#the ending was a bit abrupt

[ladyantiheroine]

Y’all, Monkey Man is really good.

[sleepyslag]

15 Years of Dan and Phil 🧡

Baby, not a day goes by that I'm not into you <3

[kiaraalazulu]

just finished the blue lions route, I love this guy

inspired by this shirt I saw the other day:

[awkness]

No Man is an Island

(Paternal Platonic Yandere oc & Injured Teenage Genderneutral Reader)

You and a small group of people are left stranded on an island, struggling to survive. One member of the group, Henry, has grown a paternal attachment towards you and has taken on the task of caring for you, but are his intentions truly as benevolent as they seem, or is there something much more selfish behind them?

Content warnings: injury, plane crashes, talks car accidents, coma, and child death, and general yandere shenanigans

Authors Note: This is much more chill then what I usually write. Don't be fooled, though, this dude is still messed up lol

You were on a plane alone, flying back to see your parents when the plane begins to experience severe turbulence. The captain tries to reassure everyone that things are under control, but it only gets worse. It feels like you're in the middle of an earthquake. Oxygen masks fall from the ceiling, and you can barely put yours on before blacking out

You wake up to a horrible, throbbing pain in your leg, and a sticky, humid feeling everywhere else

You're near the shoreline of the beach, a canopy of tropical trees shielding you from the sun. Turning your head, you could make out the main wreckage of the plane. There's a crudely made splint on your left leg, which is swollen and covered in bruises. There are no people in sight

Panicking, you start yelling, trying to find someone, anyone to help you understand what's happening

A middle-aged, gruff looking man comes from the wreckage. He introduces himself as Henry and helps you calm down before explaining the situation to you

The plane had crashed on an unihabited island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, an unknown distance away from the mainland. All of the crew were dead, and most of the passengers were as well. The only people who survived were you, Henry, and no more than ten other people, all variously injured

None where as injured as you, though. Henry says that you had most likely broken your left fibula and tibia when the plane crashed. As the bone hadn't broke through your skin, he says that it should heal on its own, but it would take months, most of it spent on bed rest

The first few days were the roughest. You spent your time in a haze of pain and heat from the brutal and humid temperatures from the island. It was hard to make yourself eat, and you often felt like you never had enough to drink, as your group had decided to ration the fresh water and food that was scavenged from the crash

The other survivors didn't interact with you often. It wasn't on purpose, but they were too busy working to make this place temporarily habitable, and they had no time to think of an injured person who couldn't help them. Plus, you weren't much for conversation anyway, given your current state

The only person you did see regularly was Henry. He checked on you often throughout the day, acting much like your self-appointed doctor. He seemed to have a basic understanding of what medical care to provide you, though, so you weren't about to protest

His bedside manner was good as well, knowing when you were in too much pain to make conversation and when you were lucid enough to want company. He was your only source of companionship for those first few days, being the one to bring you your daily rations of airplane pretzels and coconut water and make sure you were eating.

Whether it was the pain subsiding or you simply adjusting to it, you began to pull yourself out of your pain driven stupor and started talking to Henry more, out of the pure loneliness and boredom of your situation

He was very easy to talk to despite his outwardly serious and borderline intimating disposition. As you talked to him more, you found him to be friendly and a bit corny, occasionally cracking a stupid dad joke or pulling light-hearted pranks on you. He seemed fairly competent at reading people, able to sense your loneliness, and often encouraging you to open up whenever he had the chance to talk

You didn't know if it was out of genuine interest or pity for your circumstances, but you found you couldn't refuse his company. Before you knew it, you started oversharing about your life. Within the next two weeks, he knew pretty much every major thing about you, from your family, your hobbies, where you lived, what your future goals and aspirations were, and so on

On the other hand, he seemed more reluctant to open up, often getting quiet or withdrawn when your questions got too personal, with what constituting 'personal' varying. You eventually picked up that something troubling must of happened to him in his past involving his family, so you stopped pushing, letting him bring up his past on his own time

Outside of superficial facts about him, the only thing you knew was that he was a former US Army Special Forces survival expert, which was how he knew how to treat your injury, and how he knew how to survive on the island

When you were feeling well enough, he would teach you some of survival knowledge he had, teaching you different fire starting methods, how to build a lean-to, and how to crack open a coconut to get the milk. He seemed rather anxious about watching you wield his knife, though, so he did that for you when he could

Things take a turn for the better as the group finds decent shelter that isn't the plane wreckage in the form of uninhabited caves in the heart of the island, along with a waterfall spouting drinkable water

Some are reluctant to leave the shoreline, as the group had taken to maintaining a bonfire there to hopefully signal passing planes or boats for help. A compromise was reached where they would move to the caves and would continue to maintain the fire in shifts

The trek towards the caverns was especially hard on you. The rest of the survivors had gone ahead to carry the supplies to the caverns, leaving Henry to guide you through the thick foilage and uneven terrain

Henry had given you a walking stick to aid your journey, but because of your prolonged bedrest, there were often times you had to be carried, making the journey a slow and tedious one. You apologized, but he brushed it aside, saying he didn't mind, as he often had to carry much heavier loads in the army. He then went on to tell you cherry picked stories from his time in the military to distract you until you reached the caves

He had decided that it would be best for you to sleep near him, in case you needed assistance or if there was an emergency. His reasoning seemed sound, and you were inclined to trust him after all this time, so you agreed

With this newfound stability, things finally seemed to slow down, as people weren't constantly threatened with death by starvation, dehydration, or exposure

This was also the time that the other survivors began to talk to you more regularly

It was how you learned that Henry had become the defacto leader of sorts, given he was the most qualified out of the group. People often came to you to see if he was there whenever they needed him, asking you to pass messages along to him when he wasn't there. Which was pretty often, given how he was usually the person to help gather food or scout out new parts of the island

It was after one of these outings that you began to learn more about him

It had been a rainy, stormy day, which made the groups whole mood sour. Henry was out with a small group to gather food, and you were with the rest of the survivors, hanging out in the main cave

It was easy to overhear conversations in the main cave, noise often bouncing about the walls. It's how you and the rest of the people in there were forced to listen to a heated conversation developing between two of your members

Apparently, one of the more toublesome people of your group had been caught stealing from one of the other members of the cave. Their talking turned to arguing, and the arguing became shouting, which became shoving, which was steadily growing more violent by the second

Some had tried to break up the fight while everyone else had managed to move away except you, who could only slowly hobble away

A fellow survivor was trying to usher you away when someone knocked into you, causing you to fall and hit your head on the cavern floor. You lost consciousness

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was the pain in your head, throbing like a pulse. The second was that you were back in your bed (if you could call a platform of crushed bamboo and palm leaves a bed), a blanket tucked to your chin. The third were the footsteps of Henry as he came over to kneel beside you, his face creased in thought and worry

He then went to question you on how you were feeling, if you knew who you were, if you remembered what happened, as well as checking your eyes and testing your muscles and general coordination

It was only after he was satisfied you didn't have any severe brain injury that he finally relaxed and explained what happened

After you were knocked unconscious, the fighting had stopped, and you had been taken back to your part of the cave to be taken care of as they waited for Henry and his group to arrive

The conversation then faded into silence, as you were too caught up in your pain to keep talking. You closed your eyes and laid back down

It wasn't until later that night that you finally noticed that Henry was still in the room, watching you, face blank and motionless as if he were in another world. You've never seen him look that way before

You nudge him and he startles, completely caught off guard, apologizing for worrying you

You ask him what's wrong, and instead of brushing your question off like he usually does, he hesitates before going on to speak about the family he used to have, a wife and a child, who he loved dearly. One day, they ended up in a car crash. He lived with minimal injuries, but his wife died, and his child ended up brain dead with no hope of recovery. He had kept the child on life support for months before finally pulling the plug

"When I was waiting for you to wake up, it was like I was back in the hospital, hoping beyond hope that a miracle would happen, and I would see them open their eyes again... Y'know, it's the craziest thing. While I was watching you, I kept thinking about how they would've been your age if they were still here. They would of looked just like you."

You apologize, unable to think of anything else to say. He waves it off and tells you not to mind what he said and to go to bed. He was still sitting and watching you as you fell asleep

About five months after the crash, when the group had started to lose hope of there being a rescue, someone had spotted a plane flying across the night sky

Everyone scrambled to strengthen the bonfire on the shore, yelling at the sky in a desperate attempt to be noticed

With Henry's help, you made your way to the fire as well, propping yourself up with a walking stick to keep your weight off your broken leg, waving your free arm to the sky as you joined in the shouting

But it didn't matter. The plane flew away, disappearing into the dark

Some people cried, others flew into a rage, and the rest didn't say a word. Eventually, people slowly made their way back to the caves, disheartened at their loss

After a few hours, it was just you and Henry left on the shore, the dying embers of the fire next to you as you both stared at the sky. He seemed content

You break the silence and ask him if he thinks there will ever be another opportunity for rescue

"I don't know, but I doubt it. With how long it's been, that plane probably wasn't searching for us. We probably won't see another one anytime soon."

"You don't sound too broken up about it" you say.

"I guess I'm not. If you can overlook the heat, this place ain't half bad. Fresh seafood, clean water, a built-in shelter, and 24/7 access to my own private beach. Shit, I don't even have to pay taxes anymore, either. This is the closest thing to paradise I'll ever find."

"You can't mean that, right? We can't stay here forever."

"Of course we can. We have everything we could need. Plenty of people have lived in worse places."

That's not what I mean, what about my family? I want to go home!

The mention of your family leaves him stunned, like he forgot they existed. He quickly regains his bearings and continues

"I don't mean to make you upset, kid, but I think you're misunderstanding me. I know it hurts now, but there's nothing stopping you from living a happy life here. You've got food, a roof over your head, and someone to take care of you, what more could someone ask for?"

You don't reply. Sensing your darkening mood, he offers to help walk you back, and you accept, both of you slowly making your way through the foilage in silence

You fail to notice that the fire was left unattended and how it had slowly died out, leaving the island invisible to any help that could pass by

The next morning, no one bothers to reignite the fire

Afternoon rolls around and Henry leaves, going to fish for your next meal. You pray it isn't sea cucmbers again

Someone comes up to you, asking for some cordage they had lent to Henry. Instead of waiting for him to come back, you decide to search for it yourself

You search his part of the cave and almost give up before spotting a bag hidden in a crevice of the cave. It was so well hidden, you're afraid you might lose sight of it if you turn away. What could he have in there? You're almost certain Henry wouldn't keep rope tucked so far out of sight. But you couldn't help your curiousity. You've been in here countless times, how didn't you notice this? Against your better judgment, you open the bag

You don't find the cordage

Instead, inside the small bag is the bright orange of a flare gun and several unused flare cartridges

[baladiumdrive]

My take on FFXVI's ending - a fancomic

Here's my sad final fantasy xvi fan short comic on which I spend more time than anticipated

[herenya-writes]

To Kneel at Your Feet

So, uh, I tried my hand at a little Dreamling fic when a particular image wouldn't get out of my head.

~1850 words, Rated T (violence, non-graphic injuries, a bit of foul langauge), pre-relationship Dreamling set a few months after Dream escapes the fishbowl but before he's told Hob who he is

When a shadow fell over him, Hob figured he was fucked. Well, even more fucked than he already had been.

The day had started pretty normal. Term was over for the summer, and he had finally finished the last of the marking the night before, so he had let himself laze in the sunny patches of his bed until almost noon when the grumbling of his stomach drove him to the kitchen for food. The rest of the day had been syrupy slow, with a light frisson of anticipation running through. He was meeting his Stranger tomorrow morning for brunch, their first pre-evening meeting and the fifth one they had had since his Stranger had returned. So it was with a spring in his step that he had gone through the rest of the day, chatting with Mrs. Giles up the road about whether he could buy a few cases of her jam to serve at the Inn, taking a stroll around the park, mixing up a batch of scones. When Sasha called in sick, he had gladly picked up their shift bar-tending at the Inn, and even that had been lovely. A faster pace than the rest of his day, sure, but the night had been full of familiar faces and easy laughter.

