#while the other side (the “unharmed” side) is shrouded in darkness?

[swan2swan]

Once again, went to an episode to get a clip, Brooklynn was waiting for me randomly, and this time...wow. Just. Wow.

The colors and shadows in this image. My goodness. My everloving goodness.

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

Lifeguard Required (Divus x GN!Reader)

Content Warning: Mentions of alcohol (none present)

Note: Reader is an adult staff member, implied to be a teacher/professor or teacher's assistant

“You know, sometimes I wonder if teaching was a mistake.” Divus took another long swig of his drink. Thankfully, it was non-alcoholic. “If this keeps up, I’ll be getting gray hairs soon.”

“I think you’d look good with them,” you said with a smile. “You will have the silver fox thing going for you.” 

Divus let out a short chuckle as he adjusted himself in his seat, leg now crossed over his knee. “Well, thank you for the effort to make me feel better.” 

“No problem,” you smirked as you brought your soda to your lips, “but I meant what I said.” 

As though to stray from the conversation of aging, Divus changed the subject. “You know, when I was a student myself, I became a lifeguard part-time during the summer months.” 

“Really now?” You raised an eyebrow at the vision of a young Divus decked out in red swim trunks, a whistle around his neck and a red float under his arm. “Why’s that? Strapped for cash?” 

“Not necessarily,” he said. “While the extra money was a plus, it was mainly to build up my resume. It wasn’t the most…remarkable thing back then. It was experience enough while I pursued my interest in fashion.” 

“Do you have any pictures of you from back then?” You leaned over your chair as you raised your eyebrows in interest. “I require evidence to believe your story - and I’m curious as to how you looked back then.” 

“I looked not too different than I do now.” He picked his drink up again. “I age like a fine wine~” 

“Mhm,” you hummed, which was then followed by a teasing remark. “A strong one, to be sure, but a little dry from all the stress and age.” You ended that statement with a sip of your soda for effect. 

A smirk to match crossed Divus’s lips as he watched you sip your drink. He looked like he was going to say something else - then a loud scream caused you both to flinch. You whipped your heads in the direction of the scream just in time to see Idia Shroud get tossed into the pool by Leona Kingscholar. A loud splash resounded throughout the area, followed by droplets of water raining down from the impact. Divus quickly placed his glass on the small table between you two before he bolted up from his chair. He looked almost ready to sprint forward and dive in after him - but he relaxed the moment Idia’s head burst out from the water. He gasped for air, hands coming up to wipe dark blue strands of hair from his face. 

“What the hell?!” Idia coughed as he yelled. His yellow eyes glared daggers into Leona; if his hair was still alight, you figured it’d be burning red. 

“So, you do have hair under that burning turnip.” Leona chuckled as he smirked in Idia’s direction, completely unbothered. “Mystery solved.” 

Before either could get out another word, Divus’s boomed out in anger. “Bad dog! Kingscholar, come here, now!”

“Hm?” Leona tilted his head in the professor’s direction. While he appeared unphased, his tail twitched in irritation. “We were just foolin’ around, professor Crewel.” His smirked appeared again as he grinned and gestured to Idia. “Shroud is completely unharmed, as you can see. Do you really think I would hurt him?” 

The sweet talk and charm wouldn’t work, you knew that. Still, Leona always gave Divus a hard time; you doubt the lion would listen to him much. Then, from the other side of the pool, Trein appeared. Though he did not yell, his voice was stern and level, as though scolding a child. “Kingscholar, come with me. It seems that, once more, we need to have a chat about your poolside etiquette.” 

You were unsure why Leona didn’t pick a fight with Trein, nor why he complied with his demands with little more than a grunt of annoyance. You saw that annoyance, that irritation, as Leona’s ears flattened against his head, snarling under his breath as he turned and headed away with the professor. Was there some sort of begrudging respect the young man had for the elder? Perhaps…you did hear once from Crowley how Trein beat Leona in a duel during the student’s freshman year. Ever since that day, when Leona lost his own challenge, he hadn’t been too much of a problem for that teacher in particular. You’d have to ask Divus if he knew anything of that incident later.

For now, you watched as Divus helped Idia out from the pool. The poor boy was soaked to the bone, black hoodie weighing him down. You quickly ran and grabbed a towel for him; once you retrieved the biggest you could find, you draped it around his shoulders. Idia didn’t say much in thanks, but he shot you the smallest of smiles as his show of gratitude. Divus placed a gentle hand on Idia’s back as he began him back inside, whispering words of comfort you could scarcely hear. Before they got too far, Divus looked over his shoulder at you and asked, “Can you handle things until I return?”

You nodded and gave him a small smile of your own. “Of course.”

Divus gave you one of his own before he led Idia away. That poor boy…no wonder he often stayed in his room. You glanced in the direction that Trein and Leona had disappeared, the two no doubt having a thorough discussion somewhere just out of sight. The other students present had gone back to what they’d been doing before their fun was disturbed. You sighed, thankful no one was hurt, but tired all the same. As you sat back in your chair and took another sip of your soda, a part of you wished it was spiked - just a little. 

***

A long sigh combined with an exhausted groan escaped Divus’s lips as he returned. Though he elegantly sat down in his chair, his posture was anything but. His head lolled back as he slumped in his seat, his hand coming to run through his hair and slick it back from his forehead. His tropical button-up - one of many designs of his for the season - was now unbuttoned and slightly damp at the back. He looked more casual than usual, for sure, yet also far more exhausted than before. You wished you could tell him it’d soon be over, but that would be a lie. The trip had another week to go, and then it was back to the classrooms. 

You offered Divus his drink, which he took with a slight nod of his head. You’d never seen him chug something so fast. A chuckled as he finally opened his eyes and looked at the night sky as though it were the cause of his strife. “I think you’re ready for bed,” you said with a small laugh. 

“I’m ready for a vacation,” he grumbled. 

“But we’re on a vacation?” 

“If this is a vacation for you, I dread what you do on the daily.” Divus set his now empty glass on the table as he continued. “This is work with a tropical backdrop; I need one away from children.”

“I think we all do,” you giggled. “A weekend getaway for the staff sounds lovely.” 

Divus seemed to scoff as he said, “You assume half the staff are not the children I speak of?” 

Now that made you laugh. The alchemy professor certainly had a point; a certain headmage and coach were maddeningly unhelpful for most of this trip. What would they do if you, Divus, Mozus, and Sam took off for a weekend or more? You honestly dreaded the possibilities. “That is very true,” you uttered as your laugh faded. “We can’t take them anywhere, can we?”

While you gave no context as to whether it was the students or Crowley and Vargas you were referring to, Divus didn’t seem to care. Either answer would be correct, in his mind. He nodded with a small ‘mhm’ as a few loose strands of white and black hair fell over his forehead. “Like untrained dogs, they don’t know how to behave.” He glanced over at two certain first years as he uttered, “Some more than others.” 

“Well, at least summer break is just a month away.” You sympathized with the small groan Divus let out at the reminder of how much time was left before then. “When that time comes, I’m sure we’ll all be thankful for the rest.”

“If that rest is too good, I just might quit,” Divus joked. There was some truth to that suggestion, however. Again, you didn’t blame him. Divus rested his chin on his knuckles as he turned his gaze on you. “What do you plan to do for the break?” 

“Mmn, I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I’ll probably just relax at home, watch movies, maybe order takeout - stuff like that.” 

“No plans whatsoever?” 

“Bold of you to assume those aren’t my plans.” 

Divus let out a small ‘hmph’ as he smiled. He simply looked at you for a few seconds, as though deep in thought. You grew a tad nervous, a little shy, under that gray gaze; you mildly shrunk in your own chair as you eyed him. “What?” 

“Oh, just thinking,” he replied. He certainly seemed to be plotting something, you thought. He straightened his posture as he spoke again, “What is your opinion on upscale restaurants?” 

“Like the ones you have to dress up for?” He nodded. “Um…I’ve never been to one before,” you chuckled under your breath, “can’t afford it with my meager salary. So, I can’t say I really have an opinion on them.” 

“I see.” Those cunning eyes scanned you from head to toe. A chill ran up your back under his intense gaze; you felt like grabbing your towel and hiding underneath. Before you could ask what he was doing, he said, “I think you’d look quite fetching in red.” 

“Uh…t-thank you?” Though a blush threatened to creep on your cheeks, you barely noticed in your confusion. “Where’d that come from?” 

“Again, I am just contemplating.” 

“Contemplating what?” 

“On exactly where I should take you for dinner.” 

If this were a cartoon, you’d have been knocked out of your chair by that statement. Your soda was left completely forgotten on the table beside you as you leaned against the armrest of your chair. “I-I’m sorry, what?” 

Divus seemed to find your reply amusing for the way he tittered. “Don’t tell me that’s how you respond to every advance you receive?” 

“I’ve…never received an advance.” You couldn’t help but answer honestly; I mean, what else could you reply with? Your head swum with so many questions that you could barely think of anything else. 

“Truly?” You noticed Divus’s smile had now stretched into a charming smirk. “It’s good to know I do not have any competition.” 

“Competition for what?” You didn’t mean for your voice to rise in pitch like that. Thankfully, no one other than Divus seemed to notice. 

“So, even you, a fellow trainer of pups, are blind to such simple things.” A chuckle rumbled in his throat and rib cage before he spoke again with a wiggle of his fingers. “Come closer.” With no reason to object, you complied. Divus leaned a little closer to your face, voice a volume above a whisper as he explained himself. “On the day summer break begins, and we’re relieved of our duties, I am going to take you to a celebratory dinner. You do not need to fret about your choice of clothing - I will provide it. All you need to do is let me pick you up, drive you there, and, hopefully, enjoy the food and company.” 

“This…isn’t with Trein or the other staff, is it?” you asked, nearly at a loss for words. 

Divus chuckled again. “No, pup, it isn’t.” His fingertip tapped the underside of your chin. “Do you understand?” 

Your nod was shaky, along with your words. “Y-Yes, I do.” 

“Good dog~” He pulled away from you in that instance. “I look forward to it.” 

He stood from his seat and took his glass. He then grabbed your can of soda, shook it a little, then placed it back on the table. “Your can is near empty.” He held up his glass as he offered, “Would you like a drink?” 

Somehow, you managed to regain your composure. “Yes, I would, thank you.” 

“Preference?” 

A smile tugged at your lips as he met his eye. “I trust your judgement.” 

Divus seemed to take that as more than just picking your drink. Though his smile held its usual charm, you could spy a certain softness creep into those silver gray eyes. He gave a small nod, “I’ll be back shortly.” 

With that, he turned and walked away. Even when he left, you couldn’t help but keep smiling. Even when a certain housewarden got into an argument with a certain twin, you wore that smile through your whole mediation of the situation. You loved your job, you really did…but summer break couldn’t come soon enough. Who knows - maybe a certain lifeguard might come to your aide.

[cozzzynook]

Soundwave going feral when someone hurts pregnant Hot Rod.

Going dragon formers with this.

They were resting in their colony in their nest inside their cave when the warning screech sounded.

Soundwave stood on all fours wings flaring immediately shrouding them in darkness as his black and purple metal wings covered them. Hot Rod was a bright orange and red with vibrant yellows so he made them easy to spot but what also made him an easy target was the heavy weighed tank housing their sparkling cubs.

Hot rod tried to get up in a hurry when the warning went off but his knee struts shook and his wings were so heavy and sore and his back and spinal struts felt like they were on fire and his tail was slightly swollen. He fell down before he could really do much. He didn’t even make it out of their nest much to his distress.

His snout went to rub against his tanks to soothe his cubs and he whimpered looking back at Soundwave who nuzzled his helm and fins.

“Stay here, you’re too far along to be moving more than extremely necessary.”

“But this is extremely necessary. They’ve invaded the colony. I’ve made us easy targets because i can’t move. I’m not strong enough.”

“Be quiet!”

Soundwave curled his long tail around Hot Rod’s helm to lift it and slather a long lick of his glossa along his neck armor and fuel lines.

“You’re sparked. Not weak. None of the other sparked have left their den either. It would be irresponsible. Your job as carrier is to keep them safe within you and my job as sire is to keep you and our cubs safe.”

Soundwave bent his helmet down once more to nuzzle Hot rod before lifting his helm and turning it with a growl.

“Stay here and don’t make a sound. They’ve come close to the caves. Me along with the sires will offline them quickly. I’ll come back to you quickly. I won’t be more than a few feet from the cave just like the others.”

With another long lick, Soundwave gave his momentary parting before slithering from the cave and ripping the intruder in half.

Screams could be heard as his mate and other sires offlined the unwelcome and Hot rod could see his amica Drift slicing a bot for getting near the cave where Ratchet was holed inside with their young cubs who were most likely scared right now.

He wished he could be helping but he couldn’t.

He wouldn’t endanger his cubs not when he wanted nothing more than to hold them safe beneath his wings.

The sound of a small pede hitting the cave made him jump and he looked down to see a bot with a sword rushing to him just in time to cover his tanks.

The sword stabbed through his wing but he kept his tanks and cubs safe and thats all that mattered to him.

He couldn’t stop the painful roar as he leaned to his side yanking the sword from the bots servos and digging his claws into the nest.

He felt fluid pierce his optics as he rumbled in pain but the sound of a ferocious growl and searing red optics on a dark purple and black muzzle that belonged to the night like that of unicron’s worst made his spark feel at ease at the sight of his beyond furious mate.

The bot never stood a chance as Soundwave pierced through his spark and yanked his helm off. Nor did the others that ran inside.

Soundwave went into a frenzy going as far as to let out his sonic boom from his muzzle destroying the bots ship and leaving them trapped and at the fate of their colony.

It was after the last bot was ripped in half did the siren of safety echo the mountains. Ratchet ran inside their cave to tend to his wound and check on his cubs while Soundwave stood guard and Drift huddled around his and Ratchets young.

“You’ll be fine. Your tanks are unharmed and your wing was not hit in a vital area. I don’t want you stretching it until I give the all clear and I definitely don’t want you leaving the nest for anything more than emptying your tanks. Soundwave is an attentive mate. He can clean and feed you.”

There was a serious nod from Soundwave and a groan from Hot rod who did not appreciate Ratchets smirk at him being berth ridden.

“They’ll be emerging before you know it,” Ratchet said, walking towards the cave entrance past Soundwave, “I’ll let Drift know you’re fine.”

A small, “thanks,” and Hot rod watched Ratchet leave and motioned for Soundwave to come close.

“Lay with me?”

Soundwave looked apprehensive but did so and Hot rod nuzzled beneath his muzzle and licked him.

“Its not your fault ya know?”

“It is.”

“Me and the cubs are fine. Your fine. It’s a minor injury. We’re okay love, we’re okay.”

Soundwave still felt guilty and at fault for not being able to protect his mate and cubs but he nuzzled Hot rod back. He would enjoy his mate and cubs in this moment even if he felt like a failure.

Resting a clawed servo on his mates tank he rumbled protectively, tail curling around Hot rod like a vine as he breathed him in.

“I promise I won’t fail again.”

“You’ve never failed me before and you haven’t failed me now,” Hot rod nuzzled before leaning closer to lick him.

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Sedated | Dave York x f!Reader

gif from @iamasaddie

summary: you and dave are no strangers to this business, to death. so there can be no harm in relying on each other in times of need.

pairing: dave york x f!contract killer!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. divorced!dave. knife play, breath play, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie. descriptions/mention of blood and injury. vibes are kinda weird idk

wc: 2.5k

an: this fic is a part of @wannab-urs hozier drabble challenge (although, alas, it is not a drabble). head to gin’s page for more!

Just a little rush, babe, to feel dizzy To derail the mind of me Just a little hush, babe, my veins are busy But my heart's in atrophy ~ sedated, hozier

The only sounds in the bathroom are the dripping of the tap into the tepid water of the sink and the scrape of the razor across Dave’s stubble.

He sits, back straight, on the closed toilet - shirtless, in only his sweatpants, large hands hooked beneath your thighs as you straddle him, your body rocked back to find the perfect angle to shave him at.

He watches you with hooded eyes as you draw the razor over his skin, stretching it taught where you need to be careful, gliding it over the plain of his throat. He feels like he’s barely breathed the whole time, not a word being said between the two of you. But this is routine now. 

The quiet moments after a contract, nights where one follows the other, no matter where you had come from, no matter where you were staying. This half-tender care, so different from anything he’s experienced before - the bravado and camaraderie, or the mute mission of patching himself up, clotting his own wounds.

It must have been a serious kind of injury to draw you into each other, but when he tries to, Dave can’t remember. Something that needed to be patched up by someone else, too much blood making your own fingers slip, too deep for yourself to plug. Sometimes, it’s difficult to remember a time before you were here - before you found each other. The nebulous, shrouded years that seem to expand well beyond their perimeters. They should stop before reaching too far back into Carol and the girls, but they linger over even those happier times, back and back until it feels as though every year of his existence has been shrouded in darkness.

Those months after the divorce, after Mac, all spent feeling outside of his life until you had shown up, until you had proved a constant in the fucked up world he found himself in. And despite the nature of the person he has become now, there’s still a desperate, warm little part of him that wants you out - wants to drag you away from it. Wants you far away from this, from him, wants you unharmed and safe in the world that Carol and his daughters inhabit.

