his opponents ever demonstrated any mercy... Although things felt hazy, and he couldn’t recall every little detail with precision. He is certain, that would be their end. The spirit motioned to Kaiba one last time, and was ready to shout at him one more time. But something else happened, he heard a louder scream come from the girl then the sound of a body hitting the floor. Celtic guardian’s attack had been called off, the blue-eyes had just fired at it with a burst of energy- and their opponent. He was on his knees, on the floor- in tears while being consoled by his friend. Set couldn’t believe in what he had just witnessed. Yugi was trembling- shaking, the exact opposite of how he stood just a moment ago. A breeze ran past them, as Set’s attention shifted from him - back to his vessel. “Seto...” He called faintly, hopefully now that the duel was over he would listen to him.

Half of Kaiba was certain that Yugi's little heart would get to him and he wouldn't be able to do it. The other half was just as certain that the look in his classmate's eyes were also one of a cornered animal that would do anything it needed to survive. Still, he showed little reaction to it all. Except for a small scoff once Yugi's life points hit zero. He knew Yugi couldn't do it. Kaiba stepped off from the ledge and walked over to where his rival had collapsed. That weird sensation in his head started to fade. Seto... he heard from the corner of his senses. But he said nothing and thought nothing to Set. Kaiba honestly glazed over for most of what he said to Yugi, he just knew it was his explanation of the world for how he saw it. How he bet his chip of life and Yugi didn't. Yugi wasn't strong enough or willing enough to do what it took to save his grandfather. That was his own fault. Nobody comes along to save you at the last minute. Kaiba collects the star chips and pays Yugi's angry friends no heed. They didn't know what he was fighting for, and they didn't need to know. It would make no difference. He pushes the thoughts of the hallucinations he just witnessed out of his mind. It wasn't the time. But how interesting that it seemed to cut Set off from everything. Not a word. I don't want your judgement or your opinion. I'm doing what's necessary. He puts the star chips in the slots and enters the caste. All that mattered was getting Mokuba back.

“Seto...” It was the only thing the spirit found himself capable of saying, until his vessel started heading towards the castle’s entrance. Set gave one final glance back at the fallen Yugi, and the commotion that was taking place in there. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, or think. They made out of it alive, because of the boy’s goodwill... Otherwise, they both would have just hit the ground if the interference hadn’t taken place. Well, he should think on this some other time. Now, they have something far more important to deal with, recover Mokuba from Pegasus’ grasp. THis is where his mind should be at, focus on their goal and try to push aside what they have just gone through. The spirit appeared floating by Kaiba’s side, as his gaze remained fixated on his vessel. He still struggled to find any words to say to the boy, but eventually he managed to swallow the lump in his throat and voice something- other than his name. “Do we have a strategy? Are we using the same deck and cards?”

'I have a strategy. That's what the Duel Disk is for. Same cards as I just used, however. I'll try to pull off Crush Card soon in the game, and if all goes well--he wouldn't be able to see it coming.' After slotting the stupid star chips in the door he was finally let in once more left in a empty room while they alerted Pegasus of his next challenger. There were no final cards to switch out, and looking at them would only cause Kaiba to doubt the ones he choose, so he took to examining the various paintings on the wall until then. Anything to avoid looking at the spirit. He didn't want to be questioned about the tactic he just pulled. ' I beat him, get Mokuba back, and then we leave. And I don't want your advice, or you're help while facing him. You stay out of it, got it?'

Set’s gaze never left Seto, while he followed his host by floating close to him. He heard everything that the other said, loud and clear... Even though he could tell how, something felt off in the way those words came out from him. For once in a long time, the spirit found himself without a voice- at a loss for words. As such, he forced himself to stay quiet- eventually he also began taking a good look at their surroundings. The various paintings on the walls, were the first things that caught his attention. This silence wasn’t helping their situation, his mind had just made him vividly remember what they just went through. To a point, Set felt that static shocking sensation tingle his hands. The spirit could only wonder, what might be running through the other’s mind in that moment... But at least, he was actually there with him. “You... Look tired. Do you wish to swap out until they call for you? The guy mentioned we have a few minutes, until Pegasus show up.” He asked calmly, without looking at Seto’s direction- the spirit’s gaze was fixated on another painting not too far from where the body currently stood. 

Actually on second thought, his hands needed something to do. He takes out his cards, but doesn't look at them, only shuffles. The offer didn't sound bad. Perhaps even... tempting. And Seto knew that wasn't to be trusted. ' No. A break would only dull my senses.' He picks out the top five cards to see what his opening hand would be from that shuffle. A good hand. With a Blue Eyes even. He shuffles the cards back into the deck. Staying focused. Never getting comfortable. It's tatics that hadn't failed him before. 'If--' But as abuptly as he had begun to speak, the door opened and one of the security men said Pegasus had arrived. Seto moved to follow, and didn't finish his thought to the spirit as he was lead to the areana.

‘You’ve just got out of a duel and went through that.’ Set thought to himself- he almost said it, but chose to remain in silence as he stared in silence at his vessel and his search for a distraction. “If you say so...” It was all that the spirit could respond back with, his voice trailed off in a low tone while he fell silent. He took a good look at what Seto was doing, and until they were called upon it was the only thing he really focused on... Did his vessel mean to say something, before they were interrupted? “If... If what? Did you say something, Seto?” The spirit asked as he closely followed the boy, however. He couldn’t stay around for much longer- Set could feel Pegasus’ presence approaching them, it forced the spirit to retreat back into his soul room. This is it, this is what they have been waiting for.

With terse steps, Kaiba followed the guard. To entertain the idea of defeat was to accept it, which meant death. His almost-thought had no place here. So he cuts away the parts that don't matter. 'Mokuba is all that matters,' he says to the spirit mentally, hoping that would be enough to imply his meaning. If things go south, Mokuba's life was all that mattered. ----- Things did not go according to plan. His new invention he made to put distance between him and Pegasus, no chance of spyware in the systems Pegasus already had in place, that was his carefully constructed plan. Pegasus crushed it in a matter of minutes. "Soul" or no soul--Seto couldn't fight his baby brother. It was mistake one. Mistake two was trying to make it work when Pegasus could clearly see his hand and his strategies. Soon, he was backed into a corner where there was little else he could do. Planning and strategy didn't help of your foe could see your every move. He had to try something new, no matter how insane it seemed. Something innovative Pegasus would never see coming... and perhaps something Seto could never see coming either. He casts aside his hand, like tossing out the sheath. Those cards couldn't help him anymore. Something dazzling. Something illogical. Something that dare he say, required faith. Even to Seto, it looked like his only option.

Well, no time to think much on what Seto had just responded to him. Set felt Pegasus’ ominous presence approaching, and he quickly hid away within his soul room‘s safety. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t stay there for long. Seto’s strategy began falling apart, before he could even do anything. Everything that has taken place so far, and the way their opponent behaved... Kaiba already suspected of the guy using some sort of software, to grant him access- view of the opponent’s hands and drawn cards. But the spirit of the rod had another supposition, on how he did it. Could it possibly be in some way, connected with the way he always felt whenever he came anywhere near them? Set had to think fast, as the duel went on- he put some thought in their previous encounters with Pegasus. He could always feel that man approaching them, from a mile... He always hid away because it always felt like he wasn’t looking at them... Rather, right through them. Have they ever seen his face in it’s entirety? All of this was starting to feel all too familiar... There was that duel they witnessed, Pegasus was meant to duel against Bandit Keith but instead he left it all in the hands of a kid. Set remembers how Seto was left speechless and without a proper reaction, he felt the same way in that moment. Now the question remained: did he ever feel like that in life? Yes, and it was none other than his former mentor... Aknadin, the one who carried the eye of the millennium. Set immediately bolted out of his soul room, the moment he made that connection. “Seto!” The spirit screamed for him, as he quickly showed up beside him- all while trying to force himself onto Kaiba. “We need to swap places! Pegasus is using something, of far greater power! Seto, listen to me! He has one of the millennium relics!” “Don’t make the next move!”

Kaiba's frantic scramble to think of something to do was cut by the new presence of the spirit. He could feel him pressing at his mind, trying to shove him out of the way on order to takeover his body. And of course by instinct Seto pushed back. What had even gotten into the spirit? 'An item...?' he echoed through their mental link. ' How could an item be a mind-reader or whatever?' Sure, the rod had different abbilities than Yugi's puzzle but mentalist tricks? 'What, and you think you can deal with this better? He'll just read your mind and nothing will be solved.' He can hear Yugi and his crew talking amongst themselves, wondering what he's doing. There may be no shot clock, but Kaiba figured Pegasus wouldn't take kindly to stalling. No, this was Seto's responsibility. Loosing Mokuba or getting him back was on him. 'Back off, I don't need you're help,' he ground out holding onto control of his body with a death grip. Like a cornered rat, he made a desperate move and drew his next card without looking and immediately played it. Blue Eyes. Maybe this could work. Going by his expression Pegasus wasn't expecting it. He couldn't plan, but all he needed to do was have monsters strong enough to stand up to Pegasus's. It was almost like a game of war.

The spirit pressed onto it, while Seto talked the entire time. “No, no! We can defeat him, together! Seto! We can- We need to--” Unfortunately, it seemed like the more he tried, the more the other fought back and prevented him from taking over the body. “It’s the millennium eye, its powers go way beyond anything we’ve ever faced thus far! Please, listen to me! I know what we’re facing” As expected, his voice and words fell into deaf ears. Set’s attention shifted onto the duel, and he witnessed the blue-eyes attack miss their target. Which was subsequently followed by another of Pegasus’ taunts, which were obviously getting through Seto’s though skin. This had long since ceased to be a duel. The stage had been set by the man himself, in order to humiliate them. As he crushed whatever was left, of Kaiba’s hope to save Mokuba... The realization soon hit the spirit, they never had a chance of winning this in the first place. This whole thing had been planned from the ground up, everything had been crafted just to lead to this. Pegasus truly was worthy, of keeping and using the millennium eye. “Seto...” Set called for him, but this time his voice came out faintly- almost inaudible as their very last card was set on the field. Saggi the dark clown, there was nothing more left for them to do, their deck has become empty. His eyes were fixated on the field of battle, as he witnessed Pegasus summon one final abomination. Bickuribox hit the ground, and wasted no time in taking out their very last standing monster. The duel has come to a close.

Set's pleading barely registered for Seto. It was just him, his cards, and his baby brother at stake. It was on Seto and only Seto. Why should he even trust the spirit, huh? The only person he could count on was himself. There are no saviors for him. He was Mokuba's, but there was no one for him, and never there never will be again. And then Pegasus took Crush Card Virus. Crush Card, that had been a reliable strategy for Kaiba for so long. Crush Card, that was instrumental in his win against Yugi one duel prior. If it had been a monster, it would have felt more like betrayal. It also worked wonders on the very deck it came from. Seto had run out of options, and Pegasus knew it. There was no point in continuing the duel. Pegasus said something, probably taunting, but Kaiba wasn't listening to that either. No amount of jabs from Pegasus inflicted a scratch in comparison to the guilt that had just settled in. He'd failed. And to lose was to die. Mokuba... He could hear Yugi and Seto thinks he said something to him--but as for why, he didn't know. Pegasus pulled aside a few strands of his hair, and the last thing Seto saw was a gleam of gold.

