#they got me by the throat with their scenes

[dilemmars]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“ DIE WITH A SMILE. ”⠀⠀───⠀⠀arcane.

⠀⠀𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗈𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾.⠀( the base violence necessary for change , 9.3k words. )⠀by dilemmars.

1.⠀⠀ PAIRING⠀⠀:⠀⠀violet x f!reader.

2.⠀⠀GENRES⠀⠀:⠀⠀based on the storyline and universe of arcane ( league of legends tv show )⠀; first love trope, started dating recently, stablished relationship, exes to lovers. basically you and vi were dating before the start of the story, then got separated.

3.⠀⠀WARNINGS⠀⠀:⠀⠀i will add the warnings that the tv show has: slight presence of sex and nudity, foul language, alcohol, drugs and tobacco. moderate scenes of fear and terror. high content of violence and gore. in this third chapter, there's a lot going on. mentions of death, injuries, prostitution, blood, fights, and a brief suicidal thought at the end. please do not read if you're uncomfortable with it.

4.⠀⠀AUTHOR 'S NOTE⠀⠀:⠀⠀third chapter out! i'm so sorry thta it took me another full day to post a new chapter. i haven't even watched act 3 yet because i lit have no time, but i managed to finish this. it is very sad. i'm sorry about that too. but next chapter will be slightly more relaxed, with less drama, i promise. happy sunday 🤍

5.⠀⠀IMPORTANT⠀⠀:⠀⠀this is a work of fiction. i do not own arcane or any content produced or owned bychristian linke, alex yee, riot games or netflix. all rights belong to netflix and the writers of arcane. all plot events and character developments that are not related to the main character's story belong to the writers and creators of the series.

It's hard to know what your last breath will be, but sometimes you can feel the moment lurking, like a shadow looming over you, icy and heavy. Crouched on that rooftop, the air had a strange edge to it, as if each breath cut inside. The mist rising from the streets scratched at your throat, but it wasn't just mist. It was the weight of the inevitable.

You paused, frowning, as the usual swaying of the wooden sign of Benzo's caused your gaze to wander towards the entrance of the shop. And before you could comprehend what was happening, the scream came as a jolt, tearing through the silence of the night. It was as if the sound pierced your skin, sinking into your flesh, clinging to your bones. The kind of scream you can't help but hear, a gasp ripped from a throat. A hopeless, desperate voice that forces you to imagine the pain behind it. One last breath, and a body slumped to the ground.

And then, you caught a glimpse of him. A blurred figure, moving with a ferocity that seemed unnatural, unloading a punch on another uniformed officer, the glare of his gaze utterly animalistic. You cowered over the edge of the building, struggling not to look away, and flinched at the brutality of the pounding. The Enforcers all looked the same, with the metal mask and the blue cap, but the creature that had attacked them was familiar. It seemed less human with every movement, a mass of disfigured flesh and purplish meandering veins, but the curve of its chin, the soft wave of its hair... you had been so close to its face that you had come to memorise it.

Deckard. You recognised the sharp turn of his movements, accentuated in that state. You had felt his violence in your own skin, you knew it. Altered into a violent beast, he still retained some of that cruel strength, no doubt hindered by the way his body had grown and deformed. You saw him ignore the authoritative warning of a third Enforcer, and approach her at superhuman speed. In the blink of an eye, the police collapsed at his feet, like a drunk by a tavern door. Her blood spilled down the wall of the tent, sloshing everywhere, and you followed it with your eyes as it slid between the stones, thick, after Deckard had torn her flesh to the bone.

The force of his attack hit you like a shot in your chest, and you clutched at the concrete beneath your hands as if you could somehow anchor yourself to the past. There was silence in the weathered street. You could only hear your ragged breathing, quickening under your skin, and Deckard's silent footsteps as he disappeared. Night had fallen on Zaun like a blanket on your bed, and you felt it on your shoulders, suffocating you. You looked down again, where the rickety bodies of the agents lay like broken dolls on the pavement, their stiff fingers still gripping their pistols, and you could faintly distinguish the movement of someone approaching them in the shadows.

Measuring his pace, as if calculating every step he took, a fourth Enforcer approached the bodies of the fallen agents, his service gun in his hand, and he hesitated. For a moment you wanted to say something to him, to warn him perhaps, that there was a beast loose in the darkness, tell him to run away while he could, but a movement in the dusk stopped you. He was not alone. Behind him, shoulder to shoulder at the entrance to the shop, two frozen figures watched the scene. You felt a knot in your chest as you recognised them: Vander and Benzo. Their stances looked sharp, like a taut bow about to shoot an arrow, ready to defend themselves if necessary.

You leaned forward, caught between the urge to descend and the helplessness of knowing you could do nothing from up there, but something stopped you. You saw something dancing in the fog, the soft walk of a distorted silhouette slowly approaching from the other side of the street. You tried to suppress the shiver that ran down your spine, a shiver that was not only cold, but that also contained more than just that, the fear locked in your ribcage, rising up to feel it pulsing in your throat.

And then, the glow of embers in the night: a kaleidoscope of shadows and flames, pierced by a scar, so different from its twin that they looked like the eyes of two different people. The face, sharp, pale, and an imperturbable pace, so sure of himself that the ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet.

‘Silco?’ Benzo, hesitant, confused at first, turned rabid as he brandished the old silver candlestick in the direction of the unknown man. ‘You animal,’ he said, coming closer, stumbling, ’go crawl back into whatever hole you came out of.’

You couldn't see the venomous smile that tugged at Silco's thin lips, but you did hear the desperate tone torn from Vander's throat as he raised his hands towards his friend, cuffed, useless, trying to prevent the inevitable, ‘Benzo, stay back!’

‘You never did know when to walk away,’ Silco's voice, velvety, echoed down the street, emptying the silence, and your heart stopped inside your chest as Benzo tried to pounce on him.

The motion was too fast for the human eye. One instant, Benzo had raged forward, steadfast, defying the impassive man of mist. The next, Deckard's raw strength had brought Benzo down in a bundle of violet swirls, the body of the one who had cared for you since you were a child lying lifeless on the ground. The creaking of his bones echoed wet and dry at the same time, like tree branches snapping under too much weight, the blood surging beneath his shoulders, as if fleeing from the veins it was ceasing to flow through.

From the rooftop, it all seemed painfully distant. You brought a trembling hand to your mouth, a scream dying in your throat, watching Deckard keep his hand on Benzo's neck. His crooked fingers seemed to tingle from feeling the violence of death again, waiting, hovering over Benzo to check that he was gone, and you heard Vander's torn whimper, his legs buckling under his weight, under the weight of loss.

‘Stubborn to the end,’ muttered Silco, relishing each word with reverence.

But then the Enforcer left standing dropped his arms, defeated, betrayed, half-face covered by the mask they wore so as not to breathe Zaun's toxic air, and questioned Silco angrily, ‘What the hell have you done? This wasn't the deal!’

The echo of his words expanded, vibrating inside your head as if searching for a place to linger, and you stood still, watching from the shadows as that chilling scene unfolded, kneeling on the edge of the building, utterly overwhelmed.

‘Deal's changed.’

Silco's words reverberated on the cobblestone floor of the poorly lit street, ringing in your ears, as you tried to clear your mind. You took a breath of air, which cut, cold, down your throat, and looked down. You could still hear his voice, ominously calm and low, and the clink of coins clattering on the floor. A deal. Between the topside and the underground. You frowned, realising that there were no fire stairs on that front, and accentuated your frown as you tried to understand why someone from Zaun would want to ally himself with an Enforcer, of all people.

Before you could even try to slide down the wall, however, leaping from window to window as you had done in the past, you heard Deckard's heavy footsteps on the cobblestone floor, and you raised your head. He was slowly approaching Vander, with no sign of a reaction from the owner of The Last Drop, letting out a low growl as the beast finally took up a position in front of him. His arm swung once like the pendulum of an old clock, and the punch blew against Vander's face with a low, muffled thud, causing him to stagger under its weight.

Your throat closed as you watched him anchor his legs to the ground to keep from falling. You saw him drop his shoulders, defeated, as if he had forgotten his own strength, and he stood just as still as you did whilst Deckard shoved his hand through Vander's hair, grabbing him violently and pulling him to the ground. You watched him, because you were unable to do anything else, as if fear had slid liquid across your skin until it solidified around your ankles, the monstrous creature dragging Vander across the ground. 

It was the certainty. Vander, who had picked you up off the street at your weakest moment, who had taught you how to defend yourself, who had shown you the resilience that characterised him like a class while learning how to make Powder's favourite juice, had been reduced to a shadow of his former self by a punch. What could you have done to stop it? To stand between Vander and the one who had abused you as much as he had wanted? To face Deckard's vicious eyes once more, risking losing him all the same?

It wouldn't have helped.

You watched them walk, Silco's figure turning away from the chaos of shadows and death he left behind him, while Deckard followed close behind, gripping Vander's hair with a bruising strength. Your fingers itched. You had braided that hair many times, elaborate and funny designs as you grew up, but those hands were treating it cruelly, a monster freed of any kind of sentience. And it hurt. Watching them disappear into the fog, the Enforcer staggering down the street to the other side, it stung like an open wound. You bit your cheek, holding back the tears that threatened to slide down your skin, and felt the blood on your tongue like a foul aftertaste.

And then you heard it. The cry, choked and broken, that pierced your chest like a sharp knife. You stood up, waking the legs that had felt numb against the concrete edge of the rooftop, and moved on instinct, ignoring the insignificant discomfort of your ankle every time you leaned on it.

It was Vi. You slid across the roof, your feet seeking support on the nearest window ledge, hanging on to it to climb down to the next, and continued descending. You followed the heartbreaking sound of Vi's voice, drowning out her own sobs, and swallowed all the emotions you didn't want to feel, focused on finding your girlfriend. The polish of your nails peeled as you buried your fingers in joints between bricks, clinging to them to keep from falling to the ground, and you closed your eyes tightly before you took the last leap, placing most of your weight on your good foot as you landed on the ground.

You rose to your feet, a shiver running through your skin, as you heard the piercing cry of frustration, and turned to face it with a jolt. It had come from Benzo's shop. Had she been there all that time? You frowned, restless, and turned towards the massacre, clenching your jaw and staring straight ahead. You had to get Vi out of there. That was your priority. You couldn't afford to look at the ground, to collapse. Every breath you took, the air sounded slightly ragged, as if you were about to scream but held back, and you clenched your hands into fists as you dodged the bodies sprawled on the floor.

Your first step into Benzo's shop was hesitant, like an unconfident fawn's. You didn't want to think that it was the first time you would enter the place knowing that its owner would never come back to wait for you behind the counter, but the certainty came back to you again and again, as if brought by the tide. There was almost no light, the little oil lamps that were scattered around the shelves were off, as if they held a mourning you had not yet faced, and the darkness brought with it a feeling of coldness that dug into your bones.

‘Vi,’ you whispered, your choked voice faintly spilling across the room. ‘Vi!’ you repeated, louder.

You heard your name, low, dazed, almost vanishing into thin air, and tried to follow it. It was the storage room. She had been locked in the storeroom.

‘Wait!’ you said, rushing to the counter, ‘I'll get you out!’

You tried to piece together what had happened, your hand searching in the gloom for the spare key Benzo always kept in the wooden drawers. It was in Vi's nature to have tried to fix everything herself. It was inherent in her, to carry as much of the burden as possible so that her siblings —and even you, if you got into trouble— wouldn't have to suffer the consequences. You didn't know how she could have warned the Enforcers, but you knew they had come to Benzo's shop for her. You knew it as clearly as you knew you would have done the same for her if it had happened.

But if Vander had shown up, it was also because he had discovered her. And if he had been wearing the handcuffs, it had been him who had locked her in the storeroom. To stop her from doing another stupid thing. Maybe Vander wasn't her biological father, but a strained smile tugged at your lips at the thought that they were more alike than they allowed themselves to think they were.

When your fingertips brushed against the metal frame of the key, you grabbed onto it, running the few meters between the countertop and the door behind which Vi stood. Your hands trembled as you slid it into its lock, holding your breath as you tried a second time, and you turned it on its axis twice, as you had done so many times in the past, pulling the heavy door off its hinges so that you could wrap your arms around Vi's body.

She clung to you tightly, choking her sobs in the crook of your neck, and the silence grew heavy around you, empty of hope. You felt Vi's hands squeeze your shirt, squeezing your body against hers, her warm tears sliding down your skin. You looked up at the ceiling, letting out a shaky sigh between your lips, and ran your hand up her back until it was tangled in her hair. Her shoulders shook under your touch to the rhythm of her own sobs, and you stayed still beside her for as long as she needed, allowing her to collapse.

‘Did you see what happened?’ you finally murmured against her hair, as her breathing slowly regulated.

‘Not much,’ she replied, her voice broken by tears, pulling away from you to rub her hands across her face. ‘Did you?’

‘It was Benzo...’ you began, and you hated the way you faltered before continuing. ‘They killed Benzo. And the Enforcers, some of them...’

‘And Vander?’

‘He's alive,’ you said, sliding your hand down his arm. ‘They took him.’

And your breath hitched as you realised.

He was alive. They had taken him, but he was still alive. Your mind was scrambling, trying to plan an impulse that came to you like a tug at your heart, watching the tears glisten on Vi's freckled cheeks. You couldn't let her lose someone else. Piltover had taken enough from her. Vander was still alive, you told yourself. He was still breathing, his chest was rising and falling, even if he hadn't had the strength to rise and confront them. He was alive, and you still had a chance to fight for him.

Your face took on a more worried tinge, ‘We need to find out where they've taken him.’

Vi looked up at you, her unfocused eyes darting across your face, but she nodded.

‘I know where,’ muttered a voice behind you. You turned abruptly, brow furrowed in distrust, and felt the pain wither against your ribcage. Ekko.

Little Ekko, never as small as he looked at that moment, his shoulders slumped forward and his crystallised gaze fixed on you. You took a step forward, ready to take him in your arms, but it was he who crossed the distance between you, taking refuge in your embrace. The pained expression on his face melted into tears as you snaked your hands around his back, and your own lump in your throat threatened to unravel as you felt him cry against your chest.

‘They killed him,’ he murmured, over and over against your skin, choking back his own tears.

‘I know, kid,’ you replied, unable to understand what you were supposed to do at that moment. You felt the warmth of unshed drops in your own eyes, and fought against them, burying your face in his hair as you felt one slide down your cheek. ‘I'm sorry, I'm sorry.’

‘We'll get them, Ekko,’ Vi promised, resting one hand on your back, stroking you comfortingly, and another on the boy's shoulder.

He parted slowly, rubbing his hand over his cheeks as Vi had done a few minutes before, and looked at the two of you, trying to gather the energy to speak. You couldn't stop to think what it must have felt like, watching Benzo die like that and still finding the strength to follow the perpetrators, the murderers, just so you could have a glimmer of hope of getting Vander back. He had been very brave.

‘It should be quick,’ you said, cradling his face in your hand, the pain shining in your gaze. ‘An hour and a half, maybe, tops two hours.’ You slid your gaze slightly to Vi, who was watching you with her brows furrowed in a helpless gesture, and added, ‘If we're not back then, please, go to my Mom's, yeah?’

Your mother would know what to do. She always did. She would take care of Ekko.

‘But...,’ he stammered, and you decided to ignore the way his chin began to tremble again, new tears gathering in his almond-shaped dark eyes.

‘No buts, Ekko,’ you replied, interrupting him gently. You took a breath of air, tangling your fingers in his short pale hair, pulling him to your body, and held him tightly in your arms. ‘I need you to be safe, please,’ you implored.

‘I don't want to lose you,’ he murmured against the fabric of your shirt, and you felt every movement of his lips, your own face struggling not to cry. 

You looked up, blinking back tears, sighing the lump in your throat, ‘You won't,’ you told him, stroking his white curls, ‘you have my word. I'll come back in one piece.’

You forced yourself to pull away from him, your hands on his shoulders, and slid your thumb over his cheeks to wipe away the strands of tears that had leaked from his eyes, trying to muster the courage to flash a crooked smile. It wasn't easy, but you couldn't afford to look weak. Not in front of him, not when he needed you more than ever.

‘Besides,’ you whispered, unbuttoning your waistcoat, holding the pocket watch between your fingers, resting it against his chest in a graceful motion, ‘who's going to look after my watch while I'm gone?’

‘Are you going to let me keep it?’ he asked, cupping it in his two hands as if it were a treasure. He slid his fingertips over the silver curve of its circumference, over the twelve chipped numbers you had drawn above it - all Roman numerals - and looked up at you.

