#take notice of how his teeth have begun to sharpen and the rest are long narrow teeth teehee

[cyclopssun]

“Leo towered above him with the mural to his back, perfectly and hauntingly in line with his painted portrait. The once adoring detail of the halo of light Mikey painted now depicted a terrifying, grotesque, godlike force far worse than the Krang. The way the halo framed the real Leo– the brother he abandoned– made Mikey feel like he was facing divine judgment for a crime he could never atone for.”

i love the imagery in the neon void (based on ch.24) by @sugarpasteltmnt

[bilbobagginshome]

A Deadbeat’s Journal 20

A Jotaro Kujo x Blackfemreader

Jotaro’s thoughts,

The drive was long but unwinding. I felt the cooling breeze after the three hour drive and absolutely enjoyed the increasing lack of traffic as I drove.Reaching the hotel though is the most relieving . I park, observing the lot.I notice a distinct quietness, only six cars parked and I’m even happier that y/n rightfully thought that the tourism season has just ended.

I think it would be best to just rest today. It's already approaching lunch and the aroma of grilled fish dances around my nostrils. The receptionist checks me in and confirms that the lunch buffet is ready. The room is wonderful with a large spacious and most importantly with a balcony overlooking the beachview. Just as I had confirmed with the virtual room tour.Complimentary fruits that y/n would have begun snacking on are nicely displayed in a sisal basket that she would have insisted we take home.

After a cooling shower and changing to a simple slightly oversized white dress shirt and white linen trousers with some flip flops , I head to the lunch room .There are quite a few more people than I expected, a family of six in one corner who were in calm discussions, two white americans who were loudly conversing although based on the continuous fluctuations of their voices, it seems that they are constantly attempting to adjust their volumes.In the middle sat a older white man who was with his trophy wife, a black woman,  considering  their rings. The wife shamelessly stares at me. I feel queasy .

I head to the barbeque section , choosing lobster and the mouth watering barbequed mackerel that I had wafted earlier.They offered mashed potatoes and this thick gravy that seemed good enough so I smothered it around my food. Looking back , I discover a vacant seat away from the crowd and as soon as I sit down and only a few bites into my food, one of the Americans comes beside me.

First of all, who approaches someone in the middle of their lunch? Maybe in the pool or even whilst taking a walk but not when one is attempting to alleviate their hunger. Secondly, I absolutely hate that aside from my brooding nature, I also got my good looks from Sadao. 

“Hi. I’m Mikayla and you are?” She enthusiastically questions. Now that she’s closer, her voice seems the pitcher of the pair and her valley girl accent makes my teeth knaw.

“Jotaro.”I hope I put enough ‘stop talking to me’ energy in my tone but rather than that , she pulls the chair opposite me.

“Oh how exotic, Are you Japanese?”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing here?”

I answer honestly which leads to an unprompted Ted like talk on how beautiful Kenya is. She isn't wrong and I would have entertained her were I not only hungry but also tired from driving non-stop for three hours. My listless hums seem only to propel her loud mouth and despite the lovely made food, I keep gulping a bitter taste. After the end of another rant, she questions,

“And why are you here alone? I wouldn’t have been able to travel alone.” Her voice suggests faux concern.

“My wife was busy and I left her in Mombasa.”I lie and I can see her eyes sharpen in disbelief and slight annoyance.

“Wife? Who is she then, can I see her?” She asks coyishly though I know she has begun a battle to figure out whether I’m lying . I know that I shouldn’t prove her wrong but for a moment I imagine introducing y/n as my wife and the woman beside me seething with jealousy at the absolute beauty she is so I willingly show her my homescreen of y/n sleeping alongside Samosa.

By now, the family of six quiet mummerings had all but dimmed to listen to our conversations and from the corner of my eye notice the teens silently chuckle at my uninvited guest’s unmasked shock.

“Well I’ll let you carry on with lunch.” She says whilst rising , schooling her face to hide the obvious embarrassment she feels at attempting to flirt with a married man. I go on to add another helping . This time getting some potato wedges and ribs. Suddenly the food no longer has a grey aftertaste and after filling myself with sweets . I head for an afternoon nap.

 * * *

Waking up to a wonderful evening breeze is literally luxury living . I don’t think I’d get over the beach even though my apartment is just another beach house.After washing my face , I head to the beach bar and order a tequila to warm me up as the breeze is even more chilling once you leave the room . There are quite a few more people at the beach, most however are not from the hotel . A group of teens are playing beach volleyball. Others are swimming in the deeper areas of the beach whereas some have decided to lounge in the hotel's white gazebos . The Americans seem annoyed at my appearance and whisper to themselves as I lounge. I don’t care. She embarrassed herself when she came over.

I picked up the book y/n gave me and it's so engrossing I didn’t even realise that it was almost dinnertime. One of the staff jolts me back to reality and with a teasing smile, reminds me of the approaching hour. Walking around the hotel while reading would be hindering in more ways than one so I bookmark the page, surprisingly I’m almost halfway done. Granted it's a light novel but still.

I notice the same group as lunchtime, with a few more guests who are only here for the dinner course.The barbeque is even more abundant and the seafood buffet even more appetising .This time I opt for some macaroni and cheese with shrimp , prawns and another mackerel. A salad just to balance out the carbs and I’m off to the table with my room number. I reply to the trophy wife’s husband nod and continue reading my book while eating . Luckily it went without a hitch ,I enjoyed the varying beverages, surprised by the sweet tasting bungo juice and plan to recreate it on my own at home.

As I drift off , I think that I should call her. She seemed a bit sad and the guilt is beginning to settle in. But I need this time away, not only to sort my feelings but to understand where I’m headed in my career. I feel somewhat disillusioned, there is a lot more paperwork than I expected. Moreover, grant organisers are controlling , only interested in the underlined project and are unwilling to be flexible whenever other obstacles or more aid is needed until relentless nagging on my part.The Speedwagon Foundation has been beneficial in connecting me in many aids but I’m tired of it to be honest . I’m not fulfilled nor happy with my current position. I’m thinking that as my grant ends, I should just do research work. The classmates I recently phoned who do freelance research projects seem more fulfilled and besides the huge pay cut , it has little cons. Moreover, I have more than enough to sustain myself. Mom , Dad and Gramps have been funnelling millions in my trust fund since I was a child not to mention my personal investments. 

But y/n . She needs me doesn’t she? Or would she be willing to move around with me?But knowing her, she’d need a powerpoint presentation as to why we should live a nomadic lifestyle. Also, a ring. Do I love her enough to willingly spend the rest of my life with her? The fact I’m questioning this is enough of an answer. I know she won’t willingly go with me nor will she stop me. I don’t expect her to wait for me. Why am I even thinking of marriage when I haven’t even taken her on a date yet. Wait, maybe she doesn’t even see me romantically But that’s on her for making me develop feelings for her . She shouldn’t have created domesticity in the quiet home. She shouldn't have made us parents . She shouldn’t be attentive whenever I speak, offer solid advice whenever I’m anxious and smile whenever she gets the dry jokes that others usually don’t.

I love her. But I love myself too.

                                                                   * * *

That instructor guiding me in Kayaking this fine morning is an equally fine man. Dark, a tad short yet has that lean muscle that is always appreciated and a smile that almost rivals y/n. You can feel the warmth as he guides the interracial couple to their raft and instructs on the least stressful way to row the boat . The boats are two seaters and he kindly seats ahead of me for I am alone. Why is me being alone both cringy and embarrassing ?

He says we are to row to the point where the smaller silky sharks begin  residing and at first,it seemed simple but  my muscles begin to wear out .The boat is also small and I need to slightly squeeze myself and balance lest the boat will topple over. Moments like this are when I despise my height. Anyway, after a few mishaps from the others, we row back now. I'm facing the approaching shore and he is repeatedly praising my form . If he wasn’t so glaring straight, I would have flirted.

Everyone  removes themselves from the safety garments as though they have offended them somehow. After having casual small talk , he says that he knows a guy that can rent him a yacht and teach me how to operate one.After thanking him, I head back to the hotel alongside the other group and after a quick rise dive into the pool. I’m glad this pool is deep enough to dive in . I’ve always hated the usual no diving policy that littered the hotels in Mombasa. Y/n barely knows how to dive and I’ve told her it's because of those policies. If you are building a pool just to make it deep enough to dive, the whole appeal of swimming is also attempting to dive as well as an olympic diver.

Anyways enough about my rant, the two teens who have approached me , fraternal twins fittingly called Andy and Candy want to learn how to dive and after a glance from their smiling parents who nod in approval, I teach them the basics, by the time lunch rolls by , they are practically better than me. The flexibility of youth.

“So Mr Kujo, what do you do?”Candy asks as we approach the buffet this time held outside.

“I’m a marine biologist and just call me Jotaro, you are ageing me with the Mr”

“Ok Jotaro. But what does a Marine biologist do, like anatomy work? I thought we already knew everything about the ocean.” She curiously peers at me , a pout of confusion.

“Well, we are in the midst of a global warming that could be irreversible, our work is to ensure things like coral reefs and what sustains the ecosystem of the oceanic environment plus her inhabitants are not damaged due to this.”I explain, hoping I don’t come off as preachy as I approach their table.

“So that means like work.”Andy responds

“Alot of it” and they groan in despair.

They explain that since joining form 1 , all they have been told is to start choosing their career path and they feel overwhelmed. After a formal introduction to their family , we sit down . The oldest two, another boy and girl, though not twins , are in their second  and third year of University. Angel does Accounting and finance whereas John does Business Commerce. 

“So, Marine Biology , does it pay?” The patriarch asks with a auto lilt on his voice

“Yeah, if you have grants coming in, which I’m fortunate enough to have.”

“But you need connections to get your applications approved.”The mother considers with a gentle yet deeper voice.

“True.You can’t get far without necessary links and to create such links for some it takes years.”

“Okay enough about that boring talk. I’m on holiday. Why did you not chat up the pretty woman that was talking to you yesterday?” Andy mischievously questions and his older brother, Mwashigadi smacks his head , but not without a slight smirk that was immediately hidden .

“Yeah, She seemed interested.We couldn’t hear all you guys said but we definitely heard her whispering to her friend about how hot you are.”The oldest sister,Chanel, brazenly adds to which Candy eyes her with a disapproving look.

“Well , I’m married.” I lie and the table seems shocked at the revelation. I can feel y/n’s slight tug on the ear at once again misrepresenting our relationship but I can’t lie, she does the same thing and it's a solid enough lie.They ask to see the famed ‘Mrs Kujo’ and I unlock my screen to show them.

“Hold on , and she’s Kenyan too , Jotaro, you just keep surprising us.” Chanel nods at Andy who claims that she's ‘very beautiful’. It feels like a warm towel was on my heart with the way they ogle at her beauty.. I told them that she was a lawyer and the compliments kept flooding in . Martha, the mom, handed me her business card for she works as a consultant in the field. 

After slight banter, I leave the hall early, promising the kids to dive one more time with them. I head back to get the book , some shades , a towel and a bucket hat. After reapplying the sunscreen and placing the business card in my suitcase . I head out. 

I taught the twins a few more diving skills and as they were content, they let me off their shackles to continue reading by the beach and by the time the lamps of the gazebo are switched on, I’m reading the end of the book. Somewhat ironic she gave me this book unknowing that I’m mulling over making a personal change myself.

Mr Handsome Instructor approaches me and says that he has acquired the yacht for the remaining days of my stay for three hours a day at a considerable rate.I approve of this and he questions why learning how to steer a boat. To be honest, I just want to learn something new and I tell him so. Though somewhat unconvinced , Mutisye shrugs in acceptance and leaves for home after closing up the kayak warehouse.

While dining with the twins' family, they inform me that they were headed to Watamu early in the morning . I exchange numbers with the parents and Candy who is mildly interested in what I do and after another lighthearted dinner filled with funny anecdotes the twins supply on boarding life in high school including a potential arson incident,they bid me goodbye as we head to our respective rooms.

I decide to journal. I bought a small book back in Mombasa and I vividly recall y/n journaling a few times and I thought I should do the same. Reading what I write feels like uncasing my deepest thoughts and it feels relieving . Though still unsure, I know that I don't what my career path to be stagnant and it should evolve as my interests continue to develop.

Third Person Narration.

Jotaro woke up a bit later than expected though not too late to miss breakfast and be late for his boat lessons.He felt the hotel emptier now that his friends had left but the breakfast was absolutely delightful and he was grateful that the chef who was making personalised eggs, had made his omurice perfectly though he did question if eating it with bread is still omurice or just omu.

After a stomach filling breakfast, he quickly headed to the gym for a light workout.He didn’t get those muscles just for them to deflate during the vacation.After the gym, he headed to the beach and Mutisye was just moving the yacht closer to the beach. He gave Jotaro a warm smile and greeting and after insisting on wearing the heavy safety gear that Jotaro hated, he began teaching .

Jotaro, despite being competent in a lot of things, tends to error a lot whenever he’s learning something new. This was no different. The first hour was solely spent on repeated attempts to manoeuvre the boat and he slowly got the hang of moving the , at first, heavy transportation device during the later parts of the second hour of the boat . Considerable improvement had been made on the third. He wasn’t as loose with the wheel and at least he knew exactly when to pump in the brakes.

Mutisye was a proper instructor, firm enough when giving instruction yet willingly heaped compliments at the slightest display of improvement.After the third hour, Jotaro thanked him, though slightly embarrassed that he hasn’t drastically improved.

“There is a phrase in Swahili that says this, ‘Droplets of water gradually fill a bucket.’Your improvement might seem miniscule now, but will prove to be worthwhile in hindsight.” 

The makings of a great teacher Mutisye continues to prove to be. 

After a casual conversation once they alight from the boat,Mutisye asked,

“Hey, there’s a club that’s starting to pick up. Want to join me and my friends tonight?”

“I haven’t gone clubbing in a while so I don’t really know.”

“It’ll be fun, I’ll make sure you don’t get scammed out of a couple of drinks and there are really pretty women.”He wagged his eyes as he insisted on the preposition.

“Sure, but only for a few hours.” He finally agrees.

“Let me tell them that I’m adding someone.” He says as he pulls out his phone. Though Jotaro insists, Mutisye refuses to let him help anchor the yacht. After confirming the meeting time Jotaro headed for lunch. There is practically no one aside from the couple. The Americans are no longer there. However the buffet is still a delight. Jotaro decides on rice with coconut creamed fish and tomato soup and despite how seemingly hot it is, it remains comforting enough.

                                                       * * *

Jotaro decided on a simple shirt and shorts with sunnies atop his head, The orange sky cast a brillant golden glow in the ocean and as he slowly breathes in the salty air, he noticed Mutisye coming up to him with the most outrageous style he’s ever seen

He simply can’t look away from the distressed white vest and the almost miserable skinny jeans combo. Now that he’s looking at his face, he wears a slick back cap in the most awkward angle. And let's not mention the neon high tops, and the obviously fake large silver cuban chain link.Jotaro pondered whether he was being elitist by considering those are his only white outfits but he himself is wearing the cheapest outfit and does not look like every teen in the horrid early 10’s of the 21st century.

“Why are you dressed so boring? Do you not want girls looking your way?”Mutisye tsks whilst looking up and down in slight annoyance.

Jotaro simply thought that the man had the audacity to question him on his picking up skills despite Mutisye willingly walking out of the house looking like he jumped in a time machine to the present day. He simply answered that he’s not interested in picking up anyone and Mutisye guided him to his parked car at the hotel front.

“Too bad you’re married. The girls here love a man like you. It definitely helps that you are rich and handsome. Total Jackpot.” He stated as he coughed the engine.

Jotaro, attempting to lie the car seat a little lower says

“I’m really not interested. I have a wife you know.”

“Yeah and I have a girlfriend. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Slimy. He remained silent at that and after a short drive , they pick up two of Mutisye’s friends waiting in an isolated, rusted bus stop after formal introductions and a sligh look of intrigue from one of the boys, they turn up the radio and amp up the pre gaming with cheerful yet heavily explicit dancehall and loud cheering whenever Mutisye overspeeds.

After an almost frightful drive on Jotaro’s part they finally arrive at the club. From outside the base and cheers are clear and despite the beautiful ocean view in the beachside club, no one was outside, too busy enjoying the almost blinding neon lights and sharing the same air. At least it's not too cramped, Jotaro thought as he tried to walk through the crowd. 

Some of the patrons look at him and the group with muted smiles and longing stares. As soon as he sits, just barely able to sigh , a waitress in the most skin tight and cleavage showing outfit goes onto them . Jotaro orders a beer , cold and despite the glances sent as she takes the orders of the clearly drooling Mutisye, he ignored her, hard and she huffed while she walked away.

“Bro, that girl was interested in you! You should have flirted with her.” Jonah says .

“Not interested.”Jotaro inwardly questions why guys with biblical names are the most unhinged because Jonah decides to walk up to a girl, attempting to grind on her and she, after she  looked back at his cheeky smile , scoots closer to him and he sends a thumbs up to the table. Mutisye is the least interested in his friend's catch and instead sweet talks the waitress, already bored with Jotaro and she vibes with him heavily. After a few whispers and a heated stare , Mutisye rises up and says,

“I’ll be gone for a few.Take care of Mutua for me.”

Mutua,to Jotaro, is an enigma. He seems as lively as his friends yet does not engage in any clubbing activity except dancing . But he's a very pretty boy. Lean .yet muscular and tall. A bit heavier than a Kenyan trackstar but still not close enough to a heavyweight. After he comes back they get into talking. To this point, they are tipsy, Jotaro smiles as he talks and Muua continuously gives him a one up that is extremely provocative.

He finds out that Mutua’s  almost done with university and pursues a degree in mechanical engineering.Returns his heated stares willingly and the liquid courage whispered to his ear. Jotaro asks.

“How old are you?”

“26. Why?” Mutua coyishly replies, at this point it's been an hour since they last saw either of the other parties and the smile on his face is enough to tell Jotaro that Mutua is into him.

“Bathroom?” Jotaro asked with a slight smirk and Mutua eagerly rose up., following him with a hand slightly tugging his shirt.

                                        ��         * * *

They walk out of the bathroom more scruffled than they came in.Unknowingly to them Mutisye , who himself was still annoyed that the club owner had demanded him to get out , went out looking for them and found them heavy breathing whilst silently laughing outside the men’s washroom,

“Where have you guys been, I’ve been…oh?”He punctuates the end with a teasing lilt to his voice.

“So you decided to have some fun, where are the girls?” He questions , looking around the nearby area. Mutua’s hitches and Jotaro remained silent, smiles wiped off both of their faces

Mutua accidentally trips and Mutisye quickly helps him up , paraphrasing his anecdote. Turns out he was flirting with the club owner’s girl , complaining that it should be illegal for pot bellied men to still become younger girls sponsors*

“Hey why are you limping? Did you get hurt?”Mutisye worriedly glanced over to Mutua after the long rant that ended  in the parking lot. Jonah decided to go home with the girl from earlier and bids them.

“Hey , what happened? I told you to look over him Jotaro, he’s the fragile one here.” He irritatedly questions as he opens the door.Suddenly Mutisye stills, and with a sharp glare looks at both of them. He notices a bite mark on Jotaro’s neck , no lipstick. He realises that they don’t remotely smell like any strong women perfume his entire outfit is currently smothered with . A look of utter disgust stoically remained over his face , then he asked,

“Are you a f*****?”

Jotaro looks back at him with an eyebrow raised, a slight smirk endows his face and responds,

“What do you think?”

Mutua at this point was shaking, eyes downcasted , too scared to look at the glare Mutisye sent him.

“I thought you stopped this shit. It was fine in high school but even now, seriously? Why are you always whori-”

“HEY! What’s that supposed to mean? Can’t you accept him for who he is ?”

“I’m not speaking to you homo, I’m speaking to him . This is Kenya. F***are tortured and killed here. I’ve been telling him to get his act straight but he still doesn’t act better.”

“He chose to come out to you and you repay him by referring to him as a slur?” Jotaro questioned, silently fuming at how Mutisye forced Mutua in the car and locked him in.

“This is my cousin and therefore my responsibility.And It's not natural to act that way . Besides, wasn't he just a one night stand to you?”

At this Jotaro punches Mutisye’s face hard. But Musinya relented despite how his cheek almost hollowed out, he stayed up. 

“I’ll not fight with you. Better yet I’m not speaking about this again. You’ll have someone else teach you how to steer the boat. Goodbye .” 

“So you refuse to admit that you’re wrong for treating him this way?”

“I’m not wrong. He’s lucky I didn’t beat the gay out of him to begin with.BTW, wouldn’t your wife be disgusted to find her husband engaging in homosexual acts?”

“Firstly I don't have a wife, the woman I’ve been referring to as my wife is my close friend. Secondly ,She accepts my sexuality as it is unlike you, she doesn’t judge.”

“Maybe not to your face but she’s inwardly disgusted.” Mutisye huffed and got in the car, refusing to even say one last word for someone he had at least considered a friend at first.Mutua mouths an apology and Jotaro nods back and watches Mutisye desert him in the parking lot.

Back at his hotel room , he decided to call y/n

“Hey.”

“Hi, how’s your trip?”

“Great, just went clubbing.”

“Really was it fun?”She excitedly questioned

“Yeah” He lied with a wry smile.

“By the way. I wanted to ask you something.” He quickly added

“Sure.”

“You do know I’m queer right?”

“I mean, the ‘queer rights’ sticker on your laptop was a dead giveaway but yeah, I’ve always known.Thought you came out a while back , Is this like a second unveiling? Are you going through an existential crisis?”

“Oh…and you have no problem with it?”His heart beat like it was imploding on his ribcage.

“Your sexuality? Because of my religion? My faith has nothing to do with you or your orientation. Why bring this up? Is something wrong ?”y/n sat up, preparing her body to listen.

Jotaro narrated the incident. she listened keenly,a bit jealous at Mutua,and responded

“He’s the problem. A lot of youths in Kenya are accepting . He’s a relic when it comes to these matters.”

“So you aren’t mad at me for sleeping with him?”

“Isn't it your body ? I’m a bit confused.”

Nevermind. He thought, slightly annoyed at how unphased she was.

“Anyways I’m swearing off sex. I’m a celibate man.When I find the right person,I’ll break my celibacy.”

“Haven’t you been these past couple of months?” She mockingly questions.

“Haven’t you too?” He jeers back.

“I’m actually a virgin.” and the pin drop silence afterwards makes y/n slightly panic.

“Looking back,” Jotaro muses, “ The signs were there.”

And this ensues a collection of highly invasive questions that are completely out of character for Jotaro. But he’s still slightly shocked. 

“It's okay , a bit shocking but nonetheless okay.It’s good to wait for the right person. I know I did.”He reassured

“Really, can you tell me who it was?”

“No.”He deadpanned.

“You literally just asked me if I’ve gone till third base.”

“Okay fair enough. They were my high school sweetheart.”

“Was it Noriaki?”She curiously considered

“It's absolutely despicable to make me even ponder about Noriaki as anything but a friend.” Jotaro replied, a slight cough expelling the inappropriate and to him, a tad disgusting, thought.

“Why?”She slowly smiled as she waited in response, 

“He started washing his ass in college.” He  countered and y/n squealed in absolute laughter, muffled microphone leaving out the hitching of her voice as she attempted to compose herself.

“Nooooo why would you expose him like this?”She rhetorically questioned as she finally got her breathing to be less sporadic.

This cues in an entire onslaught against Noriaki and co. . Jotaro switched to video just to watch her fall to her bed in glee as he narrates bizarre events about his friend group. By the time the call ends, his heart felt like lava, a euphoric rush making his head woozy.

                                    prev masterlist next

[kakashiswilloffire]

Orange Sherbet

ao3 link

tw: suicide attempt, overdose, painkillers, mentions of self harm

words: 3.5k

He was a drain on Gai.

His students didn’t need him—they’d surpass him soon enough.

There were still villagers who called him Friend-Killer Kakashi.

He still saw faces every time he laid down to sleep.

He felt Rin’s blood splash onto his chest every time he used the Chidori.

He couldn’t help Itachi.

He couldn’t help anyone.

Sometimes he understood what must’ve gone through his father’s head.

Sometimes, the corner store doesn’t have orange sherbet.

Kakashi is suicidal and we hope Gai can help.

If there was orange sherbet at the convenience store on the way home, he’d stay alive. They always had pints of ice creams and other frozen treats—it was something he had promised to treat himself to when he felt this way. They had made him write down all these promises during his last few mental health sessions with various Yamanakas, listing three people he could talk to when he felt lonely, three distractions he could use to keep himself sane for a few minutes longer, three reasons to stay alive. When he felt like he couldn’t stand to live another day, he had to summon Pakkun, read Icha Icha, and eat something special and different. Pakkun was still recovering from their last rough battle together. He had read each volume of Icha Icha so many times they risked falling apart upon his next touch. So orange sherbet it was.

He’d never cared much for sweets, of course. But there was something nostalgic about orange sherbet, it wasn’t quite as punch-in-the-face sugary as ice cream, but still gave a slight buzz and coated his tongue. In the back of his mind, he remembered his father—or was it Minato?—buying a pint for each of them and snagging two disposable spoons so they could enjoy them as they walked back from the training grounds. Or was it three pints with Rin and Obito after difficult missions? Something Gai or Tenzou insisted on buying for his birthday one year? Everything blurred in his mind, unable to clearly break each memory apart to see it again.

He pushed open the door, hearing the dull chime of bells as it swung forward to let him into the packed corner shop. He made his way to the freezer without taking in any of the other colors, sights, or smells around him. He remembered his goal. One pint of orange sherbet. Buy one, eat it, and try life again tomorrow.

The freezer door was coated in a light fog, but he was in no hurry to see through it. It was just him and the shopkeep cashing out an older civilian woman. He skimmed his eyes across the rows, looking for the familiar orange carton.

Where was it?

He tried again, looking more carefully at each row, all the way across, then moving down to the next systematically. His heart rate jumped roughly 15 more beats per minute.

They always have it.

He opened the door, searching furiously with his eyes now that there was no frost in his way. He knelt to the ground, checking the bottom rows thoroughly.

It has to be here.

He glanced at the shopkeep, bagging the woman’s groceries as she talked animatedly about something he didn’t care enough to make out. He slid his headband up a couple of inches, barely exposing the crimson eye hidden beneath. With as much chakra as he dared use given his current state, he searched the frozen rack again.

Every flavor of ice cream he could think of, and a least a dozen more he would never consider. And toward the bottom, there was lime, lemon, and raspberry,

No orange sherbet.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained squatted down with the freezer door open, focused on the empty slot where it should be. The shopkeep, now with no other customers, cleared his throat loudly and gestured for Kakashi to shut the door. He blinked twice, then rose, hearing the door seal as he returned to his feet.

“Anything I can help you with?”

Kakashi blinked, again. There was all this noise roaring in his head, and he felt flushed. After a beat too long, he understood what had been asked and shook his head.

“No, ah… Thank you.”

He nodded and quickly ducked out of the store.

That was it. He had to write down three reasons. Reason one was currently out of commission because of him. Reason two had been violently abused so that he had something to do with his hands when he was so full of fire and anxiety that if he wasn’t holding something he’d— well, whatever came easiest or first. Digging his nails into his arms, forming tiny red divots. Scratching until the skin was raw and angry. Slamming fists into his thighs. Step one was always untying his kunai pouch and letting it fall. He’d learned that early on.

Reason number three to stay alive, and the agreement he’d made with himself today, was the convenience of dropping by the store for a small treat. Without that, he wasn’t sure how to proceed.