Wishful thinking - and it’s an awful thought to consider where being without you would leave him.

Lost, even more so than he already is. You do not make the darkness brighter, do not make it easier to see. But you hold your hand out to him, tell him in not as many words - I feel it, too.

This does not scare you the way it should.

He knows you now, in the way only someone like he can. Has seen what little fear you have. Has watched you push bullets through flesh, through brains, so the body matter spreads and splatters where it must. Has witnessed the plunge of a jagged blade into a stomach, watched you rip upwards, slash and maim with precision. It gives him a thrill, a dark satisfaction to witness a job so well done.

You continue your gliding movements, breathing steady, gaze focused, while Dave studies your face. The depth and glitter of your eyes in the half light, the crook and curve of your nose, the bow and twitch of your lips. You know he’s doing it; always do. You tilt his head with a palm on the side of his neck, using your other to hold the blade of his razor tight to the thrumming artery on the opposite side for a second too long. His dark eyes find yours, pouty lips posing an unvoiced question. You ask another.

‘Do you ever think about how easy it would be?’

Dave says nothing, unable to move his mouth as you use your thumb to press the razor into the soft underside of his jaw. You use enough pressure for his heart rate to spike before you scrape away the hairs there like you’re carving wood, cutting an apple. When the blade meets his chin, he speaks.

‘No.’ 

You meet his eyes briefly.

‘Don’t lie.’

You scrape away the remainder of his whiskers before twisting your body to wash the blade off in the sink. You keep it cuddled in you fist as you use two fingers to tip his chin into the light, gripping his jaw softly to turn his head this way and that, inspecting your work. He’s warm beneath you, firm and achingly hard. A pleased smile slicks across your lips, and keeping one hand cradled to his throat, you press the tip of the blade to his sternum and wait for any kind of reaction. Any twitch of a muscle, any change in the pace of his breathing, any flickering of his eyes. Instead, he keeps them trained on your mouth, heavy lidded, nostrils flaring, wanting.

He trusts you. And he knows you enjoy the power. Too much.

He can feel the heat, the wetness, leaking though your underwear already.

A soft growl slips from his throat as you trail the knife down, down. Down between his pecks, over the swell of his soft belly, through the hair that guides the way to his stiff cock. When you make it to the elastic of his waistband, you trace your initials against his soft skin - hard enough to leave red marks, but not so as to draw blood. When you lift your eyes, he is watching you; aching, panting. 

You bring the tip of the blade back up - circle his nipples, trace his clavicles, slide it along the base of his skull at the back of his neck. Killing him softly. When you press it to his temple, he knows the game is up. He knows you’re ready, the last lingering pulls of violence flaking from your hands as you lay the knife at the edge of the sink and wind your hands around his neck. You push your tits flush against him and press a dirty, open-mouthed kiss to his neck. Every one of his senses is attuned to every one of your movements, and he feels with keen urgency the movement of your tongue against his skin, the shapes you trace, your hot, damp breath, the minute scrape of your teeth -

You roll your hips, whining, soaked cunt dragging over the heft of his cock, and Dave grunts, standing so quickly that it makes you dizzy.

His palms are firm beneath your ass as he moves, taking leave of the bathroom to throw you down onto the deep mattress of the bed. The room is dark, the curtains not drawn - only a thin, orange light drains through the gauze covering the window, illuminating the curves and angles of your body.

Dave hauls himself over you, spreading your thighs, nipping any skin he can take between his teeth, your hands feverish over his bare shoulders, his back, his chest. He takes care to suck deep, hard marks into your neck, stripping you of your vest to bite into the soft swell of your breasts. You rock your hips against the thigh he's got nestled against your cunt, mewling softly, and the sound draws his lips to your mouth, licking in, molding, devouring. He presses a kiss to your jaw as he rolls his hips against you, and you moan, the noise throbbing through his body. With blindly moving fingers, he finds the bandage he had wrapped around your thigh tonight, the knife wound carved into you earlier in the evening by some son of a bitch he dispatched not seconds later.

Dave traces the shape of the bandages, the rough softness of the material, the bow he’d tied in mock of a garter. You were lucky he didn’t slice deeper - not that it seems to bother you now as Dave traces the indent of the cut, you nibbling his earlobe in response.

He presses his fingers deeper in to the wound only to feel you clench your thighs around him, numb to the pain, feeling only pleasure. He ruts into you once more before trailing back down your body, laving kisses wherever he can, only stopping to peel your underwear off, only pausing to cup your thighs and push them into your chest so he can spread you wide and take you apart with his mouth.

He eats you like he’s ravenous, like a man starved for days. His tongue is strong against you, working you easily, so easily you could be convinced he knows your body better than you do. He licks and bites, sucking bruises into the soft flesh of your thighs when you reel too close to the edge, and only when you beg, threaten, does he pull far enough away to spit down onto when you’re already dripping, spreading his saliva over your swollen pussy with his thick fingers. He reattaches his mouth to your clit, sucking and flicking, his slick fingers gliding inside you easily, pumping and curling until he can feel your walls begin to tighten and flutter. Your fists twist in his short hair and he moans lewdly against you, moving faster, harsher, wrenching something painful and hot inside you. You buck beneath him, back arching as he digs his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise to hold you still, gushing and clenching around his fingers. He loves watching you lose yourself like this, head thrown back in ecstasy, body glistening, twitching, sensitive. Loves watching the control slip from you, watching you slip into submission, give in. Give in to him.

He takes more, presses for more. He always does. His mouth continues to slurp greedily at your cunt as you sob, trying to push him away. But he’s immovable, insatiable, dragging a second orgasm from your body even as it continues to crash through the first. He wants to keep going until there is nothing left, until you are just as much a part of him as the need to harm and protect.

To love is to consume, to love is to destroy. Both are something you do, and do well - but the feeling itself is a dirty word in this dark hotel room. It is not a word he thinks of as he presses one last kiss to your sopping folds, not one that crosses his mind as he rids himself of his sweat pants, his cock hard as stone, slapping against his belly. He grips his base, dragging his fist over it once, twice, before he kneels between your slack legs. He leans forward to grip your chin as he notches himself at your entrance, pulling your face down so that you’re forced to watch him take you.

The first press into your cunt is always the tightest. Tight in anticipation, in need, and Dave is careful to let his mind fall blank so he doesn’t come too soon. You arch beneath him again, your hands reaching for his where they rest atop your thighs. He knows not to mistake it for something tender, but for the need to dispel your energy, your urges. The language is understood - when he rocks back, cock soaked with your arousal, and pushes in again, he follows the sound of your ragged gasp, leaning forward to take your mouth with his, biting your bottom lip, nipping at your shoulder. You take advantage of the position to sink your own teeth into his flesh, piercing and moaning. The sensation pushes him to pick up his force, his pace. 

Look at me. The only command he needs to give, the rest so ingrained now. When to come, when not to come, when and how to move. The only thing he ever needs to remind you of is where your eyes belong when he’s fucking into you like this, when it feels so good like this.

Tonight feels like more of a race than it usually does. You’re tightening dangerously around him, moaning, crying louder and louder as he drills into you, so warm, so wet, the noises your cunt is making so obscene that heat begins to coil threateningly at the base of his spine. He pierces you with his cock, tip knocking against your cervix with every thrust until tears gloss your eyes, your hands in a vice grip around the tops of his arms as you gasp out, unable to form a full word - oh, fu-, go-, Da-ave, ple-. He sneers down at you, a hand coming to cradle below your jaw again, throat held between his thumb and fingers, digits squeezing, constricting, restricting the bloodflow until your eyes are far away, blissed, body limp. Enough for a rush, enough for your mind to be derailed from its linear thinking - next kill, next kill, next kill. This is what you need, and he is proud that he can give it to you, gritting out a yeah, s’that good, little girl? Like that? before your eyes are rolling into the back of your head, your back bowed, your cunt spasming and gushing around him, your cry caught between your teeth as you try to roll away from him. He grips your wrists in one hand, bringing them high above your head as you twist and keen and throb, fat, hot tears streaming down your cheeks as he continues to fuck you, hard enough to make sure it bruises tomorrow. Your sobs come quieter as he moans into your neck, as he tells you how good you are, how tight you are, how you belong to him, how you’ll never get away, as he tells you to take it, take it, and you beg, plead with him - please, Dave, please - before he thrusts himself cruelly all the way inside you, gritting his teeth and growling as he comes, as you keen up at him. 

He wants to keep you full of him for as long as possible, all the time, but there are so many reasons why that’s not feasible. When he slips his softening cock from your pussy, you whimper at the loss. He ignores the sound and instead sits back to watch his cum leak from your used cunt, down to your asshole, before collecting it with his thumb and pushing it back in. He looks back up at you, eyes glazed, breath heavy, body sated, and finds a similar expression laid across your features. When he catches his breath, he stretches himself out beside you on the mattress, covering you both with the sheets. Both pairs of eyes trained to the ceiling, not thinking, not thinking, just feeling. 

But even in primal feeling, even when he snips at the gnaw in his chest, he craves it, needs it. Slave to your touch, your command, your control, your submission. It’s dangerous in a world like this, in a world like yours. 

When your chest settles into a regular rhythm, you curl yourself into him. Your body is warm and firm, still sweaty, your cunt still dripping as you hook a leg over his hip. You wrap around him like he is somebody you miss, somebody you wish to hold outside of this bedroom. Your breath crowds the side of his neck, and he closes his eyes to it, letting himself be swept away. Sedated by what your bodies provide, sleep laps like waves, submerges, drowns, and in the darkness Dave is not sure where he ends and you begin.

When he wakes, still hours from dawn, the bed is cold beside him.

further an: while sedated was obviously the main catalyst here, i'd also recommend listening to massive attack's come near me while/after reading. happy trails!

divider from @saradika-graphics

[howlingday]

pokemon au) an elder grimm has been sighted. this Is what those in the business call, a problem. all trainers are called to help deal with the minor grimm spawned while the champions deal with the elder grimm. all in all they handled it great no one got hurt but how did our heroes all do against the hoards of beowolves and nevermore?

The battlefield was complete chaos. The Elder Grimm had crawled up from the shore, and it's belly burst, releasing hundreds of smaller Grimm from within, ranging from Beowolves to Ursa. Towers along it's back opened, puffs of black smoke erupted, followed by Nevermores and Ravagers. The Elder Grimm, dubbed Echidna, continued to lurch forward on all fours, looking like a Mightyena head attached to the body of an emaciated zombie.

Ruby and Scizor provided aerial defense as Ruby gave orders from the nearby airship. The order was simple: if it isn't a Pokémon and it gets too close to communications aircraft, destroy it.

Weiss provided status support by having Myrtenaster launch Ice Shard against attacking Grimm. Anything that survived would then be hit with Will o Wip. Rinse and repeat. Due to her Ghost-type attribute, Grimm attacks passed through her body, leaving the Froslass unharmed.

Blake, with her training in Team Fang, provided artillery support on the gun deck with Gambol's Shroud. Anything that landed was Fury Swiped. Anything that escaped was blasted.

Yang also provided artillery support by reloading heavy shells while Ember and Celica took turns powering the furnace engine of the airship. Yang thought she was also boosting morale with terrible puns. All this did was drive her fellow defenders to fight harder.

Nora, like Blake, worked the other gun that pointed below the ship, hammering down on Grimm from above, while Jaune provided support like Yang. However, unlike Yang, Ember, and Celica, Jaune took time to gather healing items and had them on standby next to Crocea Mors, who guarded the Med Bay. Meanwhile Magnhild ran the electric generator into overdrive, providing maximum output for the airship's equipment.

Ren was in Med Bay with Storm Flower, providing medical attention for anyone injured. So far, no one was hurt, and he hoped it stayed that way. Miló ran back and forth, pushing boxes for Ren, thinking he was helping.

Pyrrha, however, wasn't on the airship. As a former champion, she was placed on the frontlines with other champions. With her old team, she annihilated the Grimm ground forces. Earthquake followed by Charge Beam followed by Hammer Arm followed by Discharge followed by Aura Sphere, and so on. The only threat remaining by the end was the Echidna, which was weaked as it was. Akóuo unleashed a devastating Guillotine, severing it's head from it's body. With that, the battle was over.

"Interesting..." A voice cooed from the darkness, viewing the events from a glass ball. Their red eyes gleamed in the direction of the Mistral Champion, who would be the biggest thorn in their side. But the darkness relaxed. This was a minor victory in a nameless battle, and with a billowing gust of air behind them, they were certain that they would win the war.

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(THIS WAS THIRTY TAGS)

[spiderling-space]

Headcanons for the dorm leaders when their lovely mc is the equivalent of wholesome chaotic dumbass. Half of their relationship is them screaming “mc nO-” and the other half is enjoying the affection they get from her. Thanks in advance love~

I can neither deny nor confirm that I would want to try those. Ngl I thought finding chaotic dumbass stuff would be a lot easier but it wasn’t. Hope you’ll enjoy it <3

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Riddle Rosehearts

When (Y/N) asked to be taught how to ride a horse, Riddle was happy to help.

“Thank you, Riddle, for the lessons. I truly am grateful for it. Now that I know the basics, I can do the thing from the movies. Y’know the rider leans down to grab something from the ground as they gallop.”

Riddle isn’t sure if he heard her correct so he asks again which results in (Y/N) showing him the video of it.

Riddle thinks she is joking at first because he believes there is no way someone could be that idiotic to try that move after learning how to ride 3 hours ago.

Then (Y/N) drops her hat to the ground and mounts the horse.

“(Y/N) NO!” He yells as she starts galloping. He levitates the hat with magic so (Y/N) wouldn’t do something so stupid.

As she stops and starts pouting about, Riddle tries to calm down his racing heart. If (Y/N) keeps this up, he will have a heart attack at this age.

🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁

Leona Kingscholar

“I heard your best subject is ancient curses so I brought this chest to open next to you in case the things go south.” Leona is napping as (Y/N) is yapping. “According to the writing on the wall of the tomb I visited, whoever opens the casket unleashes a curse.”

That woke Leona up. “Oi, herbivore…” Leona’s eyes are barely open as he notices she is trying to open a casket.

His ears twitch as his instincts tell him that chest is really cursed.

“Aha! I found how it opens.” As (Y/N) moves to open it, Leona jumps, tackling her to the ground with cat-like reflexes.

“I was trying to –“ – “No… now quit yapping, I’m napping here.” Leona thinks that the only way he can stop (Y/N) from opening the casket again is to nap on top of her so that she won’t be able to take any moronic actions.

🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙

Azul Ashengrotto

“Hey Azul, since you are an ocean boy, I thought I could share my idea with you.” – “Ocean boy?” “Shark diving at Coral Sea…Without cage! How great is it?”

Azul doesn’t mind at first, continuing on doing his business at Mostro Lounge. Then it clicks… (Y/N) is not a merfolk and on top of it, has no magic.

Azul had heard of humans scuba diving for the thrill but he cannot understand why she would take an unnecessary risks like that.

“Uhm (Y/N)…” – “I’m going now! Bye!” – “(Y/N) NO!” With that, (Y/N) bolts out of the VIP room.

Azul honestly thought she was smarter; smart enough to fool him just that led to his overblot.

Azul likes (Y/N) enough to have them unharmed. He would have sent the twins after her but he suspects they would join her rather than stop her so he goes after (Y/N) himself.

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

Kalim Al Asim

“Have you ever heard of free fall?” Cue to (Y/N) explaining free fall and she needs The Flying Carpet. Kalim thinks it is dangerous at first.

“(Y/N) YES!”

Then Kalim thinks it is a fantastic idea and wants to join. He has complete trust in the carpet’s abilities to them in any case something does not go according to the plan.

They go above the clouds like the first time they took a tour with Flying Carpet. (Y/N) is the first one to jump, after a couple seconds carpet rushes to save her. After reaching the same altitude, Kalim jumps this time.

While they are thriving, they hear a faint scream coming from Scarabia dorm. Not a minute passes, Jamil appears in front of them with his broom.

“Kalim we are going back.” – “Boo ya boring. Kalim let’s jump at the same time now.” (Y/N) ignores Jamil.

“Kalim, (Y/N) NO!” Jamil yells as he prevents them from doing something irrational. They both will be scolded by Jamil when they land.

👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑

Vil Schönheit

“Do you have any gum?” Is what (Y/N) asks Vil bluntly.

“Gum is not good for your teeth.” – “I’m trying to break a world record here. I checked and saw that world record for chewing the most number of gum is 98. I know I can break that record but I need one more gum for it.” (Y/N) speaks with pride while taking a couple gums from her pocket, opening them and put them in her mouth.

When she starts chewing and adding 2 more gums, Vil loses it.

“Bad potato! Bad potato! Throw them now!” Vil starts nagging (Y/N) who tries to escape him but fails. She insists on breaking a world record. He is so done with her. He will put her in time out.

Vil genuinely thinks she is poisoned; a poison that makes the victim lose intelligence.

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Idia Shroud

“I think after playing all those FPS games, I have pretty good aim so I decided to use this skill set in real life. I’ll be knife throwing to a spinning target at the upcoming carnival!”