It happened so fast, in the blink of an eye Seto had been ripped away from his body. Something quite painful and draining to the spirit, as he still could only stand still and watch in pure silence. It all felt like an arrow had just dug into him, and was yanked away from him. Everything fell silent, the transition wasn’t a smooth one at all. His head felt lightweight, the whole place felt like it was spinning. Set was struck with a strong diziness, as he gained control over the flesh. He tried to open his eyes for a moment, but it was blurred at a first instance. His sight began focusing on the second attempt, and he was finally starting to catch wind of what others were saying. Eventually “Kaiba” found the strength to stand straight back up, and this gesture scored someone to shout in shock. ‘Look! But Pegasus has just taken, Kaiba’s soul! How’s that possible?!’ When his sight returned to normal, he could see the man holding both soul cards- Mokuba and Seto’s in his hands. However, judging by the way he looked at him- he shared the same feeling as everyone else in that hall. He clearly didn’t count on the possibility, that the millennium rod contained a spirit similarly to the puzzle. ‘If that’s not Kaiba... Then who’s that?!’ Set was still very much dazed, by the feeling of having Seto ripped out of him. As evident by the fact he had just tumbled a bit, and still supported his weight onto the panel- where his cards currently were. As he moved, his long brunette hairlocks revealed themselves. Those wild and untamed hairlocks formed curls, and stood out from Kaiba’s well known hairstyle. ‘Incredible, so you were hidden in Kaiba-boy’s mind all along?’ He heard Pegasus’ comment, which went unnoticed so he could quickly look over at Yugi’s direction and address his words to him. “... Please, help Seto Yugi... Help him. I beg of you, please!.” Set spoke, as some of Pegasus’ guards walked over to him and began carrying their new prisoner. Unfortunately, he couldn’t fight back, as such he was easily dragged away. Yugi, who watched the whole thing was left with way too many thoughts and feelings running through his mind. Despite that, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for Kaiba- and whoever had taken over that body. A frown formed on the boy’s face, once Kaiba was gone. The stakes have been upped, for when the time comes for him to face Pegasus.

[magisterlys]

Unsent Letter

(For @tyrias-library event: Confessions)

This is jumping ahead a bit in the timeline of my chapter fic but the idea was just too fun and too perfect for this prompt to pass up.  Inspired by a love letter request @resonatingfern wrote that gave me all the feels. 

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

Dear Braham,

I can’t tell you how good it was to hear from you.

No, no. Wrong. Dear was somehow both too formal and too familiar. Lys crumpled her fourth attempt at a letter and tossed it over to join the remains of it’s fallen brethren. The desk she’d commandeered in the depths of the Priory was so scattered with star charts and sketches of jotun stelae that it took a moment of searching to find a fresh piece of parchment. With alarm, she realized that all her shuffling had buried the letter she’d received from Braham. Once she located it again she propped it up against a well-loved copy of Rising Stars where she could see it as she began her reply yet again.

Braham,

My research isn’t getting anywhere yet, but I’m alright. I spent some time in Bitterfrost, documenting the jotun structures there, and it felt very … strange to be there again, after what happened the last time we were there. It made me think of how far we’ve both come, and how terribly proud I am of you. I would have saved you from all the pain that started there if I could, but then you wouldn’t be the man you are now. And I’m very fond of the man you are now.

A few days ago I had a brief run in with some pirates here in Lornar’s Pass. They’d somehow gotten their hands on a stash of jotun runestones that I very much preferred to have myself and so I decided to liberate them. Jasper has laid claim to a particularly smelly pirate’s boot and refuses to give it up. It was great fun to fight for something with less … weight than I’ve become used to fighting for but all I could think was how much more fun it would have been if you’d been there with me. Everything is more fun with you, Braham.

I can’t stop thinking about you either. Every night I fall asleep imagining your arms around me, remembering the hunger in your touch, the taste of your lips…   A dozen times a day I curse myself for falling asleep, for wasting the rest of our night together. And I curse the twists of fate that stole me away the next morning and threw us all into fighting Drakkar before we could talk. And then … what happened with Bangar.

When I died before all I could think of was what I wouldn’t be able to protect now. Tyria needed me, Aurene needed me. I had to take care of Balthazar. It was that driving force, that sense of duty and anger at things left undone that brought me back.

I nearly died again in Drakkar’s lair, but this time was so different. As I faded away it wasn’t Tyria or the safety of the world I was so desperate to cling to … it was you. I desperately, desperately didn’t want to leave you, Braham. Not before I could tell you how much I love you.

And I got my chance, didn’t I? And yet here I am halfway across the world from you writing this stupid letter than I’m never going to send and aaaaaaaagh.

Her head hit the desk,  “When did this all get so bloody complicated?!”

From his perch on the back of the chair, her raven Notti grackled as if to reply, “It’s your fault, dummy.”

She sat up slowly, threw a glare over her shoulder, “Don’t sass me, bird.”

With a deep sigh, she added that letter to the pile of rejects, to the bottom actually, to hide it away. And then she began again.

Braham,

It was really good to hear from you. I’m glad that things are going okay in the Keep. Promise that you’ll contact me if anything changes?

You didn’t dream any of that night, and you aren’t the coward, Braham. I am.

I’m making progress here and should be returning soon. Until then, stay safe? We’ll talk when I get back.

And tell Jory I said thank you. She’ll know what I mean.

Yours,

Lys

This one, she actually sent.

[captainkurosolaire]

Danse Macabre

                                                Sun Up                                                         Sun Down  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With Death comes Life.                     ⇅   In Life comes Death. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                        You know this riddle...                                    ¿ Have you oppressed knowing?       To:       Light        ⇅   Darkness                                                                                                   From:                                                                                                     Hello                                                                                                     ⇅                                                                                                Goodbye When we find our identity,                   That is when we begin to accept ourselves truly.                                                                                   In-turn becoming Limitless...

We always underappreciated our shadows.              It projects our flaws through mirrors.                        Have you ever thought of what it carries?                                       How it endures when you scorn yourself? Kuro, What's more beautiful... Then loving and picking ourselves up when we're down?                        I have watched you.            I have seen you.                          I can't exist without you.             Please, don't let me suffer.

                                        Let us finally... together,

                                                    STAND...

....That which represented the Captain's youthful spirit, a child. Lost without a belief of guidance. Without parental guardians, friends, anyone. He was alone with nothing! Stammering is a cry to the FATED stars. Every morning, every night. Announcing that he'll stand to oppose the harshness of the world and what comes with that declaration.                                           He would choose his Tale.  This wasn't from a dreamer. But certitude and drive straightforwardly to plainly,                                                          LIVE.

The first wish came granted. The Specter drew and lent down. Reaching out and extending its projected hand. Light began to illuminate as what was formless, replaced into a motherly hand practically glowing and blooming. A splitting image of Captain's Mother, smiling and reaching out. The compelling drew maternally as the child drew its adolescent mitten into the bigger palm of the warmth of a Mother's nestle. They gripped and embraced. The young brave-hearted and pridefully teared woman, kissing her son's forehead. Telling him, it'll be okay, it'll be okay... She's here now. 'My love will carry you, always.' .....That which came represented in the Captain's beast, that of a ferocious and cautious beast. That which had grown, to become the internal core, raw emotions, to take the brunt of the burdens unnecessarily alone. Held and coward its head in fear, panting out of breathe from running and retreating as instructed and taught. A vicious creature you see as deadly can be just as afraid of you, that's why it possesses talons, that's why it lunges. It rumbling roars defiantly; to signal to stay away... It kills because it's backed into a corner, with no other choice to shred, bite, to find preservation. That what needed to be a second wish highlighted the gloomy meadows of the distorted Shrouds. The Specter pulled away from its shadow, revealing a dazzling crimson cloaked hood. A feminine peerless unmatched love, a midnight-scaled huntress. Settled and started to sing while holding both her pale moon-lit hands outward. Her lull, her voice, the songstress; of tame. Quelled the Beast to find courageousness so that it may advance closer to embrace pinning it within a feverish entangled kiss, taking the brunt of the pain of it retaliating and instinctively shredding the flesh and tattering her cloak, her blood like satin crimson cloth hooding over her stained, but she endured for it. Accepting it like it was. Not with dreaded fear, not with overthought to leave an abused and beaten animal to suffer. To mend. To say, "No longer, are you alone... Hatred & rage begone. Know peace as you’ve shown me." In wordless display. ...Lastly, ‘The Captain’... The Final need & wish was given cast. Floating on achromatic empty sea. There was no substance, no texture, no rhyme. This was what any soul looked lost as it drifted to the beyond. A shadow of formlessness parted from the skies above as it started to take formed shape but unspecified. Its eyes were however another tale in them were that of a non-pigmented bright white. Filled with sorrow. But in those lens. Held every dream, every call-out, every need. Every failure that it went at supposedly alone, every lost weighted, bottomed with the bottles of ale. It didn’t wash away. It was frightful, but yet. A glimpse. Overtime it littered with guilt. No matter how much it was buried, It could never truly wipe away, It only changed ownership to the shadow. They carried out dark, our unwanted feelings, and they required nothing, they remained silent without spoken. Why? Because its creation was meant to treasure and love us undeniably even when we didn’t see it. Even when we chased or ran, It at slow-pace was always behind us as a piece. It wrapped its arms around and laid across the Captain, whispering. The emotionless and fading, ‘Living Flame of Life’ of the was, diminished. Inside the Pithos Box that contained the beating heart of the Captain sealed and held to preserve one from leaving the planes even if that meant a fate far worse than death; by becoming it... Engulfed and erupted catastrophically into a gray ember. ‘The smile when one dies’ was finally understood... The entire meaning... “I....see...you, my own value.” tears ran down his external cheek: A pain of taking this long to understand on his last shallow breath. The shadowy form took in the identical dark image of the Captain and held him as the Living Life passed in a loving embrace. It was HER that held the choice to restore humanity and life. As she was the one who held possession of the heart. The other shadowed-morphed Captain was left as the psyche disappeared to nothingness. Mourning... What was red-spilled in coursing veins turned tar. What was tears became ink. Nails blackened, complexion ran pale and cold. No room for color with the lack of living...

