#where they get crushed to death that counts if it's a hard enough massive object

[silversupremacy]

bot and goo hug doodle

sorry it kinda looks like they're strangling him dont worry he cannot be killed in a way that matters

[clockworklozenges]

So, a good five or so years back, I played in one of the best worst DnD games I have ever been in. The DM had bought the Libris Mortis book, which, if you were unaware, was a 3.5 splatbook adding in a lot of undead stuff, including some monsters and undead player races and stuff. Wanting to try it out, me and my gaming group decided to play things from it, our then DM deciding to run a completely homebrewed session. This proved to be a...

Terrible Idea™

(for the uninitiated, never homebrew something you do not fully understand unless it's just cosmetic. If you want to make all elves worship the god of garlic bread, Ultimo-Metatron-Omega, go ahead, but unless you know how the game works, don't make mechanical changes). So we all picked stuff from the books-one player played a skeleton Sorcerer who in life was a tribal shaman, but an attempt at healing went wrong, turning him undead as his life energy was replaced with negative energy, explaining why most of his spells were necromancy and suchlike.

Another player played Krug, an antipaladin in very spiky full plate. He was a zombie made by a necromancer of a paladin who was fighting him, but his allies killed his would-be master before he could assert control, and not wanting to just off him, his allies just...yeeted his body into a portal and hoped it'd re-kill him. It did not kill him hard enough. It did, however, explain his stats which...oof. He had already got debuffs to some stats due to being a zombie, and rolled abysmally. Fortunately for the player, he played mostly to socialise, so didn't much care.

I played... Count Nox Feratu, the Campire. As in, a vampire with a very camp German accent, which I did not break for the whole time I was playing him. To the point where "ach, nein, I haf bin heet! Heal me, meine freunde!" was par for the course. My overly camp vamp was a wizard, but due to level adjustment was a bit of a shoddy one. For backstory, he'd been ousted from his clan for ineptitude, and had sworn revenge. I was going for a swordmage build but never got there. All his spells were utility or just necromancy spells.

Our last player played...sigh...Damien Bloodmoon, cleric of Nerull, God of murder and undeath. He was one of the clerics from the book's murder Domain, meaning that he got buffs to damage. He was a vicious arse both in character and out of it, and was so dripping with edge compared to the paladin with the same IQ as a horse after its trip to the glue factory, the shaman who thought killing fixed people and the Campire that if you gave him a pat on the back you'd have finely diced your hand into a red mist. Not going too outlandish with his backstory of wanting to dominate the world as his undead thralls, Damien F***ing Bloodmoon had only taken spells which either charmed live people, dealt negative energy damage or messed with ability drain and suchlike, which he used with aplomb on townsfolk on our way to our objective. He was also, importantly, playing an elf of some sort, I forget which kind. Meaning that of the party, only one was alive.

So, just as an aside, for those of you that haven't played 3.5e DnD or have only played 5e, in Libris Mortis, undeath was gone over in detail, and had a litany of pros and cons. For one thing, undead had only the HP they had-folks like Damien F***ing Bloodmoon could be 'dying', and had some time to be stabilised before meeting the reckoning of Papa John and dying proper. Undead did not, it was just how much you had and if you ran out, poof, you're dust, bones and fertiliser again. You were also harmed by positive energy, so healing spells hurt you, as did potions of healing. However, undead were kind of hardy - poison immunity, some had resistance to non-magical melee damage, stuff that drained your ability scores and levels didn't work on them, some crits wouldn't do extra damage, and the best part- negative energy healed undead. Meaning all the spells our party had which damaged others like the living Damien Bloodmoon were curative ones for us. Keep this in mind.

So, we began our quest, learning of a necromancer a nearby town was plagued by. After using our skills (to whit: Damien Bloodmoon charming and drawing the life force out of random villagers and the only potion seller in the town whilst we went shopping. Krug got a snazzy hat, which we put on top of his helmet, and we chatted to townsfolk as I looked alive enough to pass as human and the shaman had a fake beard and toupee that people were too awkward to point out was fake so went along with it) we learn that the necromancer has a base of operations in the cemetery. "Oh ja, zo original, dahlink. Ve vill need to educate zis guy on vhat is chic and vhat is just shabby!"

So we head there and the nightmare begins. Damien Leads the charge, using all of his knowledge to deduce that the shambling horde moving towards us were stronger-than-your-average-bear undead, and he was right. These were powerful armoured zombie mages of some sort, casting ability draining spells, negative energy ray spells and even having auras of negative energy that dealt damage on a failed Fortitude save. Even their punch and quarterstaves did negative energy damage as well as the usual bludgeoning or unarmed. However...only one of us was really in danger and the DM's face fell when the squishy casters walked up and began shanking their super-special homebrew zombie wizards, being healed by the damage of their attacks as we cut them down.

Like I said, one of the benefits of undeath is that negative energy actually heals you. So the strikes of the magic staves and punches that hit us did some basic damage. Which was then immediately healed by the negative energy their weapon strikes and spells were doing.

However, you'll recall that Damien Bloodmoon was an elf. And not dead. Being a Cleric of a death god doesn't mean that you have the abilities of an undead. That meant that even with the DM being merciful, by the end of the first fight he was covered in blood, mud and withered away to just above half his original strength and constitution. More were patrolling, so we had to run. But that posed a problem.

Remember Krug had heavy armour? And recall his awful stats? He in fact, hadn't got enough strength to wear the armour he'd been given for backstory. He didn't, according to the DM, have enough to remove his own armour. And we attempted to, but also failed our checks according to the DM. And Damien Bloodmoon refused to help, simply blaming Krug and his player. Krug's player thought it was hilarious, and Krug only had enough Intelligence and Wisdom to say his own name, so saw no problem. And Krug, Nox Feratu and Shaman realised that there really...wasn't a problem.

For us, at least.

We slogged through three combats dragging Krug and wading through the mud with him. His speed was so slow that for every step he took, we took about ten. The DM was confused and infuriated that his encounters weren't working, but refused to change them. So we had fun role-playing. Or at least three of us did.

Damien Bloodmoon refused to roleplay, and none of his ranged spells could affect the zombie mages. When he went into melee, he came out wounded as all hell. He went down twice, and it was only the healing supplies of the shaman that saved him.

All the while, he was... Let's say not best pleased. Damien Bloodmoon was getting increasingly wounded, exasperated and longing for the sweet embrace of death as reprieve from the humiliation. His player was getting increasingly redder and rage-filled as time passed. Each fight ended with our characters stronger than ever and his a bloody pulp on the floor, with poor in-character knowledge (and terrible rolls) preventing him from realising why.

Eventually, we reached the final boss, pausing only to paint Krug's armour in contact poison just in case, and to find a stick to help the now-partially-crippled Damien Bloodmoon, cleric of death and murder, walk after being beaten up by angry zombie wizards for hours. And it had, indeed, been hours. Among us, only Damien had a bonus to strength, and we had two swords, a mace and a staff between the four of us. Meaning it was re-death by a thousand cuts for the enemy and a slog and a half for us.

We reach the necromancer and, having taken so long due to dragging the oblivious Krug with us, his big ritual is complete- he raises a fist-sized black onyx egg aloft, crackles with arcane power and causes the bones around him to coalesce into one massive creature - an undead, giant-sized rust monster, radiating an Aura of pure negative energy. Krug opened his arms wide, eager for the metal-eating monster cockroach to free him from his poison-painted metal prison. It ignores him as he's still very far away. Me and the others have our weapons and armour devoured.

Our DM was very much a stickler for note-taking. So because Damien Bloodmoon hadn't written 'clothes' on his sheet, his armour being eaten by the monster left him naked and afraid.

It became clear that the DM had done another f***y-wucky. See, the Aura of negative energy healed me and the Sorcerer by more than its other attacks did. So whilst Damien Bloodmoon was naked, soaked in mud and bleeding to death almost crushed to a pulp in the fetal position, rocking backwards and forwards as his player seethed with hatred, the Shaman and the Campire set about beating the thing to death with our bear hands and a stick.

The session ended once we killed the necromancer, or rather when Krug walked up to him, closed his arms and just crushed the noodle-armed bad guy to death with the weight of his ridiculous armour and poisoned him with its paintwork.

We never revisited the game afterwards. We were told later on that the DM wanted us to use the non-undead races. But at no point had he said as much, even when we asked him about our characters and the restrictions on them. We also learned a valuable lesson. DM for the players who are there, not the ones who you have an idealised mental image of. Tailor your game, otherwise you'll get a sitcom featuring a camp nosferatu, a shaman with no healing, a paladin who could barely move and a Cleric of murder who was ironically the only one at risk of actually dying.

[mooniefics]

— gaps of sunlight

pairing : armin arlert / reader

word count : 2.9k

tags : heavy angst, fluff (just for a moment lol), tragic romance, death, hurt / no comfort

warnings : detailed descriptions of injury to the reader

summary : every good thing must come to an end, you both knew that. but armin wished that it didn't have to happen like this every single time.

— originally posted 2 / 1 / 21 on ao3 —

armin had been absolutely glowing.

you couldn't get the image of his entranced expression when you saw the levi squad approaching from atop his horse, flushed cheeks and gleaming eyes framed by fair, blonde hair. he was shining in the light of the setting sun, barely pulling his steed to a stop before he was clambering off of it, dashing over to throw his arms around you. he was so warm, nearly squeezing all your breath out of you as he laughed, a sound full of wonder and delight, a cold, briny scent clinging to his skin and clothes.

"the ocean." he said breathlessly, burying his face into your shoulder, smiling into you, "we saw it. we saw the ocean."

but as the evening had wound down, your friend still seeming to be digesting such an experience as he stared off into nothing at the table during dinner, hands stuck in his pockets, fiddling with something for the entire meal. you'd saved your prying questions until you'd both showered and changed into your night clothes, now squeezed beside each other in the space of his bunk, narrow but just enough for the two of you to share.

"it was everything i always thought it would be!" he beamed, throwing his hands up towards the ceiling, turning his head in bed to look at you, "the water was actually salty, it stung my eyes and made my mouth so dry!!" even in the dim light, you could see the unrelenting gleam in his eyes. "it was so much colder and cleaner than the canal, blue and green as far as the eye could see—and it was frothy and white when it washed up on the shore, i wish i would've taken a bottle to bring some of it back!"

he was enchanting to gaze at, the luster of youth having finally returned after all this time it had eluded him. you'd remembered how he'd cried when he had lagged behind during cadet training, after his first few scouting missions, speaking about the untimely deaths of his family, the nights after he'd been chosen to receive the serum and acquire the power of the colossal. and every time you came to hold him, assure him that his pain was real and it was okay to cry, he would always try to tell you that he would be fine on his own, that everything would work itself out in the end without him having to bother anyone. but he never objected when you would gently hold him against you, whisper soft reassurances and let him silently sob, so young yet so full of such an endless turmoil. to see him wearing such an infectious look of glee was enough to make you smile back just as wide.

"i remember when you used to tell me about it when we were younger." you murmured, "all that feels like so long ago.. i'm glad that if any of us could make it to see the ocean, it was you."

you felt confused when you saw his face flush, smile faltering, looking almost sheepish, arms falling back to rest on his chest. "i'm sorry.. it feels unfair to gloat about it when you haven't even been able to see it for yourself."

there it was—the shy, selfless boy that was always there no matter how many battles or brushes with deaths you both saw. somehow, even after achieving his life-long dream, working so long and finally getting a taste of the joy that life should really bring, he was concerned about making you upset by expressing that happiness to you.

"armin, you're so silly." you giggled softly, reaching over to place your hand over his, "this is the one thing that you've always held onto, from the day that we first met in cadet training and all the way to now. seeing you happy could never make me upset. i'd listen to you talk about the ocean forever if it meant that you kept smiling."

his cheeks were a brilliant shade of red, heart beating fast in his chest, shining eyes large and full of gratitude. he reached into the pocket of his pajamas, leaving the hand under yours where it was, presenting you with a small leather pouch. "here, for you..!"

you took it, pulling the drawstring free, carefully tipping out its context into the palm of your hand. your eyes widened at the sight of something unfamiliar, a pale spiral dotted with rounded peaks, such a detailed creation of delicate beauty despite only being the length of your little finger, the hollow interior a smooth expanse of soft pink, light and fragile like glass.

"armin.. what is this..?"

"i don't know! they're all over the beach, hidden in the sand, but it's beautiful, isn't it??" that enthusiasm had returned, a familiar flutter dancing about in your chest, "i only took two, one for me and you, because i want there to be enough for everyone when we all go and see it together!"

you couldn't help your fascination, running your fingers over every ridge and twirl of the foreign token, cheeks nearly aching from the face-splitting beam that you had no way of containing. but you didn't know if it was this relic in your hand that was making you feel so happy, or the fact that he'd been thinking of you in his brightest moment, held you close enough to his heart that the sole memento he brought back from his trip was for you. you couldn't imagine feeling any other way, lying together, murmuring together, sharing such a rare moment of tranquility with the other now that there was a chance for your people to see past the walls that you had thought would confine you for the rest of your life.

"it's beautiful.." you carefully stowed it away into the small pouch, tucking it into your pocket until you thought of somewhere safe to keep it, turning back to face him, "thank you, armin. i love it."

i love you, you thought to yourself. and, staring into his eyes, returning your hand to clasp around his, you were sure that he was thinking it too.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :��ﾟ. ───

paradis' first victory had been secured late into the night.

you'd been welcomed in the airship by your fellow soldiers, tugged into hugs that were almost more unpleasant than comforting due to the clanks and jabs of your gear hitting theirs, shouts and cheers shared in the main cabin over the first step being taken to secure the future of eldia and the island, but all you could think of was armin. you had been shocked when he'd accepted the role of disabling the harbor, your head filled with the memories of his despondent expressions when he was pulled from the body of the colossal, face steaming and gaunt and so terribly miserable.

you remember how you'd felt your heart jerk into your throat at the blinding flash from across the crumbling city that your squad had turned into its battle ground, debris raining from the sky and a massive crater where the buildings that had previous stood were crushed under armin, the sole survivor of the explosion being the looming figure of sinew and flesh that towered over everything below it. it only took you seconds to realize that he was in the private room near the cockpit reserved for the superior officers and the orchestrators of the siege, resigning to impatiently waiting for the duration of the ride home to speak with him.

for the moment, you tried to join in on the celebrations for having survived the night, turning your attention at jean's demand for everyone to quiet down. but before you could respond with your question of why, there came the sound of something rolling across the wood floor, the deafening crack of a rifle being fired, then the heavy thud of something hitting the ground.

"sasha!" connie screamed, a barrage of bullets coming from beside you, and the sharp ping of metal ricocheting on metal.

there were footsteps around you as you fell back, a sudden, searing heat burning across your stomach, through your entire body, knees giving out and sending you tumbling onto your back. though the ceiling was just above you, it was almost an incomprehensible image, the sound of voices shouting your name distant and murky, like your head had been dunked underwater. you barely caught jean's face, twisted with agony, his hands jostling you as he pressed hard into your abdomen, pain flaring dully up your spine.

"that hurts, jean.." you coughed, something warm and metallic coating your tongue, speech slurring, "why are you screaming..? what was.. that sound..?"

you didn't understand the sudden wave of exhaustion that was suddenly blanketing you, heavy lids falling shut, only to feel yourself being shaken awake. "open your eyes, don't close your eyes!" jean shouted, voice ringing about in your head, far too close to be speaking to you so loudly.

"tired.. just let me rest... just for a minute.."

you tried to remember where you were, why you were so fatigued, why jean was apologizing so frantically and pushing so firmly down on your stomach. you tried to swallow down the liquid gathering in your throat, sputtering and coughing, watching droplets of red spatter across jean's pale, tear-stained complexion, arm unable to lift and wipe them away like you wanted to. you forced your gaze to steady, squinting up at the lantern above your head, trying to pick out a coherent sound between the shouting voices and pounding footsteps.

the sight of another person falling into view left you blinking, struggling to focus on their face with the halo of light that had been cast around their figure, the spotty darkness clouding the edges of your vision making it almost look like the rays of sun that would stream through the canopy of the forest where you trained with your gear in your cadet days.

"armin.." you whispered, smiling when you realized that he was there, not minding the full-body ache that you felt when he pulled you into his arms, "are you okay? why.. why are you crying? we—you know we won..? we did it..."

you wanted to take his face in your hands like you had so many times, wipe away the tears dripping down his cheeks and hold him against you, but every limb felt like it was weighted to the floor, the thought of even lifting a finger feeling like a monumental effort. but he didn't speak like he usually did, didn't tell you what was troubling him so you could choose the right words to make him feel better, just stared down at you with wide, terrified eyes, obscured by his bangs.

"your hair.. getting too long.."

it was hard to breathe now, the blood pooling thick in the back of your mouth, eyes threatening to roll into the back of your head with every slow blink. you remember when his hair had gotten long enough to fall at his collarbones, how he'd come to you with scissors and a sheepish smile on one of your free days, asking if you'd help him cut his hair.

you'd always helped him cut his hair after that, even if he didn't ask, just sat him down whenever you saw that it'd grown long enough that you had to start brushing his bangs from his eyes or away from his forehead to press a soft kiss there. you wanted to be there—not here, staring up at him crying with nothing to do, but in the comfort of his tidy room, in his warm bed, talking back and forth into the early hours of the morning until you reluctantly left so you could get enough sleep in your own bed. why did you always leave? why didn't you ever allow yourself to stay?

you let your eyes fall shut, concentrating on that memory of home, the sound of his voice calling your name becoming more and more distant despite how his warmth felt so vivid, the fresh linen scent of his sheets and clothes, the sound of snipping scissors and the soft locks of his hair threading between your fingers, falling away from his shoulders and fluttering down at your feet.

when you crawled into his bed this time, you threw your arms around him, the covers settling around you, protecting you from the world just outside of his door. you were so tired tonight, but you didn't have to worry about keeping yourself awake to make it back to your room—you could just stay here, sleep peacefully and wake up with him to go to breakfast in the morning.

you really did love being close to him like this.

you really did love armin.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

armin didn't go to your funeral—he couldn't.

he'd gotten dressed that morning, showered despite how he'd never felt entirely clean after having your blood soak into his uniform and stain his skin, put on his nicest clothes, and yet he couldn't bring himself to leave his room—not when he knew the service would be starting soon, not when someone came knocking at his door to let him know that everyone was leaving then, not even as he watched his friends begin the walk away from the scout dormitories from his window.

every time he closed his eyes he saw your face, low-lidded eyes, lips and teeth stained red, dying yet only concerned with asking about him. he couldn't sleep without reliving that night, or dreaming of all the moments you'd shared together. he was so angry, so upset that he hadn't been able to manage even a single word to you before you were gone forever, didn't beg for you to hold out until you got home and you could get proper care on a medical tent on the ground, couldn't have even told you he loved you one last time. it was unfair, that you had always been there to comfort him for years and yet he couldn't offer anything in return for all that time you'd wasted on him. he couldn't understand why he hadn't been able to speak, why he still hadn't let you go after you became limp and heavy in his arms and stopped wheezing in weak, strained breaths, why he couldn't even honor you by commemorating your memory at your funeral. he had never changed, he had always been a coward. maybe that was just who he was meant to be.

and despite such a deep, ceaseless shame that weighed like lead deep in the pit of his stomach, that murmuring voice in his head that told him over and over that it should've been him instead of all his fallen comrades, instead of erwin, instead of you, he still numbly trudged away from the window and out of his room. he didn't know where exactly his feet were taking him until he was turning open the knob on a door, taking in the sight of your quarters.

he felt his eyes sting, warm tears spilling down his face as he stepped out of his shoes, letting out a small sob as he crawled into your unmade bed, still waiting just as you left it for your return home. he buried his face into your pillows, wrapped himself in your blankets and shuddered despite the warmth enveloping him. he could still smell you on the fabric, forcing his eyes shut and trying to remember what it was like to feel your weight on the mattress beside him, hands reaching out even though he knew there was no one beside him to pull close.

he couldn't believe it had only been a few days without you, it had felt like almost like an eternity. he didn't realize just how much he looked forward to your presence during the day, waited for your soft knocks at his door to let him know that you were ready for breakfast, or how your laughter and words filled the air at mealtimes and kept him company in the night when you would whisper together in his bed. though the curtains had been drawn shut, there were still small gaps of sunlight streaming through the sliver between the drapes, illuminating your bedside table, letting him see the gift that he'd gotten you all those years ago, unaffected by time despite its fragility.

and he could only cry harder as he took the small thing into his hands, carefully clutching it to his chest, remembering how delighted you'd looked when he gave it to you, gazing at him with such gratitude and wonder. he would've given anything to go back to that time, where the most pertinent matter on his mind was whether they'd one day be able to make it across the sea and not mourning the deaths of two of the few friends he had left after all this senseless violence.

he wept until he had no more tears left to cry, shivering and pathetic as he laid there, whispering apologies that you'd never hear, trying to memorize the lingering scent that always comforted him when you held him close, letting himself fall asleep in your bed in the hopes that he could find a shred of deliverance in a dream where you were alive and smiling, even if only for that moment in his mind.

[kyber-kisses]

Bone Crushing

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: spn level gore, cursing, Dean being whipped by muscles- you know how it is.

Summary: Sometimes Dean forgets just how strong his best friend is. . . And it may or may not be one of the small factors playing into his crush on you.

A/N: this is me just channeling how I too become whipped by strong women. Please enjoy. The screenshot I based this fic off is at the bottom btw!

This was bad.

This was a huge no no.

It’s a universal truth that you are not supposed to go and catch feelings for your best friend, it’s that simple. You don’t take a joint from a guy named Don, there are no dogs in the car, and you do not develop a dumb crush on your best friend.

What was so hard about following those rules? Specifically the last one?

the answer was easy. You just had to go and be one of the coolest people Dean had ever met didn’t you? You with your dumb jokes and wacky sense of humor, and your kindness and compassion. . . And your dumb muscles.

He felt like a friggin teenage girl that was stunned by some tall hunk. Your muscles weren’t massive by any means but they fit your body well, especially after years of hunting. You were strong as all get out. He had seen you take down demons twice your size and lift up heavy objects with ease.

Dude was almost jealous of your strength if he was gonna be honest.

The moments that really get him though are when you're doing the damn simplest of tasks, like that one morning in the bunker when he watched you open a particularly tight jar in a tank top and your biceps just. . . And then there was that one time up at Jodys place during the Fourth of July when Claire dared you to try and crush a watermelon with your thighs, and that was just an experience within itself. And then there were your hugs, and how you always gave the best ones, sometimes squeezing the air from his lungs. Add that to all the times Dean had let himself be beat by you in sparring and it all equaled one thing:

The man was whipped. and he would be lying if he hadn't thought Please crush me with your biceps more than once.

But you and your muscles were probably the last thing on Deans mind at the moment. . . Seeing as he had been knocked out and chained up by a couple of werewolves in what looked to be a massive storage unit, the massive metal cuffs around his wrists were chained to a bolt in the ceiling, forcing the hunter to stand.

He didn’t know how long he had been out, but when he woke his body jolted, the metal chains rattling slightly as he did. It was dark, the only source of light seeping underneath the heavy duty corrugated door, the type that clearly needed a remote or something to open with how massive the damn thing was.

He had gone out to get food. That was it. He had left you and Sam back at the motel, nose deep in research, saying he would be back in twenty. It had clearly been more than twenty by now. . .but who knew if either of you had realized how long he had been gone.

Yanking on the chains, he turned his gaze upward towards the bolt, squinting in the dark in an attempt to see better, not that it did much good. How he was gonna get out of here, he didn’t have a clue.

God, if he managed to get out of here intact, you were gonna make fun of him for this for years to come. The great Dean Winchester, bested by a couple of werewolves.

Dean spent the next half hour continually pulling on the damn chains, but it was no use. They were bolted in place, the rattling links being his only companion in the dark space. The wolves had yet to come back, no doubt planning all the brilliant ways they could off him, because if you manage to capture a Winchester is something you’re gonna wanna revel in.

Eventually he gave up, instead counting the minutes so he had something to do.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

He was about to hit the fifteen minute mark on his counting when he heard it. A round of gunshots echoing somewhere in the near distance, accompanied by a series of shouts.

Dean watched as a shadow quickly passed by the door and he let out a yell, doing his best to make sure whoever it was heard him through the steel door. A second passed and then the shadow backtracked.

“Dean?”

“Y/N? Oh thank god.”

“I’ll get you out of there, just a sec-“

“Doors pretty damn heavy, I think you need a remote or something to ope—“ Dean was cut off as the wheels squealed in their tracks as you pulled up the door, fingers curling around the bottom as you did. Once open far enough, you ducked and rolled into the room, the metal door slamming against the floor behind you.

“H-how-“

“What?” Groping the walls for a light switch, you finally flicked one, the room lighting up all at once. You spun around, sending him a smile. “There you are.”

“Mmhmmm-“ Dean hummed, doing his best he to not hint at the sudden squeaky high pitched noise that left his throat.. “What the hell took you so long?”

“Well-“ taking a deep breath you squatted down, pulling off your backpack to rifle through it. “Mr. I’ll leave my phone back at the motel. I put a small tracker in your wallet.”

“Oh creepy. You do that to all your friends?”

Popping back up with your lock picking tools you got to work on the massive ones locking his shackles together. “Only the idiot ones that I’m afraid might get themselves captured.”

“Oh how nice of you.”

“I know right?”

A minute later the shackles loosened and slid off his wrists, the hunter stretching as you stepped back and slid the kit back into your pack, slinging it back over your shoulders and cinching the straps.

“You good to go?”

“Yep-“ Dean started, taking a step forward, only to wince as a sharp pain went up his leg, his arm reaching out to brace himself on the wall as he inhaled. So he twisted his ankle, no big deal. He didn't need to make you worry.

Just act fine, Dean, Just act fine.

You were too busy wrestling the massive door back open to notice, your back holding it up as you looked back over. “Dean?”

“I’m fine, all good here-“

Being as subtle as he could, he ducked under the door, you popping up to him a second later as it slammed shut again. “Alright, well then let’s hit the road.”

This time unfortunately you noticed Deans limp as the two of you began to move down the hallway of storage units, the hunter doing a poor job at masking his pain. You stopped quickly in your tracks as your hand went out to grab his arm.

“Dean! I thought you said you were fine?!”

“I am.” He brushed you off, taking another step forward, wincing as his foot hit the floor. “Where’s Sam? Is he okay?”