‘Forever,’ you promised, nodding solemnly.

He pounced on you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and you melted into his embrace with closed eyes, memorising every detail. Vi joined in a sigh, wrapping her strong arms around you, and for a moment you remained buried under your own skin, wishing that it was all a nightmare and that when you opened your eyes, the rapid breathing, tears and screams were just part of yet another of your childish games.

Reality was far crueler than a kid's imagination.

You felt Vi's hand intertwined with yours like a shackle pulling you back to consciousness, the faint discomfort of your ankle keeping you sane as she led you to The Last Drop. You hadn't exchanged a word since you had left Ekko in the same room of broken glass you had fled from that morning, hidden in the rafters of the ceiling, and both of remained trapped in your minds, thoughts running at too much speed.

It was difficult to face such a situation. As inhabitants of Zaun, loss was part of your DNA. You came into the world crying for the loss of your future, a future that had been taken from you at the founding of the city, and you mourned the violence that you would inevitably encounter, ever-present in the streets of the underground. Vi had endured the death of her biological parents, as had Powder and the rest of the Vander children, and you had been born without knowing who your father was, growing up surrounded by brutality.

You didn't know what your girlfriend was thinking, but you tried to remember if you'd ever spent enough time in the docks to have been able to investigate the large building that loomed over the water, as if it were floating. Ekko had claimed to see the man of mist and Deckard disappear within its tall brick walls, but had refused to come any closer. You had left a soft kiss on his forehead as a farewell, and in a glance you and Vi had known what to do.

Vander had trained you for such a moment. He had spent years teaching you how to defend yourselves, practising boxing with you, training you to take care of your own. You had always assumed it would be complicated, any fight was. But as much as Vander had been a proponent of using violence, in his past, you had also learned peace. It was clear that Silco would not accept a dialogue, a bargain of any kind. He had negotiated with that Enforcer for Vander. Vander had been his target.

The importance of acting was to do it right. And if you sneaked in and out, as you'd done so many times before to get some food, you'd all sleep on the top floor of The Last Drop that night, listening to Vander's snoring, the sheets moving every time Powder rolled over in her bed, and Vi's body warm against yours.

The bar was dead silent when you slipped in through the back door, and you assumed Vander would have closed up before he went to find Vi. You waited a few moments for her as she went inside to fetch the gauntlets Vander always kept hanging over the counter, and slipped down the stairs to the small room in the basement of the building when she returned with a shake of her head. Someone had taken them.

‘Vi?’ uttered Claggor, turning to you as she opened the door. He added your name, avoiding the hint of a question. You tried to force a smile as you realised that they had always assumed that if one of you was there, the other would appear shortly after.

Vi came down the stairs two at a time, ignoring the two boys, and slid her eyes around the room, searching for the gauntlets, ‘Where are the...?’

You sat on one of the steps, listening to the soft thump of Powder's body as she pounced on her older sister, and pulled your trousers up to your knee, untying your laces at full speed. Whenever Vi was set on something, she acted on instinct and with great speed. You didn't know if she would look for something more —except perhaps other weapons— but you delegated finding them to her. You had little time to slow down the way your ankle was going to worsen its condition irremediably in the remainder of the night.

Nor did you have much more strength than she did to explain what had happened.

You pulled off the bandages you carried in your pocket, resting them on the old wood of the stairs, as you heard Vi's quickened breathing echo through the room, pulling your injured foot up a step to remove your boot. You looked up when you heard Mylo protest, ‘Hey, those are Vander's,’ he said, grabbing Vi by the wrist. ‘Slow down. What is going on?’

‘Benzo's dead,’ she muttered, and you closed your eyes for a moment, before continuing to untie the tight knot in your shoes. 

‘Dead?’ Claggor repeated, and you wondered if you were better off waiting outside. You removed your sock, shook your head, took a breath of air, and picked up the bandages, placing your foot on the knee of your other leg.

‘They took Vander.’

‘Who took Vander?’ added Claggor, as you began to wrap the bandage around your ankle, taut, inflexible on your skin, tense enough so that when you came back your joints wouldn't resent it. You did it angrily, trying to bury all the emotions you had managed to control so far.

‘I don't know,’ you heard Vi reply, and her voice sounded slightly closer as she turned to include you in the conversation, ’we're gonna help him.’

‘We're going with you,’ Mylo replied, almost as if he was hurt that it hadn't occurred to you earlier.

You put your sock back on when the bandages felt like a second skin over your foot, and tied your boots tightly. A bloody sprain wasn't going to stop you from rescuing Vander. It wasn't going to stop you from bringing him back, safely, home. You weren't going to let it. You looked up, sighing, and tried to intervene.

‘Whatever killed Benzo...’ you said, and your breath caught in your throat.

‘It was nothing like I've ever seen,’ Vi continued, and her voice trembled as much as yours. ‘It tore him apart.’

You saw the way her shoulders tensed before even the first sob slipped from her mouth, but you didn't have a chance to approach her before her brothers, who embraced her warmly, all united by stubbornness and impotence. Vi put her hands to her face, covering the obstinate tears she did not want to let fall down her cheeks, and you knew she had come to the same conclusion as you. They were both going to want to go with you, and you were going to need their help, no matter how much Vi wanted to keep them safe.

‘You're not doing this alone,’ Claggor stated, determined.

‘He's our father too,’ Mylo added, his hand tracing circles on Vi's back. ’Do we know where they took him?’

‘Ekko followed them,’ you interjected, clearing your throat as Vi stowed what her brothers had left on the table in one of the backpacks you always left lying around. ‘The old cannery next to the docks. He said...’

You looked up from the backpack, calming yourself once you realised it had been the boys who had taken the gauntlets, but the muscles in your back tensed again as you noticed Powder standing in front of you, a look of determination on her face, and a suitcase in her hands. Of course she wanted to go with you too.

Vi turned to you as she heard you hesitate, and exhaled an exhausted sigh at the sight of her sister.

‘I need you to sit this one out, Powder,’ she asked, approaching her.

‘What?’ her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and your heart crumpled in your chest. Ekko had been easier to convince because he had seen what had happened. He was shocked, willing to wait for you to return. But Powder had always followed his sister's example, longing for a chance to show her worth and to stop being treated like a child.

‘You're not coming,’ and Powder's expression was worse than if she'd received a slap in the face.

‘I'm not afraid,’ she replied, desperate within the quietness of her response.

You couldn't intervene on this occasion. Nor were Mylo and Claggor going to. It went beyond their sense of responsibility, this was a blood sister fight to see which of the two would get their way. And the older one always had the upper hand.

‘It's too dangerous,’ Vi added, and you didn't have to see the gleam in her eye to know that she needed Powder to listen to her, to understand why she was asking so much of her.

‘But families stick together,’ Powder continued, accentuating his frown, ’you said it yourself.’

‘I know what I said...’

‘I want to fight,’ she announced, and the freckles creased on her cheeks as she looked up, raging, at Vi. ‘I can help.’

‘You're not ready,’ Vi replied, and her sharp tone cut over Powder's determination, shattering what hope remained. You saw how Vi held her breath for a moment, regretting her choice of words, and tried to correct them in a whisper. ‘You're all I have left,’ she said, resting the palm of her hand against Powder's cheek. ‘I can't lose you.’

‘Here,’ you uttered, in a soft, conciliatory tone, approaching them with one of the flares you had in a box under the stairs. It was a blue smoke one, a symbol you had talked about more than once with Powder, making jokes about the colour of her hair.

Vi took it gently from your hands, handing it to her little sister, ‘If they come for you, take this and run,’ she whispered, her gaze locked on Powder's pale pink eyes. ‘Wherever you are, light it up and I'll find you.’

Eyes shining, you almost couldn't hear the last words, a gentle ‘I promise’ murmured against Powder's face as she leaned down to rest her forehead against her sister's, memorising the warmth of her body before parting. You turned, beckoning Mylo and Claggor up the stairs, and you followed, leaving the sisters a few more seconds together.

The mood seemed somewhat subdued, Mylo's mouth closed in an altogether uncharacteristic muteness, and you peeled back your lips to make some comment to cheer them. The words died in your throat when you reached the landing, suddenly surrounded by Claggor's arms, and you held your breath in surprise.

‘I'm sorry,’ he said, and Mylo repeated it, both of them hugging you.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself a moment of weakness, and let out a choked sob against Claggor's shoulder, still feeling the lump in your throat.

‘It's not your fault,’ you murmured back, ’it's not.’

‘It's not yours either,’ Vi uttered, and you turned your face towards her, who had just appeared through the door.

You tried to curl your lips into a grateful smile, your eyelids quivering to keep from shedding a tear, ‘I know.’

But it wasn't true, because you could never find out what would have happened if you had come down from that rooftop before Silco appeared, if you had warned the Enforcers of Deckard's presence. It was already in the past, you had lost your opportunity. Maybe, if you had confronted them while Vander and Benzo were still conscious, everything would be fine. Maybe your presence would had led them to fight back. And that was something Vi didn't know either.

You trailed behind, but kept pace as Vi led you through the crooked streets of Zaun, turning corners and ignoring drunken men, towards the city borders. The docks were not a highly desirable place, though one to which Madam sent many prostitutes on the days of disembarkation. Most traders transacted goods with the topside, and its bright and shiny harbours, but those who dealt in coal and alcohol had to make a stop at the Lanes, and the black market in its streets.

That building, however, looked even darker in the moonlight, the mist rising from the water creating a cloak of eerie mystery around it. You walked around its perimeter in a couple of minutes, trying to figure out which entrance was the most secluded but best accessible, and it was your keen eye that located an open window on the first floor. You climbed onto Claggor's shoulders, a rope at your shoulder, and clung tightly to one of the pipes, checking with a smirk that it would be able to support your weight.

Of the four of you, you were the best at climbing. You were elusive, small and slender for your age, even more so than the children of Zaun, no doubt a consequence of the fact that on many days your mother had been unable to offer you food to put in your mouth. The need to hide had made you learn to duck between the rooftops of the city, and though Vi was better at leaping from building to building, you were certainly the sneakiest of the bunch.

You even seemed to glide along the facades, you'd been told, clawing at bricks and picking out which spots on the wall were best to rest your limbs on, as you were doing at the moment. You panted as you managed to get your arm over the window sill, sliding your leg over so that you could slide into the building, and held your breath as you glanced down the dark corridor. No one seemed to be there. You grabbed the coiled rope you had slung over your shoulder and began to drag it down the window, waiting for Vi's two tugs before you crouched on the floor and braced your feet against the wall.

You held on, with the rope wrapped around your waist and tugging at it while the others climbed, and left it hidden under the window once everyone had climbed up. In case any guards found it, they wouldn't know where to start looking, and you doubted you would need it to escape. Vander was too heavy and too weakened to get out the way you had come in.

You scanned the corridors of the warehouse, rusty platforms stacked in a narrow space, and hurried to take up position behind Claggor, the four of you forming a line with Vi in front and Mylo last, slouching forward under the riveted iron pipe railings. Vi signalled to you when she realised that there was a poorly lit room on the upper floor, and you all hurried up the stairs, still crouching. 

When you reached the other side of the corridor, Vi leaned forward, peering quickly, and turned to you with a triumphant smile, voicelessly pronouncing that Vander was there. You rested a hand on Claggor's shoulder as you felt Mylo's on your waist, and you advanced at a rapid pace until you reached the room, where Vander sat, defeated, in a big iron chair, all his limbs imprisoned by metal straps, fastened by padlocks.

You saw him spit blood, his broad chest straining to breathe out a hoarse cough, and he whispered a soft ‘Vi,’ his unfocused eyes closing as he felt his eldest daughter's arms slipping around his shoulders in a hug. His tone became more urgent as he realised you were really there, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘We're breaking you out,’ Vi explained, as you picked up the backpack she had left on the ground.

You opened it, kneeling on the ground, and pulled out the lock-picking device you had built for Mylo. It didn't always work, but it was the best you had. ‘Mylo,’ you called, and tossed the gadget to him.

‘On it!’

You turned towards the door, rising to your feet to check that no one was coming in, your fingers tingling to check the time on a watch you no longer had, but you froze when you heard Vander's husky voice.

‘How... how did you get in?’ he said, stuttering hurriedly over the words that were building up in his mouth. ‘There's guards everywhere.’

Oh God. Of course it had been a trap. 

‘It was easy,’ you heard Vi reply, her tone losing its strength as the realisation dawned on her. ‘We found an open window and...’

You rushed over to the backpack, hastily pulling out the weapons that Claggor and Mylo had gathered, as you saw Claggor's figure hurrying to grab his favourite dagger, trying to release one of Vander's wrists from its prison. The man made eye contact with you, Vi stepping behind you to watch the door, and you held back a sob as you heard Vander again, ‘You have to get out. Now.’

No. You weren't going to leave him again. You weren't going to fail at the same task twice. There had to be time, you could do it. Silco's men probably hadn't even realised you were in yet, you had a chance, you could....

But you heard a clap reverberate through the warehouse, soft and dangerous, and your breath caught in your throat.

Silco.

‘Welcome,’ he murmured, his voice flowing like a river down its course, the sound of his rhythmic clapping coming hopelessly closer to you, ‘you have my congratulations,’ you tried to ignore it, to keep the memory of his tone from bringing back the vision of Benzo's body falling to the ground, but it came to you with the force of a storm, leaving you breathless, ‘but i'm afraid this will be a very short reunion.’

You refused to turn toward him, your hands instinctively gripping Vander's gauntlets, and Vi positioned herself at your side, shooting a defiant glare at the man of mist as she held out her arms for you to place Vander's weapons on her.

‘Have you heard the rumours?’ he added, and you could hear the amusement in his voice, ‘Vander the coward fled town with his children. And they were never seen again.’

You finished knotting the second gauntlet to your girlfriend's wrist, the straps stiff but comfortable on her pale skin, and exchanged a glance with her. You were going to make it. You rested your hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly, and she gave you a fragile but sincere smile, real, just for you. Vi was the best at boxing. You took a quick glance back, your gaze hardening as you saw that Silco was surrounded by his followers, a bunch of buff men and women, all of them ready to fight. You sighed, determined. If there was anyone who could take on a man two heads taller, and visibly stronger, it was her.

You moved your hand up to the nape of her neck, stroking the lower part of her hair, and closed your eyes as you rested your forehead on his. It was a good-luck caress, a wish to go home, a temporary goodbye. She took a breath of air, parting from you reluctantly, as she always did, and positioned herself at your back. You saw the way Claggor's dagger broke from too much pressure, and heard Vi's first step toward the door.

‘Claggor, see if you can find another way out of here,’ you ordered him, rotating your shoulders. You saw him nod, watching out of the corner of your eye as Mylo wrestled with the device in the lock on Vander's right leg. Claggor nodded. Vander looked at you, concerned.

‘You don't have to do this,’ he said, but you knew he was talking to Vi.

‘Yes I do,’ she replied, determined, resolved.

Your priority was to get Vander out of there, to get everyone home safely. You ignored Vander's strangled gasp as Vi's quickened footsteps echoed over the metal lattice floor of the corridor, and you brought your hands to your head, grabbing the two long metal bobby pins you wore in your hair, both sharp and U-shaped. You crouched down next to Vander's other leg, and picked up the padlock. Inventions were your thing, you had to figure out how to open it.

You looked over your shoulder when you heard a thud behind you, momentarily startled, but smiled as you saw Vi, exultant in the middle of the bridge, and in the floor the body of the giant tattooed man you had seen when you turned around. That was your girl. You inserted one of the hairpins into the lock hole, noticing how Vander relaxed minimally against the seat as he saw that his daughter was perfectly capable, and then turned the other, recreating the teeth of a key. You imagined the mechanism under the padlock's metal cover, turning its gears to loosen.

Everything was going to be all right.

‘Mylo,’ you heard Vander, and saw out of the corner of your eye that Mylo had slipped the device to the floor. ‘You can do this.’

You looked over at Claggor, your fingers struggling against the lock, and saw that he had found a crack in the wall. There were enough tools in the backpack for him to open a hole. Perfect. You took a breath of air, forcing your wrist to turn the downward facing bobby pin all the way around, and the locking bow opened with a soft snap. You removed the hairpins, withdrawing the lock, and Vander rested his leg on the ground.

‘We're gonna get you out,’ you murmured, crouching down next to Mylo. ‘Hey, Myls,’ you said, laying your hands on top of his, helping him move them nimbly, ‘big breath.’

You felt him inhaling briefly, closing his eyes to feel the gears of the device against his palm, and you exchanged a glance as the smooth sound was repeated, releasing Vander's other leg.