He had been closing up the Inn and wiping down the last of the tables when the bell above the door rang. He didn’t get out so much as a word before the bullets were flying.

He managed to dodge them for a good while, but even his immortal body got tired of crouching and diving eventually. Plus, there were three of them, all armed, and only one of him. He had a bat and an array of knives behind the bar and an assortment of weapons in his flat above, but he didn’t see how he could get to either of those places unscathed. He’d survive, of course, but that could cause even more problems depending on how smart these thugs were.

His next dodge had been a bit too slow, and as he slid behind the sturdy oak of one of the booths a bullet buried itself in his shoulder. He snarled at the pain and pressed a hand to the wound on instinct. His immortality meant he’d survive no matter how many times these assholes shot him, but it didn’t stop him from feeling the bite of metal burrowing into his flesh.

It was as he was leaning against the wood, listening for footsteps and considering his options that a shape blocked the light above him. He swore and held up an arm to guard his face on instinct, but when he looked up it wasn’t one of the thugs he saw.

In the muted light of the Inn, his Stranger stood, clothed as always in his black coat, jeans, and boots, a minuscule frown pulling at his lips.

Without thinking, Hob grabbed the hem of his Stranger’s coat and yanked him down. His Stranger went, and a millisecond later bullets soared through the air where he had been standing.

“Sorry, friend. You chose a dangerous time to stop by,” he gasped. He had grabbed his Stranger with his left arm, and the bullet wound in his shoulder was protesting loudly.

His friend’s face took on a pinched expression, brows furrowing in a way that would have been adorable in another situation.

“You are injured,” he observed, his voice deep and rumbling like distant thunder. Hob could listen to that voice all day, and despite the circumstances he could feel his heartbeat slowing at just those three words. “You are not healing as you should.”

Hob blinked and looked down. Damn, his Stranger was right. One of the side effects of his immortality was that any injuries he sustained healed rapidly. Serious stuff like disembowelment still took a long (and excruciatingly painful) time to heal, but the process happened much faster for him than a normal human. He had been stabbed in a knife fight once in his second century of living and by the time the other fellow had hit the floor the only evidence of the wound had been the blood on his skin and the tear in his shirt. A bullet hole should have shown evidence of closing by now, but it was still gaping open and bleeding freely.

“At least I won’t have to cut the bullet out later,” he joked, but the tremble in his voice ruined his attempted levity.

“There are very few weapons in this world or another that could harm you so,” his Stranger declared, and something like lightning flashed in his eyes. His expression turned stone cold, and in a fluid movement he rose to his feet and turned toward the gunmen. Hob scrambled up after him, biting back curses, but he stopped short when he realized there weren’t any bullets flying through the air.

In the space of a blink, all the shadows in the room seemed to lengthen and gather around his Stranger, and Hob swore he saw recognition begin to dawn on the face of the lead thug as his Stranger stepped forward and extended one pale arm.

“Servants of the Morningstar, by what edict do you walk the Earth and seek the life of one to whom Death has denied her gift?” His Stranger’s voice buzzed with barely-restrained power, and something deep in Hob’s human brain told him to run and hide. He stayed where he was, though, and so did the gunmen, even as they trembled in obvious fear.

“Dead or not, the glory of claiming an immortal’s head for Lucifer’s throne room is undying,” the one in the middle declared. Hob was almost impressed with how even their voice was.

“You have attacked him in his home, unarmed and unaware of your challenge. There is no glory here, hellspawn.” His Stranger spat the word ‘glory’ like it was vinegar on his tongue, and all three creatures (he had thought they were human, but now he could swear an outline of fire flickered around them) recoiled. Still, they didn’t flee.

“He is unclaimed, Dreamlord. Glory or not, he’s ours for the taking!”

The shadows in the room deepened impossibly, and the air pressure dropped fast enough that Hob’s ears popped and every hair stood on end. His Stranger took a menacing step forward, standing directly between him and the gunment now. When he spoke, the power in his voice shook the floorboards and set Hob’s very bones buzzing.

“Is that so? Allow me to correct that oversight.”

His Stranger threw back his coat, and it melted into a midnight black robe. The folds of the fabric were ablaze with swirling galaxies that seemed to spill into the shadows that surrounded him. The power radiating off him now was equal parts strange and familiar, like hearing a song for the first time but immediately knowing the chorus. Any unease Hob had felt settled at once, even as the gunmen began to quiver and keen in dismay. His Stranger spoke over their sounds of distress, his voice firm and unyielding. In that moment, Hob had no doubt that he could make any declaration and reality would bend itself to reflect his will.

“I, Dream of the Endless, Shaper of Forms, Oneiromancer, Prince of Stories, King of the Dreaming and Nightmare Realms, declare Hob Gadling to be under my protection. Harm him and know the unfettered wrath of the Dreaming.”

Hob had been a lot of things in the past 600-plus years. He’d tried his hand at just about everything that had held his attention for longer than a week, and he had even been decent at a fair chunk of it. Hell, he’d even been knighted once! Right now, he probably had enough wealth squirreled away in stashes across the world to keep him living comfortably for the next two hundred or so years. At his core, though, he was nothing more than a peasant.

His knee hit the floor before his Stranger even finished speaking, and he barely felt the way the movement shocked his still-bleeding shoulder. All he could do was gaze up at his Stranger, awe, in the oldest sense of the word, flooding him. Dream of the Endless. His Stranger had a name. His Stranger was a king.

He wasn’t sure what happened with the thugs after that. There was a moment when the Inn got so dark all he could see where the pinpoints of light in his Stranger’s eyes and the galaxies swirling in his robe, and the next the light had returned and his Stranger had turned that fathomless gaze on him.

He lowered his eyes. “My king.” His tongue was heaving in his mouth, and his throat was sand paper. There was a spit of crimson blood, his blood, on the hem of his Stranger’s robe.

“You would kneel and call me king? Even after the wrongs I have committed against you? I did not even grant you the courtesy of my name.” Power still rumbled in his Stranger’s voice, but it was leashed now in a way that sent a spark racing up Hob’s spine. God help him, but he had always loved a bit of danger.

He risked a glance up and saw his Stranger’s perfect lips twisted in a frown, his brows drawn together like Hob was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

“I don’t need anything from you that you aren’t ready to give, my friend. You came back to me, and that was more than I could ever hope for.” Those words strayed a bit too close to another truth—that he would have waited forever just for a glimpse of his Stranger’s face, just to hear a single word from his lips—but Hob wasn’t about to start lying now, not when this magnificent creature, this otherworldly lord, had deemed him worthy of his time and attention despite all odds. His Stranger had returned after over 100 years to sit in a pub and listen to Hob ramble about airplanes and smartphones and humanity reaching the moon. How could anything he had to say possibly have captured the attention of a king with no doubt a million other duties to attend to?

His Stranger regarded him, galaxies swirling in his black eyes to match the ones dancing across his robe. Hob tore his gaze back to the floor for fear of falling in.

“Rise. You owe me no servitude or obeisance, Hob Gadling.”

Hob wanted to disagree, but he kept his mouth shut and did as his lord bid. He bit back a growl of pain as he stood, and in a blink his Stranger was there, long arms wrapped around his shoulders and holding him up with unnatural strength. Together, they hobbled up the stairs to his flat, and his Stranger laid him gently on the couch and let Hob grip his hand too tightly as he dug out the bullet lodged in his shoulder, seemingly uncaring of the way the crimson blood stained his pale fingers.

[adrift-in-thyme]

🎉Congrats on the milestone! 🎉 Your fics are always so lovely, I love reading your work! ❤️

As for a fic request, could I ask for something with Four? Could be something with Colors, with the chain or with fairy!Time or just by himself, whatever you feel like. I would like him to have just a small, slow, happy moment.

Awww tysm!! <33

Certainly! This was such fun to write. I hope you enjoy it!

————————————————————

“Mind if I ask what you’re doing, smithy?”

Slowly, Four cranes his neck to look behind him. Normally, in this small form he would feel a thrill of panic at the sound of someone’s approach. But the voice is familiar, and today has been surprisingly devoid of threats upon the heroes’ lives. He is safe to indulge in the comfort of remaining where he is, lying on his back upon the ground. 

His hands rest upon his abdomen, his hair splays out like a halo around his head. The earth is soft beneath him, warm from baking all day in the summer’s heat, and the proud blades of grass stand as shields from the afternoon sun. 

“Watching the clouds,” he says. 

Time cocks his head. The light reflects off of his wings in delicate fractals of red and blue. His hair looks the color of spun gold. Twinkling with mirth, his eye matches the joyful sky above. Silhouetted against the vibrancy of a joyful day, the hero looks far less severe than he does when leading and protecting their little group. More like a simple man, rather than the famed Hero of Time. 

Four likes that. He always appreciates the moments when he gets to see his brothers comfortable, free. They bear responsibilities too great for even the broadest shoulders. If he, in his small and quiet way, can allow them to soothe the fractures within for just a moment, he is glad of it. 

And the fact that Time has grown comfortable being around him in his fae form makes him even happier. He knows all too well the burden of being so very different. 

So very vulnerable. 

He has seen the haunted looks he and Rulie get sometimes, the scars they cannot conceal, the way they eye certain travelers they meet upon the road. It is good to see some of that guarded trepidation flee. 

“Watching the clouds, eh?” With a sigh, Time sits down beside him. “What does that entail?”

His tone is teasing, and an easy smile is on his face. Four returns it. 

“It’s something Grandpa and I did when I was young.” He points up at a sizable puff of gallant white speeding across the heavens. “You catch the clouds and make shapes out of them. That one looks like an octorok.”

Time chuckles. “Ah, yes, I’m familiar with the concept. Malon and I did it many years ago when we were children.” He sighs and a mischievous grin tugs at his lips. “Of course, now I’m too dull and old for such trivialities.”

Four sends him a flat look. “You may fool the others with those comments about your age, but not me.” 

Time lifts a brow. “No?”

“Nope.” Four shakes his head. “I’ve seen you fight. You’re hardly dull, and you’re certainly not old.”

Time lays back, keeping enough distance between them that his wings don’t drift into Four’s face. With a somber expression, he gazes up at the sky.

“Don’t you dare tell the others that. It’s difficult enough leading them without them realizing I do not, in fact, possess the wisdom of the elderly.”

If he didn’t know him quite so well, Four would think he was being serious, that this matter truly was a dire one prone to wound him. He can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes.

“Alright.” He squints, watching as a cloud that vaguely resembles a chu drifts by, lazier than its fellows and falling behind. “I’ll keep your secret on one condition.”

“I swear that one looks like a Deku scrub,” Time says, pointing, then turns a quizzical eye to him. “What is your condition?”

Four grins. “You tell me how old you actually are. You know, on the inside.”

Time’s expression instantly morphs into a scowl. 

“I reject your condition.”

Four’s grin grows larger, tugging at his cheeks. 

“Why? It’s only an innocent question. Malon refused to tell us, so I thought maybe you would.”

“I see. Malon respected my privacy, leading you all to seek out the dark truth for yourselves.” 

“When you say it like that, it sounds as if you’re hiding something dastardly.” Four giggles as he turns his gaze back to the sky. “Are you truly that ancient?”

Time blows out a sigh. “You wound me, smithy. Here I thought we could sit in restful silence and watch the clouds, only to find that you are as set upon destroying me as the others. I still reject your condition. I will rest easy with the knowledge belonging solely to me. Besides” — there is a definite smile in his voice, brimming with mirth — ���your secret-keeping abilities are quite poor.” 

“Hey!” Scowling, Four lightly smacks the older hero on the arm. “They are not!”

Time chuckles and gestures upward. “There’s one that looks like the pigs in Wind’s Hyrule.” 

“You’re not getting out of this that easily.” 

But the cloud does truly resemble a plump little pig, something that suddenly seems very comical to Four. He dissolves into laughter and Time joins him. Time’s jab is soon forgotten in the breathless freedom of open joy. 