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

I’m sorry I’m late, Levi. Here is my birthday Drabble for you

I’d heard the rumours. We all had. The stories one would tell a child to keep them from seeking the embrace of the night. Like a fool I’d signed my name to the contract. To hunt the unhuntable. The rid them all of the curse of the night. Yet such a fool I was. Young and ignorant of the future to pass. When I first met him, it was like a midsummer dream. A flitting presence in the corner of the eye, as one would expect from a young sparrow on a breeze. He held himself with such poise and grace, with a but a turn of the head he’d carried himself from my vision, if as if the sparrow had never been. I may say met, though we did not speak. But for me it was the truest form of meeting. A meeting of unknown fates that would bind us all the way to depths of our very soul. He knew me, from but a glance. Yet our true meeting was still some time off. Winter in all its bitter struggles came. The land swallowed by the thick blanketing of snow. The nights so cold and long that the darkness seemed forever infinite against our finite existence. With its rolling winds and dancing flakes, it came to us and stole our warmth. First one or two, then soon I was all but was left. Such lofty dreams we held when we started. Wishes that our names shall become recorded as the great heroes we believed we’d be. How foolish man is. Man who is but a drop in the great ocean in all the times since time began. How ignorant we were of the particulars of our foe. I’m sure if we had known this was how our story would end, none of us would have been so hasty to sign our lives away. No one would have called us cowards. For each man sought his own self preservation above all. Each of us thought ourselves the finest of specimens. Each with some unique trait or quirk that would ensure our victory against all odds. Yet, we are but flesh and bone, and he... he was manhood ascended into god form. For many nights passed in the bitterest of conditions. My stead, whom I had taken the pains to train painstakingly since foaldom, the most trusted of all my companions finally fell. His noble white hook taking through the ice, as a warm knife would slide through butter with ease. Thrown from the saddle, limbs so numb that the pain of the landing elicited the sensation of a thousand needles upon the soul, were useless as his struggled, sinking ever deeper into the frosted swamp the ice had hidden. To shoot him was as if to shoot ones self. In the arm or such, no, perhaps the removal and loss of such limb would truly be the better description. His black eyes half lidded as continued to struggle. Leg clearly broken, yet my noble friend still tried. With an almighty snort, resignation filled the beast’s features, death delivered swiftly so as to release my last true friend from the struggles of his mortal life. That night I ate the heart of my last friend. Taking upon the legends that his strength should reside in me if was to do as such. Following his death, it was as if God had condemned me for the murder of the most refined beast. The gunpowder I held fell damn and useless. My clothes torn to shreds by the biting winds. I sincerely hoped for death. I had not even raised a hand to my foe, yet he laughed at me from afar. He struck us all down without lifting a single finger against us. Such thinking’s brought a smile to my face, the weeks of isolation and seclusion has endowed me with a touch of lunacy it would seem. If my poor mother was to see me now, how she would weep for her foolish son. Perhaps it was better that she’d been taken into heaven’s embrace early, sparring her the horror of her son’s foolery. Oh, why had not listened to gentle Armin. His kind and soft nature so often seen in those of scholars and academics. He’d thrown himself at me, begging me to rethink, and how bitterly I wish I had. His warm embrace and that of my cousin were the selfish dreams left to a dying man. Those days we laughed as children might. Armin’s sweet nature naturally made him the target of those less than civilised, yet my sweet friend never raised a hand in his own defence. Not wishing to stoop to such levels, he held a defiant stance. Unlike myself and my dear sweet cousin Mikasa. How I longed to see them both. Would the recognise the wretched thing I became as their once dear friend, or cast me to the streets? Sweet Armin, so gentle and willing to help the most wretched would offer me a seat by his fire and soup to warm my empty stomach. Mikasa would glare, her slim arms crossed as she watched, waiting until the last dregs of the bowl were empty to then cast me back to the streets. It was by some amazement I had lasted as long as I had. My poor notebook had seen better days, it’s pages often stuck together from the snow melting through and chilling my breast. Each coming day I had tallied, each line a signal that my bleak existence had not been snuffed out while I huddled lost and cold. How many life times a man could live in those days condemned to be remember by such a small and trifle thing as a line. By my count a fortnight and then some had passed since the killing of my dear friend, and all that time I had wandered, sometimes until my body could no longer support my saddened frame. As I scrawl these few lines I am quite certain that tonight shall be the last for me. My refuge the ruins of a once might cathedral. A fitting place for one whom God Almighty has turned his back on. I never did meet him again, yet I am remarkably at peace with this outcome. I may be a young man, all of 21, yet I feel the cold chill upon me as if I were the most wisened of men. Let me sleep, and dream of the better days and the embrace of my mother awaiting me. It is by luck that I made it through the night. I felt sure that the small fire I kindled together has been dying as my eyes slid closed. It seems too happy to call it luck, though I know my dear sweet cousin would call it just so. Regrettably it is a sentiment I can no longer associate with one particular emotion I might call my own, for each day is yet another served in self loathing. It would have been far nobler to have passed with him comrades, for I have passed so far that there is nay chance of being recovered. If there was, such a grand and fine cathedral shall not have fallen into a sad state of disrepair. When I close my eyes, I can very nearly imagine the ladies of the parish in their fair white dresses, one perhaps two bells tolling. The familiar phrases of muchly repeated bible versus, that as a child I thumbed nose at. Again by luck, or some greater cosmic design, there was a dead rat not so far from where I’d bedded. Bedded. Ha! What a novel notion. The rags I sleep in barely hold a candle to soft downy bed I shared as a child. None the less, and as starved as I was, the companionship of the rat was short lived as I roasted him over my fire. Such a short and brief meal, my manners akin to ravenous wolves as I devoured my brief friend. Despite pretending the small thing some more appealing such as a quail, the gamey taste filled me with such revulsion I barely kept the meal down for a matter of moments before I threw up. Where he sits upon his throne, God is surely having a good laugh at this pitiful fool. It has now touched on dusk. I am taken by a peculiar sensation of eyes upon me. Rats scratch and mice scurry. Yet I have not the strength to pursue either. Through the shattered remains of a once grand window, the moons bright rays are yet to illuminate my little friends. My little friends who shall no doubt feast upon my bones, as I did their brother, upon my demise. Above me some bat looks down, the soft fluttering of the wings I at first mistook for death on the wind. To have come this far, I wish I had the strength to go all the way. To catch this fiend and hold him to account, for I have lost so much on this chase that he is all that is left for me. It is now we meet for a second time. His footsteps lighter than a feather as he flits just out of sight. His eyes as red as the flames of hell, yet all he has done is wait. I have pulled my blunderbusts on the devil, yet he does not know as I, that the powder too wet for even a final shot. Yet, perhaps if provoked, he would grant me my fondest wish of a swift death. With shaky aim, I raised my guns, pointing at the fiends red eyes, fingertips paused on the triggers. He speaks no words, nor makes any sound, yet I hear his laughter in his ears. My fingers squeeze the triggers but a millimetre and he is upon me. Great halberd in his grip. In the light of the mood he does not look like the devil of legend. He looks like my saviour. His soft short black hair flows so beautifully, his eyes now silver in the light. Plump bottom lip and thin upper of the most palest pinks. My fingers abandon the trigger. In a split second he’d changed the trajectory. The heavy silver blade that was to grant me my release embedded it’s self barely a breath from my ear. My wicked foe, nay, I cannot deny, for he is the most beautiful man I have set my eyes upon. He is quick to jump back, confusion clouding his charming face “Why do you not shoot?” His voice makes my heart leap, for having no one to talk to for so long has taxed me muchly “Why do you not behead me? Or is your thirst so great you think to drink from my neck?” He pulls a face, crossing his arms. Clad in the garb of all Prussian upper class, his riding coat black with the fanciest of gold trimmings. It charms and suits him muchly. He stands an inch or so beneath Armin, and perhaps a whole heads length beneath me. Yet, in his own way, it is so becoming upon him. It plays on the tip of my tongue to tease him over his height, but never have I beheld such a man who radiated such intelligence. Oh the conversations we could have had had we met under different circumstances “I’m not so hard up to feed upon any shitty brat before me” I cannot help myself as I laugh. His refined appearance held none such hint of such blunt conversation. Yet again, it suits him well “Alas, it is all I have to offer you. Had we met elsewhere, perhaps we could have feasted like kings. Yet, I am sure when the night ends, so shall my life” “This is true. You’re barely worth the rags you sit in. At first I was irritated, then confused as to why you did not turn back” “The foolish pride of man. For we are a gluttonous bunch” “Stubborn pride shall be your ruin” “I can not deny that. Nor you nor I, shall deny the words of a dying man” His voice excited my heart so. I’m quite certain he must have noticed as he came closer, removing his weapon from where it was lodged as if it weighed nothing more than a sheet of paper. The second the weapon disappeared into the shadows it ceased existence. If not for the gaping wound beside my head, I would have thought it all a figment of my imagination “Having pursued me for so long, I find myself curious as to what you are thinking” My heart fluttered, a sensation I thought gone “That the devil may just perhaps be my saviour. If I am to die tonight, might I look upon the moon’s grace one last time” “It is the act of an insincere man to swear on the full moon” Arranging my features into the best smile I could give him, I replied “Then it is a good thing that God has turned his back on me, though I’m sure I have nothing to swear” When he laughed it sounded like the first sweet bird songs once spring has sprung. Taking my hand as if I were not a filthy thing, he raised me to my feet. I felt sure he must hear the pounding of my heart. The delight of being touched again sent shivers through my body. His own held a warmth that was wholly unexpected. Supporting my frame, he led the short distance to the windowsill. The moon in all her grace shined so brightly tears formed in my eyes. In my hurry to thank my companion, I turned too fast. My cheek hitting his face as I gasped in horror. Again, my strange foe laughed. I noticed blood had beaded upon his lip where his sharpened fang had cut “I am sorry” “You are strange. You delight in though from he who you deem “devil”. Now you apologise to the face of your foe” My cheeks heated, he had noticed my excitement “The moment you stepped beneath her light, I have never seen a sweeter sight. Your countenance not at all like the villain my mind had made you into. The human mind is fit for flights of fancy. The first time you danced past my vision, I thought it a dream. If this is all a dream, I pray not to wake” “You’re a strange one, aren’t you?” Raising a soft hand, he thumbed over my cheek. The softest in his eyes so gentle my breath caught “Will you feed upon me when I die?” “If that is your desire. For the man who pursued me for so long, I shall grant you one last wish” The decision came easily. For if I never say another day, I did not wish to die with this regret “Then let me wish for a kiss” His lips were soft. The softest ever pressed against my own. Knowing my own perversions, no kiss bestowed upon me had ever sent my heart soaring as the soft meeting of his lips against mine. Not those of my sweet cousin, or those of friends offered in friendship. No. None of those kisses could compare to the thrill of no longer denying ones self. Feeling his teeth scrape against my lower lip, he pulled back to gaze at me in the moonlight “For many months I watched you. Your foolish struggles brought me no delight. I knew in my heart that I should be gladdened at the death of your friends, but let me tell you this, Eren Jäger, I was never the monster responsible for the crimes against my name. Your blood is the first to pass my lips in long over a decade. I do not wish for your death, yet I have nothing that which may sustain you” My heart skipped a beat as he said my name. It seemed all was well known by him “You know my name, but I not yours. They call you the devil, all manner of names as such” “I am Levi. Nothing more, nothing less. This curse forced upon me against my will. When you have passed, I shall continue to walk this world alone. Is there someone I should notify of your passing?” Brushing the hair from my face, I wondered how I could ever thought this man the worst kind of fiend “My sweet cousin. Though I fear her so fierce she shall instantly hold you to account. I have no blood family remaining. My father is gone and my sweet mother taken by the plague. Her own family was lost, and like a sister she has been to me” “With your boundless pride, I was sure you must be the rebellious son of a noble” Smiling softly, he wasn’t terribly wrong. My father had held a position of high standing as the saviour who’d stood against the initial plague upon our village “Perhaps in another lifetime... You have shown me much kindness, Levi. For that I am grateful. Never have I had such a sweet kiss placed upon my lips. I shall be gladdened if my life is of some use to you” With his arm around my waist, he led me back to the fire’s warmth. Before I could object, he sat beside me. His pretty coat upon the dust “You know what I am, yet you did not ask for my curse” It would be a lie to say that I was not envious of the thought of seeing another day, but it was his eyes that stilled the thought before it reached my tongue “Never have I seen eyes as sad as yours. Your curse is no great blessing. It has robbed you of even the simplest joy death brings. But you shall not have my pity, for I know you are strong enough to see this curse through. I sincerely hope from the depths of my heart you shall find someone to walk this long and dark road with you” “Would you?” My laughter turned to a harsh cough. Levi rubbing my back until my breathing had settled “I am hardly anyone’s first choice. I shall cherish our first and last kiss. It was more than I ever thought I shall receive” “I ask... I mean... You are right. It is hard and it is lonely. Yet it has been easier since I set eyes on you. Your boundless youth. The beast you hide within. I don’t think I would mind being bound by this curse if it was at your side” “You flatter me, yet you do not know me” “I know enough, Eren. If you ask of me this, I shall promise you shall never walk alone. We both house what they call “beastly” desire. You are the first and last human I shall ever offer this curse upon. For know it is a curse. And yet, I am selfish and a slave to my human desires of company” Staring at Levi’s face, he was earnest, if not looking somewhat constipated. How beautiful he was though. As if carved by the hands of the greats. His silver eyes held such hope that I found myself as his mercy. This man, who’d shown a wretch like me such kindness. How could I deny him his request when he’d asked me so honestly. The beast I’d thought to hunt was my saving grace in my darkest time “Will it hurt, terribly?” My tone was timid, Levi’s fine lips morphing into the saddest of smiles “Only to begin with. Then each time one you love passes before you eyes” “You, who have led the saddest of life’s have given me such joy. I can deny you this one wish you have of me. I ask that if anything is to go wrong, you shall destroy me by your own hand, for nothing shall give me greater joy” “For you, I shall. I shall give you the Earths and the heavens, all wonders shall lay before you feet” My cheeks reddened further, for his words spun like the finest of silks “If I am to have you, then I already hold all the wonders a man could ever need in one lifetime, or two. How does this... How do you...?” Levi stroked my hair so lovingly that I could not help but lean into his touch. For a man whose heart no longer beat, he’d shown such love and kindness “I will cut your lips upon my fangs, then do so my own. My curse is in my cursed blood. Yet know, I do not sup from those not of my kind. You shall meet them all in time. Until, my blood shall be your bread and wine. A whole new world will scare you. It will overwhelm you. And at times you will curse me. But for one as lovely as you, you are all I could ask for in a mate for this journey of life. I swear this to you” “Isn’t it the act of an insincere man to swear on the moon” “Our lives are not blessed by the warmth of their so called God. Insincerity is all I have, though I do believe I swore to you, and not on the clear moon of tonight’s sky” “Then you shall swear on your blood. The blood we shall share” “This is do readily. Are you prepared? I will take no offence if you decline me, or only accept my proposition so that you might return to your family some day” “I have stalked you this long. I might as well follow you until the end” “Then close your eyes, my gentle beast. Take my blood and be born new” The pain passed to pleasure. I am quite sure that I must have lost my mind. Never have I experienced such an unbounding pleasure as I found in that bloodied kiss. Levi’s blood rushed to meet mine. The feeling akin to having a million wasps released into ones bloodstream. Such descriptions would not normally be used in such tight conjunction, yet to those who have not tasted the sweetest of sins there is no easy way to express the overwhelming senses of... overwhelmingness. Hungrily I fed from his lips as a starved babe from mother’s teat. Levi undenying of my thirsts, holding my body to his as the last of my breath passed from my mouth to his. I could not tell you how long the embrace lasted. It felt to me as if all the seconds of all the minutes of all the hours of my meager life passed between us. Levi feeling my dizzying highs and bitter lows with such grace the last beat my heart gave was for him. When the moment passed and the kiss broke, his eyes flashed red “Tonight you will change. Your body will born anew. This place does nothing for one so fine” “It has its own charms” “It’s filthy, brat. So filthy that not even pigs should be subjected to disgusting environs. You, who walked so far, let me carry you the last of the way” “My heart. My soul. My blood. It is all for you” Spurred by my words, Levi was swift in lifting me from the floor. My arms looped around his neck, as I hid my giddiness. This life is already such a magical life. We have no breath, yet we form words. Our lungs expand from brain’s memory that breath is a necessity. He did not need to breathe, still, I felt the steady movement of his chest as he did... He was so very human, yet so very not. My blood dribbled down his chin and chest, staining his fine line shirt and cravat. My nose could smell his blood amongst the mix. Base hunger aroused, somewhat mortifyingly as I realised my desire to lap away the traces of our sealed pact. For his part, Levi raised an eyebrow, I’d temporarily forgotten he’d faced the same hunger before “Soon, my insatiable beast. Let us leave before the first rays of dawn” “Shall we ever gaze upon a sunrise again?” “We shall see so many that they will all become the same” “Still, this is our first sunrise. I feel remiss to not know the date” “It is Christmas. The first day you shall walk beside me. Nothing could thrill me more” Unable to suppress a little mischief, I laughed softly “And soon you shall see that I am the gift that keeps giving” “I have no of doubt that” Burying my face against his neck, Levi started towards the broken window, as he leapt with me in his hold, it occurred I’d been quite rude. I’d decided myself his gift, on this the holiest of days. But as God had turned his back on me, I turned my back on his son. The man whose arms held me, held more hope than I’d ever known “Happy Birthday, sweet Levi” “The sweetest one to date”