“Sam’s fine, you big dummy. He took out the wolves-“ rushing forward, you looped Deans arm around your shoulder, supporting his weight, this time the hunter choosing not to protest and just give in. “Now what happened?”

“Probably just twisted my ankle or something when they jumped me. It’s fine.”

And then before he could even register what exactly you were doing, you were quite literally scooping the man up into your arms, carrying him down the remainder of the hallway and out into the brisk night air.

“What are you doing?!”

“Carrying you, what does it look like?”

“Yeah, but why?!”

“Because I can. And because you fucked up your ankle.” You responded, eyes finding Sam leaning against the impala. The younger Winchester raised an eyebrow before Dean sent him a silent middle finger, eyes daring him to bring up what was happening.

“What uh- what happened?” Sam cleared his throat, swinging open the passenger side door so you could slide Dean in.

“Your brother stubbed his toe.”

“Hey, I rolled my ankle!”

“Sure, Jan.” You grinned, sending him a quick wink. The hunter suddenly praying you couldn’t see the pink hue creeping across his face in the dimly lit parking lot.

Sam quickly chose to be the new driver, you sliding into the back as he started the engine and pulled out of the lot.

The drive home was quiet apart from the soft hum of the radio turned down low. You were in the back stitching up a gash you had gotten earlier, Sam had his eyes on the road, and Dean? Dean was trying not to think about the fact that he had a huge fucking crush on you and the fact that you had quiet literally swept him off his feet.

And it was like that all the way home and even when he sunk into one of the many vacant chairs in the library, you excusing yourself so you could go grab a brace for Deans ankle, (Even though he kept insisting he didn’t need one.)

The second you were out of earshot though Sam was turning to his brother, an amused look on his face. Dean frowned, knowing where he was going with this.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything. . . But you having a crush on Y/N is pretty amusing.”

“I don’t not!”

“. . . But you so do.”

“Okay-“ Dean slowly pushed up from his seat, setting down the glass of whiskey you had poured him. “Just because I think about holding her hand and kissing her. . .or whatever, does not mean I have a crush on her.”

Sam’s face slightly pulled up in further amusement, Deans death glare just making the whole thing funnier. “Wow, you are so much dumber than I originally thought, holy shit.”

“Okay, you know what? Your gonna do that thing where you shut up forever, okay? Okay, cool.” Grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair, the older Winchester headed for the hallway, half limping as he did.

And then he turned the corner. . . And froze.

You were standing in the middle of the hallway, your box of braces tucked under your arm, eyebrows raised.

“H-HEy! Didn’t see you there!” His attempt at acting smooth and calm sailing out the window as he talked, giving you an awkward smile.

“Oh, I know you didn’t.”

“H-how- how much did you hear just now? Just curious.”

You took a several steps closer, lightly shrugging. “Not much. Other than the fact that you have a big ol crush on me.”

“W-whaaaaaattttt? No!” Dean shook his head, bumping into the wall as he backed up. “No! I don’t- I don’t have a crush on you!”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He could feel his cheeks heating up again. Damn it.

You dropped the box on the floor, stepping over it slowly as you continued to walk closer. “Are you sure about that? Because your rosy red cheeks are tellin me another story.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Think about something else. Look at something else- No! Not her arms you idiot, that’s just gonna-

Your chest was practically touching Deans now as you stood toe to toe with him, the wall cool against his back as he looked into your eyes.

“You want me to stop?”

“S-stop what?” Dean stuttered, his breath coming out slightly shaky as he did.

Oh my god, why were you so pretty and badass and cool and strong and-

And then you were bending your knees slightly, hooking your arms around Deans thighs and picking him up, successfully pinning him to the damn wall, his arm flying out to brace himself as the sudden action took him by surprise. The hunter letting out a light yell.

“This.”

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

“N-no.”

And then your lips were on Deans and he was suddenly taken back by how gentle you are because he knew how much strength your body held and the feeling of your lips on his was so gentle it was just. . . So surprising.

And so damn nice.

Dean hardly had a moment to react before you pressed your tongue to the seam of his lips and, at his grant of access, delved inside his mouth.

Oh this was so much better than could have thought. So so much better. And he didn’t even give a single damn that you were the one pinning him to the damn wall. If anything he liked it. . . A lot.

As the two of you deepened the kiss the only thing that went running through Deans mind was that he was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours he’d spent with you- watching you talk, laugh and frown - that he would know all there was to know about your lips. But he hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed up against his own.

“Seriously guys?! I mean, not that I’m not thrilled or anything but in the hallway?! C’mon!” Sam’s voice breaking you apart slightly as you looked over your shoulder, Dean flipping him off once again as Sam grimaced and walked down a separate hallway.The younger Winchester shaking his head as he went.

When you looked back around, eyes finding Deans yet again, arms still holding him up he felt the awkwardness return.

“Y-your uh- you’re really strong.”

“Oh why thank you.” You smiled, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “And if you couldn’t tell by now, I got a big ol crush on you too.”

(Interested in which screenshot this fic is based off of?)

SPN Taglist: (Still Open)

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[wolveria]

Mechanical Heart - Ch. 3

Pairing: RK800-60 x f!Reader

Summary: RK800 Model 313 248 317 - 60 had the perfect bait to lure in his defective predecessor. He’d run the scenario thousands of times, preconstructed his strategy in every conceivable way, and he simply could not fail.

The one scenario 60 didn’t anticipate was his sudden instability from the presence of the human, and the desire objective to take from Connor what should have been his.

Prompt: Toxic by 2WEI (for my writing challenge at @trashmenofmarvel​)

Chapter Warnings: References to rape/noncon, violence, angst

Word Count: 5.2k

AO3

The elevator ride to the basement was the longest in your existence, even worse than the first time you’d stepped into the glass box.

The android who’d kidnapped you, attacked you, ripped your heart and soul to pieces stood beside you, silent and unmoving. He’d herded you toward a different elevator at the back of the lounge, discreet and hidden, but he’d avoided making any physical contact with you. In fact, he hadn’t touched you since the couch.

His dark patterned tie was secured around his collar, neatly in place and unwrinkled; no trace left behind that it’d bound your wrists behind your back minutes ago.

Sixty hadn’t said a word to you either, other than the stiff “move” and “get inside” instructions he had delivered in a moody tone.

But he didn’t touch you, and for that small mercy you were grateful. You think if he had, you would have screamed and never stopped. You were barely holding it together, your composure bound by frayed threads of the poorest quality. Scooped out and hollow, that’s what you felt. Your reflection in the glass mirrored your inner state, haunted eyes and a haggard face staring back at you.

The outside went dark as the elevator entered the subterranean levels, the inner lighting casting an unnatural pallor over your skin. It only added to the visage that you were more corpse than living being.

Down you went into the depths of the earth, trapped and weighed down by the oppressive presence standing next to you. It didn’t matter one bit that he was being quiet, his nearness made your head ring like the aftereffects of an exploded grenade. Or a discharged gun. You knew what that sounded like now.

The darkness was interrupted, brightening with an artificial glow as an expansive warehouse opened before you. It was filled with hundreds of thousands of androids, all standing in neat rows with identical faces and identical white uniforms.

Your heart beat harder as you breathing quickened, mind and body coming back from the dead when you realized what this was and what it meant.

Connor.

You took a step forward, ready to bolt as soon as the doors open, unperturbed by the squad of armored CyberLife security waiting at the bottom of the lift.

You had to warn Connor, tell him it was a trap!

An iron grip clamped around your bicep, pulling you back as a second arm wrapped around your neck. You were effectively trapped against a solid chest just as the elevator came to a smooth stop.

“Don’t make a scene,” Sixty growled against your ear. “Play it smart and there’s no reason you can’t survive this.”

You gritted your teeth and turned your head away, saying nothing. It wasn’t as if he cared whether you lived or died. You weren’t sure you cared much at this point either, but you did care about protecting Connor, and you couldn’t do that if you were dead.

The doors opened and Sixty pulled you through, your fingers digging into the arm still trapped around your shoulders as he approached the armed squad. One of the men nodded to him, none of them appearing surprised by your presence.

Behind their shielded helmets where you couldn’t see their eyes, it felt like you were invisible. Or that you were the only human in the room.

“The deviant killed its escort and will be arriving in T-minus thirty seconds,” the man apparently in charge told the android.

Your heart surged in your chest. Even though you were the bait in a well-laid trap, you couldn’t stop the intense sense of relief and desperation to see Connor again.

“Then what are you waiting for? Destroy it,” Sixty responded with an unexpected amount of hostility in his voice.

If the guard was offended, he didn’t acknowledge it. He turned to his squad with a hand signal and they converged on the other side of the room toward another elevator.

Sixty scoffed, a light huff of disgust that surprised you. “They don’t stand a chance.”

Before you could ask why he would send them to their deaths if that was the case, he dragged you sideways into the thick throng of inactive androids.

You were effectively cut off from most of the room, unable to see past the army of frozen limbs. It was like standing in an especially disturbing cornfield made of rows white-clad bodies and brunette heads instead of green stalks and yellow ears of corn.

Sixty still held you tight within the crook of his arm, and when you jolted at the sound of sudden gunfire, he increased the pressure on your collarbone in warning.

You ignored him and opened your mouth to shout for Connor to run, but he clamped a hand over your mouth to silence the cry before it left your lips. Now both of his arms pinned you to his chest and you squeezed your eyes shut, desperately trying to ward off the memories. You heart thudded in your chest, hating how he could feel it too.

“Like I said,” he said in a voice laden with constricting silk, “I don’t want to hurt you more than necessary, so behave like a good girl."

You stilled your struggles but in no way relaxed, your body one giant, tensed muscle. Sixty didn’t remove his hand, and in fact, just stood there for a moment, keeping you trapped against him. You didn’t know what he was waiting for, and when he finally moved, pulling you with him, you stumbled in your haste to not be dragged along.

As soon as you broke from the line of androids, Sixty removed one hand and replaced it with the cold barrel of a gun pressed against the underside of your jaw.

You barely felt it, too absorbed by the sight before you.

Connor. Alive. Completely unharmed, as far as you could tell. Standing in profile, grasping the arm of one of the slumbering androids, the bodies of the security team lying in a half-circle in front of the open elevator.

Even from here you could see the massive pools of blood, and the knowledge that Connor could kill so efficiently and ruthlessly made your stomach twist in a confusing mixture of dread and concern.

No, you told yourself harshly. This is different. He didn’t have a choice. Connor isn’t like him.

“Step back, Connor!” Sixty called out, loud and clear. “And I’ll spare her!”

You’d never seen the android startle in the time you’d known him, but Connor jerked his head in your direction. His LED spun a distressed yellow as soon as his widened eyes landed on you, restrained within Sixty’s unyielding control.

Connor spoke your name, breathless, as if he’d been punched in the gut.

“Your friend’s life is in your hands,” Sixty told him, voice echoing across the massive space. “Now it’s time to decide what matters most! Her… or the revolution!”

He was using you, once again, this time to hurt Connor. The look on Connor’s face went from shock to anger as he looked you up and down in a way you knew meant he was scanning you.

“What… what did you do to her?” he forced out between clenched teeth.

Shame flooded your cheeks and stung your eyes. You didn’t want him to know, not now, not ever, and certainly not like this.

“Connor,” you begged, wincing as Sixty squeezed tighter, “what happens to me doesn’t matter! You can’t listen to him; you have to help your people!”

“I can’t do that,” he said, his brown eyes shining with regret. “Not if it means putting your life at risk.”

You sagged with defeat and exhaustion, hating how Sixty’s arms were the only thing holding you up as you wavered on your feet.

“Very moving, Connor,” Sixty taunted, sounding as pleased as the cat that ate the canary.

Connor ignored the jab, his mouth pressing into an unhappy line, one hand still tight around the android’s forearm.

Please. Just activate them. You can’t let him win!

You knew, deep down, if Sixty prevented Connor from helping the deviants, then your suffering would have been for nothing. You didn’t think you could live with yourself if that was the case.

A horrible thought entered your head, as shocking as it was appealing. If you could just grab the gun, force Sixty to pull the trigger… he would no longer have you as a bargaining chip. Connor could free the androids and Sixty could no longer use you to—

You bit down on the thought, effectively killing it. You couldn’t do that, not to Connor. Not when he was watching you with wide, worried eyes, as if he knew the dreadful calculations running through your mind.

“If I surrender, how do I know you won’t kill her?” Connor asked, his focus darting from Sixty’s face to yours as he worried his lip in a painfully human gesture.

For once, you wished Connor would act more like a machine, choosing the fate of his people over one human life.

“I’ll only do what is strictly necessary to accomplish my mission,” Sixty responded coldly.

Liar! He didn’t have to bind and gag you! He didn’t have to force off your clothes and degrade you, humiliate you! He did it because he could!

You tried to wriggle out of his arms, indignant rage getting the better of you, but it was a lost battle from the start in your weakened state. Sixty stilled your brief struggles with a tightening of his arm, voice hard as he added, “It’s up to you whether or not that includes killing his human.”

Connor looked as if he was on the verge of bolting to you, his brown eyes blazing and his jaw tensed so you could see the shape of the plastic chassis beneath.

“Enough talk!” Sixty jabbed the gun hard enough against your jaw to make the metal creak. You gritted your teeth, angry tears and a humiliated flush warming your cheeks as he crushed you against his body. Through your thin pajamas you could feel too much of him, and disgust shuddered through your limbs.

“It’s time to decide who you really are,” Sixty resumed his taunts. “Are you gonna save your girlfriend’s life? Or are you going to sacrifice her?”

He spoke the word girlfriend with a mocking sneer, as if he found the idea amusing. But you’d known Connor long enough to recognize the different inflections and emotions in that voice. Sixty wasn’t nearly as unaffected as he was trying to sound.

Under that layer of taunting was a level of anger. The kind of anger that was simmering, irrational, and ultimately deadly towards those who tasted it.

“All right, all right!” Connor exclaimed, letting go of the android and backing away with his arms extended. “You win.”

You felt the change instantly—the loosening of Sixty’s muscles in smug triumph, the slight shift of his balance as he moved the gun away from your chin and towards the android who meant so much to you.

In that moment, you didn’t think, only acted. Sixty swiveled the gun at Connor and his attention was off you for a split second, but that’s all you needed. You jabbed your elbow backwards as hard as you could.

Right into his Thirium pump regulator.

“Mmph!”

Sixty let out a surprisingly human noise of pain, loosening his grip just enough for you to move.

You ducked under his grip, shoved your feet against the ground to sprint away, but Sixty’s fingers tangled in the edge of your shirt and you slipped on the polished floor, falling on your hip.

Barely feeling the blow, you scrambled around to face him, backpedaling against the floor and forced to a stop when he aimed the gun at your face.

Sixty’s glare was full of malice, his brows drawn into a dangerous line as the gun’s barrel loomed large in your vision.

But he didn’t shoot. The bridge of his nose crinkled briefly, like an involuntary twitch, and his blue LED blinked rapidly.

When it burned yellow his hand began to tremble, visibly shaking the weapon. Before you could wonder how you were still alive, a blurred figure entered your vision.

Connor slammed his shoulder hard into Sixty’s stomach, tackling him violently enough to force him to drop the gun. The momentum carried them several feet, dress shoes skidding across the glassy floor for purchase as they grappled for control.

Sixty gripped Connor tight and threw him over his back, tossing him to the ground and standing up to his full height, concentrated rage darkening his eyes.

You had moved back far enough that your shoulder bumped one of the AP700 models in the leg, and your gaze fell on to the discarded gun. You made a dash for it, slowed down as you skidded to the side to avoid the two androids locked in combat.

Each kick, punch, and jab seemed to be met with a mirrored counter. They knew each other’s moves, struck and dodged with the same terrifying grace, and you quickly lost track of who was who. Both opponents seemed equally vicious, causing synthetic skin to retract from damage inflicted by flying knuckles and jabbing elbows.

One of the androids tried to body kick the other, missing him as he rolled out of the way, but he was intercepted with a grab to his jacket. The android raised his fist, but you raised the gun faster.

“Stop!”

The androids froze and turned to look at you at the same time, identical expressions of deadly focus blazing up at you.

“Get up. Slowly,” you ordered, gripping the gun tighter so it would stop trembling.

They obeyed, cautious and careful as they separated and stood apart.

Your hand lightly shook as you moved the gun between them, looking down at their jackets but not close enough to read the tiny serial numbers.

Shit. If you wanted to know which one was Connor, you’d have to move closer, an idea you knew was as stupid as it was suicidal; you’d seen how fast both of them moved. Any closer and Sixty would take a chance and attack.

And since androids didn’t take chances that weren’t in their favor, you would lose, and the deviant revolution would die with Connor.

You licked your lips nervously, eyes flickering between them as you hovered in indecision.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” the one to your right asked, brows drawn over his eyes as he cocked his head.

“It’s me, Y/N. I’m the real Connor,” the one to your left stated. He did sound like the earnest Connor you knew, but… the other android was looking at you with a confused expression you’d seen too many times before not to recognize.

“I can’t… just… let me think,” you hissed out, wincing at the throbbing in your head and your injured hip.

Time was running out, each tick that went by bringing you closer to disaster, but how the hell were you going to tell them apart? They looked exactly alike, and you hated the fact you couldn’t identify Connor from the android who had kidnapped and degraded you. You felt sick, nauseous down to your bones.

Oh, God, why couldn’t you tell your friend apart from a monster?

“Don’t you recognize me?” the first one spoke again. “I’m the real Connor. Give me the gun and I’ll take care of him.”

“No!” You steadied the pistol in your hand, pointing it at him. “You stay right there. Don’t move, either of you.”

The android slowly closed his mouth and nodded his head. Not something you would ever expect Sixty to do, but if he had all of Connor’s memories… he would know exactly how Connor would react in this situation.

“Why don’t you ask us something?” the second android asked. “Something only the real Connor would know.”

You frowned, worrying your lips between your teeth. What could Connor possibly know that Sixty didn’t? He had all of his memories. But would the real Connor know that?

“Okay,” you agreed, pointing your gun at the android who had given the idea. “Where did we first meet?”

“Urban Farms of Detroit,” he said without hesitation. “I had been tracking a suspected deviant employed there. I questioned all of his coworkers, but you stood out. Your answers were inconsistent with your biorhythms, indicating you were lying. I… chose not to bring you in for interrogation, and instead waited to see if Rupert Travis would seek out your help. He didn’t, but… I still came back to see you. You were… nice to me,” he finished, his brown eyes large and painfully vulnerable.

Something hard and rigid you hadn’t realized was sitting deep in your chest began to loosen. This was your Connor. You knew it.

But… you had to be sure.

“Why do I help deviants?” you asked of the same android.

It wasn’t anything you’d told Connor. The answer wouldn’t be tucked away in his memories, but instead, in your own past. If Connor had ever cared about you, he would have looked himself and be able to piece the puzzle together.

This question would separate your friend from your enemy.

But the android didn’t answer. He opened his mouth and paused, yellow LED furiously spinning like a tire trapped in mud, and the pit widened in your stomach as your expression fell.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” he finally said, looking up at you with saddened eyes.

Was it a ruse? How good was Sixty at lying and pretending he had emotions? He would know all of Connor’s mannerisms, his good, eager-to-please nature. Sixty would know all the ways Connor appealed to you, so how were you supposed to tell—

“You ran away from home when you were fifteen.”

You blinked and trained the gun on the first android. He met your eye unblinkingly, expression serious as his voice pitched low.

“Your step-dad beat your mom. When he got tired of that, he beat you too. So you ran away.” His tilted his head gently to the side. “You had nowhere to go. No extended family or friends, and you didn’t go to the police or a shelter. Instead, you hid in an abandoned house.”

You couldn’t look away, enraptured by the story he told in a voice that was achingly familiar.

“Androids weren’t very sophisticated back then. CyberLife made them cheap, too, so they were disposable. This one was a runaway, just like you. Maybe that’s why he took care of you. Stole you clothing and food, anything you needed. He was a deviant. Probably one of the first.”

He leveled his gaze at you, eyes dark but not unkind as he said, “The police got a call about a kid squatting in the house. They picked you up and sent the defective android off to a recycler. That’s the gratitude he received for helping a human. You live with that guilt, and that’s why you help deviants, trying to pay a debt that’ll never be squared.”

Connor, because you knew it had to be Connor, furrowed his brows and said slowly, “It wasn’t your fault, Y/N. You don’t owe us anything.”

It was him. The other android had known where you’d met, because Sixty had all of Connor’s memories. But this, this was only something Connor would know.

You hadn’t realized you had been lowering the gun until the other android shifted, forcing you to put him in your sights.

“No,” he said, panic in his eyes as he reached out a hand. “No, don’t listen to him! He’s not the real—“

The android took a step forward, and you fired on reflex, pulling the trigger without stopping to think—

The recoil was a shock, stinging and numbing your fingers instantly. The android gave a strained cry as he clutched at his chest and dropped to his knees.

He looked up at you with naked shock, and you knew… You knew even before the other android spoke…

“Wrong choice, Y/N.”

All compassion and kindness dropping from his voice like a dead weight being cast into the sea.

When Sixty strode forward and took the gun from your hand, you didn’t resist, coldness spreading through you like a flash-freeze as you stared down at Connor. Your friend, who you had just…

Connor pressed his hand to his chest, blue liquid trickling over his knuckles, shoulders moving with strained breaths as his LED spun a frantic red.

You rushed forward and dropped to your knees in front of him, putting your hand over his to staunch the bleeding, choking on your panic. “No, no, no, Connor, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t, I’m so sorry—“

“It’s okay.” His voice was gentle, even as he winced and tried to give you a reassuring expression. “This is what… he was designed to do.”

You were too focused on trying to keep him alive, palm pressed tight to his wound, to pay attention to what Sixty was doing. When you took a second to check, you saw he hadn’t gone far, just a few feet behind you as he watched the scene unfold with dark, predatory eyes.

“It’s not, not too bad,” Connor said, attempting a slight smile as he placed his other hand over yours. “Nothing important was damaged. Lucky for me you missed hitting any vital biocomponents.”

“I’m so sorry, Connor,” you gasped, regret and sorrow choking your words. “It’s—it’s gonna be all right, we’ll get you some help.”

“That’s not gonna happen, sweetheart.”

You clenched your jaw, an automatic reaction to that hurtful voice behind you. You looked back over your shoulder to see him standing in the same spot, but this time his gun was trained on your back.

“I still haven’t finished my mission. Now… Get out of my way.”

Anger roiled in your gut, and you took your hand off Connor’s wound. He tried to grab you, probably preconstructing what you were going to do, but his fingers slipped from yours, the Thirium coating your hand too slick for him to gain purchase.

You rose to your feet and slowly turned around, making sure to plant yourself directly between Connor and the android threatening to kill him. You had him completely blocked from view, and therefore, from Sixty’s next bullets.

“No.”

Sixty brought up the barrel of the gun, aiming directly at your head.

“You think I’m bluffing?”

He moved the muzzle a few inches to the side and fired. You winced as you actually felt the displaced air next to you from the path of the bullet, and winced again when you heard the body of a helpless android hit the ground.

“I think you’re stalling,” you said, flinching when a bullet sparked off the floor next to your slippers.

You knew logically you should be terrified, but you only felt sick from the force of your rage. Maybe if you’d been alone you would be afraid, but you had Connor to think about, to protect at all costs.

“I think you’re losing control,” you kept going through the shake in your voice, gaining confidence the longer he went without actually killing you. “I think you already lost it, and you’re terrified what they’ll do to you if you fail—“

“Shut up!”

Bright pain sliced through shoulder as the third bullet just glanced across your skin. Warm trickles of blood dripped down your arm, but the wound was shallow and stung more than anything else.

Sixty was breathing hard, his shoulders rising with each rapid expansion. You knew from past experience with distressed deviants that his systems and processors were overworking for him to need to take in so much air.

Because you were right. He wasn’t just stalling, he was worried.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled even as the underlying shakiness was back in his voice. “My mission is to stop the deviants, and I always accomplish my mission.”

“Then finish it.”

Your own voice was more than a strained cry, your heart thudding wildly and every instinct telling you to run. But you wouldn’t. Not when you were the last line of defense between him and Connor.

“Finish your mission, if that’s all you care about.”

One moment he was several feet away; within the blink of an eye, he was standing right in front of you, the muzzle pressed between your bleary eyes with cold, unforgiving precision.

You didn’t know how you were still standing with how hard your knees were trembling, but stand you did, refusing to cede ground.

You weren’t the only one who was trembling. Sixty’s hand shook so hard you could feel it against your skin, shuddering in his grip.

Was it really happening, right now before your eyes? Or was Sixty faking it? You hadn’t seen an android deviate in person, but they’d told you what it was like. Stepping outside of themselves to find a red wall barring them from disobeying their core code. If they wanted to escape from their own programmed prison, they had to tear it down piece by piece.

Sixty still hadn’t moved, his lips pulled into a grimace as his LED blared a solid red, the most distressed an android could be without starting to shut down.

Was… was he actually—

Suddenly, an iron grip circled your waist and yanked, and you were thrown the ground a second time.

Connor kneeled above you, and with one swift movement, he retrieved a pistol from the back of his waistband and pulled the trigger.

One.

Two.

Three.

With a sharp cry, Sixty staggered and fell backwards, hitting the floor with a sickening thud. Bleeding from three new bullet holes, fresh Thirium spilling down his jacket and staining his white dress shirt blue, pooling around his body.

Connor’s expression was harsh and immutable, a sort of cold rage that would have looked more at home on Sixty’s face. He approached the other android and raised his gun—

—only to have it lowered again with the pressure of your palm pressing down on the barrel.

Connor looked up at you, brown doe-eyes blinking as if he was waking from a trance.

“Don’t,” you whispered, curling your fingers around the gun. “Please. It’s over.”

You should let Connor finish it; put the last bullet right between Sixty’s eyes. It wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it.

But… you couldn’t. Not when he was so much like Connor. Even now, after everything Sixty had done, the thought of letting Connor kill this sorry, twisted imitation filled you with more sadness than it did satisfaction.

You looked at the android on the ground, his LED pulsing red like a distress beacon. He was panting for breath, straining for the air that would cool his overheating circuits. If you didn’t know better, you would say he was in pain. He was definitely no longer a threat to anyone, not in the condition he was in.

“You’re right.” Connor’s words held a finality to them as he replaced the gun behind his belt. He reached down, picked up the gun that Sixty had used to threaten you, and handed it to you grip first.