Walking back to his apartment, he thought about the previous weeks. Those promises had all begun the same way, but ended in a different direction. The format was simple: if blank, then I won’t kill myself today. He used to use a similar format: I can’t kill myself until blank. The problem with that was dreaming far enough ahead to find a goal worth the pain, effort, and time, and also, what to do when the goal was met. You can’t kill yourself until you make chunin. You can’t kill yourself until you complete an A rank mission. You can’t kill yourself until you make jonin. You can’t kill yourself until… what? Until I come back from a mission with no casualties? Until I can become close to someone without them dying in front of me? It spiraled too quickly to come back from.

The simpler way to go about it was short-term goals. Can’t kill yourself till after dinner. Then you’ve gotta brush your teeth. Then read a chapter of a book, or two. Then you’re tired, and you can sleep until the alarm wakes you far earlier than the sun would, and you live until you feel like you can’t again. But even that had its downfalls—if you can’t be bothered to brush your teeth tonight, you’ve gotta find something to keep going.

It had been Gai who suggested rephrasing the prompt to its latest version. On a day I challenge you, Rival, you can’t end the passion of youth! The challenges had been almost daily for a couple of months after that, until Gai had left for an extended mission and Kakashi had been thoroughly encouraged to stay a similar amount of time in the Yamanaka’s care. He’d begrudgingly admitted later that both of those developments had helped, and it had been a few years since his last bout with depression like this.

But it had been like this for a few months now, and the clouds fuzzing over his mind didn’t seem to be letting up. So he revisited some old advice. If it doesn’t rain on the way home, he’d stay alive. The sky remained cloudless. If Naruto pulled something stupid during training, he’d stay alive. It only took fifteen minutes before Sakura started yelling at him. If there was orange sherbet in the corner store—But there wasn’t.

Somehow, he made it inside his apartment, not quite recalling the rest of the walk through the dull ache behind his eyes. He slipped his unzipped vest off his shoulders, not noticing it hit the floor. Routine dictated that next was the kunai pouch, then the bandages, then—

He was sitting on the floor and wasn’t sure how he got there. Sitting was a generous term, he supposed, as his legs were fully outstretched and he was propped on one forearm with his head against the wall. His eyes slowly screwed tight as the dull ache sharpened briefly, then the static between his ears picked up in volume. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and gradually got back to his feet, stumbling into the living room.

He slumped across the couch, staring at the ceiling. He remembered the routine, drilling itself into his head. His vest was off, he needed to remove the kunai pouch, then the bandages, then the shoes, and put all of that away before removing the rest of his clothing to take a shower. After that was dinner, then two hours of free time to fill with whatever he was capable of, then bed. Lately the free time had been compromised of staring at the pile of clean laundry on the chair opposite him that had needed to be put away since Wednesday. He knew the routine. He decided to get a jump start on free time anyway.

He began counting all of the socks he could see sticking out of the collection of clothes. Organization and listing had always helped situate his mind and get him back on track. After ten or so minutes, he was finally able to unstrap the kunai pouch, tossing it across the room, taking care to not pay attention where it landed. There had been a week where Kakashi didn’t even carry the bag because Gai had taken it and every sharp object he could find in the apartment under the pretense of helping him hone his taijutsu by not relying on weapons. He had been content to let Gai keep the explanation at that. That might be something to revisit soon.

No. Gai had already done more than enough for him.

Kakashi found himself standing in his small bathroom. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d been in the living room, but he was now free of his bandages and shoes. He shrugged, reaching behind his head to untie his headband. Somehow, it had gotten knotted worse than usual and a section of his hair was caught in it. He yanked viciously at it, breathing in through gritted teeth at the sting then feeling himself relax ever so slightly. Forgoing undoing the knot, he slid it along the trapped segment of hair until the headband came free. That made it on to the counter. That never saw the floor, unlike every other part of his wardrobe had

.Next to the headband on the counter was a scattered collection of varying sizes of orange plastic bottles with thick white caps. The clinical labels all had his name, and the names of various antidepressants and antianxiety medications, as well as several painkillers and muscle relaxants and some antibiotic from the mission a couple years back where everyone returned miserably ill. Most of the bottles were empty, and he had held on to them meaning to get them refilled. He always had good intentions, but there was so many things to do in a day, and he ran out of energy usually three or four items into his list.

The one thing he could always count of having around, though, was some kind of pain relief.

Missions were hard, somehow harder now than ever with him as a jonin leader. He still had teammates, but they relied fully on him to take the brunt of every attack and to protect them at all costs. He couldn’t blame them, of course. They were children. He wanted nothing more than for them to be children and not suffer the same losses he had.

Still, he was sure to return from every mission above a D rank with at least a few nasty bruises. And any time Gai could rope him into a training session, he knew he’d come home needing ice packs and the heating pad and whatever else he could get to be able to train with his team the next morning.

And that was how he found himself glaring into the mirror, the bottle of white tablets shaking in his fist.

He was certainly in pain, that couldn’t be argued.

But how many to take?

No orange sherbet.

He shook his head vigorously again, walking back into the living room and falling onto the couch. He focused on a mark on the ceiling, breathing faster than he understood why while his vision started swimming.

There wasn’t orange sherbet.

He was a drain on Gai.

His students didn’t need him—they’d surpass him soon enough.

There were still villagers who called him Friend-Killer Kakashi,

He still saw faces every time he laid down to sleep.

He felt Rin’s blood splash onto his chest every time he used the Chidori,

Sometimes he understood what must’ve gone through his father’s head.

He couldn’t help Itachi

He couldn’t help anyone,

Sometimes, the corner store doesn’t have orange sherbet.

Sometimes, the little orange bottle that rattles doesn’t rattle any more.

He was in the kitchen, water dripping off his face and hands as he panted over the sink. How did he get here? He swallowed hard, his mouth somehow still dry, and turned the water off. The prescription bottle was laying on the floor. Then so was he. Against the cold tile, he was able to relax just a bit again.

It’d be over soon. He wouldn’t hurt anyone else ever again.

His thoughts became harder to string along, but that didn’t bother him. The thoughts he could connect didn’t sting as much as they usually did. It might be nice to put away that laundry, actually.

Every muscle was heavy. There was so much weight on him, and he couldn’t move. How much time had passed? He thought his heart was starting to race, and wondered if he was having second thoughts. But he couldn’t feel the ground beneath him any longer. He struggled for hours, days, to move his index finger to trace the hem of his shirt over and over. Could he feel it? Was he moving?

He rolled to his side, slowly bringing his knees up to prepare to stand. But his body didn’t move. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He couldn’t? His… It was his body. But? Was he? Could move? …Him?

Several centuries had passed before he heard the key in the door, and the door had already been sealed shut before he understood what the noise was.

“Ka-KASHI! In celebration of your return home from your latest mission, I made sure to grab a treat. Do you remember when you left the ANBU and we went to the corner store together? What a celebration to end all celebrations that day was! I was sure to grab the finest, most youthful of every snack—orange sherbet!”

***

Gai held the thin plastic bag up triumphantly, two pints rolling against each other. Normally he would have also grabbed spoons, but assuming Kakashi would be home, he was sure he could find two spoons somewhere in the apartment, even if he had to wash every dish himself.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed to him that Kakashi was on a downswing lately, but he’d always been the counter to balance his own exuberance, and he had complete confidence that they would move past this, too.

He nudged the flak vest that was crumpled on the ground at his feet. Kakashi must’ve been itching to take it off to have removed it the second he got inside. But why wouldn’t he have hung it up, or placed it at least near the hamper? This wasn’t part of the routine. Had he been badly injured on this last mission?

That must be it. He would have come home, shed his clothing, and jumped in the shower to clean his wounds and begin loosening his muscles. Much to Gai’s dismay, Kakashi seemed to be magnetically repelled from hospitals, preferring to treat his wounds himself as long as he could walk. So he must have some sort of torso injury, maybe bruised ribs or a minor stab wound, and he was surely tending to it quietly deeper inside the apartment.

The laundry he had helped Kakashi wash last week was still in the soft, cushioned chair in the dim living room. That wasn’t too surprising, he knew that was the first thing Kakashi would let fall by the wayside if something wasn’t going to get done. As long as the clothes were clean, he could wear them, even if they hadn’t been neatly hung, and that was something Gai could live with.

What he did not appreciate the sight of, however, was the kunai pouch halfway under the end table near the entry way. With such an inconvenient location, Kakashi surely must have made an effort to lose the bag and the knives it contained. He felt his heart swell with pride that Kakashi had the forethought to disregard the bag, but his heart deflated just as quickly with the knowledge that Kakashi felt it necessary to do so.

As he continued into the apartment, he called out his rival’s name once or twice. He must be home. The barrier seals hadn’t been placed over the front door, which means he either was here, or kidnapped from here, and the building still existed, so he must not have been kidnapped. So where was he?

Conscious of the rapidly melting sherbet in his hand, he turned down the hallway to the kitchen to leave the bad in the freezer while he helped Kakashi, presumably in the bedroom, bandage his wounds.

As he rounded the corner, flipping on the lights as he went, he heard a small groan. Nothing at eye level. Cautiously stepping forward, his foot sent a small orange plastic bottle skittering across the tiles.

Gai was barely aware of the sherbet hitting the ground.

Kakashi looked terrible. It was not particularly strange to find him lying on the ground, but there was absolutely no color in his face. Both of his eyes were lazily opened, and neither focused on Gai’s as he kneeled down to check his vitals. His breathing was shallow and his heart rate garbage.

“What did you DO?”

Gai yanked Kakashi up into a sitting position, grabbing for the prescription bottle. Depending on what it said, maybe this wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Maybe he’d been poisoned. Maybe even food poisoning. But the signs of an opiate overdose matched the label printed in cruelly clinical terms and he crushed the plastic in his fist. Kakashi needed to get to a hospital, and he needed to get there immediately.

He gathered his rival in his arms, not noticing his weight nearly as much as he noticed how limp he was, making no effort to not be ragdolled around. As he stood up, he took stock again of Kakashi’s breathing—shallower than a moment ago. After a second’s hesitation, he reached for the edge of his mask and yanked it down under his chin, hoping the direct access of air to his lips and nose might help. His lips had some color in them still, and he looked away, trying to respect the privacy of the man who he would kill as soon as he was saved.

***

Some time in the next twenty-four hours, Kakashi’s eyes opened. When they did, blinded by the light and surrounded by medical whites, he was shocked to find himself actually in heaven. What brought him back to earth was Gai, unceremoniously slapping his shoulder.

“What, my dear, dear rival, were you thinking?” he said, thankfully not as loudly as he could have.

Kakashi was at a loss. There were dozens, hundreds of thoughts racing through his head, but they all seemed password-protected and he didn’t have administrative access. He could barely open his mouth, covered by a thin towel, let alone form an explanation that would have made any sense to Gai.

Instead, he surprised himself by feeling the towel suddenly go cold and cling to his skin.

Gai panicked for a moment at the sight of Kakashi’s tears, then took a deep breath and slid forward to the edge of his chair. He brushed a warm, calloused thumb across his rival’s face.

“I know you’re in pain. I do. I don’t understand it, but I believe that you’re in pain and we’re going to help you get better.” He took a shuddering breath, noting that it was thicker with emotion than he had anticipated. “I don’t know what the future is going to hold for us, but the passion of our youth, and especially of your youth, Kakashi, is not close to over. So, whatever it takes, whatever the Yamanakas advise and whatever you need, we’ll make it happen. I love you, and you’re not going anywhere.”

Kakashi’s eyes widened, and Gai became aware that he had opened his Sharingan at some point to record this moment in his memory. He swallowed, feeling his throat begin to ache.

“I love you.”

Kakashi’s tears began falling in a steady stream, and Gai remained exactly where he was, brushing soft, silver hair off of his rival’s forehead. After a moment, he leaned further forward and pressed his forehead against the space he had just cleared.

In a small, scratchy voice he had not heard from the man laying before him ever in the past, he heard a whisper that nearly broke his heart.

“I love you too.”

[the-last-kenobi]

With anyone from the disaster trio or duo! (sorry I realized I didn’t say characters in the last ask!)

@badthingshappenbingo

Tripwire

(TW for panic attacks and minor and unintentional emotional abuse. This is emotional crisis in the middle of a war. Nobody in this story is at their best.)

••

Ahsoka sometimes thought that her Master never had rough days.

Oh, he had days when his temper was high - and those days were more frequent as the war went on and on and on - and days when he was more tired, more sad.

But he never seemed to have days where he just wanted to sit in a small, dark space like the far corner of his room or the dusty storage cabinet near the engines and hold himself together with his own two hands and just cry himself to exhaustion.

She tried to ask him, once, on a day when he seemed brighter and calmer.

“Master?” she began.

Then she stopped. Tilted her head to one side, listening with her montrals to the happy rhythm of his heart.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Snips?”

He was glowing with happiness, so excited just from his phone call home. She wasn’t stupid. Like the rest of the 501st - and 212th - and hells, maybe even the entire Order - she knew that her Master and Senator Amidala were... a thing.

Whatever that was, exactly.

Maybe, she contemplated, not noticing that she had begun to hunch in on herself a little, shoulders drawing in, maybe that’s what Anakin had that was different. Rex had Cody and the rest of his brothers, Anakin had Senator Amidala.

Ahsoka was just by herself.

“Hey,” Anakin said, sounding a little concerned. “Ahsoka? What’s up?”

The togruta shrugged, casually sliding back into her normal relaxed and confident self, the bravado she’d created years ago when she first began to suspect that nobody would choose her as a Padawan, and then built up again when she was assigned and dropped into the middle of open warfare.

And now again, struggling always with that urge to flee somewhere warm and small and safe.

“Nothing, Master. Sheesh. I was just wondering about the next class rotation. I really don’t want to retake Galactic History level 240 just yet...”

They moved on to other subjects.

••

She tried again, a few months later, shaken after a crushing campaign that stripped the 501st of some of their best and very, very many of their newest. The shiniest shinies.

Ahsoka searched the encampment they had pitched on the darkened moor, but she could sense Anakin from a mile off.

It was just harder for her, the closer she got to that epicenter of muted rage she could sense coming off him like heatwaves off sand.

But... they could help each other.

He didn’t have Padmé Amidala here today.

Today, right now, they had each other.

Ahsoka crept up to the dimming fire, set several meters away from the outer circle of tents, and saw the dark silhouette of Anakin Skywalker sitting on a low outcropping of rock, gazing into the flames. The red glow outlined him in faintest fire, sharpening the edges that darkness had softened into shadow.

“...Master?”

He didn’t seem to hear.

“Master... Anakin?” Ahsoka stepped a little nearer.

His head turned very slightly.

She froze, suddenly a little frightened, suddenly wishing she’d found her own warm safe place to be — because the ember-lit outline of Anakin’s face were neither safe nor warm.

He looked enraged.

“Anakin?” she whispered.

“Now isn’t the best time, Ahsoka,” he said slowly. Holding back. For her.

Giving her a chance to run.

From him.

She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Not Anakin. “But, Anakin... I think...” she took a deep breath and closed the distance between them, crouching down to place one of her hands gently on his arm. He trembled. “I think we should be together right now. Help each other.”

He shook.

There was a long pause.

Then: “Go away, Ahsoka.”

Her heart fell like a stone.

What was she supposed to do? Fleeing to a dark corner felt so wrong, so un-Jedi like, so weak — and now, to abandon her Master when he was so hurt? It felt like a double sin. She couldn’t do it. It would be wrong (but it was so tempting—)

“Master...”

“Go, Padawan! Now!” He turned to face her fully, his teeth bared in a predatory sneer that made her own sharpened fangs and hunters blood quail. A wall of blunt rage slammed into her like a blast of hot wind and Ahsoka fell back, catching herself on her palms in the cold grass.

A flash of something like guilt crossed his face, not much older than her own, but then hardened again.

“Jedi do not feel these things, Ahsoka,” he lectured. “Much less act on them. Go eat your meal and then get some sleep. Wallowing won’t help.”

Do as I say and not as I do?

Ahsoka sprang to her feet and gave in to the wild pounding of her heart and the icy fear clawing at her lungs — and she fled.

••

Ahsoka felt like she was falling.

She could feel her feet thudding against the dewy ground, could feel her montrals trembling as they picked up noises all around her, but all she could see was darkness and it felt like she was running in midair, held up by nothing.

Shadows rushed past her and her breaths came rapid and out of control.

She was dying.

She had to be.

This felt awful, terrible, there was no control —

She was just going to lose her breath and lose her senses until she died here - wherever here was -

Was she crying?

Maybe.

She couldn’t tell. Couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find her way in the dark.

Ahsoka crashed.

Blindly she crawled her way into what she could sense was some sort of corner.

It was warm here.

Dark.

Safe.

The feeling of walls and a floor and some sort of low ceiling pressing in all around her small form made her feel better, not worse. She could feel where she began and the shadows ended.

Slowly... slowly... slowly, Ahsoka Tano felt her soul begin to settle back in her flesh.

She could understand her surroundings better now.

She had shoved herself under cot in somebody’s tent. It really was warm here. Soft. It smelled familiar, the smell of the armor-polish-stale-soap-homemade-brew-standard-woolen-blankets and that something other that was just their men. Their boys.

Ahsoka could feel now how tightly she was curled up, how hard she was gripping her own limbs, still shaking.

Her throat felt raw.

Had she screamed? Cried? Or just gasped too much for air that hadn’t been coming?

She didn’t know.

She didn’t know a lot right now.

Does this make me a bad Jedi?

Or just a bad solider?

Which one am I, anyway?

“Padawan?”

I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t —

“Ahsoka?”

She took a shuddering gasp, then another.

She just wanted some answers.

For once, some answers.

No “do or do not,” no cultural languages she couldn’t understand, no envy of what Anakin had in his Senator, the forbidden things she didn’t understand and didn’t know she really even wanted.

She just wanted to know if she was wrong for this.

She had to be.

No real Jedi cried in a corner because someone reminded them they needed to be strong.

“Ahsoka.”

Finally she looked up.

“Master?”

It was Anakin she longed to see - the Master who hadn’t wanted her but had taken her anyways, the friend she’d always needed, the teacher she could never have dreamed of.

But it wasn’t Anakin.

It was Obi-Wan.

He looked down at her, and his eyes were so compassionate that she felt her own begin to well with tears again and her throat close up painfully.

Angrily, she swiped away a tear and hid her face in her arms.

There were soft sounds that told her that Obi-Wan was kneeling in front of her now.

He didn’t do anything.

Didn’t encroach, didn’t speak.

He just breathed.

And breathed.

And breathed.

Steadily in and out, and unconsciously Ahsoka began to mirror him, taking calm and even breaths.

Eventually it was just the two of them breathing together, the Master kneeling, the Padawan still hiding from the world.

“...Master Obi-Wan?” Ahsoka asked in a small voice. She lifted her head, and was struck again by how sad and tender her grandmaster’s blue eyes were. He looked so soft and comfortable, contrasted in her head with the memory of Anakin and his fiery outline and clenched jaw.

“Anakin...” she struggled to say. “I thought he... I hoped... why...” her voice broke again.

Unable to help it, Ahsoka pitched forward, sobbing again. She had already cried so much that her throat burned in protest, but cry she did, and this time she found herself wrapped in Obi-Wan’s arms.

She had never pictured this. He had always seemed so... aloof. What Jedi were meant to be. What she was not. What Anakin was not.

“I know,” he said slowly, his voice rumbling against her striped montrals. “Our teachers are not always what we want or need them to be. But we love them anyway, Ahsoka. Don’t we.”

She nodded as she cried, letting him hold her.

“I — thought — I — how am — does — d-does this — am I a — am...” it was utter nonsense coming out, but somehow he seemed to understand.

“You,” he said, “are a student. A very young student, despite how tall you may feel some days. War is hard on everyone, Ahsoka. You deserve better. It’s all right to have times like these.”

“You... you don’t,” she sobbed.

“Oh,” he said, sounding a little surprised. “Oh. Yes I do. Of course I do. I work my way through with meditation and tea. Anakin needs to be alone, and then he needs to vent. Normally he vents to me, or to — others. But it’s not your job to handle his outbursts. When you’re hurting, you go where you need to go.”

“Even if it’s a dark corner?” Ahsoka mumbled into his tunics.

She felt him chuckle slightly. “Even then. Especially then. We’re all dealing, Padawan. I’m sorry we didn’t talk to you about this, before this happened.”

“It’s okay,” Ahsoka muttered.

What she meant was: isn’t it my Master’s job to guide me? Isn’t it Anakin’s job? Am I too weak for him?

“We’ll do better,” Obi-Wan promised.

She had a feeling he meant: I’ll try to make Anakin do better. And when he doesn’t, I will.

And there was an overwhelming flood of emotions with that.

Thank the Force for Obi-Wan. But why not Anakin? Was this forever? Was this why her Master and Master Kenobi didn’t always get along? Because they were emotionally different? Would they shun her eventually too, if she turned out different from them both?

...But for the moment, Ahsoka took comfort.

Anakin would be back to normal in the morning.

And Obi-Wan’s arms were warm, and dark, and safe.

fin

[stillebesat]

The Green Gremlin

Danny Phantom: Danny, Dash Blurb: The Ghost reflects the person. Dash had heard that somewhere and after tonight...the thirty-sixth freaking time he’d been turned green...he knew it was right. There was something fundamentally wrong with him. Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort Overall Fic Warnings: Past Bullying Talk, Mind Control mention

Dash had no idea how long the hole in the fence of the Fenton’s backyard had been there and at this point he didn’t care.

Considering he’d found it back in the beginning of sophomore year...and it was still here nearly two years later...he doubted the Fenton Parents even knew it existed since it was hidden behind their shed.

After all, ghosts didn’t exactly need holes to get anywhere. They could just phase through solid objects--ones that didn’t have a ghost shield protecting them at least.

He hissed under his breath, shoving himself through the opening, purposely ignoring how his shoulders--which had nearly gotten him stuck in the hole a month ago at his last visit--didn’t stop him this time.

Intangibility.

Dash gritted his teeth, shoving his way along the gap between shed and fence into the main backyard.

He knew there would be no one home even with the late hour, considering the Fentons were still dealing with the aftermath of yet another ghost army invasion that had compromised most of the student body at Casper High. Fentina--Danny should also still be somewhere on the school grounds with his two weirdo friends, and with his old tutor, Jazz, off at college...it would be quiet here for a while yet.

Not that it would have mattered if they had been home. He’d yet to see anyone come back here unless someone was trying to get Fentroid fit enough to pass yet another fitness test. And that had only happened twice.

Dash reached the brick wall, his fingers--still green tinged from his unfortunate...change today--brushed the rough surface before he placed his back to the wall, sliding down so that the overgrown bush nearby hid most of him from view.

He let out a slow breath, ducking his head against his knees, feeling the hum of whatever protective shields the Fentons had on the building resonating through the wall and matching the burning throb in his chest as he ran slightly pointed nails through his hair.

Another ghost invasion. Another...transformation where the attacking ghost had done something to bring out the more ghostly natures of the student body to make things all the more difficult for Phantom.

And once again...Dash had been changed into that horrible green skinned gremlin ghost creature.

“It’s not fair.” He whispered, fingers flinching away from the pointed tips of his ears.

The Ghost reflects the person. He’d heard that somewhere...probably from Mr. Lancer, and after like the third incident where he’d ended up green...Dash had begun to think there was something to that thought. After tonight...the thirty-sixth freaking time he’d been turned green...he knew it was right.

There was something fundamentally wrong with him.

None of the others, in the dozenish times they had been affected, held such a consistent ghost form when they were altered, changed, or manipulated to be something else rather than human. Whether it was becoming like ghostly Vampires, Sirens, Multi-Colored Blobs, Cyborgs, or various WereCreatures, his classmates had experienced it all.

But Dash?

He remained the green gremlin.

Nothing more. Nothing less. Sure the size of his gremlin form might shift depending on the ghost doing the changing and his...well...anger issues that day.

But overall...Green. Green. Green.

The Ghost reflects the person.

And since halfway through sophomore year Dash had been trying to change that reflection. Be better.

He’d stopped taking out his...issues on the dweebs at school--especially Fen--Danny.

He’d gone to see a therapist.

He’d worked on improving his grades and study habits.

He’d tried to branch out in his hobbies. Sewing, Screenwriting, a disastrous attempt at Acting and yah, just trying anything else he had a slight interest in that wasn’t a sport. That wasn’t football.

...and yet.

He dropped a hand to his chest, rubbing at the burning sensation that no amount of Tums or Tylenol could get rid of and only seemed to grow stronger with every ghastly change he’d been forced into.

He closed his eyes, running his tongue over his sharpened teeth, feeling most of the points finally beginning to shrink. “One more year.”

If he could just survive senior year in this hellscape then…then....

He didn’t know. Colleges only wanted him for his football skills.

Football skills that he should just stop using because that seemed to bring out the worst of the Green Gremlin when the ghosts attacked.

He’d destroyed yet another uniform -his third this year- today at the game when he’d become the freaking Hulk and smashed his way through the bleachers to try and catch the annoying fly that he hadn’t realized was Phantom until after his Hero had burst free from his grip and sent him flying over the school to land face first in the grass by the flagpole.

It was a move that had placed him far out of range of the ghostly lady-like creature who had changed him in the first place, freeing him from her control. Allowing him to run like the coward he was away from the fight and his classmates and get...human again.

Dash let out another shuddering breath, trying to focus on the hum coming from the Fenton’s home as he rested his head on his knees. Trying to ground himself like the therapist had suggested.

He was safe here.

No ghosts dared to attack Fentonworks directly. Not when it housed the only stable portal in the area.

No one would come here to hurt him. To hunt him.

He just needed to wait until the last dredges of these ghost alterations left his body and then he could go home.

Go home to where his Dad would be furious that he didn’t stick it out. Didn’t win the freaking football game.

Like a ghost attack wouldn’t have forced them to reschedule anyways.

It wasn’t like that mattered to his Father though. He only ever cared about football when he wasn’t off traveling for one of his stupid work trips. Nothing more. Nothing less. His Dad hadn’t even noticed that Dash had grown out his hair to cover his ears because they’d remained pointed since Thanksgiving break and he couldn’t hide them any other way. He hadn’t noticed how Dash barely smiled anymore to hide the stupid fangs that had stuck around after the last change. He hadn’t noticed---alot. He’d come home once with his skin still green tinged and his Dad thought he’d been trying to fake an illness to get out of practice instead of recovering from another Ghost Attack.

Dash pressed his hands to his chest, again fruitlessly massaging at the burning ache there.

One more year.

One. More. Year. And he could move out of this place. Get far away from his Dad. From the Ghosts. And hopefully forget this whole gremlin nightmar---

“Dash?”

Dash jerked at the unexpected voice, hissing as he smacked the back of his head against the bricks. Great. Hello headache. Not that he didn’t already probably have a concussion from how hard he’d face planted in the dirt earlier. But still.

“...Dash?” The voice was softer. More cautious. Like the tone you’d use to try and soothe a wild animal trapped in a corner. “You...uh? Okay?”

Dash snorted, resting his head back on his knees so he could better rub the back of it and avoid looking at the speaker--at Danny. “Sure.” He gritted his teeth at the demonic growl that still was his voice. Please let that not be a permanent change this time. “I’m. Just. Fine.”

“You uh...don’t look fine.”

Nooo really? He hadn’t noticed. Dash flexed his fingers, feeling the claws still present, which meant his skin was probably still ghost colored.

Great. Fenton probably thought he was still mind controlled. Why was he even home? Or better yet. Out here? There was no reason to come back here at night--even so, he’d thought that he’d be hidden from view!