[miraculousstuffwotifound]

Redemption of a Sea monster

A bit of Chloe/Nathaniel for mermay <3

AO3

(11 chapters to come!)

There, flapping and writhing on the deck was a mermaid.

Its long fish tail twitched in the fishing net as it struggled, strong arms pressed up between the constraining rope and a very muscular bare chest. A flat bare chest.

Not a mermaid, Chole corrected herself, a merman.

Well well, what a catch. Males were even rarer than their female counterparts, which in themselves were as unlikely to be caught as flying bears, and twice as likely to rip your face off. Which she supposed was to be expected considering they literally consumed human blood. Despite being viscous beasts, they were worth their weight in gold if caught.

She drew her sword.

 “Secure it.” she ordered, turning to her first mate, Kim.

The merman gave another ineffective flop, only succeeding in looping yet another portion of the net onto the blunt hooked spines running along the side of his deep blue tail. The sea monster paused its struggles to glare up at her, eyes narrowed with hate.

“Let me go!” the merman’s voice was deep and smooth, but the last note jarred something within Chloe’s soul. Around her, her crewmates seemed to slow, dopey smiles forming on faces.

“Let me GO!” the merman repeated.

A glamour, Chloe realised. His voice was somehow controlling her crew. She had only heard of their magic in legends, but it seemed now to be very real. No one seemed to react as the merman clumsily wriggled towards the edge of the ship. Strangely, her own mind was unclouded.

Chloe sprang forward, pressing her blade to his throat.                                          

“Speak or move again and I will kill you.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed against her blade, and Chloe could see that he was doing a poor job of concealing his fear. He glared at her, large cerulean eyes framed with strands of deep red hair. She glared right back, and he quickly broke eye contact.

Around her, there were murmurs of surprise tinged with fear as her crewmates snapped out of their stupor. Kim sprang to her side, sword already drawn.

“Sabrina,” Chloe stated calmly, her eyes never leaving the merman, “go find something to gag him.” Her quartermaster rushed off to fulfil her captain’s order. “Max, Alix, and Ivan, see if you can find a tub to contain our new guest. We will be at port in Bordeaux next week,” she watched coldly as the merman gulped, “I am sure a live merman will catch a good price.”

                                                                                                 ***

They had eventually managed to wrangle the merman into her cabin, which, unfortunately, was the only room large enough in the ship where he was kept away from people who could be affected by his glamour.

He had put up less of a fight than she had expected, accepting the gag after a couple of painful prompts, and a few jabs with her rapier had kept him from struggling too much as they had lifted him. He had bucked only once as they carried him below deck, craning his neck to catch one last glimpse of the ocean.

Chloe had been taken aback by the humanness of the action. It was little wonder so many hapless sailors fell victim to the mer’s imitation of human charm. Chloe would not make the same mistake.

Currently, the merman had had submerged himself in the bottom of the tub with gills extended, still trussed in the net and gagged, leaving a sizable length of tail dangling over the edge of the cramped space. Around the tub were Kim and Sabrina, her first mate and quartermaster, and Max, the ship’s doctor and general know-it-all.

Together they were to decide the mer’s fate.

“I say it’s too dangerous. We don’t know enough about mer to pull this off. He has already got us all with a glamour already, and for all we know he could do other stuff as well.” Kim folded his arms, “There is a reason why the mer are known as the ‘angel face sea-demons’. It may look harmless, but if we kill it we know for sure it is harmless.” Kim reached up nervously to his neck to hold onto a blue-and-green lucky charm popular with superstitious sailors. “And the sooner we do so, the better.”

Max gingerly felt the fish-like membrane of a tail fin, each lobe of which was as large as a man’s torso.

“Incredible.” he muttered, running his hand along the ridged edges. The mer flicked the fin out of his hands, and Max stood back swiftly as he flailed his tail in protest.

“Max, what do you think?” Chloe asked, rousing the man from his visual assessment of the creature before him.

“Oh… ah… I don’t know as much about the mer as I would like, but I believe that their scales and skin can be sold for good prices in the Mediterranean medicine market.” He glanced guiltily down at the sea monster. “However, their saliva reportedly has healing properties, and their venom can be distilled to create a very desirable and expensive recreational drug. They are, therefore, worth far more alive than dead.” He pushed his glasses further up his nose, “We must assess the threats as we proceed, but at the moment, it certainly seems most profitable to keep him alive.”

“I don’t really see how it could escape anyway, considering its tail is basically four and a half foot of uselessness on land.” Sabrina piped up, “And if the numbers add up, I am with Max on this one.”

“You’re all mad” Kim gestured wildly, “The money is nice, but not if it kills someone, especially if it is sharing a room with the captain.”

“He does seem like a bit of a coward to be honest,” Chloe pronounced, a calculating edge to her voice. “And there is no way he can get far out of that tub with that tail, and if he did we would just kill him. We managed to get him here after all.” She casually picked some imaginary lint from the cuff of her honey-yellow Admiral’s long coat, watching the merman surreptitiously straining at his bonds. She let him waste his energy.

“They literally drink human blood. If It has lived this long, then It must have killed humans before,” Kim raised his eyebrows. “For that matter, we have a weeks voyage until Bordeaux, what are you going to feed It?”

“We will work something out.”

It would be difficult, but by God would it be worth the prize of the glory. Chole Bougious would surely be regarded as the greatest pirate in the Bay of Biscay, her name spoken in awe. Her face twisted into a self-satisfied grin.

She looked down at the merman, submerged and anxious at the bottom of the tub.

“Congratulations fishboy. Looks like you get to live another day.” His expression did not change, “But remember, there is a distinct difference between alive and unhurt, so try any shit, or just annoy me too much, and I will cut you.” She gave a jaunty smile, but let the coldness remain in her eyes, “Got it?”

[imagine-a-killingharmony]

Traitor Shuichi

How would Kaede react to finding out that Shuichi’s the traitor like Sakura, but he still killed someone because he wanting escape to see his uncle? In this scenario he’s more of a bigger coward, more selfish and tried to frame Kaede, but failed and begged for someone to take his place because he doesn’t want to die. It’s not anti Shuichi, but what I’ve imagine if his cowardliness and passiveness was amped up that he’d work with Monokuma to save his own skin. 

... Welllll kids... I’m gonna write this, but not only that! Considering this asks seems quite long, not only that but a topic I’m interested in, I’ll try writing it within a one-shot format this time around, especially since I doubt I could get all this in words with bullet-point, I hope you enjoy.

I gave Kaede a lot of spotlight in this, writing her as a protagonist with her own issues she gets through is always really fun.

-Mod Shuichi

Kaede stared forward her eyes shifting towards everyone in the trial grounds. It had to be one of them, but who could it be? Her breath began to hitch, her fists began to tremble, her eyes started to water as the smell of the liar among them had begun to reek, the smell of a murderer pouring off of them.