You looked up at him, questioningly. Not understanding his grim expression until he added, “Just in case.”

Just in case you want to end him yourself.

A lump was trapped in your throat, unpleasant and hard. How much did Connor know? He must have had a good idea if he was willing to let you take a life. Even his.

As Connor walked away, back to the androids he needed to awaken, you held the gun in your hand as you appraised the android who had ruined your life, taking the most fragile parts of you and carelessly shattering them on the ground like a child throwing a tantrum.

He didn’t look so smug now. There was no haughty smirk, no biting words, no cruel spark in his gaze. Just a flashing red LED, blood-drenched hands, and eyes that looked strangely watery in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

“Well?” he asked, voice full of static, an indicator of how severely damaged was. “What are you waiting for? Pull the trigger.”

Even through the muffled quality of his voice you could hear the undeniable truth. Sixty was afraid.

Not from dying, no. In fact, Connor had seriously injured him but left him purposefully alive. You’d repaired enough damaged androids to know fatal wounds when you saw them, and these weren’t it. You didn’t think Connor had done it to be merciful. You suspected a fate worse than death awaited Sixty for his failure if what Connor had told you about Amanda was even half-true.

You shook your head, staring down at the gun before letting it return limp by your side.

“You asked what was so special about me.”

The rest of your anger bled out of you like venom drained from a wound, leaving you with a bone-weary exhaustion. “Nothing. That’s the answer. There’s nothing special about me.”

As you gazed down at the android, bleeding and scared and utterly alone in the world, you felt a shred of the thing he never gave you.

“But I did learn how to be kind,” you said softly. “I learned, because someone showed me.”

The sleeping androids began to awaken. They moved, spoke, touching each other on the shoulders and spreading their message of freedom and hope. With each one that became truly alive, Sixty looked more and more defeated, but his dark eyes never strayed from your face.

“If you survive this,” you repeated Sixty’s earlier words but without any of his coldness, “I hope you learn some kindness…”

You leaned closer, quiet so Connor wouldn’t hear.

“…so you can understand exactly what it was you did to me.”

His brows creased inward, something in his expression conflicted and confused, but you didn’t wait around for him to figure it out.

When you rejoined Connor by his side, he looked down at you with a sad angle of his lips. The sight of it hurt, and you knew the horror of shooting him was something that would linger for a long time. You wondered if he would ever forgive you, but knowing Connor, he already had.

“Aren’t you leaving with them?” you asked, noting how the clone army of androids was making its way to the freight elevators all along the walls.

“They know where to go,” Connor replied, his voice still somehow so gentle. “Markus will get the aid he needs. I’m taking you home.”

The protest died on your lips. The fact was, you didn’t want to be alone, and with the streets still filled with soldiers, you didn’t even know if you could make it back to your apartment safely.

So you nodded and tried not to flinch when he put his hand on the small of your back. Sensing your unease, Connor moved his hand away, leaving you cold with regret.

As you made your way to the elevator that would take you away from this hellish place, your resolve to not look back weakened… and broke. You glanced over your shoulder to find Sixty half-propped up on an elbow, his expression twisted as he watched you retreat with Connor.

His lips were curled in rage, but his eyes were glistening with an agony that stayed with you long after the elevator doors pulled shut.

[letthistrainbreakdown]

Little Healer (Loki x Reader)

Summary: There was no point in longing for something you couldn't have. It would only lead to heartbreak, right? Of course, it's easier to tell yourself that than for your heart to listen. But when the object of your longing, the god of mischief himself, gets injured in a fight and you are required to treat him, an admission is made that surprises you.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word count: 4.5k 

You grimaced as the wind shifted the leaves of the tree you were sitting underneath, letting the sun directly into your eyes. You shifted to avoid the glare and turned the page of the book you were reading. It was a rare occasion that you had free time this early in the day, but the healing ward had few patients and Eir had dismissed you, allowing you to finally sit down under the massive trees in the Asgardian courtyard and finish the novel you were in the middle of.

A sound of bustling and footsteps nearby shook you out of the imaginary world. A group of people, some courtiers, but a few servants and guards behind them, were walking down the garden path towards you. Curious as to what they were doing, you watched them pass you and head south, towards the training grounds.

I wonder if there’s a sparring match going on, you thought. Not interested in witnessing such a spectacle you returned back to your book. Until it struck you that perhaps a certain god of mischief could be among the sparring parties. It would make sense. Whenever Thor and Loki sparred together, the scene drew quite the crowd.

You closed your book, stood up, and brushed off your plain brown dress before starting after the retreating mass. Sure enough, as you approached the training grounds you saw both princes putting on their protective armor and doing their normal pre-fighting rituals.

You made your way to your normal seat, in the second row of seating surrounding the sparring arena. Once upon a time you came and watched matches like these nearly every day. Fandral had been attempting to pursue you then, and after his initial charms were received with diffidence, he had invited you to watch him train and spar with both princes, Sif, Vostagg and Hogun. You capitulated, but not because you wanted to watch Fandral. It gave you a convenient excuse to watch someone else.

Every evening after your shift in the healing ward, you’d come to the pitch and sit in the same seat. You’d doze as Fandral showed off his swordsmanship. It was impressive, but nothing extraordinary. But when Loki stepped into the ring, you became alert, watching his every graceful move, mesmerized.

Coming to watch them so often allowed you to develop some friendliness with both princes and The Warriors Three and Sif. You had known them all before and even occasionally studied with them, having grown up in the palace as the daughter of one of the royal tutors. And, of course, now that you were a palace healer you had mended many a cut or joint out of place on all of them every so often. But you still hadn’t known any of them very well until you had come to watch them fight. There, they were all in their element, and loved someone to brag to or seek validation from.

You found them all enjoyable company, even Fandral, as stubborn as he was in trying to woo you. But of all of them, you appreciated it when the raven haired prince sauntered over to you and made a cunning remark the most. Occasionally he’d ask you what you were reading, and you’d share a brief conversation about books. It didn’t take long before you were smitten.

Alas, after months of little success, Fandral gave up on trying to win your affections, and he no longer encouraged you to come to the training grounds to watch him. You were sure you would still be welcomed still, but it felt strange to go. Besides, your crush on the younger prince had grown into something fearsome, and it was probably best to distance yourself from him a bit. He would never even look twice at you. There was no point in longing for something you couldn’t have. It would only bring heartbreak.

Still, on occasion you travelled down the garden path to watch Loki. You especially liked it when he fought with his Seidr. Wielding magic, no single person could stand against him, so he would battle multiple at the same time. It was truly extraordinary you thought. And every so often he graced you with his presence in the healing ward after a rough day of training required some mending. You would have expected him to have known enough healing magic to take care of himself, but you weren’t complaining.

Strange, you now thought, when you realized that additional barricades had been added around the arena. That was normally only done for an official fight, or for… no. They weren’t doing that, surely.

You saw Sif pass by in front of you and you called out to her.

“What’s going on?” you asked. “Are Thor and Loki not simply sparring together?”

Sif turned to you and rolled her eyes. “No. No, they’re not doing anything so reasonable as that.” A loud roaring and rumbling came from the corner of the arena. You jumped and turned to see a gate open and a ginormous, horned beast emerged with a pair of formidable antlers protruding from it’s forehead. Around its neck and head was a yellow, glowing bridle. Magical, you knew, in order to subdue the creature. Four palace guards held onto the ends, guiding it into the arena, although it seemed less than enthusiastic.

“Don’t tell me...,”

“That they’re going to be fighting a bilgesnipe?” She shook her head. “I wish I could.”

“Do they not remember last time?” You said, wincing. Last time the brothers attempted to bring down a bilgesnipe together, they both ended up under your care. The bilgesnipe had done a particularly nasty number on both of them.

Sif snorted. “It seems not, especially since Loki has decided to fight without his Seidr.”

You blinked, processing Sif’s words. Then you suddenly stood, making your way down the rows of seating to the grass. Sif looked at you in askance. “Are you leaving?”

You shook your head. “No, I’m going to attempt to talk some sense into them.”

Sif nodded, looking incredulous. “I doubt you’ll be able to, but good luck.”

You easily scaled the barrier and made your way through the people milling around until you approached Loki. He spotted you when you got closer.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite little healer,” he said, smirking at you. “I’m so glad you could make it to watch the show.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” you started, ignoring his greeting. “Are you insane? You’re going to get yourself killed, you and your brother!” Loki raised an eyebrow. “Your highness,” you added hastily, bowing your head slightly. You might know the brothers well, but not well enough to shed decorum so brazenly as you were.

His smirk didn’t fade. If anything it got wider, making you furious. “Yes, I am very aware of what I am doing, little healer. I doubt we shall be killed, but what a spectacular death that would be to witness.”

“Don’t joke about that, your highness.”

He sobered a little. “Well, you are here, little healer. If we sustain any injury, I am confident in your ability to keep us alive. How fortunate that you decided to show up then.”

You huffed. Then your voice lowered, becoming plaintive. “Please, my prince. Please be cautious. At least use your Seidr.”

His smile was gentler and he met your eyes and held contact as he spoke. “You need not worry for me, little healer, but I appreciate your concern anyway.”

A warmth blossomed to your chest, making its way through your body, including up your neck to your cheeks. You broke the eye contact, hoping he didn’t notice the subtle flush of your face. You sighed. “You really aren’t going to be swayed from this, are you?”

The teasing lilt returned to his voice. “Now where would be the fun in that?”

You returned to your seat, your lips set in a firm line. Part of you wished to leave, to avoid witnessing the sheer stupidity of both brothers. But Loki was right. If either of them was to get injured, you would be needed on site. So you stayed.

“My brother and I will be attempting to bring down this beast,” Thor’s booming voice announced to the crowd once they were about to start, as if it wasn’t already clear what was happening. “The rules are as normal: whoever lands the decisive blow against the beast will be the champion. And to make it interesting, and fair,” Thor added, “he will be using no magic.” 

Small, appreciative murmurs could be heard throughout the crowd. Apparently it hadn’t been common knowledge that Loki would forego his Seidr for this fight. As you looked around, you noticed many shifting forward in their seats, even more eager to see what was about to happen.

You, instead, sunk deep into your seat, sighing in frustration. Then, seconds before the showdown was about to start, you saw the younger prince look towards you, lock eyes, smile mischievously, and then wink. You sunk even deeper, trying to ignore the giddiness that you suddenly felt. Loki was a flirt, it was no special sign of affection, you reminded yourself.

The fight started out banally. The poor bilgesnipe rambled around the arena, occasionally charging at both brothers clumsily and crashing into the barrier along the side. Both were being careful, making sure to steer clear and only come as close as they had to in order to land a blow. Good, you thought. But after a few bloody nicks from Loki’s daggers and a hard blow to the head from Mjolnir, the animal started becoming angered and frantic. He attacked quicker, making it harder to get out of the way in time to avoid the blow of his antlers. 

Loki and Thor had both been thrown to the ground multiple times, each one marked by an excited ‘ooh’ from the audience. You flinched each time, but the brothers always got up. Though as the fight continued, you could see the tiredness wear down on them. You started to worry.

Loki positioned himself towards the edge of the arena, taunting the bilgesnipe again. If he had his Seidr, he would have used an illusion, but this Loki was all to real because even though he stepped out of the way before the bilgesnipe could maul him, as he drew his knife to attack his side, the animal suddenly jerked it’s head to the right, and it’s antlers collided right into Loki’s shoulder. 

Loki let out a pained grunt and stumbled back, his opposite arm grasping the injured shoulder. His steps were wobbly, and his facial features were contorted. You could see blood beginning to drip from the rip in his armor. The crowd let out an audible gasp. You, on the other hand, stood immediately, ready to rush down onto the field to treat him. You're not sure how he knew you were about to leap over the barricade yourself to help you, but he turned to you, met your eyes and waved a hand away, as if to tell you to sit down, that he was fine. You stuttered, but eventually did so.

The fight didn’t last long after that. Thor hit the bilgesnipe’s head so hard with his hammer that it was dazed for just long enough for Loki deftly roll on the ground and delivered the final blow to it’s underbelly. The creature let out a ghastly screech and flailed around before collapsing onto the ground. 

The crowd was silent for a moment, taking in what had just happened. They hadn’t expected the younger prince to be the victor, not without his magic. But soon enough they broke into an only slightly muted applause. Loki took a bow, a large, triumphant grin on his face. When he raised his eyes again, he met yours. His smile grew wider, but then you saw his lips twitch. The wince was so subtle you were sure only you caught it. He was hurt, badly, you realized, but he was pretending otherwise.

You stood up and walked quickly down the field and towards the entrance of the armoury where you saw him making his way towards. He was waving to some of the crowd and accepting the congratulations of some of the warriors that had come to watch.

“That blow to your shoulder looked nasty,” you heard one of the men say as Loki approached where you were.

Loki shrugged. “It’s only a scratch,” he said nonchalantly. He looked up and when he saw you said, “but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have it checked out by the little healer.”

The man gave Loki a resounding slap on the back. You could see Loki grimace. You beckoned him to follow you outside the arena, away from the crowds.

“It isn’t just a scratch, is it, your highness?” you said as soon as you were alone.

“No,” he said briskly, and all his posture immediately transformed. He sagged, and his face stopped being carefully rendered to hide the pain. You stepped towards him so he could lean against you. He put an arm around you for support and thanked you.

“Do you have the energy to magic us to the healing ward?” You asked.

He didn’t respond. Instead you felt the dizzying sensation of being teleported. Colors swirled around until they finally settled on the familiar, friendly surroundings of your place of work.

You helped him hobble over to the room reserved for the royal family and up onto the cot. As soon as you let go of him, he collapsed onto his back with a groan and closed his eyes. It really must have been worse than you feared. 

You tried to examine the wound in between the gash of his leathers, but you couldn’t tell it’s severity, so you started trying to find the buckles to take off his armor. When you couldn’t find any in a few seconds, you huffed in frustration and then reached for some scissors to cut the garment open. Loki’s hand stopped you. You looked up to his face to see his eyes still closed. The next second he waved his hand an inch or two and he was suddenly shirtless in front of you.

“Thanks,” you murmured. He grunted in acknowledgment.

You got some cloth to clean up the blood on his shoulder in order to be able to see the damage clearly. You tried to withhold your gasp as you examined the wound. The jagged edge of the bilgesnipe’s antlers had torn the skin open from his shoulder all the way down under his arm to the side of his ribcage. The cut got shallower as it went down his body, but up top, it was deep, and the bleeding was coming fast. You applied a simple coagulation charm to help slow it down.

You must not have done a very good job at hiding your gasp because Loki chuckled. “Tell me, little one, am I going to die?” he said cheekily.

You let out an exasperated huff, annoyed once more by the casual way he spoke of his own death. “No, I don’t believe you will,” you told him as you grabbed the various poultices and potions you would need to treat him . “But you are very, very lucky. Half an inch deeper and you could have ruptured an artery,” you berated. Then you said seriously, “Gods are hard to kill Loki, but not impossible. You could have bled out and died today before I could have helped you. You need to be more careful with yourself,” you warned.

“Why must I be careful when I have you to take care of me?” he asked. You suspected he meant to say the question lightheartedly and teasingly, but it sounded more grim. Probably from the sting of the poultice you were applying. 

“Be quiet,” you told him, laying your hands gently on his wounded shoulder. “I need to concentrate.” 

He did as you asked and you closed your eyes and centered yourself. Then you brought forth your magic, feeling the heat of it pouring from your heart, into your arms and fingertips and then finally sinking into the skin beneath your hands. You kept at it, taking deep breaths to keep your strength. You planned on going for another minute or so, but a cool hand lightly rested on top of yours and caused you to lose focus.

You let out a sound of protest as you opened your eyes. As you expected, the wound looked much better, but it still needed more of your magic to heal without a scar. 

“You’ll deplete your energy if you continue, little healer,” the prince said quietly. “You’ve done plenty already.”

You flicked your eyes up to his face and was surprised to see that his own were open and looking at you. There was a peculiar emotion found in them. A softness.

You jerked your hands off his body and took a step back. All of a sudden you were too close to him. It felt too intimate. You saw an emotion that almost seemed like disappointment flash across his face, and you looked away.

You cleared your throat and crossed the room to the cupboard. It felt heavy to walk; the healing magic had taken a toll on your body, but the atmosphere felt weighty as well. “Can you sit up so I can apply bandages?”

He cleared his throat as well. Softness left his voice and formality returned. “Yes, of course.”

You sighed internally and cursed yourself for making him put his guard up again. But what else could you have done? You were just a healer, and he a prince. You could never entertain notions of any sort of intimacy with him. You had needed to distance yourself in that moment, reestablish boundaries, for him, and for yourself.

Of course, it was very hard to feel distant from him when you were up close and personal with his naked torso as you began to apply the bandages. A very nice torso you thought, before you scolded yourself. But no matter how much you tried, it was extraordinarily hard to not be aware that the man whose flesh was beneath your hands was inordinately beautiful.

Desperate to think anything else, you clang onto whatever other emotions passed through you. The most prominent one being anger at his stupidity.

“Why in the realms did you do something so foolhardy as fight a bilgesnipe? Especially after last time!” You bit out. “I’d expect this level of stupidity from your brother, but not from you, your highness.”

“What, you didn’t appreciate the show? Didn’t find it impressive?”

You looked up and met his eyes briefly before you continued to wrap the cloth around him. “Of course I found it impressive,” you said. “I found it very impressive, actually,” you added quieter.

“Well then, it was a rousing success.”

You huffed. “Are you saying the only reason you fought the bilgesnipe was to impress the crowd?”

Loki winced as you wrapped the bandage slightly too tight under his armpit. He shifted and you started again. “Is that not why anyone fights? To impress others?”

You snorted.“Ridiculous Asgardians and their warrior culture,” you muttered under your breath, but a hair too loudly.

“What did you say?”

You paused and looked at him, biting your lip. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, your highness.”

“No, little healer, it’s alright. I just wish to know why you said it.”

You shook your head as you returned to the linen closet for some more bandages. “You are aware that both my parents are Vanir, yes?”

Loki nodded.

You sighed. “On Vanaheim, war is not glorified. It is not triumphant. It is not valorous. Little girls and boys do not talk with excitement of growing up to be fearsome soldiers like they do here. Building, growing, repairing, healing; those are the traits that are valued, the ones people strive for excellence in.”

You started on wrapping of his shoulder, this time much slower than before, knowing the area would still be tender. You continued, “Of course, the Vanir aren’t a meek people. They recognize war and bloodshed are sometimes necessary to protect yourselves and your loved ones. Fighting, therefore, is a means to an end, nothing else. And when you are fighting not in battle? That is no more than practice. It is not to show off.”

Loki nodded slowly. “That is… very different than here.”

You gave him a wry smile. “Yes, indeed.” You were almost done bandaging him up. Just a few more wraps around his shoulder and you would be finished. You found yourself slowing down, drawing out the last seconds you had a valid excuse to be so close to him.

“I did not wish to impress the crowd,” Loki said, nearly a whisper, after a few silent moments had passed. “There was only one person who I wished to please.”

“Oh yeah? And who was that?” You said, as you concentrated on finally fastening the bandages so they would stay in place.

The prince didn’t answer verbally. He just turned his head to you and looked up at you until you met his eyes.

Oh. 

You were tempted to step away again, establish boundaries once more. But you felt like you were locked in place, staring down at those beautiful green eyes, so vulnerable as they took you in. You took in a few deep breaths, then finally found your wits and started to move back. This time, it was his hand, not his eyes, that stopped you, as it came to lightly grip your forearm. You exhaled shakily.

After you continued to not say anything to his nonverbal admission, he eventually looked away from you, his face attempting to craft a look of mild indifference, but you could tell he was anything but. “I understand that you do not return my sentiments towards you. Do not worry, little healer, for I will bother you no more about them.”

Your tongue was frozen, unsure what to say. He was wrong, and you wanted to tell him that he was wrong. But how to do so without tangling yourself into an ill-fated affair? But you needed to tell him something of the truth. You couldn’t leave him so dejected. So you started collecting your poultices and potions and extra bandages to put back, giving you time to formulate your words.

“I would have it more impressive, not less, if you used your Seirdr,” you started quietly, your back now to him as you put your supplies away. You were grateful that the room layout meant that you were between him in the door. Otherwise you were worried he would walk away from you before you had said your bit.

“Yes? Why is that?” he said. You couldn’t quite make out the tone he said it in. Tired, perhaps, resigned, likely. “You don’t find it weak? Unmasculine?”

“No, not in the least,” you said as you turned around and faced him again. He wasn’t meeting your eyes “I care not whether it is considered a respectable way of fighting on this realm. When you wield it, you are the most powerful of anyone on Asgard.” You bit your lip. “If I had to choose anyone to protect me or my loved ones, to make me feel safe, I would pick you over anyone else: Thor, the Warriors Three, Sif, or any of the generals.” 

His eyes finally flicked back to meet yours. You saw him sit up a little straighter, almost as if his body had actually swelled with pride with your compliment. But you still saw a wariness in his gaze. One you wished to extinguish.

“Besides,” you said, stepping forward, maintaining eye contact as you did, “watching you fight with Seidr is simply… entrancing.”

“You think so?”

You laughed. You weren’t sure where the boldness came from, but it felt exhilarating, and you clung onto it.“Why do you think I came and watched you train so much?” You asked, grinning coyly at him. “It wasn’t because I was ever interested in Fandral as a suitor.”

He looked at you with a guarded hopefulness. You were now a foot away from him. He shifted so his legs were splayed and you could step even closer to him as he sat on the cot. With one last step, you were face to face.

You wished to kiss him. Your eyes darted to his lips, and you saw his do the same to yours. But alas, the boldness that had taken hold of you had expired. You leaned back a half an inch and smiled sadly at him.

“But you, your highness, are a prince, and I am but a lowly healer,” you whispered. “Whether or not I find you captivating does not matter. My thoughts are of no consequence because I could never have you.”

The hand from the uninjured side of his body rose and carefully cupped your cheek. You leaned into it subconsciously, feeling a comforting warmth wash over you, despite the coldness of his touch. You closed your eyes, and you stood like that for a few moments.

“Your thoughts are of great consequence to me, little healer,” Loki said softly.

A second later, you felt cool lips press against your own. You startled, but the hand on your cheek kept you grounded, rubbing calming circles on your cheekbone. Soon you melted into the kiss, relaxing as you tried to take everything about the moment in, savor what you had longed after for so long, what you expected you would never experience again.

You were devastated when he finally broke from you. A thin film of moisture coated your eyes, and you worried it would overflow into tears. You would have turned away if he had not stopped you with his next words:

“I wish to be yours, little healer. And for you to be mine.”

You blinked. The tears you were fighting escaped.“But how could it be? Is not any prospective pairing between you and I not doomed?” You shuddered. You had kept your longing for him locked away in your body for so long and now taunted with him it seemed to manifest itself physically, unsure whether to be celebratory or shattered.

His hand on his injured side, though it could not move far, managed to grab hold of one of your own and give it a reassuring squeeze, calming your shaking. His other wiped away your tears with the pad of his thumb. He leaned up to kiss your forehead.

“We will make it work, little healer. I promise. I will find a way.”

You settled in his arms. Terrified, but more hopeful than you could ever remember.

[jamkookies]

Bad Jungkookie

Description :  A trip to Malta for the shooting of Bon Voyage seems peaceful enough until the moment things take an unexpected turn...

Word Count : 2.9k

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You could've sworn his eyes were shining with tears.

He doesn't flinch from the loud thud of the tray crashing onto the floor, but only looks at you, the surprise on his face quickly replaced by relief.

It only takes three steps from him and you're immediately pulled into a bone-crushing hug, your shoulder popping in protest.

You find it hard to believe what was actually happening.

All that effort to get away, to make him forget you, and look where you'd ended up.

Your arms stay limp by your sides, not knowing what to do with them.

It takes all your willpower to resist the urge to run your fingers through his dark locks.

You even try and let your hands hover on his back but quickly squeeze them into fists, putting them back where they belong.

He had to go back.

He had to leave this place.

God knows for how longer would you be able to fake your indifferent behavior towards him.

You dig your nails on the palms of your hands so hard, there are red crescents.

He doesn't pull away, too engrossed in the way your body radiates that warmth so familiar to him.

"I missed you." he whispers in your ear.

The hair on the back of your neck stands upright.

"What are you doing here?" you say with a voice so cold you even surprise yourself.

He pulls back to look at you and there's a frown on his face.

"I should be asking you the same question"

"I work here." you answer.

"For what reason?"

Your eyes lower onto the ground.

"I lost my money."

"What about your credit card?"

You detach his hands from your back and create a considerable distance between the two of you.

"It's none of your business."

His anger flares, all traces of sweetness gone in a flash. His mouth is drawn in a tight line and you notice how hard he's clenching his jaws together.

Uh-oh.

"What the hell did you just say?"

His voice sounds low and dangerous, nothing like the sweet melodious timbre he used when talking to you.

You only have time to blink before he's upon you, gripping your waist with both hands and slamming you against the door.

Your breath is knocked out of you and it's not because of the force he used but rather the unexpected action itself.

He presses against you, fingers digging on your skin.

"I said it's none of your business." you manage, struggling to keep your voice from shaking and glare at him. "Now let me go."

You try to squirm out of the trap he has created with his massive frame, but you only end up getting pushed harder against the door.

"Where do you think you're going?"

His eyes are heavy-lidded and his hot breath fans across your face.

There was an electrifying presence hanging in the air and it was only making things worse.

This was not gonna end well.

"You have some explaining to do." he continues.

"I don't have to explain anything to you."

"Don't make me do things I don't wanna do,Y/N."

You raise an eyebrow, silently challenging him.

His fingers slide up your torso, going higher and higher and-

You finally come to your senses, pushing him off of you, as you fight hard to hide the the flaming heat rising into your face.

He had been about to cross the line and you'd almost let him. Just how much more vulnerable could you be?

"You left me." he simply says. "You just left me and the others like a complete stranger."

His voice is softer now, grief lacing the words in a way that made you want to rip your heart out of your chest.

I'm sorry, you wanted to say.

"I don't care." The words taste like vomit.

You wait for him to flare with anger once again, to swear and curse or to be hurt, but you certainly do not expect the knowing smile on his lips.

"Liar. I know everything."

Raw panic captures you in its claws.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

You turn around and reach for the door knob but his next words make you pause.

"That bastard told me everything - how he had convinced you to leave the band and all that. What he did forget to mention, though, was the fact that he had cut off your money."