Dash exhaled, turning his head to the side, looking up to see his one time punching bag sitting on the back steps, bright blue eyes staring right at him. “I’m fine.” He repeated, hiding a wince as his chest burned hotter for a second. “Just….catching my breath.”

Danny frowned, slipping off the side of the steps to crouch in front of him. “Here? Why? My parents--”

“I KNO--” Dash flinched, groaning as Danny jerked back. He half uncurled, lightly tapping his aching head against the bricks as he closed his eyes. “I know.” He repeated in a softer growl. “They haven’t looked back here yet though. I’ll be...fine...in a minute. I won’t attack you.”

“Here yet---wait you’ve come here before? Why?”

Shouldn’t Fenton be more concerned about Dash still being well….ghostly? Or hurting him? Sure, Danny had stopped running away at the first sign of a ghost attack forever ago, finally taking after his parents in a way. He’d often seen Danny running around with Sam and Tucker helping Phantom with capturing ghosts---liked they’d done tonight. The three of them working together in tandem to keep the football team from rampaging off the field before the Fentons got there.

...Maybe Danny being back from the game already wasn’t that odd actually now that he thought about it. If Fenton was returning with a full thermos of spirits to send back in the Ghost Zone and one of his parent’s devices happened to sensed a ghost nearby---

Dash gave a one shoulder shrug, opting to look at his green tinged hands instead of at Fen---Danny’s face. “Feels...safe here. I guess. No ghosts attack it at least.”

“It feels safe.” Danny repeated an odd note to his voice.

What was he? A parrot? “Yes.” He bit out, clenching his hands before relaxing them. Anger wouldn’t help. It would only make him revert. He drew in a slow measured breath. “What’s the big deal Fent--Danny?”

Danny chuckled and shifted so he too was sitting with his back against the wall of his home. “The fact that you feel safe at my house? The place practically screams stay away to people, Dash, what with the big old Ops center on top and the threat of my Dad causing something to explode here every other day.”

Okay...yah...that...yah. Dash made a face, rubbing his aching chest. “Your sister tutored me here twice a week until she left. Maybe I’m just used to it.”

Danny made a skeptical noise, drumming his fingers on his knees. “It’s probably the increased ectoplasmic radiation here.” He remarked conversationally. “My parents thought they had it contained to the basement...but I can feel it seeping through the bricks. A neutral source of energy coming from the portal, like a recharging station at a cafe but for ghosts instead of laptops.”

A recharging station? For ghosts? Was that the humming sound? Not a shield? No. No. It couldn’t--and he--he---Dash shot to his feet, nearly stumbling into the bushes as his shredded sneakers briefly lost contact with the ground. “NO. I can’t--”

Danny reached out with a surprisingly firm grip, pulling him back down. “Hey, hey. It’s okay--”

Dash growled, hating how feral he sounded as he jerked free, backing--floating--away from Fen--Danny and the house... “I’m not a Ghost, Fenton! I can’t recharge--I can’t--” Crap. His voice was only getting more demonic because he was getting upset. He grabbed his football jersey as he roughly hit the ground, falling to his knees by the shed, clawed fingers digging into the ruined fabric as he struggled to breathe. Ectoradiation. Had he been making the problem worse this entire time? He thought hanging out here was safe! That it would help him get back to normal!

“Hey.” A cold hand squeezed his shoulder.

Dash growled, hunching further in on himself. “I can’t--I don’t want to be this! I’ve been trying to change! And it’s not working. I’m just making it wors--”

“Dash.” Danny placed his pale hand over Dash’s green one before moving it to rest on his chest, right over the burning ache like a cooling balm. “Hey.” He repeated softly. “You’re okay, you’re not a ghost.”

Wasn’t he though? After thirty-six freaking alterations, was he even human anymore? Dash gave a ragged laugh, chest burning hotter under his touch. “Fe--Danny, I’m green.”

Danny hummed, hand feeling all the colder as he tilted his head, frowning as he gave him the once over. “Not your best look, I agree, but you’re not a ghost.” He gave him a half smile, eyes sparking with silent humor. “Trust me. I’d know.”

“Ha.” He couldn’t though. Dash squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on Danny’s hand on his chest, on just breathing. “You can’t know that.” He whispered. “It doesn’t all just go away when the ghost does, Fenton. Not anymore.”

Compared to the rest of the student body, Danny had barely been changed a handful of times. How could he know how ghostly or not ghostly Dash was? Even Fenton’s parents had been wrong more than once on that account.

Danny’s fingers twitched. “...What doesn’t go away?” He asked, an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before.

Danger.

Dash flinched, pushing Danny’s hand away, ignoring how his chest twinged as he moved back to his feet. He had to get out of here. “Nothing.” Fenton was the son of Ghost Hunters after all. He now helped Phantom capture the bad ghosts. How would he react if he saw how Dash had changed? The pointed ears? The fangs? The whatever else tonight’s attack would permanently alter. Maybe his skin would stay green this time. “It’s noth--”

“It’s not nothing.” Danny’s voice was quiet as he too stood, flexing his fingers. “There is an echo to you. Not enough to be ghostly, but far too much to be just regular contamination like the other students have.”

Dash gritted his teeth, shaking his head. He already knew that.

“Dash.” Fenton’s voice was soft. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Why would you want to?” Dash retorted, glaring at the shed, claws digging into his palms as he clenched his hands. “I’m just the bully am I not?” He hadn’t shoved a nerd into a locker in forever, but that didn’t stop them from side-eyeing him and shying away whenever he walked by...especially on a bad day.

Danny huffed. “You’ve hardly been that. We may not...hang out...but I have noticed the change. You’ve been...well...” He stepped into view rubbing the back of his neck, “good, man.”

Ha. “Not good enough.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Dash made a face, gesturing to himself once more, though he could already tell his skin was returning to its normal color. Finally. “I’m always like this, F--Danny. Thirty-six freaking times,” His chest burned as Fenton’s eyes widened. “I’ve been altered by ghosts and I always look like this. None of the others do if you haven’t noticed. They always look different with each attack. But me? I don’t--I’m just---Green.”

He should stop talking. Let it go. It wasn’t like Fenton cared what was going off with his one-time bully.

Yet...He needed to tell someone. Anyone. What he was dealing with. It wasn’t like he could go to Star or Paulina. Not even his best bud Kwan. They couldn’t understand this. They didn’t have to live with the permanent weird.

Fenton did though. His parents had been weird his entire life with their ghost obsesion.

Danny frowned. “So? It’s not like it’s perm--”

“Permanent?” Dash gave a bitter laugh, brushing his hair away from his ears to reveal the points. “Tell that to my ears. To my fangs.” He bared his teeth, ignoring the shiver that ran down his spine as Fenton bristled and bared his teeth right back.

Were Danny’s teeth more...pointed?--No. It was a trick of the light. Fenton couldn’t have fangs too. Dash growled, hands clenching as he heard a slight rumble come from Danny in response. “If those have already changed in me then how much longer before the ghost’s contamination permanently changes my voice, Fenton? My eyes? Will I keep the green skin next time?! Will I permanently remain a ghost and never change back one day? I don’t freaking know and it scares me!”

Because he was the only one. No one else could understand.

Danny shook his head, his defensive stance relaxing as he raised a hand. “Dash, I--”

Dash crossed his arms, glaring at his one time punching bag. “Don’t you dare tell me you understand or some sort of sentimental crap! You’ve been altered by ghosts like what? Three times? How could you even understand? How could anyone understand when none of the others have to deal with this either? Even though they’ve been changed a dozen times, they’re still able to be normal because they never look exactly the same under the various ghosts attacking us. Nothing sticks for them. But me?” He kicked at the grass, already regretting letting his emotions get the better of him, for revealing his...fears to Danny of all people. “I’m always just a violent green gremlin and I hate it, Fenton. I hate it. I’ve tried to change to stop it. Be a better person. And yet I always end up looking exactly--” he swallowed, roughly brushing over his eyes, hating how hot and wet they felt as he finally broke eye contact. “The same.” He whispered.

“It’s not--” Danny cleared his throat, stepping forward to place his hand back over the ache in Dash’s chest. “It’s not...bad to have a consistent ghost form, you know.” He said, giving a one shoulder shrug. “To have the same abilities. To not worry about what power you might accidentally unleash next.” His hand seemed to grow colder on Dash’s chest, drawing the heat away. “I’ve heard people talking. In school. About how they hate that they don’t know what they’ll end up being when the next ghost comes.”

Dash shakily exhaled, leaning into Fenton’s hand despite himself. Kwan had mentioned something like that before today’s game too. How he wished he could just stick with duplicating as his power like Dash was stuck with being a gremlin.

“You’re lucky in that sense.” Danny said in a low voice. “Even if you don’t like being the--” He raised his free hand to make quotation marks. “‘Green Gremlin’ At least you know what to expect when a ghost attacks. It gives you the uhh...field? Yah. Field advantage.”

He--he had a point. Dash did know what to expect. The only thing he had to adjust for was his size. Otherwise...everything else remained the same. He slowly looked up. “Doesn’t mean I like it. Or that I’m any good.” Dash grimaced. “I mean, I attacked Phantom! My hero! Who does that?”

Danny smirked, eyes glinting, reflecting the green glow coming off of Dash’s skin. “You were mind controlled. The entire football team went after him in case you didn’t notice, you just happened to reach him first. I think he understands.”

Dash scoffed, resting clawless fingers on Danny’s hand. “Does he?”

Fenton hummed, surprisingly at ease for being in the presence of his one-time bully. Of course, Fenton had bulked up a bit since freshman year. Gotten taller. Become more of a fighter with Phantom. He wouldn’t be that easy to push around anymore on a normal day if Dash were still the type to shove nerds into their lockers.

“You didn’t continue attacking. You left. That says something.” Danny said, putting slight pressure on Dash’s chest, urging him to take a step back.

Back towards the Fenton’s home. To the...freaking recharging wall.

Dash tightened his grip on Danny’s hand, the ache in his chest fading more the closer they got to the red bricks. “That I’m a coward.”

He shook his head. “That you’re smart. You got out of her control. You came to a safe place to recover.”

Like the Fenton house was actually safe. Danny had been right in pointing that out. No one in their right mind would come here.

So why had he? He shook his head. “If I was any good then I should have fought with Phantom, Danny. Not gone running off!”

Danny raised an eyebrow, pulling his hand free. “Then why don’t you?”

“Huh?”

He shrugged, moving past Dash to scoop up a familiar battered Fenton Thermos from the steps, fiddling with it. “You know what’s going to happen to you right? You Hulk it out. Why don’t you use that knowledge to help Phantom fight other ghosts next time?”

Dash frowned, absently rubbing chest as he looked up at the shadowy ops center perched overhead. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it multiple times. It just-- “I...figured I’d just get in the way.” He admitted, running fingers through his hair, relaxing as he felt the last of the ghostliness leave his body. “I mean, you know how it is, Danny, if we’re altered then it usually means we’re controlled in some way. Sent to attack. Cause destruction and chaos. Why would Phantom trust any of us, let alone me, to help?”

Even though they’d all taken ghostly defense classes. Even though most of them carried a Fenton weapon of some sort that could take down the weaker ghosts. Even then, only Fentina and his friends were allowed by Phantom to get close in a major ghost fight and even so they ran mostly interference. Damage control.

Danny hummed, bouncing the thermos in one hand as he rubbed the back of his neck with the other. “Point. He does tend to...work alone.”

“Exactly.” Dash took a seat on the steps, hunching his shoulders as he felt the hum of the building resonating through his hands. “And me bumbling into a fight with fists swinging would hardly help him.”

“Well…” Danny settled on the steps next to him, placing the Thermos by their feet. “No...probably not.”

That’s what he thought. Still...it was something to reconsider. Especially if he could convince Fenton to give Phantom the heads up that Dash wanted to try and help--

He exhaled, running fingers through his hair, lingering on the tips of his ears. He’d have to check in the mirror when he got home, but it didn’t feel like anything had permanently changed this time.

“Do they hurt?”

“Mmm?” Dash tilted his head.

Danny gestured to him, looking for a moment like his old awkward freshman self. “Your ah...teeth? The ears? You said both had changed right? Do they hurt?”

Oh. Right. He had brought that up hadn’t he? Dash exhaled, resting his head on his knees. “No. Not now. In the beginning, sure. But not now.”

“That’s...good. That they don’t hurt anymore. I--umm...what did you...ah...use for them? To stop the pain?”

Why did it matter? It wasn’t like they hurt anymore. It wasn’t like anyone else--Dash blinked, breath catching in his throat as he abruptly sat up, whirling to Danny. His teeth. He knew they hadn’t looked normal. But how?! “Let me see.”

Danny stiffened, a wary glint of green in his eyes.

Only Dash’s skin was no longer green. Where was his green glow coming from?

“See what? I was just asking a question.”

“One you shouldn’t care about unless you are having the same problem, Fenton.” Dash said, jabbing a finger at him, heart pounding like a drum in his chest.

Not alone. Was he seriously not alone in this? If Fenton!! If there were two of them instead of just him--even if it was Danny, it was someone else. It was-- Dash raked his eyes over Fenton, taking all of him in. Noting all the little changes that he hadn’t noticed before. That no one seemed to have noticed, like the fact that his hair was shaggier than it used to be. Not quite as long as Dash’s hair, but definitely hiding the ears. “Kwan, my best friend, never ever asked me what I used to stop it when I casually brought it up. Why would you ask me unless you have the same problem?” Dash said, trying and probably totally failing at keeping the desperation out of his voice. “Show me.”

Danny bit his lip, deliberately not showing any teeth with the motion, his eyes darting to the darkened yard, then away. “Seriously, Dash--”

Dash growled, hands clenching on the stairs to keep him from hitting something. “Please, Danny. Show. Me.” He had to know. Know he wasn’t the only one. “It’s not like anyone comes back here. Trust me. I know. Besides, your parents will be off decontaminating the school for forever again, if you’re that worried about them seeing.”

Danny flinched.

Ah. So it was something like that then. Dash leaned forward like a bloodhound sensing...well blood. “My Dad doesn’t know either.” He said, quietly. “I get it. Like...how do you explain this to them? Especially when they refuse to listen. If it’s not about football my Dad tunes it out.”

“They only ever talk about eradicating ghosts.” Danny mumbled, running his fingers over his left palm, tracing some invisible pattern. “Never about studying them. Learning from them. Just...how their next greatest weapon will defeat them or permanently get rid of them. It’s not like they want to---”

“See that their son is becoming more ghostly?”

Danny stiffened, a flicker of green appearing around his fingers before vanishing as he let out a slow breath. “Sure...something like that.”

Oh. “That...sucks man.” Dash rested his chin on his hand, eyes flicking between Fenton’s face and his fingers. Ecto energy. Was that why Danny had said he could feel the ectoradiation coming from his home?

Or was it a new Fenton invention that they hadn’t yet introduced to the public to help fight against ghosts?

He frowned, looking away. “I...well I get it. Being scared to tell them. I’ve been on the wrong end of their weapons more than once. It’s not fun.”

Danny hunched his shoulders, rubbing at his own chest. “Yah. I--yah. Most days it feels like they only care that I’m following in their footsteps...hunting ghosts...but beyond that? Beyond the next ghost attack? It’s like good ectoenergy doesn’t exist to them. Or shouldn’t exist. That it’s just bad pretending to be good and should be torn apart. Molecule by Molecule. So it won’t hurt anyone.”

Dash shuddered. Oh yah. He’d heard that particular speech from Jack Fenton before. He’d had nightmares for weeks. How could he have thought that he’d had it rough with his Dad and his football obsession when Danny probably heard that speech on a daily basis? When Dash had seen how they had all those weapons lying around the house, ready to be picked up and shot in the blink of an eye at the merest hint that a ghost was nearby. And Danny lived there. If he was experiencing ghost changes too….How would his parents actually react if it came out that their son had fallen victim to the ectoradiation they, the number one Ghost Hunters of Amity Park, claimed they were protected from?

Not good judging by Danny’s reluctance to admit that there was anything wrong with him in the first place.

Or it could just be his bad history with Fenton. Showing your weakness to a bully--even a former one--probably went against instinct.

“Well...if you...ah...need to tell anyone. Or get some help.” Dash offered, rubbing at his own chest, at the hollowness he could feel. Maybe he had jumped the gun there. Desperate to believe that he wasn’t the only one. That there was someone else who would understand. “You already saw my fangs...so I kinda know...things. Like there’s some creams at my place you could grab...you know...if you are having the same problem. I’d understand what’s going on a bit more than your parents would.”

Maybe. He didn’t know them that well. Maybe he was just projecting his own problems onto Fenton again.

“Mmm. I---” Danny exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, before nodding to himself, turning to face him. “You’re right, Dash.” He said, his eyes glowing a bright neon green as his lip slowly lifted in a half smile, revealing the gleaming tip of a fang. “You would understand.”

[lordoffiction]

Thor’s Lightning: Chapter Four. ☁

☞: late as usual but here’s chapter four! I quite enjoyed writing this one and hope you all enjoy reading it. 

please make sure to leave feedback! it would mean a lot to me. ♡

WORD COUNT: 4,736. 

WARNINGS: blood, fighting, death, angst, swearing.

gif isn’t mine. all credits to the owner.

——————————————————————————

The soft chirping of birds stirred you from your light slumber, a small groan leaving your lips. 

You didn't want to wake up yet. Fucking birds. 

You opened one eye, your E/C specks peering to see the sunlight begin pouring into the large room through the windows. 

Oh shit. Hvitserk’s room.

Looking up, your gaze settled on Hvitserk’s sleeping face. His lips were slightly parted, his braids had come loose at some point during the night from tossing and turning in his sleep. One of his arms was wrapped around you as he laid on his back, your own head on his chest, one leg slung over his waist and your arm resting comfortably over his bare stomach, feeling it rise and fall with every breath he took. He looked so peaceful. 

The kiss you both shared last night came to mind, embarrassment clouding your cheeks. 

God, how could you kiss him?

You shifted slightly, freezing when Hvitserk made a small noise. Once he had settled again, you moved until you had unwrapped yourself from his body and climbed out of the large bed, being as quiet as you could. Your clothes from yesterday were missing, replaced with new ones. Saga must have left them for you whilst you and Hvitserk were still asleep. 

There were brown trousers, a cream coloured tunic folded on top of them. You pulled your arms out of your nightgown, pulling it over your head and off your body, being as quick and as quiet as you could, you got dressed into the clothes laid out for you. New leather armor was beside it, this one seemed much easier to put on, only having to tie the strings on each side instead of it being as the back where you couldn’t reach. The armor covered your torso, the front dipped into a wide ‘V’ shape, exposing your neck and part of your shoulders. There were two bits of the armor left to slip your forearms into, tightening them with the strap and buckle. 

You glanced at Hvitserk again whilst picking up your bag, sighing before leaving his room and quietly shutting the door behind you. You wouldn’t wake him up just yet, you needed time to think first. Clear your head. 

You walked through the halls to the main room. It was empty, deathly quiet. No one was awake yet, you guessed. You decided to wait at the table for everyone to wake up, walking to the first chair on the corner of the table.

“Good morning.”

You gasped, jumping out your skin and dropping your bag as you whipped around, seeing Ivar sat on the throne with one of his legs stretched out, sharpening his blade. 

“Ivar! You scared me half to death.”

He didn’t reply, only glaring at you through his long eyelashes. It made you frown, bending down to pick up the bag you dropped. 

“Did you fuck him?” 

The question made you stop, turning back around to face him again. 

“Excuse me?”

“Did. You. Fuck. Him?” He asked again, his voice low and dark. A deep scowl pulled at his eyebrows, he looked as if he could kill someone.  

The question was simple, you knew it was aimed at the fact you spent the night with Hvitserk and yet it angered you. How dare he ask you something like that? Who did he think he was?

“No, Ivar, I didn’t fuck him.” You said through gritted teeth. “And even if I did, who are you to question it? My father?” 

Your words took him by surprise, a clear look of shock on his face. Though he was pleased about you not fucking his brother, the way you spoke to him angered him more. 

“I am your prince, Y/N. I can question whatever I'd like and you are to answer it when I want you to.” He snarled at you, baring his teeth, looking at you as if you were a thrall. 

You scoffed out a laugh, rolling your eyes as you walked forward. 

“I’m not afraid of you.” You stepped onto the first step towards the throne where he sat. “You may have everyone else under your thumb because of your status, but not me.” 

Your heart was beating in your chest a hundred miles per hour and your hands shook in your clenched fists. His face was pure thunder, his chest heaved slightly as he watched you make your way to him. You knew his temper wasn’t one to be played with, and even then you couldn’t seem to back down. Anger from yesterday was still fresh and if it was an argument Ivar was looking for, he was gonna get it. 

“I will not be spoken to as if I'm one of your thralls, do you understand?” Your voice was laced with a threat, taking another step until you were in front of him, leaning down to grab the arms of the chair, pinning him between the throne and yourself. “Do not underestimate me, Ivar the Boneless. I am more powerful than you know.” 

His blue hues stared at you in astonishment and anger, not saying anything as you walked away from him again. Picking up your bag and slinging it over your shoulder again, you stormed out of the Great Hall, heart racing. You decided to walk to the meeting place for today's raid, your fingers rubbing over your necklace as you quickly walked. You thought of your mother, of Embla. You thought of home. You took so much for granted and now you have none of it, stuck here instead. 

You wondered how long it would take for you to forget everyone's faces, to forget your parents without any of their pictures to look back on. Would you ever get home? What did you do to be thrown back here? What were you fucking chose for? Curse you, Thor, curse you for bringing me here and then leaving me in the dirt. A familiar rage from last night started bubbling up inside you again, your face twisted in anger and hatred. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Ubbe’s deep voice asked, snapping you out of your dark thoughts. You were at the doors of Kattegat, though you hadn’t noticed you got there or for how long you’ve been there for. 

You swallowed your rage, giving him a small nod as you avoided his electric eyes. 

“Your brother is a fool,” You spoke, making a deep chuckle erupt in his throat. 

“Which one?” 

“Ivar.” 

“I agree with you.” He smiled, looking at his men load their carts and horses with weapons and bags. “Are you sure you want to come?”

His question made you look up at him, your eyes meeting. 

“What do you mean?” You shuffled on your feet, turning to look at him without breaking eye contact. 

“I’m trying to say you’ve been through a lot, with Embla’s death. Are you sure you want to go somewhere where you’ll witness more death?” 

His words made you think, breaking eye contact with him as you looked off towards the many men and few women ahead of you. 

“There’s a lot of anger inside me, Ubbe,” you said, your hand now gripping your necklace tightly. “Anger that I'm afraid is going to eat me from the inside until one day, it just spills out of me and I destroy everything around me. I need to let this anger out.” 

Ubbe only nodded at you, turning his gaze behind him to see his two younger brothers walk towards you and him. 

“Ivar, Hvitserk.” He greeted them, turning around with his arms wide under his cape. “Ready to set off?” 

Ivar didn’t say anything, to either his brother or you, walking past you both to the horse and cart. Your eyes didn’t follow him, though you wanted to, you wanted to see if he had looked back at you the same way you wanted to with him. 

Hvitserk approached you, a sly smile on his face. 

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” He stated.

“I know, I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep and I didn't want to wake you.” You smiled, leaning up to kiss him gently on the cheek. “Plus, your little snores were just too cute.” You teased. 

“Cute?” He asked, tilting his head to the side as confusion filled his expressions. 

Oh my, he looks more like a little puppy when he does that, not a Viking. 

“Nevermind.” You snorted, turning your back as you walked over to the cart. 

“Wait- Y/N!” He called after you, wanting to know what that word meant. 

——————————

Hours had passed, you understood why Ubbe wanted to leave in the early hours of the morning now, this trip had taken a whole day nearly. You had slept through most of it, on the back of a large carriage with Hvitserk and Ivar. You had taught him how to play ‘I spy’, other men had begun to join in when they overheard you playing. 

“I spy with my little eye,” You began the rhyme, squinting as you looked around for something to hint at. “Something beginning with... ‘A’.” 

The men who were joined in looked around, including Hvitserk, who just looked as baffled as the rest of them. 

“Armor.” 

You looked at Ivar, frowning slightly at him. He wasn’t playing and yet only ever answered when it was your turn to go. He had gotten it right every single time. 

“Ivar’s correct.” You mumbled, rolling your eyes when a smirk played on his lips. 

“Where did you learn this game, Y/N?” Hvitserk asked. “I’ve never heard it before.” 

“It comes from where I'm from, many children and adults play it when they’re on long journeys like this one.” You smiled. It wasn't quite a lie and you couldn't really tell him that most played it on car journeys. 

“Where are you from?” One of the men asked, making you tense. Ivar noticed this, raising an eyebrow at your reaction. 

No one would react like that about a simple question unless they were hiding something, he thought to himself.

“I—”

“We’re here,” Ubbe announced, sighing in relief as he took the attention away from you. The mood and energy suddenly shifts, even playful Hvitserk had turned serious as he jumps out the carriage. You climb out after, brushing your hands over your clothes as you picked up a shield. 

You felt slightly sick, running your hand over your single braid. 

“Here,” You heard Hvitserk say, a sword in hand. You took it from him, smiling. 

“Thank you.”

“Just like we practiced, but now you make sure they’re dead.” He gave you a wolfish-grin. “And don’t let your guard down, stay close to us.” 

You gave him a small nod as he walked off to join his older brother. You looked over to Ivar, seeing him climb into his chariot with pained grunts and adjust himself in. You wanted to go over to him and wish him luck, though you knew he didn’t need it, you decided not to. You were still pissed at him for the way he spoke to you this morning. 

The large wooden doors to the community were open, which seemed a little strange to you. You walked up to the frontline of men where the Ragnarssons stood, standing between Ivar’s chariot and Hvitserk. 

The men were quiet as you all snuck in, peering around at the blissfully ignorant people walking around as if a mob of Vikings wasn’t there. 

You spotted two nuns, walking side by side as they talked to each other, one of the nuns looked up to her fellow sister, going to say something but her eyes landed on you, a scream echoing from her.

“VIKINGS!”

All hell broke loose from then on, people screaming and going to hide in their homes or the church, men pooling from every corner of the community with swords and bows and arrows. 

The men behind you and the Ragnarssons all roared out a battle cry, charging forth into the oncoming blood and death. The brothers looked different doing the real thing compared to training, their faces where twisted in emotions. Hvitserk had a sadistic grin as he cut down anyone in his way, occasionally looking for you and his brothers. Ivar had a look of anger and spite as he rode around in his chariot and Ubbe looked like a crazed man, his eyes wide.

 You follow alongside the Vikings, adrenaline-pumping all over you as you clashed swords with a man bigger than you. He was stronger, yes, but you had been taught how to deal with bigger opponents on the field by Ubbe. 

You used all your strength in you whilst you held him off with your sword, grunting as he pushed down on you, kicking the man on his knee with the bottom of your foot, smiling as you heard a satisfying crack-- breaking his leg in the wrong direction. The action caused him to release the pressure he was pushing on you, letting his guard down to scream out in pain. You grabbed a fist full of his hair, pulling his head back and in one quick motion, you sliced your sword over the skin of his neck with no hesitation, his warm blood splattering over your face like war paint. You breathed in deeply as he fell to the floor, closing your eyes. You had just killed someone. 

And god, did it feel good. 