They had framed her, for the murder of Maki Harukawa the Ultimate Child Caregiver and she couldn’t believe they could frame herself either, she couldn’t believe Maki was actually dead, they had recently left another to die in the recent trial, she could still see it, Kokichi’s smile at her in his final moments as he chugged the poison down as she swore to fight to get everyone remaining out of this hellhole with her.

Kaede gently raises her hand up, gulping her doubts down as they only grew and grew and grew within her, gaze landed on Shuichi still doubtful and guilty for the crime she was about to accuse them of, if she was wrong she was begging for him to disprove her claims, yeah if she was wrong he had to disprove her.

What she was doing was for the greater good, just keep telling yourself that.

Her doubts swelled, then popped like a balloon as she swallowed her fears, letting the sorrowful rhythm of her heart guide her.  “I think it’s Shuichi,” Kaede said her voice barely above a whisper, she felt herself tremble as the eyes of everyone in the courtroom landed on her, almost as if she had done some unspeakable horror.

But she did, didn’t she? Shuichi looks at her like a deer in the headlights, petrified by what she’s just declared to everyone remaining, the next discussion had already begun.

She didn’t want to accuse Shuichi! She honestly didn’t want to accuse Shuichi of all people, she had trusted him ever since they both came here, she didn’t want to believe that Shuichi had lied to her, betrayed that trust she delicately wrapped and handed to him.

Kaede didn’t want to believe that Shuichi was about to die in this purgatory of a place after they had promised to get out of here together after they had gotten so far together for it only to turn out to all be for nothing.

Kaito was refuting it, he pulled himself up into the podium his voice booming above all the rest, he wouldn’t believe Kaede’s accusation. “Hey! Kaede! Have you gone insane? It’s not Shuichi! It can’t be him, fuck... it’s probably Monokuma! Right, Shuichi? Prove Kaede wrong! It’s not you, right?”

“... I-I...” Shuichi froze as the attention was suddenly cast onto him, he pulled his hat down over his face to hide his gaze from the others, Kaede knew why. “... it’s... not me, m’ not the killer.” He pulled the hat down till Kaede could no longer see his eyes, she twitched at the reaction she gave.

“... See? He’s not the killer, we shouldn’t be arguing against each other, it’s that stupid damned fucking bear that’s trapped us all here, we should be fighting against them.” Kaito pushed down against the podium it was obvious he was growing more frenzied by the second, she couldn’t blame him. He was growing close to Maki, breaking the mask that she showed everyone, trying to get her to finally join everybody else in the group.

Then she died, after days of training sessions, days of conversation, days filled with him growing close to her... she died, how couldn’t he feel livid by such circumstance?

“... K... Kaede please.” Shuichi whimpered weakly as he pushed his hat up to reveal a sorrowful gaze on the verge of tears, Shuichi trembled to himself before hunching over the podium, his shaky grip holding tightly onto the stand.

“M-Maaaki’s... dead... I-I... I can’t handle any more of this... I-I don’t want to die... I don’t want the others to die either... but you... can’t vote for me, you just can’t otherwise we’ll all die together and...” He looked away from Kaito. “... and... with... m-my... deductions I can... conclude it’s Monokuma, it has to be him. I agree with Kaito.”

...

That’s all it took, for Kaede’s determination to resolve, she hated this more than anything, what she was forced to do to find the truth, is this how Shuichi feels every time they apprehend a culprit, vote for them as the blackened?

It’s too painfully ironic, it makes her want to cry. “... I don’t want to die either. Shuichi, that’s... why I need to do this, I... want you to know... I didn’t want it to be like this.” A teardrop rolls down her face, her bottom lip quivers, she even grabs at the podium to remain upright. “I never wanted this, I’m sorry you felt like this each damned trial up till now, I’m sorry it has to be this way, but I promise from now on...”

Kaede looks Shuichi straight in the eye, as she grabs a firm grip of her heart. “I’ll find the truth, no matter how harsh it is, I’ll make this the last murder to ever happen- the last death in the academy, why I’ll lead us all together into the perfect symphony even if the others aren’t here with us anymore, I’ll even swear I’ll get everyone to live and escape for you.”

“You’re the culprit, Shuichi Saihara.”

...

It took everything that Kaede still had in her to break every little detail that Shuichi brought up, every little piece of evidence that supported him of being the murderer despite how hard he desperately argued, the trial had concluded, the results were cast.

It wasn’t a unanimous vote, she look down guiltily at the fact her name had one golden mark under it.

Shuichi had gone onto the verge of hyperventilating, he was currently pulling his hat down to cover his gaze from everybody else, muttering weak apologies as he slowly reeled towards the floor. “I’m sorry... I-Iiiiii’m so... sorry everyone... I-I... I-Iiiiii’m so sorry Makiiii... I-I don’t.... want to die... N-Not like this, I haven’t seen... if Uncle’s alright... if he’s... okay...”

His... uncle? Motive this time around had been “Favorite People”, Kaede shifted towards Shuichi, she... she needed more answers, this just wasn’t enough... I-It wasn’t enough for her.

“... K... Kaede... I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I was too scared- s-so scared that I almost... let you all die!” He wrapped his hands around his head. “I... I’m so sorry, I betrayed you all... I-I... I just... there’s not even an excuse...!”

“Shuichi- it’s-!” She wanted to explain this wasn’t his fault, it was Monokuma’s, all of this could be directed at the mastermind of the killing game, and only them.

“... It is my fault... I-I took a deal with Monokuma, I killed Maki, I betrayed the trust you placed in me, I almost got you all killed.” He replies gently tugging at his hat. “I even... t-took advantage of... you Kaede, I framed you for murder. I took Kaito’s trust and smashed it into pieces. I KILLED SOMEONE! That bear, that filthy bear made me do so much unexplainable crimes because I took his deal, just to make sure Uncle was safe... I deserve this... yet I still just don’t wanna die... I-I want to... Iiiii...”

“... I wanted to make it out with the rest of you all, but I was so... damned selfish.” Shuichi fell wearily to his knees, tears freely flowing down his face, his entire world having been shattered. ”No... amount of it, no amount of words will ever make this up... B-But I still want... to... live!”

Kaito took his side, standing in front of him before cracking his knuckles, Kaede’s legs start moving before she even know what’s going on, before she embraces Shuichi as firmly and securely within her death-grip as she can.

“...I refuse.” Kaito replies. “I won’t let you lay a paw on his fuckin’ head! You’ll hafta go through me if you want to kill Shuichi, do you hear me!?”

“... Shuichi... I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry I voted for you, but I promise it’s okay. I... H-He won’t hurt you, I won’t let... Monokuma take you away either Shuichi, we’re all going to fight together till the bitter end. Okay?”

Kaede felt her footing come loose slightly, Shuichi pulled up with a wet face as he continued to cry into Kaede’s shoulder as weakly as he possibly could, all energy having been drained out of him.

Kaede holds onto Shuichi, trying her very best so she doesn’t let go of him, so he’s not taken away from her, so she doesn’t lose the life of a person she cares about again.

...

A collar shoots out to pull him by the neck, Kaede’s pulled with him at first towards the ceiling to wherever the execution grounds may be, what stops her?

Shuichi choking, as soon as she opens her eyes to see this her grip loosens, the only thing she can grab a hold on before she comes plummeting to the ground being the detective’s hat he cared for, both his crutch and his weakness.

He’s gone, it’s become nothing more than a symbol of him.

Even if he was a traitor, even if he was a murderer, even... if he framed her for murder... He was still Shuichi Saihara the person she grew to... become friends with, the person who she grew to trust, and... even then, nobody deserves the fate of death.

Kaede pulls his hat up, pressing it against her heart, bound to break at any given moment.

What a dreadful killing harmony, but she’ll have to play such a song till it’s very end until it’s all over.

She’ll fight with the others, this will be the last sorrowful melody to be played, she swears.

[vorthosjay]

Let’s Talk About The Flood

It’s back! Magic Story has returned strong with a very character-driven story in The Flood. Fair warning, it has some rather uncomfortable moments from Jace’s memories, including torture. Honestly, though, it’s the best story from a character perspective since Release last year, and addresses basically all the criticisms of Jace’s character.

Flood of Recollections by Magali Villeneuve

"Kumena," a voice whispered from the golden walls. "Kumena the Shaper, child of the Great River, leader of your people. Come set me free."

Could it be? All this time, the golden city was a prison, not a stronghold?

YES.

If you all remember, one of my very first ideas was that Ixalan was some kind of prison. I still love that theory, and knowing that something there was worth Azor giving up his spark to create the Immortal Sun is fascinating.

"There is power here, Kumena. The power that was intentionally designed . . . but also an additional, inert power. A still pond. A mirror in darkness. It can do nothing . . ."

". . . without my own power to reflect," Kumena finished. "Is that it?"

"Follow," said the voice, and the many golden reflections of Kumena's own face echoed it. "Follow."

"Who are you?"

"I am the Sun, Kumena. As you will be. Follow."

This is fascinating. Is this the power of the Immortal Sun? The Threefold Sun? Something different?

I wonder if perhaps the Threefold Sun is merely a reflection of the power of the Sun Empire from centuries before, and if that will change now that others are in charge.

For instance, Blood Sun might be about the Vampires taking control.

"How about two?" she teased. "What do you say, Mavren Fein?" she tossed over her shoulder.

Did she have to use his full name? The full name is meaningless to Kumena and presumably they already know each other so this just feels like a nod to the audience.

The man dropped to one knee. He gripped Jace's hair in a shiny metal fist.

"I'm going to make damn sure you learn from this debacle."

Vraska watched as the man pulled up Jace's shirt and dragged a manablade in long, arrow-straight lines down his back, then one single line down his right forearm. She cringed in horror as Jace screamed.

This is straight from Agents of Artifice. Jace is supposed to be protecting Tezzeret’s mind from Bolas during a negotiation. Nicol Bolas distracts Jace through a mental conversation enough so that he’s able to pierce into Tezzeret’s mind, and they both have to escape his minions.

Upon returning, Tezzeret tortures Jace for his failure.

The shaman leaned over the teenager and drew a line with his finger down Jace's cheek, leaving a brilliant white tattoo in its place. He continued on his chin and arm, and Vraska watched as the shaman diligently painted a braver face on the nervous teenager's own.

She caught a glimpse of the paper the shaman was referencing. A series of symbols was hastily sketched on it—symbols she recognized from this Jace's future cloak. An elongated ring, open at the bottom, with a circle floating in the middle. She wondered what its significance was.

This is new. For everyone wondering how and when Jace got his tattoos, here it is!

Vraska's heart ached. This was so bad, but he was too far lost to pull back the curtain of affection and see the bored cruelty of her intentions.

The entire Fireplace scene is so perfect it hurts. Seeing the relationship through the eyes of an outsider absolutely hammers home how terrible Liliana is to Jace. I don’t want to post more of it because everyone needs to read it.

A distant roar interrupted her. Vraska froze, alarmed by the immense noise in the distance. She stood and stared in the direction it had come from. It was most certainly a dinosaur, but of a size she did not know they could reach.

A woman's face. Her skin was peachy and flecked with freckles, her chestnut hair pulled back from her tired eyes. She was reading to her toddler from a notebook as she wandered the tiny kitchen, excitedly explaining a new healing technique while peeling vegetables for dinner. A peel fell onto the page like a bookmark.

Jace’s mom stuff is pretty heartwarming. That Jace lost this is distressing.

She saw how this mentor had betrayed him, had manipulated and molded him into a tool to be used rather than a student to be taught.

This is a slight retelling of Absent Minds, from an outsider’s point of view.