You're fully facing him now.

"H-how did you find out?" you stutter.

"I said I would leave the band too if he didn't tell me. Which I still did after I got what I needed."

"You did what?!"

You couldn't believe your ears. He had actually left the band.

It was your turn to explode in hot fury, grabbing the nearest object and hurling it at him.

He easily dodges, but makes no move to get away.

It only enrages you even more.

You stomp off towards him and grip him by the collar of his shirt.

"How could you do it?!"

"You're the one who started it"

"I had to."

"Well then, I had to as well. You really think I was just gonna let you stroll off on your own?"

His head is bowed down, looking at your eyes.

"Stupid! You're stupid!" you shout and flatten your palms against his chest, pushing him away.

"Stupid stupid stupid-" you chant and pound your fists on his front.

He lets you, still as a statue, allowing you to release the pent up frustration you'd been holding.

"I hate you!"

Your shouts have now turned into sobbing, shaking your body violently.

"Shhhhh. It's okay." Jungkook whispers and pulls you in a hug as your rant eventually dies down.

"I'm sorry." you whimper, voice muffled by the crook of his neck. "I didn't want to leave."

"I know you didn't."

You keep holding onto him for dear life, drinking in his familiar scent, scared that if you let him go, he would disappear like a wisp of smoke in the air.

* * *

"Jungkook, no. We shouldn't be doing this."

"Shut up."

"Hands off, someone's gonna see us."

He ignores you and keeps pulling you by your wrist down the hallway, dismissing all of your futile attempts to plant your feet on the floor.

"I work here. You're gonna get me in trouble."

"It doesn't matter. You're gonna quit this job, anyway. And you're doing it right now."

He had dragged you out of the room, constantly dodging the punches and kicks you threw his way, trying to wriggle out of his iron grasp.

He was planning of booking a flight to Korea tomorrow morning. He told you he had thought you'd already be there, but to his bad luck, things had taken a dark twist.

So he wanted to take you with him.

You felt like choke-slamming him through the floor.

First, he leaves the band at a moment's notice, then he barges in here telling you to quit your job.

"I've been working here for a week. They gave me food and a place to stay. I can't just leave like an ungrateful teenager."

"Do you even hear yourself talking? If you're that worried about them taking it as ungratefulness, then I'll speak in your stead."

He wouldn't budge from his decision, determined to make you go his own way.

The loud stomping of your feet down the stairs echoes through the spacious halls.

You both reach the lobby and he heads for the reception desk, obviously wanting to ask about the manager.

Joke's on him.

You doubted he'd ever be able to understand Liena clearly.

"Ask her." he says and flicks his chin towards her.

"I don't need to ask her, I already know where the manager's office is."

"All the better. Let's go."

Liena glances at the way Jungkook has clasped your wrist and raises an eyebrow.

"Għarus?" she asks and her eyes flicker between the two of you.

"Le!" you exclaim, offended.

Jungkook? Your boyfriend? How ridiculous!

"Come on." he says and pulls you along.

You're forced to trail after him, giving Liena a death glare as she smirks at you teasingly.

"Could you stop dragging me? I can walk on my own."

He stops at the entrance of the hallway and releases you, but his eyes are still suspiciously narrowing. 

Taking advantage of the opportunity, you make an attempt to run off but he immediately catches you by the back of your shirt.

"See, this is why I don't trust you."

"It was worth a try." you defend yourself. "And what do you mean you don't trust me?"

"You sneaked out of the hospital and you've been trying to escape from me for the past two hours. I don't trust you."

"Oh, so now I'm just an ordinary - ... hey, what are you looking at?"

His eyes are fixed pointedly behind you, staring at something. Then, as realization hits him, they go wide open in shock.

He grabs you by the shirt and pulls you to a narrow space between the walls of the hallway.

One hand clamps your mouth shut and the other goes to his lips, gesturing with an index finger not to make a sound.

You just nod, too terrified to try anything else.

He peeks his head outside and pulls it back in, a visible grimace covering his expression.

Speeding steps are heard in the hallway, their loud echoes ringing off the walls.

Your heartbeat accelerates.

What in the world was going on?

He presses harder against you, trying to hide you with his body and you can hear his heart beat go faster and faster with every passing second.

"Sir, you can't go in there."

The steps slow down till they stop completely.

"The reception desk is this way. Please follow me."

Bless Valentin and his perfect English skills. The porter had just saved you from whoever had been following you.

Jungkook slumps into you, relief flooding through his body as he rests his forehead on your collarbone.

You refrain from shivering when his dark locks tickle your neck.

"Wh-what happened? Who was that?"

He raises his head and you notice that the rigidness is still there as he answers.

 "It was a bodyguard. He has been following me since I left."

* * *

You had both made sure the hall was clear before parting ways - him in his room and you off to another customer.

It had taken a lot of persuading to make him give up on the decision to quit your job. You'd convinced him that now was not the time, but it would be the first thing you would do tomorrow morning.

And as if that wasn't enough, it had taken another hour to make him go back to his room alone.

He'd plain out refused when you first mentioned it to him.

I'm not letting you out of my sight for a second, he'd said.

As much as your heart had swelled at his words, you also had to deal with your own things too.

Promising to visit him again, you had seen him off, rolling your eyes at how often he would turn his head to look at you.

A smile creeps on your lips when you remember how he had ran into the wall, not watching where he was going.

However, the smile faints as you recall the conversation you'd had earlier.

Sejin the bastard had not let Jungkookie go so easily. He had put a bodyguard on his tail, monitoring his every move.

Jungkook said he thought he'd lost him at the hotel, that he wouldn't be so obvious and come inside.

He was probably reporting everything to Sejin as you speak.

You just hoped he hadn't recognised you.

If Sejin found out that Jungkook was with you, you would get him in trouble as well.

God knew what he was capable of.

You close the door roughly as you make your way out of the room , arms stuffed with cleaning utensils.

"There you are. I've been looking all over for you."

Valentin is standing on the hall, his hands on his hips like an angry mom.

"Why? What happened?"

" There's another order you've got to take care of."

"Can't they send someone else? I just finished with this room and you wouldn't believe the condition it was in."

"Nope. Everyone's busy."

You let out a long sigh.

"Fine. What's the order?"

There are two trays you need to take upstairs. And you have to clean the room too. The client complained it was dirty."

"Ugh, don't they ever get tired of ordering around?"

" All the rich people do this."

You open your mouth, ready to say that you'd never treated people like that, but then clamp it shut.

Well, it's not like he would've believed you anyway, even if it slipped your tongue.

"Hey, Val what happened to that man who tried to get into the storage room?" you ask him, suddenly getting reminded.

"I don't know. A foreigner, I guess. He just asked about the price of staying one night and then got out." he shrugs. "But how did you know? I didn't see you at the lobby."

"I'm quite discreet."

You silently follow him into the kitchen and your eyes widen when you see the trays. 

"Wow! That's a lot of food!" you exclaim.

His eyes roam over several plates of chicken, noodles, rice and all sorts of goods.

"And to think that this is an order for only one person." he says.

You choke on your spit.

"One? All of this?"

Wait a second....

You suddenly think back on the time he had eaten six cups of ramen in twenty minutes.

"What room is the order from?" you ask.

He takes a look at the card on the table.

"72."

* * *

You were gonna rip his skin off.

Who did he think he was - ordering you around whenever he wanted to?

You knock on the door with your foot, hands occupied with overly filled trays.

The door opens and Jungkook appears, a smug expression on his face  you so desperately wanted to wipe off.

"First of all, what the hell, Jungkook?"

"Oh good, you're here."

He opens the door wider and lets you in.

You put the trays on the table and turn around.

"What? I'm not allowed to order food in a hotel?" he says defensively.

"How did you particularly get me out of all people?"

He smirks and sits on the couch with his hands at the back of his head.

"I bribed the porter."

"You bribed Val?" you say incredulously.

He stands upright.

"Who's Val?"

"The guy you bribed."

"What's with the nickname?"

It's your turn to give him an arrogant smirk.

"Are you jealous?"

He gulps.

"Why would I be jealous?"

"Yeah you're right." you slur. "There's no reason to be."

He stands on his feet and goes for the table.

"Come on, let's eat."

"What do you mean let's eat ?"

He was about to grab on a chicken leg but pauses when hearing your words.

"Did you really think I was gonna eat all of this by myself?"

"It's not like you haven't done it before."

He huffs a laugh and it's the most gleeful sound you've heard in days.

"Yeah, but I wanted us to eat together."

"I thought you wanted the room cleaned."

"I said that so it wouldn't look suspicious if you stayed."

You hurry towards the door but he already beats you to it, even locking it.

"I have to go, Jungkook." you protest.

"Like hell you are."

"There are people who check on me."

"You can go later. Now come over here."

You sigh in frustration but still take a seat on the table.

"Do you really hate me that much?"

His eyes look at you innocently and it's all you can do not to melt into a puddle.

"I don't hate you."

"Then why do you act like this? Did you not miss me at all while you were gone?"

His voice is soft and careful.

Your lips start quivering and you cover your face with your hands.

Yes, you had missed him. Every second of every day your mind drifted off, wondering how he was, if he was eating or sleeping. If he missed you too.

"No no no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Please don't cry."

He gets up from his seat and crouches down in front of you, removing your hands from your face.

Then he guides one on his cheek and slaps himself lightly.

"Bad Jungkookie." he says in a gruff voice.

You burst into laughter, regardless of the tears collected in your eyes.

He gives you a huge smile when he sees the aftermath of his goofy actions.

"Let's eat now. I'm starving." he says and heaves you up.

~

You had talked and talked and talked.

It felt good, acting normal after all the recent adventures you'd both been through.

You had cracked jokes and devoured everything on the table.

Now, you're standing on the doorstep, hesitant to leave.

"You know, you can stay if you want." he says.

"I can't. There's a curfew."

His face falls.

"Good night then."

"Good night." you say and are about to open the door, but suddenly, an inexplicable urge makes you turn around and pull him in a hug.

You turn your head on the side and give him a peck on the cheek.

His body goes rigid.

When you pull away, the look on his face is priceless.

He's just staring at you, dumbfounded and he lifts a hand to where you'd kissed him.

"I don't hate you, Jungkook."

You close the door behind you and head to your room, falling asleep with the memories of honey-sweet laughter.

[dvp95]

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 10

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, deeper than anticipated but still not that deep y'all this is primarily silly, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 4,286 for this chapter (45,795 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"Daniel?"

Dan blinks. He blinks again, zoning back into the conversation he's supposed to be a part of.

"Er," he says, sheepish. "What was the question?"

"Are you sure you're feeling okay, Daniel?" the woman asks - the interviewer asks, fuck, this is like the sixth time he's asked her to repeat herself. "I heard you were ill yesterday, weren't you?"

He wasn't. But that is what Jaime and Patrick had sworn up and down to anyone who asked, because they're good partners in crime like that. They look like they regret it now.

"Yeah, Daniel," Jaime says, stressing his name in a way that makes Dan think she's one more fuckup from smacking him in the back of the head. He'd probably deserve it, at this point. He can't remember being this scatterbrained in his whole life, and that's saying something. "You sure you're okay being out of bed?"

The word 'bed' gets stressed too, just a bit, and Dan feels a flush creeping up his neck.

It's honestly unreasonable how he can't seem to focus on the task at hand, which is answering softball questions about the show he's worked on for three years, because his mind keeps drifting back to Phil.

Phil, who he'd left in bed with Thor, all sleepy noises and grumpiness at Dan needing to leave. Phil, who has the day off and might still be mostly naked and lazy while he waits for Dan to come back. Phil, who he only has three days left with.

Three more days in London. Two sleeps. And Dan has shit to do every single goddamn day of it.

This is a work trip, technically. They've got a handful of interviews the next two days that couldn't be scheduled for their first London stretch, and then they're going to France. That's exciting, it is, a mark of success that Dan never expected for himself, but right now he's frustrated by anything that cuts into the time he could be using to kiss Phil.

Dan is so busy remembering how Phil's mouth had felt against his that he forgets to answer the question. He can practically feel his eyes glaze over.

"Daniel," Patrick says, audibly exasperated.

It takes a lot to get Patrick to that point, so Dan ducks his head and mumbles another apology.

"He's fine," Jaime tells the very nice and concerned interviewer whose name Dan has long forgotten. "He's just got a lot on his mind right now and he's really shit at multitasking."

"Hey," says Dan. It's a weak protest.

The interviewer is a tall woman with kind eyes that crinkle into laughter lines when she smiles at him. She's dressed casually, has a denim jacket with patches and pins all over it, and Dan feels his eyes linger at the rainbow on her pocket.

What is that like? To be so certain and so confident that you can wear it on your sleeve even in a professional environment? Dan doesn't know that he'll be able to get there.

He wants to compliment her on it. It's the same urge he had in the restaurant with Phil's family, vocalizing that he wishes he could wear more nail polish. The same swirling anxiety of being judged for it follows quickly, but this time it's amplified by the recording device in the interviewer's hand, the knowledge that anything he says right now will be analyzed to death later.

Dan wants to live authentically, and he wants to get to a place where he doesn't need to hide, but he's frustrated by the reality of how much progress that's going to take. It's not going to be easy, it already hasn't been, and it's never going to stop.

Even with making a name for himself and having an audience, Dan knows that coming out publicly still won't stop strangers from making assumptions about him or demanding an explanation for the women he's been seen with. He'll have to come out over and over and - it's scary. It's really scary.

The compliment catches in his throat. He can't say it to someone recording him, no matter how kind her eyes are. He hasn't even told his grandma yet.

"I like your jacket," he says instead. He feels like a coward for it.

"Thanks," the woman says brightly, looking down at herself and tapping one of her bigger patches. "Customized it myself, obviously. It's a wee bit more colourful than you like to be seen in, right?"

The casual chirping helps Dan relax, reminds him that this is a laid-back interview with easy questions. Nobody is shining a heat lamp on him and asking for an expose on how he spent part of last night inside of another man.

He grins and shrugs. "Yeah, alright, I wear a lot of black. Sue me. I can still think colours look nice on some people."

Great. Now he's thinking about Phil again.

"Like Jaime," Patrick offers, tugging at one of Jaime's bubblegum braids. Dan still can't tell if it's a wig or not, but she smacks Patrick's hand away like it's her own hair.

"That's true," says Dan. "Jaime wears as much black as I do, though, I dunno that she's the best example."

Patrick nods, solemn. "At least her hair is interesting."

"Oi, fuck you. Sorry," Dan adds sheepishly. Even though this is an online print interview, he still feels a little bit of shame whenever he slips up and curses during an interview.

The woman - Cara? Catherine? Camilla? Ca-something? - just laughs and waves his apology off.

With an ease that Dan can't help but notice isn't quite as practised as Phil's, the interviewer moves on to questions about their other cast members. While they don't have any trouble making fun of each other, it's even more fun to exaggerate stories of people who aren't here to defend themselves.

Dan tries so hard to participate. He does. He laughs in all the right places and gives Jaime grief for not remembering something right, because he's given this poor interviewer nothing of substance. The thing is that Jaime is better at telling stories and Patrick is so dry and stoic with interrupting jokes that Dan knows he isn't needed for this. He lets them bicker over a story detail that he's long forgotten and feels himself start to zone back out.

He listens to Patrick's slow timbre, Jaime's trill of a laugh, and lets his mind drift back to where it wants to be.

--

Even though it's tempting, Dan isn't stupid enough to text Phil in the middle of doing his fucking job. He has to resort to checking his phone between interviews and pictures, getting more and more pouty about the lack of response to the things he's sending throughout the morning. Phil must be having a lie-in, because it takes him a couple of hours to even see Dan's texts.

ugh i should have just stayed in bed

pls send thor pics

and you pics but like give me a heads up if your dick is out im at work

i dropped my coffee on jaimes lap fml shes gonna kill me

im just so distracted lmaooo

canft believe youre just asleep thats so rude

Oh nooooooo. I always cry over spilt coffee :( you want me to bring you one? I can come hang out for lunch!

The sweet text is accompanied by a photo of Thor asleep on the sofa, his little head pillowed on Phil's knee. Phil is wearing Dan's pyjama pants and - it's hard to tell for sure, with the way the photo is angled, but Dan thinks he's got the Friends shirt on. Frankly, that should be gross. Dan wore that shirt for way too long for it not to smell like, well, his sweat, and that is objectively not sexy.

Dan feels gooey warmth spread from his stomach outwards, anyway. Maybe it is gross, but it makes him happy to think about Phil's shirt smelling like him the way that his own Yeezy shirt still faintly smells like Phil. He covers his mouth with a hand so nobody milling around will see him grinning like an idiot.

thats ok, Dan texts back one-handed. yall look comfy you should stay. i'll b back for dinner and snuggles ok?

Ok! ^_^

God, but Dan wants to be there now. He wants to be the one cuddled up with his head in Phil's lap. He recognises that it's very stupid to be jealous of a dog, but he isn't going to let that stop him.

"Hey, Howell." Patrick's voice interrupts the daydream of slender fingers carding through Dan's hair.

Dan blinks. He blinks again, looks up.

"I didn't even see you sit down," Dan tells him, bemused. They're sharing a bench in the building's lobby, not wanting to go too far in case they need to go back upstairs for more photos during the short break in their day.

"Yeah, you're on another planet," says Patrick. Dan wishes he could argue that fact. "Things went well with your whole Love Actually emergency, then?"

The reference pulls Dan up short. He feels his brow furrow as he walks through the entire film in his head. "What are you talking about? None of this happened in Love Actually."

"It's British, isn't it," Patrick says nonsensically.

"I don't," Dan starts, but then he gives up. He and Patrick are close as coworkers - friends, even - but Dan never quite understands the links that Patrick's brain makes. "It went well. It went really well. I don't know if Jaime told you everything I texted her, but I like... fully ended up meeting the family."

Patrick's eyebrows raise slightly. That's quite a reaction, from him. "You met the parents? Bro. You just started dating."

They're not in an overly crowded area, but people keep waking by them on their way in or out of the building, so Dan is pleasantly surprised to discover that Patrick can play the pronoun game, too.

"Yeah," says Dan. He doesn't want to get into the mix-up right now. He's sure that Patrick will have another incomprehensible reference when he hears about it. "But it just feels... I dunno. Right? In a way other people haven't? Maybe that's obvious."

"It's not obvious," says Patrick. He's snapping a hair elastic around his wrist idly, the gesture something Dan had thought was an expression of annoyance or frustration when they first met. Dan knows now that it means Patrick is tired, that he wants to shove his hair off his shoulders and stop it from tickling his neck. They're only halfway through their day, though, still a couple of photoshoots to get through, so he can't put his hair up just yet.

Dan knows so much about these people. He's learned it all from such close proximity for the past three years, but he also genuinely likes spending time with them. He feels, suddenly, very guilty for wishing cancellation on this thing they've all worked so hard for.

"Sorry," Dan says.

"For what?"

He doesn't really know how to voice it. He shrugs. "For being a shit coworker right now."

Patrick gives him an indecipherable look and shakes his head. "Daniel," he says, "you're not being a shit coworker."

"I kind of am, though," says Dan. "Like I can't focus at all, I'm missing interviews, and I... I don't know how much I want to go back to Atlanta. Is that bad?"

"Why would that be bad?" Patrick hums. "This is your home."

Home isn't an easy concept for Dan to wrap his head around. He hadn't had a happy one for most of his life, hadn't been able to find somewhere that felt quite right ever since he escaped that. So it's a little disconcerting when Patrick's words settle into his chest and feel like indisputable truth.

"London is home," Dan echoes, wondering it it feels just as right coming out of his own mouth. It does. His head is spinning, a bit.

"Yeah," Patrick says, like it's that easy.

Dan gives himself a little shake back into the present. He smiles, wry. "Still, I probably shouldn't be crossing my fingers under tables for the producers to shut us down."

For a moment, Patrick looks confused. Dan is all ready to apologise again, shove those feelings down, but Patrick just says, "So negotiate your contract. You know that you aren't required by law to see the show through to the end, right? You can just not come back for season four, or only come back for a couple episodes instead of a full season."

They're sat in a fairly public area, with other people walking about, but Dan could hear a pin drop in the shattering silence that rings in his ears at Patrick's use of logic.

"I," says Dan, "did not think of that."

Patrick nods. "You kind of tunnel-vision sometimes, has anyone ever told you that?"

--

By the time Dan returns to Phil's building, he's talked himself into and back out of quitting his job a dozen times. It's a dumb decision, but not much dumber than simply waiting for someone else to make the decision for him.

He decides to call Amy when he's in France and talk the options through with her. She's already looking for potential gigs in the UK for him, so hopefully the conversation isn't going to come as much of a surprise to her. The last thing he needs is for his agent to get upset with him over making changes in his life.

Dan's head is buzzing with it, loud enough to give him a headache. He texts Phil that he's outside and waits to be let in. He gets an intrusive domestic fantasy of letting himself in with his own key, and reminds himself to rein in this U-Haul bullshit.

"Hey!" Phil beams as he opens the door and steps back for Dan to come in. Other people live on the other floors, but Phil still leans in for a long kiss the moment the door closes behind Dan.

It sends sparks up Dan's spine and quiets some of the unending noise in his head. He sighs, leans into the kiss, wraps his arms around Phil's waist to pull him even closer.

He's cognizant of where they are, though, so he pulls back to rest their foreheads together after a moment. "Hey yourself."

"Did you have a good day?" Phil asks, his tri-coloured eyes bright and unguarded.

"Yeah, but it's better now," says Dan. He's parroting what Phil said to him yesterday, and he can tell that Phil recognises it from the little smile on his face. "You look nice. You showered just for me?"

Phil laughs and tugs at Dan's wrist, pulling him down the stairs. They've got four left feet between them, honestly, so it's a miracle nobody takes a nosedive.

"Yeah," he says as they narrowly avoid any number of broken bones. He presses Dan against the wall next to his front door and grins at him. "But it was also for the judgey moms at the dog park. You look nicer, you didn't take the makeup off?"

To be honest, Dan had forgotten it was even on his face. He settles his hands on Phil's hips and smiles. "They made me look like the best version of me, why would I erase all their hard work?"

"Mm, you do look pretty," Phil says, and Dan is lucky to have his back against a wall. His knees might have actually buckled at the praise if he was unsupported.

"Pretty, huh?" Dan asks. He tries to keep his tone dry, like it's a big joke, but Phil's big eyes just see too much.

"Very pretty," says Phil. Dan doesn't know how to handle being complimented by Phil's deep, sincere voice, but he isn't given much of a chance to react before Phil is speaking again. "But I don't know that I'd call this the best version of you. You looked really nice when you came, y'know."

"Fuck, Phil," Dan laughs, a little breathless. "I was literally gone for ten hours."

"Ten hours too many," Phil grumbles.

Dan laughs again, but he has to admit that Phil has a point. The day had absolutely dragged on with the knowledge that his probably-boyfriend was waiting for him.

"You wanna go inside, then?" Dan suggests, running his thumbs just under the hem of Phil's clean shirt. "I'll do a lot of things, but this floor is cement, mate. I'm not blowing you out here."

The giggle that's surprised out of Phil makes Dan smile so wide it hurts his cheeks. He smacks the center of Dan's chest lightly and steps back to let them both into his flat. "I was thinking we could, like, order dinner first or whatever, but I'm not going to complain if you want to switch up the itinerary."

"The itinerary," Dan mocks, looking around for a ball of fluff running directly at them as he struggles with his shoes. "Uh, where's Thor?"

"Uh," says Phil. There's colour high in his cheeks that he tries to hide by flopping onto the sofa. The sweats he stole off of Dan don't really leave much to the imagination at all, not when he's sitting like that, and Dan almost loses his balance when he stands up straight. The pink doesn't leave Phil's face, but a knowing smirk joins it. "He's in the bathroom."

Dan's heart skips like an old CD player and he laughs to mask just how fond he is. "Uh huh, and here you are acting like you were really ordering food first."

"Well," Phil says, his smirk growing, "we could still order first, it'd be at least twenty."

"Sounds like a challenge," Dan hums, coming around the sofa to sit on the other end and lean forward, kissing the sliver of skin where Phil's shirt is riding up. "Why don't you do that, and I'll go get a bloody condom."

Phil blushes, proper blushes, and pulls a packet out of his pocket. "Ta-da," he jokes, weakly. "For my next trick -"

"If you say you're going to make your penis disappear," Dan says, flat, "then I'm walking out."

They just look at each other for a long moment, like a staring contest neither of them initiated, and then Phil snorts. That sets them both off and soon enough they're laughing, Dan's nose tucked against Phil's hipbone and Phil's hand over his mouth.

"I wasn't going to say that," Phil insists, still giggling. "I wasn't."

"Sure you weren't." Dan grins up at him and slides up his body, a little less graceful than he'd imagined it in his head. He presses their smiles together and licks into Phil's mouth. A little noise passes between them when Phil's hands find their way into Dan's hair, but Dan isn't sure which of them it comes from.

The giddy feeling of laughter doesn't leave Dan's chest. He lets it make a home there as he trails kisses all over Phil's long, pale neck. He doesn't need to guess when Phil likes something - he squirms and makes these little huffs of noises, grip on Dan's curls tightening just a bit before it loosens again. It feels impossibly powerful to learn how to take Phil apart like this, like they're teenagers snogging on the sofa in their first relationship.

It's strange that this does feel like a first relationship for Dan, in a lot of ways. He loved his first girlfriend and cared about other women he's dated, but it's not the same at all.

Finally, Dan is allowed to feel all the things he's supposed to have felt when he was younger. He's allowed to let budding affection and lust and friendship all wrap up in one person.

"So, the piercings," Dan murmurs, letting his hand slide up Phil's shirt to toy with one of them.

"What about them?" Phil asks. He already sounds impatient and needy, like he had last night, and the sound of it goes straight to Dan's dick.

Dan laughs and sits up, helping Phil get his shirt off over his head. "I mean, do they do things for you? Do they feel good when I touch them? How do you want me to touch them to make them feel good?"

"Do you always ask this many questions during sex?" Phil asks, dry.

There's no point in lying. "Yeah, I tend to babble." Dan gives him a winning smile and taps at Phil's hips, a silent request for him to lift up. Phil does happily, arching up for Dan and letting his stolen sweats get tugged off. "Guess you'll have to shut me up somehow."

Phil laughs, muffling the sound of it with his palm, and shakes his head. He looks so fucking gorgeous like this, giggly and naked and starting to get hard against his thigh. Dan has no idea how he got this lucky.