And when the laughter subsides, they remain in comfortable silence, laying side-by-side, gazing up at the sky. 

[chthonic-kids]

DEPARTURE by Alan Wake

[mammalsofaction]

HUMAN PERRY AU BACKSTORY

I've been having a lot of thoughts lately about Human Perry headcanons as I read a bunch of fic and rewatch phineas and ferb. You know you're hitting the nail on the head when scenes from a fic you might never write dog your every waking step and haunts your dreams so, I thought putting it on paper will help.

A lot of fics like to suggest that Perry's full name is Peregrine, which is understandable, but ever since I've rewatched 2D and found out their first name for him was actually Bartholomew my life was never the same. So Perry's actual name is Bartholomew. But nobody actually calls him that least of all himself.

FAMILY RELATIONS

-I really like winding headcanons that Perry is Ferb's biological mom's BROTHER, which honestly makes so much sense as to why both he and Ferb have green hair. Here are some add-ons that may get depressing;

Ferb's mom was Eve, or Evelyn. Her codename was E, for Echidna...because egg-laying mammals native to Australia. They were both orphans, and attached to the hip. They were each other's partner in crime.

-They were scouted for OWCA one day, bc the agency liked picking up kids with potential as young as possible. So Perry and Eve were trained for the agency since the start (which is why Perry is such a good agent at what seems to be a young age)

MY HEADCANONS FOR OWCA

-Owca is a largely independent authoritarian enterprise with branches all over the world. They aren't the only ones, obviously.

-OWCA also prefers training agents as early as they could. Sometimes that entails scouting talent. Sometimes that means taking in kids of employed agents. Either way, this means OWCA has elementary and high schools that are more akin to militant training camps. It's not cruel. The kids are well cared for and well fed, but OWCA prioritized competency, obedience and discipline.

On every level of OWCA recruitment, training and employment, there is a fedora, and band to mark whichever level you are on the totem pole.

1) Middle school kids are given a bandless fedora.

2) High school kids (soon to be graduates) are given a white band

3) Fresh graduates, training into full employment, are Yellow Bands. Here you start being assigned to full branches, and trained by field work professionals. Think OWCA Files.

4) It's fairly easy to graduate from Yellow Band into a Purple Band. Purple Bands are largely refereed to as Junior Agents, but that's not quite accurate. Purple Bands are the highest reporting authority in any division that ISN'T FIELD WORK. The OWCA Tech, Clerks, RnD and Science Divisions all have Purple Bands to signify they are fully employed, or Superior Officer. Pinky has a Purple Band.

5) It's VERY DIFFICULT to graduate from a Purple Band to a Black Band, not least because there IS NO PREDETERMINED TEST. Black Band agents are Superior Agents, only one level below Division General. There's no telling what could turn you from a Purple to a Black, because the agent has to prove unwavering obedience and faith to the agency in dire circumstances. It's saying "I am willing to do anything for the Greater Good."  Often it entails a death of some sort. OWCA often says Black is the band soaked in blood. Black Band agents have licenses to kill. It's why Black Band Agents are few and precious far in between.

6) After a black band, and you live long enough to retire, you can choose a bunch of things. Most agents choose to become Division Generals or Branch Managers: think Major Monogram. They're basically glorified "Guy in the Chair". Some agents choose to become educators, in which case they are given White Fedoras. White fedoras arent exclusive to black bands though; there are plenty purple band white fedoras. In fact most educators are purple band white fedoras.

-Perry's Black Band Event was Eve's death

-At the time of Eve's death, she had already been married to Lawrence. Ferb was barely a year old, maybe 10 months old?

-Lawrence was told it was a car accident: drunk driver. Truthfully it was a mission gone wrong, involving an underground child trafficking ring, and she stayed behind to give them all the chance to escape. She didn't have the chance to escape when security explosives around the building detonated, and she got caught in the crossfire. Perry had to leave her behind.

-This is why Perry refused to get a partner btw, aka his Lone Wolf tendencies come from.

-In the aftermath, OWCA agents approached the family to give them their condolences, and offer to take Ferb into the fold. For the first time since Eve's death, Perry practically lost it. He didn't hurt anyone, he's much too professional, but he knew Eve didn't want Ferb to get wrapped up in OWCA, and for good fucking reason. Due to their training, neither he nor Eve had much of a childhood, and he refused to subject Ferb to the same kind of life experience.

OWCA was NOT happy. Things were tetchy for a while, at least until Perry was approached by Major Monogram. Francis had a wife, and a son, and he understood where Perry was coming from. He suggested taking a permanent residence in Danville, which was his branch division. It was more stability than Perry ever had working in England, where he and Eve was originally stationed, and it was easy enough to come up with a work-related story to convince Lawrence, who was more than ready enough to leave the house where he and Eve originally lived.

-It was after moving did Lawrence meet and fall in love with Linda.

Edit; I've decided to change Ferb's bio mom's name bc I found something that fits better to me :) She's Eve now

End Backstory.

[littleoddwriter]

Can I request Billy Lenz (1974) x reader fic (established relationship) where, since reader is probably a sorority girl, she asks Billy if he wants to move into her house with her (there’s an attic ofc) since she’ll be forced to move out beacuse she’s in her last year?

Not Without You | Billy Lenz x Female!Reader

Hey there! Thanks for the request, I hope you like what I've done with it! And thank you for waiting patiently for it. I may be slow in fulfilling the requests, but at least they're coming eventually... <3 notes; Female!Reader (can be read as Gender Neutral tho, it's mostly because of the setting being a sorority dorm house, but there are no words or indicators that wouldn't allow for anyone else to read this without problems!); Short Fic; Established Relationship; Kissing with Tongue; Brief Mentions of Murders.

“You know I’m about to graduate, right?” you asked Billy, while you were sitting cross-legged on the attic floor, facing your boyfriend. He was huddled in the corner and the moonlight shone through the window, illuminating him enough for you to make out his shape and half of his face. You could see that your words upset him.

He nodded jerkily, making a soft sound of distress.

“Yeah, so… I was wondering if you’d wanna move into my house with me, then?” you continued, “It also has an attic if you’re more comfortable that way. I don’t expect you to sleep in the same bed with me or anything like that if you don’t want to. But… I’d love to at least continue living in the same building with you…” 

There was a certain sense of caution to your inquiry. Not because you were afraid of him. Never. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you on purpose. But you were worried that maybe you had read too much into your relationship and his current distress. Maybe he was only with you because you lived in the sorority dorm house, after all; and perhaps he was only upset about you leaving because you steadily provided him with basic needs and more, forcing him to find somebody else. It scared you that by bringing up that you were moving out in a few months, the reality of your relationship’s nature would come crashing down on you. 

Billy suddenly leaned forward and grabbed your hand tightly. That action startled you for a moment, but you instantly relaxed when you looked at his hand grasping onto yours like it was his lifeline. And when your eyes travelled up to his face, you smiled softly. Your anxious thoughts disappeared as soon as you saw how grateful and in awe he looked.

“Is that a yes?” you asked him quietly with a teasing edge to your voice.

He nodded almost frantically in answer. “Yes,” he said shakily, “I wouldn’t have let you leave. Not without me. Not without Billy. Never without Billy!” 

Now it was time for you to startle Billy as you leaned in and pulled him into a tight, loving embrace. He froze for a split second before melting into your arms and returning the hug with force, almost crushing your ribs between his arms. You couldn’t really breathe anymore, but he loosened his grip soon enough for you to not even be forced into saying something. 

As his arms loosened around you, you leaned back a little to look at his face. For a moment, you simply looked at him, admiring his features in the soft moonlight along with the contrast of the harsh shadows due to the otherwise dark attic. To you, he was almost an ethereal being. 

With a soft smile, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Billy’s lips. 

He reciprocated it with a fiery passion that you only knew him to be capable of, and you loved it more than you could put into words. His tongue slipped out and licked your lips as you two kissed, making it a lot messier than it needed to be; but you were used to it by now, and you were never one to complain about being wanted so fiercely.

Eventually, you leaned back, parting from him enough to speak. 

“I’m looking forward to living with you and not having to sneak around just so you won’t be caught,” you whispered against his spit-slick lips with a quiet little giggle in your voice before kissing him again, eliciting a soft grunt from Billy, who grinned in response.

[reds-skull]

Bringer of Demise - Chapter 4

[PREV PART] [AO3]

This chapter went places I didn't plan for, so it has a surprising amount of comfort. Anyway, it's called "Molten Core".

Price informs them he called Commander Karim on the way here, asking her to send a team to aid them when Soap and Gaz’s situation became known. Soap was secretly grateful, if not for himself, for Gaz, that they won’t take the helo the rest of the way.

He doesn’t want to imagine how scared that would’ve made Kyle.

The rescue team looked for the pilot as they helped the taskforce, Soap despondently looking away when they find the front half of the helo. Charred black and mangled beyond recognition, there wouldn’t have been anything left resembling a human after going through that.

Add that to the tally of people he has failed to save.

Soap hates to admit it, but the morphine makes healing so much smoother. What once was a constant, sharp pain has been dulled down to a distant beating. Ghost let him lean against him when he became loopy, telling him that’s a side effect.

A few trucks eventually arrive, several ULF fighters wearing plain clothes jumping out. It seems like Commander Karim has sent a medic team along, but as Gaz isn’t physically injured, and Soap won’t benefit from anything more than a few hours of rest, they give Kyle a shock blanket, and sit them in one of the trucks.

Ghost keeps a hand around him as they’re driven to the camp, Soap nearly cracking a tooth with how hard he clenches his jaw. The roads here are not very considerate of his open wounds, that’s for fucking certain.

He doesn’t think the shaking is only from the pain, though. Soap continues to glance at Gaz, his eyes fogged over.

What happened was eerily similar to Kyle’s Reaping. Similar enough that Soap has almost no doubt it was planned, that whoever planted the bomb wanted to take him out the same way he died.

“Whoever”... if it’s not Makarov, it’s one of his fucking allies, they don’t need proof to know that by now. Only a few people knew the 141 was supposed to leave today, especially when it came in at such a late notice.

Soap’s flames glow brighter. Novikov knew.

When he gets his hands on that fuckin’ Doctor…

Another bump jostles him, making his back hit the side of the truck. Soap barely contains a yelp as pain flashes up his spine. Ghost pulls him closer, glaring at the road like it can feel remorse. It makes Soap smile.

If it weren’t for Ghost calling that meeting… this truck would’ve been far emptier.

The ULF base they arrive to is unlike any other base Soap has been in. Nestled between a mountain and a forest, the place itself looks benign; a few shacks that have seen better days and one or two actual structures, surrounded by a wooden fence.

As their truck drives closer, large metal doors embedded in the mountain’s side open, revealing the true base.

Concrete walls stood in stark contrast to natural excavated stone, dimly lit by floodlights and ancient-looking lightbulbs, Soap could see from the makeshift road how the large cavern has been sectioned into different parts, with tunnels shooting off the main area everywhere he looks. He can’t tell soldier from civilian here - most don’t wear uniforms or identifying marks, besides a green cloth wrapped around wrists or heads.

The truck stops near what he assumes is medical, and he takes a moment to thank every Reaper the drive is fucking over. Ghost helps Soap jump out, supporting him as much as he can as they make their way to one of the beds. Not like he’ll be sleeping tonight much, by the time his skin reforms they’ll probably need to be in debrief.

Still, one of the nurses pulls the curtain around the cot, the thin fabric barely blocking any light, not to mention the lack of roof. Doesn’t do much to block the sound of the bustling base, either. He appreciates the thought, though.

He lets go of Ghost to carefully drag himself to a prone position, grunting until he manages to settle. Soap closes his eyes, allowing the pounding in his head, the synchronized beating of his open wounds, to take over his senses.

It makes it so when something cool touches his shoulder, he jumps in surprise, eyes flicking to see Ghost crouched over him.