Alhammarret had ruined him, abused him, torn his mind apart time after time, but what the sphinx was suffering now was a fate worse than death. Alhammarret deserved to perish, but no one deserved this.

This is nice to acknowledge. Jace’s mental abilities are terrifying and losing your identity, in a multiverse where souls definitely exist, is a fate worse than death.

"You're an assassin," he stated as the memory settled into place.

"And a friend," she responded plainly, sadly.

Jace's awareness was distant. He may have found a way to prevent his memories from spilling out again, but he was visibly struggling to his thoughts internally. His voice remained hollow. "Emmara. Nissa. I have so few friends . . ."

Good for you, Jace. With most of your memory back, you know you have no room to judge, and can desperately use friends.

He shook his head gingerly. "It's not all back. There are gaps. I don't remember how I lost my memory, or how I got here."

And here’s the hole presumably Azor is going to fill.

"I would have listened if you had explained why." He shifted uncomfortably. "The people you killed to get my attention back then . . ."

"A murderer, a defiler, and a trafficker of innocents, with names that sounded like planes." She shrugged and shook her head firmly. "I don't regret their deaths, but I do regret thinking it was the only way to get you to listen to me."

"I forgive you for trying to kill me," Jace said softly and honestly in return. "You were doing what you thought was right for your people."

Neither of them could think of anything to say after that.

It’s also nice to address the change in tone from Vraska’s original appearance in The Gorgon and the Guildpact. Vraska isn’t ‘good’, but she’s not a killer of innocents, either. I notice they didn’t address her killing her own minion, though. That might be a retconned detail.

He had gone from child prodigy to spy to victim only to have it all forcibly exorcised from his heart and mind. He had turned, lost and afraid, to people who preyed on the lost and afraid. He had been tortured, ignored, manipulated, and despite it all he was, nevertheless, intact. He had survived.

He was remarkable.

"I've never known a version of myself with my memories unimpaired," Jace said, breaking his silence with weary honesty. "So many people manipulated me into hurting so many people. And sometimes I've done it of my own volition. It was so easy."

We’ve never known a version of Jace like this, either. It’s great to see recognition of Jace’s faults not just being because of what happened to him, too.

"No one ever chooses to be a victim," Vraska interjected. "You are not weak because you were taken advantage of. And the cruelty of what they made you do reflects on them, not you." 

This is a good statement.

"You weren't that out of shape when I last saw you," Vraska teased.

"You're ignoring how often I used to use illusions to make myself look like I was in shape."

Her brows shot up. "Seriously?"

"Oh yeah," Jace acknowledged. His expression was unguarded, eyes still red from emotion, a lighthearted tilt to his lips. Unapologetically human. He grinned. "I used to be a coward."

He let Not anymore hang unspoken in the air between them, and Vraska caught his smile as he turned to ascend the golden staircase toward Orazca, one strong step after another.

This is both hilarious (because who wouldn’t use illusions to make themselves look buff), and a great turn. The acknowledgement of his own flaws, of his own weaknesses, and his decision to overcome them instead of hide behind them are fantastic. Huge props on the character development in this piece.

[basalt-dnd]

Under TV tropes as a model here, in your time playing D&D, as a PC or DM, what is the scariest, most tearjerking, most heartwarming, funniest and most awesome moment you can think of?

Saddle up your dragons and get ready, because I have plenty of very long stories to tell. The others are coming in a separate post, when my wrists aren’t killing me because of tendonitis. They might be a tiny bit embellished here and there, but all good stories are.

Scariest and Most Awesome Moment: Becoming a God

I had played Basalt for a rather long campaign. It had ended, but our DM had gotten a brilliant idea: to go back to an earlier age of the same campaign and run a game in the same world. Ultimately, our party’s fate in this new campaign would tie into the elaborate worldbuilding we had co-built for the first campaign. Time passed and we had a lot of fun with the campaign, and were fast approaching the endgame. 

Our characters became very detailed and elaborate, and the twist of the campaign shouldn’t have been a surprise to me, but it was. Before I get to that, I want to mention the characters themselves a bit more:

 Falx Cenzer was our battlemaster. He was a man of the people and a hero of the common folk. His ambition was unmatched, and he wanted to change the world for better. Falx’s greatest fear was time. He feared he was always wasting it, that there would never be enough of it to do what he needed to do. His smile could always put a room at ease. 

Garener was our necromancer. They were a healer of the mind, a gentle soul who spoke to the dead to help the living accept their grief. Garener saw no use in fixing such a temporary and immeasurably small world, nor in discovering its secrets. They believed that our lives had no meaning except what we made of them. Beneath their philosophy and magic, Garener was terrified of death.

Inari Farland was our spellsword. She had been born to a great pirate queen. At an early age, she showed an aptitude for sorcery but not for thievery. Her ‘no-nonsense’ attitude and intolerance for crime led her to become a naval officer under the land’s prince. Underneath her formality and skill, Inari is plagued with a fear that she isn’t doing the right thing.

Izazel was my cleric of knowledge. He insisted that there was a meaning to life, and he adamantly refused to die until he found it. In his own words, “Once I find it, I’ll lay down and perish. Until then, no such thing will happen.” He wanted to know everything there was to know about the world.

Our campaign was bent on finding the Fountain of Immortality and with it archives of all time, written across the walls of its chamber. Falx wanted to find it to maybe, just maybe, have a shot at living longer. Garener wanted to know if death was escapable, and if there was anything in store for the world. Inari wanted to see if there was a ‘right’ thing. Izazel wanted to see all of the unbiased past and bring the truth to light.

We discovered that the fountain would not function unless immortality was ‘traded’. A god must willingly give their power to the pool of water- or a god could be murdered in it. 

Luckily for us, Falx’s connections were able to locate the mountain the fountain was under. As was orchestrated by the DM and Falx’s player the entire time, Falx had stolen the representations of dreams that floated in the fountain. He melted them down. His glaive looked different. We thought nothing of it.

We marched across a small continent and reached the mountain, and found the entrance to a cave several miles deep. It was a hollow ‘spire’ of sorts, covered in mirrors and illusory projections of the past. Embers spiraled from it and into the night. The water in the several story high fountain at the bottom gleamed like liquid mercury. 

Izazel and Garener spent days recording engravings, hailing messengers, and trying to get to the bottom of the cavern that only seemed to get deeper. Inari scouted ahead and mapped the strange bridges that always seemed to change. We had sent Falx to bring our archaeology guild to the scene. We couldn’t excavate it alone. 

Our guild arrived, and disturbing news came with. It was of a green dracolich that we had fought when she was alive. Ahkma, the dragon, was pursuing the fountain with an army beneath her. Someone had told her where it was. The paladins of the fountain that had aided us on our quest joined us, sworn by oath to defend it. We called upon our oldest allies in the farthest corners of the mountains. 

Izazel and Inari had reached the fountain. Garener, Falx and the others busied themselves with tactics on the outer cliffs. We could see the legions approaching. We had known that Ahkma had an army further south, in the city-state she ruled. We had known that she wanted the fountain. But we didn’t think she would go so far as to become a dracolich.

So there we were when the our allies, and a city guard stood against a city-state’s militia. Garener held back a decent portion of the soldiers in a ‘bottleneck’ of a mountain pass. Inari defended them from javelins and arrows with protective magic. We didn’t have time to stop Ahkma from reaching the cliffs, so Izazel, Falx, and the paladins had planned ahead and waited to fight her in the tunnels where she couldn’t fly. 

If this story wasn’t long enough already, here’s where it gets scary and awesome. 

A blast of wind rushed through the tunnels. We were almost knocked to the ground. A deep, unsettling feeling seemed to choke us. Ahkma was approaching. As her toxic breath filled the halls and left two of the paladins coughing blood, Izazel noticed that Falx was nowhere to be seen. We fled to less airtight halls, hearing the horrible snapping of Ahkma stepping onto and breaking the collapsed paladins.

Before we saw dragon claws, before we saw her venomous clout of breath, a javelin struck the leader of the paladins in the throat, pinning her to a wooden beam. Wilhelm was her name. Falx stepped out from a hall. There was a collective cry of anguish at the table as we connected the signs. We should have seen it coming. The moment Falx unsheathed his glaive, the paladins’ moments were numbered. Three of them fell. 

Izazel ran, like a coward. He couldn’t fight his battlemaster companion, but he could outrun him. Izazel knew the patterns of the tunnels and overlooks. Falx did not. Iz hid behind a statue, six or so stories below where he had left the dracolich and traitor. He held a page of notes on the use of the fountain to his chest. Falx could kill him, but he could not have the notes. 

I looked my DM in the eye. I called for Divine Intervention. And it worked. Isthmus, the god of knowledge in our setting, came to life from the mirrored crystal of the statue. With the combined power of cleric and god, we altered the illusions and histories on the walls. 

 Isthmus struck Ahkma’s wing with a moving platform, sealing it into the stone. She broke it away, flightless and enraged. In that horrible moment, the ancient dracolich launched herself across the floor of the cavern. She pinned Isthmus to the fountain and lacerated the god’s throat. She drowned him. 

Izazel had been dealing with Falx. His scream of horror was cut off by a magical spear to the gut. Falx’s player had a wicked smile on his face. He spent his last superiority die to knock Izazel off the edge of the platform. We were twelve stories up.

Outside, Inari was gravely injured and our allies had retreated into a safer valley to tend to the wounded. Garener’s player broke down laughing. Earlier in the game, they had a curse put on them by a hag we had to deal with. The curse was that they would cause a grim and horrible explosion on death, which would virtually guarantee that they would kill all of their allies and everyone around them. 

With that, Garener insisted that all of out allies flee and their player pulled out a secret of her own that we also should have expected. Garener had a phylactery, and would become a lich on death. Cackling like only a nihilistic necromancer can, Garener flew above the militia and gave one last speech about the meaninglessness of life. And died. A very large portion of the army was killed or injured in the explosion. And Garener had every last one of their souls. It would take them a day to reform, but they had done what they needed to. Our allies finished off the soldiers who remained hostile, leaving those who chose to the chance to run.

So, Izazel. He fell twelve stories. And by perfect and unintentional roll of the DM’s dice to find out where his corpse would lie, he struck not the bottom of the cavern but the water of the fountain. Remember when I said Isthmus had been killed on the fountain? Remember when I said that Ahkma and Falx didn’t have the notes necessary to use the fountain, because Izazel had them? It turns out the ritual, which is all verbal, isn’t as hard to do while falling twelve stories as you’d think.

And that, my friends, is how my cleric became the god he previously served.

[a-splash-of-stucky]

A Messed Up Place | Three

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky gets some news which he does not want to hear.

Warnings: References to sex and nudity, language (there’s always language in my work, lbr).

Notes: Written for @hellomissmabel - we finally get to find out what Y/N has to say!!! 

Y’all ain’t ready for this chapter, man. Y’all ain’t ready.

AMUP Masterlist

Bucky trudges into his room, angrily brushing away the tears that prick at the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand. He blindly chucks his clothes into his laundry basket then throws himself onto the bed, smothering his face with his pillow.

He’s hurting on a more profound level than the physical.

There’s a gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to be, one that Bucky doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to refill. He doesn’t know how to patch himself together. If this were a battle wound, he’d bust out the first aid kit and fix himself up with some sutures, wrap the injury in white gauze. Instead, he has to contend with a throbbing pain somewhere deep inside him, a dull ache that seems to resonate through every fibre of his being.

It’s difficult for him to come to terms with the reality of the situation.

You’ve left him.

Bucky never imagined that losing you would feel this bad.