‘We got this,’ he whispered, more encouraged.

‘Of course we do,’ you replied, placing a hand on Vander's knee to pull yourself to your feet.

Vi's soft panting continued to echo off the walls of the warehouse, to the rhythm of the punches of her gauntlet-covered fists as they impacted against the bodies of Silco's minions, and you looked back once more. Vi was rising against a bare-chested man, her shoulders tense, turned so that she could deliver another blow.

You focused on the lock on Vander's wrist as Mylo did the same on the other side of the chair, holding your hairpins tightly, moving your hands as fast as you could. You listened to your heart pounding in your ears, for a moment drowning out all sound from outside, like every time you secluded yourself in your studio, until you heard the first howl.

It reverberated in your mind, emptying it of all thought, like a shadow stretching over you. Deckard. You turned, eyes widening in horror, the mass of flesh that was the boy who had once abused you looming over Vi, and for a moment your heart stopped in your chest. In the darkness, you were only able to make out the fluorescent violet color of his veins, Vi's light pink hair, facing each other. You had seen what Deckard was capable of. You weren't going to let Vi end up like Benzo and those Enforcers.

‘Mylo, hurry,’ Vander pleaded, as you twisted the hairpins urgently, releasing the lock as soon as it gave way.

You turned toward the backpack, watching in horror as Vi leapt toward Deckard, and grabbed the first thing you saw. A piece of pipe, thin and hard against your hand, long enough that you could strike without getting too close. It wasn't a sword, but it would have to do. You looked up, checking that Claggor had already begun removing bricks from the wall, and advanced toward the deck, ignoring the way Deckard had grabbed Vi by the neck.

‘Silco, let her go!’ shouted Vander, slamming his free hand on the armrest of his chair. ‘This is between you and me!’

‘You had your chance,’ Silco replied, not even flinching.

Vi coughed, a choked, desperate sound, followed by a scraped gasp in her throat, seeking oxygen, and you slid onto the metal walkway. Deckard was barely aware that you had moved behind him, too focused on snatching every last breath of air from your girlfriend's lungs, and he dropped her against the ground as you jumped, unloading the pipe against his skull with all the force you had.

Deckard grumbled, an anguished scream spilling from his mouth, and you let go of the pipe, running to Vi. You slung one of her arms over your shoulders, one of yours around her waist, and carried her back to the room where Vander was, panting, the pain in your ankle beginning to awaken. You gritted your teeth, leaving Vi on the floor, leaning against the wall, and charged over to the sliding iron door, doing your best to close it. When you felt the door slam as it hit the wall, blocking Deckard's access, you pushed past the latch, collapsing against the floor, your shoulder pressed up to the door, just in case.

“You did good,” Vander whispered, looking at you, at Vi, his gaze clouded with admiration.

You merely nodded, exhausted, as Claggor continued to throw bricks, opening a large hole in the wall. You felt light, despite your tiredness, and leaned your head against the door. Mylo was struggling with the last lock, but you knew he was going to make it. You allowed yourself to close your eyes for a heartbeat, sighing, a moment of quiet before the first bang came. It echoed through the room, metallic and dry, and you felt it coursing through your body. Deckard was trying to reach you all.

You watched as Vi sat up, the one fist that still retained a gauntlet resting on the ground to stand, and tried to crawl to sit beside you, her chest rising and falling at full speed. There was only waiting, you knew. A slow, agonizing wait, until the boys were done with their part of the mission. You felt Vi lean her head on your shoulder, your bodies moving in time to Deckard's pounding, straining against the door to try and hold on as long as it took, and you clenched your jaw.

You were going to make it. A knock, a furtive glance at Mylo, and you heard the soft sound of the lock being released. You were going to make it. One punch, your shoulders tensed, and Vander was finally free. You. Were. Going. To. Make. It. One punch. A gentle squeeze on Vi's free hand. And Claggor finished tore a hole in the wall. You stood up, advancing forward, and then, just silence.

Suddenly, an explosion. You stopped, alert, your eyes wide, and turned to Vi. She had the same terrified expression on her face, one hand resting on the door to pull herself to her feet. You listened carefully over your ragged breathing, your ankle throbbing, your throat dry. Another explosion, closer this time. You turned to Vander, frowning, looking at him as if he could have some kind of answer. He extended his hand toward you, gesturing for Vi to hurry towards them.

A third explosion, and the world around you ceased to exist.

The crackling of the fire, soft and malleable in your ears, was what greeted you when you woke up. Your mouth felt dry, ragged, as if you had swallowed dust, but you opened it anyway, taking in a big breath of air. The oxygen burned your tongue, your eyes still closed, and you tried to move your hands, but you were unable to. You were caught.

The weight of certainty hovered over your ribcage, imprisoning it against the ground, and you moved your head on the cement beneath you, the ground warm against your forehead. You breathed in a second time, your respiration becoming more erratic, and then it hit you. Ashes. There were ashes everywhere, flames eating up the space in the room as if to make you disappear.

You opened your eyes, hearing a faint cough somewhere, and tried to focus your gaze on some point, but you saw only shadows and fire, dancing over you, coming closer, taunting you, and then going away again. You turned your head, looking for some familiar figure, Vander's comforting gaze in the darkness, Vi's soothing touch on your skin, but you were alone. You clenched your jaw, trying to fight against the stone that held you prisoner on the ground, but you found it impossible.

And then, a cry. In a déjà vu, you stirred again under your stone prison, turning toward the desperate sound of Vi's voice. You couldn't see her, but you knew she was there. Your chest was beginning to ache under the weight of the stone, each time managing to breathe less and less air, but you gritted your teeth, struggling, and managed to get a hand out. You mumbled your girlfriend's name, calling her name amidst the chaos, and sobbed when you got no response.

It seemed like the end. You felt dirty, drenched in sweat, stiff under the night of Zaun, and you were unable to perceive your legs, dumb under the stone. They were bricks, probably. Or the roof, perhaps. Snippets of the explosion came back to your memory, the dull sound against your ears, the brutality of the shockwave, and you looked straight ahead again. Vi was there, somewhere, and you had to get to her.

You fought against the cement block above you, trying to move it with your hips, with your arms, doing everything you could to get out of there, until you heard your name. In a wail, low and desperate, to your right. You turned, ignoring the laceration from the edge of the stone on your torso, and saw her. Her clear, frightened gaze, calling for you, the desperate gesture of her body. She was trapped under the metal door.

A growl, a large, dark silhouette in the smoke, and pounding. But you ignored them. You tried to turn a little more, struggling to reach Vi, your fingernails clawing at the ground and the ashes under your hand, dragging you towards her. Then the floor began to shake under your fingers, the ringing in your ears intensifying. The door imprisoning Vi flew off, and she crawled over to you, her hand outstretched in search of yours.

You stretched out your arm to reach for her, flinching as you heard a pained shout from Vander, extending your fingers, reaching out as far as you could for her, but before you could finally touch her fingers, a monstrous figure loomed over both of you, snarling, and grabbed Vi's body, leaping out of the building.

Your hand fell to the ground, defeated, and the walls that were left standing shook with the force of another explosion. You closed your eyes, stubborn, and shook yourself. You had to get to Vi. You had to find her, and Vander, and together you would search for Mylo and Claggor. You would return home. Nothing would have been in vain.

The flames crackled louder around you, almost warning you that getting up was a bad idea, but you ignored them. You weren't going to listen to them. You rested one hand on the ground, the other pulling the stone above you. You weren't strong enough to be able to lift it, but maybe you could wriggle out from under it. You were good at crawling, you could do it. You heard a cry of pain, distant but sharp against your chest, wholly yours. Your shoulder began to burn.

The first drop landed on your cheek. For a moment you thought it was blood, thick and dark against your skin, but then another fell on your chest, light and cool, and a next, and a next. Rain. It was raining. Water, cold and clear, that made the fire sizzle around you. You breathed a sigh of relief as you rested your shoulder on the ground, the dust and rain soothing the burns that threatened to sear your flesh, and leaned forward again. One arm in front of the other, ignoring the pain, pulling yourself back up as you fell to the ground, slowly and achingly moving forward.

Your legs wobbled as you tried to stand up. The bandages on your ankle were soaked in blood, which slid down from your thigh, staining everything in its path. Your torso was bruised, throbbing against your hand, and your ears were ringing. You leaned against the stone that had been above you, towering over it, and blinked, sliding your gaze around the room.

And then you saw them, Mylo and Claggor. Buried under the pieces of ceiling that had collapsed on top of you, motionless, drained of blood. Your breath caught in your throat, and you took a step toward them, a sob piercing your throat. There was nothing to be done, you knew. Still you knelt beside them, stroking Claggor's face, running your mangled fingers through Mylo's hair. You couldn't leave them. They were your family, you had to take care of them.

Powder's desperate scream echoed across the starry sky of Zaun, and your heart pulled forward in your ribs, your head turning toward the giant gap in the wall. Powder. She was supposed to be safe, in The Last Drop. She wasn't supposed to see any of this. She was supposed to wait for you to come back, in a couple of hours, and hold each other, perhaps commenting on it all as a successful anecdote. Mourning Benzo, honoring his memory.

Powder wasn't supposed to be there.

You rose to your feet once more, brow furrowed in concentration, gritting your teeth as you braced your injured leg on the floor, crawling, leaning against the walls to get out of there. You walked the metal corridors of the deserted building, of the cemetery of concrete and fire, descending the stairs one at a time, holding back the screams of pain that threatened to spill out of your mouth. You had to get to her, protect her, look for Vi, find Vander. Together you'd be okay. You always had been. You could make it through, with Ekko, with your mother's help. You would make it. You could fix it.

The night air greeted you like a slap in the face, the empty street echoing your footsteps. No one was there. You had heard Powder, you were sure. But she wasn't there. In a haze of light and shadow, you saw a body on the ground. Everything was gone, but there was another corpse right in front of you. You approached slowly, limping, gasping for breath, until you were able to recognize his face.

It was not Deckard, as you had wished. It was Vander's bruised and deformed face, turned into a monstrous beast, the violet blood spilled under his body. You put a hand to your mouth, falling to your knees beside him, collapsing. And the lump in your throat finally burst, a scream leaving your mouth, resting your forehead on his chest. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

You looked up, the loneliness caressing an uneasy shiver across your skin, and stared before you, seeing nothing.

Sometimes your last breath doesn't belong to you. It is stolen, ripped away by others with firm and merciless hands. One second, one heartbeat, one desperate look. One second, one heartbeat, and life leaves your eyes. Other times you hold your breath, the emptiness opening in your chest, deepening as you try to contain it. You tell yourself it's the end, that you need it to be. But it isn't. You end up breathing. You let the oxygen invade you again, even though it feels like a weight on your chest. You keep breathing, even though you wish you weren't.

⠀⠀𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍.⠀( send an ask or comment under the series to be part of it , just if you're going to interact with it ━reblogging with feedback. )⠀@im-just-a-simp-le-whore , @celestialzdiviner , @corpsebridenightamare , @louissst28 , @astr1dblogs , @notsolarry , @starlostastronaut , @yoonkinii , @padsfirewhisky , @luvrluvrr , @ssqra , @darkmoonchic , @urlocalsabito , @spicetouched , @astrxwitch , @deadlynightshadebylana , @bachirastoe , @pickmmeup , @your-scarlett-world

ㅤㅤ© dilemmars ★ do not copy, translate, repost or share this work as yours on other platforms ! consider leaving a comment or reblogging.

[paarksunghoon]

sucking jake off..

specifically the jake from the behind the scene daydream video where him and jay man spreading on the couch 😫

Really, this is just some guy you met at a house party less than an hour ago but you’re not one to pass up the opportunity to hookup with a hot guy.

Jake’s room is above the party and you can hear the music below you, feeling as the bass thumps against his floors. He’s got enough room for a queen sized bed, a gaming desk, and a small couch in the fraternity house. You’re starting to enjoy the feeling of your bare knees rubbing against the hardwood floor beneath you, even if you think they’re starting to bruise.

“Can you go deeper for me, baby?”

Jake’s melodic voice rings through your ears and you’re far too in the zone to quit now. He feels so big and warm inside of you as your tongue maneuvers underneath his dick while your spit falls to the side of your mouth. You grip him at his base for stability when he speaks and look up at him before sucking in a breath and pushing him even further down your throat.

“Fuck.” It’s a strangled sound that comes from above you that makes your heart rate increase. You do your best to ignore the discomfort and allow your hands to fall to his thighs as Jake spreads his legs wider for you to fit between him. “Just like that. You’re so good at this. How are you this good?”

You don’t answer, of course. Jake watches in awe as you pull your head back and disconnect the string of spit with your hand before moving your wrist up and down with your thumb swiping his slit. Jake’s mouth falls into a perfect ‘O’ when your mouth engulfs him again and he finds himself moving to grip your hair when you commit yourself to him this way.

“If you keep that up, I’ll cum in your mouth.”

And, well, you hope he keeps his promise.

[honoredalone]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐃

gojo satoru is a lot of things. the strongest, the first person to be born with the limitless technique and six eyes and a whore. a slut for his girlfriend and his boyfriend, geto suguru. you and suguru take advantage of his neediness and he wants you to go it over and over again.

content warning: 18+!!!!, established relationship, threesome, satosugu x afab reader, filthy smut, satoru is so needy and desperate omg, you and suguru are lowk mean, sub satoru, face sitting, anal (gojo is getting dicked DOWWNNNN), just nastiness so please be aware ♡

author’s note: there is a twitter link above, it is how i got the inspo so for better visualization please go take a look! you must have a twitter account and be signed in to see it :). let me know what you guys think, and please please feedback is always so welcomed and please talk to me because i love interacting with all of you! i’m sorry for my inactivity but i’ve been SLUMPED with school and just concepts overall but if you all have any ideas asks are always welcome and i’m open to hear your ideas. please enjoy and i love you all so so very much!

his wet dream, his dark twisted fantasy.

satoru is flat on his back, pleasure coursing through his body. he could feel it from the tips of his toes to the pads of his sweaty fingers. his senses are overcome in pure ecstasy, his head is swirling in euphoria. satoru’s chest is heaving, toes are curling and hips trembling.

on one end, suguru is between his lean, lengthy legs, fat, pink tip pressed so deeply in against his prostate, harsh thrusts in and out of his tight muscle, while on the other side you’re smothering him between your own legs, showering him in your honeyed essence. you grind down onto satoru’s mouth, his defined chin rubbing your pearl of nerves so deliciously.

“gimme those lips, pretty.” you heard the purple eyed man’s voice and you moan when satoru whimpers into your folds, the sensation bringing you so much closer to falling off the tall edge. suguru’s manicured fingers wrap around your slender throat, cold, chunky rings almost stinging your warm, flustered skin. he tangles his tongue with yours, messy sucking noises deafen the sounds of satoru’s whines of protest. the strongest sorcerer is grasping at your hips, desperate to see the scene play out in front of him but to no avail you stay perched, prettily, on his handsome face. after what felt like forever you and suguru split a provocative string of saliva connect your candy pink lips together.

turning your attention back to the neglected man below, you continue your movements on the man’s mouth and suguru, thrusting in and out of his weeping hole. “mmmm, f-fuck.” satoru cried beneath you, strong arms wrapped around your thighs like a boa, suguru’s hand on the white haired man’s hip moves to hold his red blushed cock. the contact for his boyfriend automatically sent large beads of precum shooting out of the swollen tip.

“wanna help him out, pretty girl? suck that big cock, know you can do it.” suguru knew how his words always sent you into a spiral. his sultry tone, the feline stare and the sexy smirk that’s always smeared across his pretty face. like a puppy, you obeyed eagerly bending down, eyes on your black haired boyfriend before you devoured the length fully. satoru jumped therefore shoving the cock impossibly deeper down your throat. his sweaty abs clenched tightly, veins popping out of his fair skin and eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“mmmph, fuck!” satoru is generally pretty composed during sex but no one could blame him for coming undone. his neck reddened and tips of his ears a rosy pink. “slower— god, fuck. slow down, dove. g’nna make me, g’nna cum.” a desperate whine erupting from his chest, vibrating right into your wet folds. you mewled at the sensation, pressing your hips down harder against his pretty, glossed lips, your lips still tightly wrapped around his long length.

“can’t cum until our girl does, satoru.” suguru chastised his lover, slowly pressing his cock dizzyingly deeper into his tight hole. “fuck, you’re always so tight.” suguru’s breath trembled, thrusts becoming more erratic and his knees weakened. the strongest sorcerer was thrashing, crying and moaning below the both of you, he was so overstimulated. his lower stomach painfully full, waiting for the delicious release, this feeling was further edged when you press your warm palm to the spot that made him fall apart.

