#tis a terrifying thought that he might return badly injured

[adelaide-lanshasaa]

Scenario 1 : Chef

Part of this scenario is from "Adventures afoot the Reikland".

Part 1 : Adélaïde

Part 2 : Is the water really the problem ?

The Halfeling light-heartedly followed the philosopher and his friend Bambi. Waliyya el-Shah, a Faylasuf, was delighted to meet them, relieved that a Wizard was willing to help her. Indeed, she has been investigating the Bögen river for years, and recently noticed that the water became warmer after a narrowing in the Vobergland. She needed an escort to protect her as she investigates the fog surrounding the place.

As they arrive, they all notice that the mist seems to appear following an invisible limit.

"I have been to afraid to go further alone. Now, we shall take more measures of the water temperature to locate the exact point of shift."

As they approach the river, Chef notices that the shape of a face briefly appears in the fog, but Adélaïde seems calm, so he proceeds to take the odd apparel that Waliyya hands over to him, asking him to submerge it in the water in specific spots.

But as his hand touches the water, the screaming spectre of a man appears and attacks him. Semi-transparent, he is in his thirties, with short blond and curly hair, a pale face and his eyes a pale blue with impressive dark circles. His face is thin, his cheeks sunken, and he wears a white shirt with puffy sleeves underneath a finely woven doublet.

Terrifyed, Chef runs away, and finds a bush in which he can hide. It takes him a moment to calm down, but the thought of his friend gives him courage. He start looking for her, and is relieved to find her unharmed.

"Chef, you must found Waliyya, I think that she has been injured."

Indeed she is, but nothing concerning. However, she is shocked, and it takes Chef a moment to calm her down. The specter vanished, and Chef takes measures with the woman, as Adélaïde prepares her spells. Soon enought, the ghost returns, but Bambi distracts him, while the Halfeling and the Faylasuf takes the measures. Finally, the data are sufficient. All run off, escaping the mist, and discover that the ghost cannot follow them. But Adélaïde is greatly injured, and they take a moment of rest while Waliyya explains her thoughts.

"See, the water warms up suddenly, at a precise point of the narrowing. I think we must investigate the bottom of the water."

In brief sentences, Adélaïde claims that the spirit has been cursed, and that his body might still be there.

After discussing for a moment, they finally decide of a strategy. Chef will be tied to a rope, and search underwater for anything interesting, eventually a corpse, as Waliyya remains by the riverbank, ready to pull the light-weighted man back. The wizard, still injured, will step in the mist, where she can easily back off and be out of reach of the spirit, and will attack him with her spells to defend the group.

It takes Chef a long while to finally find something. He was forced to swim back up a few times for air, but finally, at the narrowing, he sees a corpse stuck against rocks. He struggles to free it but can finally swim back up with it, only to discover the spirit harrassing Waliyya. The Halfeling quickly pulls the body out and was about to run help the faylasuf when the ghost abruptly stopped his attacks, turning toward the body as laments echoed in the mist.

Chef takes adventage of it's distraction to check on Waliyya. She is injured, but alive, and both carry the body toward the wizard, followed by the moaning soul.

Adélaïde is unconscious, badly injured. Chef and Waliyya mend her wounds, and quickly tell her what happened while she was out. Finally, the little man takes a moment to examine the body. Only bones remain, attached by some ligaments, but the fabric of is clothes is similar to the one of the ghost. He searches his pockets, hoping to find anything that could let them identify him, but in vain. Yet, Chef notices a golden ring on one og the bones of the hand, and quickly grabs it. The signet ring is marked by a finely carved letter, an "F" according to his companions. He quickly slides it in his pocket, and proceeds to dig a hole, to at least give some sort of decent burial to the unknown man.

Finally, as the body is beneath them, the spirit dissapears, and the mists dissipates. Waliyya returns to measure the water's temperature, but the change is gone as well.

"But what happened ?"

"It's Dhar." mutters Adélaïde, before giving further explanations as she sees the confused gaze of the two others.

"Dark magic. There were traces on the body, it was cursed. It probably caused that temperature shift in the water, where to bay was."

All three return to the city, and Waliyya rewards them before going back to her guild. Adélaïde is hurt, and she rests for a week at the tavern. Chef is left on his own, and spends his days trying to tame the stray dog he found. Nine days later, it's a success and Japchae is a joyful little comapnion. Even better, Adélaïde is finally healed.

But on their 10th day in Bögenhafen, a lean man with black hair and a large hat walks in the tavern of the three barrels, followed by three guards.

"Adélaïde Lanshasaä ?"

The wizard looks at them, emotionless.

"You're under arrest."

Scenario 2 : Death to the Witches!

[kaitou-cure-prism12]

#no idea what's going on with yuki and sir obi there #mayhaps jen is right and he's just imparting news of the bergatt troubles #and he's about to leave for the siege #and yuki's never really been without him in the intimidating court of the holy roman emperor and he so helped her nerves #tis a terrifying thought that he might return badly injured #or not at all #and here she was in her best ball gown #for shame #jen the darling helped me find links on proper dye colours let's hope I did justice to the fashions of 1190 now #also I insist on their kids being freckly no matter what #their moorish versions are rn my absolute fave look how darling they are - @onedivinemisfit

Moar Obiyuki Medieval!AU

Just prepping along for obiyukiweek, trying to make sense of this chaos of a century I chose for my take (lots of love to @sabraeal for being the better researcher aaaaand the one to drop me the Moorish idea)

Former novice Shirayuki did her best to look maidenly and beautiful and eligible tonight, sir Obi, in order to be courted and complimented, NOT to be distressed with bad news :(

+ bonus sketches of my nextgen kids Akemi and Shigure as their medieval Moorish counterparts~

AnS © Akizuki Sorata Art: Me

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

and then I don’t feel so bad

thanks again to @thecomfortofoldstorries for coming through when I whined at her about needing ideas

also shout-out to my older sister for being the coolest and getting this song stuck in my head today (happy birthday, sis. wish we’d been raised together)

---

Geralt holds the package tightly with both hands and glares down at it with icy anxiety building at the center of his chest. The cloak he’d special ordered two weeks ago is wrapped in brown paper, tied closed with a length of dark blue woolen string. The Witcher, who has faced countless monsters and angry villagers and vengeful nobles alike, takes a deep breath in through his nose and shudders at the thought of his next self-chosen contract: giving Jaskier a Solstice present. He hopes the cloak is good enough. He hopes that he chose a fashionable color, one that Jaskier will enjoy wearing no matter where he chooses to go this winter. Geralt hopes that the heavy wool he’d painstakingly decided on is the right kind of material for Jaskier’s tastes. He hopes… he hopes that everything he’s about to say and do goes well and that he doesn’t fuck this all up.

“Jaskier,” he calls, keeping his tone light as he knocks on the door of their shared room. “Are you decent?”

“Never!” Jaskier laughs from within. Geralt hears a series of quick, light-soled footsteps crossing the floor before the door is flung open to reveal Jaskier in all his evening glory. The bard is, as usual, painfully correct. He’s not very decent at all; his hair is a mess of brown waves that tumble down to cover his smooth, pale forehead. The apples of his cheeks are flushed fuchsia with a combination of wine and the high of a good show. His frilly white shirt is unlaced at the throat and loosened all the way down to reveal the sharp angles of his collarbones. Geralt gulps air like a man near to drowning and pushes his way inside. Has it gotten hotter, all of a sudden? Jaskier’s eyebrows furrow with worry and he closes the door behind his Witcher. “What’s got you even quieter than usual? Are you sick? Injured? Cursed?”

“Witchers can’t get sick,” Geralt answers, almost automatically. Jaskier rolls his eyes. 

“Your version of sick, then?” 

Geralt doesn’t know what his version of sick means so he ignores the comment entirely. Instead he shoves the package in his hands towards the bard and huffs. “I got something for you. I thought you might like to wear it to keep you warm, especially since I wanted… I was wondering if you’d like…”

Geralt growls and spins on his heel, running one shaking hand through his hair as if that might calm him down. It doesn’t.

“Fuck! Why can’t I be like you? Why can’t I just… say all the things I’m thinking? I’m no good with words, Jaskier.”

“I actually don’t say most of the things I think,” Jaskier shrugs. He bites the inside of his lip to keep from talking any more and ruining the moment. This is clearly something the Witcher needs to do on his own, whatever it is. He smiles softly and holds the paper-wrapped lump against his chest. “But I’m happy to wait for as long as you need, dear heart. Figuring out the right thing to say is hard.”

Geralt’s heart is pounding in his chest. Each beat rings out like one of Roach’s shoes against unforgiving cobblestone. He can practically see the sparks flying from it, igniting something in his chest that flares and wavers like a candle flame in the high breeze. He wants to protect the wavering warmth with every ounce of strength he has.

“I… I got you this,” he gestures towards the gift Jaskier has yet to open, “Because it’s cold at Kaer Morhen. The pass is treacherous, difficult for a human who isn’t prepared, so I wanted you to- I mean if you wanted to come with me, I would-”

His fumbling proposal is interrupted by a dull thwump as the package Jaskier was just holding suddenly hits the wooden floorboards. When Geralt looks up, terrified of the incoming rejection, he’s met with two watery blue eyes. Every one of his worst fears is being actualized in front of him and there’s nothing he can do to stop it now. 

“Fuck. Shit, I- I’m sorry for asking. I didn’t know if you would eve-”

Geralt is interrupted again, this time by Jaskier throwing his arms around the Witcher’s shoulders and starting to sob. Geralt panics and instinctively reaches to pull Jaskier closer against his chest. He tucks the bard’s face against the side of his neck and cups the back of his neck with one broad palm; his fingers scratch up the base of Jaskier’s scalp and into his soft, tousled locks. With his other arm Geralt holds the bard tightly around the waist, rubbing small circles into the meat of his hip as he waits for Jaskier’s breathing to return to normal.

“Do you not want to come with me to the keep?” he asks, voice low and gravelly but somehow smaller and more frightened than Jaskier has ever heard it sound before. His heart cracks wide open and his love for his grumpy White Wolf comes spilling out like water from a burst dam. 

“Of course I want to come to Kaer Morhen,” Jaskier chuckles wetly. Sadly. “I just never thought… I thought you didn’t want me there.”

Geralt considers the words for a moment. He really hasn’t been the most welcoming friend, all things considered. He can understand why Jaskier feels a bit lost and a bit confused. Overwhelmed, his brain supplies. Jaskier is overwhelmed. 

He slowly releases Jaskier and steps away.

“Here,” he grins, kneeling and offering the package back up to the bard, who accepts it slowly. Now those bright blue eyes are shining with a different emotion, and Geralt envies the mages who can read other peoples’ minds. “Open it.”

Jaskier slowly unties the blue string and pulls two or three layers of plain brown paper aside to reveal a cardinal-red woolen cloak. A cloak that Geralt has bought for him. The hood and the hem are just the right size and shape for the season. The shade of red Geralt has chosen really brings out the pink undertones of Jaskier’s skin and the darker flecks of blue in his eyes. Jaskier knows that this cloak’s design is haute couture and probably cost the Witcher a great deal of coin. “Oh… Oh, my sweet, darling Geralt.”

Hearing his name said like that, with such affection and gentle reverence, throws the Witcher into another frenzy of emotion. He can barely stand it. His fists clench at his sides. It takes Herculean effort not to sweep the bard off his feet and spin him through the air, peppering him with excited, happy kisses. Jaskier is coming to Kaer Morhen with him! Jaskier is coming home with him!

“Geralt?” 

“Jaskier,” the Witcher whispers, taking one slow step and closing the distance between them. The bard does not flinch. He does not move away. He does not step back. “Jaskier, if you don’t mind, I’d like to kiss you very badly.”

“Of course,” the bard breathes, his hand floating up to rest against the warm, stubbled skin of Geralt’s cheek, “I’ve been waiting so long…”

When their lips finally meet, time stops. There is only the warmth of their skin where it’s touching and the soft, gentle desperation of two people trying to prove, for once and for all, that they love each other. When they pause for air Jaskier pulls away a fraction. “Let’s go sit by the fire and chat, shall we?”

“Hmm.”

Geralt settles himself before the fire and pulls Jaskier down onto his lap, arranging him until they’re both comfortable. “Will your family mind my coming with you?”

“They’re expecting you. Actually, they demanded your presence this year. Lambert actually threatened me with bodily harm.”

“Did they, now?”

“Aye. Eskel said he’d find you and bring you back himself if I was too cowardly to buck up like a real Witcher and tell you that I-”

He cut himself off with a blush.

“That you what?”

“That I love you.”

“Well that’s good news,” Jaskier giggles, “And quite the relief considering I’ve been head over heels in love with you for years, now. A decade at least!”

“Y-you…?”

“Me, indeed.”

“I’m glad we’ll all get to hear your wonderful stories this winter,” Geralt nuzzles down against the side of his neck and sends Jaskier into another fit of giggles. “And songs.”

“Do you like it when I sing?”

“I like it best when you make up little songs as we travel,” Geralt admits. “They’re sweet... and I feel like- like they’re just for me.”

Jaskier lights up brighter than a well-cast Igni and settles himself into the Witcher’s tender embrace entirely. He begins to hum to himself and then slowly, in a way that always leaves Geralt impressed and entranced, words begin to form into verse:

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, Big grumpy Witchers that have me quite smitten, Brown paper packages tied up with strings; These are a few of my favorite things.”

Geralt presses a kiss to Jaskier’s temple and hides his blush in the bard’s warm neck.

“Hair soft as silk that went white in the Trials, Arms that can hold me and heft me for miles, Eyes of warm amber I search for in Spring, These are a few of my favorite things.”

The Witcher swears he can’t fall any more in love. It has to be impossible; but then Jaskier’s voice gets even softer and the words are sung so close to his ear that it makes him shiver. 

“When the wolf bites, When the bee stings, When I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things, And then I don't feel so bad!”

[buggiesbuzzing]

TITLE :: The Promise

PAIRING :: Barry Berkman x Reader

GENRE :: Fluff, hurt / comfort

WARNINGS :: alcohol use

[ ✗ ] REQUESTED

PROMPT :: ❝You're bleeding on my carpet.❞

SUMMARY :: After a late night call for help, Barry reveals his biggest secret to one of his most trusted acting buddies.

Riiing! Riiing!

The shrill rings woke you from your pleasant dreams and had you rubbing your eyes grumpily. You grabbed your phone before it could viciously vibrate off of your nightstand.

‘2:01 AM’, read the screen while the name of the caller popped up underneath it. Sighing, you answered the phone.

“Barry?” You questioned, “What — ”

Before you could complete your question, he butted in frantically. “Y/n, I'm hurt. I can't go to the hospital, I can't do this myself. Help me, please.”

Without thinking you agreed to help him. You cared deeply for the man, maybe more than a friend should, especially given the fact that you hadn't met him too long ago.

You could hear the relief in the sigh you received from him. He mumbled out a thanks and told you that he'd be at your place in a couple minutes.

Since he'd be coming over, you decided to get out of bed and get a caffeinated drink to coax yourself out of the sleep that threatened to take you back to your dream world. A few minutes passed before there were a few weak knocks on the door.

Barry had been over quite a few times since you had a habit of hosting small parties, and of course you'd have to invite your friends from your acting class.

You opened the door and almost collapsed under the sudden weight of Barry unintentionally using you to support himself. Slowly, you usher him into your living room, leaving him to close the door.

When you turned back to look at him, he was standing awkwardly, obviously looking for permission to sit on the couch. “You're getting blood on the carpet, just sit down — it's black leather, it's not like it's going to do much.” He stumbled back onto the couch, relaxing himself. “Now show me the source of all this.” You gestured vaguely at his exhausted and injured form.

Barry peeled up his shirt with a hiss, revealing a large gash on his lower abdomen. You stared at his exposed skin for a moment before mentally slapping yourself. ‘Not the time, dumb-dumb’; you could feel the heat rise to your face in embarrassment.

“Don't move.” You demanded, shuffling away to gather some things.

“It's not really like I have a choice.” Barry thought aloud.

Ping ponging from room to room, you grabbed the appropriate items to help the badly injured man on your couch; alcohol wipes, dental floss, a sharp needle, a belt, and a bottle of scotch.

Returning to the living room, you handed off the scotch and belt to Barry. “You can either drink off the pain while I help you, or you can bite down and bear through it.”

Barry began to uncap the scotch as you sat up your needle and makeshift thread. Once that had been taken care of you unwrapped the alcohol wipe and started to clean the area around the wound. He groaned in pain and took advantage of the amber liquor that you lent him.

You got on your knees and took a deep breath to prepare yourself, then started to work on stitching up his injury. Barry winced and sipped on the numbing drink. You had wished you'd taken a swig yourself — your hands seemed unsteady under pressure, but you continued to pull together the sides of the gash.

You tied off the end of the floss and stood back up, stretching before falling onto the couch beside him and snatched the bottle for yourself. One swig of the burning liquid had you sinking into your spot on the couch and letting go to all of the once pent up stress.

“So, Barry, are you going to tell me what made you come to my house at two in the morning covered in blood?” You asked without looking over.

Barry shifted uncomfortably, leaving a solid minute of silence before he gave a verbal response. “Can you promise you won't look at me differently?”

The question slightly confused you, “I don't kn —”.

He had cut you of again. “Please?” he asked in a begging tone.

You thought for a second, before agreeing. “I promise, Bare.”

You could've swore you seen a slight pink tint to his cheeks as he gave a small smile. He turned to you slowly, careful not to split his new stitches, and in return you turned towards him.

“I may or may not get paid to. . . fatally injure certain people.” He spoke lowly, watching your non-verbal response to his confession.

You blinked in shock. “You're a fucking hitman?” You hissed quietly.

Barry nodded, expecting something way more explosive. Although you were pretty collected on the outside, you were kind of scared inside. Not necessarily of him, but rather for him. He could possibly die, or get put in prison, and the thought of losing him terrified you.

You let out a shaky sigh. “You should take a shower - I have some clothes from when my ex used to live with me that should fit you.”

He nodded and slowly stood up. You led him to the bathroom and got him a towel. “You might as well stay the night too,” You mumbled, not wanting to send him out when it was getting close to three AM. “You can take the bed.”

“I'm fine with being on the couch, it's your bed anyway.” Barry countered.

You shook your head stubbornly. “Nope, you're not sleeping on the couch with your injury.”

“We can just both sleep on different sides of the bed,” Barry stated, adding a soft, “if you're comfortable with that, of course.”

You pondered it and ultimately agreed. While he showered, you cleaned up what looked like a crime scene.

You put the things you'd used back and wiped down the couch. You sprinkled baking soda on the carpet to absorb any blood in the fibers, then you made a mental note to scrub it with vinegar in the morning.

After the living room looked semi-presentable, you shut off the light and headed to your room. You dug out a pair of pajama pants, boxers, and a muscle tank, sitting it on the end of the bed for Barry whenever he'd gotten out of the shower.

Now that you had taken care of your tasks, you quite literally hopped into bed and snuggled in under the duvet. Within minutes, you gave into the heaviness of your eyelids, dozing off into a light sleep.

You didn't know how much time had passed, but it only felt like seconds had gone by when you hear Barry come into the room. You kept your sleeping position with your eyes closed, listening to him rustle into the clothes you were lending him.

He called your name quietly, to which you gave no response, making him think that you'd been sleeping; that was only half true. You could hear everything, but your body had turned itself over to sleep. He huffed and turned off any remaining lights. The bed dipped in beside you, the warmth radiating from his skin made you unconsciously gravitate towards him.

Barry froze and flushed, seeing as you'd pretty much cuddled up to his side. It'd be a lie if he said he wasn't enjoying this moment, though.

However, once you'd woken up, you were both an entanglement of limbs. It was oddly comfortable. There was no way you were moving.

Little did you know, he'd already woken up and he wasn't planning on moving either.

tags :: @wordvomit-foryourmind

[bnhayyy]

Mark of Divergence

Fandom: Attack on Titan

Wordcount: 4.8k

Ao3 Link: Click

Summary: As the alliance sits around the bonfire, Bertolt reminisces on how they ended up there - and worries about what a particular person will do going forward.

Notes: Soulmark colors do have meaning for this au. If you’re curious and don’t want to puzzle it out yourself, feel free to check out this post for reference. This fic was written for day 3 (and lowkey day 2) of @aot-au-week! It is dedicated to @elderkale and @cookietonwrites, with thanks to Celadon for betaing!

Bertolt can't help but be unnerved by soulmarks.

It isn't the concept itself that makes him uncomfortable. The thought that people can fit together so well that they are intrinsically tied is kinda sweet. (Except for the occasions when it isn't.) It's the power that they hold - the way they influence people by spelling certain bonds out for those who might otherwise take too long to realize them. And, as he sits by the bonfire, eyeing the alliance that has formed to stop the man once deemed humanity's best hope, the effects are almost visible.

A soulmark is what made Ymir decide to turn back.