But can he even say that? Is it right for him to say that he’s ‘lost’ you, that you’ve ‘left’ him? Bucky knows that the two of you were never together in the first place, so what right does he have to feel as miserable and sorry-for-himself as he does? This was a relationship fated to fail from the outset, a doomed ship setting sail towards its inevitable demise. He’s just been patiently counting down the seconds as the clock ticked towards zero, when everything would explode in his face.

This love was always going to be his downfall, he knew that right from the start.

What Bucky didn’t know was just how excruciatingly, agonisingly, unbearably painful the fall would be.

—————————————

“I have something to tell you,”.

Bucky feels like his heart has frozen over. Ice spreads through his veins, chasing away the blissful warmth he attained after a glorious round of sex with you. Something in your voice puts his senses on high alert. Something in your voice tells him that he’s not going to like whatever it is you have to say.

“What is it?” Bucky croaks out, wincing internally at the hesitancy in his tone.

You roll over onto your side to face him, pillowing your cheek in your palm. From the way you’re gnawing incessantly at your bottom lip, Bucky knows that this must be something big. His mind is going into overdrive, every possible scenario playing out in his head. As the seconds bleed into endless minutes, Bucky feels himself slowly losing his mind. With each second that slips past, the stitches of sanity keeping him together are slowly beginning to come apart.

“Y/N,” Bucky murmurs, reaching his hand out to rest on your hip, “It’s okay. Whatever it is, you—you can tell me, I—,” he pauses to swallow nervously, “I’m here to listen,”.

Your gaze meets his. There’s a flicker of wistful sadness behind your eyes, here one moment, gone the next. You smile ruefully, then take a deep breath.

“Okay, um, I don’t know how to say this, but I—heh,” you mutter, your voice trailing off as you twist onto your back and throw an arm over your eyes. “Fuck it, okay, um, there’s…I have feelings for someone else,”.

Bucky’s frozen heart splinters into about a million shards. The far-fetched hope that Bucky might somehow find his happily ever after with you, the preposterous fantasy that he might one day admit his feelings to you, only to discover that you felt the same way — that dream has been crushed in a most devastating, destructive way. He feels dead on the inside, devoid of all emotion. It’s like you’ve flipped a switch inside him, opened up the floodgates that had been holding back those niggling worries and voices of doubt. Now that you’ve delivered the bad news, told him what he never wanted to hear, those fears come crashing through his system in an overwhelming, tsunami-like wave of depression. You haven’t even properly told him anything, yet Bucky feels like he’s heard all that you need to say.

They are the six words Bucky never wanted to hear, yet a part of him is sadistically glad. At least he didn’t have to say it, didn’t have to find the courage to break things off — he’s a coward, at heart, he knows that. Bucky would never have been able to find it in himself to say no to you, you’re just too addictive. Besides, he knew that this was coming. Bucky never deserved you. You were always too good for him.

He realises that you’re waiting for some sort of reaction from him, so Bucky forces himself to grit out an “Okay?”, voice tentative and a little unsteady.

“…yeah, um, we—we’ve both got feelings, for each other, actually, and…and I’d kinda like to see them more seriously, start goin’ on dates with them, y’know?” you explain, continuing to talk to him even though you’re not looking at him. Bucky’s glad for that; he feels like his expression is anything but neutral right now.

A thought pops into his head, one that brings the bitter taste of bile up his throat as a sickening feeling sets into his stomach. “Y/N…I haven’t…been…the other guy, right?” Bucky asks slowly, pushing himself into an upright position, swinging his legs over so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his back towards you. “I—you…haven’t…done anything with this person, have you?”

God, how awful would that be? To be complicit — knowingly or not — in hurting someone else’s feelings; Bucky doesn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if that happened.

“Oh, Bucky, no,” you murmur, sitting up and scooting closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t use you like that, never,”.

“Good,” Bucky breathes, releasing a quiet sigh of relief as he turns to flash you a wry smile over his shoulder. He doesn’t know what exactly is ‘good’ about the situation right now, but at least it’s not as bad as it could get.

A pause, then, “I just wanted to tell you, because—well, because this,” you say, using your free hand to gesture between yourselves, “This can’t keep going on. This wasn’t gonna last, Bucky,”.

If his heart hadn’t broken into a million shards already, it most certainly would have now. As it stands, the splintered remains of Bucky’s heart are now crumbling to dust, all shreds of hope vaporising into thin air. He’d take that god-awful chair — fuck it, he’d take years in that god-awful chair — over this. Anything but this. You might not know it, but your words are cutting him so much deeper, so much more viciously than any knife ever could.

“So this is it, then?” Bucky says tiredly, “This is the end?”

“Um—,”

“Look, Y/N, it’s okay, I ain’t mad at you,” Bucky assures you, placing his hand over the one you have on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Thank you for telling me, I’m happy for you. I’ll just—see myself out, yeah?” he says, brushing your hand away as he moves to get off the bed.

“Bucky, wait—,” you say, your hand darting out to catch his metal wrist.

“No, Y/N, it’s fine, really, I get it,” Bucky murmurs, forcing another smile onto his features to mask the pain blooming somewhere deep within his soul. “Really, honestly, seriously—believe me. I’m happy for you, Y/N,” Bucky repeats, quirking up the right side of his mouth; playing it cool as if all is right with the world.

A hesitant smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “Yeah?” you mumble, “No hard feelings?”

“None at all,” Bucky replies, as he stoops down to pick up his clothes from the floor, “It was great while it lasted, but I’m glad your life is going somewhere,”. He straightens up as he pulls on his boxers, letting them hang low on his waist. The jeans and t-shirt he slings over his metal forearm.

You’re chewing your lip pensively, as if you have something to say. In truth, Bucky is this close to losing it himself — a part of him wants to unlock the invisible chains holding his feelings back, wants to let his mouth loose and spill all the secrets he’s been holding close to his now non-existent heart.

Bucky surprises himself by remaining strong, though, putting on a mask of bravery as he heads over to your door. He puts his hand on the handle and gives one last cursory glance over his shoulder, drinking in the sight of you, splayed out on the bed with your hair tousled and your body language screaming ‘I’ve-been-freshly-fucked’. He’ll probably never get to see you like this ever again, so Bucky allows himself a moment to commit your beauty to memory, searing your image into his brain.

You shoot him another smile. “Bye Bucky, I—,” you cut yourself off, turning to look away as you shake your head. “Never mind. See ya,” you say quietly, giving him an awkward wave.

“See ya ‘round, Y/N,” Bucky murmurs, turning the handle and letting himself out.

There’s a gloomy sense of finality in the air when the door swings shut with a resounding thud. Bucky feels incomplete — and if he thinks about it, he is.

He left his heart on the other side of the door.

—————————————

Bucky looks up from his book as someone raps their knuckles sharply on his door.

“Come in,” he calls. His heart does a weird flip-flop thing when he sees it’s you.

“Hey Buck,” you say, slipping into his room and easing the door shut behind you.

“Y/N, hey!” Bucky says, forcing cheerfulness into his voice even though he feels anything but.

It’s been over a week since the two of you broke off your arrangement and Bucky is still reeling from the blow. The metaphorical pain in his chest has given way to an everlasting melancholiness, like a dark, ominous storm cloud is permanently hanging over his head.

“You look good,” Bucky comments, as his eyes give you a quick once-over. Bucky can’t help but admire the way your navy blue dress hugs your body, the ruffles around the neckline accentuating your collarbones and giving the smallest peek at your cleavage. It’s exactly your style; understatedly elegant and pulled together, striking that perfect balance between sexy and classy. Bucky feels like he can’t breathe because you’ve stolen his breath. You look absolutely stunning.

Then again, you always look stunning.

“You’re all dressed up, I see. It’s date night tonight, I take it?” Bucky asks.

“Yep,” you reply, coming to stand on his side of the bed and turning around, “Can you zip up my dress?”

“Oh—yeah, of course,” Bucky murmurs, reaching out a hand to complete the task. He tries to keep his contact as light and chaste as possible, despite the fact that all he wants to do is roam his hands over your body and call you his own.

That thought pushes him into a new line of thinking, on that results in an uncharacteristic pang of jealously flaring in his chest. His vision tinges red at the thought of some douchebag laying their hands on you, hell laying their eyes on you. They don’t deserve your beauty, whoever they are — no one does. You are a goddess walking among mere mortals; who on this earth is is worthy enough of your presence? Call him selfish, call him possessive, but Bucky is more than willing to punch the living daylights out of anyone who so much as displaces a single strand of hair from your perfect head.

Bucky clears his throat in an attempt to rid himself of such thoughts. It was a momentary lapse of control, but it leaves him no less shaken — Bucky is more than a little bit terrified of the thoughts that crop up in his head when he thinks about someone mistreating you. “So when do I get to meet this mystery man?” he asks lightly, clambering off the bed and trailing behind you as you head towards the door.

You chuckle as you step out into the hallway. “Oh—you can meet him now, actually,”.

“Meet who?” asks a familiar voice.

Oh shit.

“H-hey, Steve,” Bucky stutters, trying desperately to keep his eyes from bugging out as Steve makes his way down the hallway. His best friend has donned a crisp blue shirt and tucked it into a pair of well-tailored black pants, courtesy of Tony, most probably. A leather jacket completes the look.

“You look amazing, Y/N!” Steve cries, smiling fondly as he loops an arm around your waist. You give Steve a pleased smile, before your gaze flickers back towards Bucky. He sees the unspoken question in your eyes: is this okay?

If he’s honest with himself, Bucky doesn’t know how to answer that.

All those thought that Bucky’s had about killing anyone that dared to lay their dirty hands on you?

Yeah, they can go right out the window.

Because no way in hell, is he going to be able to bring himself to kill his best friend.

(Been a hair too close to that once already. Bucky doesn’t plan on bringing Steve that near to death anytime soon.)

That throbbing in his chest had started up again, a pain that just seems to intensify as the moment draws on.

Who on this earth is worthy of a goddess’ love? Only an angel, of course. Steve’s heart is one of the purest that Bucky’s ever seen. The burden on his shoulders lightens, the tension in his chest eases slightly, knowing that he’s losing — losing? — you to Steve. Steve is someone he can trust. Steve is someone who’ll treat you right.

That doesn’t make the slap of reality hurt any less.

You have feelings for Steve, Steve has feelings for you, and all Bucky feels is a world of pain. He can deal with you loving someone else, but when that someone else is his best friend? Fuck, he can’t even hold it against Steve, it’s not like Bucky’s ever told him about his feelings for you, or about the arrangement he had with you. The punk’s going into this completely oblivious to the history between you and Bucky, so he can’t be blamed for anything. More than that, Bucky doesn’t want to blame Steve for anything — Bucky’s the one that’s wrong in the head, not Steve. Steve deserves happiness, you deserve happiness and Bucky?

Maybe Bucky doesn’t deserve happiness. It’s certainly what the fucking universe seems to be telling him right now.

What did he do in a previous life to deserve this torture?

Oh, that’s right. Only kill about a hundred people.

So is this okay? Bucky doesn’t fucking know. It’s the best scenario out of all the ones that could have possibly unfolded — as far as things could have played out, it’s far from the worse that could have happened.

“Buck? You alright?” Steve asks worriedly.

Bucky startles, realising that the two of you are looking at him with concern written all over your faces. Bucky needs to keep himself together, play it off like everything’s cool. The last thing he wants to do is ruin your first date with Steve.

“I’m fine, m’fine,” Bucky says, leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb and crossing his arms over his chest nonchalantly. “Just surprised to see you clean up so well, Rogers,”.