Idia asks (Y/N) to leave his room and he sends his tablet with her. She stands right outside Idia’s room with his flying tablet.

“Are you kidding me? Playing FPS games doesn’t improve your aim in real life! And this is me saying it! The Shut-In of NRC! You will get someone killed!” Idia goes on talking and being the most rational person in the room. He asked her out of his room so he could speak what’s on his mind without stuttering.

“But-“ (Y/N) tries to counter his argument but Idia is not having any of it. He goes on until (Y/N) accepts that it was a stupid ass decision by her side.

Idia just wonders how it is possible for someone to be this dumbass.

🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉

Malleus Draconia

“Back in my world, there is this game called Tomb Raider. I always wanted to do what the main character does… raid some tombs. Since you get off love visiting abandoned places, I thought we could do it together.”

Malleus is happy to receive an invite but confused about tomb raiding. It is disrespectful. (Y/N) then tells him that she is for the adventure and Malleus is convinced.

They go to an abandoned castle. Instead of walking carefully, (Y/N) rushes in the place, running around like a child.

Malleus follows (Y/N) close by, worried about her life since he knows humans are fragile. He prevents any hazardous incident before they reach (Y/N) with his magic. Finally, they reach a room with a big door. Malleus feels dark energy radiating from the room. He can handle himself but he doesn’t want to risk (Y/N). He is about to teleport them out of the place but he sees (Y/N) trying to pry open the door with a crowbar.

“(Y/N)…” She looks at him. “…no…” She pouts but continues to pry it.

Malleus doesn’t wait any longer and teleports them into Diasomnia dorm. He asks (Y/N) to be more careful with her actions. He doesn’t want his only friend to die from reckless actions.  

[shimmersing]

Constellation

Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Gen Relationships: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Male Republic Trooper, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Republic Trooper Characters: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Qyzen Fess, Yuon Par, Parkanas Tark-Lord Vivicar Additional Tags: Angst, Tython, Emotional, Mentioned Mutual Pining, Fluffy, Sad, Melancholy Returning to Tython after shielding the last master suffering from Vivicar’s Force plague, Aitahea is faced with more struggle in her efforts to heal the Order and keep the Force in balance. Tired, injured, and longing for someone she can’t have, perhaps ever, the lines of her responsibility as a Jedi and her own convictions begin to blur. As Aitahea nears the end of her quest to save Yuon Par and the other Jedi Masters, she’s confronted with painful revelations and answers that only give rise to more questions. Shouldering the lives and minds of Jedi across the galaxy – alone – may prove to be more than Aitahea can bear.

Part Three

AN: I highly recommend you read Impending, a once-upon-a-oneshot that snuggles right into Constellation here, between parts two and three. Enjoy!

May the Force be with you.

Standing in the airlock, Aitahea let the echo of Erithon’s voice roll over and through her, like she might flow through saber stances during practice. Six syllables, like the spiral of a breath, a last sigh of hope to cling to in her fierce exhaustion and anguished determination.

It was the first time they’d spoken since Alderaan; everything else had been missed calls and quickly dashed-off messages. She’d mentioned her return to Tython, but not her weariness, loneliness, or how since leaving Alderaan, the only dream she’d remembered on waking was of him, humming Star by Star and stroking her hair. As far-flung as they’d been, she had doubted he’d see her injuries in a grainy holo.

Instead, she’d simply listened.

Erithon’s mother and sister had given him no end to their questions about the “princess” - as his youngest niece had gleefully declared - having seen their gala appearance splashed across the holonet. He’d explained with proud reticence that he had been harassed into calling to say hello for them, but he hoped she was doing well, of course.

See-Too had whirred politely in the common room entryway, a subtle warning that the other crew had begun stirring in response to their arrival. Aitahea had gently interrupted Erithon a final time, thanking him for calling, but she was needed urgently. He’d nodded, evidently used to the same, and then… “May the Force be with you.” She hadn’t even had a chance to reply, to wish him the same, before the call had disconnected, and she’d been alone again in the dark.

Minutes later, the Luminous had docked to Vivicar’s stolen ship, though Sia had only done so under protest.

“I don’t fucking like this, Ai.”

“There’s no other way, Sia. I trust you to keep the Luminous safe.”

“Yeah, me too, but what about you?”

Aitahea had pressed her lips into a tight line and turned away from her friend, unable to offer anything more to assuage Sia’s concern or her own guilt. The Progress had made all reports on time, presumably under Lord Vivicar’s control, so no one in the wider Republic knew that anything was awry.

Qyzen had refused to let her board alone, though she’d helplessly argued for it. They both knew she was still healing, only maintaining the shielding by a hair’s breadth. Vivicar’s ruinous intrusion on the ritual had done more damage than Aitahea had been willing to acknowledge. Sia had muttered under her breath something about needing to get a kolto tank installed in the med bay.

The Progress was shrouded in flickering darkness, the black of deep space. The stars still glittered, but coldly, distantly. Aitahea wasn’t certain what they’d find on board; there were many lives, but they writhed beneath a shadow grown powerful. Qyzen waited beside her as the airlock cycled to admit them to the hijacked ship.

The first rush of soldiers took her off guard; she flinched at the sight of Republic insignias below fevered eyes and slack faces. A growled warning from Qyzen brought her back to the task of disabling them with as little harm as possible.

It all horrified her, this perversion of so many things she held dear. The horrible stain of the dark side flowed on the ship and everyone aboard. She could barely hold it in check, growing steadily more vulnerable as her shielding was meticulously assaulted.

Vivicar was blessedly silent until Aitahea reached the first computer console. When he finally spoke, it was like being plunged into dark water. The consular reeled, fighting to keep her fingers on the control panel and not digging into her own temples.

I wasn’t sure if you’d be foolish enough to come aboard, Aitahea. But I can sense your presence.

Aitahea swallowed hard against a wave of nausea. “And I sense a man tormented by the past.”

You are blinded by the light side. You can’t understand what you face.

Biting back a sharp retort, Aitahea shoved away from the console – she didn’t possess the necessary slicing skill to coax open the blast doors from there. She could cut her way through the thick durasteel with her lightsaber, but time felt too precious.

Nearby were a few barrels, each with a combustion risk label splashed across it. She could fling them into the door using the Force, but it would be violent and destructive.

Oddly, Aitahea found she didn’t mind that so much right now and lifted a hand. The explosion was terrific, throwing back her hood. The wave of heat quickly grew so intense Aitahea had to shield herself and Qyzen until it abated.

As they stepped through the hissing, superheated breach, Vivicar’s voice echoed in a hateful thrum. Come to me, Jedi. I’ll show you how light can be snuffed out.

Aitahea swayed briefly, closing her eyes. There was no part of her that wasn’t in anguish. If this wasn’t already snuffed out, what could possibly be worse? She felt alarmingly close to knowing exactly what.

May the Force be with you.

It was Erithon’s voice this time, no tainted whispers, just her own beautiful memory. A light in the dark. She could follow that through this horrific present; through anything, perhaps. Aitahea opened her eyes, signaled her companion, and forged ahead.

Most of the unwitting fighters in their path could be stopped with a Force wave, tumbling them unconscious but mostly unharmed to the floor; but the squad leaders would be hardier – she knew from experience.

The first squad leader, a hulking being of indeterminate origin, was waiting for them at the first intersection, alone. The soldier didn’t fall for Qyzen’s feint and instead hoisted his cannon toward Aitahea, spraying cryogenic fluid. She flicked it away, readying her lightsaber to deflect any shots from the holdout blaster she knew he’d be hiding.

Qyzen shifted into an effortless and decisive strike, taking advantage of a seam in the trooper’s armor. Aitahea shuddered, feeling the soldier’s perception flare out, leaving nothing but gleeful darkness seething in every shadow.

“Herald?”

“I’m fine,” she bit out. “Let’s proceed.”

After navigating a few more hallways, they located the secondary computer terminal. She’d barely set her fingers to the keypad when Vivicar splintered her thoughts.

Tell me, Aitahea, what was it like? Letting your life force drain away to shield a stranger from me - how did it feel?

Aitahea frowned at her suddenly balled-up fists, unclenching and resettling her fingers on the keys before replying. “Painful, but I endured it.”

Pain makes us stronger. And the pain I have endured is beyond your comprehension.

That is why I have won.

Her throat seized, but even after swallowing hard, no words came to her, all her skillful, diplomatic platitudes absent.

“Hunt is not over until beast is skinned, dark thing,” Qyzen rumbled. The console began blaring a klaxon warning, and droids began pouring into the room.

You will understand soon. If you live that long.

“Your power and tactics have brought you this far, but no further.”

Until now, Aitahea had imagined Parkanas Tark as a youth, bright with potential and the Force. But the being that turned to face her as she dragged herself toward the bridge was aged, wretched, and twisted by the dark side.

“This battle was decided before you stepped aboard.”

“I’m tired of your delusions,” Aitahea hissed, past exhaustion and numb with pain. “Explain yourself.”

Vivicar gave her a mocking bow. “As you wish. My plague isn’t just a disease; it siphons power from its victims. With the proper rituals, that power can be channeled. Soon, the combined strength of your Masters will make me the most powerful Force adept who has ever lived.”

The pressure against her shielding intensified, thousands of threads – lives, she realized – suddenly pulled taut. Trembling with the strain, Aitahea took a step forward. She hadn’t come here to bicker; she’d come here to help.

“Turn away from this path, Parkanas. The Order can help you.”

Vivicar laughed.

“Oh, Aitahea.” This time, she visibly flinched when he used her name. “Parkanas Tark died long ago. Even ‘Vivicar’ is merely a skin to be shed. Parkanas offered himself to me on Malachor Three, to crush the Order that destroyed us. He embodied my spirit.” He lifted his hands, a seething glow thick with the dark side writhing around him. “I am no lost Jedi, no ordinary Sith Lord. I am Terrak Morrhage.”

“You can turn away from this path, Parkanas,” she beseeched, fumbling for words while he stalked toward her. “The Order can help you. Just… just come home.”

“No one can oppose me, certainly no child, barely more than a Padawan.” He grinned, ghoulish and without remorse as he ignited his lightsaber. “I am beyond flesh… beyond death!”

Aitahea realized tears were slipping from her eyes, her vision blurring. She was so tired. “No one is beyond the will of the Force,” she whispered, uncertain who the platitude was meant for.

Morrhage laughed again, a sound like plasteel shredding. “I will crush you, Aitahea, and your shattered body will fuel my rebirth!”

For a fleeting moment, she thought of running. Simply turning about, dashing to the safety of the Luminous. She questioned the choice she’d made on Tython, to come here carrying so many injuries, so much guilt and fear. Should she have stayed to heal? She remembered what the Noetikon of Secrets had explained, that the Jedi Master who had created the shielding technique had given his life to end Morrhage’s first plague. Was Morrhage right? Had the light blinded her?

Aitahea took a breath.

The light didn’t blind. Light revealed, left no shadows to hide in. Light nourished; light gave everything yet lost nothing. Light was right now in this moment, not in the past, and would always be in reach in the future. If light called, light would answer.

Aitahea called out.

“Parkanas! I know you are there; I sense you!” Morrhage ignored her outcry, continuing to advance. Aitahea sucked in a breath, ignited her lightsaber, and took a defensive stance. “Help me stop this monster, Parkanas, please!”

Morrhage attacked with spectacular brutality, thousands of years of rage and hatred against Aitahea’s weakened shielding, against her physical self. The Jedi parried and dodged, evading strikes she couldn’t hope to block. Qyzen Fess did what he could to aid her, but Morrhage was fixated on Aitahea. Her body quailed under the assault, shredding her determination. There must be another way…

Morrhage’s next attack struck true, and Aitahea lost a few moments to fiery agony searing across her left side. Reckless with pain, she flung out a wild, violent Force wave that sent Morrhage to the floor and left several nearby panels crushed beyond recognition. A few precious seconds passed while she waited, panting, for her vision to clear.

The fallen Jedi, the false Sith lord, struggled to his knees, glaring death toward Aitahea as she approached.

“Impressive, Aitahea, but my victory is already complete. My plague has spread farther than you can imagine. Jedi Masters across the galaxy are succumbing to it as I speak. The plague binds these Masters to me. Hundreds of them… the heart and soul of your order.

“You feel it, do you not, Aitahea?”

No lies this time; Aitahea could indeed feel the mingled torment of hundreds more Jedi as Morrhage siphoned their lives for strength. Every crack in her shielding, down to the smallest hairline fracture, screamed in agony.

“Kill me, and you will kill every Master I have ever infected. Every one! Shielded or not, they are still bound to me.”

Aitahea dispassionately placed the blade of her lightsaber at his throat. It felt like someone else doing it. She spoke in clipped tones, her voice unrecognizable in her own ears. “Free those Jedi, Morrhage. Now.”

“And if I refuse? Will you cut us down? What choice do you have? You cannot let me live, and I am deathless.” Morrhage leered, his dark victory seemingly assured, and took one more jab: “Your shielding talent cannot harm me. You’ve lost!”

Everything went silent and impossibly still. Your shielding talent cannot harm me. Of course not. It was never meant to harm, only to heal, to offer a path toward the light that anyone could take at any time, without judgement, without conditions, just… a welcome home. The path that she’d longed for, that she’d tried to circumvent over and over, a path she could not offer until she, too, chose it.

Aitahea lowered her arm and deactivated her lightsaber. “I can save you, Parkanas.”

Morrhage reeled back as Aitahea drew the Force around her. The effort would not be without risk, but it was the path that lay before her. Another stillness enfolded her, this time of peace, willingness, and release. Fighting had never been her forte or focus; she was a healer, with words and hands and her lightsaber only when absolutely, undeniably necessary.

Now, she isn’t simply performing the shielding ritual; she is part of it, wholly within and throughout, a numinous space that feels like a Coruscant ocean, like the forests of Tython, like warm sun and a hand to hold on Brentaal, all at once.

Now, she realizes how to bring it full circle; she must allow the Force its will, stop trying to control it, and just let go. Light spills through the cracks in her shielding, and everything is suddenly and wonderfully illuminated.

May the Force be with you.

Parkanas – and it was with every certainty him; the sudden burst of hope where none had been the moment before was unmistakable – went flying backwards, away from Aitahea and leaving the vulnerable spirit of Morrhage isolated before her.

The spirit howled in fury. “No, this body is mine! Damn you, Jedi!”

Aitahea noted with detached amusement that she was levitating, Morrhage’s furious tirade a soft rumble in the background. She felt untethered, undefinably light. Closing her eyes, Aitahea exhaled a long breath and stepped softly down to the floor.

“When my strength returns, no matter the years – I will destroy you,” Morrhage snarled, but Aitahea was already walking toward Parkanas, feeling her own strength returning. She brushed past the raging specter, and in a few more moments, it had disappeared.

Qyzen had already lifted Parkanas Tark to his feet. He had a hand to his head, and Aitahea allowed a thread of sympathy to unwind, a guide to the path she hoped he would be able to take, too.

Parkanas Tark stared at her with open disbelief. “I’m… still alive. You spared me.”

She half-smiled. “Healed you.”

“My mind is…” Parkanas shook his head again. “Clearer now. But – it was your duty to kill me and destroy Morrhage.” His eyes – still smoldering amber, revealing a bitter internal strife – begged for an answer. Why?

“Too many Jedi have been lost already.” Aitahea lowered her gaze, the barest of brief moments to grieve for those lost. “Including Parkanas Tark.”

“Perhaps he deserves another chance, but…” Parkanas’ voice trailed off, adding in a pained whisper, “I cannot return to the Order.”

Swallowing hard against the lump in her own throat, Aitahea pressed. “Tython has its hidden places. Its forests.” That half-smile danced across her lips again, and for a flickering moment, she was light years away. “You could find peace there.”

“I could… go home.” Parkanas grew still, eyes distant and filled with evergreen leaves and rushing water. After a moment, he startled, reaching out to grasp her hands. “But first, Jedi, listen. Take this warning in exchange for my life: You can’t trust the Order. Or the Republic.” Aitahea drew breath to contradict, but he continued. “You may be their heroine now, but they will abandon you, too.”

Aitahea pulled away from Parkanas’ frantic grip, shaking her head while she scrabbled for a coherent thought. “Why…What do you-” Nothing coalesced, leaving her once again a diplomat with no words.

Parkanas held her gaze. “Remember that.”

“We felt it! A massive shift in the Force. The Masters you saved have reported a sudden improvement in their condition. The plague is over, thanks to you.

“And… I sense Parkanas Tark. For the first time in many years. How can that be?”

Aitahea nodded at Master Syo and glanced sidelong toward Parkanas, who was being assessed by Tharan and Holiday. “You can ask him yourself, Master. When he returns to Tython, he can answer all your questions.”

Her companions had dashed through the ship as soon as she’d signaled their safety. Bringing medical equipment to help with the injured and traumatized crew, Prelsiava Tern had even dragged along a protesting See-Two.

“I told you there’d be plenty for you to do; look at that console! It’s completely trashed! Go on, get on it,” Sia had ordered, and the affronted droid had conceded, tottering over to examine one of the smashed panels.