You opened your eyes again, your E/C burning brightly with rage as you scanned the battlefield around you, seeing men and women clash swords with each other. Letting out your own battle cry as you spun on your heel, swinging your now bloodied sword at the nearest man to you, satisfying your newly formed blood-lust as he cried out his last dying breath. Minutes passed and you had already lost count on how many people you had struck down, sinking your sword into the man's stomach, ripping it back out with no mercy. You had used everything you had learned in training, it was almost like a dance for you, a routine you had learned over and over again and now it was time for you to perform. All of your rage, sadness, and grief that had built up over the years had come to the surface, masking over your whole being-- you could barely recognize yourself. 

Is this what you were now? A murderer?

You had lost sight of the brothers, looking around for any sign of them after you cut down another man, the noises of pained cries and screams deafening your hearing. You turned to look at the other side of the community, gasping as pain rippled over you. 

You had let your guard down.

Your sword slipped from your hand, piercing the muddy ground beneath you as everything started to slow down around you. 

A man stood in front of you, cross dangling from his neck as if mocking you, the blade buried deep into the flesh below your left collarbone. A wicked smile on his face as he pulled it back out, twisting it as he did so, causing you to cry out and stumble slightly. Your hand immediately flew up to the newly inflicted wound, feeling your own blood trickle through your fingers. 

The man raised his blade again, ready to make the finishing blow on you as you stood frozen. 

“Dirty heathen.” He sneered, grabbing you by your throat as you let out a strangled gasp, your hand grabbing onto his wrist. The look of his vile smile faulted, spluttering out his own blood onto your face before falling to the floor. You looked at the bloody axe left hanging in the air where he once stood You followed the hand holding it, seeing the familiar chariot, Ivar’s eyes glaring down at you through his metal helmet. 

He reached over, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you quickly into his chariot with him, sitting you down at his feet where you were covered from being attacked further. 

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” He shouted at you over the noise, not looking down at you as he continued his slaughter on the enemies. “Did you learn nothing in training?!” 

You couldn’t hear him as a ringing drowned out all noise, looking at your blood covered hand, your vision darkened, eyes rolling back until everything went black. 

——————————

You groaned as you felt someone move your body, opening your eyes to see a stranger woman hovering over you, tying a bandage around your shoulder and neck. 

You were laid on a pile of furs, your armor had been stripped from you along with your tunic, laying next to you. You looked down at yourself, your top half was exposed, showing your black bra and the lightning-shaped scar. You realised you were in a rather large tent, sitting up onto your elbows. 

“Embla?” You grumbled, looking at the woman next to you, her back turned to you. 

“Afraid that’s not me,” her gruff voice spoke, poking her head out the tent. “She’s awake, Princes.” 

Your hair had been taken out of its braid, letting it fall onto your shoulders. 

Hvitserk, Ubbe and finally Ivar piled into the tent. Hvitserk's face was full of worry as he knelt beside you, his hand brushing against your cheek. 

“Y/N... How are you? You’ve been out for a few hours, you fell unconscious in Ivar’s chariot.” He asked, his eyes wandering down to your exposed chest, brow frowning as he saw the large scar covering your breastbone and chest and then down to the bra you wore. “Where did you get that scar from?” 

Your eyes shot up to him, freezing in place as you tried to think of an excuse. What could you say? You got it in a fight? You were born with it? You hadn’t noticed it before?

Fuck.

You let your head fall forward, putting your head in your hands before running your fingers through your hair and looking up at the gawking boys. Should you just say the truth?

“And what are you wearing?” Ubbe asked, staring at your breasts which made you quickly fold your arms over them. 

“It’s a bra.” You said quietly, only causing more confusion to them. 

“And the scar?” Ivar repeated Hvitserk's question again, tilting his head to the side as he studied you. 

“I...” You sighed, looking at the eyes staring at you. “I got it from being struck by lightning.” 

“Huh?” Ubbe said, looking at you in disbelief. Hvitserk and Ivar had the same expression plastered on their face. “Lightning?” 

“Yes, lightning. When I was on my way home from work one night, I got struck by lightning.”

“Then surely you’d be dead?” Ubbe said, eyeing you up. 

“Well, I would have thought the same thing. And yet I woke up in the forest after getting struck.” You started to feel as if you weren't being taken seriously. 

“The forest? This isn’t making any sense, Y/N.” Hvitserk complained, adjusting himself into a better position. 

“Fuck sake,” you mumbled. “Fuck it.”

You crossed your legs, turning your whole body towards them. A dull ache on your chest from the stab wound, making you wince, Hvitserk lending his hand to you. 

“I’m... not from here,” you began slowly. “I’m from the year 2020, in the future.” 

The Ragnarssons looked at you in shock, their mouths falling agape. They didn’t say anything so you continued. 

“I had finished my shift working in the café I worked in and I was making my way home, it was late and a storm started. Thunder and lightning filled the sky and it was beautiful, breathtaking. I wanted to take a photo, but before I could, the lightning struck me. Next thing I know, I'm in a forest. I was there for three days, then Embla found me.” You gulped after saying her name. “She took me in, cared for me. Remember when I ran into Ivar the first time we all met?” 

Ivar and you locked eyes, his stare was intense as if trying to figure you out. He remembered that day well, his mind would often go back to it when he would lie in bed at night. The look on your face, the way you spoke back to him as if you had no fear or knowledge of who he was. Everyone in Kattegat knew him and yet, you didn't. 

“That was when I woke up, remembered what happened and started to panic. I couldn’t believe I was here and not home. Embla told me not to tell anyone about where I came from.”

Still silent. 

“The Seer, the night he came to see me, he knew everything about me. About where I was from, how I got here. He said I was 'the girl who was struck by Thor’s Mjölnir’, that I was ‘chosen by the Gods’ and I believe that is why someone is after to kill me.” 

The silences unsettled you, letting your eyes fall to your lap where you fiddled with your hands. 

“You must be joking, did you hit your head whilst fighting?”

Your eyes shot up to meet Hvitserks, seeing him shake his head at you. 

What? 

“You can’t expect us to believe that, Y/N. Ubbe, bring the healer back in, I think she needs her head checked over.” Hvitserk laughed, looking at his older brother. His words stung you, out of the three brothers, you had expected him the most to believe you. You could feel your heart sink at his word, at his mockery of you. 

“Hvitserk,” Ivar warned, not liking the way his older brother was talking to you. Seeing the way your face fell at his hurtful words. 

“I’m telling the truth!” You argued back, grabbing your tunic beside you and slowly putting it back on, whimpering as you move your arms into it. It was torn and soaked with blood but it was all you had to wear to cover yourself. 

“You’re trying to tell us that you came from a different time by lightning? Do you know how crazy you sound?” Hvitserk pressed on, still laughing. Ivar stepped forward, ready to step in and tell his brother that he needed to “shut the fuck up”. But your body moved quicker than him and before your mind processed what you were doing, the palm of your hand collided with his cheek, halting his laughter instantly. The slap echoed in the tent, silence falling again as your palm stung with pins and needles from how hard you had slapped him. His face was dumbfounded, eyes wide staring at you as if he only just realised what you did.

“You fucking prick.” You uttered, getting up and walking out the tent towards the exit of the community gates where the horses' carts were. 

How dare he call you crazy! And to mock you in front of his brothers? The pain where you were stabbed made you slow down your movements, going to the cart you arrived in, you grabbed your bag. 

You weren’t going to stay here, you weren’t going to be embarrassed anymore. How could Hvitserk speak to you like that? After last night? After the tender kiss he had given you? Your eyes brimmed with tears, wiping the stray tear that fell down your cheek furiously. You’re not going to cry over a man, god sake. Pull yourself together. 

You heard footsteps approaching behind you, not bothering to turn and see who it was. 

“Leave me alone, Hvitserk.” 

“I’m insulted you mistake me for my brother, I’m certain I'm the more attractive one.” 

You turn your head to see Ivar behind you, peering over your shoulder to see you gathering your things. “Leaving already?”

“Leave me alone, Ivar.” You sighed, turning around to walk past him and in the direction of which you arrived in. 

“I believe you, you know.” His words surprised you, making you stop and stare at him. “About the Gods sending you here, about being from another time. I believe you.”  

“You do?” You asked hesitantly, wary that he might be making another mockery out of you too. But his face was sincere, not a trace of humor in it. 

He only nodded, going over to the cart and lifting himself back onto it, grunting as the pressure from standing up on his legs were taken off, leaving his legs to hang off the end of the cart and leaning his crutch against it. He patted beside him, signaling you to sit beside him. You obliged, walking over to him and hoisting yourself up beside him, placing your bag onto your lap. 

It was silent for a while before he spoke again. 

“Tell me about your home. Not this one, the one where you come from.” 

And so you both sat and spoke. You told him about the tall buildings, about electricity, cars, and hospitals. He was mostly interested in the planes, not understanding how you could fly like a bird to another country in only a few hours. You told him about the country you were raised in before coming here. How you could take a photo and it would last forever.

 He had a question for everything you told him, like a curious child. His face and eyes lit up when you showed him your broken phone in your bag, examining it and asking about how it used to work before it broke. Some of the words you said confused him, so you had to repeat it slowly and explain what it meant. 

Hours had passed, the sun beginning to set in front of you both. 

"Is Hvitserk angry at me for slapping him?" You asked Ivar, glancing over to him. 

"He looked more confused than pissed off, as though he didn't know what he did wrong," Ivar replied, watching an irritated look cloud over your face. 

“Can I see the mark on your chest again?” He asked, looking up at you from your phone in his hands. You nodded, pulling down the neckline of your tunic to expose the scar. His eyes fixated on it, never falling to your cleavage. His hand lifted up, his fingertips tracing over the lightning mark gently. Your skin rose in goosebumps, inhaling sharply as he did so. Your whole body tingled from his touch, your face flushing. 

“You must be a remarkable woman for the Gods to have picked you themselves, for Thor to give you passage to your fate and mark you with his lightning.” Ivar took his hand away again, a soft smile played at his lips as he looked away from you and to the sunset. Your heavy eyes followed, seeing the sky cascading colours of red and orange, rippling through the clouds. Today had worn you out to the bone, yawning slightly. 

“I wish I knew what for though, why me?” 

“The Gods have their reasons, you shouldn’t question it. I have no doubt about their choice. I saw you fighting earlier, you looked like a true Viking.” He admitted. “You stood out from everyone there, you looked like Freya herself, blood on your face and yet you were... beautiful.” 

He stopped speaking as he felt pressure on his shoulder, looking down to see you had fallen asleep, leaning onto his shoulder. He would normally have taken offense, maybe shouted at you for being so rude. But instead, he only stared at you. The colours from the sky reflected on your face, making you look more like the goddess Freyja. His hand reached up, his thumb gently brushing over your parted lips. 

He looked back off into the sunset, the foreign feeling of his heart pounding made his brows knot together as if he couldn’t believe the feeling he felt when he stared at you. Or the feeling of how his whole body rose in goosebumps as he touched your scar. 

He was jealous of you being near Hvitserk, his rage proved it last night when you slept in his bed, how you were wrapped around him for comfort when he arrived at the Great Hall, slower than Hvitserk because of his legs. But for now, this was enough to wash away the feeling of raging jealousy. 

At this moment, it was as if he was in Valhalla, with you by his side. 

——————————————————————————

tags: @thebookisbtr @aproperthottie @adreamersince1996 @greeneyedcreature @tragicmisfits @youbloodymadgenius @littlelunaticfringe @maybe-a-winchester @localtrashopossum @gracethegeek9902 @chloe-loves-flannel @florenceivy@another-internet-sensation @pastel-devil-06 @vaisabu @hopefulcolorcollectorsthings 

[windstormwielding]

Drabble: New Orders

The wounded officer assumed the Sternritter who shot him would give chase to stop his attempted escape, but his heart dropped when he felt their attention shift to the reiatsu of nearby shinigami in his stead. It sank further when he then felt his kind’s presences getting wiped out as fast as he could blink while he flash-stepped from the scene, as more innocents have paid the price of their predecessors’ hubris in wiping out the Quincy in centuries past.

Grim thoughts supposed any target in a shihakushō would’ve done if it meant culling more of their number, and though ensured he was no longer being followed, cruel terror continued to overwhelm his being with the harrowing realization that he could’ve just as easily joined the fallen mere moments ago.

Still mid-stride, he felt the frosty reiatsu of the Bankai-less 10th Division Captain and the shinigami spiritual pressure of who he assumed to be his second-in-command cutting off that Quincy’s warpath. There was relief in that the Sternritter of fire definitely would not be pursuing him anymore, but how for long could Captain Hitsugaya and Lieutenant Matsumoto put up an actual fight against these honest-to-god monsters?

If there was any opportunity to seek respite and escape from the pending horror of his own mortality getting snuffed, now was the time to do it. With the last of his shunpō and feeling no Quincy spiritual pressure in the immediate vicinity, his hand still firmly pressed against his gut to quell bleeding over seared open wounds, the soul reaper left luck to fate as he spotted an open window six stories up.

He guided his flash steps up the smaller two-story building next to it, then launched himself from its roof through the open window he spotted. Unfortunately, it was then his strength gave out to the heat of his pierced liver and torso as he staggered mid-step at last. The silver-haired shinigami crashed shoulder-first onto the floor with a pained groan as momentum caused him to slide until his back harshly met the wood of a crate.

Despite the noise his intrusion made, there were no signs of nearby Quincy encroaching on his position to finish the job. Held breath turned strained yet relieved as the 13th Division’s 4th Seat found sanctuary amidst the chaos of the Wandenreich’s second invasion. Kōtarō Ryōhei finally had time to think.

He rolled onto his back with teeth grit as he tried to keep his thoughts off of his injury. The hand against his abdomen began to glow with the relieving light of Kaidō to mend the partially cauterized perforation through his body – though he’s no expert, Kōta was glad that he thought to take up the healing arts in hindsight, but lamented that this will be a slow recovery for him. It would be one thing if he ran into somebody from the 4th Division, with two wells of reiatsu to pull from to facilitate the healing process, but having to use his own energy alone to fix up his body will take him some time.

It would only amount to a patch job, but right now that was better than nothing. Once done, it should be enough to last him until he returns to the barracks... or where the barracks last stood.

His emerald gaze sharpened to scrutinize this unfamiliar room, walls a perfect marble white with hints of ice clinging to their surface. Head turned from one side to the other as he took note of old boxes and sealed barrels. Kōta reasoned he was in a storage room of some kind – supplies gathered from the Wandenreich empire’s thousand years of hiding in the Seireitei’s shadows, perhaps.

Before he could think on his surroundings more, Kōtarō found his thoughts drifting to his superiors. What he would do for their counsel right now...

Captain Ukitake was outside of the Seireitei when the Quincy got the drop on them all yet again. Ryōhei knew his Captain had begun his own ritual to prepare for the conflict, far outside of the Sekkiseki walls and deep into the Rukon districts, but that brought no comfort when it mattered most. There was no Captain at the helm to come to their defence thanks to the Sternritter’s surprise attack. Not even Kotsubaki and Kotetsu were around right now, shadowing Ukitake as they often do to best tend to his good health and safety.

Lieutenant Kuchiki was also indisposed. Suffering mortal wounds from the first invasion that already decimated the Gotei 13, Rukia’s frail form frightened him all the more when there was nothing more the 4th Division could do. She was taken to the Soul King Palace to make a full recovery not long ago, and Ukitake assured him she would be alright, but how long would it take for her to heal up and come back? Would he really die down here before he could reunite with her again? Was back at the 4th Division the last he would ever see his friend?

Without them, there was no one else left who could come to the 13th Division’s rescue. With no Captain, Lieutenant, or 3rd Seats standing by to lead and give out orders, there was no other guidance for him to lean on.

He was alone. Marooned. Without direction... and so were the rest of his men.

“...I’m still here.”

All it took to tether the storm of panic that overtook his composure earlier was those three little words of dawning realization. They may be gone, but the 4th Seat still remained as the highest-in-command officer of their Division within the Seireitei’s walls. Captain Ukitake, Rukia, Sentarō, and Kiyone – he’s still here for his superiors, to act in their stead until they return.

“I’m... still breathing... for fuck’s sake...!”

Pushing one foot after another to crawl against the ground, he fought against the body-wracking bouts of pain streaking up his nerves urging him to lie back down and relax, all while a streak of red followed his path. He’s still here to look after his juniors, who need some direction if they have any shot of surviving this war – that’s what he’s here for, isn’t he?

“I’m... still... ALIVE!”

With spiteful determination flooding his being, and a hand pressed against the floor for support, he shuffled back some more until he managed to sit upright against one of the crates. He’s still here to protect as many from his squadron as possible, to ensure they’re not abandoned and alone.

They needed orders. That much was clear. As he wracked in his mind to strategize, he figured there was one way to reach out to them in immediacy, but he could not think of a method to execute it.

What Kōtarō would do for some powder right about now. He didn’t even have it in him to open and inspect every odd container on the off-chance the Quincy stored something he could use here. Time was of the essence, but if not ink, then...

...the 4th Seat’s eyes trailed down to his crimson-stained hands.

“That’ll work,” he huffed, nodding to no one in particular. He can finish healing himself when he’s done. His colleagues and subordinates—whoever was still standing—need him.

“Black and white net.”

Arms shot up so that his sleeves may fall. Bloody palms then clapped together to share in makeshift red ink, and his arms became his canvas to draw lines and symbols along their length, as well as runes on the floor—careful not to draw where his life force had already been smeared.

“Twenty-two bridges... sixty-six crowns and belts.”

Beads of sweat dripped from his brow as his mind focused with renewed resolve to generate the white rectangle coming aglow before his eyes.

“Footprints, distant thunder... sharp peak, engulfing land, hidden in the night... sea of clouds, blue line.”

Though stilted, his hands moved like a conductor’s guiding baton, channeling his power into roots of spirit energy encroaching from the box of white light. His mind reached out to every one of his squad who he knew survived the first wave as he mentally reached out in the direction of the 13th Division grounds.

“Form a circle... and fly through the heavens."

Before their numbers could dwindle more and more, until there wouldn’t be a division left to save, he can still try and make a difference among those who remain.

“Bakudō #77... Tenteikūra.”

Relief flooded Kōtarō’s soul as he could now clearly sense the familiar auras of the handful of seated officers lingering in the area. Among the unseated, less than half their total number from before this sickening war started still stood.

Time to do his job.

–

Attention, officers of the 13th Division. This is your 4th Seat, Kōtarō Ryōhei, speaking.

Today... is no doubt the darkest time any of us have ever faced as shinigami. War has come to our doorstep with retribution and violence the likes of which we have never seen. The Quincy intend to wipe us all out, for our forefathers attempting to do the same to them a long time ago.

This battle, though we in the present never noticed the shadow of its approach... was a long time coming for all of us.

I... I know things look bleak right now. They have the advantage in information. They have the advantage in number. They have the advantage in military tactics, in home territory, and in sheer power. There... really is no easy way to say this, but we may very well be staring down our last days... not just as individuals, but as a collective. I won’t fault any of you for feeling helpless and outmatched, or having lost the will to fight, because for a minute there... I did too-

—

A harsh grunt cut him off as pain flared in his gut. It was tempting to bring a hand back down to resume self-treatment, but he could not end the transmission now. Not yet!

—

-but... our Captain—our Division—lives by a creed, in that there are two types of fights: fights where we protect honour, and fights where we protect life. We may not fight for the honour of the Gotei 13 or the division right now... hell, I don’t know if either will still exist when this battle is over, yet... we can still—and absolutely must—fight to protect life.

We have lost too many among us already. Close allies. Loved ones. Lifelong friends in the 13th and out. But though there is no bringing htem back from the dead... they still live on through you. Their hopes, their dreams, their memories... their hearts. You die here... then that’s it, they will all die for good, along with you. If the Quincy take that from you, then there really will be no Gotei 13 left to return to-!

—

Breathing turned laboured as he felt his mouth go dry. He needed to lie down and rest. No, he needed to be seen to. But that hardly mattered to him now. He couldn’t count on the 4th Division this minute. He had to stick to what he can do and see it through to the bitter end, if that is what it will come to!

—

So... it comes down to this, in what could be our final hour: the fight to protect life—your own... and that of the soul reaper standing next to you. Until further notice... until Captain Ukitake or Lieutenant Kuchiki return to issue new orders, then follow this one single command... by any means necessary: survive.

Whether you regroup, run fast, watch your surroundings, hide, or even strike them from behind... just survive. If all else fails... then stand your ground, give the Quincy hell, and make sure their job is not an easy one.

I... I will try my hardest to return to you all, but... in the event that... this is the last you hear from me... just know that...

—

“...it’s been a privilege... and an honour... for me to have served and fought alongside you all these many years. Ryōhei out.”

The moment connection terminated, his bloodied arms slackened, but he made sure his palm fell back over his wound to pick up where he left off. In his self-imposed strain, some of the work he already put in towards healing came undone, so it was back to doing it all again from scratch. Fantastic.

As his body slid so he may lie down fully once again, bleary sights looked up to the dimly lit ceiling in worry for the immediate future. Eyelids grew heavy, and the urge to sleep grew ever tempting, but Kōtarō feared that the time he closed his eyes again would be his last if he drifted off right away. He did not want to die yet. This war had only just begun in earnest, and he would be damned if he allowed himself to be done in by a single attack.

Once he finished patching himself up, rested, and got back on his feet, then it would be time to face the Quincy properly. For now, however...

“Captain Ukitake... I... hope I did the right thing.”

[marvelmadam08]

Meanwhile, In Quarantine...

Part of 100 Days of Marvel

Prompt 7: Well which is it? I’m getting nervous. // Prompt 79: You just ignored rule one through five. // Prompt 39: We’re gonna die here. // Prompt 11: I remind myself murder, even attempted, is illegal.