“sweet- goddamn, fuck. sweetheart please. let me cum, wanna cum for you.” his cries muffled but still heard flicking your tongue against his frenulum and that sent him for a loop. “baby, g’nna- sugu, please.” he exasperatedly begged for permission of release, hips pushing up into your mouth while suguru’s assault continues.

he smirks at satoru’s state, sending a fox-like smirk his way, though he can’t see it. “make her cum. make a mess outta her, then come all over yourself. desperate slut.” he muttered the degrading words under his breath as he feels his balls tighten and you look up at him through your thick lashes. “d-don’t look at me like that, pretty girl. jus’ let s’toru take care of you.” as the words fall for suguru’s mouth, satoru pushes his tongue into you, using the pad of his thumb to your pearly nerves, making you jerk and cry while you sick on the pale pink tip of his cock.

“s’toru, baby. good boy.” you sobbed, gushing all over his porcelain skin, while in tandem satoru’s tip released all over your lips, glossing them a milky white and suguru pushes his thick length into satoru’s muscle, painting his insides white.

after a couple of minutes of rest and recollecting your thoughts, sweaty bodies holding each other in a yin-and-yang, your boyfriends start kissing your neck, nibbling your ear lobes and sucking on your sweet spots. they shared knowing glances, suguru sitting up and pulling you onto his lap, tangling his tongue with yours and satoru pressing his strong chest against your back, kissing your shoulders and nape.

“we want a taste, sweets.” satoru piped up, “c’mon, darling, we’re starvin’.” suguru responded to your squirm and protest, large hands cupping your face and neck and satoru’s lean hands tracing your spine and massaging your shoulders sweetly. when you finally nod your head, previously confident demeanor gone with your two boyfriends kissing and sucking pretty hickeys into your plush thighs, the sheets below you soaked and dirty from the vulgar scene.

you’re really in for it tonight.

[fideozepam]

The Price of Obedience - Chapter 1

Camilla learns of her impending arranged marriage to one of the deceased emperor’s sons. She grapples with the weight of leaving her home and stepping into an uncertain future in Rome.

The world here, in Lusitania, was much simpler.

The breeze carried the smell of lavender and warmed the sunlit fields she was laying on, a half-read parchment rested beside Camilla, forgotten in her soft haze of sleep

“Lady Camilla? Lady Camilla!”

A distant voice called her name, blending with the rustling of the olive trees and the chirping of cicadas, but it grew louder and closer.

“Lady Camilla!”

She stirred as she laid on the grass, groggily blinking at the golden light. “Mm… Yes, I’m coming.” Camilla mumbled, brushing her tunic free of grass and dirt as she stood up. A strand of hair fell over her face, quickly tucking it back as the servant approached.

“Your parents wish to speak with you.”

A sigh escaped Camilla’s mouth, picking up the scroll with reluctant fingers. She had been midway through a particularly amusing monologue and the interruption soured her mood.

"Can't it wait?" She asked, though she already knew the answer.

Her silence confirmed it, and with a reluctant stretch, she began the walk back home. The villa loomed ahead, white and golden under the afternoon sun, its colonnades glowing warmly. Camilla felt a twinge of unease; it was unusual for both her parents to summon her like this.

Usually, they left her to her books and musings, more content with her quiet obedience than with involving her in household matters compared to her sisters.

Stepping into the cool shade of the atrium, she was struck by the sight of her parents seated side by side. Her father, sat with his hands clasped on his lap and besides her mother, watching as Camilla approached with an unreadable expression. Something was wrong- No. Something was changing.

"Camilla," he began, his voice firm yet heavy. "We have received news from Rome."

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she glanced between her parents

Lusitania had long been under the Roman Empire’s shadow, a province folded into the vastness of their dominion, but its distance had always shielded her from its grandeur and its burdens. The Empire was something distant, abstract—gilded temples and mighty legions, names whispered with awe and caution.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice steady but her heart racing. Her curious eyes darted between them. What kind of news from Rome could possibly involve her?

Her mother’s gaze was unreadable, drifting toward the frescoed walls as though seeking solace in the painted pastoral scenes. Her father, however, looked directly at her. There was pride in his eyes—a rare glint of emotion she had not often seen. It unsettled her.

“Camilla,” he began, his tone weighted with significance, “you have been noticed. Among all the daughters of noble families in Lusitania, you have been chosen.”

“Chosen?” she repeated, frowning slightly.

“By Rome,” he clarified, his voice swelling. “The Empress herself, Julia Domna, has heard of your beauty, your refinement, your wit—and she has seen fit to select you as a bride for one of her sons.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and uncanny. Camilla stared at him, the weight of it pressing into her chest as her breath got caught in her throat. The room seemed to dim, the painted walls blurring into the edges of her vision.

“But—” she began, faltering. “I… I don’t understand. Why me? What do I even have?”

“Because you are extraordinary,” her father said with a rare softness, his pride bleeding into his voice. “Because your presence in Rome will bring honor to our family and strengthen the bond between Lusitania and the Empire.”

Camilla’s mother finally spoke, her voice low but firm. “It is an opportunity, Camilla. A life you could never dream of here.”

Her father leaned forward slightly. “You were not raised as an imperial daughter, but you have the qualities of one. You will be an asset to the dynasty, and with your intelligence, you will thrive there.”

Camilla sat frozen, her mouth slightly agape, brows furrowed into a confused grimace. The words had struck her like a stone to the chest, and her mind spun wildly, searching for answers that made sense.

“Why me?” she finally managed to whisper, her voice barely audible, more to herself than her parents.

She glanced down at her hands, twisting them nervously in her lap, the words repeating in her head like a mocking echo. Why her? Why not her older sisters? They had always been more secure, more confident, their golden locks and sapphire eyes drawing admiration wherever they went—so unlike her.

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding as she risked another glance at her father, who still looked down at her with unwavering pride. But why not them? she thought bitterly. Her sisters seemed made for this role, shimmering like figures from the frescoes of their villa. Camilla, by contrast, had always felt like the black sheep of the family.

Her dark brown hair and deep green eyes were a mirror of her father’s, a legacy she had once treasured but now found dull compared to her sisters’ luminous beauty. Where they radiated charm and poise, she had always been quiet, more comfortable in her own solace than the company of others.

“An emperor’s wife?” she blurted suddenly, her voice cracking under the weight of the thought. She looked at her mother, then her father, as if pleading for this to be some cruel joke. “Compared to them, I—”

“You are extraordinary,” her father interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “Your beauty is unique, as is your intelligence. Rome values wit and character, not only golden hair and pale eyes.”

Camilla blinked, the praise washing over her in waves that didn’t quite reach her. Intelligence? Wit? Her father might believe in these qualities, but how could she trust them when she could barely gather the courage to speak to men at all? Even her father’s company often left her tongue-tied. And now she was expected to stand beside a Roman emperor, to speak, to serve, to be perfect.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted softly, her voice trembling. “I—I can’t even hold a conversation with you without fumbling my words, Father. How can I… how could I…”

Her mother’s expression softened, but her tone remained practical. “You will learn. Rome will shape you. And you will thrive.”

Camilla looked at her again, then at her father. But all she could feel was a deep, gnawing fear that this path was not hers to walk, that she was being thrust into a world she didn’t belong in—and could never belong in.

Her father came closer, lowering himself to meet her gaze. "Camilla, this is no punishment. You were chosen because you are remarkable."

Remarkable. The word felt foreign, as though it belonged to someone else entirely.

But she didn't argue. Years of being taught to never question authority held her tongue. Slowly, she nodded, forcing herself to her feet even as her legs trembled beneath her. Without another word, she turned and left the room, her feet dragging as if they carried the weight of the empire itself.

Her mother watched her go, her brows knitting together with unspoken worry. "Do you think she's ready for this?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with doubt.

Her father's answer was immediate, his smile confident. "She'll be perfect."

tags

lmk if u wanna be tagged ! : @quuinyoung

[bookishdreamer28]

𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙪𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩

✮⋆˙ Characters: 𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍, 𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓, 𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆, 𝑺𝒚𝒍𝒖𝒔

✮⋆˙ Angst to fluff

✮⋆˙ Warnings: A bit of cursing, scenes where the reader gets hurt but that's all

Aaaand I'm back with LADS content!! I missed writing sm but I mostly missed you guys ♡ I hope you're all healthy and happy! Hope you'll enjoy this one ^3^

ℝ𝕒𝕗𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕝

"Seriously Rafayel I'm telling you how I feel about this and you look like you don't even care!" You yelled.

"But I do! I really do Y/N, but maybe your insecurities are still clouding your mind, even after all this time of being together and showing you how much I love you" He walked towards the door and you felt a lump in your throat.

"Rafayel, why you always walk away whenever there's an issue between us? Weren't you theone saying that no matter what we're getting through everything together?"

"Say whatever you want but I'm done with this fight" Rafayel said and walked out of your house. You and Rafayel had a fight about something silly but for you it was something you couldn't just ignore. You tried to do some chores just so you can keep yourself distracted by what happened earlier, but your tears couldn't stop falling. You hated it. You hated fighting with Rafayel cause you knew he would never hurt purposely or do something that would bother without taking into consideration your feelings, but it was still hurtful when stupid things like these occurred.

Since you couldn't do anything else inside your house so you can get your mind off of the fight, you decided to take a walk and maybe buy some groceries. When you finished shopping, it was dark and you realized how stupid it was to go out alone and without your car. You took a deep breath and started walking back home as fast as you could.

But as you continued the way to your home, you heard weird noises coming from a scary, dark alley ar your right. Your pace increased, wanting to go back to your house and hoping that you'd find Rafayel there too. But something appeared behind you and without taking any step further, you fell down on the concrete because of the hard push it gave you. And when you realized it was a wanderer, you tried to stand up and run but the power it was using on you made you very weak.

"YOU DAMN FREAK! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" You couldn't really process anything but one thing you recognized was Rafayels voice. You closed your eyes wanting to relax a little and ease the pain somehow, but strong arms carried your softly and hugged you in their embrace.

"Rafayel..."

"It's okay sweet girl I got you. I got you baby" He said almost breathlessly, feeling like he was going to break any moment now. He can't believe he just left from your home and then found in this condition. Once you arrived at your house, Rafayel did everything to take good care of you.

"Oh my baby. My girl" He muttered against your temple as he placed a kiss there. After everything, you were both lying on your bed, finding comfort and warmth in each other's arms.

"I'm so sorry sweet girl I-" Rafayel felt his eyes watering. "Can't believe I almost you from my stupidity" He huuged your body a bit tightly and you found yourself snuggling in his warmth.

"I'm ok my love I promise" Your hand was playing with his beautiful white hair softly and you kissed his lips.

"Please say it again" He whispered as he stared at you.

"My love"

"Oh how I love it when you call me that" He leaned his forehead on yours and stayed like this for a bit. "I love you" he kissed your lips "so so fucking much" but this time the kiss was more passionate. A kiss that held love and strong affection. A kiss that meant more than any word that could ever be said at the moment.

𝕏𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕣

You were laying on the couch, reading a book just so you can completely ignore the shuttering feeling you had inside you. You and Xavier fought again. It was a very exhausting week for both of you and all the tension made you feel suffocated, filled with many negative emotions, that you eventually took it all out on each other. You both understood the danger of your job and how hard things could be, but there were times you did not have the patience to deal with them calmly.

You turned your head around and looked at the now closed bedroom door. Xavier was in your room and you wanted nothing more than just give up with torturing silent treatment and hug each other. But even though you knew he was a bit too selfish to make the first move, you didn't want to back down either.

You angrily stood up from your position on the couch and went inside the kitchen so you can cook something. The fight and the way things have been lately, made you lost your appetite easily and you can't remember when was the last time you had a proper meal full of nourishment. So, as you stood on your tippy toes to grab a ball from the higher shelf, you felt a bit lightheaded and suddenly found your body hitting the hard, cold floor of the kitchen.

Rushing movements could be heard from inside your room and when rhe door bursted open, Xavier appeared in your vision.

"Y/N!" He yelled out your name and he was by your side in a second. He picked you up in his arms and carried you to your bed. He laid down with you and held you close.

"Baby wha- what the fuck happened?" He tried to remain calm but seeing laying on the floor almost unconscious was an image that haunted him. He felt like he was going to lose it.

"Xavier I- I just haven't been eating well lately and-"

"Why? Why did you do this baby?" He whispered and a few tears started dropping from his eyes. You shakily wiped them away.

"I'm okay now but I still need to eat and take a few vitamins to fully recover. That's all" Xavier let out a shaking breath and held you closer.

"You have no idea how scared I got. Losing you is my biggest fear baby. Damn it, that's why I've been like this lately. This fear is eating me alive, especially with what has been happening lately baby. And I'm sorry, I truly am my baby" He leaned his head to kiss your forehead.

"I'm sorry too Xavier." You smiled softly at him but then you giggled at something you thought. Xavier only smiled brightly cause seeing you happy can cure every dark or sad thought of his. You can make his day brighter than it was before.

"I just thought about how silly our fight was." You rested your head in his shoulder and closed your eyes for a brief moment, just to enjoy the warm his body radiated.

"Hm very silly indeed, just like you are sometimes" a playful smirk was displaying on his face as he watched your offended expression.

"Hey you're ruining our moment-"

"I mean what you were thinking when you decided to stop eating lovely girl?" He tapped softly on your nose and then kissed it. He slowly placed next him, grabbing your favorite soft blanket and laid it on top of your legs to keep you warm.

"Now stay here, I'll go cook you your fave. I'm not letting my lady starving any longer."

ℤ𝕒𝕪𝕟𝕖

"Y/N I'm really busy right now. I don't know if I have the time to go for dinner tonight." Zayne was busy checking some papers in his office, as he hurriedly tried to get ready for the next operation.

"Trust me, I understand but this is the 5th time in a row. I'm not asking to give up everything in the middle of your work, but all I want, is for you to make some time for me too." You said sternly, not wanting to lose it and start yelling just for the whole hospital to hwar you.

Zayne sighed and stood up from his seat and walked to the door ready to leave his office but you stopped him.

"Are even listening to me?" You asked angrily.

"I think it's better if you leave." He opened the door as he waited for you to go. All you did was stare at him in shock. Did he seriously thought of kicking you out instead of talking to you?

"Zayne what the fuck? You don't even get to talk to me for 15 minutes now!" Your hand reached over for the knob of the door to close it shut.

"If you keep pushing my buttons then no, I don't want you here" His cold voice sent shivers down your spine.

"Listen I-"

"Just go. Now. I already have a packed schedule and many problems in my mind, and I don't to add one more." You were sure you heard your heart breaking.

"So you think...I'm a problem now" you breathed out, feeling already defeated by the way he talked to you. This argument was pointless, you knew it but all the exhaustion, the pain and the bad emotional state you were currently in, made you feel like you didn't exist to him anymore.

Zayne looked like he wanted to take these horrible words back, hug you like his whole life dependent on it but he wasn't sure how to react.

Without spare even one glance at him, you left his office with rushing steps, and as he heard your faint sobs in the empty hallway, his heart broke even more.

---

A knock on Zayne's office door interrupted his thoughts. "Come in." He said with a stern voice.

"Dr. Zayne you are needed in the room 8." A nurse appeared in his office. Zayne frowned .

"What happened?" He asked in a slightly worried tone.

"There's a patient right here in the room, with really bad injuries after she experienced a dangerous accident. She's fully conscious of her surroundings but her physical condition has to be under observation for now. I amde sure that of course she was taken care of first before you could come to check on her too...but she was desperately asking for you doctor." The nurse said as she opened the door to the room where the said patient was.

What Zayne though made his breath caught in his throat and he felt like lefs was about give up. He shut the door without letting anyone in and turned his attention back on you. With shaking legs he walked towards you.

"My...my love what...are you ok?!" He cradled your face softly his hands. His breath quickened and his heart beated faster, scared at the thought of almost losing you. When you didn't said anything it made him worry more, but once you let your head rest on his shoulders and your arms qrapped around his neck, he sighed in relief. His arms wrapped around your small form, hugging tight enough, without hurting anywhere.

"Zayne...I don't know what to say. When this happened my first thought was you and how we departed without saying an I love you or share a sweet kiss like we always do and- I got so scared that I wouldn't see you again." Your trembling voice made Zayne's eyes glassy, tears threatening to fall. He shook his head and your face in his hands again, wanting to make eye contact.