*

For a moment, it looked like she had given up, but when she looked at the rose-gold crown at the back of her hand, something changed. Bertolt would never pretend to know what goes on in Ymir's mind at any given moment, but if he had to guess, it reminded her that even if she feels weighed down by her cosmic debt, she still has something to live for.

...He can understand why she came close to forgetting in the first place. For a long time, he had assumed that the crown had been her only mark. Then at Shiganshina, they received a brutal reminder of what they were up against when, despite everything, they were nearly wiped out at the hands of Zeke, Pieck, and a furiously powerless Porco, with just a handful of Marleyan soldiers and artillery and their disposal. Scouts died, and Bertolt supposed he was selfish in that, for all that their trust in him was still highly tenuous at best, he was grateful that none of his former classmates were among them. But he was. He was grateful even though scouts still died and Commander Erwin himself was so badly injured that he had to retire.

Ymir wasn't there though. She was back within Wall Sina, the soulmate of the queen. She acted unbothered, but he could see the shadows of guilt behind her eyes when he saw her next. He wonders if that is why their pointless conversation had somehow evolved into her confessing that she had many more marks, across her shoulders and chest, but they were hard to see, having faded into the light silver of ghost marks more than sixty years ago.

Now, he wonders which has had more influence on her being there with them; the rose-gold crown on her hand, or the silver scars cast across her chest.

*

Soulmarks made it easier to convince Reiner to go with him when he suggested that they surrender.

*

They were supposed to be loyal to Marley. They weren't supposed to care about the island devils. Yet Reiner was all but riddled with marks that matched theirs, and Bertolt... Bertolt didn't want to see anyone else die. He didn't want anyone else to die and he himself wanted to live. In those moments, he realized that he held a painful, desperate desire to live, and even with his true identity known, he knew that he had a better shot with the “devils” of Paradis than the "heroes" of Marley. So he'd tried to persuade Reiner, and the marks burning his skin like a brand meant that it wasn't very hard.

He doesn't think Reiner has ever truly forgiven him for convincing him, the knowledge of what his betrayal would have meant for his family hanging over his head with every waking moment. But that's fine. After all, Bertolt never apologized.

...He used to wonder why he doesn’t share any sort of soulmark with Reiner. He had hoped that he might turn out to share one with Annie, but when he found out about the bright red crystal she shares with Armin, he realized that it had been hopeless all along. Reiner hadn't been like that though. Where Annie kept her marks close to her chest, Reiner willingly shared his, so Bertolt knew that they didn't share a mark and was perplexed as to why.

It became more apparent after their uneasy return to the scouts. Their identities being known made Bertolt more aware of his own than ever, but not having to keep that secret anymore also had some effect. Getting to live, even if only because they were more useful alive than dead at first, had an effect. The newly-installed queen ordering them to repay their debts to society by serving the scouts for the rest of their short lives had an effect. Bertolt had straightened his shoulders, bore the looks, and found reasons to continue on. Reiner was a different story.

Bertolt had been moving forward with the painful understanding that even if they lived, Reiner would have suffocated under the weight of his guilt if they went back to Marley. What he didn't expect was that it would come for him anyway. The difference was that his surroundings reminded him of what he had done rather than his guilt-ridden memories, and the fate of his family became a new weight on his conscience. For a long time, Bertolt would catch him shooting glances at the golden footprint on his arm, his confusion over it still being there fading into sick understanding as the weeks slipped by.

Where Bertolt found a new will to live, Reiner's death wish began to dog him like a second shadow. He never vocalized it, but he didn't need to. It became more and more apparent as the days passed, with the way he just took any harsh word said to him and the way reckless, sacrificial moves started to add up. Everyone knew by the time Historia was crowned queen. Bertolt wanted to help, but he didn't know how. He had already struggled to handle Reiner's split personality, but this was something new and awful. He knew, logically, what was happening. Yet he couldn't understand. There was a part of him that just couldn't parse how or why they had reacted so differently, why Reiner was struggling so much when, based just on how much he had come to care for the others, switching sides should have helped him most.

It was then that Bertolt realized why he and Reiner didn't share a soulmark. They were and still are friends and comrades, but their relationship is and always has been one of circumstance. In another lifetime, a kinder lifetime, their paths never would have passed. They were friends and comrades who never would have meant anything to each other if left to their own devices.

Bertolt was not the one to prevent Reiner from handing himself over to oblivion at the first opportunity. Instead, he was saved by the people he did share marks with, the ones he had come to care about so much that it had torn his mind in half in the first place. Historia - blue bandage - who even though they didn't talk much, remained unwavering in her order that he not be executed. Connie - purple tooth - who managed to be shockingly understanding, his own losses making it easier for him to understand the reasons for the betrayal. Jean - violet sword - full of pain and rage for the silver wings of freedom emblazoned on his shoulder blade, who had eventually cornered Reiner and furiously declared that he wasn't allowed to die after what he did; it was an easy escape that did nothing to make up for what he'd done. Even Eren - golden clasped hands - and the debt he seemed to think he owed him.

...Reiner had been the first one to realize that something was very wrong with Eren. Now, Bertolt wonders if things might have gone differently if they had listened.

*

Soulmarks make Eren's current course of action that much more inconceivable.

(How easy it can be to forget. For all of the people who alter their course of action because of one soulmark or another, there are always those who don't.)

Not all of them feel the unique weight of Eren's turn, of course. To those (still) aligned with the warrior unit, Eren is just an enemy of humanity.

(They do not see what they see. While he is just a devil to them, those who knew Eren before see a friend who has wandered so far down a terrible path that he has become near unrecognizable. They do not know that it is as heartbreaking as it is terrifying. They do not know how it stings like a betrayal even though he claims to have his reasons. It makes Bertolt wonder - if this is how they all felt, back then?)

Magath and Pieck are more focused on keeping an eye on Porco, on the risk that his vengeful rage toward Ymir and Reiner does not boil over in a way that may risk their tentative alliance.

In a way, that particular microcosm of tension is almost a relief. It is not pleasant, but the way the old hurt and anger of the Galliard brothers threatens to reach across the groups helps distract at least some of them. Reiner frets and flutters, always keeping some degree of distance between himself and everyone else, while the people he never expected to actually give him a second chance shoot him concerned looks. Ymir is similarly distanced from everyone, although it is with the ease of someone who has not spent any significant time with them in over a year. She garners less worried looks from the scouts than Reiner, and certainly less hateful glares from Porco, but she does get far more uncertain looks from Pieck and Magath. Even Yelena seems unsure of what to make of the woman who got her titan by pure chance.

The children hover at the edge of this drama. Specifically, Gabi hesitantly hovers by Sasha, visibly comfortable inserting herself back amongst the warrior unit after all that has happened, but also not ready to forgive Reiner and uncertain of who else to attach herself to, and Falco hovers close to Gabi. They are another matter entirely, another story tied up in soulmarks and world-shattering realizations.

*

None of them should have been surprised. Sasha has a history of difficult soulmates.

It didn't start that way. Connie and Jean's blue marks are fairly straightforward, and even if it's a little surprising that she's rumored to share a third with the reclusive Mikasa Ackerman, it isn't shocking or problematic. They started growing to be more of an issue after she met the girl represented by the golden farmhouse on her bicep. Although her bond with Kaya seemed fairly straightforward, their first meeting sounded outright traumatic. The blue leaf that represented Reiner gained a new weight after a certain point in time, but the shock was dulled by the knowledge that four of her comrades also shared marks with him.

No, Niccolo was the one that really threw expectations and preconceived notions to the wind. The discovery that her fiery red frying pan correlated to a Marleyan prisoner of war was an "exciting" incident for everyone involved. But even after that whole fiasco was resolved, the meaning of the long golden mark running along Sasha’s cheekbone remained a mystery. Its shape was seemingly nonsensical - some sort of combination of an axe and a gun. At that point in time, Bertolt had never seen anything like it, let alone met anyone with an identical mark.

There had been three among their ranks with mysterious gold marks at the time. Sasha, with her weird hybrid weapon, Reiner, with his footprint, and Levi, who the former 104th had been shocked to discover had two - a flower on one shoulder and a teacup on the other. Soon after that, Bertolt had overheard Sasha excitedly wonder if her and Reiner’s gold mark might be the same person, if they might be one of Levi’s as well. Jean had told her that she was talking nonsense, that he couldn’t think of anyone who needed three separate guide marks.

That was before they met the girl made to bear the weight of Reiner’s betrayal.

...Turning against Marley hadn't been an easy decision. Bertolt had understood the repercussions that Reiner's family would face - it is why he didn't and still doesn't blame him for any seed of resentment that may have been planted in the aftermath. It is why, as he trudged back to the scouts, uncertain of if he would live or die, he found himself praying that his father had peacefully passed away during the mission. But knowing the consequences of your actions and seeing them first-hand are different things entirely.

Ymir chose to turn back because of her soulmate. Bertolt decided to surrender because they were doomed without her, and because allowing the armored titan to Marley would only mean more suffering for the people he could not deny he had come to love, he had been able to convince Reiner to do the same. Because Reiner had surrendered, his family had been sent to paradise.

But they were not the only ones capable of pulling the threads of fate. Rumor had it that Zeke Yaeger had once been a promising young cadet in a difficult situation. And when he looked at the girl whose fate was nearly sealed by her cousin's actions, despite the differences in their situations, Bertolt theorized that he saw a similarity. Or maybe it wasn't as sentimental as that. Maybe merely saw an opportunity. Whatever the case, the outcome was the same, a story shakily breathed out by a shell-shocked young girl as she watched the hybrid weapon marked across her forearm flicker with intermittent hues of silver and coal. He reached out to the girl and offered an opportunity - work for Marley, earn her place as one of their warriors, and prove that she was not like her cousin. Redeem her family's good name from beyond the grave.

So Bertolt and Reiner became Paridisians in all but name, and Gabi Braun became a creature of fury.

Fury. It isn't surprising that that is all she felt when Paradis came knocking on Liberio's door and killed droves of innocents, including two of her only companions. All because the scouts discovered too late that they couldn't actually control the devil known as Eren Jaeger. He cannot blame her for seeing red and breaking onto their ship. For all the horror of the moment, he cannot blame her for taking fire on the first islander she spotted.

Even after hearing it from her own mouth, it still feels like a stroke of luck great enough to near-divine intervention to know that she flinched. That she saw the unique soulmark plastered on Sasha's cheekbone, and in the same instant that Falco lunged at her, she flinched. She flinched, and although it took hours for anything to be confirmed, hours of blood and stress and fear, the bullet landed painfully, but not fatally.

For all of the propaganda drilled into her head, for all of her despair and hatred for the island of devils, almost killing your soulmate does something to you. In Gabi's case, it dulled her fury enough for her to start to listen. To witness the grief and love of the people around her, the way Marleyan Niccolo was clearly only barely restraining from taking violent action on behalf of a "devil", how, despite Falco's ardent defense of her character, he wasn't the only one insisting that no harm befall to her. It made her witness their humanity. And that, Bertolt suspects, may have made her start to consider who exactly killed her family.

She is still hesitant around most of them, more so than Falco, who, while frightened and out of his depth, is also burningly curious and has a good head on his shoulders. She refused to so much as talk to Reiner until after Zeke's attack. But she is hesitant around the Marleyans now. She also apologized to Sasha once she was stabilized enough to move, which has to count as some sort of progress.

...The soulmark makes sense now. At some point during Zeke's attack, Gabi apparently killed a titan with a gun in order to save Kaya. A delighted Sasha had declared it the mark of a "titan-killer supreme".

So, no. Now that Bertolt thinks about it, none of it is surprising. Not that Sasha shares a soulmark with the girl who almost killed her, and not the fact that of Gabi's five marks, all but Kaya's blue ribbon and Falco's purple feather are golden.

She is already starting to grow out of her fury. Although she does a remarkable job of holding herself together, because Ymir once turned back for her soulmate, because Bertolt followed her and got Reiner to come with him, because Zeke saw a similarity or an opportunity, and because Eren turned out to be the devil none of them believed he was, Gabi Braun is a broken child.

Bertolt hasn't once been able to bring himself to look her in the eyes.

*

For the rest of them, there is absolutely no escaping the larger shadow hanging over their heads. Levi is too injured for much of his face to be visible at this point, but Bertolt has seen the flickers of pain and regret across the Commander's face. He would be willing to bet that Eren has not left their mind once this entire time. (He also has no doubt that they are already set on what must be done.) Even without bandages, Levi has always been far harder to read, but he suspects that Hange's feelings are a good indicator of his own.

Armin is far worse. His countenance is someone who fears that he may be losing his best friend, who wants to cling to the hope that it might not be too late, but has already accepted the truth somewhere deep down. He and Annie have been sticking by each other's sides all through the night. Bertolt does not know how much Armin truly helps when Annie is so fresh out of her crystal and struggling with her own pains, even subtly contributing to the cloud of other tensions with her own unresolved tensions with Reiner and untouched history with Marley, but he thinks it is still good that they have each other. Even though Armin is one of the people he has found some degree of kinship with in the past years of with Scouts, he does not dare approach them.

Worst of all is Mikasa. There is a greater gulf between her and the rest of the Scouts than Reiner, Ymir, or even Bertolt can lay claim to. It makes sense that she would be further away than Reiner or Ymir, he thinks. Mikasa always held herself at a degree of distance, whereas Reiner was always social and seemed to have half of their tattered group as soulmarks besides. Ymir is a relatively distant person with only one living soulmate, but she cannot be feeling anywhere near the level of devastation that she is in at this moment. But Bertolt? He is a distant person with only a single soulmark that he does not know to correspond to any specific person. Even knowing that Eren may well be her whole world, seeing her so much further away feels wrong.

Bertolt slowly scans the crowd gathered around the fire and does not spot her. He frowns.

"Has anyone seen Mikasa?" he asks.

It’s Hange that answers, glancing up from where they have been carefully watching Levi. “She said she was going for a walk. That was a while ago though…”

Heavy silence fills the air. Bertolt is rising to his feet before he can think about it.

Armin and Jean move in the same instant. In Jean's case, it is the flinching motion of someone about to stand, but he freezes when he sees that he isn't the only one. His gaze slides from Bertolt and Armin to Reiner, then to the warrior unit, to Annie, to Ymir, and finally to the children huddled a few places down from him, before he reluctantly settles back into his seat. Armin, however, is already halfway standing. Bertolt meets his gaze and slowly shakes his head. Armin frowns and glances at the forest, but ultimately looks back at Annie and sits back down with a small nod in Bertolt's direction.

There is something haunting about the forest. It is not the threat of Yaegerists that makes him feel that way either. Rather, it is something about the night. The night and what might come with the day.

It is a relief that it does not take long to find Mikasa. She is sitting hunched at the base of a tree, her scarf tucked over her nose, gazing up at the sky through the tree's canopy.

Bertolt hesitates. It feels wrong to say anything, but even worse to walk away. He knows that she will have noticed him even if she does not show it. Even if she hasn't... it would be wrong to walk away.

Ultimately, he walks up and sits down a few paces away from her, at the base of the same tree. He pulls his legs up against his chest, wraps his arms around them, and rests his chin on his knees.

They are silent for a little while. Then, softly, she asks, "when did you know that what you were doing was wrong?"

Bertolt swallows. His gaze drops to his right ankle. It takes a little while for him to find the words, but when he does, he whispers, "Shiganshina. Right after I kicked the hole in the wall, when I looked down... that's when I knew."

*

Precious few people know about it - Former Commander Erwin, Commander Hange, and Captain Levi, because he couldn't keep any secrets from them after the truth was revealed, but also Reiner, Ymir, and presumably Historia - but Bertolt's only soulmark is on his ankle. It is a bright burgundy replica of the wall that once protected Shiganshina.

...In his time on Paradis and the years before that, he has not met anyone with a similar mark. He would suspect that his soulmate is dead, eaten or crushed to death in that initial attack, were it not for the fact that the mark has not yet turned silver.

That does not mean that he thinks there is someone out there for him. No. Instead, Bertolt has come to suspect that maybe he doesn't have a soulmate. He looks at his mark and wonders if it is possible for people to be bound to concepts, memories, moments in time. He looks at his mark and sees a warning. A grim reminder.

Perhaps it is egotistical of him to think that his mark is unique, but even so, it is the only thing he can think of. His mark isn't meant to tie him to someone or guide him to them. It is there to make sure he can never forget the worst thing he has ever done, to make sure he never does it again.

How funny, then, that it didn't even work. Just because the hole in Trost's wall was plugged doesn't mean that it was never created. He can try to do better in what little time he has left, sure, but it still happened.

...He wonders if Eren has secretly had Liberio's wall encircling his ankle this whole time. Marvels at how, if he does, it didn't stop him either.

*

Mikasa makes a slight noise. It is too faint for Bertolt to tell what it is, and he doesn't bother commenting on it, because he's well aware that they aren't actually talking about him.

Several minutes pass before she speaks again, her voice carefully neutral in the way that he knows is designed to hide pain, even if he isn't used to hearing it from her. "Why did you keep going?" she asks.

Because of Reiner, is the treacherous first thought that he doesn't say. It is needlessly cruel and doesn't apply to their situation for a variety of reasons, least of all being that if there was anything Reiner could have done to stop this, he knows that he would have in a heartbeat.

"Because I was scared of what would happen if I didn't," he says instead. "Annie was the same. And Reiner..." Bertolt hesitates, because out of the three of them, he knows that this is the one that matters.

*

Eren has never been secretive about his soulmarks. There's a reason why Reiner is his only soulmate outside of Mikasa and Armin, even if it took them this long to realize the truth.

...He's caught glimpses of the faux-scarf wrapped around Mikasa's neck beneath the real one, and it is a darker crimson than the actual fabric. The cresting blue wave on Armin's collar bone is several shades darker than it ought to be. The golden clasped hands over Reiner's heart have a black sheen in the right light.

It is possible for golden marks to be mutual rather than just one person guiding the other. Bertolt has long suspected that was the case for Eren and Reiner. However, he also assumed that Reiner's part was done after he revealed his identity. Everyone did. No one considered the alternative until the roles had already begun to reverse and it started to make a sickening sort of sense.

The signs were always there. They just didn't want to see it.

*

"I don't think Reiner realized he could stop until someone else made the decision for him," he says. "I think... If Ymir hadn't gone back, he would have kept going until someone stopped him."

And he would have been stopped, Bertolt realizes with the sudden clarity made available only by retrospect. Because he and Eren were soulmates for a reason, and if Eren's soulmarks weren't enough to prevent his betrayal of humanity, it goes to reason that it would have happened in a world without them. And Reiner never would have been able to stand by and watch as he repeated his mistakes on a much larger scale. It provides some small iota of relief to how much he has watched him struggle over the past years, because if his path was going to lead him here regardless, then at least he has had time for some of those wounds to heal before the probable end of the world.

But Eren is not Reiner. He does not appear hobbled by guilt in the way Reiner was, and no one is going to come across and commit a greater atrocity to force him back onto the right path.

"I can stop him," Mikasa says, and there is a desperate sort of hope in her voice. And Bertolt...

In that moment, Bertolt is startlingly certain that she can. He has never claimed to know Mikasa Ackerman well, but he knows that she is braver than him, stronger than him, and not truly quite as distant. Eren may well be her entire world, but he also trusts that she will not sacrifice everyone else's to protect it.

He trusts that she can and probably will be the one to stop Eren. He just doesn't trust that she will stop him the way that she hopes she can. Or maybe she will. Bertolt doesn't have any true way of knowing. But as he listens to her make her proclamation, voice vulnerable and raw in a way that he has never heard from her, he vows that he will do whatever he can to help her. Whatever the path ahead may hold.

He doesn't say that though. Instead, he remains quiet for several minutes before murmuring, "We should head back. The others will be getting worried."

For a moment, there is no response. Then he hears Mikasa begin to stand and follows suit. They walk back to camp together and do not have another private conversation until the Rumbling has been seen to its bittersweet end and all of their questions have been answered.

All but one.

*

Precious few people know it - only Armin and, once upon a time, Eren - but Mikasa Ackerman has five soulmarks.

The first is a silver scarf wrapped around her neck, once a deep crimson, now a mournful silver.

Armin's bright blue book rests on the palm of her left hand. She has never felt a need to hide it.

A cheerful blue potato rests on her stomach, and she will never tire of teasing Sasha for it.

The fact that the tiny purple paring blade hidden on the side of one of her fingers corresponds with Annie's is a secret that dies with them.

And the mark that she has spent years of her life refusing to think about or acknowledge, but is beginning to think that she may be able to address eventually.

Near the tattoo on her right wrist, where it is easily and reliably concealed, rests a bright burgundy replica of the wall that once protected Shiganshina.