A/N: I’m on day seven or nine (honestly I lost count) of my quarantine, and I am slowly loosing my mind. Then I thought ‘What would the Avengers do during this quarantine?

~~~~~

One Week Earlier

“Miss (Y/N), Mr. Stark is calling for a mandatory team meeting in the common area.” Friday announces to you, interrupting your workout

“Right now?” you huffed out

“Yes, he says it’s urgent.”

You were the last to show up, annoyed and sweaty. Nat seemed to be the only other one who looked as annoyed as you, with her hair wrapped in a towel. Bucky, Sam and Steve lounged on the couch, while Clint was sharpening his arrows. Wanda and Vision stood off to the side to themselves. Thor sat next to Peter, who was hunched over his homework and Bruce stood next to Tony by the muted television displaying the news.

“Everyone here?” Tony pointed to everyone “Good, well I’m not sure if you all heard about this whole ‘virus’ that’s going around.”

“The Coronavirus?” Steve asked

“That’s the one,” Bruce nods “there have been a few cases popping up throughout the city, as well as the country, and within the next few days the entire country is going to be on mandatory quarantine.”

“Quarantine?” Peter spoke up “Like we can’t leave the country?”

“No, as in you can’t leave your house. And that includes The Compound and Tower as well.”

The room erupted in numerous hisses of disagreement. 

“Half of us don’t even need to be in quarantine.” Nat stated loudly

“Yeah, stupid super soldiers.” you muttered

“That’s uncalled for.” Bucky gave you a stink eye 

“Doesn’t matter, we’re being order by the government and Fury to stay put.” Tony tells you all “Parker, I’m only gonna say this once, you to stay put. No school, no parties, no dates.”

“But here at The Compound would be more ideal, seeing as it’s away from the city.” Bruce adds softly

“So we’re stuck here?” Wanda asks “For how long?”

“Well they say the quarantine could last between two weeks to two months.”

“Well which is it? I’m getting nervous.” Sam unmuted the TV

‘....stores have already begun to run out of water, toilet paper, and even baby wipes...’

Day 1

You, Wanda and Laura (Clint’s wife) were organizing the last of the quarantine supplies. Clint couldn’t stomach the idea of not being with them during the whole pandemic, so he asked to bring them up until everything blew over.

“Okay so the kitchen is fully stocked, all the cleaning supplies are put away.” Wanda sighed “It’s kind of scary, how everyone is reacting out there.”

“Yeah, I had to wrestle some hand sanitizer from some grown woman wearing a face mask and rubber gloves.” Laura admits

“I wish I could’ve seen that, since you had Nate strapped to your chest.” 

“Speaking of, I should go check on him.” 

Just as Laura walked out, Steve, Bucky and Peter walked in with large pizzas in their hands.

“This is the last of take out for the next few weeks. Enjoy it while it lasts.” Steve tells us

Everyone swarmed for their chosen slices before gravitating towards the TV to get an update on the quarantine. You were instructed to stay inside, only to leave unless it was absolutely necessary, and then return back to respective homes. Keep your contact with other people down to a minimum, and overall to sanitize and wash often. 

“This is what I do on a regular basis.” Bucky scoffed

“Same.” Wanda and Nat chimed in

“This is gonna be so cool, like one big party.” Peter clapped

A few of the other groaned at Peter’s optimism.

“The kid is right,” Tony agreed “most times we’re on missions for weeks at a time. How is this any different?”

“He does make a point.” Vision nods “And surely there’s enough room for everyone to find their own thing.”

Day 4

You glared at Bucky, who was tapping his pen against his teeth, while trying to figure out the crossword puzzle in front of him. You were trying to do silent yoga, silent being the key word.

“Barnes, can you stop that?” you said through your teeth

“Stop what?” he paused

“Tapping the pen on your teeth.”

“It helps me think. Why aren’t you in the gym?”

“Because I can’t take Steve and Nat talking smack when they spar each other. And Sam is playing his music too loud, and his room is next to mine.”

“And it’s the tapping that bothers you?”

“Forget it.” you closed you eyes again and worked on tuning Bucky out

Tony hurried in, scanning around the room “Has anyone seen Parker? I can’t find him and neither can his aunt. (Y/L/N)?”

“Shh, doing silent yoga.” You hushed “And no, I haven’t.”

“He left.” Clint spoke from above the rest of you. There was a small whirling noise, and metal scrapping against more metal, then Clint and his daughter poked their head out from the vent above us.

“What do you mean he left?”

“He said something about building a death star.” The younger Barton, Lila, answered

“Friday, override and track the kid’s phone for me.” 

“Of course Mr. Stark.”

Tony turned his attention to the TV, tapping on his phone and started to call Peter over video. At this point you gave up on silent yoga and just laid out on the mat. Peter’s face popped up on the screen but he wasn’t looking at his phone 

“Trust me, they don’t even know I’m gone.” he told someone off screen 

“Hello Mister Parker.” Tony waves

“Mr. Stark!” He hurried to pick up his phone “Hey, hi... um that’s so funny I was just about to come down to the lab, from my room.... which is where I am.... right now.”

“Oh you’re in your room? Not at Ned’s place building legos?”

He paused “No? I just got so bored! And there were so many rules to just stay in.”

“There were six rules max, and you just ignored rule one through five!”

“Are you sure he’s not your kid?” you chuckled

Day 7

“Twenty-three bottles of pop on the wall.” Sam half sung, eyelids closed, while rocking Nate to sleep

Steve and Bucky were each cuddling a plush stuffed animal on the floor. Morgan ran back and forth between poking Steve with a wooden spoon and the spot where she had a pile of cookies waiting on a plate. And Lila and Cooper were on their phones, headphones in, and not paying attention to their surroundings.

“What the hell you guys?” Nat groaned

“Ooh Auntie Nat said a bad word.” Morgan giggled

“Hey Monster.”

“Auntie (Y/N)!” Morgan jumped over Bucky and ran over to climb up your side until she reached your shoulders. “Guess what, I got to have cookies and chicken nuggets, gummies and a bunch of soda.”

“Nat? (Y/N)?” Bucky lifted his head from the floor, a flattened gummy beard on the other side of his cheek “Please tell me the others are back too.”

“On the contrary, Clint and Tony wanted to know if you wouldn’t mind watching the kids a little while longer.” Nat went to relieve Sam from baby duty “Tony talked to the mayor and got her to extend the quarantine curfew for their double date night.”

The three men groaned, you swore you saw a tear in Steve’s eye.

“We’re gonna die here.” Sam curled into a ball 

“Why did we agree to babysit?” Steve spoke into the stuffed penguin he held 

“Nat, maybe we should help them out.” You held Morgan tightly while she flipped upside down from your shoulders “They’re only men.”

“When the Earth spins, how do we know when we’re upside down?” Morgan poked you in the back 

“Tell you what, clean up your mess, we’ll go get in our pj’s and then I’ll tell you.” you carefully set her back down on the floor, she ran off, picking up her toys and stray snacks 

“Coop, Lila, your homework better be done, because if I have to check myself-.” Nat started. 

They jumped up from their seats and rushed out the room, Steve looked up at you and Nat in awe, Nate fast asleep in her arms.

“How did you-”

“We have a way with kids, don’t take it personally.” 

“Done!” Morgan cheered before pulling at your arm “Can we get in our pj’s now?”

Nat chuckled “Let’s go princess, (Y/N) will meet us there. You can help me get Nate ready for bed.”

Morgan took Nat’s free hand and skipped along side her. You took the stuffed animals and blankets from the guys.

“How did four children manage to out-do two super soldiers and a former air force vet?” you asked

“They’re small, but stealthy.” Sam yawned “Morgan has been asking us that spinning Earth question for hours.”

“I tried to explain how the Earth rotates but she told me I was wrong.” Bucky added

“Oh, it’s a joke. How do you know when the Earth turned upside down?” you paused, waiting for one of them to guess the answer “Fall time.”

Day 12

“What is this called again?” Thor points to Peter’s phone screen

“Twitter.” 

“Twitter? Like the sound a bird makes? Oh and there’s a symbol of a bird there.” he laughed “Humans are so creative. Tell me Son of Stark, what is Twitter’s purpose?”

“Uh.... basically you just post whatever’s on your mind.” Peter handed over his phone to Thor “Sometimes people will like it, and retweet it, or leave a comment.”

“Please tell me you didn’t make Thor a Twitter page.” You spared a glance from your book

“He asked me to show him. What’s the worse that could happen?”

One Hour Later

“Who gave Thor a Twitter page?” Steve marched into the kitchen

You immediately point to Peter.

“He wanted to know about social media. I didn’t think it’d do any harm.” Peter blurted out

“What did he do?” You asked

“He keeps posting.” Steve scrolled through the tablet in his hand “Things like ’What is black twitter?’, ‘poptarts and coffee’, ‘Just noticed how Director Fury sounds like the freeze man in this Disney movie’, ‘Over heard Natasha and Wanda judging who had the best ass. Barnes or Rogers. Clearly it’s me’ He’s trending.”

“Steve it’s harmless fun, he’s excited to be apart of Midgard culture.” you dismissed “Or are you upset because you weren’t voted for the best bum?”

“You should see his latest, and most liked, tweet.” Steve handed the tablet to you with a smirk

“‘Pretty sure (Y/N) and Barnes are dating. How else do you explain their sexual tension?’ I’m gonna kill you Parker.” You went to grab Peter but Steve pulled you away at the last second

“You don’t mean that.” Peter started to back out of the kitchen “Do you?”

“Who gave Thor a Twitter?” Bucky spoke from the other room

“I can give you a ten second head start.” Steve warns Peter

Day 15

“I can’t take this anymore, no missions, no take out, I can’t even go get a freaking smoothie.” You paced from one end of your room to the other “I thought this thing was only suppose to be two weeks.”

“Well Tony said two weeks or two months.” Bucky lounged on your bed, playing with the rubic’s cube “Looks like it’s gonna be two months.”

“How are you staying calm?”

“I remind myself murder, even attempted, is illegal. Plus I’ve been in isolation most of my adult life, so this doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Right.” you said softly “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m complaining about being stuck in here, for my health when you’ve had it way worse.”

“Hey,” he caught your hand and pulled you closer “Don’t apologize, I know you didn’t mean any harm. And you tend to get cabin fever when we go on long surveillance missions. These next few days are gonna fly by, trust me.”

He trailed his hands up and down your arms, traveling to your waist and under your shirt.

“Uh-huh Barnes, not again.” you pulled away slightly “Vision and Wanda almost caught us last time.”

“Because you weren’t quiet.” he kissed up your torso

“No, because you dragged me into a linen closet for wearing shorts.”        

Bucky gave you a small pout “I’m from the 1940′s doll, I fantasized about your calves when I first met you. And that we’re... is this considered dating or are we just messing around during the lock down?”

“I hope this means we’re dating.” you combed his hair back with your fingers “I’m not the kind of girl that you hump and dump.”

“Hump and what?”

You chuckled “Nevermind.” You straddled his waist, he gripped yours a little tighter “So Sergeant, you gonna take me on a date after this quarantine?”

“I’ll take you to Rome as long as you keep calling me ‘Sergeant’ doll.” he left soft kisses on your neck

“Mmm.” 

“(Y/N).” Steve knocked on your door “Have you seen Bucky? I’m looking for him.”

“Nope, haven’t seen him.” Bucky pulled your shirt over your head, and tried to add to the bite marks he left the other day, but Steve wasn’t letting up.

“You know where he might be?”

You rolled your eyes and made Bucky stop “Have you checked the garage?”

“Why would he be in the garage?”

“Steve, pal, can it wait?” Bucky shouted “I kinda got my hands full in here.”

“Oh.” You could only imagine how red Steve’s face was at that moment. 

“You are horrible James Barnes.” you giggled

“Sergeant.” he corrected you in a low growl

“Sergeant.” you brought your lips down to his, quickly fighting for dominance in the kiss. Bucky flipped you over, the bed squeaking under your shared weight

“Uh- should I go now?” Steve asked

[fruitwoops]

c. sc // right person, wrong time

light angst, ex-boyfriend!seungcheol 1.6k words

You could still recall that day as though it were yesterday.

Rosy hues had replaced the cyan tones of the sky, and the ivory clouds were now splashes of apricot, allowing the fading daylight to paint the beach a faint glow of honey. The whimsical laughter of children filled the air, mixing in melodically with the soothing movement of low-tide waves, which caressed your bare feet each time they reached the shore.

Seungcheol stood facing you, your silhouettes illuminated in marigold. The backdrop was nothing short of romantic as your boyfriend reached for your hands with a soft smile, running his calloused fingers across your knuckles in the way he usually did when he was nervous. You returned his smile with a fond expression of your own, nodding encouragingly as you weaved your fingers with his. His plush velvet lips parted slightly, trembling as the words spilled out like bullets straight to your heart, “We should break-up.”

-

“I can’t believe you actually cleared your schedule for this,” Johnny laughed, the ice cubes in his whiskey clinking against the crystal glass as he did so. You rolled your eyes as you took a seat at the table which your friends had occupied.

“What? Can’t I want to catch-up with our high school friends?” You defended, glancing through the menu. Your friends shared a knowing look, waiting for the waiter to leave with your order before resuming their inquisition.

“He’s right though,” Nayeon giggled as she pointed her fork at you. “You’re a total workaholic, sajangnim. Plus, like us, you hated most of them. Why would you make time for them?”

“Not to mention, you’re high-key making us attend too,” Hyejin deadpanned. You stared back at your friends before throwing your hands up in mock surrender.

“Okay, fine, maybe a part of me just wants to see their faces now that we’re all mad successful. Especially after all the crap they gave us throughout high school,” you smirked as you raised your shoulders in a “can’t be helped” gesture, the Patek Philippe timepiece wrapped around your wrist emphasising your point.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Johnny reached over to high-five you, a devious glint in his eyes at the notion. Hyejin nodded approvingly, her own countenance morphing into nefarious pleasure as she sunk her teeth into the wagyu. Nayeon merely grinned at you, though that should have been a warning sign for the words that left her mouth as her perceptive brown orbs studied your face.

“I heard that Seungcheol’s going to be there.”

You felt your muscles tense at the name, unsure how you should react outwardly. While the break-up itself was far from a happy memory, it ended up being a beautiful one ; a romantic scene in a movie where a young, selfless boy chose to help the girl he loved to achieve her dreams. Your younger self had been naive and stupid, wanting to throw away everything you had worked hard for, for the boy you loved. But Seungcheol knew better, wanted better for the girl he loved. He broke up with you so that you would take the overseas scholarship at your dream college. And you did.

Truth be told, the real reason you chose to attend the reunion was to see him. You believed it was a case of right person, wrong time. And you longed to find out if you both were to meet again, now full grown and dreams in hand, would it be the right time?

It must have shown on your face, because Nayeon snorted and held her palm out to Johnny, who begrudgingly handed her a 10,000 won note. You groaned at their antics, fighting a smile as Hyejin reached over and squeezed your hand.

“We’ll have your back regardless.”

-

You could feel the stares as you handed the key of your Aston Martin to the hotel valet, basking in the attention that commenced the moment you exited the car. Not that you could forget that behind each awestruck face you laid eyes on were the lingering sneering faces of the classmates who made high school difficult for you.

Yet nothing would beat the collective shock and whispers of recognition and disbelief that rippled through the crowd when Nayeon called out your name, waving to you from where she, Hyejin and Johnny stood by the entrance. She looped her arms with yours once you reached them, whispering into your ear with a cheeky grin. 

“He’s inside with his boys.” 

You glanced into the foyer, catching sight of the male in question. Your heart skipped a beat, excitement and trepidation bubbling inside you instantly. Though that emotion immediately manifested into disgust and doubt when a familiar voice came from behind you.

“Heard he’s married already, or at least engaged.”

You turned your head back, scowl already forming at the sound of her voice. Minah stood before you, her high school posse trailing behind her just like they did in their youth. And just like the old days, they were here to ruin your mood. But unlike your younger self, you were no longer afraid of them or unable to hold your ground.

“It’s been 10 years and you still keep tabs on all of us? Grow up, Minah,” You countered with a scoff, raising an eyebrow at her. Though you could not deny the anxiousness that seeped through your mind at the thought that Seungcheol had already found someone else.

“Besides, how would you know that? I doubt Seungcheol invited you or released any sort of engagement news to you,” Hyejin chimes in. “He didn’t like you one bit.”

Minah looked offended for a second before schooling in her expression to point a finger in Seungcheol’s direction.

“We walked by them earlier and Yura saw a ring on his fourth finger. Go figure.”

Yura nodded fervently, speaking up to back her leader, “Plus, the other boys didn’t seem fazed at all, so their relationship must have been pretty serious for a while now.”

Your heart sank, realising the truth to her words. Of course he had moved on, it had been ten years since you last spoke to each other.

Yet here you were, ten years older, but still very much in love with Choi Seungcheol.

-

Seungcheol’s eyes found your figure the moment you entered his peripheral, breath hitching at the sight of you. You waltzed in with Nayeon and Hyejin, Johnny trailing behind you three with a laugh. The familiar sight took him back to the days where he would stare at you from across the hallways, heart in his throat as he thought of ways to approach you.

The memories seemed to rush back ten-fold now that you were standing in the same space as he was. The playful laughter, ardent touches, languid kisses, and whispered dreams of the future.

Seungcheol had not expected you to show up to the reunion. Ever since he broke-up with you that one summer evening, you had disappeared overseas and had not returned ever since. He could still see your sobbing face in his mind’s eye, and your heartbroken sobs pounded in his ears, all the memories burned into his memories for eternity.

While he had intended for you to leave the country and pursue your dreams, his younger self had not accounted for the heartbreak the both of you had to go through, both alone. That, and the fact that you never spoke to him ever again.

For a time, a part of him had been bitter that you did not understand his intentions, that you did not understand his love for you. But his older self knew better now; the two of you had not been ready for each other.

He shook the thoughts out of his head, fingers subconsciously prodding at the ring on his fourth finger as he focused on what his friends were saying.

Things were different now. 

-

You knew you had to face Seungcheol eventually, yet you remained unprepared when you finally stood before him. The amber tones of the chandeliers overhead cast a warm glow on his features, and the familiarity of the sight almost brought tears to your eyes.

“Hi.” You attempted a smile, though it came out slightly forced and awkward.

Time had done him well, his features sharpening over the years to form a more chiselled version of the face you remembered. Despite the early wrinkle lines that had begun to form around his eyes, Seungcheol still proved dashing as he reached out to pull you into a friendly hug.

“Hi, stranger,” he joked, making your lips curve up into a genuine smile. However, the feeling of metal against your back pulled you out of nostalgic reverie, the smile slipping off your face.

As you pulled back from the hug, you felt Johnny rest a hand on your shoulder, his squeeze of comfort indicating that the trio had seen the ring in question. Your heart ached, but you forced the smile back on at the sight of Seungcheol’s confused gaze. Yet nothing could have prepared your heart for the emotions which ran through your veins when you finally allowed your eyes to fall to the ring on his finger.

The cool metal resting on a chain around your neck almost burned at the sight of its counterpart ; a pair of cheap rings sourced from a capsule machine the autumn you both turned seventeen.

“So, is there a Mrs. Choi?” Minah asked in a faux saccharine tone, casting a snide look your way. You failed to notice, gaze fixated on Seungcheol as he chuckled bashfully.  

“No...” his eyes slid to you, the grin you loved so much adorning his face. “...not yet.”

Perhaps, this was the right time for you and me.

[the-wlw-cafe]

[E]nnui - a 2BA2 fanfic

Warnings: Self-harm, self-destructive behaviour, heavily implied suicidal ideation - there’s comfort in there too I swear!

Read it on ao3 here!

Another piece of her skin had come loose near her hips. It had to have happened a while ago, judging by the dust and dirt clinging to the adhesive on its underside. She hadn’t noticed it back then, being occupied with fighting for her life, the misery, the toil and pain and the war . But now, after the end of it all? Nothing would take her mind off it. She’d catch herself absent-mindedly tugging at the loose piece every now and then, or rather, Pod would catch her and admonish her in his usual robotic manner.

Alert: Continuing to irritate the area will cause further damage to unit A2. Proposal: Stop.

And he was right, of course, but that just made her want to throw a brick at him all the more.

(She also hadn’t noticed when she’d switched to referring to Pod as he instead of it, but he didn’t call attention to the change and she’d rather die than admit she th ought of him as anything but an annoyance.)

Well, Pod wasn’t here now. Being assigned to two units, he usually split his time between monitoring 2B and herself, or sometimes the pods just headed out by themselves to do God knows what. Maybe there was a part of A2 that wondered what they were up to, a part of her that might have been curious enough to ask about it lifetimes ago, but now? The task of having to ask and listen to a reply seemed insurmountable.

Shit, she really needed to trash something. Before, whenever such thoughts threatened to overtake her, she’d simply pick a fight with the first machine she saw, rinse and repeat until she was too exhausted to continue on or move or even think. But of course even that was taken from her as the machines were gone now. Not physically gone, of course, they were still dotted throughout the landscape, but they were empty. Just vacant shells, unmoving, staring off into space.

“They’re among the stars now”, 9S had said, as if that would explain anything. A2 hadn’t had the energy to ask for clarification. They kept their distance from each other anyway, since being in the other android’s presence dredged up emotions and red hot flashes of pain pain pain she no longer had a release for.

The sound of tools scraping and metal being torn and bent drifted to her from way down below. She came up here often now, to the window where she’d first awoken again. It was a long way down, and not for the first time she wondered whether the pods had placed her there intentionally. A second chance, and an easy way to refuse the gift. Again and again she found herself drawn to this spot, looking down until the instincts she was programmed with to keep her body safe flooded her system with dizziness that forced her to back away from the window. She used to feel so far away from everything here, but apparently, the real world had forced itself even into this space. The resistance had begun scrapping the empty machines down for parts, and even though she’d tried to help them initially just to have something to do, once she was actually faced with one of the shells, still faintly whirring with the machinery still ticking away in the rusty chassis but at the same time nothing going on inside, she felt like vomiting. An echo of the time she’d shared a mind with 2B, she supposed, she’d looked into the machine’s unseeing eyes and seen Pascal, seen the children, and she just couldn’t…

With an abrupt sting of pain she realized she’d been doing it again, finding that loose piece of skin and mindlessly tugging, only this time, Pod wasn’t here to tell her off. She gritted her teeth against the sting and began pulling, watching with an almost morbid fascination as the skin peeled to reveal more of the black exoskeleton underneath –

“Stop that.”

The sudden interruption startled A2 enough to actually obey, letting go of the abused patch of skin as if it had burned her. She turned towards the newcomer, one hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her sword she no longer had a use for. She relaxed incrementally when she found that it was 2B who’d snuck up on her, her hand uselessly coming to rest at her side. She wasn’t at ease, she figured she hadn’t been at ease since the day she was fabricated, but something about the combat model seemed to calm her – a sentiment she would have laughed at weeks ago, given the many times 2B had been sent to execute her only for A2 to destroy her again and again, each time coming closer and closer to defeat as 2B profited from combat experience while her own body degraded. But there was no way of sharing a mind, memories and decades of pain with another person without retaining some familiarity after the fact.

It was difficult to see the unfiltered version of 2B she’d experienced through her memories in the carefully schooled expression of the android in front of her. The version A2 had experienced loved fiercely, cared deeply, and was hurt beyond measure, but the 2B she saw now let almost none of that show. Calm, collected. The very model of a YoRHa executioner. A2 didn’t have to ask why 2B still saw the need to guard her expression so thoroughly. After all, it was the same reason why A2 cleaned and sharpened her weapons every day with more care than she’d ever afforded her own body, or why 9S had taken to painstakingly record ing all of his memory, each minute detail of e very day he experienced with pen and paper and was keeping this treasury of memories hidden under his pillow.

“You need maintenance”, 2B stated, taking tentative steps closer and, when A2 didn’t object, sat down beside her. She didn’t look at her, instead fixating on some point in the distance, beyond the grey husks of concrete buildings leaning heavily against each other, as if they might collapse at any moment. Her voice betrayed no emotion, but the faint golden glow of the lunar tear tucked neatly above her ear said otherwise, said it’d suit your stylish looks, said thank you for the flowers, said desert roses are beautiful, aren’t they. The grief A2 felt upon these echoes flashing through her mind might as well have been her own. They’d both lost so, so many people, and yet they were still here, alive even after having literally died. It was almost funny. Almost.

“Nah, I’ll be fine”, A2 said, “I’ve survived this long even with machines looking to destroy me at every turn, I won’t fall apart now.”

2B made a non-committal sound, and a long stretch of silence followed. A2 had to stifle an irrational urge to laugh, because for two people who literally had their minds melded at some point, they sure were bad at communicating. But the silence continued, gaping, deafening, and a strange anxiety rose in A2, a compulsion to fill it with something, anything, even though she knew that no words could ever do justice to the things she longed to express, the things that bubbled and churned inside her like a vile acid she needed to expel.

“I miss it.”

A2 was almost surprised that she had spoken. She might have been inclined to believe it was a hallucination caused by one of the many glitches she’d contracted over decades of neglect of maintenance, if 2B hadn’t turned to look at her, head slightly inclined to the side, encouraging her to go on.

Well, shit. The rat was out of the bag now, or whatever the humans used to say, so there was no point in backing down. A2 leaned against the wall with a heavy sigh, craning her neck to stare at the webbing of cracks along the ceiling, because making herself vulnerable was hard enough without looking into 2B’s face and seeing whatever pity or disdain she might be too slow to hide.

“I mean, the fighting. Always being on the move. Never having a moment of quiet, never having a moment alone with your own thoughts. I was so busy surviving that I didn’t have the time to ask myself why I was surviving in the first place. I think it was spite, mainly”, she added with a mirthless chuckle that sounded hollow in the empty room. “But now, with YoRHa gone and the war over, there’s nobody left to spite, and that leaves me with…”

She didn’t voice the nothing that was on the tip of her tongue, but it hung over them like a heavy, suffocating blanket nonetheless. Truly, how selfish was she, to prefer the never-ending suffering of the war over this peace, this chance for Anemone and her people to build something new, something substantial. She didn’t dare to open her eyes and face whatever 2B must be thinking of her, and this was new too: She cared now, cared what others thought of her, because now she ha d people with opinions to care about.

And yet, the silence continued, the tension reaching a fever pitch until A2 could be ar it no longer. She braced herself and turned to face the combat model once more, no matter what she –

Oh.

2B’s gaze was trained on the horizon once more, but she’d placed a gloved hand over A2’s own, her thumb rubbing comforting circles over the exposed exoskeleton.

A2’s core temperature spiked with embarrassment as she cleared her throat. “Yeah, I…I can’t actually feel that, sorry”, she huffed. “I don’t know how it is with you newer models, but my more delicate sensors were located directly under my outer skin and I lost that ages ago. So, yeah, it’s gonna take nothing short of shoving my hand between two moving gears to actually generate some feedback.”

“Oh. I’m…sorry”, 2B murmured, removing her hand to clench it in her lap in a demure gesture that was so unlike her it made A2 feel even worse. She’d never felt self-conscious about the state of her body before. She’d been frustrated, sure, when she found her capabilities steadily decreasing the more time she spent on the run, but she’d never felt so outright ashamed that she could hear her black box whirring in her ears, but now that her deficiencies had been brought into such stark contrast against 2B, perfect, pristine 2B -

“A2.”

2B’s firm voice pulled the attacker model out of her spiralling thoughts. 2B’s eyes were focused on the spot on her hip where she’d been subconsciously scratching at the loose patch of skin again. A2 clenched her blackened fingers into a fist, fighting against the overpowering compulsion to just rip it.

“You need maintenance”, 2B repeated, with more insistence than the first time.

“Are you still on about that?” A2 groaned, running a hand through her hair.

“You’re literally coming apart at the seams!” 2B hissed, and there was fervour there, a real concern.

“Don’t I know it”, A2 said, throwing her head back and barking out a laugh that was devoid of any happiness. She just wanted this conversation to be over, she wanted 2B to stop wasting her concern on her, she just…wanted everything to stop.

Another pause, and then…a sensation, a touch, ever so lightly, ever so softly, a pair of lips against her cheek. The contact lasted a second at the most, before 2B pulled back an inch, her face still so close that A2 could feel her breath ghosting over her skin as she spoke her next words.

“Can you feel this?”

A2 didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to, not when the staccato beat of her pulse and the stuttering of her breath spoke volumes. 2B slid closer to her now, sitting directly next to her so close close close that their thighs were touching and A2 could feel it and shit, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been touched with care, like she mattered, like she deserved any of it. Pressure was building in her throat and she clenched her fist tighter until she could hear the joints of her fingers cracking. And still, she leaned into the contact, closed her eyes and held onto that moment while it lasted.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing”, 2B said quietly. A2 couldn’t guess how much time had passed, how long they’d simply been leaning against each other.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, A2 lied without any conviction. She had no doubt 2B would be looking right through her.

“Refusing maintenance. Coming up here every day.”

A2 opened her eyes as an errant breeze blew in through the window. She squinted against it. It was a long way down.

“Anemone is worried about you. I – we all are.”

“Well, you’re wasting your time”, A2 bit out, her voice tight against that god-damn lump in her throat. Too much, it was all too much. She had to go, go…somewhere, anywhere. Away. Away from people who looked at her, saw right through her, right down to the very core of her as if she was made of glass. She made a motion to get up, but 2B grabbed her wrist and tugged her down harshly.