With the logistics managed, and a scant few moments to tuck away the memory of Parkanas’ unsettling words, Aitahea had commed the Council, Master Syo answering with his victorious statement: We felt it!

“Well done, Aitahea. The Jedi Order owes its survival to you.”

Relief swept over her like a wave. “It’s my privilege to serve.”

“Hurry home. We’re waiting for you.”

Aitahea felt nearly presentable again by the time they arrived on Tython. She’d had her injuries treated. She’d eaten and bathed. She’d slept, mostly dreamless but for dappled sunlight and burbling water.

As they touched down on Tython, Aitahea marveled at the incandescent radiance of the Force within the hallowed walls of the Jedi Temple. Each Jedi shone like a bright star, a constellation she’d missed terribly beneath the weight of the shielding. Even Qyzen shimmered, kindling with satisfaction and pride. Beneath all, the grand symphony of Tython itself soared.

In the Council chamber, Master Yuon, Master Syo, Master Satele, and Master Jaric were waiting. Schooling her expression into practiced serenity, Aitahea dropped into a bow, only lifting her gaze when Yuon spoke.

“You have saved untold lives through your defeat of Lord Vivicar and destruction of the plague.” Aitahea felt Yuon’s pride in every syllable.

Even Master Jaric was smiling. “There’s a title reserved for the most prestigious among us, whose wisdom and skill safeguard the galaxy. It hasn’t been bestowed in thousands of years.”

Aitahea became keenly aware of her flushed cheeks, suspended between delight and disbelief, and nodded in vague acknowledgment.

“You have proved worthy,” Master Syo declared. “Now, the Council names you Barsen’thor, warden of the Order.”

Absurdly, Aitahea’s thoughts turned to how much she’d enjoy reading about the other Barsen’thor that had preceded her. Would the archive even contain that knowledge? How many thousands of years? Who were they, who had they set out to be, and what had they done to arrive where Aitahea herself now stood? The Force bloomed with assurance. “I will do all I can to live up to this honor.” Aitahea clasped her hands, sweeping into a low obeisance.

“I never imagined your potential would take you so far.” Yuon beamed, and Aitahea returned the expression as she lifted her head.

Yet concern laced Master Syo’s next words: “And not a moment too soon. We have need of you. The Council has received word that the Republic is facing a new threat.”

“We need time to prepare a war council,” Satele clarified, much to Aitahea’s unspoken relief. “The Supreme Chancellor himself will be attending.”

“I stand ready, Master,” Aitahea assured.

Accepting her pledge with a nod, Syo nodded towards the doors. “Take time to record your journey in the Jedi archives. History must know of your actions.”

Aitahea blinked, more surprised at her own surprise than anything – of course there should be a record of the current Barsen’thor as well; that’s the first place to start, obviously – and almost missed Master Syo’s final words. “We will contact you when the war council is ready. For now, the entire Order will know that there is a new Barsen’thor among us.”

After a round of congratulations from each of the Masters, Aitahea and Qyzen left the Council chamber, ostensibly to bring her story to the archives.

“Scorekeeper smiles, Herald. Is great honor your people give you.” He gestured broadly, sending a few initiates scurrying out of the way. “Points beyond measure!”

Her heart sang with gratitude. She’d trusted him as her ally, her second, her friend; and he’d returned that trust hundredfold. Questioned and advised her, criticized and coddled her, but never judged her. Steadfast and patient, always. If what they had done brought points-beyond-measure to her, he’d have the larger portion by far. “We hunt together, my friend. Whatever my score, you share it.”

Qyzen paused, abruptly turning to face her. Traffic streamed around them; Temple life carried on. “Is… a noble thing you say. My thanks, Herald.”

“My thanks to you as well, Qyzen. Thank you for…” For protecting me? For challenging me? For warning and guiding and validating me? For seeing me when even I could not? “…for everything.”

“Must share the story of this hunt with your Order. It is good to share knowledge.”

Aitahea thought of the Noetikons, the immense value of them for so much beyond the lore and history of the Jedi. Even after becoming one with the Force, they had set alight a path for so many Jedi after, herself included. Like she might, generations from now.

Blinking back tears and knowing full well she couldn’t have hidden them if she’d wanted to, Aitahea smiled. “Then I must make yet another request of you: that you tell the story with me.”

Qyzen regarded her for a long moment, long enough that she began to fret that she’d somehow stumbled into an insult. “You are Scorekeeper’s Herald,” he said solemnly, “and you are true Jedi.”

Aitahea nodded, feeling and breathing and illuminating the Force around them.

“I’m home.”

Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

[issamhysa]

The Mighty Heart [2]

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader

Warnings: Major character death, language, angst (nobody’s having a good time)

Summary: Gojo sees you for the last time.

A/N: This is a part two to this post! You guys asked for it, so I had to. It’s not my best, but I hope you guys like it!

When you’re scared, your body reacts immediately of its own accord. Your lungs take air in faster to give you more oxygen. Your heartbeat quickens to pump more blood into your brain and muscles. Your pupils dilate, and while all this happens, you’re faced with one of two choices.

Fight or flight; you can stay and face whatever you’re being thrown into, or you can run away and escape, unharmed.

Gojo was a stranger to this choice. He was a stranger to fear. Of course he was, he was one of the most powerful jujutsu sorcerers.

What could he possibly have to fear?

The question ringing in his mind was answered the second he watched Nanami walk through the doors. Gojo’s eyes scanned the group that had arrived behind his blindfold, his brain not really registering the haunted expression on Junpei’s face, or Yuuji’s flushed, tear-stained cheeks. He didn’t notice the figure in Nanami’s arms, shrouded by Kento’s bloodied, cream coat.

He didn’t care for them, not right now, he just needed to see you.

It wasn’t until he noticed you weren’t standing amongst the three that his eyes were actually able to focus, hyper-focusing on every little detail. Gojo noticed the tears that threatened to spill from the new boy’s eyes, the slight quiver of Yuuji’s bottom lip, and, most importantly, he was made aware of the figure held in Nanami’s arms.

Gojo didn’t need to see the figure’s face to know it was you. He recognized your hand, hanging limply by your side, by the black nail polish you had both used a few nights prior. He recognized the little white heart you had stamped on your ring finger’s nail, matching his. He recognized the silver wedding band on that same finger, now stained in mud and blood.

The jujutsu sorcerer wanted to rush over and snatch you from Kento’s arms. To pepper your face with little kisses until you woke up and smiled at him, telling him that you were just tired. He wanted to hug you close and berate you for scaring him like that, all whilst running the pads of his long fingers up and down your spine.

He had so many questions he wanted to ask, so many different thoughts running through his brain. So many things he still needed to know.

But he couldn’t even fucking breathe.

Nanami set you down on the metal examination bed, and when Gojo finally noticed the blood staining his friend’s hands and the front of his shirt, he felt like he would throw up. Exchanging a look with him, the white-haired male finally shuffled forward, willing his trembling hands to steady as his fingers pinched the top of the dirty coat. Ever so slowly, his hands pulled the garment away to expose your forehead. The more skin he uncovered, the worse the trembling got.

Until he finally saw you.

Gojo’s breathing hitched as his hands gripped onto the edge of the table, knees buckling slightly, but not noticeably enough for Itadori and Junpei to notice.

On the other hand, Kento did. Stepping away from the table, the blonde sighed, reaching up to lower the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He lifted his head to gaze at Gojo, a frown on his lips as he parted them to speak.

“She wanted you to know she loved you.”

Gojo knew that. Of course, he had always fucking known. But the words coming out of Nanami’s lips left a bitter taste in his mouth, because it should’ve been you telling Gojo you love him, not Nanami. He almost sneered at the thought.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gojo watched Nanami motion for the two students to follow him out of the room. He saw Itadori look over his shoulder at your unmoving body, a solemn expression covering his features before he followed after Nanami.

Junpei, however, didn’t move away. Instead, he shuffled closer to where you lay, a shaky hand reaching out to take yours. He noticed the way Gojo looked up at him the second his bloody fingers touched your skin, but he didn’t falter.

“She saved me,” he said quietly, voice broken and cracking from screaming and crying so much a few hours prior. “Even though I didn’t… I didn’t deserve it, she… she sacrificed herself for me.”

Gojo was silent, though a small, amused huff escaped his lips as he lowered his head to look at you, his fingertips brushing over your forehead, gently and feather-like.

Of course, you had. You had always been ridiculously selfless, putting others before yourself. It was one of the things Gojo loved about you, one of the things that made him get down on one knee and offer you the world.

But right now, he cursed your selflessness.

“It should’ve been me, not her.”

This made the white-haired sorcerer look up at the young boy, eyebrows furrowed. His heart was heavy with indecision, head swirling with thoughts, so many of them, he was sure a migraine would follow shortly.

He wanted to agree with the young boy. To tell him that he was right, that it should’ve been him, and that you should be standing right by his side, right where you belonged. But Gojo would never say such things, no matter how hard his grief-stricken brain wanted him to. No, that would be an insult to your memory.

“Y/N gave her life for you because she believed you were worth it. If you think otherwise, you’re saying she died for nothing. Do not disrespect her memory by questioning her judgment now.”

Junpei looked up at him, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. His jaw hung agape, taken aback by the lack of bitterness in Gojo’s tone. He almost flinched at the soft sincerity behind his words, and simply closed his mouth and pressed his quivering lips together. Bowing his head slightly, the young boy began to step away, refusing to let go of your hand until he was forced to let go.

Finally, you and Gojo were alone.

Gojo allowed himself to release the trembling exhale he had been holding in when you were brought in. Shaking hands reached up to pull the black blindfold off his eyes, letting it drop to the side. Crystal eyes clouded with unshed tears now gazed at your lifeless form helplessly, and Gojo took your face in his hands, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. It was then he noticed just how cold your skin was under his palm.

Oh, how he hated this feeling.

The guilt eating away at him, forcing him to find somebody to blame for what had happened to you.

He wanted to blame Junpei for forcing the sorcerers into this situation in the first place. For being foolish enough to trust a curse, and allow it to give him power he was incapable of controlling. For being careless and selfish and only thinking about getting revenge on those who wronged them, as if the actions would come with no repercussions.

He wanted to blame Itadori for lying to him when he joked about how you didn’t need protecting, how the curses would be the ones that needed protecting. Yuuji had promised him he would look after you regardless, that he would make sure his beloved sensei’s wife came home safe. He told Gojo he would call for Sukuna’s help if it came down to it, even though he knew it would never come to that; you were too strong, too stubborn to die.

He wanted to blame Nanami for not getting there fast enough. For not disposing of the other curses quick enough to reach you before the curse struck you. Nanami’s skill was close to that of Gojo’s, so why couldn’t he save you?

But, in the end, he wanted to blame himself, too. He shouldn’t have let you go in the first place, but you were oh-so adamant on going; so keen on wanting to save this poor boy from himself. He should’ve never let you get to him, he shouldn’t have believed you could handle this.

God, what was he saying?

Gojo doubled over with his elbows resting against the examination table, tugging at tufts of his white hair in frustration. His breaths came out in shallow huffs, the tears that were once clouding his vision finally breaking through and sliding down his flushed cheeks.

He felt so fucking stupid.

He knew you were capable enough of handling yourself; more than capable, actually. Being a jujutsu sorcerer was a dangerous job, but one you and Gojo would never back down from, but Gojo had known and fought alongside you long enough to know that you fought with everything you had, and that you would never give up. That, much like him, you’d see things through to the end, no matter the cost.

And you had chosen to marry him regardless.

You had done everything you could to come back home to him, and he knew that.

As he gazed down at you, finally able to rest in peace after all the hell he put you through; after all the all-nighters spent together, handling paperwork and training to protect those you cared about, he felt every negative feeling melt away. All the guilt, the shame, and the agony replaced by one feeling.

Pride. Overwhelming and overpowering.

Gojo was proud of you for protecting somebody who was incapable of doing so themselves. He was proud of you for fighting until you couldn’t fucking move, for protecting Itadori and making sure both boys were able to make it home safely.

The glassy tears sitting on his dark lashes dripped onto your cold skin when he gently set a kiss on your knuckles, rubbing your hand in both of his, just like he used to when you would complain about the cold weather. Closing his fists around your hand, he leaned down, forehead resting against his own knuckles. A bitter smile forced a cracked chuckle from his lips, and Gojo lifted his head, brushing your hair away from your forehead to kiss it.

It would take him a while to adjust, and he was terrified of what would come next. His future seemed so uncertain without you in it. He'd miss how you laughed at his antics. How you'd smack him upside the head when he did something stupid, and scold him before peppering his face with kisses when he came back injured.

But he'd do it, because it's what you would've wanted.

“You did good, my love,” he murmured against your skin, gently nudging your nose with his. “I love you forever.”

[billyrussosbitch]

Her.

Alright, I needed Darkling angst. So I whipped this up over the past few hours. I apologize if any of it has errors? It wasn't beta'd.

Warnings: Major character death, suicide, self-inflicted wounds, non-graphic descriptions of blood, severe depression, hallucinations.

Word Count: 1,470

Characters/Pairings: Aleksander Morozova | The Darkling / Alina Starkov, mentions of Malyen Oretsev, mentions of Baghra

Summary: A rewrite of the ending of Ruin and Rising, in which Alina is destroyed along with the Fold, and leaves Aleksander to mourn.

That searing burst of light. The one that brought her to him. So painfully similar to the one that took her from him. The parallel was disgusting, it made his stomach churn with the mere thought of it. Perched on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, with his palms pressing against his eyelids, he could see it perfectly.

The absolute anguish on her face when she drove the blade into her best friend, and supposed lover. He knew that otkazat’sya boy was nothing compared to him. Him, the most powerful man in all of the world. Him, the most powerful Grisha ever known to man.

Her, his only equal. Her, the one who was meant to rule by his side. Light, to balance out darkness, to bring peace. Not only to Ravka, but to Aleksander’s troubled mind.

He’d waited centuries for her, and he had to watch as she tore herself apart at the seams, the light fighting to get to the surface, unafraid to destroy the only thing stopping it - her very being, her skin, her bones, keeping that light from escaping.

She’d obliterated herself, and the Fold with her. In one fell swoop, the Darkling lost everything that had mattered to him. He lost his only chance at redemption, his only chance at saving Ravka, and providing sanctuary for Grisha in all of Fjerda and Shu Han combined. With her, he could have accomplished anything, but the only memory he had of her was the blindingly white strands of hair, woven between fibres of Grisha steel, to form a fetter. She’d made him stronger, but he still had no harness over the light, even though she’d gained control over the shadows.

Each cry of “Alina,” that slipped past his lips brought a fresh wave of pain with it. After his initial scream that day on the Unsea, his throat was left raw for days. He was unable to hold it back, quartz eyes immediately flooding with tears, flashing darker with anger, before the terror returned.

Everything he wanted lay at his feet.

Limp, pale, gone.

Even lying dead against the gray sand, she was still the image of beauty. Her hair seemed to form a halo around her head, bringing contrast to the lifeless eyes that had once matched his own fervor.

He could hear the chants of “Sankta Alina!” for hours, playing on repeat through his head, as a constant reminder of what he lost.

He was a fool, to think he could love, and have love in return. After all, who could love a monster like him? She’d said it herself, he was turning her into something worse, and he knew that. He couldn’t touch that smooth skin without darkness blossoming over it, inky tendrils leaving his fingers and spreading over her like webbing, trapping her there. When he lifted her body from the sand, the black covered her, leaving her in a shroud of darkness, while he brushed past anyone who dared to try to stop him. The tears weren’t falling anymore, but the tracks that were scored through the dirt and blood smeared on his skin remained, causing filth to gather in the little ridges left along the scars on his cheek.

He’d denied it, for the first few weeks. Kept telling himself that he’d turn around and see her, as they’d visit each other through that tether, and she’d be unharmed, waiting for him to take her into his arms. A little part of him knew that was gone, knew that the connection was severed. It left him feeling hollow, just a husk of the man he was before.

His mother had warned him about this, about getting too close, and letting someone in. Now, she was gone too. The only Grisha aside from Alina who could actually understand him, was dashed across the side of a mountain. Shattered, and broken. Just like he was.

He’d sworn off any sort of romanticism for hundreds of years, but he couldn’t stop the flicker of hope he got when she was brought to his silk pavilion in Kribirsk. That hope had bloomed into something greater, the heat had spread each time he laid his hands against her, and pressed their lips together. Each time she uttered his name, something in him shifted, begging to be let out. He wanted to love her the way she deserved, but she wouldn’t stop at anything to protect the world from him and his creations.

Aleksander wanted to be by her side every moment of every day, he wanted to spend this dreadful eternity with her, just to find some sort of relief in the knowledge that he was not alone.

But now he was. And that concept was so suffocating this time around, that he could feel it sinking in, seeping into his bones and every molecule of his being, cementing him in his misery, slowly but surely.

The only way he’d be able to escape it would be to drown himself in his darkness, to take his own life with the gift his mother had given him, and helped him to hone. It almost didn’t seem fair, that to be the most powerful, also meant to be the most hurt, but something about the irony of it all brought a wry smile to the Darkling’s lips.