[avictimofthejazz]

Pat winces as the young lady responds to him in French. He is not surprised—he is in France after all—but once again he wishes he had studied the language better in school. Murph had always had a better grasp on it then he did… and ironically Murph’s in a place where he needs Spanish and Asian dialects mostly, while Pat is the one who is fluent in Vietnamese, but still has a shaky grasp on French. A moment later he relaxes when she seems to have a passable grip on English… at least enough that he will be able to explain the situation to her. “I am an American… and… well actually I was passing through on vacation. Came to France during service, and wanted to see it in a more peaceful light… and got tangled up with these idiots. They’re the ones who got me stuck here.” His heart sinks again when she promptly starts asking if he has seen her father. Though his first instinct is to stall again, and buy himself more time, he knows he cannot keep doing that. The young woman is clearly set on finding Maurice, and getting him the medical help that the poor man had badly needed. Patrick cannot keep letting her cling to a false hope like this…. Before he can consider how he wants to word his statement; Belle is suggesting names of his attackers. He frowns, unable to match her names to the faces of the men.  “I suppose one of them could be this D’arque.” He agrees cautiously. “I know it wasn’t Gaston. I tussled with him already, and he didn’t show his face this time. What does the other guy look like?” Belle turns her attention to the issue of untying him, as his own mind keeps returning to the terrible news he must deliver. The light is flickering, threatening to plunge them both into darkness at any second when the fuel gives out. They both have to work quickly. “Broken glass or anything sharp will be fine.” He tests the ropes again, but they still hold firm. He had only been half-conscious when they tied him up. If he had been awake, he could have taken steps to make sure the ropes were tied more loosely. Then he might have been able to slink out of them already… There is no point in dwelling on what might have been, however. He must deal with what has already happened. He winces as Belle frantically breaks the plate, turning his face away instinctively to avoid any flying shards. As she asks him where he is bound, he flexes his wrists. “Untie my hands, and I can take care of the rest of it.” As Belle settles in to work, his guilty conscious forces his tongue to deliver the message he has been dreading since she first appeared. It is better to simply get it out, and get it over with. “Miss Belle, I…” He pauses, trying to find the best way to word his horrible news. He falls back on military terminology after a moment, “I regret to inform you that your father died very early this morning. He was badly injured, along with the cold and his illness.” He pauses to take a breath, and to try to keep his voice even but gentle. “His last thoughts were of you. He was concerned for your safety, and that you would be worried for him.” What is not worth adding in this breath is that he commissioned Patrick to take care of Belle for him. Maurice barely knew the young man, but he chose to entrust Pat with the person he clearly valued most in the whole world. That level of trust is, frankly, rather terrifying.

Before the Blizzard--Belle & Patrick

@timeguardians

Continued from here

Patrick only has to listen to the plaintive calls for a few seconds to realize the person searching through these rooms is not his tormentor returning for another round. Whomever she is, she is searching for her father. The soldier’s heart sinks abruptly as he slots a few potential pieces together. There is only one woman he can easily think of who would be searching this ruined hulk for her father. It had to be Maurice’s daughter, the one who the kind old man begged him to find before he succumbed to the cold, and the injuries that should have been inflicted on Patrick. Guilt wells up in Patrick’s chest, mixing with dread about the news he will likely need to deliver in a moment, and concern that the young woman has taken herself into this dangerous situation rather than wait at home for news of her father. The combination is acrid, and his empty stomach rolls dangerously for a moment before he forces it to settle. Now is not the time for those reactions. Right now, he needs to focus on the situation at hand. He can wallow later. A moment later, a thin beam of light heralds the young woman’s arrival as she enters the room. The flickering glow settles over him for a second, prompting a frighted reaction from the young woman. “I’m not going to hurt you!” He tries to reassure her as soon as he sees her recoil in terror. At her tremulous request for his identity, he swallows. “I’m Patrick—Patrick Michaels.” Either his words assure her, or she plucks up her wavering courage on her own. Either way, she carefully raises the light again in an attempt to see better into the gloom. With the way the flame keeps flickering behind the glass, Patrick reckons there’s only a few minutes of light left. Not much time to get them both out of here, then. He glances down at the ropes, his eyes roving over the rough cords as best as he can. “I’m not sure—I’m a stranger around here so I don’t know all the names. I saw the guy around town though—he was a crony to some muscle-bound idiot I got in a fight with at the bar. I guess he figured he would impress the big down in town by dragging me in here.” As he speaks, Patrick debates when it will be a good time to mention Maurice. If this young woman is his daughter, she came here seeking him out. It will be cruel to keep her in suspense any longer than he absolutely has too. But first, he needs to get his arms free so he can defend himself if he needs to. “Can you find anything that can cut through these ropes? Or do you have a knife on you?” He asks the second question in a burst of futile hope. He doubts most women carry knives with them everywhere they go. Patrick had his own knife, but the idiot who tied him up decided to take it. He will have to go get that back when he has a chance—he likes that weapon.

[justimagineitblog]

“I Cant Lose You” Tyler Rake Fan Fiction - Chapter 1

A/N: alright here we gooooo, my first chapter for my new Tyler Rake series, I hope you all enjoy x

Warnings: Death, violence, swearing, kidnapping - we are all aware that Extraction is a violent movie, but I just thought I’d still give a heads up. 

Word Count: 4289 words - a longgg first chapter but I didn’t want to split this into two because it’s so fast paced :) I hope thats okay x

Cast

Chris Hemsworth as: Tyler Rake

Alycia Debnam-Carey as: Kate Spencer 

Yesterday I was kidnapped.

3 men jumped out of a black van that had come to a screeching halt beside me on the side walk. They took me, threw me in the back of their van, bound my wrists and ankles and put a bag over my head.

Now, I’m cable tied to a chair, alone in a room. I beg myself to steady my breathing. If I don’t, I’m going to die of fucking hyperventilation before these sick fucks kill me. I shudder that the thought. The air is hot, as I breathe heavily against the bag that has been over my head for so long that I cannot remember the last time I saw daylight.

I listen closely to any voice I can make out. Anything that the people outside the room might say that could give me some indication into who they are. And what they want.

I can hear low, grumbles voices. Back and forth. But I can’t distinctly make out what is being said. Then, for a moment, there is complete and utter silence.

But then like a bomb detonating, suddenly gun fire bursts into the air. The sound is defeating to my ears that have barely heard any noise in surely what has to have been 48 hours. A scream almost escapes me as the sudden commotion frightens me so badly that I jolt in the chair. The gun fire is followed by shouting, and the sound of body parts colliding as if a fight has broken out. My mind is racing just as quickly as my heart, as I find myself holding my breath. More gun fire ensues, and I can hear objects crashing and slamming. What sounds like wood crashing and breaking along side grunting and cries of pain are all I can hear. I try and make out what is happening on the other side of that door, but it’s completely useless. From all I can hear, who ever is on the other side of this door is dangerous.

I begin to pray. Pleading, begging with any god that is listening that who ever is doing this is here to take me away from these fucking people.

But I might not be so lucky.

Realising that the sounds are so loud they might provide some kind of protection, I leap into action, beginning to wriggle and fight against the cable ties that are digging into the flesh around my wrist. The dull plastic burns as I feel it tear into my skin. I whimper slightly, unable to control the noise from coming out as I wrestle with the restraints.

But something catches my attention… the noise outside has stopped.

I stop moving immediately, the sudden silence rendering me completely frozen. Terrified to even breathe to loudly, I hold my breath again. But I’m practically in the middle of a panic attack, and hyperventilation gets the best of me as my lungs burn. My chest rises and falls heavily beneath my shirt which sticks to my skin, soaked with sweat.

I think I can still hear footsteps. This fucking bag makes everything muffled and harder to hear.  

I hear the door knob turn with a squeal, followed by the door flying open, banging against the wall loudly. All logic and reason leaves my body as the footsteps enter the room. Unable to control myself, I begin to scream.

I am completely defenceless. I have no way to fight the person who could be here to take me. Or kill me.

The thought of this sends my panic into overdrive. As the person gets closer to me, my cries turn into blood curdling screams. The kind that make my throat burn as they claw their way up and explode out of my chest. To my horror, I feel the persons hands on me. They are strong and firm as they grip at my legs trying to hold me still and stop my desperate lashing.

“No, no, no” I chant repeatedly, my screams turning more and more into sobs.

With whatever strength I have left I begin back pedalling, pumping my legs to push myself away from whoever is in here. The sound of the chair legs scraping across the floor is ear piercing as I push myself backwards until I hit a wall and can’t go any further.

Complete terror at the fact that I cannot escape leaves me with no choice but to thrash around in my chair, praying that something gives or maybe I injure them somehow. I feel the cable tie around my ankles digging into my skin, but the adrenaline coursing through me like electric currents prevents me from feeling it. But then, I hear a snap.

One of my ankles is free.

Sensing that an ankle has broken free, I begin kicking manically.

Behind my screams and begging, I can hear a males voice. It sounds unfamiliar. I think I can hear him pleading with me, telling me he isn’t going to hurt me, but it’s overridden by my deafening cries.

At first, I’m kicking at nothing, I’m just desperately hoping I will strike them somewhere hard enough for me to delay them. The pair of hands grabs at me firmly again, this time, grabbing onto my shoulders. With barely anything left in my body, I deliver one final strike. And this time, I hit something. I feel my shoe come into contact with a body, and my attacker responds with a shout of pain, like all the wind has left his body.

Then, like a giant head light is beaming in my direction, daylight floods over me. The sudden brightness burns at my eyes, but they’re open just long enough to realise that when I kicked the man he went flying backwards, taking the bag over my head with him.

I blink rapidly as the room spins around me. Panic, adrenaline, and my senses being completely overwhelmed makes me so dizzy that I feel like I’m going to pass out. As I shake my hanging head, trying to stay conscious, I see the man in the corner of my eye begin to get up of the floor. My head shoots towards him as I sit up straight in my chair. I’m completely paralysed with fear as I watch him. He is panting heavily and clutching at his stomach, where I realise is where I had kicked him.

From somewhere around his waist he suddenly pulls out a knife, but before I can start screaming again, he holds his hands up in a surrender.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he begs, getting closer to me wearily “I’m going to cut you from the ties okay”

I couldn’t even speak if I wanted to.

I notice his accent. It’s heavy. Australian. He moves slowly, eyes locked on mine, trying to convince me that he’s not going to hurt me. But still, every breath he takes, every muscle that moves makes me flinch. Even though I’m sitting, I can already see that this man towers over me. His shirt clings to him, covered in dirt and sweat. It sticks to his skin, revealing the tone of his muscles beneath. As he gets closer, my eyes follow him suspiciously. I can’t tell if it’s the hot, thick air in the room or not, but the tension begins to grow as he moves behind me until I can’t see him in my peripheral anymore.

I hear his feet shuffle, and I think I can make out the sound of him kneeling. With my arms tied and him behind me with that knife in his hand, he could slit my throat right now. I squeeze my eyes shut.

This could be my last breath.

Plastic snaps, and my wrists suddenly break free from the cable tie. I exhale heavily, releasing what almost sounds like a sob. Shock and relief wash over me all at once. I hold my wrists tenderly, grimacing as I see that I have burns around both wrists.

He quickly comes back into my vision, now kneeling in front of me to cut lose my one leg that is still restrained. As he works at the plastic he glances up at me briefly, giving me one reassuring nod.

“Who are you?” My voice is hoarse and croaky from screaming. He just looks back down.

I could question him, press harder. But I’m honestly not sure if I even feel fully conscious right now. I’m completely exhausted. My body in all kinds of overstimulation. I begin to ache as I slowly come down of my adrenaline high that had been fuelling me.

“Can you walk?” He asks, standing up. I look down at my legs, wondering if they even work anymore. But before I have the chance to stand on my own, he grabs my forearms, pulling me up to my feet. He let’s go once I’m up, but I begin to stumble as soon as he’s not supporting me.

“Whoa, whoa okay” he grabs me again, steadying me. He watches me nervously as I regain feeling in my legs. The blood rushes back into them, making me feel both stronger and faint all at once.

“You good now?” He asks again. When I nod, he quickly runs out of the room, returning moments later with t shirts from a nearby clothes line.

I watch him fold the shirt into a triangle. Lifting it up to my face to tie it around my mouth and head. I flinch, pulling away from him. Recognising that I’m completely terrified he moves slowly and hesitantly, wrapping it around my head.

“It’s just to hide your face” He reassures me, then demonstrates by doing the same thing to himself.

I nod, adjusting the cloth.

“Alright. Follow me, and stay behind me” he emphasises, raising a gun aimed at the ready before darting out of the room.

Somehow, my legs lurch forward and I begin to follow him. But when I stumble out of the room, I’m met with a scene that looks like it’s straight out of a horror movie, or my worst nightmare. Except I’m not dreaming. This is real. Several dead men lay on the floor. Blood pooling around each of them. Their bodies have been damaged brutally in various ways. My breath hitches when my eyes fall over one man who has been impaled with a gardening rake that is lodged very firmly in his neck.

Did he do all this?

When the man notices I’m not following him, he turns back, rushing over to me. When I see him coming towards me, I stumble backwards with fear.

“Who are you?” I breathe, putting more and more distance between him and I the closer he gets.

He stares back at me, almost looking hurt by how fearful I am of him.

“We need to move, now” He orders me, ignoring my question again.

“Did you do this?” I shudder, glancing at the bodies nervously.

He shakes his head in frustration, before lunging forward to grab my arm.

“If we don’t go now, more of them are going to come, do you understand?” He hisses in my face.

Shaken from his force and anger, I freeze, neither complying or disobeying him.

“God-fucking-dammit” he growls. With his hand still wrapped around my arm, he drags me forward, jogging through the room, through all the bodies.

We’re moving so fast I can’t even comprehend where we are or where we are going, as he leads me through the hall ways of an apartment complex. But the longer we run the more I begin to come back to my senses. Back to my body. As we fly down the flights of stairs, I begin to panic.

Why won’t he answer my fucking question?

Where is he taking me?

I flash back to the dead bodies in the apartment just a few flights above us, and feel myself growing sick at the thought that the man I am following did that… and could easily do that to me. The stairwell begins to grow brighter and brighter as I realise we are reaching the exit.

When you get out of the building, run.

As we make it into the lobby, he lets go of my arm, using both his hands to aim his gun around. He quickly stalks to the front of the building, and I trail behind him, letting him think that I’m still following.

He stops in the doorway, strategically analysing the street ahead before looking back his shoulder at me.

“I’m going to the car, I’ll signal when you can follow” He orders me, before taking of in the direction of a small car parked across the road.

I take a deep breath watching as he rips the car door open, throwing his gun into the passenger side before running around to the drivers side. He looks up at me, waving for me to run now.

This man could fucking kill me for this. But if I don’t escape, he might kill me anyway.

With one final deep breath, and a burst of adrenaline that I didn’t even know I had left in me, I push of the door step,  taking of sprinting in the other direction. From the moment my feet hit the ground and I can hear him swearing and shouting after me. But that doesn’t stop me. Fear and desperation grows in the pit of my stomach as my legs pump ferociously. And for a moment I think I’m getting away. That is until the sound of heavy foot steps grows louder, gaining on me from behind like a stampede.

Knowing that he is closing in on me, I begin to scream, shouting out to anyone who can hear me for help. But my screaming is brought to an abrupt halt when an arm wraps around my stomach, stopping me dead in my tracks. The wind is knocked out of me, his arm feeling like I just ran straight into a steel bar. He drags me backwards immediately, both of his arms now constricting around my waist.

I try to scream with the little air I manage to get into me but my lungs feel like they’ve just been crushed. Struggling against him doesn’t work either, there’s only so much I can do with barely any oxygen.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing” He shouts, putting me back down on the ground forcefully “You are going to get yourself killed”

“Just tell me who you are!” I beg him for an answer, but he just ignores me yet again.

His rough hand is locks around my forearm in a death grip as he drags me to the car. I begin to reach for the passengers side when a sharp yank rips me away from the door handle. Shocked, I look up to realise he’s leading me straight to the back of the car.

The boot.

Panic stricken, I begin to dig my heals into the gravel road, pulling back against him. I still do not know who this man is, and what he wants with me. And there’s no fucking way I’m letting him put me in a boot. With one annoyed glance back at me, he pulls me forward. But as the prospect of being trapped in a dark boot with no idea where I’m going sets in, I struggle against him even more. Being completely winded doesn’t seem so bad now that I’m facing being locked in a car again.

We engage in a game of tug of war with my arm for a few moments, before he finally turns around. Angrily, he shoves me against the car, pointing a finger in my face.

“Listen, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get in the boot”

“I don’t even know who you fucking are?!” I exclaim, bewildered at his logic. How am I supposed to know what’s good for me when I don’t even know who this man is and where the hell he is taking me. I clutch at my stomach, hunched over at the waist. The pain is still searing and I’m struggling to get air.

Jesus Christ, did he break one of my fucking ribs?

Sure, he just ‘freed’ me from the assholes that originally kidnapped me. But how the hell do I know that I haven’t just fallen into the hands of someone even worse.

With one arm keeping me pressed against the car, he uses the other to rip open the boot angrily. Cursing to himself in frustration he turns back to me. Frightened by the sheer rage on his face, I keep my mouth shut.

“Okay then,” he breathes in my face before giving me an irritated smile as he introduces himself “I’m Tyler”

Then in one swift movement, his hands grab my waist and he lifts me up of the ground like it’s nothing. They are so big I feel them almost close around my torso completely. He hoists me up over his shoulder, carrying me over to the boot. My legs kicking legs and my fists pounding at his back relentlessly don’t effect him at all. It’s like beating a brick wall. I’m terrified at how easily this man can manoeuvre my body weight like it’s nothing to him.

Suddenly I feel myself falling backwards, and before I know it he has dropped me into the boot. I hit the interior of the boot with a thud, and the wind being knocked out of me yet again distracts me from the fact that he has slammed the door on me.

The darkness and the lack of air dawns on me very quickly. I can feel the car start up, and the rumble beneath me tells me that we’re on our way from wherever this man, Tyler, is taking me. I find myself both struggling to regain my breath from being thrown around like a human sand bag, and hyperventilating from panic all at once.

The ride becomes more and more disorienting as I try to take notice of how many turns we take, but I lose track as I start to feel sick. I don’t even notice we have stopped until the boot suddenly flies open and sunlight streams in, blinding me. But I don’t have long to pull myself together before his hands grab both my arms and he yanks me up out of the boot.

“Wasn’t that hard was it?” He hisses at me.

But I barely hear him. I’m stood there in shock as I try and come back to my senses. What felt like only an hour ago I was tied to a chair in a tiny room, with a bag over my head. Maybe the adrenaline has run out, but everything begins to hit me at once. I would run away if I could right now, try and take of again. But confusion, shock and exhaustion keep my feet firmly planted.

“Arms up” He growls and I realise he’s towering over me, holding a vest out to me. When I stand there still feeling paralysed and overwhelmed, he rolls his eyes.

“I said arms up”

His booming voice snaps me back into reality a little, just enough for me to hold my arms up like he says. He pulls the vest down over my head, tightening the straps hastily and firmly. I struggle to stay standing under his forceful pushing and pulling.

Does he even realise his own strength?

Clearly not concerned that I’m going anywhere this time, he turns away, heading back to the car. With his back to me, he lifts up his shirt. As the fabric glides up, my eyes fall over his now revealed skin. It’s covered with bruises, cuts and scars that are scattered like constellations. A large symbolic tattoo sits between his shoulder blades. This is the first time I have been able to look at him properly. To take him in. I swallow nervously as I watch the muscles in his back move, contracting and releasing.

He could kill me with one blow. Easily.

He wrestles on another shirt and straps himself into his own vest. All his moves are erratic. Angry. Even when he turns back to face me, I jolt with fright. This man is a pure force.

“Eat this” he demands, shooting a protein bar in my direction “Your blood sugars low, that’s why you feel like shit”

Somehow, even through all my exhaustion, I find myself scoffing at his comment.

“Okay, don’t eat it then” he shrugs, slamming the car boot.

“I feel like shit because I was abducted, and now I have some fucking psychopathic-“

“You sure you want to finish that sentence?” He shoots me a threatening look.

I clench my jaw shut and he watches me angrily as he pulls out a phone from his pocket.

Holding it up in front of my face, he nods at me.

“Name”

I stare at him. I still have no idea who this guy is. Or who the hell he is sending this video to.

“Name” He repeats forcefully.

I want to comply, through fear of his wrath if I don’t. But I’m also terrified of who it is he is reporting to.

“Right” he growls, shoving the phone back down into his pocket. He begins charging towards me, stopping when he’s only inches away from my face. He grabs my vest jostling me a little.

“You are in a very fucking dangerous position right now, and I am the only person who is keeping you out of that danger. So if you don’t start complying, I will start forcing you”

“I don’t know who you are”

“I told you my name-“

“What, Tyler? Oh good I know your name, now I can trust you!” I exclaim sarcastically “I don’t even know where you’re taking me!”

“I’m taking you away from the people who kidnapped you, is that not enough?”

“Really? Because this feels a lot like a fucking kidnapping right now”

He parts his lips, ready to fire back another round of words. But nothing comes out. He glares at me, his eyes locked in on mine in a death stare.

I stare back, refusing to falter underneath the raging flame that he is right now. I can almost feel the heat radiating off of him.