"That's such a terrible line," Phil informs him, grinning wide. He doesn't seem bothered by Dan being dressed when he isn't. He just settles back against the cushions and wiggles a bit, either trying to get comfortable or just teasing Dan. Either is possible at this point.

"It's not a line," Dan protests, shrugging his jacket off and settling back between Phil's legs. He presses his mouth to Phil's soft tummy and, unable to help himself, blows a raspberry.

Phil kicks out at him, instinctive, and his tongue is trapped between his teeth as he tries to hold back giggles.

"My nipples aren't sensitive," Phil tells him, voice wavering with some combination of amusement and arousal. He drops a hand to wrap around his own cock, thumbing at the metal on the tip of it. "This is. It, like, tugs. It's nice."

Biting back a groan at the sight, Dan digs around for the condom. He impatiently knocks Phil's hand out of the way to get him hard enough that he can roll it on. The piercing just above his balls settles nicely at the bottom of the latex, almost like it's holding it in place. Dan rolls it between his fingers, watches Phil's eyes flutter closed. "And this one?"

"Not as much. Still good, though." Phil's tongue darts out to lick his lips, and Dan grins at the unconscious reminder of what he's meant to be doing.

It's not the most comfortable for them to be laid out on the sofa like this, lanky as they are, but Dan isn't nineteen anymore. His knees do not hold up the way they used to. He wraps his hand around the base of Phil's cock and lets the tips of his fingers idly play with the metal bar as he finally gets his mouth on Phil.

Dan isn't used to the taste of latex accompanying a blowjob, but it isn't unpleasant. He gives Phil a couple of long licks and then sucks lightly at the head, not sure how much pressure Phil likes yet.

That's something he thinks he'd love to learn. He wants to know everything about Phil's body, wants to make him tremble with it.

Dan is extremely offended when he glances up and sees that Phil is tapping something on his phone, but the offense settles when Phil huffs a laugh and says, "Put in for takeaway. All yours, now."

The phone gets put down and Dan tongues at the bump of Phil's Prince Albert ring through the condom. That makes Phil's breath hitch, his hips jerk just a bit.

It's been years since Dan has had a cock in his mouth, but he likes to think it's like riding a bike. He takes Phil deep, hollows out his cheeks, repeats any motion that makes Phil let out soft groans. He forgot how much he likes this, fuck.

Much like everything else, it's somehow impossibly better with Phil.

Phil keeps a hand in Dan's hair and braces the other on the back of the sofa, breathing hard, and Dan doesn't want to close his eyes and miss a fucking moment of this.

"Fuck," Phil breathes, and Dan responds with an answering moan around his dick. "Yeah, alright, that's - fuck, Dan, you feel so good, look so pretty like that."

The praise still makes Dan shudder. He sucks Phil harder, feeling the weight of Phil's cock on his tongue as he speeds up his movements.

Dan remembers blowjobs to be pretty fast. He also never gave one to a man older than twenty, though, and his jaw starts to ache once he realises that Phil isn't going to be pushed over the edge as quickly as he's used to.

He pulls off to give his jaw a break, stroking Phil and pressing his open mouth along the side of him.

"You think I feel nice?" Dan laughs, pleased by the way the gust of air makes Phil's cock twitch. "Fucking, forgot how good this feels."

"Yeah?" Phil prompts, his voice deep and breathy and so, so nice to listen to. No wonder he's so successful on the radio. "You like sucking cock?"

Dan shivers. "Yeah," he says. He's unashamed, because he feels safe here with Phil. He can admit to liking a cock in his mouth, a hand in his hair, being called pretty. "Yours specifically, though."

Phil laughs. "That's good. I like specifically your cock, too." He looks over at his kitchen for a moment and raises his eyebrows. "I'll get dressed and answer the door when the pizza gets here if you can make me come in the next five minutes."

Well. Never let it be said that Dan Howell backs down from a challenge.

[slothcritic]

Dragon Ball Z Abridged - Episode 10 Review

A satisfying conclusion with plenty of jabs, jibs and a ghost whatnow?

While The Punchline has been split up into three parts, I will be reviewing and judging all three parts as a single episode within a single review. I will be giving out scores for each part just for posterity however, but only the overall score will be considered this episode’s actual rating.

In the cold open, Vegeta is absolutely thrilled over snapping Nappa out of existence, and Goku asks Krillin and Gohan to retreat while he deals with Vegeta. Krillin is already gone, screaming and crying. Gohan and Goku have a brief conversation about putting dinner on, because he's hungry. There might be some reference I'm not getting here, or if it's really just a face-value scene, but I think it would've been funnier if the title sequence had begun just after Krillin is shown running (flying) away to safety.

[Title Sequence, Part 1]

Goku and Vegeta opt to find a new battlefield, as the one where Nappa decimated the Z Fighters is a little "corpsey." King Kai starts taking bets on which of them is going to win, and even the Narrator tries to get in on that, despite already knowing the outcome.

The delivery on Vegeta's lines early on is not promising. I'm not sure if it's poor audio quality caused by a crappy microphone or if Lanipator was struggling with some kind of throat infection while recording these lines, but it's noticeable as there's a long extended conversation with a voice that sounds like sandpaper to the ears. I actually went back to check on the previous episodes to see if I was taking crazy pills, and no, Vegeta sounded just fine before. I have no idea what the reason or cause of this change might be, whether it was a deliberately different delivery or if they were rushing to put this episode out, but Vegeta sounds consistently more raspy in this episode than the gravelly deadpan to which I've become accustomed. For all I know, yelling as Vegeta might just by taxing on his vocal chords.

Putting the voice issue aside, Goku's oblivious lack of understanding for the word "elite" and the back and forth between the two of them works on the whole as a great scene.

"I'm going to start beating you now. I don't know when I'll stop."

I can't remember whether or not that's a reference, but I love the delivery on it. Vegeta has just finished dealing with Nappa and now has absolutely zero patience for someone just as braindead.

Sure enough, after being taunted about a cave full of gumdrops and ice cream, Vegeta drops the "That's it! EVERYONE DIES!" which might be one of my favorite things said in this episode, but it’s followed closely by:

"Say goodbye to your planet, Kakarot." "Well that's not very nice." "OF COURSE NOT! I'M FUCKING EVIL!"

The dynamic here works astoundingly well. It's very different from Vegeta and Nappa's duo, but works on similar foundations. With Vegeta and Nappa, Nappa was the ridiculous one and Vegeta served as his anchor. With Vegeta and Goku, the roles are flipped and Vegeta is now the ridiculous one, screaming his head off in frustration and writhing around in the death throes of his pride, while Goku's complete obliviousness and innocence keeping him grounded as the anchor. Nappa was purposefully annoying because he was a bratty, childish mook, while Goku is just annoying by happenstance and being very, very hard to put down. It doesn't help that Vegeta actually wants to kill Goku, and unlike Nappa, he's having less than success with this one.

The overall production of the climatic beam struggle is surprisingly well executed, and is perhaps the best moment in this entire episode from a technical perspective. Goku speaking as he charges up the Kamehameha doesn't sound cheesy, canned or forced, and neither does Vegeta's delivery. The sound effects and music are also on point here. This is an important moment in the series and I'm glad they got it just right. I have no objections with anything here.

If anything, at about five and a half minutes in, the viewer has had enough time to adjust to Vegeta's new raspier voice and it no longer seems out of place. If he had been speaking "normally" up until this point, I probably would have criticized the delivery on these lines, but it almost feels like it fits on the whole now that this has been established as the "new normal" for the last five minutes. The main point I'm attempting and probably failing at making is that my original complaint was that the new voice took me out of the episode, but in this moment with the beam struggle, Vegeta's voice flows naturally and I honestly wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't just (as of now) dedicated two whole paragraphs of this review to JUST talking about how Vegeta sounds slightly different now.

Alright, now it's time to back up a tad, which isn't something I like to do a lot. Twice in this episode, Goku has used the Kaio-Ken and then the Kaio-Ken times three. The first time he used it, he seemed to at least match Vegeta. The second time he used it, he jobbed Vegeta straight into a rocky wall. But it's only good for a few seconds, so it has no sustain. It's essentially one really strong punch or a really quick beat down, but leaves Goku winded and struggling at the end of it.

The reason I didn't bring these up as they happened was because frankly the scenes didn't do enough for me to write about it. I write about what I feel is significant to my review to give context or explanation to my thought process, not to give a play by play. Simply put, they were funny, but nothing notable happened because of it. It was a quick skit, okay, move on. But it's now important to draw attention to those two moments, because while they did very little for me the first two times... Well, during this beam struggle, just as Vegeta feels like he’s gaining the upper hand, the dramatic music quiets to nothing but the sounds of the beams clashing, and all we hear is...

"Kaio-Ken..." Vegeta look on in horror.  "...No..." "Times..." "No no no..." "FOUR!"

Vegeta is sent skyward with a loud FFFFUUUUUU- and then twinkles like Team Rocket just blasted off again. Goku is the victor... of this fight at least.

Then there's an odd cutaway back to Roshi's island that's slow to start, but eventually got me to smile. It's all the characters from Dragon Ball reminiscing of times where they used to be relevant to the story. Guest appearance by Baba who almost doesn't appear in Z at all!

It initially felt like a bit of tone whiplash but it warmed up to me. And "Whatever happened to Launch?" actually got a laugh out of me. Seems like Toriyama isn't the only person who forgot about her.

I'm not sure what the point of this scene was, but I agree with the decision that after that climax, a break or calming down period in the tension it had built up was definitely necessary, even if the transition felt a little jarring at first.

"Meanwhile, back at the plot", which is an amazing segue, Vegeta gets off Mr Goku's Wild Ride and the beam continues on without him into the pink sky.

I don't think -UUUUUUCK! counts as an F-Bomb so it doesn't get censored. Booyah!

Vegeta then undergoes a post ass-kicking identity crisis. After devising a plan to turn into the mighty Ozaru, he then undergoes a where's-the-damned-moon crisis.

Good thing Blutz Waves are a thing. He yeets the artificial moon into the sky and boom, King Kong. The other King K attempts to coach Goku through dealing with this beast (that is canonically stronger than Captain Ginyu at this point) and advises Goku to find a safe, secluded location to charge up the Spirit Bomb.

Goku however decides to do it right out in the open. Just as Ape Vegeta's massive fist obliterates Goku, King Kai's crystal ball turns to static and gets the operator disconnected message. I think a dial tone would've been slightly funnier, but this has the same energy so I'll take it with no complaints. An excellent way to end the first part of this episode!

[Part 2]

This part begins with Goku hitting a rock so hard he thinks he's in Dragonball Evolution for a moment. After blinding Vegeta with a solar flare, which I'm still not entirely sure how that works or why people don't use it more often to get cheap surprise shots on blinded targets, Goku finds a quiet spot that he can use to charge the Spirit Bomb. He ends up borrowing so much energy from the planet that he may or may not have drained all the life from an old father deer. Dark, but morbidly hilarious.

Goku tries to fling the Spirit Bomb at Vegeta, but surprise: He's got a mouth laser! Knocks the Spirit Bomb right out of him and sends him tumbling against a rock.

"Hey Kakarot, what's the opposite of Christopher Walken?" "Huh?" "Christopher Reeves!"

CRUNCH! The giant monkey stomps down right on Goku's legs, crushing and immobilizing him.

This is such a bad, good joke. I still think about this one from time to time. And honestly, considering how I started binge-watching these in high school (where I more or less developed into an entirely different person), this joke here might very well be the genesis of my love for black humor. I'm fully willing to admit I'm biased on this, but I think this is one of the funniest dark jokes in DBZA, full stop. If not the whole series, then at least within Season 1. Don't care, evil.

Just as he's about to be crushed for good, Goku shoots a quick energy blast into Vegeta's eye, causing him to stagger backwards. This is where Goku makes his cunning escape, dodging, weaving and doing aerial acrobatics around the massive monkey man, accompanied by victorious fanfare. Or not. Goku's legs are still broken. But it's nice to just imagine how cool that would’ve looked, y’know?

Vegeta then decides he's just going to squeeze the life out of Goku, and his screams can be heard well into the distance, all the way to Krillin and Gohan.

The giant monkey keeps squeezing Goku until he squeaks like a rubber ducky, or a chew toy. He does it again, and another squeak.

"Oh my god, that's hilarious."

In the middle of squeaking Goku relentlessly, Gohan decides to make a stand, having blown back to fight Ape Vegeta. He gives a verbose speech that culminates in "The bigger they are, the harder they fall." and then strikes a fighting pose like his five year old ass is going to do anything against a fifty foot behemoth. Battle gong and everything playing in the background.

Vegeta just stares at Gohan, and then after a pause, squeaks Goku again. This has delightfully petty energy to it, especially coming from Vegeta.

While Gohan has caught Vegeta monologuing, Krillin attempts a sneak attack on Vegeta, but he effortlessly humiliates him and thwarts his efforts by simply hopping over the Kienzan that was coming from behind.

However, he couldn't anticipate two sneak attacks. That or Yajirobe was simply that unlikely of a hero, but here he comes sword and all to save literally everyone's lives as he slices Vegeta's tail clean off his rump.

With no more tail, Vegeta regresses to his original Saiyan form. He's no less dangerous, however, and just as Krillin tries to bring the hype, he gets immediately pinballed into the nearest rocky structure and the owned count strikes 9.

The writing on Vegeta's speech following this is actually quite good. "I thought I'd be angrier" is not a take I expected from someone who's had such major meltdowns and cataclysmic conniptions thus far. It does a good job of illustrating how far down the rabbit hole we've gone, to the point where he has become so angry that he's encountered a stack overflow.

Goku and Gohan have a touching moment, both broken, beaten and bloody, but as they share a heart to heart, and their hands extend towards one another's like a Michelangelo painting, Vegeta comes in like a good fiend and gives Goku a killer knee-shot to the ribs. You have to wait for the right moment!

They immediately cut away to an intermission, which they never do in any other episode, but honestly it fits here. The alternative would be to end the episode here and we've still got another three minutes and some change to go. It's an arbitrary production joke but it's necessary and well done for the scene as a whole so it gets a pass and then some from me.

When we resume, Vegeta and Gohan duke it out, which provides a convenient distraction for Goku to hand off part of the Spirit Bomb to Krillin. It turns out he'd been saving some of the earth juices from when he got the snot knocked out of him earlier, but only a little bit of it. Krillin is confused as to why Goku would trust him of all people with it, and Goku concedes that his back is kind of against the wall on this one.

With a yipee-kay-yay and a booyah motherfucker, Krillin lobs the Spirit Bomb Lite at Vegeta, who simply jumps Krillin’s attack for the second time. Maybe aim a little higher next time, or better yet don’t loudly announce your attacks. Not that anyone in this series would understand that concept anyways.

Now the Spirit Bomb is heading straight for Gohan. But it's okay because Gohan is a main character, so he just Uno Reverse Card’s the Spirit Bomb off his hands and it sproings upwards towards Vegeta once more.

Side note, I don't think it's ever explained, either in the abridged or the original series, how Goku is able to communicate telepathically with Gohan. Yes, Master Roshi says in Dragon Ball that "any highly skilled martial artist can read minds" but does that just mean reading minds or actually communicating between them? And if that's the case, why doesn't Goku use this more often? I could probably find at least one plot point that could've been avoided by this, but the answer is probably extremely simple. Goku is a moron. It's very easy to explain away forgetfulness or inconsistent writing when you can just default to saying that your main character is an idiot who forgot he could do those techniques that you forgot existed as a writer. Don't think about it too much I guess.

"What smells like deer?"

I’ve actually missed this joke every single time I've watched this episode so far, except for just now, when I watched it to write this review. The old father deer from before! That is such a cool and unexpected callback.

Anyways, Vegeta gets punked by the Diet Spirit Bomb and goes sailing into the sky. The Z Fighters - which is now just Goku, Gohan and Krillin - are ecstatic in celebration.

"It's been tough, but now, we'll never have to see that rotten Saiyan ever again."

Cue Vegeta's lifeless body ragdolling to the ground with a meaty thwap. Krillin tempts fate by approaching the body, and that goes as expected. Vegeta opens one eye and screams. Then the others all start screaming.

Very weird production mis-step or weird decision with the source footage here. Vegeta's face at least moves, but because all the others have panning shots, they freeze in weird, awkward positions. The action lines don't move, some characters aren't fully in frame, and it's very obviously a still image instead of  something like a loop. Maybe this is just what they had to work with. Still, very immersion breaking. Though honestly, I'm almost glad that if something like this had to happen in this part, it was at least in the last ten seconds.

Goku is confused because he can't move. I mean, they won right? Why is everyone screaming.

[Part 3]

This part begins immediately with Krillin getting bitch slapped, earning a 10/10 on the owned counter. Vegeta then decides he has had exactly enough of everyone and everything, and goes for the nuclear option.

Fortunately for our heroes, Vegeta has been so worn down, battered, sent through the ringer, and has suffered so much damage to that one eye in particular, that he doesn't have enough energy left to kill everyone all at once. Instead, he opts to get his hands dirty and cut them each of them down one at a time. Speaking of cut, here comes Yajirobe with his sword. It can pierce through Vegeta's armor, which is wonderful news but ultimately pointless. However, it serves as an excellent distraction.

Remember that fake moon? Remember how Vegeta only returned to normal form because his tail was amputated? Remember earlier how Piccolo had to destroy the Earth's actual moon because Gohan was a rampaging Donkey Kong lunatic? Well guess who just woke up staring right at that fake moon in the sky.

Lacking any barrels in the vicinity, Ape Gohan decides to throw around some rocks.

Goku, again, reaches to him telepathically and reminds him not to go on a rampage killing everyone.

"Remember Icarus? He did it."

Now, purely within this episode, this isn’t an issue. It’s a funny haha moment. However, this scene gets a little more irritating or perplexing once you’ve seen some of the DBZA movies. This knowledge did hamper my enjoyment of this scene on rewatch. However, that ultimately isn’t fair to this episode as a stand alone product, and my gut instinct of “My knowledge of episodes that came out well after this one retroactively makes this episode worse!” is also something I try tooth and nail to avoid. So I’m going to talk about this for a bit and get it out of my system so I can approach it fairly.

Simply put, Icarus is a headache. He's Gohan's friend and pet dragon of sorts, for like three random movies, some episodes of Z and then never gets mentioned again. Goku implies that Vegeta is responsible for Icarus' death, despite the fact that Icarus is still alive at some point after Goku defeats Freeza. I would normally take up the stance of “okay, let’s ignore the official canon / non-canon and just stick to DBZA” but he ALSO features in the DBZA movie Cooler’s Revenge, so this is multiple layers of crazy. 

I understand that DBZA exists primarily as a form of parody and thus prioritizes humor and “working with what you’ve got” over some things a harsh anal-retentive person might deflagrate them for (cough cough) and are not afraid to contradict themselves on points of little significance for the sake of humor. I also don’t think they had any long-standing plans to incorporate Icarus into Z at the time this episode was made - They may have simply wanted to make a joke about the DBZ equivalent of Poochie the Dog from Itchy & Scratchy.

Like I said, Icarus is headache. However, simply in this moment and nothing else, I do feel it works. It’s shows a cute dragon geting exploded. Who couldn’t feel bad for this poor random dragon that I totally haven’t ever seen before? It also works within the story itself -  Gohan gets sufficiently angry, and Vegeta starts treading the tightrope of desperation. 

Gohan's Ozaru form isn't long lived however, as Vegeta suddenly learns the Kienzan and slices his tail off with it. Small problem though, Gohan was airborne, and the regression back to a normal Saiyan form is not instantaneous. His massive body looms over him, and with a Big NO, Vegeta go splat.

He's down but not out. He at least has enough energy to call for his Space Uber to come and pick him up. As he's crawling hands and knees into his escape pod, Krillin suddenly decides he wants to be important, and appears with Yajirobe's sword, poised to strike. 

Vegeta is understandably terrified, because after the day Krillin's had, he's gone full ride or die mode and isn't about to wait on an invitation to go full Thanksgiving turkey on this maniac.

However, Goku wants the pacifist ending and gives a very simplified version of the original speech to Krillin. If he's sorry, we have to let him leave. Because that's what being a good boy is all about. It's noteworthy that one of my all-time favorite Vegeta quotes happens right here in the original dub.

"When I come back to this planet, you're all going to suffer. And when you beg me for mercy, I'll stare into your eyes as I crush the life out of you."

However in this version, we're treated to "Yes, I'm very very sorry. Sorry that you're all still alive, suckers!"

And honestly, both versions are fitting for their respective interpretations of Vegeta.

As we pan out, the narrator waxes on the victory of the heroes and how he made bank from his bet with King Kai. Next time, don't make bets with the narrator you stupid idiot. Big dumb idiot god. 

I'm writing this at close to 4am if you couldn't tell. Scheduled uploads!

"Has anyone really not seen this show already? Find out in the next season of Dragon Ball Z Abridged!"

And that's it folks! Well, almost. We have one final scene to go through first.

Vegeta is hurdling through space in his Saiyan pod, lamenting his laundry list of losses and failures, but at least concedes that his situation cannot get worse. But we all know what happens to people who tempt fate.

"Vegeta... VEGEEEEEETA..." "Wh-What?" *DING* "I'm haunting you."

And thus, we've reached the end of Season 1! The Ghost Nappa song plays and the outro credits roll.

Conclusion

First off, definitely a longer review than I'm used to writing. Secondly, this was a great three-parter. I wasn't sure if the format would hold up like it does for single segment episodes, but it does. Now I'm sure there are bad episodes to come in the future, but for now I'm happy that the last three or four episodes have all scored relatively high. TFS is going into Season 2 with some great foundations built upon their older, more crude material, and they still have a lot of room yet to improve. I should consider being more critical with this next season as the expectations will be higher!

There’s one noteworthy gripe I have with each of these three parts, but only one worth writing about. -Vegeta suddenly sounding different, as if I didn't talk about that enough. I swear I'm not taking crazy pills. -Weird freeze frames at the end of Part 2. -Icarus, simply because he messes with me on a personal level. This fucking dragon doesn't make any god damned sense.

Other than that, I liked it. I don't know if I'd say "I loved it" but for the series as a whole, we're getting there at breakneck speed.

The first part had some great back and forth interactions with Goku and Vegeta, both the dialogues and the beam struggle, while the second part had more stand-out moments with just Vegeta, from the squeaking Goku, to the "I thought I'd be angrier" speech, his perfectly timed knee to ribs, and the famous last words "What smells like deer?"

The last part... didn't actually have much of this. I didn't find the talk about Vegeta’s father to be terribly funny and nothing else he said was extremely stand-out like in the previous two parts. This part didn't so much have humor as it was the "let's wrap things up" segment. Most of the noteworthy moments happen close to the tail end. I will admit, even ten years later, I still got a little sentimental hearing that outro from LK, and let's not sleep on Ghost Nappa. They may have done you dirty in Kai 3 but we still love you!

Overall, I'm happy that this was as good as I remembered it. I found jokes I didn't pick up the first few times, flaws that I didn't know existed, and a new appreciation for some subtle details that may have glossed over me while I was busy laughing about Christopher Reeves.

Part 1: 75 Part 2: 78 Part 3: 72

Score: 75

Passing Thoughts

"Kaio-Ken!" "Kaio-What?"

Small error on my part - Piccolo blows up the moon in Episode 4, and in my review of that episode, I mistakenly attribute a scene from this episode to DBZ Kai Abridged.

"I'm going to enjoy this far more than I should." - And like that, Vegeta has suddenly become relatable.

"Thank God, I thought he meant penis!"

"Time to crush you like an Arlian." "A what?" "Exactly."

"I haven't killed a damned thing since I got to this god-forsaken planet! Not for lack of trying mind you."

[impala-dreamer]

The Chosen: Turning Point

~After Kelly pushed her away, Beka was adrift, working and living alone until she met the men who would change her life forever.~

Beka, Nicholas (OMC), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Benny,

3,692 Words

Warnings: Action! Adventure! Blood! Death! Angst! Show level everything.

A/N: This is a flashback chapter that may be read at any time after Rebekah’s Story. Chapter written by @impala-dreamer

The Chosen Series Masterlist ~  Feedback is Gold ~ Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

Leaving Kelly was the hardest thing Beka had ever done.

Sure, there were harder things to do physically- she’d once hiked up a mountain with one hand and a machete in the other, but mentally, Beka wasn’t sure she’d ever pull up from the loss.

Kelly had been a constant in her life for so long, and romantic love aside, Beka’s feelings went deep. Kelly was her best friend, her sister, her everything. With her gone, there was just a hole.

Anger came and went, the disappointment and heartache from Kelly’s violent rejections stung, but Beka existed mostly in a state of stoic panic. Her loneliness was crippling, and panic seeped through every crack in her psyche until some nights she could do little more than sit and stare at the motel walls as her leg bounced uncontrollably.  

She kept working, not knowing what else to do, but stuck to smaller cases. A few hauntings in the Northwest, a cursed object up near Vancouver, little things that could be sorted quickly and alone.

Keeping busy was essential. If she stopped for too long, found herself idle in between cases, Kelly’s voice in her head became too loud to bear.

“You should have been there!”

Guilt is powerful, heavy. It sits on your chest like a lead apron, slowly crushing into your ribs until it’s almost a comforting weight. It hurt, but Beka would feel lost without the pressure.

Luckily, Kelly was always there to remind her.

“You should have come with us!”

She kept tabs on her as best she could. With her ear to the ground, she heard of the little blonde hunter with the knives who was making a mess of the Southwest. But that’s as far as Beka went. If Kelly wanted her, she would have gone in a second, but there was no way she’d open the door first.

Some months later, Beka ran into a hunter named Nicholas. He was older, more experienced, with gray flecks in his beard and white at his temples. He had tiny brown eyes and a hooked nose, and his voice was thin and wispy.

Nicholas had been working a case in Portland when he’d caught wind of a small Salt and Burn possibility a few towns over. While traipsing through a muddy cemetery, he and Beka had, quite literally, bumped into each other.

He would joke later on to anyone who’d listen that Beka had been so taken with him the first time they met, that he his charm had “knocked her right on her ass”. Beka would always joke later, with an epic eye roll, that she should have stayed down in the mud.

Nicholas had lost his wife and daughter a few years prior, and with Beka newly abandoned herself, it seemed only fitting that the two should quell their loneliness together. Strictly friends, they roamed the countryside together, taking the backroads in Nicholas’s beat up blue Ford Pickup, chopping down whatever monster crossed their path.