“A2, you deserve to be cared for.” 2B’s voice was still so quiet, but as unyielding as the concrete beneath them. “You deserve this”, she said, one hand coming to rest against A2’s cheek. The touch was nothing but gentle, and yet it felt scalding. She batted it away.

“You of all people should know how it feels. We’ve killed, more times than we could count, more times than can ever be forgiven, it’s the only thing we were made for and the only thing we’re actually good at, and you’re telling me I deserve anything?”

2B shrunk back as if she’d struck her, and immediately a cold wave of guilt washed over A2 and settled deep and heavy in her core. She knew 2B, she could still feel the disgust and self-hatred emanating off of her whenever A2 had addressed her as 2E, they’d shared the pain of killing her closest friend over and over and over again. A2 reached out, to touch 2B, to hold her perhaps, but she thought better of it. She wasn’t made for gentleness. Everything she touched fell apart.

“I’m sorry”, she mumbled, her words falling pathetically short.

“Appreciated”, 2B said through gritted teeth, her fingers clenched into the hem of her dress so tightly her knuckles were turning white. She was close enough to touch, and yet they were miles apart. A2 had broken them miles apart. She had broken them apart, and she had no idea how to fix this divide. She wasn’t made for fixing.

“Shit, 2B, that was a fucked up thing to say to you, I’m-”

2B silenced her laughable attempts with a single, stiff wave or her hand.

“You’re right.”

A2 immediately opened her mouth to protest, to silence whatever nonsense she’d put in the combat model’s head, but then she met her eyes, cold steel blue more fiery than ever, and any words she might have said wither ed on her tongue. She was fixed to the spot, unmoving.

“And if we really are one and the same, A2, then you’ll understand why I can’t bear another death.”

It was too much, it was far too intimate. A2’s first instinct was to deflect, this was her they were talking about, she’d hardly be missed by anyone, having outlived almost all who might at some point have cared about her. And 2B, especially 2B, whom she’d killed dozens of times…

Unbidden, the ugliest memories reared their head, flashes of deep, oozing slashes in 2B’s body as her teammates stumble over themselves in retreat, flashes of loosing herself in B-Mode when she couldn’t keep up with her opponent anymore, only coming to again when her form was beaten, bloodied and almost unrecognizable. The same nausea she’d felt when asked to dismantle the machine husks rose in her again, that feeling of wrong wrong wrong and she couldn’t stomach it, not even the thought of it…

This time, she caught herself. Her hand halfway to her hip, she froze, biting her lip to distract from the urge to just tear at pieces of herself. 2B noticed, of course she noticed, placing a hand over the damaged area. It was tender, and though every fibre of her being cried out that she didn’t deserve it she didn’t deserve it she didn’t deserve it she swallowed them down. Laid her hand atop 2B’s. Threaded their fingers together.

She watched 2B fail to hide a soft gasp, and it made something within her lurch in delight. She gave 2B’s hand a gentle squeeze, wishing now more than ever to be able to feel the warmth of her hand radiating through the smooth satin glove.

It was a stupid reason. It was as good as any other.

She allowed herself to rest in this moment for a few seconds longer, then she slowly rose to her feet, groaning under the aching of her stiff joints. How long had she been up here?

“Come on, let’s head back before Anemone sends out a search party”, she said, pulling 2B upright, and when she was standing, A2 was struck to the core when she saw her smile. It was a subtle, understated thing, barely even visible, but shit, if she could make 2B smile like that one more time she knew she’d be worth something more than the scrap metal she was made of.

She took one last look out of the window over her shoulder. She could barely stomach it – it was such a long, long way down.

Feeling 2B’s hand in hers.

Making her smile.

They were better reasons than spite, she decided.

[ripspaghet]

BFF | 06 sneak peek

a/n: Hey everyone, Aya here👋 Recently I've had trouble writing due to my sister moving in with me (we don't exactly get along). Her being around has put a lot of stress on me and I haven't been in the right headspace to write. I'm sorry for the long wait for the next part of BFF.🙇‍♀️ You'll have to wait a little longer, but I decided to give you all a sneak peek as a thank you for being so patient. I appreciate all of my readers so much. I can't thank you enough for all the support and encouragement you all give me!!💞

The smell of birthday cake tickles your nose, the sound of soft pop music lulling the small crowd of people in the apartment space.

"God, this is boring."

"Beyond boring."

The two guys have been continuously mopping since the three of you arrived, although you haven't paid them all that much attention. You're more concerned with how you're going to avoid eating cake later on. You hate overly sweet things with a passion and Mina's cake is sure to taste like a sugar rush.

"We should liven it up a bit."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

"How about it ____?"

You drag your gaze away from a frowning Mina to glance over at Jimin, who's holding a plate full of crumbs that was previously covered in chips. Jungkook stands next to him, bordly munching on some handmade snack you couldn't remember the name of.

"Can you two behave until the candles are blown out? I don't wanna hear Mina yelling until I've already told her my excuse to leave."

Jungkook nods, "Understandable,"

"I suppose I'll wait."

You just want to go home and get some more sleep, you couldn't care less what these two goons had up their sleeves. Yes, you want Mina to have a good birthday, but you can only maintain your act for so long while around her. Faking isn't your strong suit.

"Oh, God,"

"Wha-Oh,"

You glance back over at the two of them to see that they're staring across the room. Jimin is frowning, while Jungkook looks as if his whole life is flashing before his eyes. You turn to see what it is, only to find yourself wishing you never did.

"____! There you are! You sly fox, you. I've been looking for you everywhere."

Your stomach drops, "Who told him?"

Jimin scowls as his friend makes his way over to you, "It definitely wasn't me."

"Sorry, ____. He promised me he wouldn't come." Jungkook scoots away from you out of fear of your rath.

The guy approaching you is quick to move to your side, placing an arm around your waist. You're sure to send Jungkook the deadliest of glares that as him cowering behind a now, rather aggravated Jimin.

"Tae, what are you doing here?" You almost choke as you force a smile onto your face.

He pulls you closer to him, a smirk playing on his lips, "I heard from a little birdy that you'd be here." As a strong urge to knee Jungkook in the crouch starts to settle in, you grit your teeth, forcing yourself to bear it and not cause a scene.

"Yah, Taehyung, who do you think you are, clinging to my best friend like that?" Jimin's brows have shot up in question as he stares Taehyung down with accusing eyes.

His arm doesn't leave you, though you can feel him stiffen under Jimin intimidating gaze, "I-"

"If you want your dick sucked find some other girl to do it."

Taehyung frowns, "Jimin, I'm not-"

"Taehyung, " You pat his shoulder, gaining the attention of all three boys' in the process, "how about you go get me a drink from the kitchen?"

He looks back and forth between you and Jimin, slightly suspicious before nodding, and heading off to the kitchen.

Jimin scoffs, "The nerve of him."

"I'm going to get some fresh air. Tell him I went to the restroom or something. Also, try to keep from fighting. Like I said earlier-"

"Yeah, yeah, you don't want to ruin Mina's birthday party. Blah, blah, blah."

"Jimin," You glare, "I'm serious."

"Alright, " He groans, rolling his eyes, "I'll stop. Just go before that horny baboon gets back and tries humping your leg."

You roll your eyes but nod never the less. Jungkook whispers another sorry to you as you walk past them towards the apartment door. You only wave him off, not caring enough to bother with his inability to keep a secret. You're too tired and honestly just wish you could go home. You mean, you could go home with the excuse of, "I started feeling sick." Which wouldn't be a complete lie - thanks to Taehyung. You know Mina wouldn't fall for it though.

Luckily, her apartment is on the bottom floor and it doesn't take you long to make your way outside. The warmth from the buildings heater almost seems to melt off you skin in the chilled air. It's only around dinner time, but you suspect the sun has begun to set behind the rain clouds, due to the darkness that has started settling over the city. Your steps are small as you watch your breath puff out into a cold cloud passed your chapped lips. Fiddling with the sucker that still rests in your pocket, you shut your eyes and listen to the downpour that assaults the sidewalk. You hadn't planned on being so weak, so vulnerable. After all these years you'd hoped that maybe you would've grown stronger by now - but you feel weaker than ever.

An exaggerated sigh startles you and you gasp, eyes snapping open.

His back is to you as rain showers down onto the awning above, black shoes resting in a puddle on the curb of the street as he stares at cars zipping by. You've never noticed before, but the rainy weather compliments his skin. You find your eye lingering on the pads of his fingers and blue veins below red knuckles - the perfect contrast of colors.

Really, you know better than to approach him. You know better than to go anywhere near him - but, knowing better doesn't stop you from making your way over to him with a misplaced sense of determination as he reaches into his pocket, nor does it keep you from plopping down next to him as he places the retrieved object between his velvety lips.

He pauses his actions to glance over at you curiously.

You frown at him before reaching up and plucking a purple lighter from his left hand. 

"What are you-"

You shove the lighter into your pocket, exchanging it with your sucker. You know you'll never eat it, might as well put it to good use. You hold it out to him, "You should replace bad habits with healthy habits."

He turns away with a scoff, nibbling on his lower lip - an obvious attempt to keep himself from smiling, "That isn't particularly healthy."

You glance at the sucker, "No, but it's better than what you had before." Nudging the candy into his now empty hand you purse your lips.

Reluctantly, he takes the cigarette away from his mouth and slides it back into its pack, "So, you're talking to me now?"

"No," You stare at him as his long fingers unwrap the yellow sucker and plop it into his mouth.

"Then what do you call this?"

You look away, opting to stare at the wet asphalt and listen to the constant pitter-patter of the rain, "Why were you and Mina fighting?"

Silence falls over the two of you for a moment before he sighs and rolls the stick of the sucker along his tongue, "She wants me here while I need to be elsewhere."

"It's her birthday party."

"Yeah," He snaps, eye sharpening as they flicker over to you, "I told her a month before she planned it what days I'd have work. She did this on purpose."

"Why would she-"

"Because she thinks I'm cheating with my coworker." The words are spat bitterly, the sound of the sucker cracking between the tension of his teeth.

Your lips clamps shut and you look away from him. Why are you getting involved? You're only making things messier for yourself.

"She's not all that wrong, though. I guess I deserve this."

Your head whips back over to him, "W-what? Are you cheating with a coworker?"

He turns to look at you, brows furrowed, "What? No, I-" He pauses then shakes his head, deciding against it and laughs, "Why are you here ____?"

You glance around, "I-Uh-Mina said I had to come and I-"

His head falls forward, "No, why are you here, with me."

.

.

.

@team-work-made-the-dream-work @seokchella @crackhead1-800 @chogiyeol-utopia @thatchampagnebitch @ghoularaki

[dollswow]

Encounter

A story about my warcraft oc’s, Lyrinde and Tsuuli I’ve been writing on and off for a little while now, about how they meet.

Characters: Lyrinde (night elf demon hunter) & Tsuuli (Zandalari troll paladin)

Story: ~4800 words (jfc, me), non-explicit sexual situations, minor sass. Set shortly after end of the 4th war.

*

As far as being stranded in what was questionably enemy territory went, Lyrinde supposed it could be worse. She floated lazily in a small, refreshingly chill pool near the summit of one of Zuldazar’s lush mountain peaks. The blaze of the late morning sun was oppressive as ever. It was tempered though by the cool water, the foliage overhead filtering some of the sun’s rays out, and the general peace of her crash site. 

She spared a thought and a frown for her poor mount’s condition, after their escape from a flock of especially aggressive pterrordaxes flying through Nazmir’s southern swamps. Lixahl was formidable both in a fight and in flight, and her sharp talons and agile maneuvers had secured their escape. Somehow though, the steep ascent of their chase into Zandalar’s main province had caused her to sprain a wing. They’d landed on the top of an isolated mountain, where Lyrinde had been quick to immobilize the felbat’s injured limb. Searching for cover around the summit, it wasn’t very long at all before they located a dusty, disused cave perfect for Lixahl to roost in while she recuperated. Following the sound of water a little ways out from the cave and through the vegetation, Lyrinde came upon the clearing where she now rested. 

Of course, proper safety measures had been taken. Once she’d taken water back to Lixahl and secured the site, she used the strange Gnomish messaging device given to her for just such an emergency, to communicate her location and predicament to the extraction team. The site seemed truly secluded, with thick overgrowth showing no footpaths up, and only signs of sparse wildlife tracks. She had little else to do but wait. 

The machine sent a small drone carrying her message to a predetermined location. A homing device of sorts, though she’d soon gotten lost in the technical terms of Kelsey’s explanation of exactly how it worked. All she remembered was that it would probably be a day or so before she could expect any kind of return communication. 

She sighed, and sank a little further into the water with the exhale. If circumstances had been different, the location would be idyllic. Idle birdsong, nearly drowned out by the soft bubbling of the wellspring feeding the pool, and the whispering rush and distant crash of the waterfall spilling from it’s rocky edge, combined with the warmth of the sun on her body, the cool feel of her hair swirling about her in the water, unbound from it’s tight braid for once, the gentle rustling of the brush and a twig snapping—

She was lunging out of the water in a blink, already gripping the glaives she’d placed at the pool’s edge for just such a necessity, growling as she swung the sharpened blades into place; one to rest at the intruder’s throat, one poised and ready to slice him across his belly. 

“How did you find me?!” Lyrinde demanded, teeth bared in a snarl. “What do you want?”

She was vaguely aware that the tall troll in front of her had dropped a wooden pail he’d been carrying, and seemed to be without weapons or armor. The golden glow of a protective spell shimmered around his body however, marking him out as one of the Zandalari’s elite paladins; capable of wielding the powers of light even without a sword or shield. 

He held his hands up at chest level, and though she’d spoken to him in Common out of habit, he answered in Zandali. “I was not looking for you, Miss Elf.” He paused, and his eyes obviously dipped to focus below the blades that were ready to strike. “But what a find to have made, this fine day. The loa have truly blessed me.”

Lyrinde then took time to realize the pail he had been carrying seemed to be full of bathing supplies, and also to recall that her clothing was drying on a nearby rock, where she’d laid it after washing the dirt of travel out of it. It had seemed fortuitous that she’d had the opportunity to clean her garments as well as bathe at the time, but now she was caught out, literally naked. 

At least she had her weapons. Even if Horde and Alliance were at a truce for the moment, she could hardly expect that a troll wouldn’t be opposed to her presence in his home territory. The war was barely over, after all. She backed away, weapons still at the ready just in case. 

“I mean not to intrude upon your lands,” she spoke in halting Zandali, “and will leave at first opportunity.”

“Where is the fun in that?” The paladin’s eyes were back to her face, though he was grinning—actually grinning!—at her now. “I should like to know more about you, and how it came to be that the loa have guided you here, to my private retreat.”

She dropped her weapons a fraction, still wary that he would attack, and said, slowly, “It is only  accident that brought me here, nothing more.”

He gave a little “Tsk!” at her and, telegraphing his movements clearly so as not to appear to be readying an attack, knelt to collect his toiletries back into his pail. Once he finished, he stood again and met her eye. 

“Miss Elf,” he began, sounding like a lecturer, “this retreat was created by myself and my brother, who used his shamanistic powers to divert the upwelling of water here, where I assisted in the formation of the pool’s borders and, as you may have noticed, seating within the water along the edges for better relaxation, although you had cleverly bypassed such amenities, it would seem, by simply floating—“

“You talk a lot for glorified manual labor,” she cut in, impatient. She gripped her glaives tighter, half expecting him to take offense and decide to attack after all. 

He only looked startled for a moment, perhaps needing to parse her strange, stilting accent, then burst out laughing. 

She lowered her weapons all the way, relaxing her stance, and frowned at him. He was so taken with giggles that she even saw him wipe a tear from his eye. “Is there something wrong with you?” she demanded. 

As he caught his breath, he looked to the sky, ignoring her question and mounting agitation. “Loa help me,” he said, still smiling, “but I think I’m in love.”

She knew he was being facetious, but his words still caused her to take a half step back. Was he trying to lower her guard, in order to take her by surprise for an attack? She needed to be cautious, just in case. There might be other threats nearby. He might not have been alone, only ahead of any others coming, this strange behavior a ploy to distract her until backup arrived. 

She empowered her spectral sight, to see deeper into the shadows, through more layers of the jungle surrounding them, to see if he was hiding anything.

Oh… she thought.

“Oh!” she breathed out, involuntary.

His gaze had dropped again, and, well. Expecting treachery lurking in the forest behind him, what she found instead was that he was not unaffected by her appearance, standing in front of him with her weapons drawn, but without armor, without clothing, flushed from the adrenaline and fel fire coursing through her body. It appeared the only thing he was hiding was a growing interest in her nudity. 

Well, she was stuck here for at least the day, and possibly the night, too. He was handsome, seemed disinclined to fight, and physically attracted to her. Might as well have some fun, right? 

She grinned at him when he realized he’d been caught staring, feral and toothy, and stalked forward.

*

Lyrinde woke up slowly, warm and heavy-limbed, the impromptu nap leaving her sluggish, but well-rested. As her senses came back to her, she realized several things that should have worried her, and might have if she wasn’t feeling so satisfied.

One of these things was that she wasn’t directly on her bedroll; she was lying on top of a well-muscled, warm body, gently rising and falling with each breath. She could feel hands resting loosely on her lower back. The large, three-fingered hands of a troll.

She knew what she’d done was dangerous and would earn her a lecture, at the very least. Disciplinary action was more probable, armistice be damned. She burrowed her face into the chest beneath her for a moment, and the hands on her back tightened their embrace to hold her more firmly in place. She could tell by the troll’s—Tsuuli, he’d told her was his name—breathing and slow, steady heartbeat that he was still asleep.

He’d certainly earned the rest. It wasn’t every man that could keep up with her.

She chuckled to herself, and the motion must’ve roused Tsuuli, as she felt him beginning to stir. She turned her head to the side, taking in the last vestiges of the sunset blazing around them. They’d begun their activities shortly before midday, and hadn’t gone in for more than a brief respite until perhaps the third hour of the afternoon. Then, they’d finally settled in more or less their current position, after approximately three quarters of an hour together in the spring, cleaning up, getting messy again, and cleaning up all over again.

So the nap had been about two hours. A day well-spent, she thought.

Now though, it was time to send him packing so she could check up on Lixahl, and make sure she was prepared for the extraction team that must be on it’s way.

Bracing her hands on Tsuuli’s broad chest, she made to push herself to her feet. Instead, she found herself being flipped over onto the bedroll beneath them, tangled in the blanket that’d been draped over her backside. 

She squawked, and experienced a brief moment of wild fury at being betrayed now, after the time they’d spent together enjoying themselves, her adrenaline spiking as her mind raced, planning for retaliation and a fight likely to the death.

The sting of betrayal Lyrinde felt ebbed away as soon as it’d come however, when she realized Tsuuli was nuzzling at her neck, embracing her as a lover would, not as an enemy searching out vulnerable points. She felt the press of his upturned tusks, his lips moving over the racing pulse in her neck, the deep rumble in his chest as he hummed out a chuckle.

“You thought I was going to try to kill you, yes?” he asked, leisurely stroking her flank with one hand as he continued to kiss his way from just behind her ear down to the juncture of neck and shoulder. He lingered there for a moment, then raised up onto his elbows to look at her. 

Her vision was still hazed with green from the expectation of battle, but she could see him peering at her, saw as he brought his hand from her side to rub his thumb over her cheekbone, gently skirting the edge of her blindfold.

She reached up to grasp his wrist, not to move his hand, but to ground herself. He began to lean in, and just before his lips touched hers, she murmured, “You might have tried, but you would not have succeeded.”

*

“You must go back.”

“Lyrinde, technically, you are the intruder here, being a member of the Alliance in Zuldazar. I know you said you were on your way out of Zandalar, as the terms of the armistice dictate. But, as I am sure you are aware, the Zandalari have allied with the Horde, and from what I have learned over the course of the war—are you making ‘talky’ motions with your hand at me?”

“I am, because you talk incessantly.” Lyrinde sat back from attaching her bedroll to her pack. “An extraction team is coming for me, and it would be unwise for you to be here with me when they arrive.”

It was full dark now, and their only light was from a small campfire in the clearing. Tsuuli sat on the other side of the fire, watching her finish up her preparations. They’d both dressed again, Lyrinde’s hair tied back into it’s long braid. She crouched on her side of the fire, and gazed over at him as he sat quietly, for once, his eyes directed into the flames and seeming pensive, chewing his lower lip.

“If it’s the darkness that you wish to avoid, I can give you a small lantern,” she began. “It would ease your way home—”

She was interrupted by a small, metal thing slamming into her chest. It didn’t hurt, but it’s wild fluttering combined with the impact pushed her back onto her rear from her crouch, and she wrenched it off of herself with a snarl, ready to throw it into the fire.

“Wait—” Tsuuli was kneeling at her side in a heartbeat, one large hand at her back, steadying her, the other gently prying the now still item from her grip. “It is some kind of device, perhaps from your contact?”

She snatched it from his hand, petulant. Then she took a steadying breath and said, “Sorry. You’re right.”

It was similar to the device she’d sent upon arrival, though fashioned after a small bird. She unscrewed the head, “Morbid,” she thought, and pulled out a tightly coiled scroll. 

The message was encoded, but easily enough deciphered, as she’d committed the key to memory before setting out on this mission. 

She read out loud for Tsuuli’s benefit, “Expect extraction two hours past dawn. Stay safe.”

She let the scroll fall into her lap as she pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, letting out a groan. “I thought they’d be here tonight.” 

“Well, no use pouting. We should make the best of it, yes?”

Lyrinde huffed. “We aren’t making the best of anything.” She poked Tsuuli in the chest with one finger. “You still need to go back to your home.”

“Now, now,” Tsuuli soothed, taking her hand in his, “the night will be safer with two of us.” He tipped his head to one side, considering. “You could...come to my home? No,” he dismissed, “no, I live too far into the city, you would be discovered. I will have to stay here with you.” He gave her what he clearly thought was a winning smile. 

And damn it all, if he wasn’t growing on her. She let her shoulders slump a little. “I must go check on Lixahl—my mount—” she clarified, “and I’d thought to spend the night in the cave where she rests.”

“Oh, the cave just around the summit from here, yes?” He waited for her confirmation, then continued, “Yes, I know the one. It will provide a perfect shelter from the damp of night. We should smother this fire before moving there.”

Lyrinde briefly thought to warn him off of coming to the cave, that Lixahl was likely to be hostile, but she’d already accepted that he wouldn’t listen. Or more precisely, he’d  talk for several minutes without actually saying anything, and then still tag along no matter how much she tried to convince him otherwise. Besides, she had some of the anti-venom that would clear up a bite from Lixahl. It wouldn’t hurt—much. 

Probably. 

“You said you had a lantern?”

She shook herself out of her reverie to unhook the lantern from her pack. Handing it to him so he could light it with the last of the fire before he covered it over with damp earth, the embers scattered and burnt out. He stood, brushing the dirt from his hands, and holding an arm out to her. 

Paladins. 

She snorted softly and took it, allowing him to escort her to the cave, through the brush. 

*

Lyrinde couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She stood still, hands uselessly hanging at her sides, mouth slightly open, as she watched Lixahl, fierce matriarch of the felwings of Mardum, happily receive scritches from Tsuuli. 

She suspected the sweet tropical fruits he detoured to pick on the way to the cave helped bribe Lixahl’s good favor, but Lyrinde’s mount just really seemed to enjoy the attention. He’d managed to work his way under Lixahl’s armor to scratch behind her ears, which must’ve been the winning move. 

“I think she likes me!” he said, unnecessarily. 

“I suppose she does,” Lyrinde shrugged, finally moving to action and bending to unclasp her bedroll and lay it out. 

She felt him sidle up behind her before he smoothed his hands down her arms, effectively halting her progress, and the rumble of his voice reverberated through her back as he drew her against his chest, “She is a sweet girl, but don’t tell her I like you best.”

Lyrinde turned in his arms and said, “Fancy words when we’ll never see each other again after I get out of here.”

“Nonsense.”

“What do you mean, nonsense?”

“Nonsense!” Tsuuli grinned and held her tighter. “The loa sent me to you. You to me. Do you think I am going to give that up easily?”

Lyrinde huffed, “I crashed, no one sent me—“

“On the very day I decided to visit the grotto, after being away for more than a year! It had been so long, the footpath was completely grown over and wild.” He hunched down, burying his face in her neck. “If it was any other day, I would have missed you.”

She hesitated, then said, “Still, I am leaving. First to Kul Tiras, then back to Stormwind. You are Horde—“

“Meet me in Dalaran.”

“—and, what?”

“I am traveling soon, and will be going to Dalaran in two months time. Meet me there.” He pulled back, resting his hands on either side of her neck, stroking his thumbs over her cheeks. “Please?”

“I—that is not something I can commit to.” She turned her head to gaze in Lixahl’s direction. “I don’t even know what my next assignment is yet,” she murmured. 

Tsuuli considered her for a moment, then offered, “Perhaps we can write to each other. I believe the goblins can route mail anywhere, even to members of the Alliance. Do you have spare parchment I can write my address on for you?”

He was coming up with plans all on his own, and Lyrinde could only wordlessly retrieve the writing implements for him, still reeling a little from his invitation as she was. She even let him coax the address of her rooms in Stormwind out of her. At least she wasn’t in the Illidari camp anymore. She doubted she’d be able to receive mail there without nosy demon hunters prying into her affairs. Sometimes others of her kind could be very annoying, she thought with a snort. 

“What are you thinking about over there?”

Instead of answering, she shook her head and moved to inspect where he’d finished laying out the bedding. There had been an old fire pit in the back of the cave, and after he’d shown her the vents in the ceiling that lead to the outside and assured her they would not suffocate from smoke inhalation, she’d agreed to let him make a new campfire there. He was quite handy with her flint and tinder kit, and had set the bedroll close by the cheery little blaze. Zuldazar was a warm territory, but at this altitude especially, she’d already begun to feel the chill of night, and was glad for the heat. 

She also wondered at Tsuuli, still only wearing the brief wrap about his waist he’d arrived at the grotto in, having only expected to stay for a relaxing bathing session during the heat of day.

As she approached, he stood and moved towards her, his profile glowing with the firelight. “Are you not cold?” she asked as he stepped closer. She absentmindedly lifted a hand up to the golden tattoos on his chest at her eye-level, ghosting her fingers along the bold lines. The muscles of his abdomen contracted, and she looked up to find him gazing at her, an indecipherable look on his face. 

“The grace of the loa keeps me warm,” he said before cracking a smirk. “As does my burning passion.”

Lyrinde would’ve rolled her eyes, had she still been in possession of them. She settled for an exaggerated sigh. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you are ridiculous?”

“Of course, Miss Elf,” he replied with a laugh. “It is part of my charm!”

“Charm,” she echoed. “I’m not sure that’s the word I would have used.” 

As she spoke, however, she reached up to hook a finger around one of his tusks, pulling him down to meet her upturned face. 

That’s one way to silence him, she thought, before being lost in the moment. 

*

“Wake up, you oaf!”

“I refuse.”

Tsuuli’s breath puffed against Lyrinde’s neck, and she could feel a deep rumbling hum emanating from his chest, though it was very nearly sub-vocal. He clung to her like a barnacle on a ship; arms wrapped around her middle, and a leg draped over hers, pinning her in his embrace. 

She was actually terribly, horribly comfortable, and could’ve luxuriated in such a position for a couple more hours at least. But, dawn was breaking, and she needed to prepare for her rescue party’s arrival. 

Tsuuli could not be there when they came. She shuddered to think at what might happen if he were. 

“Lyrinde,” he mumbled into her skin. 

“Yes?”

“Lyrinde,” he repeated, nuzzling behind her ear. 

“Tsuuli,” she said with a little huff. 

He finally loosened his grip enough so she could begin to extract herself from the tangle of his limbs. When she was free, she turned where she sat to look at him, still laying on his side and watching her. 

He reached a hand out, and ran a finger along her jawline. “You will write to me, yes?”

She thought to just say yes, with no intention of doing so. 

“I—”

He sat up to face her, and leaned in, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “I will write to you,” he said. “You may reply if you wish.”

“I—I would like to,” she blurted, a little too forcefully. She felt heat in her cheeks. Ridiculous, she thought, frowning. She hadn’t felt shame at facing a would-be enemy while fully nude, but the prospect of corresponding with someone made her stomach flutter? And someone with whom she’d already been extremely intimate? 

She shook her head and stood, bouncing on her toes to get the blood flowing into her sleep-heavy limbs. Tsuuli stood as well, shaking out her camp blanket and rolling it neatly, before stooping to do the same with the bedroll. Lyrinde watched him work, efficient and tidy, seemingly at odds with his somewhat goofy personality. 

But he -is- a Zandalari paladin, not some common townsman, or foot soldier, she reminded herself. 

As she watched him take the bedding to her pack, securing it in place, she decided she could make an effort. It wouldn’t hurt anything, after all, to write a few letters. It would break up the post-war monotony once she was back in Stormwind at least. 

Right?

“You really must be going home now,” she began. Tsuuli turned to face her, tall and imposing as he was, looking grave; accepting her statement for the inevitable truth. 

He let a breath out, not quite a sigh, but suggesting one. “Yes,” he agreed, “I suppose it is time.”

He turned to face the cave entrance and walked towards Lixahl, stopping to give her a scratch behind the ear. Lyrinde walked up next to him, watching him keenly. 