“Trust me. If I was going to kill you, I would have done it by now. At least then you’d shut your goddamn mouth”

He steps back from me, fiddling with his vest which I realise is loaded with guns and knives. He takes one of them out, and points it towards me. It’s takes everything in me not to scream as the gun motions my way, until I realise that he’s going to shoot me. He’s holding it out for me to take.

Trying to act like I’m not in shock, I take the gun from him.

“You were kidnapped by people who wanted to use you as a leverage to get your fathers money. I was hired to extract you from them, and return you home. And I intend on doing that, because I need the goddamn money” He pauses, nodding at the gun in my hand “So there. You get a gun. You can kill me. If you don’t believe me. Go ahead”

Surprising even myself, I raise the gun at him.

He watches me for a moment, and then, he steps forward. He doesn’t back away from the pistol pointed straight at his head. He walks into it. What the fuck.

He stares me down unwaveringly until he has gotten so close that the gun is pressed directly against his forehead.

The seconds that pass between us are slow and gruelling as I stare up at him in disbelief.

What is this death wish that he has?

It has never been a secret to me what kind of people my Dad has gotten caught up with. And what kind of people want revenge against him for the things he has done. And I know they don’t care who they have to kill to get that revenge. And Tyler knows that too. Rescuing me is a suicide mission in itself. But now he hands me a gun and dares me to pull the trigger? If he was here to kill me, he would have done it by now. If he wanted revenge against my father, he wouldn’t have killed every man back there. And like he said, he want’s his money. And money is exactly what my father has.

I lower the gun slowly as I come to the realisation that he may be telling the truth. This man is my rescuer…

As the gun falls to my side completely as I surrender to him, he smiles with a shit eating smirk.

“Didn’t think so”

He quickly turns his attention back to his phone.

“Name?” He asks me again.

“Kate” I manage to reply and he nods

“Last name?”

“Spencer”

“Birth date”

“September 20th, 1994”

He pauses for a moment, looking at me. I don’t know whether he thought I was older or younger, but something about my age catches him of guard. He looks… concerned. Like for a moment hearing my name and age reminded him that I’m just a human too. Not just a mission. But surely I can’t be that young to him. I’m 26. He looks like he’s in his 30’s. Besides all of the sweat, dirt and tanned skin that looks like leather, he doesn’t appear to be to old himself.

He shakes his head quickly, before turning the camera back on himself.

“Proceeding to extraction”

TAGLIST

@hp-hogwartsexpress​

@s-v-e-l-t-e

@chickensarentcheap​

@alievans007​

@gazzan-a​

@farihafangirls

[gnollface]

“My time with the Gnolls.”

(Wrote this as a proof of concept for another anthology project, reading it again i want to revisit it.)

"My time with the Gnolls."

📷

(Wrote this as a proof of concept for another anthology project, reading it again i want to revisit it.)

Excerpt from "My time with the Gnolls" by Dr. Jaysis Une

“When i first began informing my colleagues and friends of my desire to begin an in depth study of the Gnoll race the responses were more or less what one might expect and largely (and unsurprisingly uniform.)

The consensus being that I had, quite simply, lost my mind.

What more could there possibly be to know? Gnolls were mindless blood thirsty demon spawn and

To embark on such a course was akin to suicide.

I took no offense,

I like them, knew well the stories of the savage and brutal nature of the minions of Yeenoghu

“The goddess of slaughter”

“The ruler of Ruin” and any number of other terrifying descriptors.

The Gnolls were little more than horrific and infernal automatons focused solely on slaughtering any living thing standing before them so that they may in turn slaughter any that might further be found behind those tragic souls.

And So while this was not my first dangerous subject to pursue, it was far and away the most

And as such i did my full due diligence as a man of science and assembled all the knowledge i had gained personally to that point and sought out master hunters, warriors and soldiers to add any first hand information i was able before crafting a master plan and outline to maximize my safety while still maintaining my ability to study and observe my horrific quarry. My preparations took the better part of a year before i felt comfortable to embark.

But as the old Gnomish saying goes “All great tragedy follows once great plans”

And i am ashamed to admit it was a humblingly short amount of time until,

despite my best efforts,

my worst fears had come to pass and I found myself captured by the Gnoll warband I had,

To this point, thought I was following from a safe distance unseen.

For reasons i even now still do not fully understand the Gnoll scouts did not immediately kill me but brought me back to their makeshift camp and threw me to the bottom of a roughly dug dirt pit

its top covered with a crudely made barred gate of sticks and branches.

I landed awkwardly and the hard soil and clay bottom with a sound that sickens me to recall to this day.

I had only just begun to gather my bearings and assess the nature of my situation when a low and gravelly voice reached me from a darkened corner at the other side of the pit.

"You must go…..out." it said.

I quickly jumped up from my knees to my feet and backed myself against the wall in fear.

I was not alone in my cell

But a very distinct terror washed over me as my eyes, now adjusting to the dark, made out the shape of my new cell mate, another large Gnoll.

A flood of thoughts filled my head, was this some kind of Chieftain?

Was I to be its food?

Perhaps a toy to be sacrificed to their demon goddess?

What should i do?

I was a researcher, a biologist, not a fighter, i would not mount much of a defense against this hulking creature.

"Wuh-what?` `I replied, shaking in fear.

"They keep you….for Flind. ( Referring to a massive gnoll often serving as warchief for the band )

“Flind mad...when others...leave no blood." The Gnoll explained to me quietly seemingly struggly to capture each word in its head before using it

It said all this without looking over.

For whatever reason, perhaps something in its tone, my fear began to subside slightly, something led me to believe perhaps my new cellmate was not the threat to me I immediately feared..

"Why have they thrown you in here?" I asked him (i think it was a him) surprising myself, the words had left my mouth before i even registered the idea of asking it

I cautiously lowered myself to the floor against the wall opposite him.

"I am...broken." He responded meekly and though i can't be certain, i swear he smirked and chuckled as he made this comment.

Gnolls make such a variety of noises it's often hard to determine.

"Broken?" I pressed, confused, perhaps in his shallow grasp of common he had misspoke?

With this he looked down from the barred ceiling and towards me for the first time,

what little light that was reaching us at the bottom of our hole now reflecting in his yellow eyes giving them the appearance of glowing cinders.

It sent chills down my spine like ice water.

"I am….clean of Yeenoghu, I no…..hear yeenoghu, I do not….heed, I am clean.

Broken...they say." he pointed upwards as he explained to clarify whom he was speaking of.

Though his common tongue was not very fluid he definitely demonstrated a level of intelligence i to this point had never seen exhibited in a Gnoll.

The scientist inside me roared to life, my mind overcome with questions and possibilities, no longer considering the very real danger of my predicament. I straightened myself into a more comfortable position and swatted some dirt from my pants.

"My name is Jaysis, well met." I offered.

He turned his head away slightly and side eyed me

seemingly confused and slightly suspicious before returning his gaze skyward.

after a moment or two, perhaps after consideration

"Hoontra, I am Hoontra"

The large gnoll offered back tapping his big clawed hands against his chest as he too straightened to face me better, it was then, as he came more into the limited light that i noticed he was gravely injured,

both his legs were badly broken.

"You're hurt." i pointed to his legs stating what must have seemed obvious.

Hoontra shrugged,

"Dead soon...gone...Home soon." he replied as he looked up at the night sky through the bars as if contemplating the stars, calmly, and remarkably so considering his words.

As the night went on I started to more clearly notice His mannerisms and movements. they expressed a thoughtfulness that surprised me more than his intelligence.

Gnolls with thoughts?

It was then another thought came to me.

If Hoontra was resigned to his imminent demise what hope could i possibly have?

Well if this is how i am to die, I thought to myself, then I shall die as I lived, and I again pressed the Gnoll for more information.

"How did you become Broken?...eh Clean Hoontra?" i asked him

and again the big gnoll shrugged, not breaking his skyward gaze.

"Hoontra battle..and fall...hurt..Hoontra look quiet place to die, find pretty place, many trees.That place... mama call me, I wake up….clean, no mad, no hungry, no red, just Hoontra. Hoontra and Mama." with this Hoontra resignedly smiled, I suppose i can't be certain it was a smile, an exposing of the fangs for a gnoll is no rare thing…...but i like to believe it was.

I took in what he said in stunned silence, here i sat having a conversation with a Gnoll, what would the others think of this story? I’d likely never learn the answer to that question.

There Hoontra sat staring skyward, he showed no sign of pain, no sign of anger, sadness or anxiety, just what seemed contentment as he continued to look out into the night.

But each answer Hoontra gave me only raised more questions in me

"Who is Mama Hoontra? Who cleaned you? " I asked

With this question again Hoontra looked to me and extended his large muscular arm to the dirt wall besides him and gently pressed his large clawed fingers against a roughly carved image of a Unicorn head.

"MeekiLee, Meekilee is mama." The coincidences were too striking to not be comfortable in assuming that "MeekiLee" was his pronunciation or interpretation of Mielikki the forest goddess.

I was gobsmacked, was it true? Could the Gnolls be cleansed of their demonic taint? Had the ranger goddess cleansed this gnoll? But my internal debate was interrupted as Hoontra continued

"Meekilee forgive and clean... soon Hoontra die and run in tall grass...forever, and Meekilee run with me." Hoontra looked to a small wooden circle carved with the image of a unicorn he wore around his neck tied with some shoddy twine. He turned it around in his fingers for a few seconds before shifting onto his back exhaling deeply, as he moved. For the first time it was clear that he was in some pain

"I sleep...you escape...wake up Hoontra...Hoontra help" I nodded and smiled at this most surprising beast and crossed my arms, a million questions rolling through my mind keeping the the reality of my imminent death at bay.

After some time my thoughts however were broken by the sudden sounds of battle above. Hoontra quickly straightened up eyes wide. With a stunning speed he launched himself forward on just his arms, dragging his broken legs behind him and grabbed me.

He pulled me behind his huge body defensively and lowered his head in a gutteral snarl, the black mohawk of hair running down his spine spiking upwards. I tensed in fear suddenly overwhelmed by everything going on around me,

was this it? was this how i die?

I sunk my fingers into the tattered cloak Hoontra wore over his back and I closed my eyes when suddenly a loud BANG rang out from above followed by several gentle thuds.

Hoontras body tensed suddenly and then he exhaled deeply and his body went limp as he collapsed before me.

“Hoontra!” i said loudly as I shook him, paying no mind to whatever was above.

"Jaysis! Jaysis Une! are you down there? " a human voice called down into the hole as light suddenly surrounded me.

"Yes! im here!" I responded as I looked up and saw three armed men holding crossbows and a torch.

"You ok?" another of the men continued.

"Im unharmed!" I yelled back suddenly relieved

but that feeling quickly changed as I looked down at the body of Hoontra.

"Ok just hold on a minute. we'll find some rope and get you out of there." the men said as they walked out of my range of vision.

I rolled Hoontra over onto his back as gently as I was able, he was shockingly heavy, I surveyed his arrow riddled body and sighed as I struggled to pull his arms over to cross his stomach in some feeble attempt at a show of respect.

There was no way the men would have known, How could they? who in a million years would ever believe a Gnoll could be anything, but well...a gnoll?

I sat beside Hoontra for a few minutes collecting my thoughts, now being able to truly appreciate how big a gnoll is, knowing, id likely never be this close to one again.It was then i noticed that his one hand was closed in a fist, grasping the small wooden symbol of his “Meekilee”

a peaceful smile, yes, it was a smile, on his scarred canine face.

"Doctor! we're lowering the rope to you now." the men had returned.

"Gentleman!" i spoke back "I'm going to need to take this corpse back with me….for study " i said to the men.

The leader sighed "Doctor, there are plenty of dead gnolls up here we ...." he tried to explain when i cut him off

"No, I need this one, ten gold for each of you if you help me get it back to my home." With this the men's eyes widened and with smiles they hurried off to find more rope.

Of course there will be no study.

There is a clearing in my garden at the base of an old oak tree surrounded by different flowers and bushes and such. It has a clear view of the sky and the stars at night, I often sit there to read my books by candle light or a small fire.

occasionally, distracted by the infinity of the night sky i stare off and wonder about everything

and nothing.

This is where ill bury my friend Hoontra and perhaps ill leave a carved unicorn so Meekilee will know where to find her son so they may run together in the tall grass forever.

[reynesofcastamere]

Surface Breach(2/3)[β]

(A/N: Good grief but it has been a while since my last contribution to the ship. Sad to say I’ve been caught up with several irl things, including moving and settling in to the new place. Rest assured, I do have several drafts in the works for other projects and I am hoping to set up a regular writing/submission schedule. Now that that’s out of the way...Warnings for: possessive behaviour, emotional manipulation, (negotiated) bondage, blindfolding, edging, cockwarming, blood, masochism and mentions of polyamory, coitus interruptus, and non-consensual play.  Unbeta’d and NSFW.)

Ahsoka knows the second she sets foot on her ship that time is up. She could still flee, drag this game out a bit longer and drive up the level of his frustration...But what would be the point, really? It’s been months since they parted ways, and while she hasn’t avoided his calls, she’s also made a point of not meeting with him in person. A reprimand for his behaviour, and a reminder of the challenge she’d issued.  She recalls the first, trembling breath of relief she’d taken after the medical scans were complete. He has no further hold over her than this. Nothing burrowed and secreted away beneath her skin to...Do any number of things, really. Most of which she’d rather not consider right now.

Maul is of course perfectly at ease in the pilot’s seat, already turned to face her. “Lady Tano. I trust that your last assignment was successful.” He’s being neutral, bordering on pleasant, even. But the tension is there, kept in check by the slimmest thread of restraint. “And I trust that you’re not here for small talk.” Ahsoka makes certain to keep a few feet of distance between them, arms crossed. The corner of his mouth twitches, the speed of it leaving her unsure of whether he meant to smirk or grimace. “You have business on Nar Shadaa, and I have certain...interests that need tending there.” “So you decided to catch a ride. Without asking.”  “You would have refused even if I had offered compensation. This is the most expedient method of travel.” Maul’s eyes narrow, attempting to pierce through and determine her intent. “Unless you plan to run in order to spite me.” “I’m not running anywhere.” Ahsoka retorts. “But I’m also not going to spend three whole days in hyperspace...entertaining you.” “Naturally. However, when we are not occupied with tasks and other essentials, you will make good on your promise, my Lady. Now please, sit.”  She takes up residence in the navigator’s seat, given that he’s obviously not willing to move. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“What does it matter, if you are not truly mine? Just a monster’s delusion. Unless...”

“Don’t. Start. You can use either of my names. Just not...that.” “As you wish.”

Nothing else is said for some time. Even after the ship takes off, the course is set in, and space has blurred into blue lines, there are other responsibilities that need to be taken care of. Ahsoka has to stop herself from dragging out the time. She’s not looking forward to this. The discussion she needs to have with him, not what might happen afterward.

“Look, if this is going to continue, there need to be some ground rules.”

 “Explain.”

“First off: Unless I’m badly injured or in immediate danger, you’re not allowed to just...carry me back to your lair, no matter what your reasons are.” He’s more than capable of coming up with a multitude of excuses to do so. Which is why she’s cutting him off at the knees, figuratively speaking.  “Second: This arrangement doesn’t interfere with work. Ever. Third: I decide when anything starts. You’re not allowed to grab or molest me in any way before that.” 

Maul appears mildly amused, but the small tics that betray his impatience are growing. “This seems rather excessive for a casual arrangement.”

 Ahsoka pins him in place with a look and a hint of a Force hold. “I’m not finished. Fourth: Any marks left behind have to be concealable.” She’d walk away from this ‘business trip’ with more visible punctures in her than being dropped into a giant cacti forest on Yavin 13 otherwise.  “Fifth: No matter how far along we are, if I say ‘kyber’, we stop what we’re doing. No questions, no persuasion, nothing. If you don’t have a safeword, then pick one and tell me.”

“Is ‘stop’ somehow inadequate?” The question is soft as she releases her unseen grasp on him. Even seated, something in him reminds her of a hunter in the moment before a kill; tense with anticipation and bloodthirst.   “No.” She wets her lower lip. There’s no going back from this confession, hard as it had been for her to admit it to herself. Much less him.  “When I use ‘stop’, it usually means ‘go harder’.”

Maul’s grip is practically throttling the armrest at this point. He is trying, from the shudder in his breath, to follow the rules she’s set out so far. That’s a good sign. His eyes, though? There’s a flicker in them that she used to see from the people she’d helped or rescued during the war. The ones who fully believed that the Jedi were capable of miracles and could do no wrong. A kind of...awe. Achingly soft, and in his case, almost buried beneath avarice and raw desire. She fights the urge to squirm, and it’s not entirely from discomfort. “Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“Good, ‘scimitar’ should suffice. I have some conditions of my own.” Every word is a caress, heavy and deliberate. “You are, of course, free to object.” He produces the blindfold she’d given him from within his shirt. She remembers exactly how he’d taken her apart; bound by choice and utterly enthralled. “So long as you wear this, you will obey.” Maul purrs, heat suffusing her body as he winds and pulls the fabric taut between his fingers. “I’m not going to call you ‘Master’.” Ahsoka is certain he’d like almost nothing more. She gets far too much pleasure out of denying him, however. So he’ll have to earn it first.

“Yet.” Maul responds, overconfident ass that he is. “I have no desire for you to dull your tongue. But you will submit to my commands.” He leans in, nearly closing the gap between them, but not quite. “Such as if I tell you to get down on your knees and show me how you pleasure yourself.” He’s only saying it to provide an example, yet her thighs rub together all the same at the thought. Sightless, her cunt exposed and dripping while he watches, giving obscene praise and instructions on how to bring herself to orgasm.

“Should you want to take control, all you need do is remove it. Or ask that it be taken off.” Of course he’s not done yet. Has to finish having his say first, and bring her arousal to a fever-pitch with the only options currently allowed. “Any amount of marks you receive from other paramours, I will match in number, and I will take first priority.” There is a jealous glint, a madness in his eyes that should terrify her. “Regardless of your position and how close your mutual release is.”  Ahsoka sucks in a sharp breath. “You really expect me to just...make someone leave while they’re-”  “Yes.” Maul snarls, hushed and vicious in a way that brooks no refusal. Much as she might like to, if she does not compromise, give some inch of ground...He will lash out. Ultimately, he’s not asking for much. So far. “And should you draw a weapon on me again-” His left hand circles her jaw without actually making contact, though the intent is clear. “-be prepared to use it.” Her gaze falls to his throat, his markings almost concealing the burn scar she’d given him. But not quite. That he’d chosen to keep it at all is- “Do we have an agreement, Ahsoka Tano?”

 A small eternity seems to pass between her indrawn breath and the resulting answer. “Yes.” Ahsoka looks at him again without fear. Straight into the eyes of the monster, the murderer, the tyrant she has and will be taking into her bed for the forseeable future. “Go ahead.” The first kiss is nothing short of a conquest, taken with broken vocalizations and sharp bites. She lets him pull her in, straddling his lap in the pilot’s seat while they break for air, and offering no resistance when he ties the blindfold securely in place. “Undress. Completely.” Softer now, his lips ghosting along her jawline. It takes a bit of effort, but before long she is bared to him, nipples pebbled from arousal, the air, and the cold presence of the Dark Side. The body beneath her, the bare hands that trace and mould her form are nearly white-hot by comparison. “Perfect...Turn around, and place your hands behind my neck.” Ahsoka obeys, shuddering in pleasure as he purrs. The cuffs he attaches to her wrists are made of some kind of leather, and she instinctively tests the give of the metal chain between them. Sturdy, but nothing she can’t break out of.

The position leaves her undeniably exposed and at his mercy. She expects none, yet he grants it anyway. With each stroke, squeeze, and tug of his fingers down her body, he steadily tunes her nerves to exquisite sensitivity. He never quite touches her core, preferring to caress and grip her inner thighs and the curve of her breasts even as she pants and shifts restlessly. She can feel him against her, hard and unyielding, the cloth barrier separating them gradually being saturated with her essence. And still he makes no effort to hurry things along. “I thought you wanted to -haaaaahhhh- punish me for making you wait this long.”  “You made a game of testing my patience. It is only fitting that I return the favour. I will keep you here, on the precipice between agony and bliss...Until, in your desperation, you beg me to ‘stop’.” Maul pinches her throbbing bud and she whines an incoherent stream of vowels. “Although...Hm. Your impulsive side is endearing.”

“What are you rambling on ab-AnnnnnH!” He bites down on her shoulder while slightly twisting the bundle of nerves held captive between his digits. She’s bleeding and the pain between her legs is pure torture, but she still wants-

‘I will grant your release early. If you ask to be fucked.” “You can’t be serious.” “Three simple words are all that stand in your way.”

“Why not just order me to say it?”

“Why should I, when you so clearly want to? Despite your self-denial.”  There’s no longer anything gentle about his touch, how his nails dig in and rake across her inner thighs while her shoulders and upper back gain a rapidly-growing collection of teeth-marks. His shaft is still there, still covered and rigid, rubbing against her hot and sodden core. Ahsoka is on the verge of sobbing. Or breaking her restraints to just seize what he’s dangling in front of her. But if all it takes is a couple of words...”Please, fuck me.” She whispers, rough from repressing her whimpers.