He could have anything he wanted, except Alina. She’d been wrenched from his grasp just moments after he’d gotten her. They’d spent nearly two years with knowledge of one another, but it seemed like the briefest flicker in time to him. The months since her death dragged on, and it took everything within him not to set the paintings of her ablaze, to massacre anyone who tried to murmur her name, and beat down those who wanted to pray to the fallen Saint. Aleksander wanted her to himself, selfishness be damned, he felt he’d earned this glimmer of happiness, of home that he found within her. He was not among the countless Grisha who admired the Little Palace, and spent their lives growing and dwelling there. He was the one to bring it up from nothing, and to invite others to find safety on the grounds. It was somewhere for the children to learn, to hone their powers, and to grow stronger.

He’d grown stronger through near-death experiences, and learned to use the Cut out of necessity, not while searching for praise from an instructor.

None of it seemed fair, and that’s how he found himself walking in circles, screaming into the shadows he’d let plague his room, begging for something to end him, because he didn’t know if he could do it himself.

“Come back to me, Aleks,” it was just a whisper, but the sound of her voice was enough to stop him in his frantic pacing, and send a chill rattling down his spine. He wasn’t quite sure if he’d imagined it, but the thought of turning around only to find nothing was worse than the fear currently shocking through him.

“I need you,” he didn’t recognize his own voice. What used to carry a wave of calmness over anyone, was now scratchy, broken up by gasps for air, and pained whimpers. He fell to his knees, and his hands wove into his hair, tugging to distract himself from the feeling of his lungs burning with each breath.

What pulled him from his thoughts, however, was a hand laying on his shoulder, as delicate as always, and guiding him to turn around.

She was there, that soft, radiant smile pulling the edges of her lips upwards, while she looked over the man on the floor.

“You and I… Just you and I.” She paused, and his heart stuttered, lips parting and closing again as he tried to find words. “Isn’t that what you want?”

All he could do was nod, and watch as she guided a knife of Grisha steel into his hand. He knew what he had to do, and with her there?

He was sure he could do anything.

She said his name, and that was all he needed. He didn’t even feel the pain from it, or notice as blood spilled from the wound, staining the velvet carpet beneath him. All he could see was her, hear her whispering gentle praises, and feel the trace of her fingertips against his jaw. The usual warmth didn’t accompany her touch, and he questioned if she really was there, but it was too late. She’d helped him with the one thing he had left to desire, and he couldn’t find it in him to complain. The last thing he felt was her lips brushing his forehead, before he became one with the darkness surrounding them, letting it engulf him, and bring silence to his suffering.

[xiu21chen99]

hxh headcanon!!

/imagine ofc!! everyone expected another, i hope shhdjdkf

umm... my art?? I'll be transferring it to digi-art tomorrow or sth but uh be nice pls, im new to dis

the art is related to the hc,,, anYWAYS DARK CONTINENT ARC TIMELINE and... TW! blood, violence and death. this is what i envision the "battle for hisokas head" arc story thingey would go

ON THE BLACK WHALE!

Hisoka has killed most of the spiders already, all that was left were Illumi, Kalluto, Chrollo, Shizuku and Bonolenov (bc the latter three formed a group truce rmmbr)

he decides to save the Zoldycks for last so he hunts for the mf who mangled his face and literally killed him

Hisoka makes quick work of killing Bono and Shizuku (nooo my bby ;-;)

Chrollo and he have a sort of stalemate stance bc they're in a discrete room in the Black Whale, they're meters apart and they're literally just walking in a circle to see who'd make the first move

Bono and Shizuku's bodies are in the same room

Illumi comes in with Kalluto in tow and the two siblings stop dead in their tracks to watch

that's when Hisoka moves in for the kill

but Chrollo counters w a spell he pulled from his book- an explosion erupts, tho it's a small, kind of controlled one but still, everyone in the room are forced back

Hisoka's thrown to a wall while the other three skid back on the feet

the emergency alarms ring in the room, the automated doors move to close

Illumi and Kalluto make eye contact before Kalluto runs for it, Illumi goes to block the door when he left, making sure Chrollo doesn't follow suit before walking towards Hisoka

"what are you doing?" Chrollo asks when Illumi helps the clown to his feet.

"oh, did i not tell you?" Illumi pulls out a few needles from his outfit "Hisoka has also commissioned for your head, but only under the circumstance where he could see."

"no, you forgot to mention that." Chrollo humors, book in hand and a forced smile on his lips

"oh this should be fun," Hisoka adds beside him, cracking his neck with a sinister grin

"i take it you were serious about the... engagement ring you mentioned earlier?" Chrollo asks as he flips to a page in his book

"quite, yes. i have already told my brother to not contact our parents about it, hence why he was with me up until now." Illumi explains, pins glowing with violet nen

"how boring, i had hoped you'd at least introduce me to my in-laws before we get on with it." Hisoka teases, cards in hand

"disgusting." Chrollo sneers, and the tension in the room snaps.

There's another explosion, quite bigger and definitely stronger. Illumi blocks the stray debris from his eyes with a hand, squinted eyes taking in everything that was to see.

Hisoka was still beside him though his head was snapping from left to right trying to navigate their common target

There's whispering, then Chrollo's puppets appear behind them, seeming to have grown from the concrete ground

they were mindless pawns, Hisoka gladly kicked them all til they returned to dust

what came next were Bono and Shizuku, though Illumi could have sworn they were dead earlier

"it's a stolen power, they might still be able to use their nen." Hisoka warns, and as if to prove his point Shizuku attacks Illumi with Blinky

"cut off their heads!" Hisoka yells, disappearing into the still present dust cloud of the post-explosion

Shizuku was the easier target, death made her think that vacuum of hers was a sword. Illumi pins her to the wall and snaps her head off

Bono was more clever, he hid in the dust and used his whistle like body to distract Illumi from where he actually was

Then he attacks when he had his back turned to him

But Illumi soon gets the hang of it, whips back to his right to catch Bono mid jump, and crushes his neck like paper

He drops the twice killed body and wipes his hands on his pants

There's strong aura somewhere in the room, so he follows his instincts through the smog

Another explosion, but this time actual smoke builds up in the room, triggering the fire alarms and the sprinklers

"you fucking bitch!"

"you should have stayed dead, Hisoka!"

Illumi follows the voices and now obvious sounds of fighting

as the smoke clears, he sees multiple figures go after who he assumes was Hisoka. Logically speaking, he was the only target of those useless puppets

Illumi jumps to his feet to help him, throwing pins at the three running to Hisoka at stumbling speed

He lands behind Hisoka with grace, feet as silent as ever.

the smoke is nearly gone now, so when Illumi turns to see if Hisoka was alright he's shocked to find a rock figurine, roughly formed to Hisoka's shape and build

"Hisoka-"

"i can't believe you fell for that" Chrollo says behind him, but Illumi has already sent needles flying his way

"what did you do?"

unprepared, Chrollo's sent to the wall, hands pinned and spread. there were matching pins buried deep into the palms of his hands making him unable to move

"I just killed the bastard who shouldn't have come for my friends."

his hands needed to touch something to detonate. with two more pins each added to his hands (and two more to each of his feet), Chrollo's made to float with Illumi's Manipulation

(hc power here bc i think he could do this, but he only saves it for special occasions or enemies lol)

Illumi pulls forth a mind control needle amd jams it into Chrollo’s forehead, “answer my questions, and answer me truthfully"

"what did you do to Hisoka, you could not have killed him in that short amount of time. I should have been able to sense something if you did. he is not in this room, so where is he?"

Chrollo groans, "he's trapped in the room i laid out for him"

"explain."

"i stole some random passenger's teleportation ability. its' condition is to only be able to open a portal if the room's closed and only has one door. i opened the portal and left him in the in between."

"you have been planning this, correct?"

"i only came up with it when Shizuku encountered the man with this power. he's still alive of course, but if i kill him then his nen portals would cease, and Hisoka will be trapped in that limbo forever."

"and nen after death..?"

"he adores the spiders, he surely won't hold a grudge if i killed him for this."

"this is a well executed plan." Illumi complements despite the situation

"thanks."

"open the portal, bring him back."

"why should i?"

Illumi grabs another pin from his shirt, this time giving it a lick before jamming it into Chrollo's arm

"i am already annoyed at how everything has turned out, just pull Hisoka out of the portal."

life slowly drains from Chrollo's eyes, as he goes limp against Illumi's pins that kept him afloat and away from any possible detonation medium

Chrollo-puppet, now on his own two feet, pulls out his book and flips to a page. The wall behind him opens, the metal folding out as if crumpled then Hisoka walks out, in shock. The wall closes silently, as if it never opened to begin with

Hisoka snaps out of it quickly, lips curving into a pleased smile, "nice work, Illu!"

Illumi waves a hand dismissively. "would you like to do the honors?"

"ooh~ don't mind if i do," Hisoka pulls out a card from somewhere and approaches the still Chrollo.

Illumi walks to a wall to lean against it, knowing Hisoka would take his time.

"you've married an idiot, Illumi Zoldyck." a voice said beside him, and he snaps his head up to see Hisoka's killing slash

"wait-"

But it was too late

another explosion, this time strong enough to blow the doors open and the walls broken

Illumi's once again pushed to the wall, back through the metal it poked him with blisters

As the dust settled for a third time, Chrollo stood in the middle of the room, unharmed and unpinned.

Under his foot, Hisoka. Dead?

"no-" Illumi coughs, dust filling his lungs

Illumi stumbles to the pair as Chrollo backs away, to the door now open

"Hisoka-" he falls to his knees beside the man, cradles the head to his lap. This was real, this was really Hisoka. he felt it- he felt the last ebbs of his presence fade along with the explosion.

He was really dead...

Was his Bungee Gum/after death nen a one time thing?

He was so stupid, he should have noticed that Chrollo was a fake. It had been too easy. Fuck.

Hisoka coughs, and Illumi zeroes in on it, on the way his once steady chest heaves with labored breaths. "Hiso- Hisoka?"

"Illu..." he drawls, unable to say it clearly

"what do i do?"

"ta... take m-" he coughs again, "take my heart, Illu."

"what do you mean?" Illumi presses a hand to the side of Hisoka's neck, trying to find a pulse

"this is my nen condition-" heave- "Bungee gum will help me get the engagement ring to you. it's in my heart, literally-"

"Hisoka, you are not making any sense-"

"just kill me already, illu-" cough- "and carve out my heart. you'll find the ring there."

"o-oh" Illumi's eyes widen

"do it, illu. before my-" heave again "nen runs out."

Hisoka's smiling. his glamour of texture surprise has worn off already, so his nose-less, peeling face stared back at Illumi

"go on, love."

with no other choice, Illumi elongates his nails and digs into the crevice between Hisoka's rib cage. his blood felt hot and sticky between his fingers, but Illumi dug deeper.

his heart was still beating though weakly, as if it still had a chance to live on

"bye, love." were Hisoka's last breathy words as Illumi pulls the organ out. It was shrouded in pink nen, Bungee Gum he thought, its distinct tint a permanent brand in Illumi's mind

gore slid down his hand, as illumi held it closer to his face for inspection

for a few fleeting moments it continued throbbing, but now it's stilled to a mere heart.

Illumi has done this method of killing before, but this is the first heart he thought held value

blood dripped from his hand down to Hisoka's smiling face, eyes open and gaze somewhere to Illumi's direction

as the Bungee Gum lifted, a ring popped out from an outward ventricle.

a bloody ring

how did he manage to do this?

despite the crimson, Illumi slips it to his ring finger with a grim smile

even after death, Hisoka still amazed him

He gently puts Hisoka's head to the ground, off his lap, and closes his golden eyes

Illumi's en grows with unbridled rage that it covered the whole ship. Chrollo is just a few hallways down

Bloodlust up in new heights, Illumi lets his presence explode, making sure nen and non nen users alike felt his hunger to kill

Finding Chrollo was too easy, but this time he's sure it was the real one. he was at the balcony, looking out into the sunset.

"i take it, you loved him?"

Illumi doesn't answer, instead walks closer with eery silence

"if you loved him then why didn't you tell him?"

one step forward, two, three. just a few more left.

"he wouldn't have reciprocated? blah, he was of peculiar taste, I'm sure he would've accepted you."

pins, needles, hell even a card he got from Hisoka. he threw all of it to Chrollo, aiming for where he was and the surrounding spots he could have gone to, to avoid them

pinned down and bleeding, Chrollo continues "or were you not aware you loved him until you saw him die right before your eyes?"

Illumi, more than once, said that assassins don't need friends. didn't have a need for anyone else but family.

but

"he was my friend. that's all there was to it."

Chrollo's head rolls to the balcony, falls off and to the sea. a king of hearts was placed where the head should be, engraved into the floor.

later that day, Illumi went back to the room where Hisoka was, to find Kalluto there. His kimono was bunched up by his hands to make sure blood didn't touch the ends.

"aniki, what happened here? where's danchou?"

"kallu, i want you to help me with something." Illumi said instead, "can you help me clean him up?"

"should we throw him overboard?" Kalluto gestured to Hisoka.

"no, i want to fix him up and find a coffin in this ship. i will bury him when we get back to the mainland."

"why?"

"because..." Illumi fiddled with the bloodied ring, "he was my husband."

for those of u confused don't worry, i am too. basically chrollo used a bomb dummy of himself and that’s the one hisoka killed but uh got him killed instead. shjsjfkf sorry if this was shitty it's 2:30am nd i just wanted to write this before i forgot. I'll fix it tomorrow hopefully

also the hc is the ring in hisokas heart thingey and maybe the room trap plan bc togashi wouldnt have introduced that bitch if he didnt plan on using him for the plot shjsjdkfkgl good night!

[shooting-starry]

Trust me. Love me. Shoot me.

Atsumu Miya x female reader

Summary: Atsumu finds himself with a young woman who is more that what she seems.

A/n: Writing this was fun. It was fun. Please enjoy the awkwardness and watch me try to build character dynamics. Yay ::) please do not repost, but feel free to reblog or like!

Warnings: drugs and alcohol mentioned, weapons mentioned, Atsumu gets punched lol, I didn’t edit yet again

Masterlist

Previous//Next

The minivan was quiet, except for Bokuto’s light snores. Akaashi was driving with Kuroo in the passenger side. Kenma was sitting in the back on his switch, and occasionally pushing the sleeping Bokuto off of his lap. Y/n sat behind Akaashi, passing maps and snacks to Kuroo. Atsumu was directly beside you, looking out the windows as the buildings  turned into fields then back to buildings.

Akaashi was planning to drive to the Nekoma headquarters, where a majority of Fukurodani  also stayed. Nekoma preferred to stay in Tokyo’s countryside. It was close enough to the city, but remote enough for no one to care. It was a strategic location.

When the minivan pulled to a stop, not a a rest stop this time, a tall warehouse sat in front of the group. The tall metal walls started down at the very mini minivan, the windows were ominously empty. The warehouse had a spooky feeling to it, it felt as if no one had been there for years, yet every single step was being carefully watched and criticized.

The first time Y/n came to the warehouse, she was terrified, but none of the boys knew. After all, she had to keep her reputation as a force to be reckoned with. The rumours which shrouded Y/n were always enough to scare someone out of their wits. She was often described as a ghost who disappears into the shadows, blends in with the crowd and masquerades herself as anyone, then strikes when you think you are safe. She became anyone, a local grocery store worker, a waitress, a prostitute. She manipulated people to get what she wanted, then killed then. She camouflaged herself in the crowd and went unnoticed. Because of this, she was dubbed “The Chameleon ”. Y/n fed off of this respect. The fact that when her name was mentioned, people would visibly shiver. She didn’t care if she was called a monster. As long as she got praise and the respect that she deserved.

The 6 boys got out of the car and made their way towards the dark warehouse. Kenma knocked on the door, 6  rhythmic knocks, before the large sliding door slide open with a crash. Kai welcomed the group in, hesitating when he saw the 6 foot blond. Apprehensively, he let him in. The warehouse smelled like marijuana and alcohol. Y/n noticed that Lev and Yaku had yet to return. As the group entered the building, people from all angles yelled out in greeting to the group.

“Hey Chameleon! Did you kill anyone yet?” Yelled Yamamoto, along with other calls to the group such as, “Hey Owl!” (Referring to Bokuto and his strength, or his hair. No one has ever been brave enough to ask), or “Raven, I need your help on this assignment!” (Akaashi was dub this for his intellect. This man is smart). Other voices called for “The Hyena” (Kuroo was named this for his hyena like laugh that you would hear right before he killed you) and “The Caracal” (Kenma got this name thanks to his crazy kill methods. That man can be unhinged. Just take away his switch and get ready to die).

Y/n walked through the warehouse soaking in every word, but not replying to any. Right now she didn’t want to be the happy, friendly Y/n. Right now she had business to do. She kicked open a metal door which lead to a large office. The office wasn’t fancy, but inside sat the bosses of Nekoma and Fukurodani. As Y/n walked in, followed closely by the boys, keeping Atsumu behind them, she swiftly slammed the door shut with a loud bang.

The two old men looked up at her and the boys before their eyes landed on Atsumu. They looked surprised to say the least.