He faced her, and drew in a breath. “Lyrinde,” he began. 

She cut him off, reaching up and pulling him down by the neck, standing on her toes to reach him better, kissing the breath out of him. Her fingers found their way into his hair, bumping against the golden circlet he wore, threading through the thick strands to hold him where she wanted him better, anchoring herself as he wound his arms around her and let her take all she wanted. 

When she finally relented, sinking back down onto her heels and ducking her head as he stood upright again, she said, into his chest, “Write me, and I will write you back.” 

She splayed her hands on his sides, slid them to his stomach and pushed herself a step back, finally looking up at him again. “I will be expecting a letter when I arrive in Stormwind.”

Tsuuli smiled at her, and she was charmed. Reluctantly charmed, but charmed all the same. 

*

“‘Twas a lucky landing spot, it was!”

Lyrinde hummed agreement as the Wildhammer agents strapped Lixahl into the special harness they’d brought to airlift the felbat to the ship. She’d attempted to help, to keep herself occupied when they first arrived, but she’d been very politely shunted off to the side so they could do their work properly without her getting in the way. 

Gryphon rescue wasn’t entirely unexpected, and she did like the fierce dwarves, but she still found her mind wandering. Most of all, she wanted to figure out why she was, well, mooning over a troll, of all people. 

She sighed. 

“Don’t worry lass, the ol’ girl will be just fine and well get ‘er back to the stable master to get fixed up in no time.”

“Thank you,” Lyrinde replied, firmly giving herself a mental shake. 

No time for distractions. The dwarves were finishing up their flight preparations, and it was time to leave Zandalar, and everyone in it, for good. 

*

Epilogue 

After the third try, Lyrinde finally slotted the key into the keyhole of the door to her rooms. She’d been waylaid nearly an hour and a half ago, getting stopped for drinks and chatter in the inn’s tavern. After several rounds with some friends as well as some new faces, she retrieved her key from the innkeeper and made a stumbling retreat. 

She was happy for the warm welcome and the company, but she was tired. 

She’d only spent a couple days in Kul Tiras before the long journey by ship back to the Eastern Kingdoms, and finally, finally into Stormwind harbor. With no upcoming missions, and orders only to, “Get some rest, champion!” she fully intended to spend at least a couple days lounging in or near her bed. 

Dropping her bags inside the door and tapping the rune on the wall that activated the room’s soft, magical lamps, she locked up behind herself, fully intending to fall flat on her face into the newly refreshed bedding. 

She started towards the bedroom to do just that, when something caught her eye—a stack of letters on her table. She wasn’t surprised the staff would’ve brought her mail in when they were preparing her rooms for her return, but that she had mail at all. Unless—

—unless Tsuuli really did write to her. 

She honestly thought he wouldn’t, despite his insistence. She’d thought he was caught up in the moment, probably hadn’t bedded many women lately what with the war in his own homeland. She thought he was just eager for companionship and the coincidence of their meeting along with his, well, if she was being honest with herself, both of their desire for a release, no matter if it was a one-time and done, was a lucky happenstance. Lucky their meeting ended with mutual pleasure, and not with bloodshed. 

She’d put away all the inconvenient feelings she’d felt at his kind words, infectious smile, and soft touches. Had decided it would just be a memory, and perhaps a scandalous war story to tell at a pub, at some future date, further away from the actual conflict. 

Bah, she thought, giving herself a shake. You’re soft when you’re drunk. 

She snatched the mail, rifled through it, and found that there was some correspondence from friends she’d made in Stormsong Valley, and even Nazjatar. And two letters that were curiously postmarked, with no discernable return address. She concentrated her slightly wavy vision, and it seemed they bore stamps through— 

“Booty Bay! The goblins!”

She covered her mouth in surprise at her vocal outburst, then kicked off her shoes on her way to the bedroom, carrying the letters with her. She flopped on the bed, squinted at the dates on the envelopes, and cracked the seal on the older of the two, only half paying attention to the image of a roaring tiger’s face stamped in the gold wax, and unfolded the pages inside. She then settled further into her bedding and began to read, a smile on her face.

[stetervault]

Any historical aus you can recommend?

There is a serious lack of these in the Steter fandom imo, especially ones that aren’t regency/royalty, but thankfully they do exist:

Steam Rises from the Body by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Peter and Stiles are surgeons in a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital near the front line of the Korean War.

Hooverville by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Town to town, train to train, tent to tent.

By 1932, the dust had begun to blow and the jobs were gone.

Anonymity was a byproduct of looking for work, which made it both necessary and convenient.

Stiles had enough secrets of his own to know to look the other way when he saw something that shouldn’t be possible.

The ghost of a tail giving enough balance to disembark a moving train.

Near silent Latin whispered on the edge of a tent encampment.

A flash of burning eyes.

He had more than enough to worry about without adding the oddities of others, and besides- having unusually sharp teeth certainly didn’t make a man worse than the ones running from the wife and kids they couldn’t feed.

So Stiles kept his observations to himself. He kept his everything to himself.

Until he met a man. One with eyes so blue they seemed to glow- and then they did.

Stiles tried to look away, but for the first time he was stopped.

“Don’t be like that sweetheart. Aren’t you curious?”

Orbital Distance by neglectedtuesday

Artemis, the capital city of the Moon, where movies are born and stars are made. The crown jewel of American cinema and simultaneously Hollywood’s biggest rival. The money may be dollars, it may be counted as the 51st state but the studios run this city, making cinema and waging war. No real bloodshed but equally cutthroat in its own way. Peter has devoured article after article about the industry, from in-depth journalism to gossip rags, desperate for every detail, every scandal, every glorious moon moment.

Wild Creatures by neglectedtuesday

The treaty is signed while Stiles is being laced into his wedding corset. Ink splatters parchment as a maid pulls the ribbons, tighter and tighter. Stiles’ breath and future are taken away, all to save a village. He is a sacrifice more than a bride. The maid assists in fixing a choker around Stiles throat. Her hands are cold despite the roaring fire in the grate. The choker is a string of blood red rubies, they reflect the firelight with a wet shine like an open wound.

Out Of The East, Never See The Sun Rise by neglectedtuesday

In the beginning, there are three absolutes.

One. Stiles is a god, forged of starlight and collapsing galaxies and he is eternal.

Two. Peter is human, fragile bone and viscous blood and he is temporary.

Three. Stiles and Peter are in love; love that claws its way inside one’s heart like fish hooks; all encompassing love that is beautiful but dangerous.

Stiles is a god. Peter is human. They love each other.

Three absolutes.

Viking Wolves do it Better by MaroonDragon

Stiles is the omega witch in the village he was born in. A gift that had been passed to him from his mother. A curse that left him an outcast amongst the people he helped heal. Until one day he no longer is. Kidnapped by the Viking Wolves of the North, he suddenly finds himself a human amongst wolves. There is one wolf in particular who is intent to woo him into staying. Stiles is really only indulging Peter until he can make his escape. There is nothing remotely interesting about the other man. Not a single thing.

Utterly Appropriate by wynnebat

There’s only one person whom Stiles would marry, and whoever has asked for her hand isn’t on that list.

Duty by ChloeWeird

A petrified omega. An ambitious alpha. A wedding night four years in the making.

Bound Fast With Love by Diablerie

It started when his grandfather assigned him to attend to the visiting professor, Peter Hale.

“Be his shadow, my boy. Take care of his smallest need before he has an opportunity to notice. It would be quite the feather in our cap if we can steal him away.”

Somehow, that brought him here: bound to a table and about to be spanked for his shoddy recitation of ancient poetry.

Bittersweet Creek by Guede

When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.

Wolf Ranch by Guede (Poly - Stiles/Lydia/Peter/Derek/Chris)

At first glance, Beacon Hills seems like a terrible place to settle. Ruled by alpha werewolves and surrounded by a haunted forest filled with outlaws, it’s not very friendly to Eastern greenhorns. So Stiles and Lydia should fit right in.

Intemperance by Guede (Poly - Stiles/Peter/Derek/Chris/Laura)

Stiles is the one who gets pulled back to Beacon Hills by a murder.

Moonshine by Udunie

Deucalion was sitting in the corner that was reserved for special guests, with his henchmen - a pair of twins - guarding the table. He was just putting his stetson down, eyes catching Peter and widening just a fraction when he noticed Stiles. He was a good guy though, and quickly got his pokerface back in place. Nobody came to the Moonshine and insulted Peter.

“Deucalion, nice to see you,” he greeted, not acknowledging the goons who were giving Stiles the side eye. He knew they probably wanted a piece of his kitten, but thankfully were not foolish enough to try.

May the Mighty Fall by Udunie

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Matt sneered, looking at Stiles with derision. “One day, the popular, orphaned son of a beloved consul, and the next a traitor to the Emperor and an enemy of Cantalupo…”

Stiles didn’t move a muscle, even though all he wanted was to leash out, to reach between the bars of his cell and strangle that little, creepy shit. He could have said a lot of things, he could have told Matt’s pompous, patrician ass that he was - in fact - not an orphan. And seriously, from where he was standing, he wasn’t even really a traitor.

Well, yes, he wanted the death of the Emperor, but he wanted the best for Cantalupo - the return of the Lupa Maxima, the city’s rightful ruler and with her, the revival of the principate.

Of course, his reasons were far from being completely patriotic.

Gerard Argent tried to have his father killed, he lived in outrageous luxury while some of his subjects starved. He didn’t give a shit about the plebs…But. Stiles couldn’t say any of that. It wasn’t the time. Not yet.

A Matter of Chance by 1001cranes (WIP)

“I’m going to offer for the Stilinski boy,” Peter announces at breakfast one morning.

Greenberg drops the entire pot of hot chocolate.

A welcome arrow by 1001cranes

The wedding is small and grim, because Stiles is being carted off to parts unknown, married to a thirty-something year old dude who wants to marry a seventeen year old dude - totally not creepy at all.

my very soul demands you by veterization

Orphan Stiles Stilinski seeks work at Hale House, an enormous, foreboding mansion in Beacon Hills run by Mr. Peter Hale, who employs him as a butler. Or: Stiles is Jane Eyre, and Peter is Mr. Rochester.

Royal A/B/O Au by charlottecjhlvr

When his father’s Kingdom and the Hale Kingdom make a treaty, Stiles is the one who has to make it work.

In Sheep’s Clothing by Twisted_Mind

“The problem is Derek,” he began.

At this, Cora merely snorted in a particularly unladylike fashion. “When isn’t it?”

Alas, it was not so simple a matter as the scrapes of the child he had once been—would that it were! “Unfortunately, in this case, Derek has engineered hardship for not only our family, but the young Miss Stilinski also.”

At the sound of the young gentlewoman’s name, Cora’s features sharpened; she leaned forward and rested one hand tenderly on Peter’s knee as she asked, “Speak plainly—what’s he done, and what must now be done to rectify the situation?”

Peter took her hand in appreciation and followed her example, without any further prevarication. “He bedded his intended, and if he had merely done so, we’d have precious little trouble on our hands, for he’s hardly the first to take his wife-to-be to bed before their union was formalized, however much you will hear other preach otherwise.”

Cora interrupted, then, as she gripped her uncle’s hand tightly. “I’m not going to enjoy what I hear next, am I?”

Temporary Claim by sunrise_and_death

Some, of course, are off limits. Queen Talia and her husband have their special favorites who join their marriage bed from time to time. Laura has several young strapping men that are hers and hers alone. Even Derek has a few favorites—the quiet ones, the sweet ones.

Peter? The Duke only has one.

Sacrificial Lamb by Bunnywest

The Alpha has a scruffy beard, unkempt hair and dazzling blue eyes. The scar on his face is raised, running down his cheek like a twisting, gnarled rope. Stiles knows that it came from the blade of Kate Argent herself, and that the Alpha got it fighting in the battle where Kate killed his lover, cutting his head clean from his neck, if the stories are to be believed.

The Alpha lets Stiles look his fill, before indicating that Stiles should take the other couch, and Stiles does so, his father’s words echoing in his ears. He can do this, can be pleasant and amenable. The lives of his people may depend on it. The Alpha spends long moments surveying him, before saying, “I like you, Stiles.”

You don’t know me, Stiles wants to blurt out, but he bites his tongue.

Goddess Below by Unloyal_Olio

Peter sneaks into the vestal temple looking for a virgin. He finds Stiles.

[experimentalmadness]

Show Off (Inquisitor/Cullen)

Cullen watches the Inquisitor train and decides to enter the ring himself. 

(Y’all if anyone remembers my Yael Lavellan, I got inspired to do another one-shot after 8 million years. Yeehaw.) 

Watching the Inquisitor train was something of a spectacle in Skyhold. A small gathering had formed along the pen’s outer fence and all the southside battlements had a cluster of soldiers who were supposed to be on their morning rotation. 

It took the three women a whole half minute before they noticed their Commander staring down at them. Cullen had to bite his lip as they rattled in their armor, shuffled a salute, and waited with stiff-necked anxiety at his chastisement. His gaze slipped from them to the commotion down below. He did not even attempt to hide his smile. 

“I hear there’s a bet going on in the barracks,” Cullen said, folding his arms behind his back. “Collects at the end of the week. Fifty silver so far on the Inquisitor. Safe bet, I imagine.”

The soldiers didn’t dare answer him even as he chuckled a little despite himself. “At ease before you strain something.” All three women breathed out a sigh that only mildly reminded Cullen of a broken bellows. “You’re not going to be stripped of rank for admiring your Inquisitor.”

If that were the case he’d have been demoted months ago, he thought as he watched a great gout of flame erupt over the training pen. 

“Yes, sir, thank you sir,” the soldiers announced in unison. 

He quirked an eyebrow up at they continued standing motionless before him. “However, if I don’t see you at your posts within the hour I’ll be sure to inform the Inquisitor. I’m sure she would love nothing more than to indulge all three of you in a few up close rounds of combat drills.”

The soldiers had already begun to take off with great haste before he could even finish the thought. There was a reason Yael kept her training within that of her inner circle and not the rank and file of her army. No one wanted to face her. No one with sense at any rate. 

A laugh echoed up from the courtyard, barking mad and crackling with magic. Yael wielded a staff in one hand and her astral blade in the other, keeping up a steady rhythm against Cassandra, Iron Bull, and Dorian. Fire flickered around her, singeing the ground black wherever she stepped. It roared out of her as natural as breath, Cullen doubted she was even aware of it. 

It wasn’t that she was the best fighter, nor even the most skilled mage. There was a primal energy in Yael’s attacks. Something unpredictable and even harder to control. Even if she hadn’t been a mage, Cullen thought, she would have still been this fierce warrior—the tempest at the heart of the battlefield. 

A splintering crack shattered his thoughts as Cassandra careened through the fence posts. The onlookers scrambled to get out of the way, even Yael paused to regain control over herself. It was only when Cassandra dusted herself off and gave Yael a reassuring nod that the Inquisitor let out another satisfied barking laugh, reignited her flames, and turned to the others. “One down two more to go!”

Thank the Maker she was on their side! Cullen abandoned his vantage point up on the battlements, giving his head a little shake as he walked down the steps towards the training yard. He remembered seeing her for the first time when the sky had been newly torn; surrounded on all sides by every kind of demon. And she had charged in, a sleep-deprived, terrified prisoner, raining fire down on every wraith and shade. Not knowing who she was fully he had had the idea of making sure Cassandra recruited her into their ranks. It wasn’t until he had made his way back to the forward camp that he fully processed who she was. Odd thing, but he couldn’t remember ever thinking she had anything other than good intentions even when all he had seen of her was that now infamous battle-lit face and a handful of fire. 

He made it down the stairs just in time to see Iron Bull sweep his great axe under Yael’s feet and lay her flat on her back. The cringe from the onlookers told him just how much lighter the purses of a few attendants would be in the coming days. Dorian leaned against his staff, shaking with quiet laughter as Bull offered Yael a hand up. Maker, the scowl she had on her face!

“That’s why I keep telling you t’ keep that guard up, Boss.”

“I always have my guard up.”

“Lying in front of the troops is hardly the most inspiring thing,” Cullen laughed as he approached the fence. 

Tendrils of smoke curled up and over Yael’s shoulders as the flames extinguished from around her. The scowl was now aimed specifically at him, but a clap from Bull’s hand to her back choked it right off. “Good fight,” he said. “Let’s see if you can’t kick my ass tomorrow.”

Yael punched his arm. “They’ll be putting your body in an ashtray, Bull.” But there was no bite behind her words. 

Bull and Dorian disperessed with the rest of the thinning crowd, Bull’s laugh trailing off behind him as he and Dorian made for the tavern. He offered them both a friendly wave as they departed; Dorian responded with a mock salute. He’d be seeing the mage later at their usual afternoon appointment in the gardens. If Yael couldn’t best him on the field today at least he could win her a modicum of revenge on the chessboard. 

“Hope you didn’t lose too much money on my account,” Yael divested herself of her coat, hanging it up on the post before going over to the water barrel. She practically dunked her full head into it, not caring in the least if she soaked her tunic and jerkin. 

“What makes you think I was betting on you?” 

Cullen invited himself over the fence, tossing a dry cloth to Yael just as she turned, dripping, back around. That remark earned him a genuine smile, he could always tell by the sight of her sharpened canines. A wolf’s smile. 

She scrubbed at her face, dust and a bit of soot staining the cloth as she tossed it over the side of the barrel. “Are you truly done?” Cullen asked. “You look as if you could have gone for at least several more rounds.”

“Truth be told I could potentially convince Sera or Vivienne to join me for another bout, but,” she shrugged, “perhaps that will have to wait until later.”

Much later if he recalled the Inquisitor’s schedule for the day. A meeting with Leliana for a brief update on their agents in the field and then it was to be in and out of diplomatic meetings with Josephine for the rest of the afternoon as the delegates from Neverra and Antiva arrived. Cullen could already see Yael’s impatience. By the time she’d be out of doors again it would be well into the evening and the sun would be long gone from the sky. 

Cullen had drawn his sword before giving it another thought. “I’m not nearly as unpredictable a fighter as Sera, nor do I claim to have as much finesse as Madame Vivienne, but I hope you’ll consider me a worthy replacement nonetheless.”

“You can’t be serious,” she laughed, hands at her hips. 

“And why not? I command your armies for a reason, Inquisitor.”

“Cullen,” laughter was still rumbling through her. Green eyes glinting with just that rare bit of warmth. “Creators, I think the last time we ever sparred was back in Haven. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t I…”

“Send me flying out of the ring and into the snow? Yes thank you, my bones still remember that one. All the more reason for us to take the time now.”

Yael rolled her eyes, but Cullen saw her hand whisper over the sword at her belt. “I thought you had a policy on stifling the barrack room gossip.” She picked up her staff, but did not ignite it with her fire. 

“Some things are worth the whispers.”

He charged her, thinking to use her hesitation against her, but Yael merely sidestepped out of the way. Nearly had him, but he corrected before he could throw himself out of the ring. He pivoted, blade spinning in his hand with a flourish that had Yael centering her stance. Their weapons met, but there were no sparks, no gouts of magic from the iron, nor smoke emanating from the Inquisitor. Cullen gritted his teeth and pushed her back. 

Yael yielded to the movement with a calculating look in her eyes. She feinted to the left, but Cullen knew her too well and did not let her goad him on. 

It was one thing to watch the Inquisitor fight, it was another to join her. For weeks now Vivienne and Leliana had been teaching Yael Orlesian dances for the upcoming ball in Halamshiral and she took to them about as easy as a fish to the air. Yet here she was at her most elegant. Although, Cullen admitted with a low grunt of frustration as she nearly disarmed him, he wished she would stop toying with him. 

“Come on then, Yael,” he crossed swords with her. “You know you can’t win strike for strike.”

She said nothing in return. Her face was bathed in sweat as she concentrated, staring hard at Cullen’s stance, the hilt of his blade, the tells in his eyes. Eventually Cullen lowered his guard. “What are you doing?”

“Training like you asked,” Yael huffed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “What’s the matter? Yielding so soon?”

“Waiting for you to fight me properly,” he shook his head. “You’re as stiff as a board. Stilted. Ready to be knocked over at the slightest push. No wonder Bull bested you.”

There it was! The spark that he had wanted to see at the beginning. Smoke began coiling about Yael’s shoulders and embers broke out over the blade of her short sword. Cullen readied himself. “Again, Inquisitor,” he smiled. 

For a heartbeat he tangled with the real Inquisitor as smoke and flame enveloped them both and he felt that wild and wonderful pulse of her magic. She brought her astral blade fully to bear, pushing with magical force until she found her opening. 

Cullen could see in her eyes that she had him. He moved to correct but even before he could guard against her attack he felt the magic dissipate. The vicious look in Yael’s eyes evaporated and it was as if all the air had been sucked from the arena. She continued her attack, but she merely met the plates of his armor like a new recruit would tap the stuffed training dummies in the yard.

“Checkmate,” Yael grinned. She twirled her sword in her hand and stepped back. “What?” she averted her eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Forgive me, but by rights you should have had me out of the ring yet you held back.” 

“I never hold back.”

He fixed her with a withering look until she began to fidget in the silence. Turning on her heel she marched back over to the water basin. “Leliana is likely to have my head if I’m late for another meeting.”

“Yael.”

He followed directly behind her, sheathing his sword and watching as she stiltedly washed up. She pulled on her coat and adjusted its collar. Turning back to face him a glowing fireball emerged in the palm of her hand, rotating harmlessly as Yael regarded it with a controlled stare. “My magic is…” she tossed the fire from one hand to the other, little lines of lightning orbiting around it. “Volatile. I’ve always been a pathetic healer, useless with spirit magics, but the elements? They come to me naturally. And they are not always harmless.”

“As our enemies have come to fear,” Cullen couldn’t hide the pride in his voice if he tried, so why did Yael look suddenly so very ashamed? 

With a wave of her hand the fire extinguished in her palm. “Yes, but not you.” Those fierce, blazing green eyes held him transfixed. “My magic isn’t made to hurt you.”

Cullen closed the space between them with a kiss, muffling Yael’s gasp of surprise. Her skin was hot to the touch from her recent firespell and he could taste the after-spark of embers. He didn’t care who saw them in the training yard. Yael pressed a hand to his cheek, her surprise turning into wicked abandon. “Oh dear,” she whispered as she parted for air. “So much for silencing the gossip.”

“I love you,” he kissed the tip of her nose causing her to flinch and laugh. Her dark cheeks going that much darker at his words. The edge in her eyes softening ever so slightly though he knew she’d deny it profusely if he pointed it out. “All of you. Including your magic. Promise you won’t hold yourself back from me?”

She raised one eyebrow, interlacing her fingers with his, pressing a single kiss to the back of his hand. “Even if it means showing you up in front of your own troops?”

Cullen laughed. “Even that.”

[elmidol]

Three Small Words (NSFW)

Three Blind Tooke Part Two Precarious Harmony

Read on AO3

Warnings: sex, angst/complicated feelings; oral; face sitting; slight emotional manipulation

Three Blind Tooke

Part Two: Precarious Harmony 

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Three Small Words 

The man who slept next to you was not the creature who had impaled you with the plasma blade; he was not the monster that had dragged you away from the flames that would have promised death. While the body did indeed belong to the one who had stolen your virginity and tortured you, there was something different about him as well. Rather than shying away from the name of Ben Solo, he was seeking to embrace it. Not as his current self either. A portion. Kylo Ren was adamant that the past should die. Even should he have begun to use the name Ben Solo throughout the rest of his days, that would never be the Ben Solo from the days prior to turning to the Dark. He would not be the person Rey would be made to believe she could save. Kylo Ren would be manipulating her, maneuvering her into a position where she could be used. Only then, when she proved herself ready to fight alongside with him, would the Force user offer her a place at his side as ruling body over the galaxy.

 Like the Sith, you had whispered. Kylo Ren had paused, his brown orbs searching your face as his expression softened. He had not needed to say anything further at that point. This was beyond the Sith. No Jedi either. You were unaware as to what Kylo Ren intended to call the new order that would arise from the joining of their powers. This was not a question you had posed.

 Ren had not redressed when he had finished toying with you. His nakedness was concealed by the blankets, one of which possessed a loose thread you were tugging at. You sometimes loathed when plans were made for the future. They were emotionally exhausting. This perhaps best explained why you had been frantic and desperate to kill him originally. He had robbed your future. You pushed your right hand underneath the covers to touch your scar. The finger with the name Ben Solo tattooed on it twitched. The next moment you curled your hand into a fist, which remained on your belly. There would forever be a hole in you. All choices had been stripped away. Not quite all; you had options that revolved around Kylo Ren. Killing him, strengthening him… You squeezed your eyes closed as the unbidden addition of loving him entered your thoughts.

 It was not quite love so much as caring; you told yourself this, and knew that it was a half-truth. You doubted that you could ever love him completely and romantically. That would have entailed not only forgiving, but putting all the times he had raped you completely in the past.

 Let it die.

 A hand of ice seized your heart as Kylo Ren’s voice wormed its way into your thoughts. History helped to create the present, offered up a means of shaping the future. You gagged at that final word. Future. Turning over onto your side with your back to the man, you curled your knees towards your midsection. The second sob broke through your attempts to swallow it down. After but a single gag, the horrid, pathetic noise erupted from your mouth. The mattress shifted, which is what you had feared would occur. The man behind you turned, his chest pressing against your spine.

 His mouth was at your ear then. Hot breath blew aside strands of your hair as he spoke to you. “Are you afraid, tooke?” A spasm caused your body to undulate along with his. Kylo Ren set three fingers on the back of your hand, rubbing up and down. “You have become aware, haven’t you? Once I am Supreme Leader, Rey will be the new Master of the Knights of Ren. We will destroy the Resistance. The Sith. The Jedi. All of it—gone. And you… You will have to let the past die.” His fingers stretched further, his entire hand eclipsing yours. “I could have loved you…and I can still, tooke. I told you. I marked you as mine.” Ren’s voice had dropped to a whisper now, intimate, for your ears only.

 You shuddered at the thought of it. Kylo Ren in the place of Supreme Leader Snoke. This girl Rey where Ren now was. As for General Hux—you toyed with the idea that the Force user was planning to use him in a similar manner that Snoke was. The redhead was, after all, a great tactician. It would be foolish on Kylo Ren’s part to dispose of such a tool. You grit your teeth at that thought. Snoke would no longer be the puppet master. That would fall to Kylo Ren. It would not be Kylo, Hux, and you being moved around the board. It would be Rey, Hux and you. All the wile Kylo Ren would be holding your strings.

 He was far worse than the creature that had taken your virginity. Kylo Ren was now the one who wanted you by his side.

 “You don’t love me,” you croaked, your words sounding almost hollow as the desperation from the past returned. There was no utterance of I do nor Not yet nor anything at all. His tongue, hot and wet, was on your ear. The underside drew a line downwards, and you jerked away from him, curling up further.

 “Soon you won’t need to live in the past.” His words slipped out like a promise, and it was one you did not wish to believe. The sort of love he was insinuating was one of blind devotion. Adoration and worship—this was the monster you had sworn to kill, and it had sprouted more heads while sharpening its fangs. “I saw it in your eyes, tooke. You have never met her—is she the first woman you have ever craved?”

 His filthy words had you shuddering. You swatted at him, shaking your head and whispering for him to stop. You wanted nothing more than for that silver tongue to become still.

 “She has feelings for the traitor.” Ren traced your hip with two of his fingers. The bare flesh on your naked skin, his ghost touches encouraged your body to respond. Somehow you had become an instrument, and he was the only player who knew how to stroke your strings in the ways that caused sounds to be produced. The soft gasp followed by a staccato of breaths. The fingers had traveled from your hip to your lower belly, on which he traced patterns. His name. The girl’s. Kylo-Rey-Ben-Kylo. Between each, a pause, his hand cupping you, rubbing you. “You used to imagine your allies fucking you when I was inside your body. Do you think her tongue would feel like mine?”

 “I…” You gulped, your mouth too filled with saliva. It was difficult to know what to say to him when you were confused about your own feelings. Your attraction to this woman—and, stars, how obsessed with you did he have to be to have noticed?—confused you most of all. You had never met her. Yet you loved her. It was not lust. You had no idea what she looked like. What color eyes did she have? What shape was her face? The picture that was being painted in your head with every word that slipped from those lips, however, complicated you. But… He had always been skilled at that, hadn’t he?

 “Would you like to call me Rey while I taste you?” Kylo Ren purred, his finger slipped past your lips and inside of you. He stroked you from within, small, quick rubs that had your toes curling. The hand that had been on your scar now caught his wrist. “Just a Jakku scavenger, tooke. How starved she must be. How thirsty. Imagine how greedily she would drink you up.”

 Kylo removed his finger, bringing it to his lips and greedily slurping at the sticky substance that had gathered. That taste of your juices made him groan. His hands were again on your hips, this time to push you until your ass hit the pillow. Kylo jerked your legs open. His thumbs started to dig into the flesh of your inner thighs. His mouth remained inches away from you. You could hear him blowing as much as feel it. That thin line of air from his pursed lips. It hit against your clitoris. Your body felt as though it were pulsing, heat spreading through you. You shielded your eyes with one hand.