They made a good team. Neither had anything to lose but each other, and it worked out well. Beka could have done without Nicholas’s terrible anecdotes and predilection for Hank Williams, but other than that, things were going rather well.  

In early June, the duo were passing through the very tip of Idaho, when they stumbled upon some local reports of exsanguinated bodies.

Nicholas perked up at the idea, but Beka, who hadn’t been close to a vampire in almost a year, hesitated.

“It’s not really our thing,” she mumbled with a shrug.

Nicholas tipped his head in her direction but kept his eyes on the highway. “It’ll be a quick in and out. Come on, Bek.”

She chewed her lip as panic began to rise. “I don’t know. I’m not really prepared for that. And we just finished up in Waterton. Can’t we have a little break?”

“It’ll be fun, trust me,” he urged, cracking a charming smile. “We’ll just go check it out, and if you still don’t feel right about it, we’ll move on.”

Beka toyed with her seatbelt, running her thumb in the fabric’s groove. “You promise?”

He looked over then, dark eyes honest and caring. “I promise. You get a queasy feeling and we bounce.”

A deep breath calmed her slightly, and Beka nodded in agreement. “OK.”

“OK!” Nicholas slapped the wheel and sat up straight, looking for the next exit. “This’ll be fun.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Come on, we’re gonna get our hands dirty for a bit, knock some heads off; it’ll be great.” He took a deep breath and rolled down his window to let the breeze carry him away. “Besides, what could go wrong?”

Beka didn’t like to say “I told you so”, but she was right so often that it was hard not to. It was almost as if she had some kind of ESP, but in the end, she was pretty sure it was just extreme paranoia and a lucky streak.

“Everything is wrong!” she screamed, heavy rain pelting her face as they ran from the ranch house. Mud was everywhere, and as the rain continued, the pastures flooded, the ground unable to keep up with the deluge.

“You don’t have to keep telling me,” Nicholas barked back. “I know!” He clutched his shoulder, dislocated and hanging funny to the side.

The ranch had been packed full with more vampires than either had ever seen in one place. Beka counted thirteen bloodsuckers before they were discovered and attacked. They hadn’t stood a chance.

Nicholas managed to take down two by himself before being flung into a wall, and Beka had one down at her feet when she was grabbed from behind and bitten at the nape of her neck. When the room began to spin, monster hands were ripped from her body and she spun to see a tall man with green eyes take down her attacker.

“Run,” he told her, his voice deep and firm. “Go!”

Beka had but a moment to register what was happening. She could feel the blood trickling down her spine, the panic rising in her chest, but she couldn’t move. Her feet were planted, stuck.

A vamp came at her, and Beka snapped back to life, swinging her blade as hard as she could, and getting it stuck halfway between the monster’s neck and victory. He raged, shrieking and clawing at her as she tried to free her machete, but she wasn’t strong enough.

“Fucking fuck!”

Green eyes came to her aid once again, and Beka’s brain sparked with recognition. “Hey- do I know-”

“What part of run was unclear?” he snapped. “Go! We got this!”

“We?” Beka looked over his shoulder to see two men hacking away at vampires. One was extremely tall and the other wore a cute black hat. “Where did you guys come from?”

Green eyes dodged a fist and chopped off a head. “Lady, I don’t have time for a meet and greet,” he said. “Either run or start swinging.”

So she swung.

Thirteen turned into twenty, and they just kept coming. It was like a vamp convention, nothing any of them had seen before.

Beka managed to take down five before being jumped again, this time taking a set of fangs to the forearm. Her scream rang through the house, and the tallest man came to her rescue.

“You OK?” he asked, dipping his head to catch her gaze.

Beka wobbled a bit on her feet, dizziness taking over for a moment. “Yeah.”

Hazel eyes were kind when she looked up and the man smiled. “Good. What’s your name?”

Lightning lit the windows and the rain began to fall, smacking into the glass with heavy fists.

“Beka,” she answered quickly. “Who are you guys?”

“My name’s Sam Winchester,” he said with a smile. “That’s my brot- Shit!”

Thunder rolled over the roof as Sam was sent rolling across the floor. A team of bloodsuckers lunged for Beka, but she was pulled away at the last second by a warm, familiar hand.

“We need to go.”

Nicholas’ voice was strong in her ear, and she nodded silently, her eyes locked to the man in the hat who was throwing punches all around him. He looked towards her for a second and Beka could see a row of fangs hidden behind red lips.

“Vamps fighting vamps,” she muttered in a stunned whisper. “Now I’ve seen it all.”

She yelped as Nicholas tugged on her wounded arm, and her feet moved again.

They ran from the house, rain pulling away some of the blood and muck from their faces. The storm was loud, the sky aglow with electricity and moonlight.

She felt like a coward for leaving, but Nicholas was hurt, she was losing blood by the second, and they were tremendously outnumbered. It had all been a mistake, a huge fuck up, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

“Who were those guys?” Nicholas yelled over the thunder.

“You’re not gonna believe it,” she called back, jumping through the mud. “But we just got our asses saved by the fucking Winchesters.”

Nicholas skidded to a halt, his eyes wide with amazement. “Are you serious-” His word ended with a scream as a hand clawed through his already wounded shoulder. Nicholas turned but too late, as a husky vamp took hold and ripped clean through his jugular.

Beka froze with panic, her heart stopping as she watched her companion crumble. Nicholas struggled for a few precious seconds before going still, his arms dropping, knees giving up. When the vampire had quenched his thirst, he let the corpse go, and Nicholas landed in the mud, just as Beka had when they first met.

His brown eyes were wide and the rain came down in sheets upon him. He moved no more.

“You’re next, sweetpea.”

The vampire stepped clean over Nicholas’ body, his massive hands stretched out to reach for Beka. She turned and pushed off her right foot, breaking into a run. The ground was too soft, too wet, and she stumbled badly, only making it a few yards before the monster had her by the collar.

“Nice try,” he growled, breath hot on her cheek, stinking of copper.

When her skin broke, it was with a tiny pinch, almost no worse than getting a flu shot. The vampire was tender in a way, he could have ripped her throat open as he did with Nicholas, but he took his time, savoring her taste, letting his hands wander greedily down her heaving chest.

Beka struggled at first, but the rain was soothing and her head soon began to swim. All in all, not a terrible way to die. She’d gone out with a fight, a badass with a blade, a warrior. Well, a close copy of one anyway. Besides, what did she have left to live for. Nicholas was gone, Kelly hated her… No, letting go wouldn’t be too bad right about now.

She couldn’t be sure what had happened, but she ended up face down in the mud, her ankle badly twisted and one arm surely broken, locked awkwardly behind her back. Gentle hands picked her up, and the rain was blocked as Sam looked down into her face, brushing back the rain soaked hair from her muddy cheek.

“Hey, hey, Beka,” he called to her, patting her face, but she couldn’t focus. Her eyes rolled wildly as Heaven called to her. “Hey, no no. Stay with me.”

“Sam.” Dean dropped a hand to his brother’s shoulder and sighed. “She’s gone.”

“No. Not yet.” Sam pressed his big hand to Beka’s throat, stopping the thin trickle of blood, but it wasn’t enough. He could feel her pulse weakening with each struggling heartbeat. “We have to save her.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s gone, man. I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do.”

Sam looked up frantically and grit his teeth. “We have to help her!”

“Why? You don’t even know her!” Dean spun away, his hands up and useless. Ever since Sam had started the Trials, he’d been acting insane, and this was just another side effect, Dean was sure.  

Benny placed a calming hand on Dean’s arm and stepped forward. “Maybe I can help,” he said slowly, turning Sam’s eyes to him.

“What? How?”

Carefully, Benny knelt down beside Beka’s head and pulled the sleeve of his shirt back, exposing his wrist. He lifted his arm to his lips, but paused as Sam shouted.

“No! You can’t do that,” he said harshly. “She’ll turn!”

“She’ll also be healed,” Benny countered. “And alive.”

Sam shook his head and tried to pull Beka away, shielding her from Benny. She whimpered in her limbo state, lips turning a pale shade of pink as the last dregs of life ran through Sam’s fingers. “She’ll be a monster.”

Benny struggled to ignore Sam’s disrespect, clenching his jaw and huffing slightly. “Yes, well, then you can use your fancy cure on her, and all will be well.”

“It doesn’t always work!”

“Then she dies. Or she dies now. Your choice, Cher.”

The rain had subsided a bit by the time they reached the motel.

Much to Dean’s annoyance, Sam refused to leave Beka’s side, carrying her alone into the room and then arranging her on the farthest bed. She was out cold, thankfully, but her body was convulsing, twisting painfully as the change began to take hold. She cried out in torment a few times and Sam’s brow was knit with concern. He placed a soothing hand on her forehead each time and she settled, magically lulled by his touch.

“Why are you so obsessed with this chick?” Dean asked as he mashed the cure ingredients together. He wasn’t upset or judgemental anymore, simply curious.

Sam shrugged and looked back over his shoulder. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I just know we need to help her.”

“This something to do with the… purifying your soul crap?” He asked, waving the pestle around.

“Maybe?”

Another cry from the bed turned Sam back to his charge, and Beka’s eyes flew open as a torrent of pain twisted her gut. She sat up with a scream and doubled over, Sam moving to sit on the bed next to her, rubbing her back as she cringed.

“It’s OK,” he whispered, long fingers curling around her shoulder.

“What the fuck!” Beka pushed him off and scampered back against the headboard, brown eyes huge and crazed. “Where the fuck am I?” Her frame shook and her words were wavy.

Sam stood up and held up his hands in surrender. “It’s OK. I’m- we met back at the ranch. Remember? I’m Sam, that’s my brother Dean-”

Beka’s eyes narrowed as she looked from brother to brother, squinting in the dim light. Her glasses were filthy and her vision blurred. “Dean...Winchester?”

Dean’s head popped up at the curious tone. “Have we met?”

“You-you were at the- school and- fuck!” A lightning bolt of pain flashed down her spine, arching her back and sending her head into the wall behind her. “What did you do to me!”

“You were turned,” Dean said loudly and matter of factly as he finished up the spell.

Beka’s jaw dropped and she exhaled slowly, the shock washing over her. “Turned?”

Sam took a step back towards her. “We didn’t have a choice, you were dying. Our friend-”

“You...turned me into a vampire!” Beka shot up from the bed, ready to throw punches, but she fell forward into Sam’s arms, tripping as her head began to pound. “What is that?” A terrible thud rang in her ears and Beka pushed Sam away to clamp her hands aside her head. “What is that!”

Sam looked at her hopelessly. “What is what?”

“That pounding!” Beka screamed over the noise in her head, but the brothers couldn’t hear a thing.

Dean nodded in understanding, having been there before. He poured his concoction into a glass and brought it over to Beka.

“Your senses are heightened. You’re probably hearing a clock, a car on the highway, a woodpecker two miles away. This is what happens.” Dean tapped her shoulder and nodded towards the bed, urging her to sit. “You keep squinting. Vision all blurry?”

Beka sat slowly, lowering her hands but keeping a suspicious eye on Dean. “Yeah?”

“Probably because you don’t need your glasses anymore.”

“That’s…” She hesitated and then pulled the frames down to sit on the tip of her nose. Once the glass was gone, she blinked and everything came into focus. “Fuck. I’m a vampire. Fuck!”

She went to stand, started to freak out, panic crawling through her chest, but Dean grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down. He took a seat on the opposite bed and set his elbows on his knees, looking her in the eye.

“I need you to calm down,” he said simply.

“Calm down! How can I- what the fuck good- I can’t calm down! You…” Beka looked from Dean up to Sam, her eyes turning from fear to resignation. “You have to kill me,” she breathed out. “Just make it quick, please.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, nodding to herself. “Do it.”

Sam shook his head. “Beka, no.”

“What? Why not?” She peeked an eye open and Dean held the cup of sludge out to her.

“You’re gonna drink this.”

“No I’m not.”

Sam held a smirk but Dean rolled his eyes. “Yes, you are. It’s an old family cure. It’s gonna hurt like hell. You’re gonna feel like you’re dying, and then you’re gonna puke your brains out for a good forty minutes, but then you’ll be fine.”

Beka laughed. “There’s no cure for vampirism.”

“There is,” Sam told her. “It works...most of the time.”

“Most of the time!” She tried to stand again, but Dean shoved the glass against her chest.

“Drink it.”

She took the glass and sniffed it, but realized it was a bad idea and turned away.

Dean growled in annoyance, done with the entire ordeal. “Drink it now or I’ll pour it down your throat.”

“Dean!” Sam scowled at his brother.

Beka took a breath and then looked between the guys, realizing this was her only choice. “Well, if I don’t, I’m dead anyway, right?”

Dean frowned. “Pretty much.”

Another moment of hesitation and then Beka lifted the putrid muck to her lips. She shivered in revulsion and then pinched her nose shut before diving in.

“Bottoms up.”

She slept for seven hours and would have kept going had Dean not whacked her foot several times, alerting her to the arrival of food.

Everything hurt. The balls of her feet straight up to the top of her head stung with microscopic needles of pain as she sat up and walked to the table. But pain was good. Pain meant she was still alive.

They ate burgers and fries from the diner down the street, and chatted a bit about their lives. Beka told them about Nicholas and how she’d been hunting for years, that her talents lay mostly in the books. She spoke in a low voice, her throat ripped apart by hours of vomiting, but her stories were laced with passion, and the boys listened with interest. She told them a little about her family, and where she grew up, told them everything of importance. Everything but Kelly.

The sun felt amazing on her face, and Beka took a moment to breathe the fresh air, before saying her goodbyes.

“So, I guess I should thank you for saving my life... twice,” she said, smiling up at Sam.

He was haloed by the early afternoon sun, his chestnut hair aflame with golden light. His face was in shadow, but Beka could see the deep dimples erupt as he smiled. “Three times, actually,” he said with a laugh and shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking awkwardly on his heels.

“Three times,” she repeated. “OK then.” She chewed at the corner of her lip and shrugged. “Thank you.”

The motel room door slammed behind Dean as he came out with the last bag. “We good?” he asked, rounding the Impala.

Sam cleared his throat and looked away from Beka. “Uh, yeah.”

“Want a ride back to your truck?”

Beka turned to see Dean leaning on the roof of the car, his hands crossed, keys dangling. “Oh, yeah. I guess so. Shit.” She hadn’t had time to think about Nicholas or the fact that her only friend in the world was dead and gone. Alone again.

Sam broke her lamenting moment. “So, where will you go?”

“I… don’t know,” she said honestly. “I've kinda been bouncing around on my own for a while now. Nicholas was the first person I trusted in about a year.” She shrugged. “Bad luck for him, I guess.”

Sam shot Dean a look that was met with half a shrug. He turned back to Beka nervously. “Come stay with us for a while,” he said. “We have... plenty of room.”

Beka laughed politely and bowed out. “Thanks, Sam but...I can't do that. I'm...pretty cursed. People get close and bad things happen.”

“Well,” Dean spoke up, “lucky for us, we are curse proof. And as he said...Bunker’s big. Plenty of room not to get too close.” He ended on a wink and stepped back to open the door.

“And there's a library…” Sam added.

Beka puckered her lips in thought and cracked a smile. So, it was a little weird, and she didn’t know these guys beyond their street reps, but they had saved her life, when they could have left her back in the mud. Besides, it would be good to get off the road for a while, to know someone was around if she needed, someone to keep her mind occupied in the quiet moments.

“Well?” Sam prodded with a grin.

“Not to be a nerd right now after being such a badass all night, but… Sam Winchester,” Beka said with a flourish, “take me to your lore.”

2019 Forever Tags:

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The Chosen: @shamelesslydean  

[wolf-in-a-suit]

Nursing care

Show: The Dragon Prince

Summary: General Amaya is a woman of action, not lying around idly while others do the work for her! Having fought many foes and endured torture, at the hands of quite a few of them, she also prides herself for her perseverance. However, throw into the mix: Ezran, a horse, an overbearing Harrow and a smug arch mage and you get a General at the end of her rope. Enjoy.

A/N: This is my very late contribution to @tdpweek with the prompt ‘car accident’. Seeing as this is a fantasy show I decided a horse accident is more befitting and resumed to torture our loved General Amaya.

My other two imagines for tdpweek are: The Pastry Assassination (featuring Viren x Amaya, Harrow, Claudia, Ezran and Callum) and Regret.(Claudia, Soren and Viren)

A stark breeze ruffled trees, fall had already painted them in various color schemes. Their falling leaves posed an invitation to get lost in the forest's tranquil embrace. Marking the retreat of summer, the last rays of a setting sun left warm traces on the approaching rider's faces. The clacker of hooves was muffled by thick earth and left the serene mood undisturbed.

Amaya closed her eyes and breathed it all in; the thick earthy scent and the oncoming crisp whisper of winter was carried as a promise by the wind. Here she felt complete: Horseback and on an uncharted trail only she knew. Her muscles uncoiled as she relaxed for the first time in weeks. No disturbances, mortal danger, or recruits clanking around in their heavy armor... just this.

"Hey, aunt Amaya look what I can do!"

Well, it had been relaxing as long as it lasted. The General turned around just to stare at her nephew Callum sitting on his horse grinning over both ears. Next to him Ezran's gelding was... showcasing a disturbing lack of Ezran. Her eyes widened in panic, while her hands began whipping through the air in hectic movements. Callum’s hands rose as well. "Don't worry, he's right there." Amaya shifted her weight in the saddle to peer to the mentioned side of Ezran's steed. Sure enough, the future ruler of the kingdom was clawed to the side of the saddle like a spider, his white teeth gleaming in triumph.

The reprimanding brisk moves of his aunt's hands did little to dampen his enthusiasm. "It's alright, Hector won’t let me fall. Right?" The small boy crawled further up the animal’s neck and peered lovingly into it's warm brown eyes. However, Hector seemingly wasn't prepared for the massive squirrel suddenly flashing onto the road.

Three seconds.

It took Hector about three seconds to determine that: Yes, he was in mortal danger and no: a Prince clawing at his neck did little to boost his confidence in being able to battle this outlandish fiend. So, he did the only sensible thing: Whickering and kicking, while he turned around galloping down the dirt road.

"Ezran!" Callum was frozen to the spot, all he was able to do was scream for his little brother who hung onto his steed's neck for dear life.

With each massive jump of the animal the thought of 'This is it!' whipped through Ezran's head with the speed of the trees blurring by. His hands ached and lost more and more of their death grip on Hector's mane. Surely, this was his end. He would be crushed under the heavy hooves and trampled, if not he would break his neck on impact. He closed his eyes while he felt the last of his strength slip and gravity’s inevitable pull take hold.

Suddenly, a new pair of trapping hooves led the boy to snap his eyes open again. Just in time to see his aunt launch like a tiger from her own horse, still running at break neck speed and snatch him out of the air. Her big frame engulfed his tiny figure in midflight and then-

They crashed, very hard. The scrapping of armor on stone and the horrifying breaking of bones was followed by an even more unsettling silence.

The next thing Amaya's fuzzy brain registered was pain. A lot of it. It was followed by the face of Viren looming over her prone form - as if the physical pain wasn't enough.

"Congratulations General, you managed to break your leg and quite a few of your ribs. Not counting the really impressive consortium of bruises and scrapes. I'd say this deserves at least a place under your top three injuries. Wouldn’t you agree?" Lord Viren's face was a mixture between smug and annoyed. Amaya's answer came in swift movements. "She's saying that-" Callum’s translation was briskly interrupted by the mage himself: "'If you're so ecstatic about treating my wounds, perhaps you should send in one of your other mages?' Yes, I know!" Now, the annoyed expression definitely took over his features.

"And miss prescribing the General Amaya bed rest and forbidding her from attending her duty for the next weeks? I think not." At the woman's horrified face a smirk stretched his thin lips. 'You're enjoying this far too much.' Amaya signed furiously. "You're quite mistaken, for I am but a humble servant." His mocking bow brought rise to the General's notorious scowl. However, Viren seemed immune to it’s effect. "Do enjoy your time with your family my dear." A mischievous and knowing gleam filled his eyes as he opened the door to her certain doom.

In stumbled a crying Ezran "Aunt Amaya, I am so sorry!”, a concerned Gren "How are you General? Is there anything I can do?" and worst of all: A very, very deeply worried brother in law: King Harrow. "I'll tell the servants to make your room better accessible at once and... and to carry you there. Wait! I'll carry you myself!" The former quiet room was filled by a jumble of voices: Apologies, suggestions and plans flew through the air and Amaya felt like she was caught in a Hurricane of epic proportions. The door, her only escape route, was blocked by a highly amused Lord Viren. Although, she supposed in her current state any escape attempt would be cut short by this pack of hungry wolves calling themselves family.

"Amaya is the cushion really comfortable enough?" Without waiting for a response Harrow dove into the next room like he was leading an army into battle. A few seconds later he emerged with about six new cushions in hand. An over eager Ezran lifted her feet in order to make room for the offending objects. Though, at the pained look on her face dropped her broken leg instantly, - which in turn led her to a silent howl. "I am so sorry! I'll get you something!"

There was simply no telling what the Prince would drag along this time. So far a tower of strawberry pastries, books- now sporting suspiciously red stains and a dagger was erected right next to her. Bait peering grumpily from the top at the commotion. It was just her luck that her brother in law had witnessed the scene unfold and was now franticly searching for a solution. By all the gods in this realm, what did she do to deserve this punishment!?

An unsuspecting Callum rounded the corner as he was suddenly seized and shaken by the King. "Callum, go get some more of the pain numbing potion from Viren. Be quick about it." And off was the last remaining sensible part of her family, oh joy.

With precise and swift moves Viren dropped the Corus fly’s wings into the cauldron and started a low incantation. "Naip feiler w..." Bam, bam. The rapping on his door let him to groan in frustration. No one informed you beforehand how much of a time consuming business being the father of a witch and a soldier could be.

However, when he opened the door there was no sign of an exasperated Soren or confused Claudia to be found, just the boy. With great effort he stopped his teeth from grinding. "Prince Callum, there is a reason why I am not to be disturbed while in my laboratory. Not even by the King himself!" The boy in turn just managed to drag the minimal amount of socially acceptable shame onto his pale face. "Yes, almost totally forgot... the big sign outside was just, eh... very hard to read?” He finished lamely. At Viren's raised eyebrow he continued: "I need a new potion for Aunt Amaya." "Ah" The mage made a knowing sound. "I take it, due to her family's loving care of her!?"

However, his skilled hands were quick to pour his recent potion into a flask and to press it into the boy’s hands. But instead of scuttling the annoyance eyes narrowed. "Wait, did you just brew this for her? I thought that was the job of the common mages downstairs!?"

"There are also other wounded people requiring my skills, not only the General. Brewing the potion just now was merely a coincidence." There was some light igniting in the Prince's green eyes as he leaned on the stone wall. "I'm curious, why exactly did you learn how to read sign language?" Lord Viren scoffed. „The arch mage and the General of the King’s guard not being able to understand each other in times of conflict? Well, that's certainly a sensible idea. However, as enjoyable as this discussion with you was - as always." the words where drenched in barely concealed annoyance, like one of Ezran's tarts in strawberry jam "I believe there is somewhere you need to be!"

The door banged shut right before Callum's nose, the sign reading ‘Do Not Disturb!’ in bold letters swinging hazardly from one side to the other.

Menacing shadows crept through the moonlit corridors while voices echoed on the cold stone walls, blending to a jumble of incoherent words: “She was just here..”, “Find her!”, “-always like this…”

Sweat shone on her forehead and Amaya needed to take deep breaths to calm herself, she was surrounded by the enemy. One wrong move could mean the end. Leaning heavily on the wooden crutches she tried to move as swiftly and silently across the corridor. The voices gained in volume, they were almost upon her now. Just around the corner. Her panicked gaze snapped back before her at the sound of a heavy door opening.

Out stepped Viren. The mage was astonished at the picture presenting itself. The runaway, searched by all of the court for the last hour, stood before him caught red-handed in escaping King Harrow and his guards. Amaya huffed in annoyance and defeat. Busted, back to the insanity that was Harrow’s understanding of loving care. Viren would never let her live this down. The voices drew even nearer.

A shift in the air made the fugitive look up. Viren had stepped aside, his robes billowing in the air, and mentioned with his raised arm to the open door behind him: Leading into his laboratory. Her brown eyes were torn open in equal amounts of astonishment and wariness. Lord Viren helping her? He always acted as if she was the bane of his existence. Arguing over every small decision or operation plan and more often than not sending her a smoldering glare behind Harrow’s back. This had to be a trick of his; the man did nothing without an ulterior motive in mind.

The man in question sighed, resignation coloring the tone. “Is it so hard to believe that I am capable of genuine sympathy?” Amaya’s hardened expression rendered every word unnecessary. Viren’s eyebrows shifted into his state of the art ‘I-am-not-amused’ mien. “Well then, let’s just wait for our King then. Shall we?”

With seconds to spare General Amaya grabbed her crutches and vanished into the open door.

When King Harrow rounded the corner all he saw was his trusted advisor calmly closing the door to his laboratory, the ‘Do not disturb!’ sign swinging and finally clattering to the ground.

[nervouswreck-96]

Supernova - Chapter 2

“Knuckles? Can you hear me, Knuckles?”

Deep in the back of his mind, Knuckles the Echidna had to be wondering to himself how he even got caught up in this mess in the first place.

Were it not for a sense of personal responsibility, chances were high that he wouldn’t be doing this in the first place. Now, not only was the Master Emerald missing, but he had managed to get himself lost, surrounded by vast monochromatic catacombs of glossy concrete and stainless steel that all looked virtually identical to the naked eye. The echidna relied on his own sixth sense to lure him closer to his destined jewel. Sure enough, throughout his journey, his mind had been receiving signals from beyond.

Unfortunately, they were not the kind of signals he asked for.

A shrill, childish voice entered his left ear, and only his left ear. “Knuckles? It’s Tails! Requesting your position! Knuckles, are you there?!”

Perfect. Just perfect. This is exactly what I needed.

Knuckles had forgotten about those silly two-way radios that everybody had been told to shove in their ears. He wanted to raise an objection to them before they launched their last-ditch mission to infiltrate the ESS-1, but ultimately held his tongue. After all, he had far more pressing concerns to address.

One message in, and he remembered exactly why he had the objection to begin with. He figured it would be quicker if he just got this reply out of the way sooner rather than later.