“Again.” His lips on her throat, feeling the command rumbling against her vocal cords.

She grits her teeth and snarls. “Fuck. Me. Please. You smug, overbearing bastard.” Maul’s fingers curve over and tug her recently-abused pearl, and she is lost, sent tumbling and screaming into the abyss.

Her body is still quivering in the aftermath when he presses in. A slow invasion, one that encounters no resistance until he is fully secured within her walls. At first, she thinks he just wants her to ride him. Yet before she can start... “I will give you a choice.” Maul’s voice is low enough to feel in her bones. “If you can keep relatively still for fifteen minutes, you will be taken against the control panel. And if you are very good, Ahsoka-” Her name on his lips is electric and scandalous, her body arching as if pulled by unseen strings. “-I will get down on my knees and devour you first.” She should never have given him permission to use it in the first place. His other...’endearments’ are easy to brush off. Somehow, hearing those three syllables in this moment is more intimate than having him inside her, feeling the incremental shifts between their bodies with each breath. 

Ahsoka raises herself up, almost to the point of letting his shaft slip out, then drops back down. She can feel him hiss, how his hips jolt up on instinct once before he stops himself. “Mmmm. Think your other option is bad enough to stop me from putting this to better use?” She’s teasing now, circling and rolling her hips in a way that takes him deep, but not all the way in again. Having Maul relatively immobile is a new experience. Even when he’s not being rough, he’s hardly still. It probably won’t last, but so long as his patience holds out...Using him like a sex toy is doing a lot to rev her up right now. He seizes her head-tail and pulls, bending Ahsoka’s neck back at an uncomfortable angle, free hand grasping one of her thighs to force a stop to her movements. “Keep this up and I assure you, ja’ti mirtis{my death}, you will not enjoy sitting when I am done with you.” Maul rasps, his mouth so close to her left montral that she can feel his lips brushing against it with every word. Her core trembles, breath coming in short, sharp pants. “I wonder which would bring you more pleasure? Being bent over the edge of your cot to be mounted and used...Or disciplined until that option becomes a mercy?”  Something like insanity seizes her. It’s the only explanation for what she says next. “Both.” Ahsoka breathes. “I want-Take these off, please.” The light is harsh for the few seconds it takes her eyes to adjust, wrists slightly chafed from the cuffs as she carefully turns to face him. “I need both.” Her hands gently circle his face. “Can you do that? Get me ready with your mouth, and take me nice and slow right here?” He seems transfixed, almost unable to believe the words falling from her lips. “Think of how wet I’ll be, when you’ve finished your ‘discipline’ and I’m just aching to be ruined.” Ahsoka can taste the hunger when he captures her mouth, how similar it is to her own. Her nails claw at his shoulderblades, seeking purchase, to bury herself in him, anything. “Yes, Ahsoka.” Maul whispers, between their lips meeting in repeated, feverish collisions. “You have only to ask.” (A/N: Some of you may have noticed a slight change in the numbers up top. So yes, there will be one more chapter to this particular story. 8D Cheers, everyone!)

[dreaming-gamer]

DMC Week day 5: Hurt, Heal, Happiness – Nico & V

This work is lightly tied to my day 2 & 3, but can also be read as a standalone fic. Hope you enjoy!

No warnings, just fluff ahoy, no shipping.

V turned carefully in his bed for what felt like the thousandth time and yet only 10 minutes had passed since he last laid eyes on the clock. This was not a phenomenon he was too familiar with. Pushing forward while having slept too little had been common in his life, but not staying awake when he had the opportunity to sleep.

Shadow was curled up by his feet, a warm lump of fur, he didn’t know how many times his feet had brushed against her every time he needed to move. And yet V couldn’t tell why he felt this need, why he simply couldn’t just fall asleep as he was supposed to. Night reigned outside, cloaking the room in darkness, except for the lamp in the hall that Kyrie always made sure was on, in case any of the boys woke up. The youngest supposedly feared the dark, even asked V to check under his bed for monsters once, instead of Kyrie or Nero. V had checked, assured him it was nothing to be afraid of, when Griffon had chimed in with a helpful “The real monsters are outside!” With the bird banned from the children's bedtime stories from now on, it took about 15 more minutes for the child to calm down. Said bird was currently sprawled out over the other pillow, snoozing soundly.

It surely wasn’t the idea of monsters under the bed that kept V awake, he had been tired throughout the day, but now any sense of heaviness in his eyelids was just gone.

Finally, he gave up, letting out a sigh as he lifted his legs over the edge of the bed. The motions sent a feeling of ache through the bruises decorating his body, but the arm sling kept his arm where it should. It didn’t hurt as badly anymore, the red swelling having died down along with most of the pain, but Kyrie insisted he kept taking pain relievers so he could rest easier. Bless her warm soul, V could see why Nero got along well with her.

Shadow moved as V got up from the bed, leaving her spot to join him. Perhaps a cup of tea or simply a change of room would make him more inclined to sleep in a little while.

“Hihi, fry...” Griffon half snickered in his sleep, his master shaking his head with a smirk. What did a nightmare even dream of? Perhaps he should ask in the morning. His feline familiar and his cane supporting his slow steps, V made his way towards the kitchen.

The lamp on the hallway table lit up just enough for him to not step on one of the toys that the kids always seemed to leave loitering about. Shadow grabbed it in her mouth, moving it to the box of toys with her tail standing up straight up. She enjoyed order, he had learned and keeping an eye on the little ones was her forte, whenever V didn’t need her immediate assistance.

A picture was put up on the hallway wall, of a younger Nero and Kyrie, along with the children even younger than they were now. Kyrie was smiling, Nero looking a tad defiant into the camera, as if he’d dare the photographer to lay a hand on Kyrie or any of the kids. V got the feeling the Nero in the photos were much angrier than the one he knew and that said something. With interest, V’s green eyes continued to take in details, spotting the beginnings of a drawing on the wallpaper behind Kyrie’s white dresser.

There were just signs of a living family everywhere he looked and though V had been reluctant to impose upon them like that, they had still allowed him to stay, while he searched for a home of his own. He envisioned himself having a library, just a quiet space to read between missions because sometimes that was severely lacking in this house, with three lively children.

A kitchen such as Kyrie’s, old but cozy with a small walk-in pantry truly didn’t sound so bad, even though his expertise in the kitchen was certainly nothing to brag about. Kyrie had taken it upon herself to show him some of the basics and V found her teachings much more helpful than the occasional recipes he did try to follow.

As he opened up a cupboard, the smell of tea drifted towards him, a selection of flavors on display, perhaps chamomile would allow him to wind down enough for some sleep. Being limited to only one hand was making itself known now, as he had to do every step one at a time. As he moved to start the electric kettle, setting it in the sink to start the water, he was surprised to hear footsteps coming towards the kitchen. Was he not the only one having trouble sleeping? At first, he suspected one of the children as Kyle had a tendency to wake up during the night and head for Nero and Kyrie’s room, but the footsteps were not light enough.

“Oh-hee, I didn’t take you for the nightsnack kinda guy V.” A cheerful voice suddenly said, followed by a yawn as Nico stepped into the kitchen, dressed in a light top and pajama pants. Her black hair was exceptionally wavy, not put up in a ponytail or held back by the plaited hairband for once. It was unusual to see her like that, but V found it to suit her.

“I would not say that I am.” He admitted with a small smirk. “I was just thinking of having some tea. Would you like some?”

“Sure. Trouble sleeping?” Nico wondered, glancing at what he was doing.

“Yes.” V admitted, some stray water droplets hitting his hand as he turned the faucet on. “You as well?”

“Nah, I’ll probably fall asleep in minutes if I lay down again. After a snack that is. Rice crackers?” She grinned, opening another cupboard and grabbing a colorful plastic package, crackling in her hands. Cheese-flavored was printed on the front.

V gave her a little nod, the electric kettle starting to heat up from the flip of a switch, all they had to do now was wait. Nico pulled out cups for them, setting them on the counter as V leaned himself towards said counter, just for a bit. His muscles ached slightly, but it felt more as if it was because he was stiff from the lack of moving the last week, rather than actual pain.

“Are ya hurtin’?” She wondered, standing beside him. “That’s what’s keeping you from sleeping?”

V wondered if he was seeing concern, behind her red-rimmed glasses.

“No, Kyrie handed me a painkiller before bed. I simply feel as if... I have passed a threshold. Earlier, I was tired but I did not act on it. Right now on the other hand, I should be tired but sleep fails to claim me.”

“Whatcha talking about, can happen to anyone really.” Nico pointed out, her hand slipping to where her belt used to be but stopped when she realized no cigarette was available.

V hummed in thought.

“I admit it to be a new experience. I don’t mind the quiet of the night, but I know I should sleep…”

“Maybe ya just need a hug?” Nico said, tone teasing yet sincere. So sincere in fact that V was unsure of what to answer, straight away. Was that… alright to ask for? He had so little experience with human contact of that kind, yet he could not deny an interest in it.

A laugh slipped out of Nico when he realized his answer was overdue, his gaze upon her probably showing more of his inner thoughts than he meant for it to.

But her laughter wasn’t ill willed, in fact there was just a tone of mirth to it that he had come to associate with Nico.

“It’s not rocket science, come here!”

And then, her arms were around him. Just like that. Warm, careful because of his injured arm but oh so… soothing nonetheless. V carefully maneuvered his other arm over her back, holding on. It felt like she didn’t mind and he liked to return the favor. The sense of warmth, spreading in his chest. Her hair smelled lightly of shampoo with a spicy scent along with just a trace of tobacco and oil.

“Feels nice huh?” She said against him, V didn’t need to see her face to know that she was grinning, her jolly tone said it all.

“Yes. It does.” He spoke softly, holding on for just a little longer. The ache and pain he had faced this time felt so minor, compared to the terrifying feeling of falling apart. And yet this gesture felt like it soothed so much of it. Like the balm Kyrie had helped administer over the healing cracks in his skin, just on a deeper level.

“Thank you… Nico.” A soft vibrating feeling as she let out a light laugh under his hand.

“Anytime, ya hear?” Bubbles assaulted the inside of the electric kettle for a second, until the device shut itself off. “Let’s get that tea ready, we’re moving to the living room.” The mechanic added as she slowly let him go.

“We are…?” V asked, puzzled.

“Yep, I’m gonna show ya a little somethin’.” She told him, grinning from ear to ear. V knew not what she could possibly mean, but the fact that she was willing to spend some more time with him, in the middle of the night when she really could go and sleep some more was very thoughtful. To the point where he didn’t want to ask it of her, but Nico was already moving. She poured hot water into their cups and added the teabags, passing the rice cracker package to V and grabbing the cups herself, leading the way to the living room. V slowly followed, making sure to have his cane make as little noise as possible as he stepped through the hall. Shadow walked beside him, quiet but approving of the fact that Nico had chosen a cup with a black cat on it for V.

Gleaming moonlight touched the wooden surface of the living room table as Nico put down their cups and moved on, crouching by the TV. With a quizzical look, V followed her movements.

“Are you suggesting we watch… TV at this hour?” He asked, puzzled by the idea. Would not the noise wake the rest of the household?

“Uh huh, a Disney movie might just do ya good. Pinocchio sound okay?” Nico looked up, the grin on her face barely visible from the mere amount of light the moon granted them.

“I don’t recognize the title.” He answered truthfully, setting the package on the living room table.

“But ya know Disney?”

“Only that the children seem to enjoy those movies.”

“Hoo boy V, we’ve got something to catch up on here then, whenever ya can’t sleep. Go on, sit!” Nico half ordered him.

Thinking it was probably just for the best to play along for now, V lowered himself onto the couch, moving a toy figure of a… turtle on two legs(?) from one of the cushions, lest he would sit on it.

“Will this not wake the others up?”

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep the sound low!” Nico assured, the TV flaring to life with the push of a button and she came back to the couch, nestling herself down beside him, on his good side and grabbing for the quilts. The warm quilt that Kyrie always used was suddenly put over V, while Nico spread a yellow one over herself, while the movie was starting itself up.

This was certainly not a situation V had imagined himself ending up in, when he had found himself unable to sleep…

“If yer not gonna sleep anyway, might as well do something productive!” Nico stated, tearing a hole in the noisy rice cracker package and offered him a bite.

“Productive might not be the word I would use.” V admitted, but he nevertheless took a cracker.

“Relaxing then. Enjoy yer first look at kids movie history.” Nico said.

And enjoy it V did, sitting alongside a friend in the middle of the night, watching the story of a puppet who wished to be a real boy unfold, between sips of tea and one or two salty crackers and Nico’s commentary. Shadow laid at their feet, keeping them warm.

Slowly, oh so slowly the colorful pictures let his brain relax itself, the narrative turning no less interesting, but the cozy quilt, company and relaxation creeping up on him. Nico’s head rested against his shoulder, a comfortable, anchoring weight. Eyelids finally feeling heavy, V let his head dip, slowly against hers, the sounds of an old animated movie guiding the last of his conscious to a soft sleep.

What awaited Nero and Kyrie when they woke up the next morning was the words of the youngest orphan, being sad he hadn’t been invited to movie night, as well as the sleeping figures of Nico and V, resting against each other and the TV showing the loop of the movie's main menu since hours ago.

[dutchsonjaa]

Wilbur’s last stand

TW: Suicide in POV

(Guess you could see this as a sequel of my story “Just stay out of my way”, and “I’ll lose as a winner”, but that’s up to you. Enjoy!

Wilbur tried to keep his expression blank as he watched his younger brother flee the scene, limping from his leg wound. The teenager dared to cast a glance over his shoulder as he gained some distance, clearly terrified the older man would launch another attack. Something inside Wilbur urged him on to do just that, to finish what he had started. He wanted to see the blood flow from the young man’s neck, to see the light fade out in his eyes… what the hell? Wilbur slashed his knife at the nearest tree, desperately trying to get rid of these thoughts. What was he doing? Tommy had hurt him when he destroyed the pin, and Wilbur had wanted to punish him for that sure, to make sure the young man wouldn’t return. He hadn’t meant to come so close to killing him. Instead, something had snapped inside Wilbur when the young man had raised his arms to defend himself against his hits, and had even managed to bring him to the ground before fleeing. It had been so easy to chase the younger man down, and it would’ve been so simple to finish him... When the cold blade met Tommy’s throat, only then Wilbur had come to his senses and released the younger man from his grip, allowing the young man to scramble away. Wilbur just shrugged. At least the teenager would stay out of his way now. Pocketing his knife, Wilbur turned back to Manburg, to finish what he was about to do before this rude interruption. Gingerly stepping over the shattered pin, he sent a message to Dream. There was work to be done.

 Spurring on his garron hard, Wilbur tried to be on the man before the Enderpearl landed. Badboyhalo had dropped his bow and was now running, but Wilbur was gaining quickly. He would soon be upon him. The sun reflected in his sword as he raised it, ready to cut down on the man. Just when the sword would’ve hit flesh, the Enderpearl met ground, and Badboyhalo evaporated out of thin air. Frustrated, Wilbur turned his horse around, scanning his surroundings for his next victim. TNT was still blowing off in the distance and had already injured, possibly killed, many but there was a lack of Withers in the air. Where the hell was Technoblade? Snorting in frustration, Wilbur realized the other man was probably still sleeping, like he should’ve expected. Blood for the blood god, the man had chanted, and had promised Wilbur he wouldn’t miss it for anything. What a friend he was. It didn’t matter. Wilbur would have a harsh word with the man after he was done here. Riding through the devastation, Wilbur enjoyed the frightened gazes of the people as they hid in the rubbles. The man had taken the vow not to kill the defenseless, and intended to keep that promise as long as they weren’t getting in the way. He still prided himself on having some honor. Rounding a corner, Wilbur came face to face with Antfrost, who was trying to free another man from a collapsed building. As Antfrost lay his eyes on Wilbur, he raised his sword, shaking, but seemingly determined to face his foe. Finally, another challenger, Wilbur smirked as he brought his garron back to a gallop. An arrow hit the horse in the chest and as the animal collapsed noisily, Wilbur was launched over it’s head. Hitting the ground hard, the man was dazed for a moment, but quickly recovered himself and started looking for the man who had just killed his mount. His eyes soon fell on a green man standing in the distance, crossbow raised. “You!”, Wilbur called, charging at Dream as both men readied themselves for a battle. Swords clashed at each other as both men tried to get the upper hand on the other, but Wilbur was being reckless in his anger and had never been the best at duels. As the man lost his balance in a poorly aimed cut, Dream took his opportunity to kick the legs from under him and stepped back as Wilbur hit the ground. Managing to cut off one last blow, Wilbur’s mind raged with fear as he saw Dream’s blade swing down. Pain soared through his shoulder, and then everything went black.

 Flickering his eyelids open, Wilbur found himself to be sitting on the tower overlooking the festival grounds. Dizzy from blood loss and slightly nauseous, he tried to take in his surroundings. Punz was keeping an eye on him, crossbow loaded. Wilbur tried to meet his gaze steadily, only to yell out when another pain shot through his shoulder. “Just stay still, I’ll be done soon”, a familiar voice mumbled in his ear. Hesitantly breaking Punz’s gaze, Wilbur was shocked as he laid his eyes on Tommy, who was working awkwardly around the chains binding his hands as he tended to Wilbur’s shoulder injury. “So you’re finally awake”. A voice shook Wilbur out of his thoughts as Schlatt acknowledged him. The president was standing at the railing, looking down at the ruins of the festival down below. Wilbur tried to reach for his sword, only to realize that his weapons were taken from him and that his hands were tied as well. “I wouldn’t try anything”, Schlatt chuckled. “You know, after Dream brought you here, I wanted to slit your throat and be done with it”. Turning his back to the chaos below, he let his gaze rest on the two men. “It’s only thanks to your little friend here that you’re still breathing. Might be we have some use for you”. Grinding his teeth, Wilbur remembered how Dream had betrayed him. Why’d he be so stupid as to trust his man? Another pain shot through his shoulder as Tommy tightened the bandages. Wilbur shook Tommy off, ignoring the pained expression in the young man. “Just leave me alone, I don’t need you!”, he snapped at the teenager. Tommy scoffed, opened his mouth to say something, then pointedly turned his back to him. Schlatt just laughed “Play nice children. You’ll need all your energy once Quackity gets here. We have some huge plans for you”. Wilbur wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction of a reply. Instead, he just kept his gaze locked firmly on Schlatt, planning his next move. Time went by slowly and after trading some crude jokes with Schlatt and roughly beating up Tommy after a remark the young man made, Punz slowly started nodding off. As another explosion went off in the distance, Wilbur knew that this could be the chance he was waiting for. Throwing himself off the wall behind him like Philza taught him, Wilbur shoved Tommy out of the way and crossed the room to Schlatt. Narrowly avoiding an arrow aimed for his head, Wilbur managed to reach Schlatt as the other got out a knife. A pain shot through his face as Wilbur dodged too late, but he managed to steady himself and threw his arms over Schlatt’s shoulders, holding the other man in an embrace. Turning around the other man, choking him so he wouldn’t resist too much, Wilbur was able to use the other man as a human shield. Wilbur tried to ignore the beating of his heart as he carefully stepped back to the edge of the tower, keeping his gaze locked on Punz and his crossbow. Wilbur’s scar ached as he remembered Punz his deadly shot, almost losing his life to it once before as he got hit as they were being chased from the election grounds. Well, there’d be no running this time. Letting out a sign, Wilbur knew there would be no turning back now.

 Wilbur tried not to feel the wind pulling at his cloak or the flames growling hungrily down below. It would only cause him to freak out, which would mean death at this point. He had almost lost his balance once before, after Schlatt had dared a desperate effort to escape, almost causing both men to fall. Wilbur felt himself growing faint as his thoughts started to wander. Wilbur had loved to pull Schlatt into an embrace without any warning, or jump on his back, back when they were young and in love. Things were so much simpler back then… how did it end up to be like this? They could never go back. Wilbur raised his gaze as Punz started barking his commands to him. He must’ve seen he was weakening too, Wilbur realized with a pang. Trying to stand up a little straighter, he listened to Punz his terms. “Stand down, and you’ll live. You don’t want to die here. You have no other choice!”. Wilbur wasn’t feeling like reasoning with these men. He knew he had the upper-hand until backup arrived, and wouldn’t throw that away. Schlatt smelled of fear in his arms as Wilbur spoke. “Shoot me, and we’ll both feed the flames. Maybe that is what you want? It would make a nice bonfire…”. Punz was frowning at this, which made Wilbur continue, gaining confidence “Release me. Give me a horse and supplies, and send us off the way. I might just let Schlatt live”, he added with a wink. “Don’t do it! Shoot him!”, Schlatt shouted. Tightening the chains around Schlatt’s neck, cutting off his breath, realized he forgot to include Tommy in his terms. Loosening his chains to allow Schlatt to gasp for air, Wilbur found his voice again. “One more th-“. He held his breath as he saw with a shock that Punz had just released a bolt at him. He wouldn’t. Wilbur flinched as the arrow scraped his cheek, drawing blood, but managed to keep his composure.