“LT? What are ye-?” he lets out an involuntary sigh as fingers kneed at his muscles, every part of him feeling both untethered and knotted beyond belief, “fuck…”

“That good, Johnny?” Ghost skirts around his injuries, peeling away the cloth that melted into his skin, “helps?”

Helps? Simon is seriously asking if this gentle touch, so careful and soft, seeping away the cloying heat burns always carry, is helping?

He asks if it helps when wherever his fingers brush, muscles and fascia and skin rush back to heal, begging to be held, cells working overtime just for the chance of prolonging the contact? Burning through what energy he has remaining, healing scars that would take hours in seconds, as if those callused hands have reached inside him, found the wires that lead to his molten core, and for once instead of turning up the heat, mercifully decided to let the pressure building and building out, finally letting him breathe?

He asks if this helps? Soap wants to cry.

He buries in face in the scratchy pillow, hoping to muffle some of the frankly embarrassing noises he’s letting out, disguise the stutter of his breath.

“Aye… I… thank ye.”

“I’ve got you, Johnny.” Simon murmurs, hands not leaving him for a second, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Soap lets go, and the humming of the base, the blinding lights, the ache of his broken body, it all falls away, replaced by pale fingers, turning the valves, depressurizing.

He falls asleep, impossibly, and when nightmares hound him, he can trust in dark brown eyes to be there when he startles awake, trust that they’ll let him drift back. Let him back into a peaceful, dark void.

Soap is only mildly annoyed Ghost let him oversleep. He’s too grateful for the extra hours of healing to be truly mad, either way.

When he gets up, the skin on his back is mostly formed, still scarred to high hell but that’s to be expected. The chair besides the cot is empty, Ghost probably leaving for debrief a while ago.

With the few words he remembers in Arabic, he manages to ask a nurse for a spare shirt and get directions to the meeting rooms. Walking pulls awkwardly on his skin, the stiffness one he’s familiar with, yet forgotten in the past few months.

Been a while since he was sent on bomb disposal, after all.

The ULF fighters aren’t as frantic as they were earlier, and the base seems emptier. He makes his way through, marveling at the sheer amount of revenants he can spot. Just like Las Almas, Urzikstan has an abnormal amount of them, as war zones often do. To think this country has been surviving through almost 30 years of conflict…

This area seems more well-built, and he has to open three doors before he can find his team. Five heads turn to stare at him, the 141 as well as Commander Karim and Alex caught in the middle of debriefing.

“Ah- sorry fer being late, nobody woke me up-” Soap starts, the screeching of dragging chairs cutting him off. He barely manages to brace himself before he gets a careful hug from Gaz, Ghost scanning him for signs of discomfort from the corner of his eye.

Soap returns the favor, tightening his arms around Kyle, “good morning to ye too, Garrick.” he says fondly.

“Bastard” Gaz laughs wetly, pulling back, “how’s your back? Should you even be out of bed yet?”

Ghost meets his eyes. “Had some help with healin’ this time around.” Soap says.

He feels Price pick at his mind, and smiles. “Well, you came just at the right time, Sergeant. Take a sit.”

“Yes sir.” Soap lets Gaz lead him to an empty chair, Ghost sitting down on his left. An ungloved hand takes his, fingers squeezing his comfortingly. He tries to not let the squirming fuzziness in his heart show on his face, as Price begins talking.

“Our target is what used to be a Russian prison, which was captured by Urzik rebellion forces and converted to a makeshift holding facility.” Price points to the map spread on the table.

Commander Karim joins in, “currently, this facility is under Al-Mudahiyn’s control.”

“Al-Mudahiyn?” Soap asks.

“The Sacrificers. Made up of ex-ULF fighters.” Karim and Alex share a look, “we don’t make a habit of attacking them directly, as we both share similar goals in the end, but their methods have forced our hands in the past.”

Alex sighs, “Al-Mudahiyn would rather let whole villages die if it means killing more Russians. They’re powerful, don’t get me wrong, and it definitely helps that the Russians are fuckin’ afraid of stepping into their territories, but…”

“I will not allow my people to be trampled for a chance at revenge.” Karim almost snarls. “Our intel has reason to suspect this facility has been used to transport the revenants kidnapped by Graves. As I’ve said before, we will need to go on a recon mission to understand exactly who and how many soldiers are currently there.”

“Recon will be done today, and if nothing’s out of the ordinary, we will infiltrate tomorrow night.” Price continues.

“Wait,” Gaz pipes up, “if Graves left the revenants in that facility… doesn’t that mean he worked with Al-Mudahiyn?”

“Yes.” Alex answers, “this is why we also suspect they’re working with Shepherd.”

Steamin’ Jesus. What a mess.

“Those fucking dogs can’t help but dirty their hands.” Karim mutters under her breath, a few curses in Arabic he doesn’t recognize lacing into her words.

“What’s the plan, Commander?” Ghost asks, sharp stare burning into the maps.

Soap looks at them as well. The route to the facility is marked by a black line, a winding way going both under and on ground, avoiding enemy encampments marked by red and green. This is going to be hard right from the get-go, he can already tell.

He wonders if his wounds are healed enough by now to not reopen in combat… if he was still with his old team, they would’ve probably sent him already, so he supposes it’s fine-

“You’re going to a medic to get checked after this, Sergeant. If you don’t get cleared, you’re staying here.” Price shoots his thoughts down. Soap frowns with indignation, Price wouldn’t bench him for the whole mission just because his injuries might reopen, right? Besides, he can heal them on field, no need to-

“Soap.” Price sighs outwardly, “stay here for the recon mission, at the very least. The team isn’t in the headspace to see you harm yourself again, and you aren’t, either. Focus on resting for tomorrow, got it?”

Soap looks down, at his and Ghost’s tangled hands, looks to his right at Gaz, whose eyes flit to his back every few minutes. Focuses for just a second on how much his body aches.

His knee-jerk reaction to all those details is to try harder. Heal faster, get back to the field as soon as possible, fix this, because it is his fault, if he only detected that fucking bomb, disarmed it before it could go off-

But… he could give what Price ordered him to do a try.

“Alright, Captain. Not gonna bench me for tomorrow as well, right?”

Price sounds exasperated in his mind, “I’m not sending you to the field broken.”

Farah begins talking about today’s mission, and Soap diverts his attention, leaving Price’s thoughts unanswered.

He hopes to all Reapers the medic clears him for the infiltration. After the explosion, Soap doesn’t think he can let his team out of sight.

Fate isn’t just after Soap and Ghost, anymore. None of them are safe.

The medic did not clear him for duty. In fact, by the look in his eyes Soap would reckon the medic would’ve preferred to ground him for another month. To his surprise, the medic instead sent him to another part of the clinic, explaining to him in a mix of English and Arabic that there’s something that could help him there.

Well, if it gets him back to the field tomorrow, he’d try it.

He was instructed to wait, standing in a line of people trailing far behind a door. Soap passed the time by having a staring contest with the peeling off-white paint slapped on the wall in front of him, and do his best to not think about last night.

So far, the wall is winning, and he managed to shove down any rising memory pretty well, beside the way Gaz’s eyes looked, wide open and horror-struck.

He’s glad Kyle got Price and Ghost, that they’re such a close-knit team. If Gaz was under his last CO…

Soap sighs, temping down the fire bursting from his fingertips. It has gotten large enough that it started garnering attention, and he rather not scare the wounded here.

After what felt like hours (it was probably just 30 minutes, but God were they boring), Soap enters the room to find a cot and a chair, in which a boy no older than 16 sat. He assumed the kid was the patient before him at first, but the boy motioned for him to lay down.

He understands more from the tone than the words themselves that the boy is asking him something, “sorry, my Arabic is a wee bit rusty. You know English?”

The boy blinks, “uh, a little. Do you feel pain somewhere?”

Curious, Soap sits on the cot, “got exploded yesterday, my back’s a bit of a mess.” the boy only gets more confused, so he adds, “Ah can heal from those, just- I was told you can help?”

A light flickers on in the boy’s dark eyes, and he instructs Soap to take off his shirt and lie down.

After getting situated on his stomach, the boy places his hands on his scarred skin. Soap is surprised the sight didn’t make him flinch.

He’s even more surprised when he feels his muscles twitch, skin tingling as it follows the boy’s hands.

“Yer… you’re a revenant?”

The boy nods, his focus on his powers, orchestrating his cells to go into overdrive and heal. Must have been Reaped by Flesh, there are a few in the SAS. Most of the time, they can only heal themselves…

“How old are you?” he finds himself asking out loud.

“Fifteen.”

Far too fucking young to be in this position. Too young to already be used to seeing injuries like his, to be desensitized to the cruelty of this world, to be acquainted with death.

He wonders where are his parents, his family, and he doesn’t dare to ask because he fears the answer is one he already knows.

“What’s your name?” Soap asks instead.

The boy’s gaze dart to his before returning to his task, “Amir. You?”

“John, but most people call me Soap.”

That makes Amir’s brows furrow, before he gives him a half smile, “like… cleaning soap?”

“Yep. Cool name, no?” he boasts sarcastically.

Amir laughs, “yeah. Very cool.” he answers, matching his sarcasm.

They fall silent, Amir passing fingers over his spine, the sensation making Soap grunt. “Move your shoulders” the boy tells him, and he gives the joint a careful rotation.

Amir seems pleased, “any more pain?”

“... No.” Soap lifts himself up, moving his torso and marveling at how the muscles barely hurt. There’s definitely some tension left in his skin and flesh, but it doesn’t feel like it will rip open at any sudden movement. “Thank ye.”

Amir smiles, “you are welcome.” he switches to Arabic, calling the next person over, and Soap takes it as his sign to leave.

To combat his new problem with boredom, Soap decided to explore the base. By now, he’s managed to find their mess mostly because of the wonderful smell wafting from it, their armory, and showers.

Eventually he reached a quieter part of the base, deeper into the mountain. Reading the signs beside each door, he gathers this is the barracks. Soap attempts to read another nameplate when he hears someone walking towards him.

“I believe you are supposed to be on bed rest, Sergeant.” Commander Karim calls out.

Soap huffs. Price told the fucking Commander to keep an eye on him. He’d be annoyed at the lack of trust if he didn’t know he would’ve done the same in his place. “I was sent to Amir, he fixed me up.”

Karim nods, “you should consider yourself lucky, then. Amir is usually quite busy.”

Soap feels the same pity he felt before rise again, “ye don’t have teh answer if it’s confidential or anythin’, but… how did he get here? How did he…”

How did he die so young?

The Commander stares at him for a moment, before turning around, “after me, Sergeant.”

Karim leads Soap outside, through a smaller tunnel opposite of the entrance. The sun blinds him after so long underground, and he takes a deep breath of fresh mountain air.

When his eyes adjust, a city comes into view, tucked around a river. Even from here, he can see remnants of airstrikes dotting the fields in its outskirts.

“This was my city.” Karim points to a neighborhood, farthest from the river, “my house was there.”

Commander Karim doesn’t look at him when she says, “the Russians attacked when I was seven. A missile hit the building me and my mother were in, and we died.”

She allows the statement to hang in the air, allow the horror to seep into Soap. “... Ye were Reaped at seven…”

“I’m not an anomaly in that, Sergeant. Many of the revenants in the ULF died before reaching maturity. Many of them, the last living member of their family. Amir is no different, I am no different.”

No words feel like enough, regardless he says, “Ah’m sorry, for whatever it’s worth.”

Karim sighs, “it’s not worth much, these days, but I appreciate it.” she makes eye contact with him again, “I am sorry for what happened to you and Sergeant Garrick last night. I was told your injuries were severe.”

She ignores the surprise on his face, “Captain Price informed me of your Reapers’ warning, that there is a traitor amidst your people. I want to assure you, the ULF is on your side. Betrayal isn’t foreign to either of us, but it has a way to gnaw at trust. It is important, I believe, to be able to trust your allies.”

Soap is reminded of Graves, a tingling in the back of his neck, and nightmares of a useless body, helpless and numb. Remembers that Karim and Alex were kidnapped by the revenant they thought was one of their own.