"I will never let anything happen to you my love. Never. I'm so sorry for the way I spoke to you and the days I spent away from your warmth and comfort. Your my home sweetheart, and I want to able to spend every second with you, just the two of us away from everything and everyone. I promise I will not let work stop me from giving you my unconditional love. I truly, love you so much."

𝕊𝕪𝕝𝕦𝕤

"I'm sking you for the last time Sylus, what the fuck aee you hiding?" Your voice was hoarse from the yelling. Sylus clenched his jaw and tried to clam his own nerves.

"For the last time, I'm not hiding anything. You shouldn't worry about my job because everything's under control."

"That's what you said last time and remember what happened? Let me remind you, we got threatening messages out of nowhere. So please, tell me what you have gotten into?" You sat on the chair opposite of him as you waited nervously for what he had to say.

"Im not discussing business things with you, kitten." His voice darkened and he sounded more serious than usual. His teasing tone was gone and you knew his patience was running thin.

"I'm sick of this." You murmured.

"Sick of what exactly?" His stare was hard on you.

"Sick of always leaving me out of everything, when we both promised that we would always be there for each other and get through every hardship together." Your voice was laced with emotion and Sylus's cold facade almost broke and he was about to reach your side when Luke and Kieran came into his office.

"Boss we have to go. It's the emergency we talked about." Luke hurriedly told Sylus. Sylus prepared and was about to leave his office when your voice stopped him.

"Sylus what is this emergency their talking about?" You stood up frkm your chair and walked to him. Luke and Kieran looked at each other awkwardly and decided to leave the office to give you space.

"Kitten don't start this now-"

"Do you even let me finish?! I knew your were being secretive" You scoffed.

Sylus only stared at you intensely. You waited. Waited him to say something. But you only watched as he truned his back on you, leaving you all alone again.

---

You were currently laying on your bed, ready to fall asleep since you got too tired of waiting for Sylus's return. But you your eyes started closing you heard something breaking your room's window and immediately stood back up. Two dark figures was the only thing you could make out in the darkness and before you could grab your phone and run out of the room, one of them slapped you hard and you fell on the floor.

"Well if it isn't Sylus's new toy. This is going to be fun. For us." He laughed and his fist found your face.

---

Your body was cold, in pain and your were sure you couldn't feel your legs or hands moving. You groaned as you tried to turn on your side but a stabbing pain made you let out gasp and laid on your back again.

Your heard heavy footsteps downstairs and you almost started sobbing, fearing that they may have come back. The footsteps stopped suddenly, but then you could hear them running towards your room. When Sylus came into your sight, you sobbed and called for him.

"FUCK!" Sylus said loudly and laid next to you in an instant.

"Baby? Can you hear me? I'm here, see? I'm here" He frantically tried to lift you in his arms and held you close to him. "I'm here. I'm here. You're ok." He said like he tried to reassure his himself that he wouldn't lose you.

Luke and Kieran heard the fuss and came to see what happened, and when they saw in what state you were in, they both got shocked.

"Wha-what happened boss?!" Kieran said worriedly. Sylus didn't say anything. His focus only on you, as he laid you on the bed carefully.

"Sy..." His hand grasped yours and kissed it.

"I'm here. I'm here." He placed a kiss on your head and turned to look at his assistants.

"Go bring the medkit. NOW!" He didn't mean to scream but his mind was a mess. Seeing you on the floor, bloody beated and almost unconscious made him want to go out there burn everything down.

And that's what he was going to do. When Kieran ans Luke returned with the medkit, Sylus took care pf your injuries, as his assistants made sure to bring some painkillers, water and everything that was necessary for you to not being in pain.

"Sylus where-" you tried to reach for his hand but Sylus grabbed and kissed it softly as let it rest on your chest.

"I'll be back. I promise you baby. Just please, take some rest and I'll be laying right here. Next to you." He whispered and kissed your lips before he left.

---

Your eyes moved and you slowly opened them, taking in your surroundings. You remembered everything. Your mind felt foggy, but your body wasn't in so much pain anymore and an arm was wrapped around your waist. You looked down and there was an arm around you. You looked behind and you found Sylus sleeping but having you caged in his big arms securely, fearing that he would you even in his sleep.

"Sy" you whispered and Sylus's eyes started opening slowly. When he noticed you were awake, his slumber left his body instantly and instead he sat up a little to take a better look at you.

"Sweetheart..." he wanted to say so many things. So many. But what truly mattered to him was that you were here by his side, safe.

Your arms were wrapped around his neck in a second. "Oh my sweet girl" Sylus kissed your cheek and held you. Held you like he had just found the most precious treasure in the world and he didn't want anyone or anything to take it wawy from him.

A sob left his lips.

No. He couldn't resist anymore. All the feelings he felt when he found you laying on the floor came ro the surface. You cupped his face and rested your forehead on his.

"I'm ok. We're ok."

Sylus looked at you with watery eyes, not being afraid anymore to let himself feel, cry, laugh and love. With everything felt natural.

"I love you."

You didn't care about the fights you had, the words that were spoken on heated moments when your minds are clouded with pressure and fear. Cause at the end of the day, you'd still find safety and love in each other's embraces and that's all that matters.

[latexb0n3z]

Renewed

Wade loses his head and comes back… different. Without his memories and his old face.

Logan stood over what remained of Wade Wilson, his claws still extended, jaw clenched tight. The fight was over-if it could even be called that. It had been a slaughter, and Logan had arrived too late to stop it. The mercenary's glowing axe had already done its work, severing Wade's head clean from his body.

Now, Wade's lifeless form lay sprawled in the dirt, his head several feet away, his mask shredded and stained. Logan should have been used to scenes like this, but something about it felt... final. Yet he knew better than to trust appearances. Wade's healing factor had a way of making the impossible possible, no matter how gruesome the damage.

Still, this time seemed different.

Logan crouched beside Wade's body, glaring at the broken pieces as if sheer willpower could force them to reassemble.

"C'mon, you idiot," he muttered. "Don't make me carry your pieces back to Xavier's. You'd never let me live it down."

For a long moment, nothing happened. No twitch, no spark of life. Logan's stomach tightened. Then, finally, there was a faint shimmer, almost imperceptible, in Wade's hand.

It began slowly—a spasm in the fingers, a flicker of red tissue stitching itself together at the jagged edge of Wade's neck. Logan stepped back, watching with a mixture of relief and unease as muscle and sinew began to weave together, layer by layer, like some macabre time-lapse of life returning to a broken body.

And then the face started to form.

Logan's breath caught in his throat.

This wasn't the face he expected-the ruined, scarred mask of a man who had seen too much pain. What emerged was... different. Smooth, pale skin stretched over the newly grown skull, unmarred and almost youthful. Thick, dark hair sprouted in messy waves, and the ridges of his features came into focus, too perfect, too clean.

Logan stared, dumbfounded, as Wade gasped and bolted upright, clutching his throat.

Wade looked at his hands first, then down at his body, before turning his gaze to Logan. His wide, brown eyes were unscarred and startlingly vulnerable.

"What... What's going on?" Wade rasped, his voice hoarse but softer than Logan had ever heard it.

"You tell me," Logan said, crossing his arms. His claws retracted, but his tone was guarded. "Do you remember anything?"

Wade blinked at him, confused. "I... I don't even know who I am." He looked at Logan, frowning slightly. "But I know you. At least, I think I do."

Logan stayed silent, his eyes narrowing.

Wade reached up to touch his face, brushing his fingers over his smooth cheeks and down to the faint scars on his neck.

Wade groaned as his head wobbled on his shoulders, trying to shake off the fog. He looked over at the dead, masked head that used to be his a couple feet away from his body beside him.

“My head… was cut off, right? That’s a fun Friday night. I’m feeling a little off, though. Like, something’s missing, but… also, everything’s missing? That about right?”

Logan knelt down, his expression hard to read as he watched Wade carefully. He wasn’t sure how to handle this version of him—the clean, almost innocent-looking Wade, like he hadn’t been through the hell that turned him into Deadpool. Like he hadn’t been through Logan’s version of hell, too.

“Yeah,” Logan said, voice gruff. “Some guy with a glowing axe took your head off. I got there too late to stop it. You were dead for a while. But you regenerate, so here you are.” He paused, eyeing Wade’s unscarred face, the almost too smooth skin. “It’s not the first time.”

Wade’s eyes flickered as he processed this, his brow furrowing. “Glowing axe… yeah, okay. That sounds like a fun night. Shoulda stuck with the bowling alley.” He rubbed the back of his neck, noticing the faint scars that lingered there. “But no, I definitely don’t remember that. Or you, for that matter. Hell, I can barely remember me.” He looked up at Logan, giving him a crooked grin. “But something about you feels… familiar. Like you’ve been around long enough to get sick of me. So… tell me again, who am I?” Oh he definitely could tell Logan was important… the utterly human, unmistakable chest deep feeling of attraction and want when he looked at Logan remained.

Logan shifted, uneasy with the lack of recognition in Wade’s eyes. “Your name’s Wade Wilson. You talk far too much, you make bad decisions, and you’ve been annoying the hell out of me for… too long.” He crossed his arms, trying to sound unaffected. “I’ve had to patch you up more times than I can count. You regenerate. You never stay dead.”

Wade looked down at his hands, as if willing the memories to come back, but nothing clicked. He gave Logan a tight-lipped smile.

“Alright, so… I’m an idiot with a death wish. Got it. But, uh… I’m guessing I was more than just an inconvenience for you, right? ‘Cause you’re still here. I can tell you’ve seen more of me than you probably wanted to. You, uh… don’t look like you hate me. Maybe a little? No? Maybe?” He leaned forward slightly, studying Logan with a quiet intensity.

Logan shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, trying to mask the sudden tightness in his chest. “You’ve been through a lot, Wade. We’ve been through a lot.”

Wade nodded, his smile softening for a moment before his usual playful demeanor slid back into place. “Yeah, I get it. You’ve got my back. Just… funny, because I’ve got this feeling like I’m supposed to be standing right here. With you. Whatever that means.” He paused, his grin turning sly. “You sure you’re not just putting up with me out of obligation? Because I really don’t mind if that’s your thing. I’d still be happy to—”

“Shut up, Wade,” Logan cut in, his voice rough, but the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t remember it, but yeah. We’ve got history. And you’re damn lucky I’m not leaving you out here to rot.”

Wade’s gaze softened, and for a moment, there was no sarcasm or jokes. Just an unspoken understanding between them. “Alright, so you’re… what? My unwilling savior?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Logan let out a low growl, shaking his head. “You’re gonna drive me crazy.”

Wade just smirked. “Wouldn’t be any fun if I didn’t.”

Logan sighed, shaking his head with an exhale of frustration. But there was a softness in his eyes that he couldn’t hide.

“Soooo… did we have a thing or?— because I’m really sure I’m totally into you even thought I can’t remember you.” Logan’s lips parted slightly, his brows furrowing.

They didn’t have a “thing”… not officially or anything— but Logan supposed it was a “thing” nonetheless.

None of them admitted it seriously though, even though Wade had always made jokes about their tension.

“No. We didn’t.”

“Oh? Well— that’s embarrassing isn’t?” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck “Why not?”

Logan didn’t know how to answer that question, he choked out a couple sounds, attempting to start a sentence, but he couldn’t form an explanation- he just finally came out with, “I don’t know?!” Clearly, bashful.

Wade felt around his body to see if he had a phone on him. He did— one with a pink Hello Kitty case and a charm on it. He opened the camera and gasped at his reflection. “God damn I’m sexy. You didn’t wanna piece of this? Oh— what’s your name? Can’t remember, silly me, right?”

“Not to burst your bubble but this is uh… new.. and my name is Logan, dumbass.” Logan grumbled, and Wade just returned his words with a confused expression. “What did I look like before?”

“Like Freddy Krueger.”

“So— what you’re saying is I got an upgrade?”

“Well… it’s definitely different.” He didn’t want to admit Wade was really hot to his face. He found him attractive even with his scars, so seeing him look… well… normal like this was even weirder for him.

“My question still remains, Logan. You didn’t want a piece of this? Because I’m definitely sure I want a piece of you.”

“Shut up before I cut your head off again and drag you back home while you’re still dead.”

“I’m soaking wet now, give an amnesia ridden girl a break.”

Logan’s claws came out in response.

[wolf-feathers12]

One thing I don't get with blood angels and the red thirst is how did everyone just forget that it existed?

They were called the The Revenant Legion before they met sanguinius and I'm pretty sure it's implied that the other chapters all keep their distance because of how bloodthirsty and violent they were.

And like you wouldn't forget the time you watched one of them drain a serf dry of blood and rip out the throat of another.

Like your gonna remember that.

So I like to imagine a scene where sanguinius decides to come clean to all of his brothers and they all already know XD

Blood angels all in the corner being like bye dad we love you ╥﹏╥

Sanguinius: thank you for meeting me brothers and father. I can hide the truth no longer. I have a truly evil secret that I have been hiding all this time. A shameful dark secret that may very well make you think me and my legion monsters I-

Big E: Is this about the vampire corpse eating thing?

Sanguinius: .....

Roboute: Do u mean that weird trance where they go into a rage and bite everyone? Yeah if you could try and get that under control brother I'd appreciate it. :/

Dorn: i sanctioned them after the Second Siege of Yarant. They ate prisoners in front of the enemy.

Fulgrim: Yes I remember. They would walk around with gore and blood all through their hair and armor. Absolutely ghastly! They smelt worse then Cruze and the death guard put together! Really brother I don't know HOW you were able to turn them around.

Sanguinius: ......

Big E: Well anyway son hopefully you get that sorted out because I'm pretty sure Malcador would force me to sleep on the couch if I got rid of another legion HAHAHA XD

Sanguinius: ........

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Sanji Flirting With You While He Waits On You

OPLA Sanji X FemReader

Rating: G

Warnings: Flirting

Word Count: 800

(A/N:) It feels so good to be writing again! It has been crazy around here and it's just going to get worse with the holidays coming up! I hope to write more soon as my drafts are so full of ideas so keep an eye out for more stories to come, cause just because I haven't been writing much doesn't mean that I've quit! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

The Baratie was the talk across the span of the East Blue and you had been dreaming of the food for weeks. With a reservation made in advanced you counted down the days until the moment finally arrived. The doors opening before you, beckoning you inside with an extravaganza of wonderful and delicious smells. Lead to a table closest to the kitchen, the host left you with a polite smile and promising your waiter would be with you shortly. Despite dining alone, you dressed nicely and put a light layer of makeup on. You enjoyed looking nice and you didn't let your relationship status keep you from wearing things you enjoy or eating at restaurants like the Baratie. Despite the host's promise it was taking a little bit for your waiter to make his way to your table. The place was busy and you could wait patiently, though you did wish they would at least bring you some water to sip on.

Taking in the extravagant decorations that surrounded you, you didn't pay much attention to the commotion going on in the kitchen until a loud clatter caused you to jump. Out from the swinging double doors a young blond haired man stomped out with a large mustached man following right behind. Feeling a little guilty you couldn't help but watch the scene play out. Both men continued to shout at one another before the younger one tugged off his apron and tossed it at the older chef. His hands in his pockets he ignored the enraged shouts coming from the head chef. The other patrons quickly turned away so you took that as your cue to do the same. You watched the blond talk with the waiter before he nodded and headed in your direction. You gulped, suddenly dreading being there as you didn't want to make him mad. You could tell he was still seething but as he got closer to your table his shoulders relaxed and he grinned brightly at you.

"Welcome to the Baratie madam. Pardon the rough housing, but we hope it doesn't frighten you away. Can I start you off with something to drink?"

You couldn't help but gap in awe. How he could go from enraged to a perfect gentleman astounded you. He waited patiently before you were finally able to speak.

"A-a glass of water please," you answered a bit flustered.

"Absolutely. Any preferences?"

"No just water please."

"As you wish," he winked. "My name is Sanji by the way and I look forward to serving you for as long as you need me to."

You couldn't help but smile as he walked away, leaving you feeling giddy and excited to see what else he could flatter you with tonight.

Moments later he arrived with your water and set it before you with a flourish that had you smiling.

"Now could I start our lovely guest off with something delicious like our lobster bisque? Or would the madam prefer something sweet to go along with her personality?"

"Let me ask you this," you smirked. "Is the bisque as smooth as my waiter?"

Sanji chuckled, "Not quite. You may be the smoothest one here darling."

Not sure how you could top that you just cleared your throat and threaded your fingers. Giving Sanji a small smile, "The lobster bisque sounds wonderful."

"As you wish," Sanji winked again and took your order to the window.