Steve rolls his eyes at Bucky’s teasing, seemingly satisfied with Bucky’s reply. You’re not as easily convinced, however, the hesitation still evident in your gaze. Bucky gives you a tiny smile and a small nod, mutely conveying his approval of you and Steve being together.

We’ll talk later, you mouth, as Steve says something about heading down to the garage. Bucky waggles his eyebrows in reply. He doesn’t really want to talk, but if it brings you a peace of mind, he’ll go along with it. You still seem unconvinced, but are forced to turn your attention back to Steve as he takes you by the arm and guides you down the hallway.

“Have fun, kids,” Bucky calls, trying to inject as much mirth into his voice as possible. “Make sure you have her home before curfew, Steven, or I’ll come chasing after you with a broom!”. Bucky snorts when Steve gives him a rather ungentlemanly hand gesture in response.

Once the two of you have disappeared around the corner, Bucky goes back into his room, kicks the door shut and slumps down in front of it. He hugs his legs to his chest and curls up into a tight ball, resting his forehead on his knees. No matter how he looks at the situation, he’s fucked. He’s so, incredibly fucked.

How did things get this messed up?

[forgedasset-a]

Grief (jfc)

Physical pain doesn’t come close to the pain that he’s being forced to endure. Loss was a concept he was all too familiar with, and it’s been a long time since he’s bothered to grieve anything, or anyone. Everything would eventually fall apart, everyone would leave him. It’s his damnation for surviving the fall, for cheating death when it had finally claimed him. Death was often seen, visited by death more times than he can count. Usually, it came by his hands, or it were those that were around him. Simple, easy to move on. No connection, no memory that tied his bond to them. And his mind? Well, there were days that he’d forget his own name. There was no guarantee that he’d even remember them, their passing. Or if he’d even been responsible. Time and time again, it was the same story. 

This time, it was different. Death had come, and it had claimed once more. Taking someone that meant everything to him, that had easily become the world he would give, and do anything for. When it comes to pain, there’s different ways to cope. Some laugh out of the sheer shock, tears instantly run for others. Anger, frustration - denial until they see the body being put under the ground, and some… shut down. A reaction that Bucky had taken to. He felt numb, the world becoming muted, time slowing down. 

Voices called him to no avail, the tight pressure in his chest keeping him from reacting. For days, everything had seemed slow, unreal - a horrid nightmare that he expected to wake from. Eyes would reopen, and he’d be laying on his side. Face nestled into her hair, inhaling her scent while his arm locked around her waist. He’d pull her close, and press kisses to the nape of her neck. Whisper praises in her ear, until he’s worked his way across her jaw and has reached the right angle to steal a soft, lazy morning kiss that’d leave a smile plastered on his face. Because she was there, and she was his - and he was hers, and everything had worked out. After all the long fought battles, she was at his side, where she was meant to be. 

Every morning, he would wake to an empty bed. Where the realization would once more come, and it’s as if he’s reliving the moment of her death all over again. Again, he’d force himself to shut down to spare himself the full blow of the pain. 

Today, he notices that her scent is already fading as he rolls onto his stomach and onto her side. Face buried into her pillow, eyes closed. Smell of her shampoo is hardly present, and even the sheets hardly carry the scent of her perfume. She’s fading from his life, and he hardly realizes, because he’s so damned stubborn he doesn’t let himself feel her passing. Bucky could almost fall asleep in his current position. He’s hardly slept, spending long nights alone, staring at the ceiling, contemplating, thinking… rewinding the moment of her death in his mind. Over, and over again. Torturing himself, by thinking of all the different things he could have done to save her. If he’d reacted seconds quicker, if he’d pulled her out of there the moment he had a bad feeling… if he’d been able to shield her. If he’d forced her to stay back, she’d hate him for it. She’d hate him, but she’d be alive to do so. He could live with that, he could live with knowing she despised him, over her being cold and dead, and under dirt. 

Alarm starts to blare from his phone, vibrating as it plays an unfamiliar song. Today’s the day that all of those that had passed, would get their grand memorial. They’d be mourned and remembered, and then buried to be forgotten. 

Getting ready to show up is dreadful, sitting in the car for a while, until he’s mustered up the strength to walk inside. Chosen location is large, and grand. Men and women adjourned in their best suits and gowns, those that didn’t even know them - dressed in black, and having the audacity to present speeches. About how the individuals that had passed, had fought bravely and will never be forgotten. How everyone will forever be grateful, thankful for their sacrifice, about how they would be repaid by given the best tombstones in a private cemetery, where they will be worshiped as heroes for eternity. So much shit spewing from their mouths, it was unbelievable. People were mourning their loved ones, this should have been private. This should be the time they get to say goodbye, but instead - as everything else, it had turned into a public affair that was being streamed. 

Light dims, and the attention is finally on the deceased. Names are called out from the list that resides at the podium, opportunities to speak of them coming. Some names, he recognized. Names that were dismissed, until they’d called out Lorna Dane. 

Instantly, he draws in a rattled breath. Unable to exhale, chest tight, jaws clenched. Certain that if he lets out that breath and allows himself to catch another; everything he’s fought to keep hidden away, is going to come pouring through. Many speak of her, praise her. He’d like to think that if she could hear what individuals thought of her, how she’d live in their memory and how she’d touched their lives; she’d be proud. But, disappointed that he’d been a selfish coward that couldn’t stand to speak of her. He couldn’t bare it - the burden is so heavy on his shoulders, it’s a miracle in itself that he hasn’t collapsed yet. Little did he know that it was just the very beginning of things, because today, was the day where this became real. There was no avoiding it, he couldn’t lie to himself anymore and pretend that this was a dream, a vivid and shared hallucination, that there was a mystical fix to it all. 

It becomes real when the graveyard clears out, and he’s left alone. Standing next to the pile of dirt in front of a grand tombstone. Made of black marble to match the other fallen heroes’. Names and dates engraved, insignia of their organization and alliance dead center, and a thank you marked at the very bottom. But her name stood out above all the other words, large and bold, a silver engraved Lorna Dane. As much as he wanted to convince himself that she wasn’t the one in that box, he couldn’t. He wanted to believe that she was just pulling another one on him, that she was going to show up when he’d least expect it. And he’d hold her until the day that she truly was meant to die. 

Pain is inevitable. One can distract themselves from it, pretend it doesn’t hurt. Avoid the situation for as long as possible, numb themselves out as much as possible. But it always comes, and it’s always ruthless.  Hitting so suddenly, that his breath hitches and holds. Heart aches, the pit of his stomach feeling so hollow, he feels so hollow. Day is beginning to turn into night, and the weight has finally brought him down to his knees. Flashes of memories running through his mind so vividly, her smile, her touch, her warmth and comfort. Her voice and laughter, the taste of her lips against his. Soft skin under his touch, bright eyes that he’d never have the pleasure of looking into again. Her face was the first he’d seen when he woke, distressed and afraid. She’d comforted him, had walked him through his second chance at life. Helped him when he needed her, feeling the phantom sensation of fingers threading through his hair to pull it back into a messy bun or braids to fight off the heat. 

And he’d been the last face that she’d seen before her eyes closed, never to be reopened again. He’d failed her, all the promises of keeping her safe and sound - of protecting her til his last breath. Promises, of how they’d escape and never be found again so that they could live their happy ever after, now laid six feet under, just as she did. “Fuck.” Voice cracks, tears stinging and pricking, threatening to fall.

               Blood pools from the palm of his hands, screams and debris coming from every direction. It’s dark, their only exit slowly being cut off. Panic has taken claim over everyone, trying to escape - trying to bring their friends, their family, and their lovers through that exit with them. Blood seems to have painted every surface, limbs sprawled across the ground; bodies draped over the remains of each other. Even he had sustained injuries, the deep gash in the crook of his knee causing blood to squelch - for the wound to reopen and close again with every step he took. Slowing him down, making her feel heavier than she was. Light was dimming, every step he took was a desperate attempt to get her out. Begging her to stay with him, that they were so close... she’d be at a hospital soon and she’d get fixed up. But the blood is flowing quick, injuries so deep that even if he’d gotten her to a hospital; there was no salvation. “I got you, baby... I got you.” He’d spoken this phrase to her so many times. Every time, he’d gotten her out. They’d both made it. Bloodied and bruised, sore and scarred; but they made it. “Keep your eyes open, Lorna... we’re almost there.” 

              Every word he’d spoken fell upon deaf ears. She’d been dead minutes after finding her, pale skin stained red. Dead weight in his arms, without a warning. Without a word. He wouldn’t have known, he wouldn’t have stopped. He only wanted to get her out, on that stretcher. Where he’d hold her hand and steal a kiss, tell her it was over, and they’d see each other soon. The ambulance would take her and he’d eventually find her, and they’d walk out of the hospital, hand in hand. Fate had other ideas. Instead, he’s been told that they can’t take her. They can’t take her, because she’s dead, and there are others that need the assistance that are still alive. But he’s stubborn by nature, and stubborn for his love for her. Denial is instant, and he begs and begs - something he promised himself he’d never do. He just wanted them to kick start her heart with adrenaline, get it beating again. Anything, but there was nothing. She’d been dead for far too long, and he hadn’t even realized... he hadn’t realized how the world was so cruel, that it let him carry the love of his life, dead in his arms. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” Hardly a hushed whisper. No one else would have heard him. It wouldn’t have mattered, because he’s alone. Alone, how he’s meant to be. Head is kept low, unable to even look at her tombstone. Warm tears dribble down the bridge of his nose, crescent teeth marks imprinted against his bottom lip. Biting so hard, he’s sure to draw blood soon. Biting, so that he can keep himself from crying out, to force some false stability into himself. A man that’s broken and battered with nothing more to lose. He’d just lost everything, with nothing more to gain. There was nothing more to give. All he could do now, is mourn her loss. Every day, he’d relive their first, and final moments together. Forcing himself to torture himself with her memory, out of fear of forgetting her. Terrified, that one day he’s going to wake up and he won’t remember she had even existed, that he’d been ready to drop everything in his life for. Truth be told? There were instances where he wondered if they were ever meant to end up together. Always seemed, that life had other plans for them, instead. 

Meant to fall in love, meant to hope and desire. To see a future together, but never meant to get there. From day one, she was destined to die in his arms, and he was destined to grieve her every day since. 

Which, he does. Every single damned day, he grieves for her. Some days, feel a little easier. Others, it hits hard, taking away his will, making breathing even seem impossible. Forcing a facade in the eyes of others, only for it to crumble the moment he gets home. To their home. Their home, that still has everything where she had last placed it - untouched, making him see her everywhere. Side of her bed is usually left untouched, not wanting for her scent to completely fade away or mix with his own. He still lays on his side, facing the direction she would always lay in. In his sleep, he’d instinctively reach over to put his arm around her. Metal would fall against the soft sheets, would sometimes stir him awake. Eyes would open in the dark of the night, to nothing. But today? Today, his will falters. Where he holds her pillow and buries his face, where he lays on her side to feel somewhat close to her, where the pain of his loss takes reign once more. It’s been exactly ten days since her death. Ten days, that he’s gone without her for the first time since he was brought out of cryo. 

Three years, that he could have spent with her, wasted. Three years, that could have been spent holding her, loving her, cherishing her. Telling her he loved her, and protecting her. Instead, he’d been selfish and left her. Now, she’d left him. Only this time, unlike him leaving - there was no coming back. Never destined to reach their future together. 

 Send “Grief” for a drabble about my muse grieving when yours has died.  @emeraldhellfire