“I trust ye, Commander, and Ah’m sure the same goes for the rest of the team.” Soap assures, fully believing in his words.

Somehow, he feels that the Commander could tell. She gives him a small smile, and looks back at her hometown. Skin refracting sunlight, she seems at ease, in a way Soap hasn’t seen in Las Almas. Her care for her country, her people, is different than he experienced himself. He wonders what it feels to give yourself so wholly for such thing.

Soap supposes he knows a similar, except his home is with a small taskforce, made of men he would give his life for with no hesitation.

Commander Karim gave him some work to do, utilizing his knowledge of explosives to tinker with their existing supply and optimize it for field use. He’s elbows-deep in a pile of C4 when a voice begins echoing in his mind.

“Farah informed me of your shape, kid. Debrief in ten, don’t be late.”

Soap practically jumps out of his chair, running out of the armory and almost colliding with the poor soldiers in the hall.

A mix of excitement and nerves fills his lungs. Time to get back to the field.

[billygaysanguine]

anyone else mourning what could have been😛

[pikuna]

Yokai Heart - Chapter 2

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Fandoms: Dandadan (Anime), Dandadan (Manga) Relationship: Ayase Momo/Takakura “Okarun” Ken Characters: Ayase Momo, Takakura “Okarun” Ken

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Inspired by Dragonheart (Dragonheart), Youkai Takakura “Okarun” Ken, Yokarun, Shrine Maiden Momo, Protective Takakura “Okarun” Ken, BAMF Ayase Momo, Canon-Typical Violence, Action & Romance, Romantic Fluff, Interspecies Romance, Aged-Up Characters, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Feudal Japan, Historical Fantasy

Summary

With the last of her family passing away, Momo had nothing to her name but spiritual powers no one can know about. To escape her fate as concubine to the local Shogun, she leaves her birth town and becomes a Wandering Miko. But as an untrained Shrine Maiden she had no luck fulfilling her expected duties and she refuses to entertain men for money. Surely a con act together with the Yokai she had sealed a pact with was a good alternative, right?

Didn't take me long to throw out the prediction of 6 chapters. This story grew on me so much and I have a few ideas, so I don't know how long it actually will be. Please enjoy some badass Momo fighting scenes.

Ao3 Link

Previous Chapter | Start | Next Chapter

This was not how Ayase Momo had thought this hunt would go. It was raining, it was dark and she was hungry. The absolute worst. At least she had found some shelter in a small cave and now was just waiting for the rain to finally stop.

She had left her hometown just a few weeks ago, as soon as the harsh winter weather made way for spring to bloom, carrying enough food for a week and other supplies for her travels.

To earn some money, she had tried to offer her help as wandering Miko to the shrines in a few villages, but the priests always saw through her false bravado and noticed her lack of knowledge of even the simplest rites. Her grandmother had taught her so many things: How to hunt, how to defend herself and how to read people. They even started developing Momo's unusual spiritual powers shortly after she discovered her gift, but it was too late. Curse herself for refusing to start her shrine maiden training for so long. But who could have thought that fate had planned to put big obstacles in her way?

A few odd jobs here and there was all Momo could do to at least get some coin for food, but most of the time she had to sleep out in the wild in the mud. A not so helpful priest of one of the shrines had suggested that she could always perform…other work that some wandering Miko would do. And she had decked him for that, before running out of the village. She didn’t hold it against any woman who would entertain men for money, but for her it was no option at all. Momo would rather hunt and gather food herself and sleep in the dirt than be a plaything for men. That’s why she ran away from home in the first place.

Grumbling about her misfortune and hunger, she kept kicking the walls of the little cave out of frustration. Maybe this was the Kami’s way of punishing her for being so rebellious. Well, the Kami could shove their big heads up their spiritual asses for all she cared.

With her stomach loudly announcing that it really needed some food, Momo opened her travel basket in search for something edible. It contained her good old bow, a few arrows, some change of clothes, medicine and…the leftover of a loaf of bread. Hard, but still good to eat and she couldn’t be picky right now. Munching the stale bread, she looked out into the rain, musing about the day earlier.

She had been, again, rejected to help at the local shrine and so Momo had to go into the village to see if any work was available that she could do. On an announcement board in the market, she found a letter from a local lord. Apparently, some kind of beast or spirit was seen running through the peach field of said lord and he wanted it gone. The reward was a high amount of mon that would last her a month! Part of her hoped it was just an animal, then she could easily kill it with her bow. However, according to some of the merchants, nobody had been able to hunt the creature down and the hunters always returned half dead. But their wounds were often nothing more than scratches, which sounded more like an evil spirit.

So here she was, during a night of the full moon, waiting for the rain to stop and the spirit to show up. Momo knew it was foolish to face a spirit or Yokai during such a night, but she was desperate. She couldn’t afford to wait and let someone else get her prize. Luckily the cave was close to the peach plantation, so she would notice if someone...or something would approach the trees.

And her patience...or stubbornness was finally rewarded, when the raindrops fell less and less frequently, until they completely stopped. Devouring the last crumbs of her bread, Momo got her bow, quiver and a blessed tanto sword out of her basket and readied herself for the hunt. Leaving the basket behind, she rushed out into the night towards the peach trees. The fruits seemed to be just ripe enough to eat, but Momo did her best to resist the temptation. She had work to do.

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

It had been an hour since Momo had started prowling through the field of peach trees and morning would arrive soon. Aside from a few farmers, the poor souls had to work so early, she didn't come across anybody. She had even used her second sight to extend her reach and look for any unusual auras. Also nothing. This was weird. Did somebody else get it before her? Or did the creature finally leave this area?

Suddenly she heard screams coming from far behind her. A loud growl followed.

Momo's feet reacted immediately, turning her around and running towards the commotion. She closed her eyes, using her second sight to prepare herself for what would await her. She was shocked to see a massive aura zipping around. It hadn't been there just a minute ago! It was chasing several smaller auras. That must be the farmers she walked past earlier. The closer she came, the clearer the aura's form became. It was white and flaring uncontrollably in the shape of a long serpent. An uneasy feeling built in her stomach and when she reached an open area in the middle of the plantation, her worries were confirmed: It was a dragon. A dragon that had nothing of the majesty the ryūjin had in their hundreds of paintings, but a grotesque version of them. Its whole body and billowing mane was an eerie white, the only other color were red strands in the hair and lines along its face and body. The scales of the beast stood up like hundreds of spikes, the two legs were gangly and way too long. A black maw, that was also too big for its face and looked more like a mask, snapped with blunt teeth at the farmers and grinned at them in a macabre way while it watched them flailing around. It was obvious it was toying with the poor people, keeping them in the clearance and blocking any way to escape.

The Kami must really enjoy making things hard for her. Dragon Yokai were one of the most powerful ones and this one was a white dragon: A symbol of death.

Momo was stopped in her inner tirade towards the gods, when one of the farmers came running towards her, terror in his face. His face turned more hopeful when he spotted her.

"Praise the kami, help has arrived!" he shouted breathlessly and grabbed her upper arms, clinging to her. She jolted at the forceful contact, but she refrained from shoving the man away. He was just afraid right now. "Please, shrine maiden. Please deliver us from this demon!"

The whole mission had become way more dangerous, but also more important. She could not fail this. With a determined look, she nodded to the man. "I will draw its attention to me. As soon as the dragon is distracted, you round everyone up and run for the village. Okay?"

Muttering his thanks and praise, the man scrambled away, back towards the other farmers.

Taking in a deep breath, Momo steeled her nerves.

Right, how to best fight a dragon Yokai that is very fast?

In the past she had exorcised a few smaller Yokai, just some troublemakers. Not something as powerful as this. Her combat abilities were limited to defence and hunting deer. No divine protections or blessings she could bestow upon herself. She was wholly underprepared for this. And that's why she was so determined to kill this Yokai. It would be proof to herself and others that she didn't need any fancy, spiritual training, nor active blessing from the Kami. Just her own unique skills and quick thinking. Her grandmother had always complimented her creative problem solving.

First things first: Dodging would be difficult, so she summoned a spiritual, teal colored orb as a shield around her as protection from at least a few attacks.

Second: Before she could come up with an actual strategy to wound the Yokai, she had to find out its weaknesses. Time for some probing then.

Grabbing an arrow from her quiver, she ran closer into shooting distance of the dragon, who was still tormenting the poor farmers. Absently she noted that while it snapped at them with its maw, it never really hurt anybody. At least not physically from what she could tell. Still, there were a few people that were so weak that they had to be carried by others.

Momo drew her bow and waited for an opening where the dragon was standing still for a moment, before she shot her arrow. It landed where she had aimed it, but it bounced off the hard scales. Just as she had feared. Already nocking her next arrow, she saw the dragon's head snap into her direction, the pure red eyes with no pupils focusing on her. An unsettling feeling clenched her stomach at the way they glared at her. Well, she had its attention, just as she had planned. No backing out now.

Without any warning, the dragon rushed towards her and struck its claws at her. She was thankful for her protective orb, because otherwise that would have torn her to shreds. The orb absorbed most of the hit and she was just pushed a few feet backwards. But the dragon kept attacking her orb, swiping it with its claws and kept pushing her until she hit a tree with her back. Now the beast tried to attack her with its maw, but Momo had enough time to jump to the side. Its teeth got stuck into the thick wood of the tree and she seized the opportunity to finally fire another arrow, aiming this time between the sticking up scales. And she hit her target.

A pained howl. Wood splintering.

And the black maw was biting down at her again, only stopped by the orb. She had not expected the dragon to be able to open its maw that wide; its jaws must be unhinged now!

But she had no time to think about that. The dragon was putting pressure on the orb and she could feel and see the cracks in her protection. It was all the warning she got before the orb shattered into a million pieces, just enough time to roll away from the maw that snapped shut. Unfortunately for her, she lost her bow in the process and she had no chance to retrieve it. The dragon pressed its claws down on it, snapping it into little pieces.

Cursing the dragon for its fast reflexes and own quick thinking, Momo backed away from it. Her eyes never left the beast, so she was surprised to see it was not chasing after her immediately. Instead it focused on the spiritual leftovers of her orb. The maw opened slowly and the teal colored shards turned into smoke that the dragon seemingly absorbed. A low and... pleased rumble came from its throat. Did it feed on her spiritual power? She knew that a Yokai's diet could be emotions and energy from humans, but this was new. And it gave her an idea.

While the dragon was still engrossed with the taste of her leftover energy, she quickly channelled her power into another orb, this time more dense and potent. As if the dragon could smell this, it sniffed the air and turned towards her. She saw how its muscles tensed and before it could pounce her, she threw the ball of spiritual energy as far as she could. Like a dog chasing a ball, the dragon went after the orb. When it caught it, the Yokai chomped down on it and slowly absorbed the energy through its maw.

That should be the distraction she needed.

Again concentrating, Momo summoned a pair of spiritual arms that seemingly appeared out of her back. As soon as she had manifested those arms, she drew her tanto sword, blessed by her late grandmother and ran towards the still feasting dragon.

The spiritual hands grabbed the dragon's long body as soon as she was close enough. This startled the Yokai and it tried to free itself from her grasp to no avail. In anger it turned around to her with a loud growl. Momo was not deterred, still running towards its. Claws came down on her. She jumped to the side and pierced her sword into the paw as soon as it hit the ground.

Another loud, pained yowl.

Again the maw came down on her.

Without thinking, Momo dispersed the first pair of spiritual hands and conjured a new pair in a second, grabbing the lower and upper jaw of the maw and keeping it from biting down on her. Roaring in frustration, the dragon raised its head into the air, jerking back and forth as if it tried to swallow her. With nothing else to hold onto other than her spiritual hands, Momo drove her blade into the roof of the dragon's mouth and clung to it for dear life when the dragon reared and screamed in pain.

The dragon's tongue started to move against her, trying to push her down its throat.

"I would stop that if I were you!" She shouted at the dragon and stomped down on its tongue, earning another yelp. "Or my blade will pierce your skull!" To emphasise her words she angled the blade so it would go up to its brain and moved it further into the flesh. A long, pained whine came from the dragon, but otherwise it stood still.