Your cheeks were warm and your heart was light as you hummed thoughtfully to yourself. Not long after Sanji returned setting a bowl of perfectly made soup in front of you before sitting another plate with a large slice of chocolate cake and he topped off your water glass.

"But I didn't," you begun to protest.

Sanji shushed you immediately, "On the house love. And maybe after the lady takes her time enjoying her food, she could join me for drinks afterward?"

You seemed to think about if for a moment, enjoying watching him squirm just a little bit. "Since you brought me free cake, I think I could manage a drink or two with my handsome waiter."

Sanji bowed gracefully, "Take your time to enjoy your food and I look forward to later."

"Me too," you replied to his back as he walked away."

You came to try the amazing food at the Baratie and wound up with a date with one of handsome waiters. You couldn't help but feel like you had won the day. Savoring your meal you counted down the seconds until you could be whisked away with Sanji and you hoped that it wouldn't be the only time you got to spend with him. Baratie may have found their most loyal customer in you.

[theamityelf]

May I request more RoD Fuyuhiko and kidnapped Makoto? 😩

Oh boy, I've imagined this so many ways. Right now, I'm kind of into the idea of it being a very formal and dignified kidnapping.

Like, he's got that three-piece suit brand of villainy; he could send Peko to knock Makoto out and drag him home (and if they were close/dating in school, he does think of his home as Makoto's home, however complicated his feelings are now), but more likely he's sending a car to block Makoto's (walking) path and Peko climbs out and informs Makoto that the head of the yakuza would like a word and it's nonnegotiable.

Ideally (for Fuyuhiko), he does this before the Future Foundation gets to Makoto, but he'll find a way after, if needed. (And it's perhaps more interesting, story-wise, if Makoto has at least spent a couple of days with Future Foundation before Fuyuhiko can abduct him.) Whatever the case, he'll make arrangements to get Makoto alone, a car will pull up in front of him, and:

"Makoto Naegi," the gray-haired woman says. (Not like a question; it hasn't been a question since the killing game. At least, not a genuine one. It's so weird, to have other people know his name before he knows theirs.) "Your presence has been requested. The boss asks that you get in the car without making a scene, and nobody gets hurt."

"The boss?"

"You won't know the details until you meet the boss in person." The young woman shifts her shoulders in a way that subtly hefts the sword bag strapped to her back– which she hasn't yet reached for. "Will you come willingly and save the lives of the companions who have lost track of you already, or will you resist, be taken by force, and guarantee the blood of your companions is shed?"

Makoto's confused demeanor hardens, sharpens, the adrenaline pumping in his veins sending him right into trial mode, ready to argue, to push his way to the right answer.

But before an argument can form in his mouth, he takes another breath. And he says, "They won't be harmed if I get in the car?"

They will lie to you, he's been told. They will trick you. It's not like Enoshima's game; those aligned with despair have no rules, no honor. Especially not if they valued those things before.

"The boss gives his word," the young woman replies. "They won't be harmed."

If she's telling the truth, then he has to get in the car. If she's not...then she still has a sword, is the thing. And even without it, she's bigger and he's alone.

"Then I hope your boss doesn't squander his word," Makoto says warily.

"And I hope you aren't stalling." Strangely, the young woman smirks. The look she's giving him now is almost fond. "I've told you once before that you aren't good at it. But you don't remember that, do you?"

Before he can wrap his head around that, gunshots start going off somewhere.

Makoto's blood runs cold, at the sound of far-off screams. "You said they wouldn't-!"

The young woman merely sighs, rolling her eyes and drawing her sword from her bag as languidly as though it's a tedious chore. "They're early," she says. "Heads will roll for that. My master wanted you to come willingly. It would have pleased him a great deal."

Makoto does his best to run, but she strikes him with the hilt just hard enough to dizzy (and no doubt bruise) him, and while he's disoriented, she hauls him into the car and locks the doors.

She buckles him in while he's blinking the stars out of his eyes and nursing the sore spot. By the time he's steadied himself enough to try to unbuckle himself or reach for the car door, her blade is already hovering at his throat.

She's sitting beside him, also buckled in. The car has started moving– some faceless driver, divided from them by tinted glass. "My master would prefer that I deliver you to him untied," she informs him, "but I am permitted to bind your wrists and ankles, should you make it necessary."

"Who are you?" he asks.

"You don't need a name to address me, with only two of us here. And once I deliver you to the boss, there will be no need for you to address me at all."

"But who are you?"

With a single, almost imperceptibly swift motion, her sword returns to its bag. "I am the sword on my back," she answers. "Don't waste your questions on a sword."

He falls asleep in the car; it's a long-ish ride. He doesn't mean to nod off, but subconsciously there's an assumption that when the car stops, he'll naturally wake up.

This does not happen.

Instead, he wakes up in someone's private study.

There are bookshelves, a big wooden desk and cushioned chair. The lights are off, but there's a fire in the fireplace. Makoto is sprawled across a small couch. The gray-haired woman stands with her back to the wall and her hands folded.

And a small figure stands warming by the fire. His back to Makoto, his whole form shadowed.

"You know," the young man says, "I really didn't expect you to survive."

Makoto's hand finds the sore spot on his head again. (For some reason, he's thinking of Mondo.) "I, uh, get that a lot."

A breathy laugh. "I'll fvcking bet. What else do you get a lot?"

"...That I'm short in person? That I should've told someone about Sakura. That I should see a doctor, because that fall might have caused internal damage. That my voice sounded kind of squeaky on TV. That my eyes actually look browner than they expected, or greener. That Sayaka..." He trails off. People...say a lot of things about Sayaka. That they used to be a fan of hers but would never see her the same, that they were still a fan and they hoped it was okay with him, that they'd been rooting for Makoto to figure out her plan before...Yeah, they say a lot of things.

Why is he telling a stranger any of this?

Is he stalling, knowing this conversation is likely to get a lot less friendly soon?

It doesn't feel like it. He does feel the dread of knowing that this abduction is clearly not a friendly one; he heard the gunshots earlier. He remembers that. But something in the way the young man at the fireplace laughed, the way the gray-haired woman smiled, before...He doesn't know them, but it seems like they know him. Not in the way of the people who feel they know him from watching the killing game. Talking to them feels like talking to people who actually know him.

"That Maizono b!tch," the young man scoffs. "I could have thrown up, watching you fawn over her fake *ss all over again."

And just like that, Makoto's curiosity takes a back seat. "Don't call her that!"

"Traitor-*ss b!tch. I was glad she died first."

Makoto springs to his feet, but he's barely taken two steps in the young man's direction before the gray-haired woman has once again blocked him with the edge of her blade. "Sayaka wasn't a traitor! She never wanted to hurt anyone! That was just what Junko drove her to!"

"...And that's saying something," the young man continues, ignoring Makoto's interruption, "because I was really wondering what it would feel like to watch you die. What I would become, after. I was really fvcking curious. Still am."

Makoto's fear doesn't supersede his anger; it just shapes it. "I don't know who you are," he says bluntly.

The young man's head turns slightly, but other than that he doesn't respond.

"Who are you?"

"The kid wants an introduction." His head turns toward the gray-haired woman. Though Makoto can't see his face, the smirk is audible in his voice as he continues, "Only, suppose we like to be forgotten."

"I figured you were probably someone I used to know...right?"

Once again, no verbal answer.

"Both of you," he continues. "Maybe...from my time at Hope's Peak Academy, or maybe-"

"Did I say his *ss could speak?" the young man inquires.

"You didn't, Young Master," the gray-haired woman says.

"I don't know what you want with me," Makoto continues firmly. "Or, what you think you're getting out of bringing me here, so it would help if you'd just tell me." After a second of silence, he added, "If you're someone who thinks I killed Junko-"

"You didn't kill Junko." The young man turns to face Makoto, but the darkness in the room and the fire at his back still make it impossible to really see his face. "Junko went out on her own terms. You didn't even push the button; all you did was win an unwinnable game. And those dumb*sses sure were desperate to hitch themselves to a winner."

"Who are you?"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm still fvcking pissed off that we all missed out on Plan A. She told us all about the execution she'd put herself through if she somehow lost, but Plan A was always a surprise. She was so sure she'd win."

"Who are you?"

"But that's not why you're here." Suddenly, the young man grabs a fistful of Makoto's shirt and drags him close. They're face to face. Makoto sees golden eyes and freckles. "No, you're here because I was denied the chance to watch you die. And like I said, I'm really fvcking curious."

Before Makoto can conceive of a response, he is shoved backwards to the carpeted floor.

"Take him to his room."

"H-Hey...!" Makoto winces as the gray-haired woman grabs him by the upper arm, yanks him to his feet, and drags him from the room.

[venivenias]

thinking abt them again

[crowiin]

quick thing of a lesson in changing the world by @thousand-sunnies because it made me giggle

[ex0rin]

Hughie Campbell | The Boys S01E05: Good for the Soul

[fear-no-mort]

thinkign about how alone and unloved morty was for all his life and rick was the first time anyobdy ever put such an amount of intense attention and dependency onto him . and rick had a whole new family and losing them made him stop seeing the value in other people as a whole and morty was the one and first thing that woke him up

[ilikedetectives]

I'm all ears about bottom Minthara.

I keep thinking how nice it would be if there was a second scene for her romance when you reach act 3 and get together with her. And for it to be softer and more tender in comparison to the scene at the goblin party. I desperately need it and to have Tav take care of her please

I'm so normal about bottom Minthara, not because of the smut, but it shows her ultimate trust in Tav as their relationship evolves from Act 1 to Act 3. Given what she's been through, it's understandable for her to want to be in control, because let's be honest throughout the centuries under Lolth and then the Absolute, when was the last time her mind was her own for her to make a choice, for herself? (hint: "Tonight, I wanted this - for myself.") So for her to willingly trust Tav to let that go, even just for a few moments. Alurlssrin is unselfish, deep, unbreakable love, but do you know what Tav is? Tav is her tri âm tri kỷ (know the sound, know the self) in both romantic and platonic ways, do you understand?!?!?!? Her scars are invisible and Tav is the only one who sees through them, that is why she only cares for how Tav sees her through their eyes *go outside and scream*

Between "Tonight there will be no voices, no orders, no gods... I belong only to you." (Act 2/3) and "Minthara is my home." in the epilogue, I'd say there's nothing but soft between them as time goes on and it gets softer as each night passes.

The dream is a very soft romance scene after "I belong only to you." which is a total contrast to Act 1 (bonus is including the alurlssrin dialogue during aftercare). I wish Tav could also comfort her after saving her from Orin because that level of trauma coming back, ooof.

[worldsokayestdragon]

GreedxLing Week Day 2: Crossover

Read on AO3

Ling had been certain that he and Lan Fan were ready to take down a witch.

They'd gotten the other 99 souls required easily, far faster than any other student at the DWMA had ever managed. (Well, anyone besides Maka Albarn, but she was a freakishly intense prodigy so that was hardly a fair comparison. And she'd had to start over anyway so it barely counted.) Their soul resonance was nearly flawless. When they fought together Lan Fan’s blade was like an extension of Ling's arm. Every strike landed precisely and powerfully, and their special attacks never failed.

No witch should have stood a chance against them.

And they hadn't gone into the fight alone. Ed and Al were with them, and the two brothers were nearly as good as Ling and Lan Fan. The weapon meister combination of a giant suit of armor and a guy way too small to wear it was unconventional, and Ling was pretty sure Ed having his friend make him an oversized prosthetic arm so he could wear one of everything from the pauldron down, then and having Al fight beside him only counted  “wielding a weapon” on the barest technicality, but they made it work. Ed was very good at punching things until they stopped getting back up, and Al stepped in perfectly to watch his back.

And Professor Hawkeye and her meister, Mustang, had accompanied them on this mission, so really they were as safe as could be.

Okay, maybe the adults had less accompanied them and more failed to notice the students sneaking along on a mission they'd been explicitly told to sit out because it was too dangerous. Something something ancient and powerful witch, blah blah dark soul magic, yadda yadda artificially created weapons who could operate autonomously, achieve soul resonance within themselves, and perform feats that no human weapon and meister team could hope to match. Whatever. If anything that was all the more reason for them to come along instead of leaving the old people to try and face all of that on their own.

Really, Hawkeye and Mustang should be grateful they were there, considering Mustang got himself critically injured fighting the first enemy they came across; a beautiful woman who could summon spears to her fingertips that grew to whatever length she wanted and apparently could cut through anything. The man did manage to kill her before succumbing to blood loss, though, which Ling could admit was kind of impressive considering how she shook off what should have been mortal wounds and healed almost instantly from any damage. But still, if the rest of them hadn't been there to provide cover and a distraction Hawkeye never would have been able to drag her unconscious meister to safety and call for more backup.

Hawkeye threatening them all with a “serious conversation” when they got back to school and swearing she'd expel them if she found out they'd stayed to fight if there was a chance of running away seemed pretty rude and uncalled for to Ling, but the woman was under a lot of stress.

So they ran deeper into the witch's compound–a confusing warren of underground tunnels that Ling wasn't entirely confident he'd be able to easily find his way back out of even with his normally perfect sense of direction–smashing delicate lab equipment, yelling for any cowards in the place to come face them, and generally just making a commotion to try and draw attention away from their injured companions.

Ed seemed particularly thrilled at all the destruction they were wreaking. Ling thought it was pretty fun too, but the other meister was delighted in a way that was a little concerning, laughing maniacally as he grabbed flasks of some unidentifiable green liquid off a lab table and flung them against a wall where they promptly exploded. 

Al heaved a long suffering sigh at his brother, but didn't try to stop the rampage, and also shoved over an entire shelf of the exploding potions as they left the room they'd found them in and giggled to himself about it because he was only “the normal brother” in the sense that anyone would seem sane and rational standing next to Edward Elric.

They succeeded in calling attention to themselves.

They didn’t draw out the actual witch, at least not yet, but the two minions who came after them were terrifying enough on their own.

One was a short fat man, who partially transformed into a…meat grinder? Some sort of construction equipment maybe? It wasn’t anything Ling would call a weapon in the traditional sense, but the sight of the man’s abdomen splitting open to reveal rows of spinning metal teeth was more alarming than any blade or hammer or gun could hope to be. Luckily he didn’t seem very smart, and kept stopping to look around and call for someone named Lust who never showed up, so it wasn’t too hard to dodge his attempts at pulverizing them.

The other person was more of a problem. They were taller and much more agile, and clearly knew their way around the witch’s headquarters, which made evading them in the tight corridors a challenge. And they never seemed to run out of ways to transform their body. Ling would dive back to avoid the swing of an arm that had become a blade only to immediately have to roll to the side when that same arm turned into a cannon aimed right at his head. 

They also never shut up. Every attack was followed up with a comment about how “You pathetic humans never should have come here,” or “You’ll never make it out of here alive, you worms!”

And of course, Ed also didn’t know how to shut up.

“I’d rather be a pathetic human worm than an ugly freak like you and your buddy!”

“Who are you calling ugly, you tiny little pest?” 

Their hand turned into some sort of glowing gun that fired a laser at Ed. Frankly, Ling thought turning into a sci-fi bullshit weapon was cheating.

Al just managed to yank his brother out of the way and hold him back from rushing in for an attack.

“Tiny?! We’ll see who’s tiny after I rip your legs off!”

“Oh, I’d love to see you try and–Gluttony, would you focus?”

The fat man, Gluttony apparently, turned back from where he’d been starting to wander away down a cross hall.

“But Envy, I need to go look for Lust. I don’t know where she is.”

Envy shook their head. “We can look for her after we crush these intruders, alright? You don’t need to worry about Lust, she can take care of herself.”

“But–”

“Ling, we should try and get out of here while they’re distracted,” Lan Fan said, speaking into Ling’s mind as she always did in her sword form and drowning out the argument in front of him.

“Right,” Ling whispered back, trying not to draw attention back to them. They were at the junction of two hallways, and there was just enough room that they could slip around their pursuers and go back the way they’d come if they were quick about it.

“Ed, Al, let’s get out of here,” he added only slightly louder. Both Elric brothers nodded their understanding.

Ling led the way, moving as quickly and quietly as he could along the far side of the hall from Envy and Gluttony to rush back past them.

Something slammed into the wall inches in front of Ling’s nose, and he barely stopped in time to avoid running into a giant mess of metal and wires and tubing that was shaped like a crude, nightmarish hand, reaching nearly from floor to ceiling and completely blocking his path.

The hand connected to an equally haphazard mechanical arm that shrank as it got further from the wrist, all the way down to Envy’s human looking shoulder. They’d stopped talking to Gluttony, their focus entirely fixed on Ling and his friends.