“L/n, why did you bring him here? Now were have to kill him.” Said the first old man, Nekomata. He was a carefree old man who was often smiling. Despite his appearance, Y/n knew that he could kill someone in less that a second.

“Nekomata, he is part of the Inarizaki family. If we killed him then they would be after you. So instead I propose we keep him here until his leg heals, then we make the trade with Inarizaki. They get back their man-child, and we get they alliance. Doesn’t that just sound wonderful? Akaashi and Kenma help me think of this.” Y/n asked, speaking in her sweetest, most convincing voice. She knew the last part was a lie. Kenma didn’t care about what happened to Atsumu, and Akaashi didn’t want to keep him around any longer than necessary. You just hoped he didn’t realize.

“Well L/n,” spoke the other old man, Yamiji, “I think its a good idea, except your safe house was destroyed because he was there. And how will we convince them to come, without an attack?”

“Well that’s simple, we can stay in the hotel in the city. The five of us can stay there with Atsumu. And I can take care of an arrangement.” Y/n said slyly. “I will even give you sometime to consider it. It is so much more beneficial to return him than to just kill him. Don’t you think?” She finished, leaving the room, with the boys, close behind her.

After about 10 minutes, both Nekomata and Yamiji stepped out of their office. Everyone in the warehouse, even the wasted men in the corner, stood up, as a sign of respect. Y/n had a more friendly relationship with the two men, and all parties were much more informal with each other.

“Y/n, we will let you go. Make sure that you trade him off in 3 weeks or else we will kill him.” Said Yamiji. “But, it is under the conditioned that the hotel he doesn’t get injured. We will send him off unharmed.” He finished, still staring at Atsumu.

After Yamiji’s speech, the warehouse burst into talk and gossip. “Can you believe the Ferocious Five have another assignment?” Or even “Why are the Ferocious Five getting such an easy assignment? They just have to make sure the dude doesn’t get hurt”. The group walked quickly to the store room. Inside there was the wall of guns and a separate wall for knifes. The drawers under the display of other weapon are held devises which were only common in spy movies. Y/n took multiple knife and hid them on her body. Two for each boot, one in each sleeve, and another on her ankle. She also took a tube of lipstick and a small jar of pills. Y/n loved the lipstick. If it got into your blood stream, it would kill you in a few hours. It would start to seep your energy within minutes, and then it would kill you. She also went to the hidden closet and grab different clothes. She grabbed a formal dress and a cute little picnic dress. She also grabbed a long coat, glasses, a collared shirt, dress pants, jeans and multiple pairs of shoes. But of course she also threw in a pair of loose fitting sweat pants and a sweatshirt. She grabbed a duffle bag and placed the clothes in the bag. She also found a few different purses and bags which she added to her bag.

After she had packed everything she needed, she regrouped with the boys. Kenma was fiddling with 6 cell phones and his bag rested on his feet. Akaashi was nearby, calling the hotel to book the rooms (He seemed very tense when he was talking on the phone). Bokuto and Kuroo were busy stuffing a bag full of food. Atsumu was staring at the ground, daydreaming about something. Y/n paced towards him, pick up a Polaroid camera on the way. She fisted her hand and punched him in the face. Hard.  As her fit collided with his cheek, he groaned at the contact. A bruise was starting to for on his right cheek in a red mark formed on his face. Atsumu looked at her with a look disbelief while she shook out her fist.

“What the hell was that for? Ya crazy bitch, ya just said that A would be unharmed?” He yelled, while Akaashi in the corner was trying convince the hotel employee that nothing was happening.

“I just needed you to form a bruise, besides you’ll be fine. Now sit down so I can cover it with some makeup” Y/n ordered.

Compliantly, Atsumu sat down, while Y/n grabbed a foundation, concealer and a pallet of nude eyeshadows to help hide the redness of his cheek, and a blush. Carefully, she applied foundation across his face. After blending it, she applied concealer under both of his eyes and on his cheek. The concealer hid the red cheek while giving his skin a flawless sort of look. Next, with a small brush, Y/n altered the colour of the bruise, holding her face uncomfortably close to his. As she move from each product, she became more aware of the closeness. She could feel his breath on her hands as she fixed little parts of his face. As he looked more alive and functional, the more she realized his beauty. His dark eyes focused on hers as she scanned his face for any flaws in the makeup. She had covered his scar on his face, to make him look like any normal person. His skin looked clear and hydrated, and his cheeks were slightly blushed. Perfect. He was perfect and ready to go.

Together they stood up, Atsumu a little slower and more clumsy, and walked towards the door. Kenma handed everyone a cell phone, each person's number already entered in. Akaashi grabbed his bag and a bag of medical supplies and placed them in the car. Bokuto then took the rest of the bags and left them in the car (He was upset that Akaashi wouldn’t let him grab his bag too).

Once the group was in the car, Akaashi assigned the room to people. He explained that each room will have two bed. They were all on the different floors, but he would need to check them in.

“Bokuto-san and I will be in room 303, Kenma-san and Kuroo-san will be in room 204, and L/n-san and Miya-san will stay in room 405. Also, we will not be able to switch rooms. I was able to get the last three rooms for the next 3 weeks.” Akaashi explain as he drove the minivan.

The car ride was short then that mornings, once the fields turned to buildings, Bokuto got excited. He knew that the car ride was almost over (He was like a small child after an hour car ride). After another half hour. Akaashi pulled into the parking lot of a large hotel. After grabbing the bags, which Bokuto insisted on doing, the group walked into the hotel, and was greeted by the sitting room. It was a beautiful room. There were exquisite decorations along the walls. On the ceiling there was a beautifully complex chandelier. There were many people in the sitting room, drinking water or talking to each other. Akaashi, confidently walked up to the counter. The group was sitting on a large couch when Akaashi returned. He handed each person a key card for their room.

The group piled into an elevator and slowly got off at their floor. First Kenma and Kuroo got off, then Akaashi and Bokuto. Finally, there was just Y/n and Atsumu. The 30 seconds of the elevator going up were excruciatingly awkward. Neither said a thing, but a few glances were stolen when the other wasn’t looking.

When they got off the elevator, Y/n held both people’s bags as the looked for the door which read 405. When they found the door, Y/n slide the key card into the reader, after shifting all the bags onto one hand. They opened the door, they were met with long windows and a flat screen TV. There was a closet to the right of the door and the bathroom door to the left. There was a small desk against the door and a large glass panel separating the bathroom from the bedroom. In the bedroom, the bed was decorated in white sheets and many throw pillows. But there was a problem in the room. There was only one kind sized bed

Taglist: Please request to be added to taglist!

@kayleighbeccaa @jojowantstocry  @m1lfluv3r

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 58: Infernal

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Infernal

Notes: I love writing fighting scenes! It's always such a blast to write the motions and the momentum of a fight! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

(-~-)

In truth, the only thing comparable to the creature's horrendous appearance was its sheer size and magnitude. Standing at a size comparable to that of a small building, its stature was domineering. And with wings that dared blot out the very night sky around them, the creature before them was undoubtedly a demon, although unlike anything they'd previously seen. 

Well, that was partially a misnomer. The color scheme matched almost perfectly with that of the devil they had battled against in the subway station with that summoner, both of his devils being very similar in thematic coloration. No doubt they hailed from the same origin point, whatever dark abyss in the underworld they hailed from being one and the same. But even still it was no part of the underworld that either of them was familiar with. Belial and his cronies must have dug deep to locate such foul creatures.

Towering over them and admitting a menacing aura, the gigantic demonic beast was more akin to some sort of sabertooth tiger crossed with a dog than anything else. It snarled and was clearly less than pleased with their presence, but there was a sort of intelligence to the creature that made them wary of simply rushing in and attacking like they normally would. His body was shrouded in a layer of black pulsating darkness that seemed to consist of some sort of flesh, but it was entirely too difficult to tell in these lighting conditions. The same magenta markings marred most of its flesh and wings, and two additional heads sprouted from what appeared to be the shoulders of the beast. A pair of compressed black and magenta wings adorned its back that, if straightened, were probably taller than the building they had just been standing near. All in all, entirely too big of a demon to have accidentally stumbled into the human world. And neither of them needed to wonder if it had been brought there on purpose.

They weren't entirely sure how they had missed something so large initially. Had the devil been laying stomach down on the ground before they had arrived? That was the only feasible explanation considering the fact that they had seen aircrafts smaller than that. Its claws were practically as big as they were, each paw the size of a small family car. And it had four of them. And it had to be said that this was probably the first time either of them had fought a devil with more heads than opponents. If they failed there would be quite the fight between each of the heads to decide who's actually going to eat them.

"So am I safe to assume that you have no idea what this creature is?" V said, putting some room between himself and the creature as it bore down on them. He had no idea what they were up against now, but he was absolutely certain that he was going to need Griffon. He would just wait for the proper time. Perhaps if they were lucky he could use his avian companion to distract the beast while they moved in to fight it. As outmatched as he suddenly felt, he knew that he couldn't leave this creature to roam the city in good conscience. There was self-preservation, and then there was negligence.

A slightly amused look across the face of the man with the red hair as he glanced over his shoulder with a sort of sarcastic flare, seemingly calm and composed and otherwise unworried about their opponent but not quite to the degree that would imply that he considered it an easy fight. He wasn't vain enough to believe that this creature would actually be simple to take down, but he felt somewhat secure in the knowledge that he was able to beat it. He had fought much more dangerous foes in the past, and none of them had managed to overpower him. Perhaps if he was lucky this would be the boost to V's confidence that he needed at a time like this.

"You would be correct in that assumption. I have quite literally no idea what this creature could be. I mean, it's quite obviously a devil for a demon of some sort, but in regards to its place of origin, I couldn't be less knowledgeable. It seems to be something akin to the illustrations and stories that I've heard of the Infernal Devils, but without going through the bestiary that the Ludwig family possesses, I would have no way of being sure." Sirrus seems slightly put off by his lack of knowledge and as to what the creature might be, but he drew his blade regardless, unwilling to even consider the idea of allowing his companion to face such a large and potentially deadly opponent alone. He was not without honor. "I took the liberty of looking into possible demonic species while I was there yesterday, and this seems to be what this might be, but unfortunately, none of those books are exactly in color. Just descriptions of them next to vaguely drawn illustrations, and trying to decipher both the handwriting and translate the language is quite the hassle. You might be worth taking a look at it  yourself after we get out of this situation."

"Okay then, so what happens now, genius? Are we just going to run in guns blazing, or do you have a better idea?" The small voice from within his head spoke, clearly realizing just how far and over their heads they might be. It took the young summoner a moment to register that his familiar with speaking to him, but although he didn't outwardly show it, he did consider the statement.

"By any chance, do you recognize this species?" V asked his familiar, cognizant of the fact that a demon might be able to recognize a demon than he did. Griffon's knowledge into some of these matters was foggy at best, what it was still more than he tended to know. He simply didn't have the first-hand experience in most cases.

A long pause settled between the pair of them before he finally got his response. "Hmmm… I think our red-haired buddy might be onto something. I can't say I know much about the Infernal Devils since they're basically legends, but this might be one. Makes you wonder how they opened a gate big enough to let something like this out, though. We better figure that out and quick, or we'll have bigger problems. If this is an Infernal Devil, this isn't even one of the biggest ones I've heard of. Might be one of their more common devils, but again, I can't be sure.

"Do you have a plan of any sort?" V said calmly as they stared down the devil, content in the knowledge that they would quickly become demonic dog chow if they didn't do something about this soon. They were actually somewhat surprised that it hadn't attempted to eat them yet. Perhaps it'd been left here as some sort of century?

Sirrus shook his head. "Not one that I can say that I have much confidence in, but I do have something. Do you have access to your familiar? That bird?"

V felt Griffon stir within the confines of his mind, somewhat miffed it being referred to as a simple bird. He smirked in spite of himself and his circumstances. "Settle down. Be thankful he didn't call you a chicken. That's a change of pace at the very least."

The young summoner could feel his summons ire as he said that, resisting the urge to chuckle to himself. This wasn't the time, and it certainly wasn't the place, but it seemed that their hand had been forced, and they had to do what they had to do to not only survive but to protect the city. They were going to have to battle against this devil whether they were prepared or not.

As he considered this, the devil lunged forward, sinking its paw into the asphalt in front of them and pulling it up in large swaths. The gash it left in its wake was as wide as he was, something that didn't escape his notice. The last thing he wanted was to be nicked by one of those colossal claws, or worse, to be caught in the maw of such a fearsome beast. He would no doubt meet his end swiftly if it were to succeed in that endeavor.

"Let's go with your plan, then. I'm perfectly capable of improvising."

Noticing that it had most certainly been the threatening gesture of the devil that had coaxed him into such an immediate response, Sirrus took the bold step of going closer to the devil, his blade drawn. Naturally, the creature was not at all pleased by his challenging move and swiped at him, its grip coming up empty. In the wake of its confusion, V managed to slip to the side of it, the devil clearly more fixated on its inability to find its received target than it was with keeping up with the other individual that had accompanied them.

Realizing that Sirrus had probably ducked behind a nearby tree, the devil let out a bellowing roar that shook the ruined ground beneath it, its paw crushing the small sapling under its unyielding weight. Sirrus flanked it from the left, charging in and managing to land a decent slash that pierced its ear and caught the side of his neck. It recoiled back in discomfort, causing it to open its wings and blow debris all around them. Caught off guard by the suddenness of his movement, the red-haired man tumbled backward, his back hitting a tree. The wind had been sufficiently knocked out of him, but from what V could see he had been otherwise unharmed. But that meant that it was now his time to step in and turn the tide of battle. Sirrus's selfless distraction had given him the time needed to charge up a more powerful attack, and he was going to use it.

As the devil flew into a rage, V made the decision to focus his attention on the creature's head, coming to the astute conclusion that perhaps causing it massive cranial damage might be enough to bring it down swifter. Under his command, Shadow leaped forward, cutting a swath up the back of the devil and using her full body tooth attack to clamp onto the back of the devil's neck. It immediately lunged up into the air, attempting to shake the demonic panther off of his back to no avail. The second that it opened its wings, Sirrus clamber to his feet and rushed forward, his aim clear. He leaped forward and, with a strong downward streak, pierced the demonic creature's wing, using his body weight to tear a large cut into it. Sufficiently thrown off balance by the lack of aerodynamics it now possessed, it toppled over, shaking him off and slamming him into the pavement with enough force to shatter the bones of a normal mortal. It was clear to both of them that now the devil was incredibly angry.

Astutely aware of the fact that they were rapidly running out of options, V summoned Griffon and directed him to charge his full strength, manifesting in the form of a barrage of waves of electricity that slammed into the devil and charged it with a powerful surge of right electrical power that toppled it onto its side. Shadow released the devil's neck and returned to her master's side just in time to grab him and snatch him out of the way of its flailing tail. Wood and concrete shrapnel flew everywhere, managing to nick him in a few exposed places, but he was otherwise unharmed. Mud and construction materials flew everywhere as the devil thrashed about in a combination of agony and malice, willing and ready to manifest its true power to decimate them in any way that it could.

Just as Sirrus managed to clamber to his feet, he immediately was set upon by the devil again, being forced to run and dive out of the path of one of his furious swipes, nearly being crushed in the process. As V attempted to mitigate the situation, the tail swung back around and managed to knock him across the parking lot and into the street, sufficiently putting him out of commission for the time being. Shadow ran to his aid, and Griffin attempted to do battle solo against the beast, hitting it with another electrical attack, this one manifesting in the form of a crisscrossing pair of lines that originated from a spherical orb. He then dived in and attempted to pester the beast, trying his best to draw its attention away from his host, but to little avail. It seemed that this particular devil would not be so easily tricked a second time. It stood up and tucked its injured wing in, clearly searching for its prey. And considering the fact that V was still attempting to pull himself to his feet and regain his bearings after hitting the back of his head against the curb, he was in no condition to attempt to defend himself. If Shadow could not stop the beast, then it would be far too late for him.

"Quick! We're going to need an assist on this one! Can you get the string bean out of here? At least long enough for me to subdue the big bad doggy here? My guess is that he hasn't been let out for walkies in a while!" Griffin shouted as he flew higher and higher up into the air, leading the devil to stand up on his back legs and attempt to be able to swipe at him more efficiently. One well-placed swing would be all it would take to put him out of commission, and he knew as much. The only advantage he had in this situation was the devil's inability to actually fly after him, but that didn't mean that it couldn't attempt to. This was a dire situation for the entire group, and if they didn't manage to gain the upper hand quickly, they would not only lose the battle, but they would more than likely lose their lives.

"No worries there, I've got him! Sirrus called over, rushing towards the devil from behind in an attempt to waylay it. He had not managed to make it to his feet again quite yet, but he had faced the devil, and it seemed that he had some sort of plan in mind. With the fierce determination that only someone facing down certain death could muster, V held his hand out towards the devil, indicating for Shadow to do her work. Muttering a phrase under his breath that Sirrus had not quite caught from the distance he stood away, Shadow melded into the very ground beneath her and manifested a wall of crushing spikes just as the devil got within stabbing distance. It slammed to a stop, tearing up the street along with it as the spikes pierced its chest and back. It let out a screeching, barking roar of pain and flailed ineffectually with both of his paws toward V as he recalled his avian companion to his side and was pulled back out of the way.