 Wordlessly urging Tommy on to flee as the young man got to his feet, Wilbur sighed as his brother found his voice instead. “Please Will, stop this madness”, the teenager pleaded. “Take my hand, let’s walk out of here together! Let’s go home!”. Wilbur’s heart ached as he saw Tommy reach out a hand, as far as he could in his chains. For a moment, Wilbur felt hopeful, before his gaze shifted to the young man’s wounded leg. Wilbur had to admit he was badly injured himself. They’d never make it. Feeling his voice break, he asked Tommy where they would go. They had already lost, everything was gone. Tommy just shook his head determinedly as he took another step closer, ignoring Punz’s protests, as he told his older brother that Tubbo was waiting for them. The horses were saddled, they’d soon be out of here, and never have to look back at this mess. Wilbur’s mind was racing until it all came to an halt. He knew what he had to do. He’d make sure Schlatt’s rule would end today, and go out on his own terms. Don’t even think, he whispered to himself, taking a hesitant step back as Schlatt struggled. Don’t even think about… Fundy? He’d never see his son again, would the young man miss him..? Would he know- No! He had to do this. For L’manberg..? Wilbur tried to keep his voice steady as he met Tommy’s gaze one last time. “I’m so sorry Toms, but I can’t. It’s just like you said”, he whispered as he felt a single tear run over his cheek. “I’ll lose as a winner”. He saw Tommy’s heart shatter in the young man’s eyes as Wilbur tightened the grip on Schlatt’s neck, and threw them both over the edge.

 Everything felt like agony. His whole body was screaming in pain, and Wilbur would’ve screamed out himself if even breathing didn’t hurt so very much. Schlatt was laying is his arms, staring up at him with empty eyes as his neck was broken by the fall, giving the man the mercy of a quick death. Wilbut hadn’t been so lucky. From the smell, he guessed that his leg was burning, but a pang of horror he realized he didn’t feel the heat, or didn’t have the strength to move his leg. He couldn’t move at all. Somewhere far away people were screaming, but he couldn’t focus enough on the voices to hear what they were saying. Wilbur’s vision was blurring, and he clenched his jaws through the pain. He couldn’t give up yet, just focus. He wasn’t finished yet, Manburg was still standing. The vague outline of a man appeared above him, but Wilbur couldn’t make out a face. Schlatt was carefully removed from his arms. “No, no, don’t take him away. Don’t leave me alone”, Wilbur thought he whimpered, but if any of it passed his lips, no one seemed to hear. They just carried Schlatt’s body away. Wilbur felt himself panic as he felt himself start to fade away, when the first man crouched down next to him, seemingly talking to him. Wilbur tried to calm himself, trying to stay awake as he tried to focus on the voice even though he couldn’t make out the words, when another figure appeared behind the first. This time, Wilbur could see him clear as day. “Dad…?” he whimpered, and suddenly he felt like he was a little boy again, begging for his father’s forgiveness. Philza looked just like he remembered as he shot his son a comforting smile, and held out his hand. Wilbur hesitated for a moment before reaching up, his chains suddenly gone. The man’s hands were soft and warm, and as Wilbur was being helped to his feet, he realized he didn’t feel any pain anymore. When Philza smiled at him, realization about what was happening hit Wilbur. “No, no, I’m not- I can’t-“, hot tears ran over his cheek as he was being pulled in a tight embrace. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”, he sobbed as he allowed himself to break into his father’s arms. Philza held his son for a moment longer before beckoning him to follow. Wilbur sucked in a breath as he saw the ones he loved but lost through the years waiting for him in the distance. His mother was there, so was Sally, even Fundy’s little sister, waving at him, along with so many others. Not being able to wait any longer, Wilbur started running to them, to be at their side, leaving his broken body behind.

[takadasaiko]

Always Been You (A Tony fix-it fic)

Fantastic... apparently updating a tag caused tumblr to eat the entire chapter? Let’s try this again.

FFN II AO3

Summary: When Thanos follows the team through time, he inadvertently splinters off countless alternate timelines.

Part Three

She had finally found some quiet, if not some peace. Tony was resting, painkillers and injuries pulling him into a deep enough sleep that Bruce seemed convinced they wouldn't get any more answers from him that night. He had left along with several others. Peter and Happy were the only ones that had elected to stay, Strange promising that if anything went wrong he was just a portal away. Not that Pepper knew how to get ahold of him, but that didn't seem to be in question as he stepped through a swirl of gold and sparks to leave her staring.

That had been hours before. Now, with Morgan tucked into bed and Peter and Happy crashed out, Pepper had stepped outside to try to claim a few moments to process what was happening. She wasn't sure exactly how long she had been sitting on the step on their front porch, gaze fixed through a tree that had long since blurred into colours rather than shapes. Everything had gone still, leaving her floating in her own raging thoughts.

The sound of thrusters forced her to blink, clearing her vision as the War Machine suit eased down and the helmet unlocked to reveal a familiar face. Pepper stood. "I've been trying to reach you for hours!"

Rhodey stepped out of the suit, the deep bruises from the earlier battle against Thanos showing in full in the porch light. He looked exhausted. "Not the best cell service out there right now, but I got your message. Is it really him? How?"

Pepper cringed. Despite the bags under his eyes and the bruises littering his skin, he sounded hopeful, and why not? Tony had come back from so much. Three months as a prisoner in Afghanistan, nearly killed by the arc reactor keeping him alive, redirected a nuclear bomb into space on his shoulders, Killian, Ultron, the fight with Steve, and a month lost drifting in space trying to kill a Titan…. It was a lot. It was too much. Everyone had their limits and Pepper knew he'd reached his. It had cost him his life, and for all the amazing and terrifying things they had seen, not one of them had come back from the dead. Not really.

"Pepper?" Rhodey called softly.

"It's not him," she managed, reaching up to tub at tired eyes. "He's…. a version of Tony is how Bruce explained it. From another timeline." She hated watching his shoulders fall and feeling like she had somehow killed his hope.

"Then why is he here?"

She pursed her lips. "Apparently he lost everyone in his timeline. He told Steve he…. needed to see everyone."

"You and Morgan."

Pepper glanced over, the question never making it off her tongue as her husband's best friend offered the first smile she'd seen in what felt like forever. Maybe it was really just since the funeral. He shrugged. "I've known that man a lot of years, Pepper. He came back for you."

"He didn't come back. He came here," she all but snapped.

He tilted his head. "You said he lost everyone, right? So he fought Thanos just like we did. I know Bruce seemed to think we could split off alternate realities if we screwed with the timelines too badly. Maybe that's what happened."

"That doesn't make him our Tony."

"Doesn't make him not." Rhodey leaned against the railing.

A short, mirthless laugh escaped at that and Pepper took a heavy seat on the porch step and leaned forward so that her elbows were braced against her knees.

"You mind?" Rhodey asked, motioning to the empty space next to her and nodded. He took the seat. "What's got you so tied up?"

She swallowed hard. That was the question, wasn't it? It took a moment for her to pull her thoughts into something that she hoped would make some kind of sense. She opened her mouth, closed it, and repeated the motion again before squeezing her eyes closed, finding the core of her hesitation. "What if it's not him?" There was a long moment and she pulled in a trembling breath. "I want him to be, Rhodey, but what if I think he is, if I accept he is, and he's not? If I…." Betray him sounded dramatic, but the man she's married, the man she had loved had died. Did she want this man to be him at his core? Of course she wanted it, but she wasn't sure what was right.

Rhodey loosed a long breath next to her. "We've seen a lot of crazy shit."

"You think it's really him?"

"I haven't talked to him yet, but if there's anybody stubborn enough to beat both death and time, it's Tony Stark. Hell, he's beat death more times than I can count."

The smallest of smiles tugged at her lips and she leaned into the man next to her. She wasn't sure if he was right - hell, he wasn't sure he was right - but if she weren't careful his hope might catch. If she weren't careful, she would willingly let it catch.

Aunt May had left some time before, but he had decided to stay despite her hesitation. He couldn't leave, not with Mr Stark there and alive. Peter had taken up Captain America's post watching over the sleeping, injured man when the older man had left to go help with the cleanup mission. It had been hours since then, though, and no matter how determined he was to stay awake, Peter's body was making him fight for it.

Light flooded into the room and he jerked back from the edge of sleep, jolting upright in the wingback chair he had slumped down in. Brown eyes squinted towards the door and tried to adjust, but all he saw was the light. Then he looked down and saw little Morgan Stark sneaking in. Her own dark eyes latched onto him and she held her finger to her lips in a gesture that Peter had to assume she was mimicking from her father. He flashed her a grin and mirrored it, unfolding. "Hey. Aren't you supposed to be in bed?" he asked her in a hushed voice.

She scrunched her little nose up in thought. "Wanna see Daddy," she said and looked back to him. "Aren't you 'spose to be in bed?"

"Probably," the teen superhero murmured and glanced over to where Mr Stark was sleeping.

"What's that?" Morgan asked, pointing at the medical equipment by the bed, all of it reading steady.

"That's just to make sure he's okay."

"Sick?"

"Sorta," Peter said hesitantly. She was four, Pepper had told him. What do you tell a four-year-old when their dad was hurt? To be fair, though, she'd thought he was dead a few hours earlier. He hadbeen. Hurt was better than dead any day.

Morgan climbed up onto the bed without warning and Peter swallowed his protest, waiting to see if she'd wake him. A small part - a selfish part, he knew - kind of hoped she did. He had barely seen the older man since his return. A hop through a portal, an unexpected hug on the other side, and before he knew it Mr Stark was sacrificing his life so the rest of them could live.

And then he was gone. Just like that. Dead and gone, seemingly forever, but Peter had been too, he guessed. Snapped out of existence. It made sense if he was from an alternate timeline that he was basically their Mr Stark. All but that terrible ending. It made sense, he thought. He was definitely willing to believe it.

"Hey, Daddy?" Morgan called in a loud whisper, poking his cheek. "Daddy?"

A soft groan came from the injured man and Peter saw him shift, and it looked like he looked up at Morgan. "Hey you," her dad greeted roughly.

"You wanna juice pop? Make you feel better?"

A snort of laughter escaped Mr Stark and Peter saw him reach up, bopping a finger against his daughter's nose. "You know what makes me feel even better than a juice pop?"

"Huh?"

"You. C'mere," he prompted and she leaned down so that he could kiss her round little cheek, Morgan giggling all the way. "Love you three thousand."

"Hey! That's mine!" she protested, but didn't sound too put out.

"I know, but it's a good one. Can I borrow it? Only for you though."

"Only for me though," she echoed and laid down next to him, snuggling in like she had no intention of leaving.

Mr Stark shifted, pressing a kiss to her hair and Peter suddenly felt like he was intruding, but he had no idea how to slip out without calling attention to himself and making it even more awkward. He was weighing his options when he heard the older man clear his throat. "Hey, Pete?"

Okay. So much for going unnoticed. "Hi…. uh, I was just —"

Mr Stark reached out with the hand not tethered by the various machines and IVs - only the little girl who was already asleep nestled against him - and Peter moved over instantly. "You okay?"

He took the offered hand. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. Are you —?"

"Thought I'd lost you again," his mentor murmured, squeezing Peter's hand, and it looked like the painkillers were already pulling him back into a drowsy sleep.

"You saved my ice. All of our lives." Peter swallowed hard, the weight of the emotions making it difficult to speak. "You found us again, Mr Stark. You came home."

He was already asleep though, Morgan snoring softly against her father and Peter felt a smile tug into place. He gave the hand in his one final squeeze before easing it down on the bed and starting for the door. There'd be time. He was home. He was okay. They were all going to be okay.

It was late. She and Rhodey had talked for a long while and then had sat in silence, letting it all sink in. Pepper had known she wouldn't be able to sleep, but at least she had been able to talk through everything that was whirling around her mind. She didn't have the answers, but at least she wasn't alone.

She offered Rhodey any space he could find to sleep, but they found Hapy still crashes out on the couch and Peter had taken up residence on a small sofa, long legs bent over the arm. They looked peaceful, or something close to it.

The plan has been to check on Morgan and then go rest her own eyes for at least a few minutes, but Pepper found her daughter's room empty. It didn't take a lot to put together where she had gone.

The guest bedroom was dark save the soft glow of the monitors. Pepper peaked into the room to see something she'd seen many times before: Morgan half draped over Tony, father and daughter sound asleep. Pepper chewed on her bottom lip as she watched them, both oblivious, and she could feel that desperate small hope setting in despite her best efforts. It was in the way that Morgan had tucked herself into the crook of his shoulder and the way he was half curled on his side, his face relaxed in sleep. She missed him. There was no question that she did miss him. The question was in if she would have to continue to.

Pepper drew in a shaky breath and wiped at the tears threatening. She'd talk to him in the morning and make her own judgement call. Know one knew Tony Stark like she did. She'd know, and she thought that might be what terrified her the most: the possibility of having to say goodbye all over again. Of giving up that hope that was starting to take hold.

Knowing was better, though. It had to be.

TBC

Notes: Well this is turning out longer than I meant for it to be... When I started it I promised myself I would only write a two, three parter at the absolute most, but here we are, and there's at least one more part to write. Ah well... That's what happens when I remember how much I've missed writing MCU fanfiction

[jjbaconsumedmysoul]

Giorno x Reader

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Apparently Giorno had sensed something was wrong when one of his men hadn’t reported back to him. His partner had shrugged it off as forgetfulness, but Giorno knew better than to trust one of his lower subordinates so blindly. So, right after you had left, he’s decided to follow you, to make sure you’d get home okay. He didn’t take no for an answer as he followed you footsteps out the back door.

And that was how you’d ended up here. Bruno was taking care of the fallen rival gang. They were all still breathing when he got to them, but most were badly injured. The spy had quickly given up all the information, knowing he had been beaten. He hurriedly confessed that he wasn’t actually the man he said he was, that one of the gang members had a stand that could modify other people’s appearances. You had kindly asked Bruno not to kill the terrified man, or anyone else for that matter, but you knew they would all receive thorough beatings.

You hadn’t been back in “HQ” since you were first attacked. Although you felt it was a bit silly to call it mafia HQ when to you it felt like a 24/7 sleepover party where the guys just hung out and had fun. Of course, it wasn’t fun right now. It was just like last time, only you and he had traded places. He lay asleep in his bed. You had blushed softly, realising it was the same bed you spent your day of recovery in. There was no guest bedroom; they weren’t even allowed to have guests, so, back then, Giorno had selflessly offered up his own bedroom for you to use.

But now he lay there, his chest slowly rising and falling as you sat on the large armchair next to the bed. You refused to leave the room, and you had actually managed to fall asleep there the night before. Through you were still quite tired and your neck was stiff, you wanted to be there when he woke up. You wanted to thank him, to apologise for getting yourself into trouble like that. You gazed at his soft sleeping form, his golden hair, which had slipped out of his usual braid and now lay in silken tendrils around his head. His face looked so peaceful: his long eyelashes resting against his soft cheek, his tender lips resting in a slight pout. You felt a twinge of guilt as your eyes fell over the slash on his cheek. It had been cleaned and the wound was already starting to heal, but you couldn’t help feeling that it was your fault he’s ended up so badly injured.

He had broken two ribs on his right side, as well as his left leg. Fugo had shown you how to wrap the splint last night when you were cleaning Giorno up. All the while he insisted that the wounds on his body weren’t severe, that he didn’t need such meticulous care. Then he passed out. He was obviously quite delirious. But hopefully the worst had passed, now you just had to wait for him to wake up. It had been about two hours since you’d eaten breakfast with the boys, and immediately returned to Giorno’s side. Bruno had checked in on you for the second time, and an soon as he shut the door, you heard small groan.

“Giorno?” You whispered, intertwining your fingers in his as you leaned over to see if he’d finally awoken. His eyelids opened, and you could see his eyes were just a bit tired and bloodshot, not as bright as they were usually. But it didn’t matter to you. “How are you feeling?”

He smiled as he saw you, and you felt a rush of relief overtaking your thoughts. But then, he grimaced as he rubbed his head, muttering curses in Italian.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, though he obviously had a slight headache from being beaten around the night before. “Are you okay?” You rolled your eyes.

“Giorno, I’m not the one who passed out from sheer pain and blood loss last night.” His fingers tightened around yours as struggled to find the words.

“But... mentally, (y/n). What he did to you was…” he gritted his teeth. You had all but forgotten about the instigating event. What mattered was recovery. The Don had been defeated, everyone was safe, it was all behind you now.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to worry about me.” He bit his lip as if he were about to say something, but decided against it. Instead, you spoke again. “Thank you, Giorno. If you hadn’t been so attentive I would be… well I don’t know what would have happened, and I certainly don’t want to think about it right now.” You looked away ashamed. “I’m sorry for causing you trouble like that.” But he only laughed wryly. You looked back up at him with curiosity and concern.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. It was my fault this happened again.”

“Giorno, it’s not—”

“Listen to me, (y/n).” He tried to sit up so he could more easily speak with you but you quickly placed a firm yet gentle hand on his chest in order to guide him back down before he could hurt his ribs anymore. He panted with a slight jolt of pain, but nonetheless hoisted himself upright so he could look into your eyes sincerely. “I was stupid. And because of that I put you into more danger than you were in to begin with. I should have called for backup before I acted. I should have taken Mista or Bruno with me…” he paused, grimacing as he turned away and letting out a wry laugh. “But I’m still glad I got there when I did. I couldn’t bear hearing that slimy bastard gloat for a second longer.” You didn’t want to think about what had happened, so you tried to brush it away.

“It’s in the past Giorno, it won’t happen again…” he turned towards you, his cheeks rosy, his expression uncertain, he squeezed your hand in his.

“But… what if it does? What if it happens again and again all because I can’t control myself. (Y/n) when I’m around you I…” he took a deep breath as your heart began to speed up. Was he actually saying what you thought he was? “I think I finally realised just how deep it was when he…” Giorno could barely even get the words out. “When he kissed you. I was so selfish. All I could think about was how disgusting he was, how he had no right to do that to you, how I wished I was the one kissing you.” You, swallowed, your throat dry as you tried to wrap your head around this new vulnerable side of Giorno that you had never seen before.

“Giorno—”

“(Y/n), please, just listen to me for a second.” He stared down at his lap, unable to look you in the eye. “I knew you were a wonderful girl from the moment I met you. You were sweet and pretty and it was adorable how bad you were at Italian,” your face was burning as you remembered that first encounter. “But I shouldn’t have approached you. That’s what got you into trouble,” he gritted his teeth “and because he got away my only choice was to protect you. Parts of me were screaming out that I shouldn’t. Not that I shouldn’t protect you, but that I shouldn’t be near you. Whenever Mista talked about the fun you two had that day or Narancia told me how helpful you had been to him, well… I gave in to my urges and decided that no harm would come from meeting you in your walk to school or joining you at a café or inviting you back to the restaurant. I realised just how much I enjoyed having you around.” He smiled sweetly as he reminisced, but you could see the sadness in his eyes “But in the end, my instincts were right. I don’t want you getting hurt because of me. So I think it’s best that we cut ties. You don’t need someone like me throwing you into danger every single day just because I have a little crush…”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Giorno you idiot what are you saying?! Cut ties with Passione? With the kindest sweetest funniest dumbest people you’d ever met? The people who’d turned your semester from a monotone hellscape to an endless adventure of good times exploring Italy, laughing with friends, trying new foods, even some shopping with Trish... Like hell you were gonna give all that up for safety. You weren’t always known for making rational decisions but you could stand one day being attacked by a mafia boss if you got to spend the next thirty days with the boys. Besides, you’d escaped without even a scratch this time, you could handle yourself.

“I’m not going to to that, Giorno.”

He turned towards you, eyebrows raised in mild surprise; seems like he wasn’t used to anyone disobeying his orders. You scoffed lightly.

“Like I’m going to abandon my best friends?” You mused sarcastically. “Besides, you guys need me too, don’t you?” You were trying your best to cover up how shaken you were at the thought of losing Giorno with humour. “Obviously I’m a much better math tutor than Fugo. A-and someone needs to laugh at all of Mista’s bad jokes. And I’m sure Trish likes having a girl around…” a single tear escaped your eye, and he brought his thumb up to your face to brush it away, cupping your cheek in his palm.