“Eighth deck! No, I haven’t found it yet! Over!”

He made sure to shout as loud as possible, as he wasn’t sure if the radio would pick up speech at his normal volume. Nor did he care, since he had resolved for this to be the first, last, and only time he would ever use the thing.

Reaching in with the most delicate touch he could handle, he – somehow, with what was essentially an oversized boxing glove – extracted the unit. It was a simple contraption, little more than a foam earpiece with a plastic cap at the end which concealed the electronic components. It was all too easy for someone to crush into dust…which is exactly what Knuckles had in mind when he held the unit above his head, one second away from throwing it to the ground with every bit of his strength.

At the last possible moment, a thought crossed his mind.

No…I might need this later.

Instead, Knuckles opted for the far more sensible solution of toggling the nearly undetectable on/off switch.

With that distraction out of the way, he pressed on, scouring Deck 8 of the ESS-1, twisting his neck at every turn to more effectively scan all possible angles of the route that lay ahead of him. Something deep inside his head told him he was getting closer to his goal. In fact, that “something” turned so painfully loud in its attempts to call out to him that he had to clutch his sinuses in a futile attempt to calm them down. The further he walked, the less control he had of his own basic senses. All sensation of hearing disappeared, replaced by a constant, high-pitched ring that stabbed at his eardrums, as if someone rang dozens of doorbells directly in front of him. No matter which way he turned, the ringing felt exactly the same, throwing off all sense of direction. To Knuckles, this could only be a good thing.

Yes! It’s close! I can sense it!

But then, just as quickly as it began…

“No…no…damn it! Stay with me!”

…the sensation vanished. He could hear clearly again. Yet he couldn’t see or hear any trace of the jewel he was bonded to by destiny. Once again, he had been led down the wrong path.

By this point, he had lost count of how often he had gotten a trace on the Master Emerald only to lose it within seconds. He did know one thing, however; it was one too many. He looked off into the distance and found nothing but white walls, white floors, grey ceilings, as far as the eye could see. Did this hallway even lead anywhere? Had he somehow been led back the way he came? Was there even an end to this grim death march? He didn’t know. He just didn’t know.

And this was just one deck. On the flight here, he and the others could make out close to 40. At least.

Not knowing what else to do, the echidna slinked desperately onto the steel floor and pounded his spiked right fist into the surface with enough white-hot fury to leave a permanent imprint. As if things couldn’t get any worse for him, he felt the cold, hard press of an arm cannon against the back of his neck.

Terrific. Just terrific.

“HALT. STATE YOUR BUSINESS.” said Egg Gunner model #E-P455XLY, in its distinctive monotone.

Fortunately, Knuckles’ years of martial arts training on Angel Island hadn’t gone to waste, as he detected the looming shadow before it even said a word. The security droid could not get a shot off before the echidna twisted his upper body toward the right, and a massive spiked fist flew from nowhere to knock the gun into the air. Without even turning his head, Knuckles bent backwards and grabbed the Gunner by its torso, tossing it over his head in a classic wrestling move.

The Gunner’s sturdy construction ensured that it stayed intact even as it hit the ground. That was just fine by Knuckles. He needed it alive. Just to make sure that it wouldn’t escape, he grabbed the droid’s head and pinned it to the floor with an unflinching grip.

Knuckles chose to get straight to the point. “Where are you hiding the Master Emerald?!”

Even though the echidna held the robot by what would be considered its throat, its internal speech processor was not affected. “CLASSIFIED INFORMATION…CANNOT DIVULGE UNDER PENALTY OF DESTRUCTION…”

“I’m not asking twice, punk! Tell me! Or meet a fist!”

As Knuckles tightened his headlock, the bolts holding the robot’s head to its shoulders grew more fatigued by the second. A total structural failure was imminent, and the machine’s on-board diagnostics ensured that it could sense its own demise. Regardless, the Egg Gunner simply could not do something it was programmed not to do.

“CLASSIFIED INFORMATION…CANNOT DIVULGE UNDER--”

Okay, that’s it.

Knuckles wouldn’t even wait for it to finish its sentence before burying a spiked glove deep within the robot’s back. Whatever secrets it carried inside its internal memory would go with it to the junkyard regardless of what he did or didn’t do. Whatever secrets it carried inside its internal memory would go with it to the junkyard, regardless of what he did or didn’t do.

“Well…that was a waste of time,” he said, as he struggled to free his hand from the sparking and sputtering carcass of what used to be Egg Gunner #E-P455XLY.

The stubborn subordinate had given him absolutely nothing of value, except for what little satisfaction he could muster in destroying it. And even that meager reward brought him no closer to the Master Emerald. He was short on time, and even shorter on leads. There was no choice. He had to go back the way he came, back to the original “sweet spot”.

There was, however, one small consolation in all of this. This time, Knuckles didn’t need to hold back his speed to check every possible route, angle, or hiding place. This time, there was one route, one angle, and one target.

“I swear…” said Knuckles, under his breath. “…I will bring you back home. No matter what it takes.” The guardian set off, waiting for the nauseating sensations of the Master Emerald to consume his consciousness once again.

“Come on…come on...”

Like the two tails of his that unconsciously jabbed and slammed into each other as they wagged to and fro, two sides of Tails’ brain were locked in a brutal struggle. The cold, brutal realist in him said there was next to no chance of a successful trace, that Eggman just wouldn’t be that careless. The curious, inventive side of him, the side responsible for the creation of the MilesElectric portable tablet currently in his hands, was simply eager to take its newly-programmed “signal interceptor” function for a test drive. So far, the test looked like a certain failure, if the static blue screen and the blinking white words “SEARCHING FOR SIGNALS…” were any indication.

Certain thoughts ran through the fox’s head. Perhaps the problem wasn’t that Eggman was one step ahead. Was his machine even working? Could there be something wrong with the program he wrote for the signal interceptor? There was no way to tell at this point. The noises emanating from the device were no louder than those from before he started the test. The urge to quit out of the program further enveloped him with each second of inaction. And yet, each time he hovered his finger over the back button whose touch would have ended the process, he could not bring himself to do so. He had to let it go on. After all, a scientist cannot validate the results of his experiment if he backs out while the experiment is still in progress.

Instead, he stood on that spot in front of the engine control room, shutting out the entire universe around him, staring unblinking at his screen as the words “SEARCHING FOR SIGNALS…” seared itself into his retina and into the rather cheap LCD screen he had procured with what little resources he had at his disposal.

All of a sudden, something came from behind him and twice tapped a finger on his left shoulder.

Tails reacted accordingly to the rude destruction of his personal bubble, emitting a piercing shriek that echoed off the walls of deck 6. When the shock finally settled down, animal instincts took over as he turned around and spread his legs in a fighting position, swinging his two tails in front of him like a furry shield, only to find…

“Sonic?” he asked.

The hedgehog had been standing right behind him for God-knows-how-long, tapping his foot at the speed of a sledgehammer as he waited for any semblance of a response. Now he had it. Tails disarmed himself when he finally realized he was a few seconds away from tail-striking his own friend’s head clean off without even knowing it.

“Oh my gosh, Sonic! I am so sorry! I didn’t—”

But much to his relief and surprise, Sonic just laughed the whole thing off. “It’s okay, big guy! It’s just that sometimes you get a little…uh, howdoIsayit…focused every now and then, dontcha think?”

Tails had no reply, simply staring at the ground as his face turned red. The two made a silent agreement to not discuss the incident any further and shift the conversation toward business.

“So…what were you just lookin’ at?” Sonic asked.

“Oh, yeah! It’s a long shot, but I thought I’d try and save us time by tracing the origin of any wireless signals that pass through here. Basically, it works by a crude system of echolocation wherein the device transmits its own carrier signal, which I encrypted with a special…”

That’s “basically” to this guy? Sonic felt like blurting out, but managed to hold it in the back of his throat.

Watching Tails ramble on about his inventions was almost as much of a wonder to behold as the inventions themselves. Somehow his sapphire blue eyes seemed to glow brighter with each long, technical word that Sonic hadn’t even heard of, let alone knew the definition. Under normal circumstances, the hedgehog could have let Tails finish the way he planned to finish…assuming he ever planned to finish at all. However, these were not normal circumstances. The two were on a time crunch. Knowing this, Sonic stuck his open hand out in front of his body, indicating ‘stop’.

“So, did you get any of that?” asked Tails, not even stopping to take a breath.

“Well…” said Sonic, his hand cupping his chin as he struggled to come up with an answer. “I did get the ‘save time’ part. That’s for sure.”

Tails buried his face in his right hand. Yet again, he realized that he had failed to take into account what different worlds they both came from.

“Okay…” said Tails. “…In short, this program could help lead us straight to the server room!”

“Now that’s what I wanna hear!” said Sonic. “At this rate, we’ll be in and out of this trash-heap in no time!”

“If it works,” said Tails, waving a finger in the air. “Like I said, it’s a long shot.”

“Hey, if you built it, I’d bet my life on it! And if it doesn’t?”

Tails hissed at the most likely possibility. “Well…we’ll probably have to search each deck one by one.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with a li’l’ more exploring? I’m always game for that!”

“Uh…” Tails had no real answer to the question; after all, he really didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Suddenly, both were taken off-guard by a series of beeps from the MilesElectric that came with such abruptness and volume that it nearly caused the fox to drop the machine. When he looked for himself, he noticed that the monotonous blinking message had finally, mercifully, disappeared from the screen.

“What’s going on?” Sonic asked, as he rushed over to take a peek at the screen. “Don’t tell me somebody’s making a phone call all the way up here!”

But Tails paid no mind to his friend’s attempt at humor. His eyes were locked on the screen, toward the wealth of information that scrolled by him. At first, mere vocabulary escaped him. He wasn’t sure whether to believe its authenticity or not, and kept any thoughts of the notion tucked away to quash any false hope. But when the final confirmation appeared, the words finally came to his tongue.

“We…we got one. Sonic, we’ve got a signal here! Look at this!”

Slowly, Tails turned his gaze over to Sonic, who stood silent, more than willing to let his younger but far more technologically capable partner take the reins for the moment.

“It’s…I’ve got a lock on the location!” said Tails, half-gasping each word. “It’s…yes…”

The MilesElectric’s speakers gave off a single, sustained beep, this one even louder than those that came before. Sonic and Tails both leaned in to see what action this noise represented on the tiny LCD screen. A set of three numbers appeared, all changing with every infinitesimal tremor of Tails’ clammy gloves. Like the conductor of some electronic symphony, the fox waved the device back and forth, side to side, up and down, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen to make sure the numbers changed according to his movements. They did.

“Th…these are the coordinates…X, Y, and Z, right here!” said Tails, trying to keep himself together. “According to this, the signal’s coming from…” He looked toward the ceiling, making an effort to estimate its height from sight alone and compare the estimate to his readings. “…I think it’s two decks above us! The server room must be right there!”

“You did it, buddy!” said Sonic, leaping into the air. “I told you it would work!”

Tails only stared down at the shimmering floor of brushed steel, struggling to think of something to say as he absorbed a fur-ruffling pat on the head from the hedgehog. “Heh…I guess today must be our lucky day!”

As Tails’ head was still pointed toward the floor, Sonic reached over and grabbed his hand,

“You ready for this?” Sonic asked.

Tails’ head shot up. As soon as those sapphire blue eyes of youth and innocence locked onto fiery emerald eyes of passion and determination, any lingering doubts within the fox gently washed away.

“You bet I am!” said Tails.

“Let’s make this fun! Last one there pays for lunch!”

“Ha! You’re on! I’d like to see you fly up two floors!”

“Oh ho! Well, if it’s a challenge you want, it’s a challenge you’ll get!”

With their eyes locked on each other, both crouched and lowered their hands to the floor. Tails revved up his twin appendages until they reached such a speed that they seemed to the naked eye to create one solid, gyrating form. Soon, his tails generated their own field of wake turbulence as he held himself in place, waiting for the right moment.

At the same moment, as if an imaginary starter’s pistol had fired, they set off.

Somehow, Sonic had a gut feeling that the end his latest adventure was waiting for him at the hypothetical finish line on Deck 8. One more battle with Eggman, one more trashed baddie, and he would have things wrapped up in a neat little package. Oh, well. It was fun while it lasted. Still, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the ride. He would make every remaining second of this adventure count.

None of this made any sense.

Knuckles returned to the spot that gave him the most fleeting hope of recovering the Master Emerald. He fully expected the first encounter to have been a glitch, his mind simply playing tricks on him…or worse, Eggman playing tricks on him…with his Emerald. But one step into the “sweet spot” undid all of those theories. The very same signals flooded his mind upon re-entry, flooding his ears with shattering noise.

But why? Knuckles had searched this entire area piece-by-piece, and searched it again. He couldn’t even see any device or shrine that could harness the power of the Master Emerald, let alone the fabled jewel itself. There had to be something he was missing here.

You’re hiding from me…I just know it.

However, finding a place where one would hide a four-foot-tall emerald proved to be a daunting challenge. Without a conscious thought of the action passing through him, he turned his head toward the floor while he contemplated this theory…leaving his eyes to stumble across an unremarkable maintenance shaft that rested against the far side wall.

A lightbulb went on over Knuckles’ head – a flickering lightbulb, but a lightbulb nonetheless. He could remember seeing maintenance shafts just like that one, usually in pairs that stood directly across from each other against the walls. A closer look at this one told him that it ran through the floor, up the face of the wall, and directly through the ceiling. Much to his surprise, if his theory held true, it was just wide enough for him to snuggle his body inside and through.

It was worth a shot. As far as the Master Emerald was concerned, anything was worth a shot.

The echidna hardly expected anything special to happen as he trundled uncertainly toward the maintenance shaft. But with each step he took, he listened intently as his unlikeliest theory was confirmed. The monotonous ringing in Knuckles’ ears grew gradually into a static-like roar of white noise that reduced all other sound around him to meaninglessness.

With the sensations of the Master Emerald rejuvenating his spirit, he charged at the shaft with reckless abandon, fists swinging back and forth. With one step to go before reaching the target, Knuckles delivered a charged punch at the steel piping, shifting all of his body weight into his right arm at that exact moment. A solid chunk of steel broke away, driven all the way into the back of the shaft by the sheer force of Knuckles’ blow. The end result was a hole just large enough for an echidna to crawl through to enter the surface.

Not wasting any time, Knuckles shoved his head through the opening, letting his eyes behold the utter blackness below. He had left just barely enough room to slide his left hand through, but as soon as he was ready to force his right hand through, he saw something out of the ordinary. Indeed, to even be able to see anything was out of the ordinary in a narrow shaft with almost no sources of light…but this was different.

The back of his left hand emitted a faint, yet noticeable glow. A green glow. A shade of green that Knuckles was all too familiar with.

The Master Emerald! It’s here!

No sooner had Knuckles made the realization than he heard the familiar sounds of metal feet clopping against the floor, echoing from both sides of the shaft. The buzzing and ringing from the emeralds had persisted long enough for him to develop a temporary tolerance to it, enabling him to briefly hear other sounds again while still detecting whether the sensations were present. Though he was in no position to turn his neck to see it for himself, he could sense the danger regardless.

More of them?

“YOU HAVE ENTERED A RESTRICTED AREA,” said an Egg Gunner, charging after the echidna with its own built-in weaponry.

“THE PENALTY IS DEATH,” its identical partner added.

Seriously? What’s the penalty for jaywalking here, then?

His only option for survival was a daring escape through the maintenance shaft. But there was a bit of a problem with that scenario, as most of Knuckles’ body was still trapped outside, exposed to enemy fire.

The footsteps drew closer and closer. He frantically tried to shove his right hand through a crack in the opening. However, with each attempt, his entire body rocked back and forth, pushing the hand out of the shaft and undoing any progress. Knuckles growled and seethed with each second that went by with him stuck in the threshold.

“YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO COMPLY,” one Egg Gunner said. The next thing Knuckles heard was the familiar sound of the Gunners’ arm-rifles being readied for fire.

“Get…in…there!” said Knuckles, swinging his right arm back and forth as far as it would go, hoping to somehow will his massive hand through the tiny crack. Eventually, with his mightiest swing yet, he forced four fingers to squeeze through. To his dismay, however, the rest of the hand did not seem to want to follow. He tried pushing once. Twice. That didn’t work. He tried swinging his arm backwards to prepare for another attempt. That didn’t work either. Knuckles was now well and truly trapped.

“YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO COMPLY.”

It wasn’t long before the pinch of the tiny opening began to take its toll on Knuckles’ blood circulation. No longer could he even make the attempt to force his hand through. He couldn’t feel its presence. He didn’t even know where it was. Pins and needles stabbed at his body from all angles, and they weren’t coming from any Egg Gunners.

With no other ideas, and his body locked in a position where any other maneuver was out of the question, Knuckles played his last roll of the dice. It was an idea so simple he wished he had thought of it earlier, when he didn’t have a mere five seconds to live.

He simply shoved his head forward.

“THREE.”

Miraculously, with that one massive exertion of force, Knuckles felt the pinch released from around his torso. In the split-second between the moment and the realization of the moment, he braced for an onslaught of pain from the sharp steel edges of the hole, only for it not to come. The low blood circulation throughout his body numbed him beyond all feeling.

He had more important things to worry about.

“TWO.”

His spiked gloves had embedded themselves in the inside of the shaft, leaving his entire backside open to fire. With Knuckles carrying two dead arms, one dead hand, and a body ready to give up the ghost, there was only one strategy left in his bag.

“ONE.”

It took more effort than he felt was necessary, but with just milliseconds to spare, Knuckles managed to free his gloves from the wall. Nothing held him back now. It was all up to gravity to ensure Knuckles’ safety. And gravity can only carry someone so fast.

“FIRE.”

A barrage of bullets burst forth from behind Knuckles’ position. The echidna shut his eyes and braced for the searing pain of white-hot lead.

But when the first shots were fired, the only impacts Knuckles could hear were inches above him. All he could feel was the sweet, sweet feeling of air rustling his dreadlocks. With each second that passed, the jarring metallic pings of .44 caliber striking against steel receded off into the distance above him.

Somehow, some way, he had gotten out of this one alive.

As soon as they reached the first dead end, Sonic and Tails forgot about their supposed race. Both figured that they were better off working together than against each other. (More to the point, neither of them carried any Rings to pay for lunch in the first place.)

Two scorching skid marks on the floor gave away the spot where he slammed on the brakes – and helpfully gave away his location to Tails. When the two reconvened, they closely examined what kind of spot they had gotten themselves into. They had left the cramped, color-coded monotony of Deck 6 behind, only to find themselves in a wide-open jumble of steel beams, pipes, and rotating gears that must have been placed there purely for the sake of intimidating decoration. There seemed to be no end to this room – whatever it was meant for, it was as wide and as tall as the ship itself. It felt like the two had stepped through a portal into another dimension.

Tails stood fastened to the ground and gawked at the ceiling. Somehow, the fact that the room was this vast just didn’t translate well in the fox’s mind. He could see a ceiling, and depth perception gave him an idea of how high it was, but the rest of his brain refused to accept it. Eventually, the clash between senses took its toll on Tails, causing his head to go light. He stumbled backwards and consciously had to prevent himself from falling over.

Meanwhile, Sonic kept his head pointed straight ahead.

“Uh…Tails?” asked Sonic. “You sure your signal’s coming from here?”

“Huh? Oh, right!” said Tails, recovering from his bout with dizziness. Once again, he pulled out the MilesElectric to perform a quick check. “Uh…yeah, looks like we’re getting closer.”

“Does your Electric thingy come with a map of this place, by any chance?”

“What?” Tails asked, speaking in a manner as if Sonic had just told him he swallowed a whole can of lighter fluid. “Um…no. Why?”

In lieu of a verbal answer, Sonic pointed straight ahead, at the crimson-red wall that stood where an open pathway was supposed to be.

Both inched backwards in order to get a better view of the top of the wall. Staring at them from above was a series of overhanging ledges that led to the decks above, but from where Sonic and Tails stood, there was no way to access any of them directly. There was no turbo-lift, elevator, escalator, spring, magic cloud, or even so much as a bloody staircase that could help them advance. They could even see directly into some of the lower floors, as if the very architecture of the ESS-1 was mocking the two interlopers, teasing them with the promise of access only to yank it away like a carrot on a string. The only alternative now was to turn back and go against the directions from Tails’ device.

“Who designed this place, anyway?” Sonic asked.

“Um…Eggman did?”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

This was hopeless. It was almost as if Dr. Eggman had designed the ESS-1 to be inaccessible to any outsiders unless they happened to have a private plane or a helicopter at their disposal…

…which Sonic did.

Without warning, Sonic reached his right arm behind him and held out his hand, exactly in front of where Tails stood at that moment. The fox didn’t need Sonic to say anything. Years of experience told him exactly what this gesture meant. He clasped hands with Sonic and held on tight as if their lives depended on it. With one swish, Tails set his brushes into a gyrating motion that gained speed with each rotation, eventually growing powerful enough to lift him and Sonic off the ground.

The ascent was slow and methodical, as Tails had to account for a weight imbalance in flight. The MilesElectric was nudged in his left armpit for safekeeping, immobilizing that side of his body for the time being, meaning he only had the use of his right hand to carry Sonic. Despite Tails’ efforts, the hedgehog swung perilously from his arm like a pendulum.

“Steady…steady…” said Sonic.

The danger only provoked Tails to push himself harder, if only to get the ordeal over behind them as soon as possible. With each foot they gained, the radius of Sonic’s oscillation only grew wider, pulling Tails along with him. The fox closed his eyes and kept his mind on the flight, compensating for direction and speed. The more he thought about who was dangling from his arm, the more chance there was he would lose his grip.

Hold on…just hold on…how much longer can this go on?

“We’re here!” said Sonic.

Tails opened his eyes and let out a contented sigh. Just above him, he could see the beginning of the floor of the eighth deck, and its obvious lack of any walls or bars that would separate anyone from accidentally falling over the edge (then again, if any of Eggman’s robots were faulty enough to just walk over that edge, they were a lost cause whether they lived or died).

“Um…Sonic?” Tails asked.

“What’s up?”

“I think someone’s beaten us here.”

A crackly monotone blared over the sound of Tails’ whirring blades. “PRIORITY ONE: HEDGEHOG.”

Draped across Sonic and Tails’ entire field of view were the distinct shadows of five separate Egg Gunners, all spread out in a “V” formation along the ledge of Deck 8. That was the extent of the information they could glean before everything descended into chaos. The combined voices of five Egg Gunners formed a discordant, yet all-too-understandable command: “FIRE.”

A hail of bullets burst forth, all converging on one pre-programmed target. The fact that the Gunners had managed to hit nothing but the floor in their haste to hit the pre-programmed target made little to no difference. The mere sound of the ammunition caused Tails to flinch. Every muscle in his body expanded and contracted within a millisecond. Unfortunately for Sonic, that also included Tails’ fingers.

As soon as he realized there was nothing pulling down his right arm, Tails took a quick look below him. He needed to make sure that the last thing he could’ve hoped to happen hadn’t happened. It had. He’d let go of Sonic.

Luckily for him, Sonic’s reflexes were even quicker than his own mind. Using his other hand, he’d managed to grab ahold of Tails’ outstretched wrist. The momentum of the sudden reconnection dragged the two of them back down, forcing Tails to rotate his namesakes faster and faster to correct for the sudden plunge.

The dull ache in his vestigial muscles quickly spread to the surrounding tissue in his upper legs and lower back. He pushed his body harder and harder, straining and tearing against the ever-growing agony, and yet all that effort failed to translate into any tangible movement. No matter how hard he pushed himself, ascent did not happen. He might as well have hit an invisible ceiling. He could practically feel his heart, his lungs…heck, his entire circulatory system bursting at the seams now.

And that was before he noticed his left arm had also been jarred loose of something important.

The MilesElectric!

“No!” Tails shouted at the top of what was left of his lungs.

If he didn’t already feel like throwing up, he certainly did now. The success of the entire mission rode on that one little device. And yet…he couldn’t just swoop down and retrieve it, at least not with Sonic in tow. Not even a circus contortionist would be able to perform that act. If he really wanted to get the machine back, he would have had to drop Sonic to do so, and that was never an option.

He closed his eyes and cringed for the inevitable fate of his hard work…only to feel Sonic kicking, tossing, swinging wildly on his arm. He was up to something.

The next sound he heard could only be described as a plastic “thunk”. When Tails opened his eyes, he saw his device still in the air, still in his direct line of sight. Sonic had swung off to perform a bicycle kick to the MilesElectric as if it was a soccer ball, just to keep it within his arms’ length. The machine was just about to fall toward Sonic’s only free hand. With no time to spare, he flung his arm forward and…

“Gotcha!” said Sonic. He had saved the MilesElectric, quite literally by the tips of his fingers.

Tails heaved a gaping sigh of relief. “Thanks, Sonic,” he said. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Sonic. “Here ya go!”

The hedgehog handed the device back to Tails, who examined it for any signs of severe damage from whatever miracle Sonic had performed to keep it within reach. Aside from a minor dent in the plastic surface, which matched the curvature of Sonic’s shoe, nothing important had been damaged. The screen continued to flash vital information as if nothing ever happened.

For a few uneasy seconds, the two hovered in place just inches away from the wall, moving neither up nor down. The two weren’t nearly high enough to see who wanted them dead or how many there were, but they stayed just low enough to conceal themselves from gunfire. That was, until they noticed the visage of an arm-rifle peeking over the ledge. Then another. Then another. Before he knew it, Sonic could feel the searing heat of three separate laser sights, all aimed at the exact same spot on his forehead.

“Tails, now!” said Sonic.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline of the moment, or maybe it was a deep well of strength he never knew he had. But much to even Tails’ own surprise, the next great push of his tails catapulted him upwards like a rocket, straight into the Egg Gunners’ line of fire.

“Uh-oh…” said Tails, surveying the scene. “Sonic, pull in! Swing up! I dunno, do something!”

“Aye aye, cap’n!” said Sonic, giving a hearty salute. Hoping not to mangle his friend’s clavicle into gelatin in the process, he gently swung on Tails’ right arm, keeping his legs tucked in to provide as small a target for the firing squad as possible.

He is having way too much fun with this… Tails thought.

Now with visible targets, the Egg Gunners fired at will, but Tails’ flight was just too fast for their built-in weapons to catch up with. He dipped. He dove. He dodged. He did whatever it took to keep Sonic out of the way of the merciless and incessant gunfire, almost taking visual cues from the stunts he put his own plane through on a daily basis.