Good. It could understand her. Not that it would help much in this situation.

Focusing as much as she could, Momo conjured another pair of hands. She had never tried four at the same time and she had to hurry. The second pair reached out of the maw, growing in size, closing around the dragon's throat...and started to squeeze. The beast let out a gurgling sound, before massive strands of white hair shot out of its mane and wrapped around the spiritual hand's wrists. She was too surprised by this to keep her concentration up, so the dragon was able to pull the hands away from its throat and then they disappeared again.

Damn. At least it was not trying to pull the same trick with the hands that held its jaws. It probably feared the blade in its mouth too much.

At least the farmers were safe. Between the teeth she could see the last few carrying the unconscious ones away from the clearing.

The two combatants were at a standstill. She was not able to escape the maw without risking getting swallowed and if the dragon would want to keep its brain intact, he couldn't bite down while she was still there.

But that also gave her an opportunity. She closed her eyes and focused on the dragon's aura again. It was a blinding white, just like the real body, coiling around itself. Maybe she could find a way to weaken it by manipulating its aura. Searching for a weak point that she could attack, she noticed something. The white aura was not coiling around itself. It was coiling around...another aura? A dark red one that trashed around in the centre of the white, as if it was trying to escape. Her mental eyes focused on this aura and after a few seconds...the aura looked back. Black and red tendrils reached for her in something that looked like a desperate gesture.

Curiosity peaked and not knowing any better, Momo reached out with her mental hands and started pulling the dark aura out of the grasp of the white. The more she pulled, the bigger the dark aura seemed to become and in turn, the white became smaller. At some point the black overwhelmed the white and absorbed all of it, expanding itself and pushing her away.

With a gasp, Momo opened her eyes. What just happened?

She had no time to think about it, as the dragon started to trash around, apparently not concerned about getting hurt by the blade anymore. It stuck its claws into its maw, trying to pry her out of it. She tried to avoid them, only to get a deep cut on her left arm. The pain startled her so much that she lost focus and her spiritual arms disappeared for a moment. Enough time for the dragon to yank her out of its mouth, together with the blade.

And just in time it seemed.

The dragon's whole body started to contort and it cried out in pain.

Momo had grabbed her blade, ready to continue the fight, but she was too horrified by how the limbs and body of the dragon stretched and cracked, only to shrink into itself. The serpentlike body squashed itself together until it was in the shape of a human torso. The limbs turned into spindly long arms and legs, also looking human but with long, black nails akin to claws. The face changed from a dragon to a man, albeit the maw was still there, just smaller and more fitted to a human face. The white scales have turned into sickly grey skin, black clothing covering it. Only the white hair with the same red stripes, as well as the ones on his face, showed the connection between this and the form it was in a few seconds ago. And were those glasses on its nose?

The dragon Yokai had become a human Yokai. One could mistake him for a very tall and gangly man.

But Momo knew better. It... he was maybe no dragon anymore, but still a Yokai. One that had attacked innocent people. But also his aura had begged for help. Was he a victim of the other white aura?

She must have been in her trance longer than she thought, as she absently noticed how the sky slowly turned brighter. Morning had arrived.

The Yokai seemed to be very disorientated from his transformation. Momo shook her head. This was not the time to have sympathy for this creature. She ran towards his staggering form and hit him with the pommel of her blade in the stomach. As soon as his back hit the ground, she slammed her knee into his abdomen to keep him down, causing him to grunt in pain. Holding the blade above her head, she was ready to pierce his heart.

"Any last words?" she asked him, struggling to catch her breath. Momo didn't know why she gave him a chance to talk, if he could talk at all. Maybe because a part of her was more hesitant now. She had never killed something that looked like a person. Even if it was a Yokai.

His body moved as he tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but her knee pressed him back flat against the ground. Two spiritual hands formed and pinned his arms into the grass. She dared him to move again with a glare. The hesitation still kept her from bringing down her weapon.

He managed to regain his bearings after a moment, his now normal eyes focusing on her. She noted how the morning sun behind her made them shine in a more warm orange tone than the red glare they had earlier. Why she noticed that in the first place was a question she shoved away immediately.

"You're beautiful," he breathed out after a second, the awe in his raspy voice matching the one in his eyes still focused on her. Momo blinked rapidly, taken aback by the fact that he indeed could talk and by the words he had just uttered.

This was what he had to say right now ? And why was he looking at her like she was the sun herself? It made her skin prickle in a not so unpleasant way and she could feel her cheeks flush. What was he trying to do here? He probably wanted to gain her favour and then beg for his life.

But nothing like that happened. Instead his body relaxed and he let his head ease into the grass. No resistance at all, as if he was waiting for her to bring down her blade.

"Why are you not fighting back?" she asked in a whisper.

And why did she care? This was her golden opportunity to kill a Yokai, proving herself to be a capable shrine maiden and earn some coin. No one would cry about one less Yokai in the world. So why did she hesitate? As if she wanted him to give her a good reason to spare him. But he only shrugged, looking rather nonchalant at her.

"Accepting defeat. You beat me fair and square, Miko-san."

He couldn't be serious! This was not some game they were playing. She was about to kill him. She absolutely would! And why was he addressing her so formally? Yokai were not known for having such manners.

"You have enough strength left to throw me off of you. So why don't you?"

Those warm, red eyes looked at her for a moment, just contemplating. She wanted to strangle him for how insouciant he was right now.

"Don't feel like hurting you," he murmured.

She scoffed at that, fighting off another blush at how gently he spoke. "You didn't seem to have a problem with that before."

"Wasn't really myself," he looked at the wound on her arm. His eyes softened into an expression that looked...guilty. "Sorry that I hurt you, Miko-san."

Momo didn't understand. Why was he not acting at all like a devious or cruel spirit, like Yokai are supposed to be? Her grandmother had always told her to be careful around them, that they could lull you into false safety. But...she couldn't feel any malevolence from his aura and his eyes...they looked so honest. Maybe his face was covered by this weird maw mask that made it hard to read his whole expression, but his eyes told her everything. They truly were like the windows to his soul.

The hunters that had come after him the nights before came to her mind. Maybe he could excuse his attack on the farmers with this story, especially since she saw it herself. But nobody had reported a dragon, so he had not always taken that form.

"But you attacked people before. Were you not yourself then?"

"I was," he admitted, his guilty demeanour lessened but still visible. "Acted in self-defense. I try not to kill anybody, unless they deserve it."

Her eyes narrowed at that. "And who, pray tell me, deserves death in your opinion?"

He didn't answer right away, instead he cocked a brow at her. "You are taking your sweet time with killing me."

Anger flared up in her at his audacity. Not embarrassment at being called out for stalling, absolutely not. She smacked her knee into his chest, causing him to wheeze. "And you are way too content with being at the end of my blade. Answer the question!" she barked. This time he complied, as soon as he caught his breath again.

"I only go after bandits and murderers. After those who misuse their power. And those who harm children and women."

"So what?" she let out a mocking snort. "You're a righteous Yokai? Don't make me laugh."

"You wanted an answer Miko-san," he said calmly, closing his eyes. "Accepting it or not is up to you. I have no reason to lie."

And that was what bothered Momo so much. He had all the reason to lie, to attempt to gain her sympathy or trick her and fight for his life. But no, there was only acceptance from him. He was ready to die and that unsettled her so much. If it was true what he had said... Well, it was a very good reason to spare him. This country was plagued with more evil humans than spirits.

Her hands relaxed. Then she lowered the blade to the side and dispersed the spiritual hands that held him down.

Any desire to kill this Yokai had vanished. She would feel horrible now to take his life. And she wanted to know why he acted like he was concerned about hurting her and if he truly only killed those who deserved it. His other form had been a dragon, one he seemingly could not control. She needed to get to the bottom of this, before she could get rid of him without feeling guilt. For once, she prayed to the Kami that this decision would not bite her back in the future.

With a defeated sigh, she got up from him and picked up the remnants of her bow to inspect. It was beyond repair. Great. She threw the broken pieces away.

His eyes opened again and now followed every movement of her curiously. When she offered him her good hand, he looked at her puzzled with an eyebrow raised.

"I don't feel like killing you anymore," she answered his unspoken question with a shrug. "I will spare your life. For now." When he took her offered hand, she yanked him up and pulled him close enough that their faces were just inches apart. "But one wrong move and I might change my mind," she warned him with a low growl. "And since I defeated you, you will listen to everything I say. Are we clear?"

There was... something glinting in his eyes, before he nodded. "Crystal clear."

With a firm nod from herself, she let go of him and took a step back, taking in his hunched over form. He probably was way taller than her, but this pose made him look smaller than her. She wondered if that was just his posture due to his heavy maw or if he did this on purpose so she didn't have to crane her neck. One could mistake him for a normal person...if they ignored the maw, the flaming hair and the grey skin. Okay, one would have to ignore a lot. But he also didn't look as monstrous as he did before and while she knew of plenty of Yokai that posed as beautiful women, there weren't many described to look like a gangly man that could turn into a dragon demon. It was weird that he looked so dark in his black clothes compared to the white of his dragon self.

"You should take care of that. Looks bad," he interrupted her observation of him and pointed to her arm. Blood was dripping into the grass and since the rush of the fight had vanished, she could feel the stinging pain radiating from the wound. She lifted her arm and flexed her fingers experimentally. The muscles seemed to work without pain, so the talons of his other form had only torn into her skin and some flesh. That was an easy fix, she had some salves and bandages in her basket.

She had a lot of questions and she also had to think about what to do with him, now that killing was off the table for the moment. But they had to wait until she had treated her wound. When she looked back at him, she could see the guilt clear in his eyes.

"Don't worry about it. I had worse before," she lied. Somehow she didn't want him to look even more sad than he already was. Her words didn't do much to cheer him up however, so she just let it be.

"Come on, follow me. You have a lot of explaining to do," Momo commanded him and turned around to go back to the cave where she had stashed her belongings. With a glance over her shoulder she could see that he was indeed following her. She kept her guard up, blade always in one hand in case he would attack her from behind, but that didn't seem to be in his mind at all. He wrung the wrist of the hand that she had pierced in his other form. A bit of her own guilt nagged at her conscience. Was the inside of his maw also still wounded? If she had any salve and bandage to spare, she might offer to treat his wound too.

[papsiguesss]

Tarkin/Dooku drabblings: Sickfic 2, electric boogaloo

That’s right, I’ve written more for these boys, and Tarkin still is as horrible a patient as ever. (Part one here!)

TW very unhealthy coping mechanisms

Tarkin did not quite know how long he had been asleep when he woke up again.

In all fairness, he did not quite care.

All that he could focus on was how much his burns stung. That, and the fact that he was trembling so much that it became uncomfortable.

With how much his wounds were flaring up again, it almost felt like he was being electrocuted all over again.

The Governor clenched his jaw. Why did those memories still have such a chokehold on him...?

He thought that he had gotten past it by now. That any fearful responses had been completely beaten out of him during his training on the Carrion Plateau. For so many long years, he had learned how to face such feeble things like fear head-on, only for him to return to square one after this one incident.

The feelings that were haunting his mind were awfully similar to the ones he had experienced as a young child, back when his great uncle Jova had returned him home after his first outing on the Carrion.

Despite all the years that had passed since then, he still remembered those days vividly.

While on the Carrion, not a single day passed without him longing for home again. For the simple comforts of a soft bed, food that he would not have to hunt for and most importantly, rest. Rest for his aching limbs, which had been continually pushed beyond their limits without a single break. Rest for his mind, rest from the constant feeling that something was out there. Something that would tear your head clean off if it would be given the chance. He had been forced to live like a wild beast, and during those days there was nothing that he wanted more than to feel human again.

After being returned to civilised society, however, the return of those comforts he had so longingly wished for did not bring him any happiness.

Instead, it only made him feel more disconnected from everything that had happened to him.