“I didn’t say you could leave,” they hissed.

“New plan,” Ling gasped, backpedaling a few steps away from where Envy’s hand was slowly pulling away from the new crater it had left in the solid stone wall. “We run away as fast as we can and worry about finding an exit later.”

“I like that plan!” Al said, already turning back up the hall and dragging Ed with him.

“Very sensible,” Lan Fan agreed.

The following chase was a blur of sprinting over uneven floors and taking corners at speed while ducking out of the way of blades and gunfire and giant mechanical hands, as well as the occasional attempt to grind them into a paste. (Gluttony referred to this as “eating them,” which, bad!) Ling completely gave up trying to keep track of where they were or the direction they were going, just concentrating on staying alive and hopefully losing the monsters on their tails.

It was a surprise when, after darting around another corner and through an archway, they found themselves out of the claustrophobic hallways and in a cavernous room. Tubes wrapped and tangled around each other up the walls and across the ceiling, coming together in the center of the room and trailing down to connect to a large throne, its occupant shrouded in shadows so deep Ling couldn’t make out a single detail of his face. A sense of creeping evil permeated the entire space, and Ling realized that this must be the witch’s inner sanctum.

There was no other door but the one they’d entered through.

The only other occupant of the room was an older man standing next to the throne, unremarkable other than the eyepatch over one eye. He strode forward with a glare as Envy and Gluttony burst into the room behind Ling and the others.

“What is the meaning of you fools allowing these humans to make their way here? You’ve disturbed Father’s work.”

“Hey, these little insects are fast,” Envy protested. “And I didn’t see you helping stop them, Wrath! Or Sloth and Pride for that matter.”

“Our brothers are away on an errand for Father,” Wrath said dismissively. “You shouldn’t need their help to squash a few bugs anyway. Or mine, but I’ll go ahead and lend it to you since it seems to be the only way anything gets done around here.” 

Envy growled, and the growl deepened and distorted as they transformed. 

In the open space of this room they were able to change more than just their arm. Their whole body stretched and twisted as they grew into a giant robotic thing. It looked a bit like a mech suit from an anime, if that mech suit had been welded together from a thousand disparate parts by a madman into a body horror nightmare amalgamation, bristling with every weapon imaginable. They dropped down onto all fours–their new form no longer bipedal–and the impact shook the room so badly Ling nearly lost his footing.

“Fine,” Envy said, in a voice like grating metal. “You take care of the one with the sword, that seems more your speed. I’ll take the armor and the runt.”

For once in his life, Ed didn’t immediately freak out about being called a runt. Maybe even he recognized they were in serious enough danger to let something like that slide. Instead he said, “Actually, I think I’m just gonna leave.” and darted toward Envy’s flank, maybe trying to use their large size against them to slip by them and back out the door before they could twist around for the attack.

Ling wasn’t able to watch and see how that tactic worked out for his friend because, faster than seemed possible, Wrath was no longer across the room but right in front of him, swinging a sword toward his neck. Only Lan Fan calling out a warning allowed Ling to react in time to block the attack, and the force of the blow sent him stumbling back.

Ling could hear Ed and Al fighting Envy, and it sounded like they were struggling (it also sounded like Ed had landed at least one blow because he yelled “that’s for calling me a runt!” So much for letting things go in a dangerous situation), but he couldn’t go to help them or even spare a glance in their direction. It took all his energy to match Wrath, and he spent more time blocking and dodging than making his own attacks, unable to find an opening. 

He didn’t know if the man was one of the witch’s created weapons. He must have been, from the weird name and how unnaturally fast he moved, but he didn’t appear to transform his body in any way. 

But he could pull seemingly infinite swords from somewhere, rearming himself instantly the one time Ling managed to disarm him, and throwing them with as much deadly accuracy as he wielded them when Ling tried to retreat and put some distance between them.

Gluttony, apparently unable to decide who he should be attacking without explicit instructions, just took a swipe at whatever intruder happened to be in range of him at any given time as the fight took them around the room. It was better than having to fight two at once, but the added need to keep track of distance from him wasn’t something Ling appreciated.

He tried to keep circling to Wrath’s left, to put himself in the blind spot created by the eyepatch. His success was limited, but the strategy was letting him keep his head attached so far, and he didn’t see any better options so he kept to it. 

The witch eventually grew impatient with the fight. 

“Enough,” he said, not yelling but somehow projecting his voice across the room and over the sound of fighting. 

Ling didn’t look over, refusing to be distracted.

But then Al asked: “Dad?” 

At the same time Ed snarled: “Hohenheim!” 

That got Ling’s attention.

“Your dad’s a witch?” That was the type of thing he’d hope his friends would tell him before it came up mid-battle.

The witch did look a lot like Ed, an old man with graying blond hair that had probably once been the same shade as Ed’s braid, and eyes the same distinctive golden color.

Whether the Elrics were going to answer him, or keep yelling at the witch that was maybe their dad, Ling never found out. Envy took advantage of the distraction and slammed one giant hand down into Ed and the other into Al, pinning them both to the floor.

“Ling!” Lan Fan yelled, and he jumped back away from Wrath’s sword.

He just barely got out of the way, a stinging cut opening on his cheek instead of the intended decapitation.

Wrath followed up by throwing his sword, and the thin blade slotted cleanly into the loop at the back of Lan Fan’s hilt, ripping her out of Ling’s hand. The sword continued on its path, and buried itself deeply into the wall.

Ling dashed over and yanked on the sword, but it didn’t budge.

“Duck!” Lan Fan shouted, and Ling dropped to the floor right as the blade of yet another sword hit the wall where his head had been with enough force to shatter the tempered steel.

Ling rolled to the side and sprung back to his feet. He and Wrath circled each other again, but this time Ling tried not to let himself be moved too far from Lan Fan.

“Ling, just go,” Lan Fan cried. Her voice, already faded in Ling’s mind from a few feet of distance, sounded desperate in a way he’d never heard her before. “Get out of here, please!”

“I’m not leaving you,” Ling snapped. He wouldn’t leave any of them. There had to be a way to–

Something slammed into Ling’s side, tackling him to the ground. Too late, he realized he’d forgotten to keep track of Gluttony.

As he struggled beneath Gluttony’s weight, watching the grinding teeth of whatever his weapon form was inch closer and closer, Ling really wished he’d been a little less confident in his abilities and chosen not to come here. 

“Wait,” the witch called. 

Gluttony stopped a second short of turning Ling into mince meat.

The Witch walked slowly towards Ed and Al.

“You two are Van Hohenheim’s children?” he asked.

“What’s it to you, you bastard?” Ed growled.

“Yes, we are,” Al, ever more diplomatic, rushed to answer. “You–um well– you look a lot like him.”

“Yes, I suppose I do,” The man muttered. Then, louder, he added, “We’ll be keeping these ones alive, Envy, so do try not to crush them too much if you haven’t already.”

“Um, alright,” Envy said, shifting to put less weight on the Elrics.

“As for the others,” the witch turned back to look at Ling. “We don’t need them. You can go ahead and eat that one, Gluttony.”

“No!” Ed yelled. “No, please, they're our friends!”

“But I have no use for them. A measly two souls aren’t even enough to use in my experiments. Although…” He tilted his head, regarding Ling with a more considering eye. “I suppose it might be time to give Greed another chance.”

The witch stood up straighter and clapped his hands sharply. “Wrath, Gluttony, bring the boy over here. I have use for him after all.”

Gluttony whined in disappointment, but obediently shifted off of Ling and grabbed one of his arms. Wrath grabbed the other, and the two of them began dragging Ling toward the throne in the middle of the room, ignoring his struggling as if it were nothing.

“No!” Lan Fan screamed. 

Ling twisted to look at her.

She’d taken her human form again. The sword that had been harmlessly hooked through the loop of her pommel was now stabbing her arm just below her right shoulder. There wasn’t much blood, the blade completely filling the wound, but that arm flopped limply as she struggled, reaching toward Ling.

“Let him go! Bring him back!” 

“Lan Fan, stop moving,” Ling yelled. “Your arm! You’ll make it worse if you don’t hold still!”

“I don’t care,” Lan Fan reached up to yank at the hilt of the sword. She managed only the slightest movement of the blade, and blood began oozing more quickly from around it. “Let him go! Take me instead!”

The witch and his weapons ignored her. Ling was dragged in front of the throne and forced to his knees as the witch retrieved a small flask of some viscous red liquid from a table nearby.

Gluttony moved to hold both of Ling’s arms, and Wrath took ahold of his chin, forcibly tilting his head up.

“This may hurt,” the witch said calmly, sounding almost like a doctor about to administer a shot.

“Let him go, you bastards!” Ed snarled.

“Please, stop this!” Al begged.

“Ling!” Lan Fan’s yell sounded more like a sob.

And then the witch tipped the contents of the flask into the cut on Ling’s cheek, and he couldn’t hear anything over his own screaming anymore.

—

Ling’s body twisted and writhed in ways it was never meant to, his bones breaking and rehealing over and over, his insides feeling like they were being boiled. 

It was excruciating. 

It was too much. 

Ling retreated from reality into the place inside himself he accessed for soul resonance training with Lan Fan. Not quite inside his own soul, but not in his body either. A quiet and empty void.

Except it wasn’t quiet or empty now. The pain followed him down, though it wasn’t as strong as it had been, and the space was full of a thousand overlapping screams. 

And there was another soul there.

The soul wasn’t normal. Not in the twisted, evil way the kishin eggs Lan Fan consumed on their missions were. It just looked like it had been put together hurriedly from the pieces of many others, somehow coming together into a cohesive whole. 

It was almost beautiful, in an alien way.

As Ling watched, the soul’s shape changed, until he was looking at a large, shadowy face with jagged teeth and glowing white eyes.

“Well, what do we have here?” The voice came from the face in front of him, though its mouth didn’t move. “Am I supposed to be using your body now?”

“What’s happening to me?” Ling asked.

“They didn’t explain, huh?” the thing asked. “Yeah, they wouldn’t. The names Greed, kid, and if I had to guess, what’s happening is they put me in your bloodstream and now your body’s trying to adapt to my power. Probably doesn’t feel too good.”

Maybe Ling was going crazy, but the floating head sounded a little sympathetic. 

“Look, you should probably just let go. Let yourself fade back into your soul or whatever. Only one person’s ever survived this, as far as I know, and it’s not a pretty way to go. I can keep you from feeling it, but not when you're fighting to stay conscious like this.”

“If I die, will they try again with someone else?”

“Huh?” One of Greed’s eyes got bigger than the other, giving the impression of raising an eyebrow he didn’t have. “Yeah, probably, if there’s anyone else around. Won’t be your problem anymore, though, will it?”

Ling thought of Lan Fan, pinned to a wall with a mangled arm and still fighting to get to him, to help him.

He couldn’t let her go through this.

Ling stood up as straight as he could while floating in a void and glared at Greed.

“I’m not going to die,” Ling willed himself to believe his own words as he spoke. “There are people counting on me. I’m going to save my friends, and I’ll take on all your power to do it if I have to.”

Greed stared at him silently for a moment, somehow looking stunned despite being mostly sharp teeth and empty eyes. Then he burst out laughing.

The laugh sounded more delighted than mocking, which was not what Ling would have expected.

“Oh, I like you,” Greed said when he was done with his laughing fit. “This is gonna be fun. Alright then, you take my power, and we’ll see what we can do for your friends. I got a score to settle with the old bastard myself.”

Greed moved closer to Ling, his mouth finally opening, stretching wide enough to swallow Ling whole. A blinding white light shone from between Greed’s teeth as they rushed toward Ling. The screaming around them crescendoed, growing louder and louder until Ling realized he was screaming along with it. Everything became so overwhelming, he was certain he was about to be ripped apart, and then–

—

Ling’s eyes opened, but he wasn’t the one to open them.

His body was still kneeling on the floor, right where it had been, his arms stretched out to either side of him.

Wrath and the witch stood looming over him. Gluttony had wandered away, not in Ling’s direct sight anymore, though he didn’t dare hope he’d gone far.

The pain faded rapidly, energy crackling around him as his body healed, until he felt fine. Better than fine. Maybe better than he’d ever felt in his life.

Ling’s head raised, his eyes looked around, but once again it wasn’t him behind the movements.

“Ling?” Ed asked. “Are you okay?”

Greed looked over at where Ed was still pressed to the floor by one of Envy’s hands. He smiled, and Ling could feel it pulling at his face in a way his own expressions never did.

“Oh, is that his name?” Greed asked. “Sorry, but Ling can’t come to the phone right now. Greed’s running the show from here on out.”

Hey, that’s one of my friends! Ling protested. You said we would–

Shut up and let me sell this, Greed hissed back inside the shared space between their souls.

“Greed,” The witch said. “Welcome back to the family, my son. Your past transgressions shall be forgiven, if you agree to once more work with us for our common goals.”

Ugh, I hate this guy, Greed muttered.

Out loud, he said: “What else could I do, when you’ve so kindly given me a second chance, Father?” He bowed Ling’s head in what might have been a convincing show of respect to someone who couldn’t hear his thoughts. “I promise, I won’t waste my new life.”

“Very good,” the witch hummed his approval. “Then rise, and tell me, how does the new body feel? And what form does the weapon inside you take now?”

“It feels pretty great,” Greed answered as he stood up. 

He raised both of Ling’s hands to eye level, and instead of the horrible twisting transformation Ling had been halfway bracing himself for, all that happened was a coal black something covering the skin to about halfway up his arms. The nails grew a bit longer and sharper, but nothing as dramatic as the woman Mustang had killed. (who Ling supposed must be the missing Lust)

“Still got my shield,” Greed added. Obviously, don’t know what else the asshole expected to happen.

“How disappointing,” the witch said. “I had hoped that combining your melted essence with a skilled swordsman such as this one would allow you to take a more useful shape, something suited to attacking rather than weak defense. Still, it can’t be helped I suppose. I can still find use for–”

“Monster!” Lan Fan shrieked from her place against the wall. “Give Ling his body back! Get out of him!”

Greed didn’t turn to look at her. 

Ling wished he would, desperate to check on her. 

Ling was grateful he didn’t, not wanting to see the pain he could hear in his best friend’s voice on her face.

“Fraid I can’t do that, sweetheart,” Greed drawled. “Not exactly a thing where I can just jump back out of the body once I’m in it, you understand.”

Don’t talk to her like that! Ling snapped, and was surprised to feel his hands twitch in response to his own emotion. 

Greed couldn’t jump back out, but maybe Ling could still get back in control.

Stop that! Greed admonished. I told you, I have to sell this. Just trust me for a minute, would you?

The witch turned to regard Lan Fan. “I’m afraid you’ve outlived your usefulness,” he said. “Wrath, dispose of her.”

No! Ling thrashed where he was trapped within his own body, but before he could make any progress, Greed moved.

Taking advantage of the witch’s distraction, the moment Wrath stepped away, Greed plunged one of Ling’s hands into the old man’s chest.

Whatever his shield was made of, it punched through flesh and bone as easily as a knife passing through butter.

“Like I said, Dad,” Greed spat. “I’m not wasting the chance you’ve given me.”

The witch looked very unconcerned for a man with a hand in his chest.

A wave of force slammed into Ling’s body, throwing him and Greed to the floor.

“So disappointing,” the witch sighed. His chest was healing with the same crackling energy that had surrounded Ling’s body moments before. “You do so much for your children, but in the end you can’t prevent them from making the same mistakes again and again. Oh well. Wrath, leave the girl and kill your brother for me.”

Wrath lunged at them, his movements almost too fast to follow. For the second time that day, Ling was in a fight with the ridiculously skilled swordsman, but this time he wasn’t even able to control his body. He had to rely on Greed to dodge and block fast enough, using his shielded hands to deflect blow after blow in a deadly dance.

Can’t you put that shield over more of my body? Ling asked as Wrath managed to cut his face, again. At least this time it healed almost before the pain could register.

That would take too much energy to power it up in the middle of a fight. Greed answered. Still kinda settling into my new body here, you know? This is what we have to work with for now.

Too much energy… 

Ling knew one way to boost a weapon’s power and allow for high energy attacks.

I’m going to try soul resonance. Ling said.

No way, Greed argued, ducking a slash from Wrath’s sword so close Ling was pretty sure it cut an inch off his ponytail. We don’t even know if you can match my wavelength, and if you do it wrong the distraction will get us killed!

We’re going to get killed eventually anyway if we do nothing. You can’t keep this up forever. And anyway, if our souls weren’t at least somewhat compatible my body would have rejected you, right?