 “Do you prefer Ben to Rey?” that husky voice asked you. The moisture in your eyes had not disappeared, however there was nothing new gathering. His teasing irritated you. It aroused you. It distracted you, blissfully so, from the feelings of desperation that had earlier plagued you.

 The truth was that you preferred whichever of them—Ben or Rey—that would be able to put a stop to Kylo Ren’s plans. If he became the Supreme Leader, you feared that the Resistance would be destroyed. Supreme Leader Snoke had been teaching his pupil that sentiment was a weakness. Kylo Ren was using that against Rey. Against you. All the while somehow displaying moments of sentiment and compassion. That cold, unfeeling creature that was Snoke… You had somehow led yourself to believe that it would be far more terrifying than Kylo Ren. How mistaken you had been.

 If you could orchestrate a means of Kylo and Rey assassinating Snoke while either Rey or even General Hux killed the Force user who was now kissing your knee then it would be a risk worth taking. Rey would be able to defeat Hux so long as she received proper training from Luke Skywalker.

 There were far too many factors, too many pieces. How had Snoke become such an effective puppeteer?

 Kylo Ren distracted you from this question by tugging at your strings. He nibbled at the side of your knee, up your thigh. Sucking your flesh, his tongue laving at the skin between his teeth. Your hand moved away from your face. You gripped the bed sheets, the leg that was not occupying his mouth now outstretched. His fingers dug further into your thigh. It hurt. It amplified the sensations of pleasure. Ren pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, shifting towards the side and tugging you along with him. Your feet touched on the ground directly after his.

 His hands on your wrists, Kylo yanked your arms up above your head and pinned you to the wall. You stared at him with wide eyes, your chest rising and falling as you attempted to control your breathing. You recognized the fire in his eyes as animosity. Not against you, but instead directed at your attraction to Rey. The familiarity of this stemmed from your interactions with General Hux, all of Ren’s reactions to them. The zealous nature of his obsession with owning you had you jerking your eyes off of his face and staring at the wall. In his passion, he said things that you wished could be taken back. You were granted glimpses of the monster that had hunted down your allies; the creature that continued to slaughter your comrades on the battlefield. This was not the man who housed the memory of Ben Solo, not in these moments.

 The pressure on your wrists waned. As though realizing his mistake, Kylo Ren stepped nearer to you. His lips were feather-touches on the heels of your hands. Did he, you wondered, expect you to put aside the memories of these moments with him if he succeeded in his plans? Let the past die. As though he could control what clung to your mind, what shaped you into who you were to become, and what you would guard yourself against. The time he had spent with Snoke had the exact outcome you had dreaded.

 “You’re so cruel,” you said, sniffing then parting your lips to inhale more deeply. Ren’s mouth was now on your left wrist. A kiss. Not an apology. This was simply him changing tactics. “I thought things had changed with you after Starkiller was destroyed. They haven’t.”

 Rather than respond to your words, to the accusation, Kylo Ren muttered out for you to remain still. His hands left you, and you obeyed simply to see what it was he wanted from you. This was not solely about sex. Had that been the case, he would not have sobered when you responded to him with apprehension. You allowed your head to loll, rolling your shoulders and considering the scars he had obtained during his battle with Rey on Starkiller base.

 He, meanwhile, was staring at your scar. Kylo Ren reached forward to trace around its edges. “You’re terrified to watch the Resistance fall. There is no Resistance for you, tooke.” You were aware that he was not being literal so much as underlining the fact that the Resistance would never allow you to join in the fight again if you somehow, miraculously, managed to escape the First Order. The best place you could be, ironically, was still at Kylo Ren’s side. “You don’t want her. You don’t want Rey—you want me.”

 Your lips pressed tightly together as you frowned at him. Admitting that you did not know what you wanted would give him too much power, and so you chose to instead remain silent. Your mind wandered to how General Hux had been treating you. Passively. As though you were side entertainment for when he was not busy; and he was busy…which meant that the Resistance was suffering countless losses. It was much the same as when he had ordered the Starkiller weapon to be fired, when he had caused your mother’s death. General Hux never backtracked as a means of appeasing you so much as changing tactics to better manipulate you. With Kylo Ren, though the majority of his actions were similar, there was the key difference that he did, on some warped level, care for you.

 “I do want Rey.” His mouth twitched, the man beginning to scrunch his nose as though ready to bare his teeth. “I want her to defeat you after you kill him.” Kylo moved ever closer. He set his forehead against your shoulder, shifted nearer, and had his face buried in the crook of your neck. You could feel his eyelashes brush against you as he closed his eyes. “The Ben Solo from the past is dead. I’m not stupid, Ren.”

 “She won’t believe that,” the dark-haired man rumbled. You hummed in acceptance of his words. “Perhaps your feelings for her will help put her at my side. I will have to teach her the ways of the Force. She hardly knows how to control her powers. To the Knights, she will be a stranger, an amateur. But, tooke, her potential is great.”

 The way he spoke, you imagined he had managed to convince himself that the only way Rey could fulfill her potential was to join him, to study under him. It was much the same as how he treated you when it came to the differences between the First Order’s views and those of the Resistance. It was always his way that was best, or so he deluded himself into believing. This was not a man who could be saved, you thought for the umpteenth time. He did not want to be saved. He craved power. The son of your beloved General Organa was self-entitled and dark. He was dark.

 You lowered your arms to your sides, the strain having started to make itself known. You were allowing your mind to drift to how things would proceed if Kylo Ren did succeed in all his plans. Not only would he be Supreme Leader. Rey would be the Master of the Knights of Ren, and they would assist in claiming the galaxy. The New Republic was destroyed, the shambles housing the remnants of the Resistance. Kylo Ren had taken you from the Resistance. What was to stop him from doing the same with the entire galaxy? Rey. The girl Rey, and Skywalker if the legendary man did indeed return.

 You covered the scar from your lightsaber wound with both hands, one atop the other. “You don’t like it when I think of anyone but you.”

 Lips curled into a smile, his eyes shining with that hint you knew to be his streak of possessiveness, Kylo Ren straightened and stared you in the face. “If Rey from Jakku would thirst for you, tooke… If she would drink you up so greedily…” The man was lowering himself onto his knees in front of you, his hands on your thighs, nudging them, albeit less forcefully than he had been not long before. “Tooke…” His tongue traced his lips. Slowly. With purpose. You swallowed thickly, your body clenching, legs trembling. Kylo whispered your name as though it were a prayer. Softly. With something that would have been described as love if not for the fact that, at this moment, the two of you did not love one another. Your lips parted at that. There was something impossibly thick in your throat. Emotion. “I’m parched, tooke.”

 You removed the hand that possessed the tattoo of Kylo Ren from your belly, using it to trail your fingertips up his face. Mere hours before he had encouraged you to call him Ben Solo. He had wanted to play make-believe with you. All practice to lure Rey to him. To ensure that he would be able to eliminate Snoke when the opportunity presented itself, when the apprentice was ready to surpass the master. Though Rey would be beneath Kylo Ren in terms of position—Master of the Knights of Ren serving the Supreme Leader—you knew that he would treat her as more of an equal than Snoke now treated him. But for now… Now he was begging for your approval.

 Deciding to play along again with the knowledge that it would be best to appease him for now—the two of you constantly finding and exploiting openings in the other’s defenses—you shifted your fingers down to his mouth. Kylo Ren parted his lips, wrapping them around two of your digits and sucking at them. You thrust them forward, began to draw them back, and offered them to him anew when his growl threatened to turn into a whimper. His tongue waggled its way between your fingers. You added a third into his mouth, again rocking them back and forth, fucking his mouth with them. Ren moaned, bobbing his head and staring up at you with those eyes. Desperation. Desperate for approval, your approval.

 You pinched his tongue, catching it between your middle and ring finger. It was an awkward hold, though one he allowed to keep him. “Beg for it, Ren.” His eyes began to narrow. He was not exactly pleased by the level of boldness that you were displaying. Given how much he had teased you, however, you had no sympathy. You snatched your hand up, your fingers leaving his mouth with a wet pop. You raised your hand to your face and observed the way they glistened. “You don’t have to. Unlike before, I am willing to touch myself now. I don’t need you.”

 “Let me taste you,” Ren said, his voice breathless. You could hear the slight rumbling afterwards. His growl. His hands on your thighs allowed you to feel the way he was trembling. Kylo Ren held himself back from taking what he wanted from you. He had, when telling you of the Rule of Two that well described your relationship with him, placed you as his equal in certain respects. When you did not grant him permission, his fingers dug into your thighs. There would be bruises there. You lifted your hand to your mouth and kissed the tattoo of Kylo Ren. “Let me show you how parched I am.” His shoulders rose and fell with his heavy breaths. He was rocking a little, swaying. You watched his tongue flick out for a second time.

 “You want something wet?” Kylo Ren was looking up at you with his eyes alone. There was a hesitancy to his actions now. His eyes dropped to your pussy then raised back to your face. You parted your thighs, spread your legs enough to where his face would be able to fit, and stroked his hair. “Who are you right now? Ben? Rey? Kylo Ren?” You snickered. When he bowed his head, you took pity on this man who had been your enemy for so long. You used your foot, rubbing its side along his hip. “What am I supposed to moan if you’re any good?”

 “Ren,” he said, all traces of shyness and indecisiveness gone.

 You hummed, replaced your foot on the ground, and placed a hand on the back of his head to urge him forward. His nose brushed against your pubic hair. You felt his tongue against your outer lips, slipping through, parting your folds. Your mouth formed a small o as Kylo Ren licked from your entrance to your clitoris, where he paused to suck at you. Tilting back his head while keeping his mouth on you, Kylo Ren stared up at you. You met his gaze, rocking your hips forward. With a moan, he opened his mouth wider, his tongue again finding your entrance. You could feel him working that organ against you, gathering your juices and drawing them into his mouth.

 There was the sensation that something was swimming inside of you, going around and around in your lower belly, threatening to shift down to your cunt. Ren groaned against you when he opened his mouth again. The vibrations had the sensation growing. Your free hand slammed flat against the wall. The sound of the slap echoed in the room. Those brown orbs were peering up at your face. Your eyelashes fluttered. Kylo Ren’s teeth grazed your clitoris.

 “Mm…Ren…g… Go… Bed…”

 You were left against the wall, breathing hard and legs wobbly. Kylo Ren climbed onto the bed without any further prompting. He laid on his back. His hand was on his cock, thumb tracing his length as he turned his head to stare at you. You kept your hand on the wall as a guide. Lifting one leg then the other, you moved climbed onto the bed as well, crawling then swinging a leg over. You straddled his face. Ren greedily opened his mouth. His hand was pumping his cock now, quick flicks of his wrist matching the pace at which you were rolling your hips. Your hands were in his hair.

 “Ah! R-Ren! Uhh….mm…” You leaned forward, feeling his nose nudging your clit as his tongue thrust up inside of you.

 Earlier you had pretended Kylo Ren was the man from his past. That he was Ben Solo, someone who could in actuality not be saved. Now you allowed yourself to play make-believe anew. This time, however, it was you toying with the future he had painted. You somehow killing all history that was preventing a loving relationship from forming. The rapes. The times you tried to kill one another. The way he had used you to hurt your mother. You pretended that none of those things existed. You pretended that Snoke was dead.

 You ground against his face, bowing your head and looking past your shoulder at the way he was pleasuring himself. Your jaw dropped as you came. His tongue was working more vigorously against you now, lapping at your cum. His hand was moving faster too.

 “Don’t cum,” you groaned, earning a moan of approval.

 Kylo Ren helped you off of him, holding your shaking body and laying you down so that your head was on the pillow. You kept your legs spread. He climbed between them, gripping himself and rubbing your wet cunt with the head of his erection. He rocked forward thrice, fucking your outer lips until you demanded, breathlessly, that he fuck you. You arched your back as he entered you. Your hands were on your breasts, toying with them. You pinched your nipples, tugged at them. You cupped your breasts from the side, thumbs and forefingers clasping your nipples.

 When he moaned, it was not the nickname he had chosen for you. It was your name. You whispered out a desperate yes.

 “I’m going to kill him one day, tooke,” he said. “And you’ll see. You will choose me.”

 You gripped his hair at the back of his head, tugging him down to kiss you. Your other hand left your chest as well to instead splay across his. You ran the sides of your fingers against his nipple. With a grunt, Ren grabbed onto your hips with both hands, the man picking up his pace. You broke the kiss, nipping at his jawline. When he said your name once more, you threw back your head. Swearing, you grabbed onto his shoulders and looked down at where your bodies were joined. His cock slipped in and out of you.

 You bit down on your bottom lip, swerving your hips so that he hit your g-spot. Kylo rested his forehead against yours. He was watching as well. One hand trailed from your hip to your lower back. He drew circles on your spine. Next, his name. Your entire body was trembling. It felt good, now that he was not teasing you out of jealousy but instead out of—you did not know what to call this. This was not love. He could not love you, not yet. That would interfere with his plans to defeat Snoke. That was something both of you desired.

 “Oh, fuck, Ren!” Your second orgasm crashed over you, and you could feel that the way your inner walls tugged at his cock made him cum too.

 The two of you laid down on the bed together, you in his arm. You closed your eyes and decided to play make-believe for a little while longer. Would this be your life with him if you did renounce the Resistance once he killed the Supreme Leader? Laying in his arms, satisfied on a sexual level…yet missing something. You clenched your jaw. Your right hand was on your abdomen. The scar. The hole in your life. The future that you could never have; a decision that should have been yours stolen away. The arm that was wrapped around you shifted. His hand found yours and rested atop it.

 He had killed that part of your future. Now he was asking you to kill your past.

 Rey was the one thing—person—you could cling to. The idea of her. You did not know what decision she would make when it came time. If she did choose to side with Kylo Ren, you doubted that you would be able to stop them. You had vowed to kill Kylo Ren or die trying. Perhaps you did need to stop living in the past. You would toy with the different possibilities of the future while also taking a day at a time. Relearn your body, as you had been doing, and sharpen your mind so that you would be able to stay ahead of Kylo Ren.

 “You’re mine, tooke,” he whispered. It was not the first time, and you doubted that it would be the last time he said those words. The sound you made was dismissive, and so the man tried again. This time it was not tooke. He said your name. Using your name, he claimed that you were his. He rubbed the back of your hand. “You admitted it before. You are mine as much as I am yours.”

 “That was not out of love,” you countered. Then, seeing an opening, you said with a sigh, “Besides, I thought we were going to let the past die. Those word were in the past.”

 “Then say them again.” He was infatuated with you. This man you had trained to kill. This man who had promised you not long ago that the two of you would work together. You being allowed to find chances to kill him. He using that as a means of growing stronger. Now he wanted you to reciprocate his other feelings for you. The ones he was masking during most of his waking hours. The ones General Hux would use as a weapon against the both of you.

 Would it be prudent to kill General Hux first? Or did you need to keep him as a failsafe to eliminate both Rey and Ren if the woman from Jakku joined the man who was in bed with you?

 “Do you want to be mine, Ren?” Here his hand curled around yours, his fingers wiggling until he was able to entwine them with yours. “You are volatile. Erratic. I can’t have that right now. My own body doesn’t even work like I’m used to.”

 “And…General Hux?”

 “He killed my mother, Ren.” There was venom in your voice. His thumb began to rub you again. Back and forth along the side of your hand. As though he did wish for you to be calmed.

 You wanted to tell him that you would not betray the Resistance; yet you had already agreed with him that there was no Resistance. There was you. There was him. Hux. Snoke. Rey. People who were pieces.

 “Right now I can’t kill the past. My past is filled with the dead. What you’re asking me to do—you’re wanting me to forgive you for breaking me. Repeatedly breaking me. Now you’re telling me that you can love me in the future. Isn’t sentiment a weakness? I thought you didn’t have compassion for enemies of the First Order.”

 Kylo Ren shifted onto his side. His hand did not leave yours. You kept your body as it was on your belly. This time when he said your name, you looked over at him. The two of you remained there, lying together, and watched one another. Now that the conversation had died away, the game of make-believe began anew. This was what it would be like to allow the past to die a thousand deaths. To accept the offer of his future affection. You would be in his arms.

 “Do you want to play a game of make-believe, Ren?” you asked. He blinked, his nod something you nearly missed. “Pretend.”

 With how long the two of you had been together—back when he had been your only form of social interaction, he had learned the language of your body so well—you did not need to elaborate.

 “You will call me Supreme Leader,” he said. Your eyes dropped to his lips. Biting down on yours, you weighed your options. Play, your mind said. You’ll get hurt, your heart whispered. Your mouth formed around the words that he had spoken, you uttering the title. “You don’t think I can do it.”

 “You’re doubting yourself.” For once, you did not want his uncertainty. You needed him to believe he could complete this task. “So: pretend… Supreme Leader.”

 “I love you.”

 The truth was in-between the lines. The silent will always present. This time you believed him. If he succeeded in his plans, he would love you.

 That hurt most of all.

[itallstartedwithplayingvet]

Whumptober 2020 Day 6 - Please... + Stop, please

Fandom: Samurai Jack

Characters: Nago (OC), Demongo

Content Warnings: Ambushed, shot with arrows, blood (both human and nonhuman so some of it’s blue lol), field medicine, hunted, hiding, begging, screaming, loss of consciousness

Word Count: 2,402

Nago And The Demon summary:  Seeking revenge for the destruction of her village and murder of her people 15 years ago, a mysterious masked warrior known only as Nago revives a powerful demon who once served under the vile Aku. But to her surprise, she finds that the demon is almost completely powerless! Now in order to carry out her plan, Nago must travel the Earth with this demon, searching for a way to restore him to his former fearsome glory...

The quiet stillness of night was all around them. The sound of the tent’s fabric rustling gently in the breeze, the occasional snorts of Uma the horse, and of course, the crackling of the fire. Well, “fires”. Plural.

It had occurred to Nago in the past that perhaps they didn’t need a campfire, seeing as her demonic companion conveniently always had one of his own. Though, he hadn’t been very willing in the past to sit still and let her warm herself or cook her food over his head. Honestly, a part of her worried that food cooked over demonic flame might...have some unintended side effects if consumed.

Yet as her eyes wandered from orange flame to blue, a thought occurred to Nago. Something she might not have been willing to say some days ago.

“You know, you...actually weren’t so terrible back there.” 

The demon straightened up, and a sort of surprised and somewhat confused expression came over him. “...Was that...a compliment?”

Nago shrugged. “You may take it as one.” She tried in vain to hide the slight smirk that was working its way onto her face. “But really, I think you do have potential. By yourself, that is. And you’re starting to regain the few powers you had to start with.”

The demon’s eyes narrowed to electric blue slits. “What are you getting at, Mortal?” He hissed.

“I’m offering to help you, so don’t get cross with me.” Nago retorted, mirroring his glare. “What I’m getting at is training you to use those powers. So that you won’t need to reclaim the thousands of souls that were liberated from you. It would certainly save us time, and eliminate quite a bit of risk.”

The demon grimaced, clearly more than displeased with her offer. “And why should I rely on myself?”

Nago scoffed. “Why should you rely on yourself?! Because if you don’t, you have to rely on others! And you know just as well as I do that not everyone is reliable. If this alliance is going to work, you need to pull your own weight in battle.” She let out a heavy, exasperated sigh. “I was willing to forgive you for your uselessness when I first revived you. You had spent quite a long time dead, and your body had been reduced to literally nothing else but powder, congealed blood, and a severed hand. That took nearly all of the strength my ritual was able to give you just to piece back together. I didn’t blame you then for being weak, it was to be expected. But now that you’ve had enough time to rest, your powers are beginning to return, and you no longer have that excuse. You don’t have to be content to be powerless without your precious essence.”

Demongo scoffed in return, and turned his head to dismiss her. He stood up and walked away from the fire, his slender shadowy form soon becoming lost in the darkness of the night. Well, save for the bright blue flame atop his head. That was quite easy to follow with one’s eye.

Nago shook her head, content to let him wander for a bit while stewing in his anger. She knew from experience that he never actually went far, and he’d always returned by at most the following morning. He knew he wouldn’t get far without her, and she knew it, too. She smiled to herself as she began to stand up, thinking she might test her stealth by following him. If she were to jump out suddenly and startle him, well, he certainly deserved at least that.

But something distracted her. Above the sounds of the crackling fire, she’d heard the subtle rustling of grass just above her. She froze up on instinct, and slowly glanced towards the cliffs above the camp. Shadow blanketed the rocks, but glistening in the moonlight, Nago could see the pointed tip of an arrow.

Her eyes grew wide. At once, she leapt from her place in the light of the fire and sought shelter in the shadows. An arrow whizzed by her and landed unsettlingly close to her head. She saw her own face reflected in the sharpened arrowhead. She looked just as frightened as she felt. Silently cursing her demonic companion’s decision to wander away from camp, and then praising his convenient light, she spotted him quickly and ran towards him on all fours, keeping low to the ground in the hopes of not being spotted. A few more arrows whizzed past her, embedding themselves in the ground mere inches from where she had been. Hiding was no good. Whatever was hunting them, it had either impressive night vision, or impeccable hearing. Perhaps both.

As Nago cleared the distance between her and Demongo, realization struck her, and she began to curse the convenient light of his that she had only seconds ago praised. He was the most obvious target on the plains now. She was prepared to tackle him to the ground and extinguish his flame if need be.

As she drew closer, he seemed to pick up on the rustling of grass, and turned around to face her. And it was then that an arrow struck him in the center of his chest. He seemed to fall as if in slow motion, his fanged mouth agape in a soundless cry of alarm. However, he didn’t quite fall immediately, instead merely stumbling backward, his hands moving to the arrow as he simply stared at it in utter shock.

“Get down!” Nago cried. Alas, her warning had come too late. Just as the words left her lips, another arrow struck the demon’s abdomen. He stumbled again, and this time turned to look at her. In the next instant, a third arrow struck his side, followed by another, and another...each striking in close proximity to the one before. At last, he fell. With one clawed hand outstretched towards her, he fell onto his chest.

Nago grimaced, knowing that such a fall would only push the arrows deeper into his flesh. With another panicked glance at the cliffs above, Nago leapt onto the demon’s body and frantically began to drag him away towards the opening of a cave at the base of the cliffs beside them. She made haste, but before she could reach the comparative safety of the cave, an arrow embedded itself firmly in her right forearm. She let out a pained cry of alarm, and released the limp body of her demon to clutch at the wound. A second arrow whizzed past and merely grazed her leg due to a quick reaction to pull it towards her. With adrenaline fueling her, she resumed dragging her companion along, and darted into the cave. She didn’t stop moving once inside, and only came to rest after fleeing to a small crevice in the rock wall. She and the demon she was nearly certain must now be dead sought refuge in a small secluded chamber hidden behind the crevice.

Panting heavily, Nago cringed at the sight of an arrow protruding from her arm. She didn’t quite feel it now, thanks to the adrenaline racing through her system, but she was still lucid enough to know she needed to do something about it. She could remember being taught that embedded objects should not be removed in the field, as doing so was likely to cause further blood loss, but she also knew that the wound would not heal if the arrow remained. Gritting her teeth, she took hold of the arrow with her free hand, and tugged firmly. It came out with some committed effort, and she at once cast it aside and got to work on tearing her clothes to create makeshift bandages. Tying the cloth around her wound as tightly as she could manage without completely cutting off circulation, Nago at last leaned back against the wall and took a moment to catch her breath. The graze on her leg was much less severe. She could afford to leave it be for a  moment.

It was only as the adrenaline began to wear off that she noticed a dim blue light within the chamber. Thinking at first that it was some manner of luminescent rock or fungus, as her narrowed vision cleared, she saw that the source of the light was the demon she had begun to think must have perished from his wounds. But that wouldn’t be lit if he were dead or unconscious...then that must mean...

Demongo groaned, and wearily opened his eyes to meet her bewildered gaze. 

“...How...” Nago trailed off, for a moment too shocked to complete her response. “...How in the hell are you still alive?”

“...Does it matter?” He replied, his voice strained. 

Nago had to concede that at the moment, it didn’t. Instead, she rose to her feet and approached him, examining the wounds he’d sustained. She could hardly believe what she saw. “...Every single one of these should have been a kill shot...” She muttered in awe. 

“Nnngh...pocket...dimension...” The demon whined.

Nago thought this at first to be delirium. She braced him against the wall, and turning around, retrieved her arrow from the floor. She pried the weakened demon’s mouth open, and placed the arrow’s wooden body inside. “I need to remove these. Bite down when you feel the need to scream.”

The demon’s eyes widened in fear...but he nodded slowly. Nago firmly gripped the body of the arrow--or what little of it still remained outside of his body--and pulled. At once she was met with the demon’s muffled screams, which only grew higher in pitch until the arrow finally left his body. Nago immediately clamped her hand over the wound, expecting a sudden arterial spray...but paused when she realized that the blue blood leaving the wound merely oozed rather than spurted. Now she was completely baffled. Assuming his internal anatomy was anything like that of a human’s, the arrow should have struck some manner of vital organ...yet it seemed to have only pierced skin and muscle.

“...There’s something very wrong about this.” Nago muttered as she began wrapping cloth around the wound. “What are you made of?”

He spat the arrow out. The wood now bore deep grooves from his fangs. “I...told you...” He wheezed, one slender finger pointing to his chest. “Pocket... dimension...”

“...Is...that were you once kept your captive warriors?” Nago at last began to realize.

The demon nodded.

“And this dimension in your torso, I assume, also shields your fragile innards from damage?”

He nodded again.

“Well...were we not hiding for our lives from what’s probably a very skilled bounty hunter, that would be absolutely fascinating.” She retrieved the arrow she’d extracted from his chest and placed it into his mouth. “But now...it’s just lucky. Brace yourself.” She gave this last bit of warning just before she tugged a second arrow from his flesh. The muffled screams came louder this time, and he thrashed somewhat, nearly causing her to lose her grip. Still, she managed to free the arrow from his flesh. She quickly got to work on bandaging the wound, and then moved to the third arrow. Before she could grab it, however, the dim light began to fade. Panicked, she saw that her ally was beginning to lose consciousness.

Nago slapped the side of his face a few times. “Stay awake, damn you!” She hissed at him. “I can’t see what I’m doing without that flame of yours.”

He grimaced and whined, but at last opened his eyes, and the flame atop his head grew brighter, though Nago noted that it was still a bit dimmer than usual. But it would have to do. 

“Good. Thank you. Now, brace.” She gave the third arrow a firm yank, wrenching it free of its target. In the same instant, she heard the snapping of wood and a short, high-pitched cry.

She frantically placed her hand over his mouth, and listened intently for footsteps upon the rock outside. Thankfully, there was nothing. She gave a quiet sigh of relief. Not wasting any time, she patched the wound and attempted to place the third arrow into his mouth. However, he turned his head away from her, his mouth held shut. She sighed again. “There’s only two left. If I don’t remove them, you won’t heal properly.”

When she reached for the fourth arrow, the demon suddenly began to beg. “No, please...stop...Nago, please don’t--!”

She seized this opportunity to wrench the fourth arrow free, and immediately clamped her hand back over his mouth to muffle his cries.

“Stop it...stop...” He wheezed as she finished bandaging the lastest wound. “Nago...please...”

“Look.” She gestured to her bandaged arm, the cloth tied around it already stained with red. “If I can work on you with a wound like this in my dominant arm, you can stay awake for one more of these.” She took his face in her hand, forcing him to look her in the eye. “After that, you can pass out for as long as you want. Deal?”

He nodded weakly, and reluctantly allowed her to place another arrow into his mouth. “Brace.” His eyes shut tightly as soon as she said it. With one final act of strength, she removed the final arrow. The demon gasped sharply when she’d finished, and slumped forward over her shoulder. Reluctant, yet moved to pity by his reactions, Nago gingerly placed a hand on his back. It wasn’t long before he fell completely limp, and the light from his flame went out as it became mere smoke. At once, it was terribly dark within the chamber.

Nago leaned him back against the wall, and moved to the space next to him...so she could better watch the crevice that lead into their chamber, is what she told herself. But she didn’t watch for long. Her arm ached and burned terribly, and the exhaustion of her mad dash into the cave had begun to catch up with her. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. They would find a way out in the morning...if there was one.

Perhaps she had made a grave mistake in reviving this demon. For ever since, the price on her head had been increasing at an alarming rate. She wondered as she drifted off, how many more times they would be attacked by bounty hunters looking to make a quick buck.