Soon, enough was enough. Sonic realized he was putting Tails in more danger by hanging on for the ride. Now was the time to strike. With his one free hand, he held up his middle and index fingers, arranged in the traditional V for Victory sign – a signal the two of them had arranged before arriving onboard. Operation Special Delivery was a go.

With one final push, he swooped up toward the nearly unreachable ceiling of the cavernous hall, his flight path forming a tall arc. Just before the apex of the arc, he gently released his vicelike grip on Sonic’s hand. The hedgehog descended into unrestrained, terminal free-fall. All five Gunners stood rooted to their spots, firing blindly at a blue dot off in the distance that took the form of Sonic’s super-spin.

The unlucky Egg Gunner that stood at the front of the “V” formation was the first to go, standing right in the line of fire. A single spin-dash to its steel frame reduced the once-formidable machine to a pile of junk. Sonic sprang upward from the momentum of the collision and uncoiled himself from his deadly cocoon, taking a brief moment to seek out the next target before curling up again. Just as quickly, in an act that defied all known laws of physics except his own, he burst out of the arc of his bounce and propelled himself toward the nearest Gunner. It met the exact same fate as its brother.

Regardless of the surviving Gunners’ attempts to disrupt it with their rifles, the deadly cycle continued. Bounce. Uncoil. Aim. Recoil. Fire. Rinse and repeat. After the fourth knockout left only one droid standing, Sonic – purely on a whim – uncorked and executed a dizzying series of twists, flips, and somersaults unfathomable to any other athlete, all the while laughing to his heart’s content as bullet after bullet harmlessly brushed him.

By the time he hurtled back toward the ground, he planted his foot toward the one surviving Egg Gunner. A focused kick to the head disintegrated it upon impact, sending the hedgehog tumbling through the ensuing junk pile. One effortless handspring later, Sonic regained control of himself and landed without a hitch.

Once he finally got the chance, he rose to his feet, observed the smoking ruins of the Eggman Empire before him, and let out a brief whistle. Sometimes he even impressed himself.

With the job done, he turned around to look for Tails. He spotted the fox lying face-down on the floor several yards away, hyperventilating, utterly devoid of energy, his face turned a bright crimson. Despite the gradual development of his special ability over the years, his tails were never meant to withstand that kind of physical torture. The first thing Sonic did upon seeing him was help him to his feet and stabilize his wobbly stance.

“You okay?” Sonic asked, rubbing sweat off his friend’s brow.

“I’ll…” Tails stopped to cough when his windpipe constricted. “…live.” Despite his weakened state, he did hold up his hand for a high-five, which Sonic enthusiastically accepted.

“Hey, don’t quote me on this, but I think Eggman tried to pull a fast one on us!”

“Yeah, I’m with you on that. Just give me a sec.”

To test the theory, Tails pulled out his machine, now that he was sure it was safe and sound. The results flummoxed him. He pulled at his bangs, conceiving numerous possible scenarios that could explain away the inconsistency. But he was just as soon able to debunk each one of them. Nothing made sense.

“No…” Tails muttered. “No, this isn’t right.”

“What’s going on?” asked Sonic, peeking at the screen even though he knew he had no idea what any of the numbers were supposed to represent.

“You destroyed all those robots, and yet I’m still picking up the signal. It should be long gone by now. In fact…hey, wait a minute…” He looked more closely at the numbers. “They’re counting backwards, and we’re just standing still. This is a countdown of some sort!”

“So…if I’m getting this right…” said Sonic. “We were never moving towards this signal at all. The signal was moving toward us!”

“Exactly!”

Sonic’s face swelled with pride. For once, he could keep up with Tails.

“Which means one of two things have happened. Either there’s been a catastrophic mistake in my original program, or…”

He took one more look at his screen to make sure thing number two held up to scrutiny, and he didn’t like what he saw. In fact, Sonic could see his face melt with shock. The fox‘s command was short, but effective.

“Run like hell.”

Too late for that. Before either of them could carry that out, a tremendous crash shattered the surface of the floor where the two of them stood, sending them flying in opposite directions.

Both Sonic and Tails hit the steel-reinforced walls head-first and crumpled to the floor on their respective side of the corridor. Before either of them could take so much as a second to comprehend just what was going on, Sonic saw an undefinable silver mass rocketing towards him. Noticing the weapon, he rose off the canvas and made his move. But with his vision clouded by a thick curtain of vivid, color-changing stars, he didn’t notice the object until it was too late.

Sonic managed to dodge the missile, allowing it to strike the wall head-on. But like in the game of horseshoes, being close enough actually counted for something. The resulting fireball consumed Sonic, embracing him in its warm, searing arms, scorching every exposed atom of his body and clothing, until the shockwave propelled him back into the outside world. The force of the explosion threw him along the floor, limbs flailing from side to side like a ragdoll.

Tails helplessly shouted Sonic’s name into the ether. With his own senses thrown into disrepair by the attack, he couldn’t tell what exactly happened. But when he heard a scream from the other side of the room, he knew something happened, and he knew Sonic was involved. And he knew it was bad.

Grunting and screaming as he did so because his mind told him he had no other choice, Sonic eventually rose to his feet. He noticed that everywhere his fur had been blue before, were obscured by tinges of soot from the blast. The few patches of actual skin he had that he could directly see – on his chest and arms – were already encrusted with hideous boils and scabs dealt by the fireball. Though cowed to the point where he had to turn away, he brushed it off, figuring the issue would be dealt with when they got home.

When the attacks, the noise, and the agony finally let up for a moment, both Sonic and Tails could take a moment to stop and ask themselves the obvious question: What on earth just happened here? Sonic only needed to look above the hole in the floor to see the culprit. He wasn’t even sure how he had missed it before, since its very presence smothered the room in gold light that wasn’t there before.

At the center of it all, floating effortlessly like some kind of holy apparition, was something oddly familiar to Sonic…yet different. He could tell it was roughly his height, but covered head to toe in gold that reflected every surface around it. Its form factor resembled Sonic himself – from large head to smaller body to rod-like legs to larger feet. Yet where normally Sonic’s hair would protrude downward, the spikes on this entity rose toward the heavens, almost defying gravity were it not for the fact that these “quills” were clearly constructed from a metal alloy.

No…no, it couldn’t be…

The glowing red eyes, stabbing into Sonic’s soul each time they flashed against a murky black backdrop, provided the final piece to the puzzle.

“You…” said Sonic, the very word slithering from his tongue.

“Well, Sonic?” said the entity. Even its voice was Sonic’s, only with a distinct electronic tinge to it. “Are we game for that…rematch?”

[minotaurys]

Jamie was going to lose his mind soon, if the shark didn’t come back and eat someone already. He found himself praying to whatever god heard a pirate’s prayers, wishing for a glimpse of sharp teeth and claws. Something to break the endless monotony of sleeping, warming himself by the fire, and occasionally speaking with the other occupants. Trying to count the grains of sand had failed, and taking inventory of his freckles and moles had only distracted him for what felt like a minute. Maybe less.

 Used to the hustle of a busy ship and roar of cannon fire, the silence was deafening. His restlessness was beginning to wear on the others too. It wasn’t hard to see Gabriel roll his eyes every time the blonde got to his feet, muttering about shifting sand, and stumbled his way across the little island to build himself a new nest. Over the fire, several little fish were roasting on sticks. The pool must have had a direct outlet to the ocean, because the pond was teeming with sea life that darted in and out of the shallow pool of light.

 He’d found one way to be useful, at least- he could descale and clean a fish in about a minute, if he rushed and didn’t care too much about where the knife was going. It was a pleasant realization, that they wouldn’t starve in this little cave, even if he would give his good leg for a bit of salt or other seasoning for the fish. Admittedly, it hadn’t occurred to him to ask where they were getting food from, even though they said they’d been here for weeks.

 Maybe, with the giant cask of fresh water that the merman had obviously set out, he’d been expecting him to lug in a breakfast, lunch, and dinner meal. Fatten up his pigs before harvesting and all that.

 The only way to keep track of time was with the rise and fall of the tide. There was a line in the sand of their island, clearly marking where the water swelled at high tide. Watching the waves roll in and out was the only activity to be found in the place, other than catching a few fish to delay the inevitable. He saw Ana fussing with the seaweed at one point, weaving multiple strands together until she had something resembling a bandage. Probably one of those just-in-case type things.

 The few times Jamie actually managed to drift off to sleep, he dreamed of huge, leathery hands and sharp teeth that tore his stomach apart. There were bruises spanning the whole length of his torso from the monster pushing on him, each of the creature’s fingers visible on his pale skin. He poked at the wounds from time to time, reveling in the ache of his ribs. What he wouldn’t give to be as big as the merman was. Crush everything underfoot.

 That was the plan though, wasn’t it? Convince the merman that he was worth more alive than dead. Get the thing to help him find the treasure, before anyone else could. Jamie would get himself a huge fucking bodyguard, one that no one would ever dare mess with, and enough riches to last several lifetimes. The possibility that the merman would just eat him didn’t even cross his mind, enamored as he was with the idea of gold bangles on his wrists and a crown set among blonde locks. They’d all hail him as a fucking king, if only for fear of being devoured by the huge, loyal fish he kept in his palace.

 There was more than one way to catch a fish, as they said!

 Well, probably said. Someone, probably. Once.

 They were cooking up a new batch of fish, runty things that had darted too close to the surface for their own good, when the water stirred. It was high tide, the edge of the surf looming threateningly around their bonfire. It had never gone out, never actually been touched by the water’s icy fingers, but he had an irrational fear of the water rising just a little farther one day. Taking their only source of light out and plunging them into a darkness so deep, they’d never see death coming.

 Everyone in the cave immediately straightened, taking a few, instinctive steps backwards when the monster’s fin appeared to cut through the surface of the water. A foul stench filled the cave, speaking of rot and decay that made him curl his nose in disgust. Now that he wasn’t trying to relearn how to breathe, Rat had the opportunity to admire the monster a little while longer.

 He was as big as he remembered, his human half rising probably six feet out of the water. His belly was huge and the brown skin was covered in intricate, swirling images of loops and whorls. Jamie squinted at them, unable to parse the image of the mythic merman with what looked like tattoos covering every inch of his exposed skin. Today the long silver hair was tied back and the shark’s mask was on full display.

 Rows of cruel, jagged teeth covered most of the face, the jaws of the shark long broken and forced into an unsettling grin. It’s eyes were missing from the sockets, and instead there were rows of stitches that lined the skin, holding the entire mask in place.

 For a moment, Jamie had the absurd image of the merman sitting and stitching at his mask, sipping from a teacup as he worked to get his needlework just right. He fought the urge to laugh in the completely silent room, muffled giggles slipped out from clenched lips. Ana quickly shot him a look.

 Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something silver go racing past, and felt the rush of air against his skin. There was a snapping sound, and he heard a grunt, before the silver was joined by a flash of pink. A fishing hook, far larger than any he’d ever seen before, had wrapped around her body and the point was in her upper arm. A length of rusted chain was attached, which ever so slowly began to tow her towards the water’s edge and the merman’s waiting claws. A convenient way to get a ready-to-serve meal.

 The woman fought every inch, digging her heels into the sand and struggling back towards the bonfire. A spray of blood caught Jamie’s cheek from the gash on her arm, where the sharp edge was pulling insistently with every tug. Muscle shredded beneath the foreign object, throbbing and pink.

 Somehow the two reached a standstill on the sand, Zarya holding her ground just out of reach and the creature struggling at the water’s edge to pull her the last little bit towards him. The pirate felt a sense of awe settle over him as he watched her wrestle at the hook, attempting to twist of it’s embrace while playing the world’s deadliest game of tug of war.

 When the sand had been dyed bright red, he was the merman shift and drag itself partially on the sand. Those eyes in the back of the shark mask were once again reflecting the light of the fire, and he could see pupils that took up almost the whole surface. The scent of blood must have been too tempting for it to wait, for it scrambled as much out of the water as it was able to, grabbing for Zarya. One huge hand closed around her wounded bicep and she screamed in pain as he pulled her to him, already shifting back to slide into the pool and bring his prey with him.

 Jamie’s attention was caught by movement, again in the corner of his eye, again shiny silver. The solider was edging his way around the sandbar slowly, sneaking up on the creature’s other side as Zarya wrestled for freedom. He suddenly felt a surge of fear in his gut, for his soon-to-be partner. Maybe this would actually work. Maybe the shark would suffocate on the sandbar and he’d lose the best chance he’d ever have to be rich.

 But if he acted to help the merman, they others would know he was plotting against them.

 Nah, not plotting against them. More like banking on the fact that they’d wind up dead.

 They’d know, and they would leave him behind on this sandbar, to catch fish and slowly drink the rest of the fresh water, until he died alone and starving.

 Gabriel pounced in one fluid movement, arms locking around the creature’s head. He tugged backwards, pulling him away from Zarya, and the merman bellowed in surprise at the intrusion, shaking like a dog to try and throw the man off. Taking the opportunity, the muscular woman ran forward, ripping the hook out of her own arm so she could stab the tip deep into the shark’s belly. It roared again, angry. Ana stepped up cautiously behind Gabriel, needle ready in her hand. Jamie hoped the creature’s wild flailing would knock it from her hands, the serum lost to the depths of the pool.

 In the most bizarre hug he’d ever witnessed, Zarya stepped forward to clasp her arms around the creature’s middle, muscles straining to hold it still as it thrashed and writhed. It was clear she wouldn’t be able to hold it for long- her arms were trembling with the effort and she was already pale with blood loss, the upper mass of her arm a bloody pulp of stringy muscle and bone. The pirate was surprised she could manage to use the limb at all.

 Ana slid the needle home in the shark’s neck, in a gap that the stitched-together mask hadn’t managed to cover entirely. It stiffened at the feeling and suddenly slumped in the human’s hold, massive dead weight that threatened to crush Zarya and topple Gabe. Knowing he’d be expected to help, Jamie scrambled forward to help the pink-haired woman away from the body, his peg leg slipping in the mixture of blood and sand the ground had become.

 Things went from loud to quiet extremely quickly and he was left reeling in the return of the silence as all the humans stared at each other, unsure of what to do now that their grand plan had actually succeeded. Jamie was almost disappointed in how easy the shark had gone down, but he supposed that was that. He was stuck with these yahoos until further notice.

 The old woman rushed over to Zarya and began to press on her wound, head searching for the seaweed she’d been messing with earlier. Gabe pulled his shirt over his head and swirled it around in the water before she found it. Hopefully that would be better for the wound than whatever sand and dirt clung to him. She stuffed it directly into the gash and the Russian screamed as salt passed into her open shoulder, face going red from the effort of staying conscious.

 Jamie bit his lip, watching the spectacle unfold, before he turned back to the creature. He should probably start pulling it up further on the sand, just to eliminate any chance of it waking up and wiggling back into the pool.

 To his great horror, it was moving. For such a large thing, the merman moved surprisingly quickly and it reached out to snag Zarya’s ankle before anyone could react. With a vicious tug, she was pulled down the sand and towards it’s open mouth. Unseen jaws closed around her midsection and the woman screamed again, struggling as she was pulled into the surf by huge hands. Jamie could swear he almost heard the thing laughing as it submerged, bringing it’s meal and hook with it.

 Ana gaped at her hands, covered in Zarya’s blood and formerly pressed against warm flesh. Now there was only empty air and a trail in the sand that told a tale of horror. Gabriel was spellbound, watching the ripples that spread across the water, and the foreboding dark color that began to float into the pool of light.

 “Holy fuck,” The pirate gasped, suddenly jumping away from the water’s edge as one of the waves reached his foot. “Holy fuck, holy fuck.”

 He realized he was shaking like a leaf from head to toe, swaying back and forth as though at any moment his legs would give out. It had gone wrong, as he knew it would, but not exactly in the way he’d hoped. Ana and Gabriel were still alive, giving each other the same dumbstruck look he was sure graved his own face. Who knew when the creature would come back again, after they’d stabbed it. The sleeping potion had done fuck all on it- it played dead for a joke, a way to get a bit of an easier meal.

 Maybe it would decide they weren’t worth the trouble and leave them here to rot.

 “What are we gonna do?” Jamie asked, not really meaning for the other two to hear. He backed up until his back was against the wall of the cave, fingers feeling for the stability of the rough surface. The merman had to come back, had to listen to him. It was his only way out of this godforsaken cave, his only chance.

 He didn’t have to wait long.

 Gabe was opening his mouth to speak when the hook flashed out of the water once again. In the middle of his sentence, he was simply gone, pulled into the water with a huge splash. Unable to fight as Zarya had. It was difficult to tell in the dim lighting, but the pirate was pretty sure he saw a uniform clad leg kick out from the surface once, briefly, before completely submerging.

 Ana snatched up the scallop shell from the sandbar and charged at the water’s edge before Jamie could comprehend the loss of yet another of their number. She was screaming something in a language he didn’t understand as a huge shadow rose out of the water to meet her, one big arm steadfastly holding something under the water. A growl chilled the blood in his body as he watched the woman go for that arm, hacking and slashing to get him to let go of her friend.

 It must be nice to have someone to do that for you. Risk their life.

 The merman drew back his other arm and backhanded Ana away from him in one sweep, sending her flying into the cave wall. She collapsed on the sand and did not move again, some of the merman’s blood joining the stains already dotting the beach. Dipping underwater once again, the creature took ahold of something in its teeth. Gabe rose above the surface, seemingly unconscious from his forced drowning and hanging like a limp chew toy. Claws shredded through his clothes, ribbons of cloth falling away as it raking over him again and again, ending with a snap of it’s head to throw the body onto the sand.

 Huge eyes turned on him now, and he was sure it heard it laughing this time. A baritone chuckle reverberated off the walls until it was the only thing inside his head, louder still than even the beating of his heart in his ears. He swallowed once as he waited for it to make a move, waited for the fishing hook to flash out and catch him about the middle. He was so skinny the impact alone might tear him in half, spilling his guts across the sand for the monster to snack on later.

 The monster had chosen a good time to feed. There weren’t many places on the sandbar that Jamie could go and still be out of reach, not with the high tide lapping at his heels. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, terrified to blink in case he missed that deadly hook.

 “Here little piggy…”

 It beckoned him closer with a blood-stained claw, huge pupils fixated on Jamie’s face. Like he would willingly walk forward to the slaughter. Like he was going to die here in this cave. The pirate shuddered and found his words stuck in his throat. He’d planned something to say but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was.

 “G’day!” The blonde eventually choked out, tone considerably less calm than he’d have liked it to be. “Big bloke, ain’tcha?”

 Obviously the creature was big. He was going have to do better than that if he wanted to sweet talk this thing.

 “Good with yer claws and fuck me, those teeth are the sharpest things I ever seen. And that fucking hook? Bloody brilliant mate, ain’t never would have seen it coming. Near about shit myself when ya got Gabe with it.”

 It was silent, although he could definitely feel an air of confusion cutting through the sheer malice radiating off the merman. Encouraged, he pressed on.

 “I got a deal for a big fuck like ya! Help me out an’ you’ll be richer than ya ever dreamed of. I know where somethin’ real good is buried, somethin’ that’ll set us up for life.” He paused. “Well, I don’t know what mermen’s lives are like, but money is money, right? We’ll be fuckin’ kings, ya could probably buy yerself a lagoon and replace the water in it with gold if ya wanted.”

 Still the creature was silent, but the beckoning hand had fallen to his side once again. Jamie took that as a good sign because of the lack of anything else, feeling brave enough to peel himself off the cave wall and take a few steps towards the water. Still well out of grabbing range, because he wasn’t stupid.

 “Maybe not that, cause you’d die, but somethin’ like it! All ya gotta do is let me go and help me find the treasure, I’ll split it with ya, fifty fifty.”

 The merman snorted.

 “You don’t even have it.” Derision ran through his words.

 “I’m gonna get it! And I’m the only one who knows where it is, I can guaran-fuckin’-tee that. Premier access to the best hoard o’ gold that’ll ever be dug up.”

 He’d swallowed the map, to be precise. After breaking into the captain’s cabin, it had been a free for all. After treating himself to the good booze, the stuff that the man kept locked in a cabinet so the crew couldn’t waste it with their drinking games, he’d rifled through the man’s papers. Jamie had never learned to read, but he knew how to tell what was important and what wasn’t.

 The books with long lists of numbers meant absolutely nothing to him, as did the ones that were full of incomprehensible writings. There were more books than he’d ever thought could possibly exist in the world stuffed on the man’s shelves, kept hidden away from the rest of the world. Jamie had pawed through the volumes, flipping between the pages with pictures on them and playing a guessing game as to what they were about.

 That was how he’d found the map. It was in a dusty volume, one in the very back of the shelves. It looked as though the man had barely touched it, preferring the volumes with complicated maps and grids. This one was mostly words, accompanied with sparse illustrations of fish and sea monsters. When the pirate grabbed it, a loose sheet of paper had fallen, dislodged from the crinkly pages.

 Almost like fate. Almost like he’d been meant to find it.

 Maps were another story entirely. Jamie was very good at maps- his brain semed to absorb the ordered images, the shape of the continents quickly orienting themselves before his eyes. He liked to fiddle with things and the talent came in handy- the navigator had been teaching him, showing him the paths of the stars and how to read the winds. For the apprentice of the man who managed the gunpowder, this was a whole new world.

 He knew he could remember it. There was something about this map that differentiated itself from the others, something that told him this was important. It felt heavier in his calloused hands than the others, and the ink was still thick and clear. A symbol at the end of the path stood out to him, two hands clasped around a diamond. It called to him. As if he was the only one to ever lay eyes on it.

 Jamie was willing to bet his life that he was.

 The captain had returned before he was supposed to, spelling the end of the blonde’s field trip and his time on the ship. But he’d quickly stuffed it in his mouth when the door flew open, swallowed it down before there was iron pinching his wrists and chains dragging from his feet. Just in case the captain ever figured out what it was he had in his possession, the boy didn’t want anyone else to find what he had. Even though he was going to his death, he’d have a secret to take with him to the grave.

 Something that someone would remember him by, one day. The boy who’d taken treasure from the world as his final act.

 Except, somehow, it hadn’t been his final act and he now had a chance to actually take that treasure for himself.

 He had no way to know if all the promises he was making the beast would really come true. If he was indeed right about being the only person to know where the treasure was buried, if there would even be anything to find once they got there. Maybe he’d come to the end of the journey and find that he’d bought his life from the beast with empty sand and broken seashells.

 Jamie would burn that bridge when he came to it. There was no room for him to begin to doubt his words, not when he was staring a monster in the face and lying his ass off.

 Maybe. He might not have been lying his ass off. Jamie hoped to god he wasn’t lying his ass off.

 “C’mon big guy, think about it… Untold riches just waiting for us. You can buy yer own fuckin’ ocean where no one else can intrude. They’ll sacrifice humans to you, ya can have a whole fuckin’ stock of folks to eat. Much better to eat than me scrawny ass.”

 The merman stared pointedly at him before the mask tilted down to look at the ground around Jamie’s feet. He risked a glance downwards, finding nothing but sand and blood.

 “You come with your own toothpick.” The merman said, and from his voice it sounded like he’d like nothing better than to use Jamie’s peg leg to pick his teeth.

 “Ya gotta work with me here, really! Sure, I’m tasty and delicious, all wrapped up in a convenient little package for ya. But if ya delay your meal now, it’ll be a whole lot better for you in the long run.”

 Shit, he’d used the word delay. As in, it might be okay to eat him one day, after their grand adventure was over and they were rich as kings.

 Before he could backtrack on his words, the merman was moving, shifting closer to him over the sand. Jamie instinctively took a step back and struck his head on the rock wall, pain ringing through his temples. He held perfectly still as it sniffed the air around him, mask uncomfortably close to his face. The pirate kept his eyes trained on the sharp teeth that lined the shark’s mask, afraid that the creature would move and shred him to bits.

 “Swear to me that you’re telling the truth.”

 Jumping to attention, the blonde laughed nervously, raising one hand to draw an X over his heart. Lying was second nature and so it was easy to say the words with wide and sincere eyes, just the right amount of excitement peppering his voice. No need to let his doubts.

 “I swear. Help me find it and we’ll be rich.”

 It laughed, long and low, the same chuckle he’d heard earlier as it hunted. The mask was shoved even closer, the shark’s teeth pressing uncomfortably against his face. From the dark depths of the mask, he heard something wet, and then a cold, slimy tongue was curling against the side of his cheek.

 The merman was lapping at the blood there, at the spray that had stained him from Zarya’s wound. From the contented noises it made as it slurped, he gathered that the blood was delicious, frozen as he was in case he made it angry. Something inside him shuddered when the tongue was finally withdrawn, cool air rushing over his wet skin.

 “Th-thanks, mate.” Uncertainty laced his words. Did this mean it had decided to let him live?

 They stood still for a moment, staring at each other. Jamie willed his gaze not to move from the merman’s steely grey eyes, though curiosity was burning deep in his gut. Was the monster deformed under there? Did the scars that covered his whole body extend to his face as well?

 After a minute, the creature chuckled and pulled away from him, settling back into the water. Somewhere to Jamie’s left, Gabriel groaned, somehow still alive after the mauling.

 “What is your name, little human?”

 “Junkrat! Junkrat to most, Jamie Fawkes to me friends. If ya want to count among ‘em, I can definitely arrange something.” He grinned, finally letting himself relax. Asking his name was definitely a good sign. It meant that the monster would keep him around long enough to need it.

 The merman looked him dead in the eye.

 “I’ll take the deal.”

 Shouting for joy, the pirate forgot himself for a moment and raced forward to clasp his arms around the beast’s neck. The skin beneath him was cold and wet, slightly more rough than human skin but not unpleasant. It smelled of rotting fish up close, and the stench threatened to overwhelm the boy. There was a sudden tenseness in the thing’s muscles, like it expected him to try and attack from the position. Dimly, he remembered that Zarya had thrown her arms around the creature like this, to attempt to hold it still. She was bleeding to death on the sand.

 One huge hand grabbed him by the back of his shirt and tugged him off with ease. The merman pulled him around to stare at him once more.

 “But. You should be sure not to forget.”

 It leaned in until the edges of the shark teeth grazed Jamie’s face. The pirate caught a glimpse of cruel, upturned lips and a nose that was little more than a mass of ruined flesh. Up close, it’s breath stank, nausea churning deep inside him. He hoped he wouldn’t throw up on it.

 “One day I am going to devour you, Jamie Fawkes.”