“You’ll be so much safer—”

“I told you, I’m not leaving!” Another tear as you placed your second hand underneath Giorno’s palm, assuring him that your words were final. That you wouldn’t walk away. His hand seemed to grow heated as your fingers wrapped around it. “Giorno, this is my decision. I want to be with Passione, and I want… ” you bit your lip, still embarrassed about your feelings. Even though he had confessed his own, You still weren’t sure of yourself, of your adequacy, especially if he was trying to push you away. You dared to glance up into his eyes, not having realised until now that his face was only inches away from yours. His cheeks were flushed with color and his breath shallow as his eyes flickered down for a second. He bit his lip pensively as he refocused his gaze on your own two lips. Before you could even comprehend what you were doing, you began to lean in, to his touch. His cheeks radiated heat, but yours were probably no better as you nervously squeezed his hand. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you felt a pair of soft lips on yours. They were so gently, barely even kissing you as if Giorno was scared he might hurt you with his touch. But he couldn’t be further from the truth as you unconsciously brought your fingers up his chest, around the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair. You pulled him deeper into the kiss as you heard a slight moan rumble in his throat. You couldn’t tell if it lasted seconds or minutes before he pulled away to look in your eyes. You couldn’t quite gauge what you were feeling: whether you were mortified that you had just actually kissed him, scared of what he might say, or hungry for so many more kisses, confident that maybe you had won him over, that maybe you could go further than just kissing. You pushed all those swirling emotions deep inside as you looked as at Giorno with a hesitant smile.

“Is that… was that okay?”

“I…” Giorno looked at your lips again, seemingly at a loss for words. Then a smile came to his lips. He ran his hand through his hair as he looked away from you and giggled. “Wow, that was…” it was absolutely adorable how out of character he seemed right now. “It was more than okay,” he whispered. “It was incredible,” you smiled and hid your face embarrassedly as your heart fluttered. “But,” there was always a but with Giorno, wasn’t there? “Does this mean… are you sure, mia cara? You’re right, it’s your decision to make. If you keep associating with me, things will only get harder,” he paused as he held both your hands in his. You took the opportunity to interrupt what probably would have been another endless monologue about how guilty he felt.

“Well, I don’t give up on a challenge!” You giggled nervously as he smiled at your playfulness. He extended his hand, placing delicate fingers under your chin, tilting it upwards so he could look into your eyes.

“I suppose you don’t. Who am I to deny such a beautiful signorina her wishes?” You turned to hide your burning face as you giggled like a schoolgirl.

“Giorno, I’m not… y-you don’t have to…” he placed a soft kiss on your cheek as he whispered.

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

Author’s note: I didn’t edit this and i gotta go spend roughly 2 hours on my nsci set aaaaaaaaaAAAAH

[dr0wning-in-hell]

Return pt 2 - Steve Rogers

summary : Y/N has been returned to the Avengers Compound after being held captive by HYDRA for over a year. Steve blames himself for Y/N being on the brink of death and moving on when she was still out there. The team just waits for her to wake up, so they can help her recover.

word count : 2.5k+

warnings : angst, mentions of torture, mentions or rape, PTSD, anxiety, literally just angst, just a sprinkle of fluff

pairing / characters : Steve Rogers x reader, Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, mentions of T’Challa and Shuri, Natasha Romanoff, mentions of Pepper Pots,

Prompt : “Steves dating the reader and they go missing, after a weeks of searching the team gives up and accepts that the reader is dead, Steve starts dating someone else, and then a year later on a mission, he finds the reader badly injured in a hydra base?? One shot, or if it’s easier in parts? I’ve asked quite a few people but it’s always nice to see different versions if people do this request more than once anyway 😂 “ - @thefandomplace​

A/N : sorry it has taken me so long to write the second part to this! I really hope you all enjoy this! also this is kind of short, but like sad so yeah.

read the first part here

new masterlist | requests | prompt list

It had been days since Y/N was brought back to the Avengers Compound, and in those few days she had nearly died a total of three times. The first time was because of blood loss, and she reacted badly to the blood given to her. Second time was because of her broken ribs and them basically crushing her lungs and heart. The third time was because someone tripped over one of the many chords that was attached to her body. After the third time no one except doctors and nurses were allowed in her room.

Steve stayed outside, looking into her room from the glass. Every time he looked at her his heart broke and the guilt of leaving her there in that HYDRA facility ate away at him. He barely ate, barley drank anything or even slept. Everyone tried to get him something, tried to get him to rest, but he never did. He just stood and looked at Y/N, his eyes never leaving her. Tony had told Steve that because of the gunshot to Y/N’s spine, she would never be able to walk on her own again. Steve had asked him to call King T’Challa and his little sister so that they could bring their advanced technology, but Tony had already called the King of Wakanda and asked him about helping. The king said it might already be too late for their technology to heal her spine.

Y/N would never be able to walk again, never be able to run, never be able to do any of the things she used to love. She would never be able to be an Avenger again. Steve was furious. He let the love of his life go through so much pain, so much torment for a year. Steve had been through a lot, but nothing compared to the pain of knowing that Y/N was never going to be the same, happy girl that she used to be.

Later in the week Tony asked Wanda to see if she could look into Y/N’s memories, see what Y/N went through. Wanda said no at first, finding an intrusion of Y/N’s privacy, but the team had convinced her it was to know what they would be dealing with when Y/N woke. It seemed more like if Y/N was going to wake up at this point. Wanda had gone into Y/N’s room, carful to not disturb any of the chords that were stuck into Y/N as she placed her palm over Y/N’s head, the familiar red glow emitting from her hand.

Wanda never thought she would see so much horror and pain in her life. What Y/N went through was far worse than what her and her brother went though with HYDRA. She saw Y/N’s memories of being tortured, strapped down to a chair and slide with knives, experimented on and injected with a blue substance that Wanda had sworn she’d seen before, and she hadn’t even broken the surface of what she went through. Wanda saw the men raping her friend, leaving her helpless as they tied her body down to the dirty bed she was found on and then left there for days until they wanted to have their ‘fun’ with her again. By the time Wanda was done going through her friend’s memories she had a waterfall streaming down her face. She covered her mouth as she walked out of Y/N’s room, hands shaking.

“What did you see?” Natasha asked, standing and looking at the girl.

Wanda shook her head. “It- it was horrible. They did so many horrible things to her.” She breathed out, “I- she went through more than any of us ever had.” Wanda began to cry uncontrollably, the memories she just saw breaking her heart in half. Vision walked Wanda back to her room, holding the woman in his arms.

Everyone looked at one another, the grim expressions on their faces giving away just how bad this all truly was.

Steve hadn't said a thing as Wanda spoke about what he saw, knowing that what Y/N went though was horrible. Later that night the team had gone to their rooms to try and get some sleep, but Steve was just waiting till he knew they wouldn’t come back to Y/N’s room till the next morning. Steve opened up the glass door and walked into the room, walking around to the left side of Y/N’s bed. He took in her features, and frowned. She was so small. You could see her bones, her skin almost translucent. She had dark bruises covering her skin, and horrible looking scars everywhere. The sight made the Captain want to throw up.

Pulling up a chair, Steve sat next to Y/N, gently holding her frail hand in his large ones. “I’m so sorry.” Steve whispered, “I’m sorry I gave up on you. We- I thought you were dead. I thought I had lost you.” Steve shook his head, salty tears fell down his cheeks and landed on his pants. “Please wake up, baby. Please, I can’t lose you again, I can not lose the love of my life again.” Steve sat with Y/N, sobbing as he held her hand. He just kept praying that she would wake up, that she would remember him.

A few minutes after crying Steve had fallen asleep in the chair, his head resting next to Y/N’s hand. His hand was still gently holding hers. It was odd for him to be so close to Y/N after not having her touch for so long, but it was so familiar it was like she was never gone. He knew she was though, and there was a difference in both of them now for that.

When morning came Steve was woken to a gentle movement under his hand. Steve’s head shot up, and he could was shocked to see that Y/N was trying to move her hand out from under his. Her eyes were slightly open, not enough to really see anything, but enough to see the outline of a man next to her. Y/N’s heart sped up along with her breathing. She was terrified of men after what happened at the HYDRA base. Having Steve next to her just triggered her memories and all the pain she went through.

“Y/N, hey it’s okay, it’s me.“ Steve tried to say. It didn't help the situation though. Y/N’s heart beat was getting to fast, and she was hyperventilating. The machines next to her started to beep loudly, gaining the attention of the doctors and nurses that were currently over looking Y/N. They all rushed in, looking at Steve with a somewhat angry expression.

“You need to leave.” One of the doctors spoke, “You're scaring her, please leave.” He said. Steve hesitated to leave. Was he really scaring Y/N? Was he now the cause of her pain? The soldier got up slowly and exited the room. Steve watched from outside the room as the male doctors tried to get close to her, but Y/N began to freak out again. The women were the only ones that could get near Y/N.

Tony had heard about what happened and asked for female doctors and nurses, that way Y/N would be at least a little bit calm when they had to go in and check on her. He tried to talk to Steve about what happened but all he did was ignore him.

Once Y/N had woken up the doctors had to tell her about her spine and that she would never be able to walk, run, or fight ever again. If Y/N’s mental stability could get any worse, it had at that moment when she heard those words. Y/N was still trying to adjust to everything around her. She may have only been gone for a year, but that one year felt like a lifetime to her. Having so many people trying to help her and make her feel better was new to her again, and she had to relearn what it felt like to be cared for.

When Y/N was told that she would have to go through a surgery to repair some of the damage to her spine she was not happy about it. The thought of being poked and pulled apart made her relive the worst time of her life. It took some convincing that she would be okay, that she wouldn’t go through what she went through at HYDRA. Once Y/N had agreed that scheduled the surgery the next day.

Y/N was scared to say the least. She had asked for Wanda, Natasha, and Pepper to be there with her when she went to surgery, and to be there when she woke up. Steve was hurt at the fact that she had asked for them and not him, but he understood why she had asked for only the girls and not any of the males.

The surgery had gone well, there were no complications that the surgeons had to go through, which made their jobs much easier. When Y/N had woken up she was told that if she ever wanted to walk again, she would have to go through extensive physical therapy and possibly more surgeries. After that she shut everyone out, just wanting to be alone so she could think about what she was going to do. In her mind, she felt it best if she just died. She was useless to the tam now, so what was even the point of her living?

Months after Y/N was brought back to the compound Y/N had to go to several therapists to talk about what she had been through. She didn't want to talk, she wanted to forget. Talking about what she went through meant remembering and reliving, and she definitely did not want to do either of those things. Y/N had also agreed to doing physical therapy, but other than doing that and going to her therapy sessions no one ever saw her leave her room.

Steve had tried to go to her room and check on her, but whenever he neared the door he could hear her crying and mumbling about what she had been through. He knew she still needed some healing, but he didn’t want her to go through it alone. He wanted to be there for her and help her but he knew he wouldn’t be able to get within five feet of her.

Y/N was slowly regaining the trust of men back, but it was hard for her to be around so many at one time. She had severe anxiety around males, and she had to have another female with her almost always. Usually it was Clint, Tony, or Vision that could talk to her without her being scared. Whenever Steve saw them talking to her he became angry because he wanted to be the one to comfort her.

It was early one morning when Y/N had woken up from a night terror, when she decided to wheel herself out of her room and to the main living area. It was around 4:00 a.m. on a Saturday, so she knew that no one would be up yet. Y/N looked out the window, looking out at the dark sky. She had always liked watching the stars disappear when the blue skies came around, she liked watching the clouds move with the wind. She liked the early mornings when it was peaceful. Thinking about the sky and looking out at the earth in front of her made her think of Steve and all those mornings when they’d stay up late and look out the windows or sit on the roof. They’d always look at the stars, trying to name as many constellations as possible. She missed him, more than she missed anything else. Whenever Y/N saw Steve walk past her room or heard him talking to one of the other Avengers she just wanted to get up and talk to him, but she couldn’t do either of those things.

Y/N was so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn't even noticed Steve walk up beside her. He was quiet, not saying anything as they both sat and looked out at the world.

“I heard what you said.” Y/N said quietly, her eyes gazing down at her hands. Steve looked down at Y/N, a bit confused. “When I first came back, I heard what you said about giving up on me, and thinking I was gone.”

Steve looked down. “I was a mess without you.” He mumbled. “I felt so alone without you here with me. God, I just kept praying that we would find you and when we had gone through the rest of the HYDRA bases and we didn’t find you, the last bit of hope I was holding onto just disappeared.” Steve turned his head and looked at Y/N. “I still love you, Y/N/N, I never stopped loving you.”

For the first time since Y/N had returned, she looked up at Steve, a small smile ghosting over her lips. “I never stopped loving you either. I always thought about you, you were the one thing that kept me going even when I wanted to die.” Steve’s heart clenched at the thought of Y/N actually dying in that hell hole, or even dying in general.

The soldier hesitated at first, but he reached his hand out and took Y/N’s hand in his own, giving a soft squeeze. “I’m here for you Y/N, whenever you need me, I’ll be right here.” He kissed Y/N’s knuckles, making her blush and smile at the blonde man.

Y/N had returned in horrible shape, but she was getting better, and now she had Steve again to help her through the pain. She returned and she sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM Chapter 93 Thoughts

<20 in bold at the end.

It goes without saying that if you've not read this chapter yet, you probably shouldn't read this!

Typeset: https://imgur.com/a/cuCBt76

Youtube video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AopCejGDKMg

The ART!

If there’s only one thing I’d declare my love for, it’d have to be the art.  It brought the characters and the sense of place to life in a way I’ve not yet seen in One-Punch Man.

This chapter round, Murata did not pour his energy into elaborate backgrounds or spectacular scenes. His assistants did wonderfully at the backgrounds, particularly in showing the dereliction of City Z. So you'd think this chapter would be quick and easy to knock out? NO. WAY. Murata poured his art into detailing and delineating characters, bringing their very souls to life as we've rarely seen before. So many characters, both familiar and new. Along with the incredible character interaction, this chapter has been a real treat for the eyes as well as the mind.  

More thoughts still under the cut!

Chapter Theme: You Can't Escape the Pressure

Everyone is under pressure. It's on everyone, both that imposed by the external circumstances and that imposed on themselves by the characters. So much of the ugliness we see in the S-Class meeting comes from that pressure. I'll deal with Fubuki, Bang, King and Genos separately.

The collective pressure to prove themselves is on the support heroes. While they may be the support, their role is just as crucial and their objectives are many -- containing any escaping monsters, clearing an escape route and making sure that Waganma is escorted to safety. OneShotter definitely feels the toughness of the assignment while Needle Star focusses on the other side of the pressure: the potential reward of promotion.

Even at the top, the pressure is intense. If anything it's worse. Being based in A-City, the executives have to look at the results of their failure every single day, at the still-raw lunar landscape that used to be most of A-City. Metal Knight didn't even bother trying to fill in the larger craters, but just built road bridges over them. Sekingal may be ambitious but he has earned Sicchi's respect for not merely being the guy in the suit who sits back in relative safety while sending heroes to their doom. He's going to be there with them -- he's tied not just his reputation and career trajectory to the success of the mission, but his very life.

I don't think many people would begrudge Sekingal his ambition nor any of the support heroes for being politically shrewd in their desire for promotion. They're doing the work and taking the risks, why shouldn't they make sure to get their reward? It's people who use politicking as a substitute for doing the good work whom we object to.

Wanted: Leadership and Unity

ONE has long had a special dislike for experts without actual expertise. One of his early cameo characters was a Mr. Nanmoshirane (Mr. I don’t know) who was a pundit making useless pronouncements on the mosquitoes that had appeared over City Z. So, why is a ten year old in charge of S-Class? Because he's the best at the job and has lots ofleadership experience? HA, not a bit of it! It's because he's clever (technologically), is available, and is the only one who will speak up. 

Unfortunately, Child Emperor hasn't got the personal authority to shut down dissent and is having to rely on mollifying the egos of the other heroes to keep them all on side and focussed on the threat in front of them.   To watch the clash of titanic egos as they try to work out how best to approach the Monster Association raid is to feel for Child Emperor.  But he manages.

And then Sweet Mask appears.  As a deeply disliked and barely respected hero, his presence is unwelcome in the first instance and his insistence in not just joining the strike team but leading it started to create an ugly situation. 

Watching the S-Class meeting nearly implode into bloodshed, all I can think is with allies like this, who needs enemies? It's evident that no matter how talented the individuals are, without a sense of shared purpose around which they can rally and actual strong leadership, they're going to be easily working at cross-purposes to one another.

Fubuki: The Power of Spite

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? I guess Shakespeare knows what he's talking about -- here comes Miss Blizzard and she's looking to raise hell, both with the Monster Association and with her sister.

So much of her anger is not for the monster, Do-S, who brainwashed her group. After all, Do-S is a monster -- that's what monsters do. It's for Tatsumaki, who seriously hurt the members of her group and who has now had her dismissed without so much as a say. That's what she cannot forgive. She's taking them both on, both on a personal level and on the behalf of the group of heroes and compatriots she loves and nurtures.

While it's hilarious that she thinks of Saitama's group as her 'new' Fubuki group and is outraged at how completely she's ignored, her astuteness cannot be faulted.

Go Blizzard!

Bang: A Shabby Way to Treat a Good Man

I salute Bang's sense of responsibility in coming all the way out to A-City in order to find out what is going on, since the loss of his communicator has meant that he has no way to keep abreast of the situation. Watching Sicchi lie to Bang's face was just painful.

It's shocking how quickly narratives grow up around events. Sicchi may have defended Bang staunchly to the other executives, but he's asking if Bang let Garou go. Even Bomb is questioning Bang over it. And Bomb was there! You see how deeply this hurts Bang.

And yet, even now, Bang hasn't given up on Garou. He's jumped at the chance to 'accompany' King as he puts it in order to fulfil his duty to apprehend Garou. Maybe even to save him if he still can.

King: The Paper Tiger Becomes a Cardboard Tiger

King running away only to get himself deeper into trouble is nothing new, although it's wonderfully done here. His accidentally defusing the S-Class meeting's tension was absolutely stellar timing. And how freaky is it that even through several walls, Zombieman can hear the King engine?

However, what's new is that King can be mighty brave... so long as it's from behind Saitama. Watching King dying inside even as he puts on a brave face and says brave-sounding things has been quite the edifying development. He so wasn't counting on being bundled off to the Monster Association like a secret weapon though. Being deferred to and consulted by the other heroes was terrifying enough. The out-of-body experience he was having at the end is one for the ages. :D

You Wait Forever For A Cyborg And Then Three Come At Once

Conventional wisdom is that a cyborg is hard to kill. Defeat one, sure. Kill one, that takes some dedication. Accordingly, we see the return of Jet Nice Guy, phew! His backstory is that he won the lottery, then used his winnings on buying body modification surgery -- I'm glad they were good enough to keep him alive and that he's still got enough money (and enough desire) to return to hero work, looking better than ever. Learning that Drive Knight is also a cyborg has been awesome. Finally the question of what Drive Knight is has been settled, although the clues have been there for a while, mostly in Murata's art spreads, one of which shows him eating noodles through his mouth grille and another that shows him lounging in the swimming pool with a snorkel. His cyborg nature is why the rest of the S-Class are hoping that he may yet be alive, even if he's incapacitated.

I hope that we get to see what Jet Nice Guy and Drive Knight do. I hope the conventional wisdom isn't tested too hard!

As to the cyborg we know best, Genos, he has has gone dragon-crazy. [That said, his enabler-in-chief, Dr. Kuseno, has no right to say that it is Genos who is reckless: there's a bit of the devil in the old man too, what with putting such a badly-balanced build together for him.] I think I see the rational side of why Genos is gunning for dragon-level monsters so hard. As far as he's concerned, they're just a stepping stone in his path to strength -- huge, treacherous, bitey stepping stones, but stepping stones nonetheless. But they're rare monsters. If one pops up, it'll be assigned to Tatsumaki or a group of well-tested S-Class heroes. As a new guy who is still building his track record, Genos has no chance of being assigned one, not even to support another hero.

The conservative way to become a dragon-slayer is to painstakingly grind away, improving his proficiency with demon-level monsters until the HA is so confident in his ability to deal with them that they'd consider briefing him on joining other S-Class heroes to deal with a dragon-level threat. That'll take weeks. Genos is a little less... patient.

The Monster Association is the only place where he's guaranteed a crack at them. There are five main possible outcomes.

A: He gets killed or crippled (the scenario that literally keeps Dr. Kuseno awake). It is a risk that exists regardless of what he does -- monsters target even the most peaceable civilians. As a hero, Genos has a great big target on his back anyway.

B: He gets beaten down without taking out any dragons. Here's the thing: at the very least he's no worse off than beforeand he gets invaluable battle data to build up on. The data will help to sort between changes and strategies that were never going to work and those that might yet work with some improvement.

C: He gets beaten down but kills or critically injures at least one dragon. He gains that invaluable battle data plus a basis on which to consolidate gains. Gets a promotion to around S-10 (more likely rank 10 - 12)

D: He doesn't get beaten down and kills or critically injures at least one dragon. He can work on using data and experience to further refine the fighting platform. Gets promotion to well within top ten and to ask Saitama for his next assignment.

E: He doesn't get beaten down but doesn't take down any dragons, either. This scenario will have Dr. Kuseno sigh in relief, but it's the only really bad outcome from his perspective. He's lost data and the chance to tackle such monsters. He'll have to grind like mad and hope for another lucky break.