Shutting himself off in his room, he could not get the images of death out of his head. The pungent odour of blood still seemed to haunt him, and when sleeping, his dreams were nothing but the crimson red of death. He had hated his parents for wilfully subjecting their own son to this torture, and he despised Uncle Jova even more. He had been filled with nothing but sheer anger, despite not having any outlet for it.

The more he had been subjected to his own nightmares though, the more he understood why he had been put through these trials.

Before long, memories that had made him cry in his sleep before became something that he felt nothing but numb about. His anger subsided; his fears died out. Instead, all that remained inside his heart was a hollow void.

A void that was now being filled with pain again.

Tarkin would not allow that, however.

Overexposure to his painful memories had made them harmless before. He would simply have to do the same thing all over again.

Moving his shoulders around, he felt his infected skin ache so intensely that it felt as if he was being lit on fire. Feeling the pain, he squeezed his eyes shut, envisioning his torture again. Given the state of his wounds, he did not even have to imagine the sensation of the electricity being forced through his body. He took deep breaths, suppressing any fear or panic that he was feeling.

Before long, those emotions would be entirely eradicated, he thought to himself.

He would not have Dooku seeing him in a vulnerable state like that again. The fact that his memories had given him a panic attack in the past had been embarrassing enough already, but the fact that the leader of the enemy had been a witness to it was downright shameful.

The state his body had been left in was an abhorrent nuisance, but at least it would help him bury his trauma, he supposed.

He froze in place, however, as a robotic voice called out to him.

“Detections of awoken patient. Good afternoon, Governor Tarkin.”

Tarkin's eyes rapidly widened themselves as he realised that he had not been alone in his room. Looking around wildly, he eventually spotted a medical droid standing near his bedside, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the thing with distrust. “...What do you want?”, he muttered grumpily.

“Count Dooku has tasked me with your medical aid”, the robot replied. “Diagnosis: infections in burn wounds, potential of sepsis. Level of severity: highly urgent care necessary. Treatment: antibiotics, which I have been equipped with.” It held out a metallic arm, holding a variety of small pills. “Do take your medicine, Governor.”

The captain gave a disdainful scowl. “Tell the Count that if he wishes to poison me, he is doing a very poor job at masking his intention”, he sneered, turning his back on the droid. “Leave me alone. I’ve sat out worse conditions.”

His robotic nurse gave no response for a while, making the Governor think that that would be it, but he soon groaned as he heard the droid respond. “The Count had informed me that you would be a reluctant and difficult patient,” the mechanical voice rattled, “but you really are something else. Do I need to switch to the juvenile protocol and give you a treat if you remain well-behaved, Governor?”

Hearing the cheek coming from that remark, Tarkin turned back rapidly, glaring at the robot with fury in his eyes. “If it were not for the fact that my wounds incapacitate me,” he snarled, gritting his teeth, “you would have been torn apart in seconds, do you hear me?”

Immediately after the words had left his lips, he suddenly felt himself becoming dizzy again, though. He slumped down again, his teeth clattering as his entire body felt like it was freezing. “…Curses…”, he muttered weakly, wrapping his blanket around him even more in a desperate attempt to feel even a semblance of warmth. “Just… leave me alone, for goodness’ sake…”

The droid did not move. Instead, it moved its hand closer towards the captain’s face, shaking the little pills it was still offering. “Your medicine”, it repeated. “I warn you, intravenous methods will have to be used if you leave it like this for much longer.”

A chill ran down Tarkin’s spine as he heard those words. He would rather not have a set of tubes jammed into his veins. He was reminded of the last time he saw his dying father, ailing from all kinds of complications and barely being kept alive by all the liquids being pumped into his blood. He gulped, remembering how ghastly the man had looked during his final living moments.

As much as he respected the family legacy, this was an aspect in which he wouldn’t like to resemble his father.

Besides, if he had to be poisoned, rather through pills than through an IV bag.

“Fine”, he groaned, rolling his eyes as he took the antibiotics. Gulping as he swallowed them down, he closed his eyes and let out a shivering breath. “…Can you please leave me alone now?”, he eventually asked.

The droid seemed to be weighing over the matter, before eventually giving a stiff nod. “I suppose we can leave temperature and blood pressure taking for later”, it responded. “I will leave you be for now if that is what you wish. Goodbye, Governor.” With those words, it soon left the room.

“Good riddance”, Tarkin scoffed quietly. He turned to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling as he let out a sigh. What in the stars’ name did he get himself in? None of it made sense. He did not understand why Dooku was being this kind with him, he did not understand why his mind had been in such a vulnerable state as of late, and most importantly, he did not understand all the emotions he was feeling. And even worse, he was now bed-bound and left to the Count’s care. Again and again, Dooku had seen him weak and vulnerable, and he hated every single moment of it.

That inexplicable friendliness was the worst part of it, the Governor thought to himself. He could not for the life of him figure out why the Count would be genuine, given that by all accounts, they should want each other dead. Plus, he was probably aware of the information that Tarkin held. Of course he was, that was why his underlings had tortured him for so long. Of course, he was just doing this to manipulate him into willingly giving him his half of the Nexus route coordinates. There was no other reason for him to be doing this.

Not that that was surprising. There was not much about himself that warranted kindness, the captain thought to himself.

Any observer might have called it self-hatred, but that was not how Tarkin saw it himself.

Kindness was something that made you weak. By building up his walls, he was simply preventing that from happening to him.

It was why he quickly abandoned his hatred for his own family after being exposed to the Carrion. They were simply preparing him for the universe’s harshness. Doing any less would have been giving false hope, which was even more cruel in the captain’s eyes.

…It was strange to realise that the most kindness he had received in his lines was coming from someone from the enemy ranks instead of his own family, though.

Having zoned out for he did not know how long, he was suddenly alerted by a soft knock on his door. Opening his eyes again, he scowled as he heard it. What did this blasted droid not understand about the words ‘leave me alone’?

“Go away”, he groaned, rolling his eyes. “Do I have to tell you to back off every single second? For crying out loud, I’d expect your programming to be better than that.”

To his dismay, those words did not make the person behind the door leave. Instead, it slowly opened, though it was not the droid’s face that Tarkin saw staring at him.

It was Dooku’s.

“…I simply brought some food”, the Count said, carrying a small bowl with a somewhat confused expression on his face. “Were you hearing things? I… do hope you aren’t becoming delirious again…”

The Governor narrowed his eyes. “When you said that you were going to have a droid look after me, I did not anticipate you recruiting one to berate me like a disobedient child, Count”, he said grumpily.

Trying to hide a snorting laugh, Dooku tried to keep a straight face. “And you believe that you are not acting like one?”, he responded somewhat teasingly.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Tarkin flashed the Count a furious glare. “I swear to the stars, I’m going to strangle you as soon as my body stops acting ridiculous like this”, he snarled. “Do you derive amusement from seeing me like this, Count? Is that it?!”

Clearly surprised by his companion’s outburst, Dooku’s eyebrows raised as he put the bowl down next to the other’s bed. “That remark was made in jest, there’s no need to get angry”, he said calmly. “And what makes you think that I am doing this for nefarious means? Has there ever been a moment where I have shown harmful intent, captain?”

The Governor slumped down against his pillow, sweat trickling down his forehead as the fever felt like it was getting worse. “You have not”, he muttered with difficulty. “Which is exactly why I find it so suspicious.”

He eyed the Count for a while, a look of distrust on his face. “You are a Separatist”, he continued. “I fight for the Republic. I just so happen to possess information that would be vital to your war efforts, and have played a key part in dismantling your Holonet manipulations. There is no reason for you to not want to either use me, kill me, or both. So please, do explain to me… What is it you want with me, Count?”

Dooku looked away, staying silent. There seemed to be a thoughtful look on his face, though it was not calculating. It was more… introspective. The captain impatiently awaited his answer, his shivering limbs never distracting him from the utmost focus he had.

“…I genuinely do not have any hidden motive”, the Count eventually answered. “I understand why you do not believe me. You have every reason to. We are indeed supposed to be enemies, and what my men have done to you at the Citadel is inexcusable. Indeed, it would seem like madness to do this in the eyes of a logical man. Believe me, I know. My fellow allies have been giving me nothing but hate because of it.”

He paused, frowning as he stared off into the distance. “But then, I do not believe that this is a choice motivated by logic”, he continued, before turning to look at Tarkin again.

“…It is one motivated by emotions.”

The captain scowled with disgust as he heard those words. Not only did it sound ridiculous, but the fact that the man who was supposed to lead the opposing army was this prone to letting his emotions guide him was absolutely sickening to him. How could he possibly admit this weakness to one of his enemies? “I am going to pretend like I entertain this idea for the sake of the argument”, he eventually said. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

Dooku stayed silent, pressing his lips against each other as he looked to be in deep contemplation again. “…We know each other from before the war”, he began after a while, seemingly choosing his words very carefully. “This war has gone on for many long years by now, but I still remember those days as if it were yesterday. Of course, I tried to convince you to side with the Separatist cause, given the fact that Eriadu would make a powerful ally in the Outer Rim. During that attempt, I came across something that I had not encountered before when trying to gather allies.”

He paused, his dark brown eyes intently staring into Tarkin’s.

“…I was met with fierce resistance”, he eventually said.

The Governor frowned in confusion. “What does that have to do with-”, he began to protest, but the Count raised his hand, gesturing for the other to let him finish. “Try as I might, your loyalty fiercely lay with the Republic”, he explained. “And while I was disappointed… I could not help but… respect it. Admire it, even. It was a quality of yours that made me… well, fond of you.” A faint blush spread across his cheeks as he said those words, strangely enough…

“It is why I swore to keep Eriadu from harm”, he continued. “It is why I was appalled when I learned that they had locked you up in the Citadel. I… I respect you, Tarkin. I couldn’t allow you to be subjected to those atrocities, and so I decided to take some semblance of accountability by seeing to it that you at least heal.” He paused one final time, letting out a sigh as he did not break his eye contact.

“Do you still think that I am trying to kill you after all that, captain?”, he asked.

The Governor could not help but stare at the other with bafflement in his eyes after hearing those words. What was Dooku on about? Granted, he could also respect the Count’s war efforts, as well as his charisma, but none of those things would motivate him to make a blunder like that during war. “…Even if all of that was true, you are mad, Count”, he responded. “Mad, do you hear me? What has gotten into you?”

Dooku frowned. “…War is madness”, he eventually said, a look of… regret on his face. “Do you truly believe that sane men start bloodshed like this? But we have gotten terribly derailed, Governor. As much as the philosophy of warfare is a fascinating subject, that is not what I came here for.” He raised up the bowl he had carried into the room, a somewhat concerned look on his face. “I came here to bring you food.”

[spilledmilkfkdies]

Hi, me again! I was just wondering, following the ‘what if the wizards were actually surrendering’ ask, if the wizards really did give up fairy hunting, what do you think they’d do? (Sorry if I’m sending you too many asks, I just really like your takes.) Thank you!

Hiii sorry it took me a sec to get to this one!! I'll put a link to that ask right here for anyone who's wondering, since it's been a bit. Never worry about sending too many asks either, like I said a while back; I'll get to them eventually! If it takes some time before you hear back from me, sincerely <3 My bad <3 Was a little occupied with another fandom this time and actively participating in both got to me djsksdk

Moving on though!

In my mind they've really already been living normally, like between locking away the fairies and Roxy's magic making itself known I mean- Of course the logistics of it are a bit um. All over the place. Considering they're immortal, sort of. Do they have legal documents? Real or fake? Did they have any mortal friends and how would that work? And JOBS?? The way none of these are obstacles for Duman btw, that's why they killed him, they didn't want him to roam and do whatever anymore. Real and Canon.

Now in a post-alt ending-S4 timeline, the one where they did surrender, do we assume that they just can't use their magic, or that they don't have it anymore? Because that'd probably change the way they live afterwards pretty drastically. Aside from the fact some of them heavily depend on magic more than the others (Ogron and Duman get help smh), HORRENDOUS case scenario, they might all be mortal. For the sake of my own mental health though, I'm just gonna say they do still have magic and are in fact not mortal, just give them a fairy parole officer, some magic blocking thing, keep them around and use them for "good" stuff after a rehabilitation period or something. That's what I'd prefer anyway.