Maybe? I don’t actually know how that works.

I can do it, Ling said. He couldn’t lie to someone sharing his body like this. He had to make himself believe it. I know I can. Just–trust me for a minute would you?

…Fine, Greed said. But hurry up, alright? You weren’t lying when you said I couldn’t keep this up forever.

Even as Greed spoke, Wrath got another hit in. This time it was on Ling's left arm above the shield, and felt much deeper. It still healed right away, but it was clear that Greed was losing ground.

Ling forced himself to ignore the fight, instead turning his attention to Greed’s soul.

The soul was unfamiliar, and reaching toward it felt strange. Ling didn’t know if that was because it was artificially constructed, or if he just wasn’t used to resonating with someone who wasn’t Lan Fan. She was the only weapon he’d ever worked with before.

(Wrath knocked Greed off balance, and Ling distantly felt himself falling. He didn’t let it distract him.)

Greed’s wavelength was much more aggressive than Lan Fan’s. There was a sense of desperately reaching for something to it, whereas Lan Fan felt more grounded and content.

(Greed hit the floor, and before he could try to get back up or even roll away, Wrath was standing over him, one foot on either side of Ling’s torso, trapping them in place. Ling ignored it.)

And yet, Ling discovered that matching this new wavelength wasn’t as difficult as he’d feared. Even as frenetic as it was, there was a clear opening within it. An empty space that Ling found he slotted into nearly perfectly. 

(Wrath’s sword swung down toward their neck.)

Ling’s soul wavelength matched Greeds completely.

The shield spread up from their arms and over their whole body. It reached their neck a millisecond before Wrath’s blade, and the sword snapped on impact.

The shield kept spreading up. Ling felt it cover their head, but he wasn’t thinking about it’s progress anymore.

Wrath stumbled back a step, and they surged to their feet. Ling wasn’t sure who was controlling the body anymore. He didn’t think it even mattered at this point.

This didn’t feel like soul resonance with Lan Fan. 

That always felt powerful in a safe familiar way, a close connection with the best friend he’d known his whole life. They worked together well because they had been close for as long as either of them could remember. It was a comfortable teamwork that Ling treasured.

This was something else entirely. Greed’s soul was unfamiliar, and yet it felt like an expansion of Ling’s own. It was brand new and exciting; a little frightening as Ling felt himself swept along Greed’s wavelength, but exhilarating as he could tell Greed was moving along with him just as much. It was a dance, and a struggle for dominance, and an embrace all at once. Ling didn’t know what they would do–what they could do–together, but the possibilities felt endless.

Wrath backed away as they stepped toward him. He threw more blades as they approached, but Ling couldn’t even feel them when they bounced off the shield.

“Oh what the hell?” Envy yelled from where they were still restraining Ed and Al near the door. 

There was a noise like cannon fire from that direction, and something exploded against Ling and Greed’s back. It didn’t even break their stride.

The clawed tips of their fingers had grown longer than before. Watching Wrath retreat got abruptly boring, and they rushed forward, sticking those sharp claws into Wrath’s abdomen just below the ribs.

“This is for my friends,” they growled. 

Ling didn’t know who’s anger was fueling them more, if they were taking revenge for Lan Fan’s injury or something that had happened in Greed’s past. 

It didn’t matter which it was. 

It was both.

They lifted their arm and flung Wrath over their head. He flew through the air and collided with the back of the throne with a sickening crunch.

They turned to the witch, but before they could take a step in his direction he made some complicated gesture with his hands and an orb of shimmering red force closed around them. 

A soul wavelength painfully disparate from theirs surrounded them on all sides, and the resonance abruptly ended.

They fell to their knees, the impact jarring as the shield retreated to only covering their forearms once again. 

Now Ling could tell it was Greed who clapped their hands over their ears against the onslaught.

“That’s enough of your little tantrum,” the witch said, barely even looking at them. “Gluttony, you can eat him.”

“Thank you father!” Gluttony yelled.

Ling couldn’t move. Couldn’t try to wrestle control back from Greed. Could barely think.

He could only watch as Gluttony leapt toward them, grinning and eager to devour them.

And then a blade passed through Gluttony’s head at the level of his eyes. 

A blow like that must have severed the monster’s brain.

His body fell to the ground, the smile still wide on the lower half of his face.

Lan Fan stood behind him. Her left arm turned into a blade just below the elbow.

Her right arm was gone from the shoulder, nothing but a bloody stump. 

Ling didn’t turn to look, but he was sure the arm was right where it had been, pinned to the wall, and now cut away.

“You will not touch him,” Lan Fan growled. The rage in her voice was like nothing Ling had ever heard.

“Lan Fan,” he gasped out, back in control of his own voice.

“Ling?” Lan Fan’s eyes widened. “You are still in there! Ling, you have to fi–”

“This is completely unacceptable,” the witch said. He was glaring at Lan Fan, showing something other than vague disinterest for the first time since Ling had laid eyes on him. 

Now he looked pissed.

“You break into my home. You ransack my research laboratories. And now you kill one of my children.”

He stalked toward Lan Fan as he spoke. She stood firm, but Ling could see her beginning to sway on her feet, the blood loss no doubt catching up to her.

With his focus on Lan Fan, the sphere of disrupting soul wavelength around Greed and Ling began to dissipate. They struggled to their feet.

“This will not stand!” the witch roared, raising his hands in preparation for some spell.

Lan Fan raised her one remaining arm to block whatever was coming.

Whatever it was, they’d never find out. 

Greed once again punched through his father’s rib cage with one clawed hand. Not willing to leave anything to chance this time, Ling slashed the claws of their other hand across the back of the witch’s neck, cutting through the spinal cord.

His body tumbled to the floor, and it didn’t move again.

A moment of stunned silence. 

Then Envy screamed.

“Greed, you traitor! How dare you side with these worms? I’ll kill you for this!”

They jumped over Ed and Al to rush at Greed.

Before they got there, the wall opposite the door exploded inward, and more teachers from the DWMA poured into the room.

Ling didn’t care to stand and watch the fight that followed. He ran to Lan Fan’s side, just making it in time to catch her as she fell and lower her gently to the floor.

“You idiot,” Ling said, surprised when it came out like a sob. He realized that he was crying. “Why would you cut off your arm for me? You could have died!”

“You could have died,” Lan Fan said. 

Ling pulled off his jacket and pressed it against what remained of her shoulder. She cried out in pain, and Ling felt like scum, but he didn’t let up the pressure.

After a few gasping breaths Lan Fan continued: “And I would have had to watch you die, useless and stuck to the wall. This was the only way.”

Ling shook his head. “Still. Your arm–”

“Well I for one am grateful that you saved my ass!” Greed put in, shoving Ling out of control mid-sentence.

Lan Fan narrowed her eyes. “I was saving Ling, not you.”

Greed shrugged casually, but Ling could tell how careful he was not to let the gesture jostle Lan Fan's shoulder where he was still holding the jacket against it.

“Yeah, well. Same ass, so thanks anyway.”

“I hate you,” Lan Fan said, without much force behind it. “Also, I’m going to pass out now, so don’t let Ling die before I wake up.”

“No!” Ling reclaimed control of their body. “Lan Fan, don’t pass out, okay? You need to try to stay awake.”

“Can’t. Sorry,” Lan Fan murmured, and then her eyes closed and her head lolled limply against the ground.

“Lan Fan!” Ling screamed.

Distantly, he was aware of the sounds of fighting coming to a close, of someone–Professor Stein maybe–trying to tug him away from Lan Fan and saying to let him look, of Greed taking back control to make him obey.

He heard Greed in their head more clearly than the noises around them.

Let the doctor guy look at her, Ling. She’ll be okay. She’s tough, I can already tell.

Ling couldn’t pull their eyes away from Lan Fan. He appreciated Greed trying to comfort him, but he couldn’t answer. 

He wouldn’t believe she’d be okay until he saw her awake again. And until then, nothing else mattered.

—

Lan Fan woke up the next day. 

Ling and Greed were sitting in a chair they’d dragged next to her bed in the infirmary. They’d refused to leave her side since she’d been out of surgery. 

A few times some of the higher ranking meisters and death scythes had tried to draw them away for a debrief, but they’d refused to go.

Surprisingly, Professor Hawkeye had taken their side. Glaring from where she sat in her own chair beside Mustang’s bed, she snapped at the would-be interrogators to have some patience and respect. 

Ling was pretty sure they wouldn’t have been allowed to stay no matter how much he wanted them to if she hadn’t stepped in.

He promised himself to always pay attention in her class from now on, and never let any other students get away with badmouthing her.

Lan Fan woke slowly, and smiled when she saw Ling leaning over her, hovering with indecision between running to get help and staying by her side.

Then the smile fell away, and she looked down at where her arm should be. Where it never would be again.

Ling cleared his throat. “Winry can make you a new one, once you’ve healed. Like Ed’s.”

“Right,” Lan Fan agreed. Her voice sounded hollow.

Greed slid into control of the body, and Ling felt a shit eating grin grow across their face.

“You should have her make you something with spikes and flames and shit. Something real cool, better than the old boring one.”

Lan Fan turned and glared at Greed. “I don’t want your opinion on what I do with my arm.”

She was angry, but Ling thought she might also be glad for the distraction. At the very least there was life in her eyes again.

Greed shrugged. “Fine, do what you want. Get a lame normal prosthetic and waste the chance of a lifetime for badass body modification. See if I–”

“So,” Ling interrupted before Lan Fan could decide to try and strangle Greed one handed. “You’ll never believe what stupid shit I heard Black Star and Kid got up to this time.”

—

They were still talking about nothing important, Ling holding Lan Fan’s hand, a few hours later when the door to the infirmary opened and Stein walked in.

Ling couldn’t say he was a fan of Stein’s bedside manner. The man always gave the impression that he’d rather peel your skin off and look at what was under it than give you a bandaid(not least because he occasionally waxed poetic about the joys of peeling skin off to look at what was under it), but he was the closest thing the school had to medical professional after the former nurse turned out to be a crazy snake witch bent on plunging the world into madness.

And, to be fair, he never actually experimented on any of the students in his care. 

As far as Ling knew.

So he assumed the man was there to check up on Lan Fan or Mustang, and didn’t pay him any mind.

Until Lord Death himself walked in behind him.

It was rare to see their school’s headmaster outside of his office. He only made visits to other areas when something very important came up. And since there wasn’t an imminent threat to existence as they knew it, that could only mean that they were in big trouble.

“Hi, howdy, hello, everyone!” Lord Death greeted them brightly. “I hear you young people have had quite the adventure.”

Ling wished he could take the good mood as a sign he wasn’t about to be expelled, or arrested, or worse, but Lord Death was always like that.

Before Ling could figure out a safe answer, Greed took control again.

“Oh, now what the fuck are you?”

“Shut up!” Ling hissed, shoving Greed back out of the way. “Lord Death, I apologize. He didn’t mean it how it sounded, really! Please forgive–”

“No need for that, Ling,” Lord Death said, waving an oversized hand dismissively. “I know the way I present myself is less than impressive. Don’t want to scare the students, after all! And that little outburst did prove that what the Elrics said was true. You really do have someone else rattling around in that head of yours.”

Ling could feel Greed trying to get control again, no doubt to insult Lord Death again, but he held his ground. That surprised Greed enough that he stopped reaching to take over.

What gives, Ling, he complained.

Lord Death is in charge of this school, Ling explained. He can expel me–or throw us both in a cell–if he wants, so please just stay quiet for now.

That’s in charge? Greed asked. This place is even weirder than the old man’s hideout. But fine, whatever, I’ll be good.

Lord Death turned to Stein. “Is there anything that can be done? I hate the thought of leaving the poor Yao boy stuck like this.”

That was marginally insulting.

Stein shook his head. “Unfortunately, no," he intoned, absentmindedly tightening the screw through his cranium. "As far as I’m aware, there’s no way to separate a meister and weapon who have been fused like this. I’ve been looking into it for Crona, and I haven’t been able to make any progress. It doesn’t help that I can’t experiment on them.” At everyone in the room’s concerned looks, he quickly tacked on: “Not that I would. They’ve had enough experimenting in their life, and respect their bodily autonomy. And Marie would kill me if I tried it.”

“Lord Death, Professor Stein, we don’t want to be separated,” Ling said. 

Everyone turned to look at him like he’d grown a second head.

“It’s–I know I didn’t ask for this,” Ling tried to explain. “But Greed and I work well together. We get along. And, especially if trying to break us apart would be dangerous, I’d rather we stay this way.”

You really mean that? Greed asked. Ling could feel the disbelief coming off him in waves.

With a sinking heart, Ling realized he’d never actually talked to Greed about this.

I do, Ling said because it was true. But I guess I shouldn’t speak for both of us. If you want your own body, we can see if Stein–

“You heard him, we’re staying like this,” Greed said like he was daring anyone to argue with him.

Lord Death sighed. “No offense intended, Greed was it? But you are an unknown entity, one we have no experience with, and it would be irresponsible of me to endanger my students by–”

Hawkeye snorted, which was the most undignified and unprofessional thing Ling had ever witnessed her do.

“Endanger how? With all due respect, Lord Death, he’s been here for over 24 hours already and all he’s done is sit by Lan Fan’s bedside and make a few jokes in poor taste. If he meant to pose a threat, surely he’d have done so by now.”

“Professor Hawkeye is right,” Lan Fan spoke up. “Greed has done nothing to hurt any of us. He didn’t choose to be fused with Ling, and Ling would have died–we all would have died–if Greed hadn’t killed Wrath and the witch. If–” Lan Fan paused, her voice suddenly very watery. 

Ling was alarmed to see tears gathering in her eyes.

Lan Fan swallowed heavily before continuing. “If Ling wants Greed to be his new weapon now that I’m crippled, then–”

“No,” Ling interrupted her. “No, no way Lan Fan! I’d never abandon you like that! You’re my best friend. Greed may have helped me kill the witch, but I got those other 99 souls with you. We started this journey together, and that’s how we’ll finish it!”

“But you said–”

“Death the Kid has two weapons. I don’t see why I can’t do the same.” Ling placed a hand on her hair. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I think the three of us could be a really good team. If that’s okay with the two of you?”

Lan Fan sniffled and nodded.

Greed took back over the body, and smiled in a way Ling didn’t trust.

“Fine by me,” Greed said. “I’m always down for a three way.”

Ling shoved him to the back of their mindscape.

“Ew! Don’t phrase it like that!”

Lan Fan just laughed.

Ling was shocked by that reaction, but also grateful to Greed for making it happen. It was the first time he’d heard her laugh since things started going bad at the witch’s stronghold.

“Alright, you’ve convinced me!” Lord Death said. “Greed can stay, and be enrolled as another student of the DWMA. I always do love giving people a chance. Of course you know, Ling, this means you’ll have to get double the souls of all the other meister students. 99 kishin eggs and one witch apiece.”

Ling nodded. “That’s very fair, Lord Death. I can handle that. After all, Lan Fan and I already got her 99, and Greed and I killed a witch.”

“Well, actually,” Lord Death started, and Ling could already tell he would hate the rest of this sentence. “Since you went after a witch and failed to kill him with Lan Fan’s blade, the two of you will have to start over.”

“What!” Ling and Lan Fan screeched in perfect unison.

“Yes, I know it’s no fun, but them’s the rules!” Lord Death said. “The same applies to the Elric boys. Let that be a lesson for you all about stowing away on missions you’ve been told you’re not ready for!”

“Also, not to kick you when you’re down,” Greed put in. “But everyone keeps talking about me and Ling killing the witch, and he is for sure not dead.”

“Huh? But we stabbed in the heart and cut his spine!”

“Yeah, and did you see a soul?” Greed asked. “He figured out how to siphon most of it off for safekeeping in a different container ages ago. That’s what all the tubes were for. You were kind of checked out, but I saw Envy get away with his body and Wrath. They definitely retrieved the soul before they booked it to another safe house. Oh, Wrath also isn’t dead. His brain was still attached and he wasn’t a pile of ash, so he can heal.”

“Oh god, this is the worst,” Ling groaned, putting his head in his hands. 

Lan Fan patted him on the back, and Greed did the mental equivalent of the same.

“We can handle it,” Lan Fan said.

“Oh yeah, it’ll be no problem,” Greed put in.

Ling supposed that, if he had to start from square one on gathering twice the souls he’d thought he’d ever need and eventually deal with an ancient witch’s inevitable revenge plot, he could at least do so with good company.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Ling said. “We’ve totally got this.”

[noirve]

but were the highs (watching armand be scary hot and powerful) worth the lows (him hurting and threatening claudia)