I rate the likelihoods of the various scenarios as A - 0%; (ONE isn't about to kill Genos over this fight), B - 60%; (no change from webcomic), C - 39%; (it's a big step up and still respects what happens in the webcomic), D - 1%; (in that case the first half of chapter 108 is redundant) and E - 0%; (don't worry boy, here be lots of dragons).

Rounding up

This may have been a set up chapter, but it was anything but uneventful. 32 people are responding to what is for most, the greatest challenge they've yet faced. Okay, one of them is Saitama and he's just wandering around oblivious to the import of anything.

I can't wait for the fights, when we see all the tensions and motivations explode into action.

<20: The keg is full of dynamite, and the fuse is lit. Bring on the explosion!

[corvid-knight]

Adoption

Dualscar's called out to deal with a badly injured wild lusus. Turns out it's not so wild; it has a troll kid, and now that kid needs a new guardian. Luckily Dualscar knows exactly who that guardian should be.

(Read it on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14516211)

The lusus is barely alive when you get there; you kneel beside it, wary of the pincers, and put one hand on its shell, just waiting like that until the great white eyestalks droop and go blank. There's been reports of this big guy being overly protective and territorial for a couple perigees now, but it'd never hurt anyone, so until someone reported it as injured the decision was made to leave it alone.

You kind of hate that you only get to see it dying and dead. Carcinoform lusii are fairly rare; you would have liked to see this one in good health.

For now, though, you need a couple pics of the body. And your partner has the camera. Damn. "Yo, Iarrae—"

"Dualscar, you might wanna see this," she says at the same moment you try to call her over.

What you want is to finish this job and go somewhere that is a little bit farther away from the siren call of the ocean, but on the off chance that there's something important you head over to where the goldblood's standing. She's peering into a crevice between a pair of standing rocks, and after a moment spent hoping that there's nothing in there that wants to bite your face off you nudge her aside and take a look.

It takes your eyes a second to adjust.

Oh. Oh.

There's a kid. A tiny troll, maybe two or three sweeps, wedged back as far away from you and Iarrae as he can get. Welp, you just figured out why the crab lusus was so territorial; it wanted to keep its charge safe. And as far as you can tell it did a pretty good job, too; the kid doesn't look hurt, just terrified.

"Fuckin' paperwork," Iarrae mumbles, twisting the end of her braid through her fingers.

"Lucky for you that you're the junior here, and I'm the one who gets stuck with that." Not that you're not used to this. Maybe a quarter of the lusii that you're called on to put down or that you find dead are raising troll kids; even if adult trolls have started adopting wrigglers from the caverns, there's still plenty that get picked up by a lusus. It's normal. Causes paperwork, but it's normal.

It's not really your job to wrangle the orphans, but you stick your arm down in the crevice to try and grab the kid, wincing as you scrape one sensitive ear-fin against the rock. And you can't even reach him, anyway; all this accomplishes is to make him growl and shift a little, huddling in the corner away from you.

Which brings his arm (and the rip in his shirt, and the bright red blood on it) into view.

Your breath catches.

"Holy shit," you murmur, extricating your arm and watching the kid for a second.

He's a mutant. A blood mutant, just about the rarest thing on this planet; no wonder he's being raised by a rare lusus out in the middle of fucking nowhere. Trolls don't cull for blood color anymore, but lusii don't know that, and not everyone will adopt a candy-red.

You know someone who will, though.

"Iarrae?"

"Yep."

"Pull him outta there for me?"

The gold huffs out an irritated breath; you can almost feel her glaring at your back. "This isn't our job. Besides, don't you have two of your own? Do you reallyneed another wriggler?"

"Shut the fuck up and psionic him out. Unless you want me to pull rank on you?"

You don't technically outrank her. Your job description is exactly the same as hers: lusus handling specialist, also known as Orphaner even if the only reasons you're supposed to kill lusii are in defense or mercy. But you are violet to her gold, seadweller, experienced as hell in fighting things ten times your size. And you're not exactly a small troll, either. Hell, you're not even a medium troll. No, you went straight to "huge, intimidating asshole."

After a moment's staring match with said huge intimidating asshole, Iarrae huffs again and crosses her arms, eyes flaring pure bright yellow as she glances over at the rock crevice. The little troll inside screeches like he's being ripped apart, and you give her a warning glance that she returns with pure ire. He comes out in one piece, though, even if he is flailing wildly at being suspended by crackling yellow lightning.

You reach over and catch the scruff of his neck, holding him at that pressure point that's an evolutionary trigger to make any kid of your species go limp and noncombative. It's surprisingly hard to get a good grip; he must be older than you thought, just small for his age. That, or the mutation's messing everything up.

Going by your experience with Signless, you're betting on the latter.

"That's a fucking mutant," Iarrae observes, letting her psionics dissolve and leaving you with the kid's weight. "What the hell do you want with it?"

It. Her saying it like that makes you want to spread your fins and hiss in challenge.

Instead, you adjust your grip on the kid, avoiding the small sharp teeth when you let go of his scruff and pull him in to rest on your hip. The brat keeps trying to fight even as he grabs your cloak for balance; Signless is going to love him. "First off, I'm pretty sure it's a he. Second, fuck right the hell off with why I want him; you're not the one who's gotta do the paperwork for him. Third...what's your name, kiddo?"

You change your tone for that last question, letting your voice slip down to that almost-crooning register that's specific to seadwellers, mostly used on quadmates and wrigglers. Iarrae snorts at your using it here, but the kid calms just a little bit, even if his blunt claws are currently digging into your arm because he's hanging on for dear life.

After a second of silence, Iarrae points out, "He's lusii-raised and a mutant, he probably doesn't even know how to talk—"

"Karkat-fuck-you," the kid says, all one word, and then flattens himself against your side, baring little babyteeth at her.

The gold shows him much sharper teeth right back. "You look like a snack, brat. Candy-red; that's supposed to be sweet, right? What kind of troll doesn't even have horns—"

"Iarrae!" You can't keep a snarl out of your voice; perhaps you don't even want to. There's no reason for her to be this damn cruel towards a wriggler, even if he's a mutant with horns so tiny that they're almost hidden in his mess of hair. You can feel them press against your chest as Karkat whines and presses his face into your shirt, though. "Leave the kid the fuck alone. Get the pics of the lusus—"

"Crabdad," Karkat mumbles into your shirt, and you have to contain your wince. Poor kid.

"Get pics, sweep the area for any of the kid's belongings, and we can—"

"I'm not hunting down its nest." Iarrae cuts you off, folding her arms and glaring at Karkat for a second. "Not my fuckin' job." And before you can quell your urge to reach over and knock some respect into her, she's stomping back over to the dead lusus.

...okay, first order of business when you get home is to write a recommendation that she gets transferred to some job where she doesn't have to handle kids. Ormutants. It's easier on everybody that way.

Karkat reluctantly directs you to where his stash of belongings are hidden; it's a burrow dug into the less-sandy soil by the crab lusus, the entrance cleverly camouflaged with a clump of sandgrass. You can actually squeeze yourself into the entrance, just barely; the lusus dug it wide enough that it could fit in here with the kid.

The kid in question squirms until you put him down, immediately bolting farther into the hole. For a second you almost panic—losing him would be really shitty; you'll have to call in help to locate him again, because you have a feeling Iarrae is not going to cooperate—but he only goes ten feet or so, to a pile at the end of the burrow.

You get a reflexive growl when you come over to check out what he's grabbing; he's picked up territorial instinct from his lusus. Until you bow your head and click deep in your throat to show submission, you actually think he's going to attack, even as small as he is.

...damn, this must be a funny sight. A fully-grown seadweller submitting to one of the smallest wrigglers you've ever seen. Signless would find it symbolic, probably.

"Want me to carry your stuff, kiddo? You need to take what you want now; we're not coming back."

He whines deep in his throat at that statement, glancing up at you for just a second as he tugs a blanket free and starts piling stuff in the middle of it. "But Crabdad..."

...oh, shit. You're not trained for the grief-counseling thing; this isn't something you know how to handle. What can you even say to him?

"Your crabdad can't take care of you anymore, Karkat," you tell him as gently as you can. "I want to take you home with me, have a friend adopt you."

"Won't." It's not the sulky denial that comes before a tantrum; you're familiar enough with that from Eridan and Cronus. No, this is a different kind of no. Like he's just telling you something that you don't get, because you're an idiot adult.

"Well, I can't leave you here, kiddo."

"Won't want me." Oh, fuck. His lower lip's trembling as he ties the blanket up in a clumsy knot around his things; he only resists for a second when you scoop him up, getting him settled before you pick up the bundle. "Bad."

"Bad?" Oh, wait. You actually know exactly what this is about. "Nah, you're not bad. He's like you—candy-red, with one kid of his blood caste already."

Karkat lets out a questioning chirp, and big yellow eyes blink up at you in pure surprise.

He's fucking adorable, you think, and get a surge of parent-instinct. Stop that. This isn't your kid; you already have two, you idiot.

Your hormones do not agree with that assessment. Dammit.

Iarrae's left the camera and a note on the front seat of the car; the latter's scribbled in her horrible handwriting, and it takes you a minute to puzzle out that she's telling you that she's decided to walk home, rather than be in the car with, quote, "a stupid useless feral abomination of a wriggler."

Well, damn. Somebody's angry. Your advisement that she be transferred is going to be very strongly worded.

But this does mean that you don't have to handle Iarrae's glares and exasperated sighs as you dig the first aid kit out of the backseat and clean Karkat's cut arm up. It's not very bad, at least; just a shallow, clean cut up his forearm. He growls and whimpers as you clean it up, but stays mostly still. Good kid.

"What happened, anyway?" you ask him as you wait for the disinfectant to dry so you can bandage it, not really expecting an answer.

He gives you one anyway, though. "Big meowbeast." Oh, there's that lower lip tremble again. "Crabdad killed it, but it hurt him..."

Ouch. One more mystery solved; the crab lusus got killed by some kind of wild lusus, probably. A bonded lusus wouldn't attack one of its own kind with a ward.

The kid's sniffling, rubbing his eyes with the hand that's attached to the arm you're working on. You finish wrapping the bandage around his arm and secure it in place, then sit down on the hood of the car next to him and pull him into your lap, shooshing him when he loops his arms around your neck and presses his face against your skin.

His tears are almost hot enough to burn your gills, but having you hold and cuddle him gets him to stop crying pretty quickly.

He's really too small to ride without a some kind of extra safety harness, but it's not like anybody's going to call you on it. And you can drive carefully.

Karkat falls asleep on the drive, but rouses as soon as you go to pick him up. He snarls at you for a moment, then stops and shakes the sleep out of his head, blinking up at you in confusion.

"Come on, kiddo," you tell him, and he nods, holding his arms out to be picked up.

Dolorosa meets you at the door, flanked by Eridan on one side and Aranea on the other, both of them half-hiding behind her skirts. Eridan in particular is giving you a wholly betrayed look; you're not supposed to bring kids that aren't him or his brother here.

"Who—" Dolorosa starts. That's as far as she gets, though, because you hand Karkat off to her and scoop up Eridan, setting him up on your shoulder, grinning at how he squeals and evading the small hands grabbing at your horns for maybe three seconds before you let him get ahold of them.

"Miss me?"

The only response you get from him is an excited shriek of "Daddy!" Which answers the question pretty well, actually.

Aranea is staring up at Karkat with rapt fascination, and he's returning the look even as Dolorosa shifts her grip on him to look him over. Once she's satisfied herself that yes, this is a small troll who isn't too badly injured or obviously mistreated, she settles him on her hip and raises one eyebrow at you, stepping out of the door to let you pass.

"I wasn't aware you were planning on adopting another, Dualscar." There's no rebuke in her voice, just curiosity.

"He's not mine." Eridan's safely situated on your shoulder; you hold out your arms for Karkat again, and the jadeblood turns him over. "Mutants are hard to find a home for; I figured I'd bypass all the hassle and bring him to Signless. His name's Karkat; his lusus...well, it was one of today's jobs."

Her eyes widen a little at that, and she chirrs in sympathy. "Ah."

"So we don't gotta keep him?" Eridan whispers in your ear. You can't tell if he's disappointed or relieved.

"No, you jealous little wriggler, we're not keeping him," you tell him, and set Karkat down on the floor, patting his shoulder as Aranea takes a cautious step closer. At least he's not growling at her. For a moment Eridan won't let go of your horns when you go to put him down as well; he drags your head a little to the side before he reluctantly turns you loose. Ow. "Go take him to meet the others, Eri; be nice." As your youngest grabs Karkat's hand and pulls him towards the main playroom, you turn your attention to Dolorosa again. "Who's here, anyway?"

She shrugs. "Mindfang's older one, Feferi, the Captors, my two of course, and a pair of human twins that belong to a diplomat, I believe. Today's a light day."

Ten kids. Hopefully not too overwhelming for Karkat. "Any idea where Signless is? He isn't answering messages."

"You know he doesn't carry his comm everywhere with him."

"Obstinate fuck."

That earns you a disapproving frown and a smack to your upper arm. "This is why Cronus and Mituna have dirty mouths, Dualscar. You and Mindfang don't censor yourself—"

"Okay, okay, I'll think of something else to call him." You have to dodge the next smack, because she aims it higher up, in the direction of your sensitive gills. "Rosa—"

In the other room, Karkat snarls and Cronus yelps, and you drop the playful argument in favor of heading in to check on those two, with Dolorosa right on your heels.

Cronus is standing in the middle of the room with his bleeding hand in his mouth, staring at Karkat with an expression that you recognize as bafflement. Even though he's easily half again as large as Karkat and the smaller troll just bit him, your older son's not making any move to attack, which makes you suspect he provoked this somehow.

Since Karkat's half-crouched in front of Eridan, obviously guarding, you have a good idea what Cronus did.

"He bit me," Cronus announces, showing you his hand and the violet smeared across it as you kneel down between the two of them.

"You detherved it," Sollux points out from where he's sitting with a little blonde human boy—one of the twins Dolorosa mentioned, you're sure. "That'th what you get for teathing Eridan, doofuth."

"I vwasn't gonna hurt him!" Cronus protests, looking back over at you. "It's teasing, come on, he bit me!"

Dolorosa brushes past you and takes Cronus's hand, examining the bite. "You've had worse, Cronus. Come along, and we'll clean it up."

So Karkat's both a fighter and a protector? Yeah, this kid was meant to be with Signless.

"No biting," you tell Karkat as she leads Cronus into the other room, and immediately regret how stern your tone is when two translucent pink tears roll out of his eyes and his shoulders start hitching.

"I'm sorry..." It comes out in a too-loud wail, and everyone in the room winces.

Amazingly, Eridan's the one who wraps his arms around Karkat, pulling him in and making soft noises that aren't quite shooshing as the little candyblood buries his face in his purple shirt. Karkat's still talking, but it's muffled past discernability.

You settle so you're sitting on the floor anyway and pull both of them into your lap. "Calm down, Karkat."

"Sorry, sorry, sorry sorry sorry—"

Holy shit, he's upset now. Eridan's curled up around him, still trying to calm him down; after a second Sollux groans and gets up, dragging the human boy to come join the kid pile that you're apparently at the center of. (The human tries to hang back until Sollux sighs, says, "Come on, Dirk," and yanks him down into the pile. )

...fine.

"Kanaya, do you know where my laptop is?"

She does. And she fetches it for you, before cuddling up between Aranea and Eridan. It's a little difficult to type with a lapful of purring wrigglers, but you manage it.

Eventually, Dolorosa comes back and helps shift the kids into a blanket pile without waking up the ones who're asleep, and you're able to relocate to a room that's devoid of small children. The forms you have to fill out for today are much easier to complete there; an hour and a half later you've printed out the papers Signless will need to keep Karkat, confirmed that the carcinoform lusus died of natural causes, and gotten confirmation that Iarrae will be transferred to a field that'll keep her away from kids and mutants.

That last one is a relief.

When you come back into the playroom, Mituna's holding one end of a cable that a boy who looks just like the first human kid but with hair that's almost white rather than blond, both of them giggling. Cronus and Aranea are arguing over a puzzle or something, Sollux and Eridan are asleep in a pile with the first human—Dirk? You think his name was Dirk—and Kanaya and Feferi are both trying to work the tangles out of a squirming, whining Karkat's hair.

That doesn't seem to be going too well. When Karkat notices you come in, he gives you a look that very plainly says help.

Kanaya clicks unhappily when you scoop the mutant up, but Karkat just chirrs.

"How come he doesn't have gills like Kankri and Cro and me?" Feferi asks, setting the brush she'd been using on Karkat down and sitting back on her heels to look up at you. "He says his blood's like Kankri's."

Hm. You don't really have an answer to that, other than that Signless doesn't have gills either. "Different mutations, maybe."

"Bad," Karkat mutters, tightening his grip on your neck a little.

"Shush, Karkat. You're not bad."

"Bad?" Kanaya asks.

"Red's bad," he insists again, before you can explain. "I'm fucked up."

Feferi giggles, and across the room so does Mituna; blue and red sparks go everywhere as the psionic drops the cable. The white-haired human kid scowls at him, crossing his arms.

"Jerk," he snaps.

"Fucker," Mituna says right back, and you have to resist the urge to groan.

"Asshole," the human says, and you set Karkat down and go over to pick him up instead before this can escalate any further, putting one finger over his lips.

"Shush."

He blinks at you with almost luminous red eyes, mouth curving up into a mischievous smile before he nods and grabs your wrist with both hands, pulling your hand down from his face. "Hi."

"Hello yourself, kiddo. I'm guessing you're Dirk's twin?" But he shakes his head firmly. "No?"

"Dirk's my twin," the kid corrects you. "I'm Hal."

"And I'm Dualscar."

"Uh-huh. Cronus said you're his dad. Cronus says you didn't make him like D made me, he says you picked him and Eridan out."

"Cronus is right; that's how trolls do things. They pick out grubs or wrigglers and raise them. Humans have kids that're related to the parents."

"I'm not."

"You're related to Dirk."

"Nuh-uh. I'm an android." He says that word very carefully, like he's proud of being able to pronounce it; while you're still processing the statement he wiggles in your grip, pointing at Mituna. "Down. I want my cord."

Okay then.

As you put Hal down, the door opens, and Signless and a blond human who's almost as tall as you come in. Hal shrieks and runs to the latter; the former smiles at you and nods in greeting.

"Dualscar," he says. He looks tired; then again, he usually does. "Rosa told me I needed to stop by here before I went home; you had something for me?"

"Why the hell do you read her messages and not mine?" The question's mostly-rhetorical, and the only answer Signless gives you is another smile and a vague gesture. You shake your head and go over to pick Karkat up again, carrying him over to your friend. "It's not something, anyway; it's someone. This is Karkat."

Signless's eyes go wide enough that you can clearly see the bright red irises against the yellow of his sclera. "Oh. Hello, little one."

Karkat chirrs worriedly, clinging to you for a second. "...hi."

"Can you come here?" Signless asks, holding out his arms. He's not asking you to hand Karkat over; he's asking the kid to come to him. The difference is slight but significant, and after a moment Karkat's grip on your shirt relaxes and he leans toward the adult mutant, making a soft sound as he's transferred. "Now, how did Dualscar end up with such a special wriggler as you?"

"I was called out because of his lusus," you tell him, because you're not sure if Karkat understands that part yet. Signless nods in understanding, then looks down as Karkat sniffles.

"Crabdad's dead," the kid says, then hides his face in Signless's dark shirt.

You leave your friend to calm his new kid, and go over to the human, who seems to be trying to put Hal down. Trying and failing.

"C'mon, man—"

"No! Carry me!"

"Let me get Dirk out and in his seat first—"

"No!" Hal almost screams the word, twisting up two handfuls of his adult's shirt and holding on.

The adult in question looks over at you and grins apologetically, one hand coming up to adjust his sunglasses. "Hey. Sorry about the noise; we're having technical issues."

"Carry me," Hal demands again, and you have to laugh.

"This is a loud place," you tell the blond human, gesturing at all the other children here. "Yours is hardly the loudest. My name's Dualscar Ampora; are your twins really androids?"

"D Strider. And this one is." He bounces Hal a little, sighing at the boy's giggle. "Dirk's just plain human; they're at about the same place developmentally."

"Um. Why?"

"It's a long story." D grins at you and tries to put Hal down again. Nope, that's not happening. "Hal. Please."

"No!"

"Let me solve this problem," you offer, before Hal can scream again. Dirk's verydeeply asleep; he stays completely limp as you extricate him from how he's curled up with Eridan and Sollux, mumbling sleeptalk as you settle him against you and straighten up again, raising one eyebrow at D.

The human gives you a thankful grin and a thumb's-up, and leads the way out to the parking lot.

"You're a fucking lifesaver," he tells you once he's got his twins strapped in. "Hal's stubborn—they both are—and he woulda just kept going until Dirk woke up."

"This is easier," you agree, and shake his hand when he offers it even though that's not a normal custom with trolls. "Are you planning on dropping them here often?"

"Yeah, probably." Another friendly grin as he opens the driver's door. "See you around, dude."

Hm. Interesting.

You wave in answer to Hal's waving, then head back inside to collect your kids so you can head home.