What would they be doing during said rehabilitation period? Started out as a bit of a shared joke, but tbh Anagan model career WHEN. He'd struggle with the lack of useable magic the least too, so he'd probably thrive during the whole thing more than the others, and as he should. Besides Anagan I don't have a whole lot ngl- I mean, I'd like to think Duman had lots of jobs back in the day, not sure if I mentioned that before, but I might make a separate post if I didn't, just because I have thoughts but other stuff to talk about rn sjsjksk

Ogron and Gantlos don't have a lot either MY BAD, but I do think Ogron might be more likely to have friends, maybe surprisingly. Meanwhile Gantlos has a bigger chance of being able to hold down a stable job. What job? Great question! I'm not sure yet. If that changes I'll be sharing with the class!

Moving on once again!! What could the "good" stuff I mentioned above be exactly? Education.

Correct me if I'm wrong. But are there no. Wizard or witch school on Earth?? I know they ended up opening a fairy school later on, but those aren't the only magic users suddenly learning of the dormant magic in their roots. Let's take the comic character Gregory for example. He learns he's a wizard, he tries to enroll into a wizard school(?) off planet. Nothing inherently wrong with going to a school off planet- The Winx did it too, lots of magic users do it, what is wrong though, is being turned down and having no alternatives. And even worse?? They tell him it's because. There's a darkness in him?? Or something?? I could excuse it slightly more if it was a case of "Oh your magic is dark aligned and this is a light magic school" because wizard canonically are known to be both, right? But aside from the fact that, again, there are no alternatives for him, as far as he knows, telling a newly awakened magic user that he's basically too evil to teach is CRAZY I'm sorry??

Here's where I cutely insert the Wizards of the Black Circle. Have them become the place to go when your magic energy alignment is dark (because it doesn't inherently have to mean evil and they're worthy of education in this essay I) on Earth, or even just. Any magic user who isn't a fairy. Just give them another Terrestrial option, options are always good. I think that'd be really neat.

You might sit here and go "The evil wizards are gonna teach the next generation of wizards? Could history not repeat itself??" Well. Yeah. But are the Terrestrial fairies not teaching their next generation now too? The same fairies who canonically turned on humanity at some point? These are all 'what if' scenarios, I'd just like to think that with proper communication this time around, things will be different and both fairy and wizard get to work towards that together. I'm normal and have slept a reasonable amount.

[spaceless-vacuum]

What about a reader that has sub zero's abilities

If you don't know mortal combat, sub zero basically can control ice and freeze any type of water including the water in living things which he can freeze them and he can freeze the water in the air making the room look like someone had a blizzard, he can also make ice into weapons. You know he's near when it starts to feel chili. So a reader that can do that basically, would that make reader seem less fragile to them, would that delusion that reader needs their help and they can only protect reader, would they allow reader to fight with them now because the ability to control ice would help or would they try to seal it.

This is sub zero here

I drew your hands in a familiar motion. Calling on the water in the air to freeze. On my command ice grew into a slender needle half a foot long. I shot it forth with devastating speed. The icicle embedded itself deep into the monster's muscle and it roared in pain. A drop of blood fell down the hide of the beast and it turned to face me.

These monsters were everywhere. I had no clue what they were but they looked almost like bulldogs. All short and lean with muscle. Their blue tinted skin was strange and alien. I took a step away. Its breath stunk of rotten meat. The monsters ambushed us. Hyrule had been facing this one and was knocked onto his rear when the thing ran the fellow over. 

“Smart thinking!” Someone from the sounds of chaos shouted but I couldn't pick out anything else. I couldn't turn away from the monster in front of me. I wouldn't think about the fighting behind you. My allies were lost in the roar of chaos and I had no clue who the nearest one was besides Hyrule. For all I knew there was a monster charging at my back.

I summoned another icicle aiming right between the monster's beady little eyes. The icicle hit its throat. The creature backpedalled, reaching for its bleeding neck, and dropped its spear. Hyrule’s sword went through the creature's spine with a sickening crunch. He pulled his sword out and the monster dropped. A second later it turned to dust. Nothing remained except for the weapon.

I turned around. There were still a few left fighting in the clearing below. Time was taking care of one with some help from Wind, Warrior and Sky were dancing around another, and Legend had one fire while he was finishing it up with his sword. Hyrule ran up behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Did it get you?” I turned to look at Hyrule. I reassured him I was fine. The first time we were ambushed I had been caught by a spear in my shoulder. It wasn't serious but everyone in the group was beside themselves for letting it happen. Hyruel was the first to run over and used his magic to heal me. He was amazing with his gift. Weaving together bones and healing tissue like it was second nature.

We had been travelling together for a few days. I had been trapped in this world for over a week. All I knew was that nothing made sense. Everything was different from what I was used to. Not everything was dangerous but you had to be careful here. It was hard to focus with all the stories the group had been telling. Might, magic, treasure, and a rich history. I don't know what I would have done if I didn't bump into them on the road that day.

We were just in the middle of a conversation about a dungeon Legend had been when the ambush hit. My magic let me handle myself in a fight. Hitting targets and making shields was easy for me, but the others were different. The deck was stacked against me. My travelling companions were well hardened adventurers and I got tired after an hour of walking. I wasn't even sure what it was we had fought.

“That should be the last of ‘em.” Warrior called out loud so everyone could hear. No one called out afterwards to warn us of others. No more sounds of swords and shields. It was all over so quickly.

“That’s the third time today. We’ve got to be close to whatever they are guarding.” Time wiped blood off of his blade, the droplets as dark as night. 

Everything here was different. You had to be quick on your feet. Everyone here relied on their instincts. I was good, but the group was better. After travelling for days I was more than thankful for their help. Their camp felt like the safest place I could be. Aside from these boys there wasn't anyone else on my mind who I'd rather be travelling with.

I had tried to do little things around camp to make taking me in easier. Cleaning the dishes, helping Wild cook, and in general trying my best to not get in the way. I didn't know much about their quest or their reputation. Time had stressed they were hunting a monster and had to do anything they could to get rid of it.  He had given me the impression they were all skilled enough to do it, and to give anxiety to anyone who went against them in a fight.

Today was different. It felt like everything in this world was set to target us. We were close to something. Why else try so hard to slow us down? Taking a break wasn't an option. We had to press on. If we were quick we might be able to figure out what all the fuss was about. I wanted to see The Shadow they all talked so much about.

“You're good in a fight.” Hyrule said. He was checking himself over for anything that got knocked loose in the fight.

“Thank you! I feel like I'm getting better.” His compliment made me blush. Hyrule was the only champion here who was naturally gifted with magic. We had that in common. Made it easy to talk with him since we both had some form of elemental connection. His lighting and my ice made for a good pair.

“Should we take a rest?” I heard Four talking on the other side of the clearing. “We could send someone back to fetch you if anything happens.” I looked over. He was standing by Time and Sky while Warrior was trading flame rods with Legend. 

“No. I don't want anyone to fall behind. What if they send someone to catch us and attack the smaller part?” Time looked over to me and Hyrule. They were talking about us. Leaving me and anyone else behind so they rest could rush ahead while we stayed behind. I hated it when Time treated me like I was clueless.

His way of acting always caught me off guard. Yesterday while I was telling a story about my world he kept stopping me to ask me questions.  He was asking me to talk more about myself and my life form before I fell through to Hyrule. Like if I was married, what I ate back home, and what I thought of my life there. He acted like I couldn't tell what he was asking for.

Then there were times like today. Where he was going over my head to stare at the man behind me. Time was trying to ask Hyrule what my condition was. Was I injured? Could I go on? He wouldn't take my word for how I was handling things- no. He wanted the perspective from one of the team members. I hated it, but I understood why. 

Didn't mean I enjoyed his treatment, just that I understood why. He didn't want the newbie to try and appear tougher than they were. I couldn't be allowed to push myself too far just to stick with the rest of the group. Legend first brought up this concern to me. He had repeated it a few times after. For some reason they all were convinced I didn't know my own limits. As if I were some fragile glass slipper in their mind but not my own.

“The moblin jumped out and attacked us both but it didn't land a hit. We're fine.” Hyrule assured everyone we, but mostly I, was ok.

“Looked like you took quite a fall. Glad y/n could help you out.” Warrior, bless his heart, had been helping train me. He was vocal about how I could fight only if I proved myself. I didn't know what that meant but said ok. During our first sparring match I froze his foot to stone; and left him there. It counted as a win. He couldn't do anything and I was free to move away or attack.

“I’m fine. Neither of us are injured and I can still walk.” I looked over to Hyrule and he agreed. He went down but the spear never touched him. I took control of the situation and the beast went to attack me but was slain before it could. It could have been worse.

“We’ll continue together. If something happens a few of us will stay to rest.” Time’s order was final. We began marching again.

“Splitting up the group isn't a good idea, you said that yourself. I'm not injured and you might need the help.” I knew my comment would be heard but not listened to. Time could be so pig headed sometimes. He had his own view of honour and how to keep others safe. You disregarded his ideas and he knew this. Didn’t change what he did or what he saw in me. He meant to keep me safe even if I found it counterintuitive to the point of harm. Sometimes it grew on me but other times it was so infuriating to deal with. I wasn't incapable of defending myself.

“We can’t rest if we're too worried about you.” Sky said. He could see how tense Time was. He took the brunt of your suggestions. The rest of the group would tell you the same thing but you listened to Time more. He was the leader and he controlled the group when they got too far ahead of themselves. He would put his foot down for you in place of the others so you would listen to the group's suggestions.

“I don't think we'll be stopping. It's past midday. If one group stops and we have to circle back it will be sundown. No use in shooting ourselves in the foot if we can catch the shadow while the suns still up.” Time doubled down. He didn't say we wouldn't be stopping, just that if we did it would have to be for the rest of the night. Depending on how the rest of the day went, such as more ambushes, we might have to stay back and set up camp.

“We’ll have to stop at some point for dinner and rest.” Legend spoke. I was up front with Time. I turned around to look at Legend and the rest behind us. Wind was eating something that looked like a plant and Wild was fiddling with his sheikah slate.

“Darling here just doesn't want to slow us down.” Twilight said. He was up front with Warrior. I slowed down to where Sky was in the middle of the group. Wind, Wild, Four, Legend, and Hyrule were in the rear. 

The main fighting force was behind us. Most of the ambushes had taken place when we were almost all the way past them. They'd jump out of the forest and try to trap us from all sides. The strongest fighters would stay up front to push forward while the rest made sure no one closed in on anyone's backs. My spot was in the middle. Where anyone from any side could jump in and protect me. 

Everyone here had told me in one way or another that they only wanted what was best for me. We hadn't been together for long enough for me to agree with them. They hardly knew me, how could they tell me what was best for my life? That and how touchy they could be put me on edge from time to time. I figured Hylians were naturally close people. I was treated as a close friend even though we didn't know each other for long.

I had no plan on leaving. No other group felt quite as safe and I had grown fond of them. Several of the party members had made it clear they felt the same way. Not to mention I had promised Wind there would be no plans of running away in the middle of the night. If I had to leave I would do so with warning.

I doubted I would feel like leaving anytime soon. The future was unclear but I was invested in these boys. Both their lives and in the mystery around the shadow. I couldn’t leave them on their own. I knew they felt the same way about me. We have been trading stories a lot lately. I would say something about my life and they would say something of their own. Talking with them like that made me feel at home.

I couldn't leave without saying goodbye and giving my thanks first. I didn't even have the time to properly thank them for everything they've done for me. I knew they all would object to any gifts I spent money on- especially Time. He prided himself on buying everything I needed when we were in town. So that meant I had to do so in private. Time by myself was hard to come by. I couldn't manage to slip away even if I tried. If I wanted to get them any presents I would have to do so carefully.