Realizing that this was his best and only chance to end the fight before things became any more destructive, the red-haired adjudicator jumped forward and leaped into the air, using his right hand to brush the edge of his blade. A sort of black flame coated it momentarily before he put both hands onto the hilt of the blade and used his full body force and the momentum of his jump to bear down on his opponent, piercing its skull with one destructive blow. It let out a single agonized cry before its head slammed down into the pavement, causing V to lose his balance but not fall as the shock wave shattered the street several dozen feet in both directions. It let out a sort of raspy, breathless groan before becoming still, blood pooling through the streets and down into the drains as its mouth flopped open and its colossal teeth we came easier to see. They were longer than both of them were tall, put almost together, but they were now no longer a threat. With that pair of decisive blows, they had managed to bring an end to the devil before it had managed to do any further damage, even if it had come at the cost of much exertion and a fair bit of discomfort and physical harm at their expense. But what was most important was that they were no longer in any form of immediate danger, and that neither was the city.

"Well… that was a bit more than I had initially signed on for," V said with a humorous tent to his voice, breathing heavily from the amount of exertion he had just endured. He wasn't so much tired as he was out of breath and seemingly unable to regain it. But he was just glad that they had managed to actually defeat the creature. Once he'd seen how large it had been, he'd had suffered an immediate momentary lapse in confidence in regards to their ability to actually finish it off alone. But they had done it. And there was a part of him that was quite impressed by that. Perhaps it was best that they had done battle against it after all. "But I think the bigger question is where did it come from? It clearly isn't a familiar. I see no core to destroy, and it hasn't been recalled to its master. Was this creature simply allowed to run streets?"

"And if that is the case, what benefit would there be in causing such needless destruction to private and public property? What is our opponent hoping to gain by orchestrating a situation like this?"  Sirrus I said as he approached the young summoner, extending his hand and offered to help him up. V allowed him to help him up off of the pavement, shaking his head in minor disbelief at how quickly that situation had escalated.

Griffon fluttered over to join them, lighting on what remained of the street post that set almost coiled around a leaking fire hydrant on the ground, an unfortunate casualty of the battle that had just taken place. He was just as flabbergasted by the sequence of events that it just played out as they were, but distinctly, had some sort of idea as to why this might have occurred. "That's a good point you two just made. The only thing that comes to mind is that maybe that summoner from the train station is trying to flush us out. You know, get us to fight these demons so he could figure out where we are. Maybe triangulate our location? Tire us out, maybe? He's after you, isn't he? I mean, he did try to drag you off at the train station. Maybe he's summoning these demons and letting him run amok so they'll catch our attention and he can swoop in and take you. Underworld's got an awful lot of demons with nothing better to do than run the streets and eat cars and buildings. I don't think he's going to run out of kindling to throw at the flame any time soon."

Both of the young men looked at one another and nodded. Yes, that seemed like a perfectly reasonable explanation as to what had just happened. If the summoner was indeed working for Belial, then he more than likely had the means and the motive to unleash a few demons on the city in the hopes of flushing them out. That sounded exactly like something a deranged maniac would do, and no human who was in the service of a devil prince could be saying anything but. After all, what did they have to gain by assisting with the takeover of the world? A leadership position? What would there be left to lead or to own if the earth was ruled by devils? Something as outlandish as allowing a human to rule anything in a world owned by demons surely would never fly. He would be snuffed out in an instant, nothing more than another meaningless mortal and no more meaningful to the devils that would be in charge than the legions of demonic foot soldiers that would take over the world in Belial's wake.

"If that's the case, then perhaps we should be wondering where that seminar might be able to watch a battle like this from. Perhaps one of the rooftops?"

Sirrus nodded in agreement, looking around at the futile buildings that surrounded them. If he was going to orchestrate a battle between his enemies and a large demon, then a high point would be the best place to view it from. "I think you may be on to something there, V. I think it might be best that we do some reconnaissance. Griffon, might I ask you a favor?"

The wild bird shook his head. "Nah, but you can ask V and he can ask me."

V shot his avian companion a disapproving look, clearly unamused considering the circumstances. This is far from the time to start being particular about who he obeyed and who he didn't. Well, it was technically true that he did obey V's commands and only V's, he had more than enough fruit will to be able to choose who he would and wouldn't listen to. And as long as his master's will allowed for it, he was perfectly able to carry out the task that had just been requested of him. "Griffon…"

Realizing that he had struck a nerve, the bird fluttered up into the air and flew off down the street. He knew that he was going to do what he was asked to do, but it seemed that he wasn't in the mood for jokes today. Considering the fact that he had just almost been eaten alive by a giant demonic panther dog bat devil thing, he was capable of understanding why he might not be exactly amused by his commentary. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know V. Lighten up, would you ya? I got it. No need to threaten to skin me alive and boil me. I'll go check it out. Hang tight, I'll be right back."

(-~-)

Fun fact: I used text to speech to write this chapter, and editing and writing it only took an hour and 20 minutes as a result! And it's almost a thousand words longer than normal! This is going to be a total game changer! And, I managed to do it on my phone! I have no idea why I never tried that until now, but it was amazing! Anyway, see you on Friday! If it's this quick, I might start spending like 4 hours a day every 2 weeks to knock out several chapters at once! That would be a great way to get ahead! 

Let me know if I missed any glaring mistakes. I went over it with an editing program after, but voice-to-speech has this amazing way of messing up things like unusual names, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I missed something. I hoped you liked this chapter! See you all in the comments section, and again on Friday!

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 1, I suppose

...Hello! It looks like this thing is on. So. Hi.

I am posting this because I saw an Undertale comic by @lostmypotatoes on one of those dub channels, and it was such a neat and unfinished concept that I started writing an original story based on it. Then I contacted her and she was super sweet about my thievery and I was like ha ha too bad I didn’t make this a UT fic and now I wrote this too.

I don’t know any of the usual formatting or etiquette for posting fic on here because I’m old and don’t do stuff. Sorry! (I signed up here for this very purpose.) It’s...good gravy, almost 7,000 words. Anyway! Here you go, let me know if I should look into Witchfell I don’t know I just did him Underfell but there’s witches

*takes Valium*

~~~

"Make way! The High Priestess approaches!"

The monster sat up in his prison cell, focusing on a slim figure coming down the stairs. In the room's single witchlight, he could make out a few details: a black gown with a narrow skirt that flared over the stone floor, a spiked headdress, and a long, dark veil over her features. The orange pinpricks of his eyes narrowed.

The guards stood at attention as the priestess approached the cell, her head high and her hands demurely folded. "Make haste, men!" barked the captain. "Secure the creature! Tighten those bonds!"

She stopped just short of the bars as the guards made a show of pulling levers on either side of the cell, stretching the chains tighter on the monster's limbs. "How long has he been here?" she asked.

"Three days, my lady," the captain said, "but he has refused all of his meals."

The priestess looked steadily at the captive monster. "Does he have a name?"

"He calls himself 'Sans,' my lady," the captain replied.

The High Priestess' headdress tilted to one side. "You know, Captain, wood and iron bars cannot hold a boss monster," she said quietly.

The men jumped as the monster snorted—as much as a skeleton could do so. "Funny, I told 'em the same t'ing," he said, his voice rough and painfully loud in the tiny space.

The captain gripped his sword hilt with one hand. "Silence, monster!" he snapped.

"No, let him speak," said the priestess.

Sans grinned wider, baring huge, jagged teeth. Though he remained sitting, he towered over the humans on the other side of the bars, especially the young woman. "How generous of you, witch," he said mockingly. "Tell me, how may I repay your kindness? Let you take my SOUL? Harvest my magic? Or add me to yer evil little collection?"

The guards muttered to each other in dismay. "How dare you speak to her with such disrespect?" demanded their captain. "She is the High Priestess of this realm, and you will address her as such!"

"Wow, what a loyal dog. You heard 'er, I get to talk," retorted the skeleton. He glared down at the priestess, ignoring the captain's sputtering. "Now, witch. Tell me. What are ya gonna do t'me? I ain't very fond of surprises. My heart can't take it." He placed his bony palm on his chest. "Grant me this one kindness, ya magic thief."

The High Priestess did not move. "Captain. Free him."

Sans lifted the equivalent of an eyebrow as the men gasped. "High Priestess," protested the captain.

"Release the bonds," she said.

The captain swallowed. "Is this a wise—"

"Free him, now." The woman's hands dropped to her sides as the guards reluctantly pushed the levers back up. "Sans, I'd like to make you my apprentice," she told the bemused skeleton. "In return, I will give you your freedom."

Stunned silence hung in the air. "You want me to be your apprentice?" the monster repeated. He looked at her, and he threw his head back and roared with laughter.

The captain bristled, moving in front of the woman with his sword drawn, then stepping back at her murmured command. The other men winced as the monster's laughter echoed off the walls. "Stars! That is rich!" Sans slapped his thighbone. "Ya know," he said, more conversationally, "I'd be less offended if ya dragged me out an' forced me to be yer slave."

Suddenly, his grin had no humor in it. The priestess tensed as the monster reached up to grasp his collar. "Do ya think I'm stupid? Me as your apprentice, witch? Please, don't fool yerself with your own lies!" The collar shattered, crumbling to dust. He gave another laugh, eyes glowing a hellish orange. "But I guess I should thank you for the opportunity," he said savagely. "'Cause now I'm going to—"

The air around him exploded in white-hot flame as the monster's voice rose to a bellow of "KILL YOU ALL!"

~

Power raced through the skeleton in scintillating waves, lighting the cell as bright as a hot day. Now Sans could do what he'd dreamed of since that first human sorcerer had caught him unawares: murder everyone in his path. There were so many possibilities! Fire was fun, but usually worked too fast. He could always tear them limb from limb, but that was messy and labor-intensive. Then there was blue magic, which turned them into stupid, flailing rag dolls, easy to pick up and impossible to put d—

A twinge of suspicion interrupted his musings. Where was the screaming, or the sound of fleeing footsteps? Sans lowered his aura until he could see the room clearly, and what he saw chilled him to his very SOUL.

His attack hadn't killed anyone. It hadn't even singed them. The cell's bars had disintegrated, but now a translucent golden haze stretched from floor to ceiling, and his magic was splashing off it like raindrops off an umbrella. The guardsmen were bravely huddled by the stairs, slack-jawed but unharmed, while the High Priestess stood right where she'd been, hand raised and lips moving.

Sans was not quite so confident now. In fact, his first impulse was to run away screaming. This was the stuff a monster's nightmares were made of: he was trapped by a barrier.

Once upon a time, he'd tormented his brother with stories about a bad little skeleton who went out alone after dark, or talked to strangers, or didn't do his big brother's chores for him, and it always ended with the bad skeleton getting caught by a human. All monsters heard those bedtime stories and learned that there was no escape from barriers; not even the King was strong enough to break one, and just touching them would kill you. If you were lucky, the human would drag you off to be their slave, never to be seen again. If you weren't, they'd squeeze the magic from your body or snap your ribs open to dig your SOUL out, then leave you to die and let your dust blow away.

Panic closed over him like a shroud. He gathered all of his magic and threw himself into a shortcut out of the castle, only to strike an invisible wall and bounce right back into the cell. Shaking his head to clear it, Sans looked around and realized that the barrier had him boxed in on all sides.

Anger saved him, as it always had. In another moment, he wasn't afraid anymore; he was furious at his captors and their whole cheating, thieving, murdering, thoroughly worthless race.

And it was the worst possible moment for the priestess to open a small hole in the barrier and say, "Sans, please calm yourself. I don't want to hurt you."

She snapped the barrier shut half a second before a wickedly pointed bone thudded into it, the tip nearly touching her nose. "So be it," the young woman said tightly, and the bone evaporated as the barrier glowed brighter.

Sans knew better than to waste his energy in an all-out assault. Instead, the boss monster contemplated the force it'd take to punch through one small area around her neck or her heart. He might still be afraid, but every fiber of his being wanted that woman dead on the floor. So...

With a flick of his wrist, he summoned an array of massive, razor-sharp bones, almost too many for the cell to hold, and began firing them at blinding speed, one right after another. The priestess didn't react, but as he struck the same few inches of barrier over and over again, he saw bits of gold flake away, revealing a tiny crack.

He smirked, focusing his magic to hit harder and faster. So much for scary stories. Her people might have been glorifying her as some kind of mighty sorceress, but she was just another stupid human, witch or not. She'd raised her other hand to reinforce the spell, but more and more cracks were forming. You're boned, he thought, chuckling to himself.

Still, as he watched and waited for the golden light to shatter, he had to feel some grudging admiration. Most of the magic-wielding humans he'd killed were big, blustery men, and none of them had lasted half as long as this scrawny female. What kind of SOUL did the witch have, anyway? He'd seen just about every color there was, and figured she was stubborn enough to be purple, or maybe a patient cyan, or even orange for bravery. After all, he was throwing out everything he had, and she wasn't backing down. The skeleton squinted at her through the barrier, searching for the telltale spark of—ah, there it was. There...it...was.

For the second time, Sans looked at her and knew instantly that he was boned. Despite the ferocity of his attacks, the cracks in the barrier were starting to fill themselves in, and the air crackled with another surge of her magic. A merry little chorus of Shiiiiit shit shit shit rang in his head as he stared at her blazing-red SOUL, and it only got louder when he remembered what that color meant.

Determination.

It didn't matter that she was just a human. His intention to kill her was nothing compared to her will to live. As the bones he conjured came slower and weaker, dissolving as they hit the barrier, Sans knew with horrible certainty that he wasn't going to win.

The stories had to be true after all. Unless the priestess got careless and he could either kill her or use a shortcut, he was going to have to do whatever she wanted for as long as she said. But maybe, if he caught her off guard...

Sans let his arm drop. The last few bones clattered to the floor, and he sank to his knees, head bowed. Behind the High Priestess, the men all breathed a sigh of relief.

To her credit, the woman didn't let the spell go. She poked her head through for a better look at him, motioned to the guards to stay where they were, and knelt in front of the massive skeleton, halfway inside the barrier. "I'm not surprised that you wanted to escape. I can almost excuse you for trying," she said. Her voice was calm enough, and as far as he could tell with her veil on, her face was still expressionless.

He would have bought it if he hadn't noticed her hands clenching in her lap. "Almost?" the skeleton asked, head still lowered, eyes fixed on her.

"Almost."

He shrugged, watching her knuckles turn white. "Guess that's why yer the High Priestess, huh?"

"It is. None of my magic is stolen," she said.

"'Course not. Our power's no good in barriers. We ain't that stubborn, or that dumb," he added bitterly.

"My offer stands," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "Do you have any questions or conditions you'd like to propose?"

Sans glanced at her headdress. The spikes atop it dipped in and out of the golden curtain as her head drooped. She had to have expended most of her power holding him off; after several days with no food or sleep and then wasting all that effort on the barrier, he was pretty worn out himself. Too bad monsters couldn't take a human's magic, just her...

Her SOUL. It took all his self-control not to jump to his feet in excitement. Why the hell hadn't he thought of that? An ordinary monster who absorbed an ordinary human SOUL was supposed to grow incredibly powerful. What would happen if a boss monster gained all the power of a gifted and highly determined witch?

The High Priestess shook herself and sat up straighter. "Please answer me, Sans. I don't think either of us wants to go through that again."

"No," he admitted, shifting his weight back, edging toward the wall. Sure enough, she unconsciously moved closer, a few more inches into the cell. "I do have one question," he said, moving back again.

The woman frowned, scooting almost all the way out of the barrier. "What is it?"

He slowly, delicately reached down and tapped on her headdress, gentle as a light breeze. "Mind if I get a better look at ya?"

The priestess started. For the first time, she seemed uncertain. "I..." She frowned, and as she opened her mouth again, Sans lunged at her.

There was no question of her ducking behind the barrier in time. Before she even knew that he'd moved, one of the skeleton's hands had closed around her torso and lifted her as easily as a child holding a doll. The barrier vanished behind her, and Sans said casually, "Heel, or I'll stomp 'er like a grape."

The guards froze in the act of drawing their swords. The priestess started to say something, but he flexed his hand ever so slightly, and she stopped.

Sans smiled. He considered her for a moment, wondering if he should crush her anyway and squeeze her out slowly in front of the guardsmen, the way humans drained a monster's magic. It was tempting, and kind of poetic, but he decided he'd better not; he didn't want to damage her SOUL. Besides, she'd put up a hell of a fight. If anyone deserved a quick death, it was—

"Sans," she said. To his astonishment, she worked her arm out over his fingers and rested her hand on his knuckle. "Please," she murmured.

Normally, he would have laughed at a human begging him for mercy, but this didn't feel like begging. She was just looking at him calmly.

...No, the crazy bitch wasn't asking, she was telling. She was distressed, but expectant, as if she was just waiting for him to put her down and apologize!

He should've squished her or bashed her against the wall for that. But, somehow, as the veiled priestess stared into the fire of his eye sockets, the idea of breaking her didn't seem much fun anymore. Her head lowered and tipped to one side, and all of a sudden, it was like his mind – his memory – got pulled sideways.

As he stared back at her, he was no longer facing a mortal enemy. He was back in a moment he thought he'd forgotten, standing in front of his house in Snowdin. A tiny human in a striped shirt was holding his hand and smiling up at him with perfect, stupid trust, and he knew that however much he despised humanity, he could never hate this kid, any more than he could reach up and stop the sun in its orbit. Why did he have to think of it now, when he needed all the homicidal energy he could muster?

With a painful effort, Sans tore himself away from that memory, back to the present and the woman in his hand. The skeleton growled, starting under his breath and working up to a snarl that reverberated throughout the stone walls. To hell with her. To hell with all of them!

Lack of space was a definite issue, but Sans prided himself on adaptability. He extended his arm to its full length, nearly shoving her into the frightened guards, which gave him enough room to materialize a single blaster.

It was much smaller than usual, and that was fine, because it'd concentrate the last of his power into one good shot. The skull shone an incandescent red, eyes aflame and fangs glinting in its own light, literally nose-to-nose with the High Priestess. Sans let his rage and frustration rise like a tide of pure filth, distantly surprised that he could still feel some grief beneath it all, and the blaster's mouth creaked open from the pressure building in its throat.

The priestess had pulled herself upright with her free arm. The scarlet luminescence was right up against her eyes, but she screwed them shut and leaned forward, face set with determination.

In his haste to align the blast and hit all the humans at once, Sans didn't hear anything unusual; he didn't even notice when the light dimmed just a little, or that the pressure had stopped rising. But then a shock ran through him like a hand grabbing his SOUL, and he jerked out of his concentration to see – and feel – the woman stroking the blaster's nose as if it was an overexcited puppy. "It's all right," she said, so low that he barely heard her. "Please, stop. It'll be all right. I promise." And he'd be damned if the giant skull wasn't closing its mouth and leaning into her hand!

No one had actually touched one of his blasters before. They were long-distance weapons, and he used them as such, only getting close when it was fun or strategic to do so. His first reaction was horrified indignation; he might be about to vaporize her, but for crap's sake, he wasn't being inappropriate.

As she kept petting, though, she leaned in and rested her forehead on the skull's lower jaw, and the skeleton felt an alien sensation steal over him, something he didn't recognize at first. The light dimmed further; the skull's jaws drifted shut. For the first time, Sans heard a soft, rich sound—it was the woman humming to herself, or to the blaster, as if trying to soothe it.

And it was working. Sans felt as if he'd been drugged, with a sense of...peace? Was that it? Yes, it was absolute peace washing over him, relaxing his grip so that the young woman had to catch herself before she fell out of it. She might have been smiling faintly beneath the veil, but he couldn't focus enough to tell. He wondered if it was the same magic that had made him think of Kris, a distraction to save herself and kill him before he attacked again.

No...he wasn't drugged or under some kind of spell. Sans remembered feeling this way when he was a lot younger, and a couple of times during the humans' last visit to the Underground, when he and Pap discovered that at least one human was worth something. Of course, then they'd lost him, and there were no more humans worth anything.

It never failed to amaze him. They'd had less than a month together, but all these years later, he still missed the little bastard so much that it hurt.

Luckily, the pain didn't last. The woman kept humming, and Sans grew less and less angry. The blaster made a kind of purring sound and vanished; at the same time, Sans' arm fell, releasing the priestess, allowing her guards to rush in and pull her away.

The boss monster gazed at the angry humans with total detachment, scratching the back of his head as he yawned. She'd won. "You win," he mumbled.

"Are you all right, my lady?" demanded the captain, helping her sit down against the wall.

The humming had stopped. The young woman rubbed her eyes, keeping them shut. "Don't kill him, please" was all she said.

Sans closed his eyes, too. The humans were conferring in rapid whispers on what to do with him, but he didn't care anymore. It was almost a relief when they stepped back, a couple of them grunted with effort, and something crashed into his skull, knocking him out.

~

Over a day later, the High Priestess shut the outer door to her chambers, set a covered tray on the table, and sat down at her mirror. She checked that her eyes were clear, or at least not so puffy anymore, then picked up her veil and headdress and settled them over her head. She stared at her reflection for a full minute, as if waiting for the woman in the mirror to get up first. She sighed, and finally pushed herself to her feet.

Just outside her bedroom, she paused, running a thread of magic ahead to check each of the loose barriers she'd set around the bed. Two ripples came back, one very close by. "Good morning. Please step back," she said into the slight crack in the door.

A pause, then a soft creak of floorboards, unnervingly quiet for something – someone – his size. "Further, please," she ordered.

He made a noise she couldn't interpret. Floorboards creaked again, and the bedframe groaned under his weight. The priestess turned the doorknob, picked up the tray, and elbowed the door open.

Sans was sitting on the edge of the bed, knees on his elbows. He had opened the windows, and in the early daylight, he looked even more menacing; the light shone through his filthy shirt, shadowing the spaces between his ribs. The young woman made herself place the tray on a side table and pull up a chair with perfect unconcern, as if she couldn't feel him staring her down. "I see you're all healed. You must have slept well," she said coolly. "I know I did."

The skeleton glanced behind him at the rumpled sheets. "Uh..."

"You were alone the whole time," the priestess hastened to add. "There's a very comfortable couch in my office that I've been using."

"Yer office, huh?" Sans stretched his arms out over his head, bones clicking softly as he rolled his neck around. "Pretty nice setup y'got here. What is this, silk? Real feathers?"

She inclined her head. "I would have removed you from your cell much sooner if I'd known you were there. No one told me until Duke Archibald asked me to help select your new owner, which, no, I am not." She grimaced. "May I ask how you were caught? You're certainly capable of defending yourself."

Sans didn't answer. The young woman was thinking of what else to say when he grunted and turned to stretch back out on the bed, splaying his limbs across the huge mattress. "This's the most comfortable place I ever slept, y'know that?"

"Me, too," she said before she could stop herself.

Sans glanced up, as if wondering whether he'd seen a glimpse of personality, and she cleared her throat. "Is it the same reason you made no attempt to break out of your cell for three days?"

"Got caught tryin'a steal some grain," the skeleton mumbled. "Not a lot of food in the Underground these days. I hadn't had anythin' for a while, so I was weak as hell."

"You refused to eat anything while you were imprisoned," she pointed out.

He shrugged. "I figured it was poisoned or drugged 'r some other shit. Humans don't get their mitts on a boss monster every day, but ya can't have five sorcerers watchin' me every second. Feeding me some kinda crap like that would be the easiest thing t'do."

That didn't feel quite right, but without more evidence, the priestess decided to leave it for now. Instead, she pulled the side table closer to the bed and removed the tray's cover.

Sans twitched at the sight of steaming hotcakes, piles of cheese-sprinkled eggs, tomatoes, and crisp-crusted sausage links. The priestess cut a tomato slice into quarters with her fork, speared one and, with the ease of long practice, took hold of her veil between two fingers and lifted it long enough to get the fork to her mouth, dropping it as she put the fork down.

"Seriously? Just take the damn thing off," the skeleton remarked, sitting up.

The young woman made a show of chewing, swallowing, and lifting another tomato to her mouth. He didn't have a stomach, but if he had, she probably would have heard it growling; he was shifting around and scowling, clearly agitated. So she quickened her pace, taking a huge bite of egg, a chunk of hotcake, and a sausage, in turn eating as fast as she could.

Sans' eyes had lit to orange again, and the priestess was glad to put the fork down. "There. You see? It isn't poisoned," she said briskly. She stood and pushed the side table over to the bed. "Help yourself."

The orange faded. His skull tilted this way and that, like a wary but curious animal. "What?"

"I had breakfast over an hour ago. This is for you," she explained.

He glanced at the tray, then back to her. She waited for a full ten seconds, almost holding her breath, before she was rewarded with a rude noise. "Can I have another fork? Don't want your germs," he said.

The priestess knew when she was being tested. She picked up the fork. She went to the nightstand and the pitcher of water standing ready, and dunked the fork in it, swishing vigorously. "Here. But first," she said, holding up the dripping utensil, "I'd like to get a few things straight."

He didn't move. A moment later, she felt a tug on the fork, and instantly snapped the connection by raising another barrier. "No cheating," she reproved him.

"I'm cheating?" The skeleton banged his fist on the bedpost. "How the hell are you doin' this? I'm not dumb, lady! Ya can't just slap a barrier on somethin' that blocks every kinda magic! I can't get out of here, I can't go blue, ya did some weird crap to my poor blaster—"

"I helped you calm down. You've been asleep for twenty-six hours, by the way."

He stopped dead, but only for a second. "Yeah? Well...well, how do ya know so damn much about what I can do? If I'd known this was gonna happen, I'd'a left a long time ago!"

"And yet you didn't." The woman crossed her arms, keeping the fork pointed away from him. "I don't believe that you were too weak to remove yourself from the situation, Sans. We all have our secrets, and I don't mind that, but I need to know that you won't take drastic measures before we've completed our arrangement."

"There is no arrangement, witch," he shot back. "I'll make you a deal, okay? Forget this apprentice crap, lemme go now, and I won't kill anyone on my way out. How's that?"

She tapped the fork on the pitcher's handle. "Your people possess almost no farmland, and the area we've left you has notoriously poor soil. Did you know there are several potions, all made from common ingredients, that could double your crop yields in the space of a few years?"

Sans started. "No, and I don't care," he said, but without conviction.

"You should. There are also potions that can heal wounds, preserve foodstuffs, and send you to sleep with no ill effects, using only the tiniest bit of magic. Do you mean to tell me that monsters need none of these things?"

The skeleton looked at her warily. She could almost see him thinking. His rough speech and rougher appearance didn't fool her: he was at least as intelligent as she was, and also cared enough to want to hear more. "So," he rumbled, "I learn all this fantastic secret knowledge, and you get...?"

"Insight. Humans have been fighting monsters for centuries, and the more we know about you—"

His eyes flamed. "The easier it is to kill us? You seriously think I'm gonna—"

"The easier we can stop dying!" she snarled, her anger suddenly flaring right back at him.

The boss monster's eyes went blank with astonishment. She took a long, deep breath that did not help at all. "Believe me or not, Sans, when I say that I want to make peace for everyone's sake. I am tired of hearing every unsolved crime and evil thought blamed on monsters. I am tired of arguing with sorcerers who want to seal the entrance to the Underground and let you starve to death so that we don't have to talk about it anymore. I am tired of mediating disputes over monster ownership, as if we had any right to help ourselves to other sentient beings, and I'm sick to death knowing where our magic comes from and being unable to stop it!"

She was almost panting now, gripping the fork like a trident. Sans was staring at her like she'd grown another head. She swallowed, and lowered the fork. For want of something peaceful to do, she dipped it back into the pitcher for more swishing. "Monsters are not completely blameless," she said quietly, "but you are outnumbered by a much crueler and stronger race, and we've taken that advantage too far. It has to change, Sans, but we cannot do anything until we learn to talk to each other again."

Sans' teeth ground together. "Have you ever read a history book?" he snapped. "Ya know what happened the last time we had humans over to play?"

The priestess stared at a spot on the wall. Sans looked up in alarm as the barriers surged in and out of visibility, hissing softly. "Yes," she said, and went on, reciting from memory: "Several people were killed in an explosion caused by faulty stage effects at a farewell gala for the human delegation, most notably Prince Asriel of the monster race. Though the exact cause of this unfortunate accident remains unclear, its scope and destructive power were hallmarks of human magic, leading to accusations of sabotage and assassination from both sides. War was prevented solely by the will of Queen Toriel, who was devastated by the loss of her son and adoptive daughter, but nevertheless prevented her husband from executing the remaining humans. The delegation was permitted to leave, and in exchange, humans promised the Underground would never be sealed."

"...O...kay, then. Yeah. That's...that's pretty much it." Sans rubbed the back of his neck, scratching between the vertebrae. "Knowin' that, you still think you can teach me a bunch of stuff, turn me loose, an' make everything all better?"

"No. But I can try." On impulse, the priestess knelt, looking up at him and hoping the effect wasn't spoiled by the dirty fork. "Sans, give me one month. That's all I ask. You can have copies of any recipe you need to take back with you, and I'll show you the techniques to make them work properly. You won't have much freedom of movement, but you won't be kept in a cell, either." She glanced at the feather mattress and added, "You can keep the bed for yourself. As luxurious as it is, I feel lost in it."

He didn't laugh, but he didn't sneer at her, either. His eyes went from the fork to the bedpost, the canopy, the bookshelves lining the walls by the fireplace, and back to her face. "I need some time t' think about it," he said reluctantly. "What happens if I don't wanna?"

Her magic crackled in the air again, and she winced, trying to calm down. "I'd rather not say, but I think you know the answer. Remember, I'm not the only human who can use barriers."

He did not like that, and she couldn't blame him. She looked down at the fork in her hand. "You should eat now," she said lamely, and held it out to him, handle first, praying she had judged correctly.

The skeleton's face was impossible to read. Now that it was quiet, it reminded her too much of when he'd grabbed her in the cell. Her instincts screamed at her to pull her hand back and throw a barrier between them, but determination surged as she remembered how she'd already faced down his attempts to kill her. She was going to forge a lasting bond between their worlds and hand him a kitchen utensil like a normal person or die trying.

Slowly, Sans reached down, and she fought to keep from panicking as his massive hand approached hers. He paused...and plucked the fork from her grip with delicate courtesy, holding it up between them. "Hm. Too small. Still dirty." He tossed it back into her lap.

She stared at the fork. She stared at him. She picked up the fork, dropped it into the pitcher, and plunged her hand in after it. Out came the utensil; she turned her back to him, and with one swift motion, off came her veil. As High Priestess, she wore it for most of her waking hours, which meant she'd learned to whip it off without even disturbing her headdress, the way she'd once seen someone yank a tablecloth out from beneath a set of dishes.

And as High Priestess, if she wanted to use her sacred veil to dry a mostly-clean fork in order to please a giant monster who was intimidating her and somehow also being a complete snot, then who was going to stop her? No one, that was exactly who.

With a righteous huff, she turned back around, still polishing the bedamned fork. "Here," she said, facing him for the first time. "I hope this is satisfactory."

Sans looked at her. He didn't say anything.

The world always seemed a little too bright when she'd just had the veil on, and the light from the window was in her eyes. She rubbed them on her sleeve and tucked a strand of shoulder-length hair behind her ear. "Well?" she demanded.

Sans didn't take it. He was leaning forward, hand dangling as if he'd started to reach for it and somehow forgotten what he was doing. His sockets were blank, an odd color washing over his bony face. "Uh," he said. "It's."

The priestess didn't know that that could be a complete sentence. It probably wasn't, she thought in growing irritation. "Sans," she said carefully, "are you going to use this, or would you like to eat with your hands?"

The skeleton shook himself and turned away. "Never mind. 'm not hungry," he grumbled.

She bit back the urge to call him a colorful name or two. "Sans, this is not a joke. There is nothing wrong with your food, except that it's cold. Eat it. Please."

"I will, I will." Sans hunched his shoulders. "Just gimme a couple minutes."

She did not have the time or patience for this. "Sans. Look at this." He glanced at her, and in one motion, she stabbed a sausage and another chunk of hotcake. "Say 'ahhh,'" she ordered, and when he blankly repeated, "Ahh?" she thrust the fork into his mouth.

Sans nearly choked, demanding, "Wh' th' fuh, 'a'y?" before he swallowed it whole. The priestess was fascinated to not see anything pass his throat, though she knew he had eaten it. "What the fuck, lady?" he clarified.

"I am not 'lady,' thank you, and I know you know better words than that," she said sternly, putting the fork back on the tray. "It's not my fault if it got cold."

"I don't care how hot or cold somethin' is, lady. Ya didn't give me a chance to get my tongue out, so it's all the same to me." The boss monster answered her puzzled look by concentrating, then opening his mouth and pointing. "Thee? Tah-dah."

Good God, he suddenly did have a small, floppy red tongue. She flapped her hand at him, face burning. "All right! I believe you! Put it away!"

He did, and she was relieved to see nothing but a mouth full of giant fangs. "So," he said presently, "if I'm not supposed ta call you 'lady,' what's your name?"

The priestess blinked. No one had asked her that in a long, long time. "Well...if you don't like 'my lady,' there's always 'Your Eminence,' or my ceremonial name, Thea." It occurred to her that he was probably not going to react well to any of her suggestions, but she soldiered on: "You could just say 'High Priestess,' though that's a mouthful. At the convent, they gave each of us a different saint's name, and I was—"

Sans held up his hands. "Okay. That sounds peachy. But what. Is. Your. Actual. Damn. Name?"

She grasped her skirt so hard that her nails dug into her palms through the thick velvet folds. "My name is Frisk."

Sans' eyes were blank again. "Huh. No wonder. Welp, nice to meet you, Frisk." He raised a hand.

It was a blatant lie, but cordially given, so she attempted a smile in return. "It's nice to meet you, too, Sans."

For some reason, that seemed to alarm him. He drew back, then suddenly grabbed the tray, tipped his head back, and dumped the entire contents into his mouth. He had no cheeks, but his face somehow looked very full before he swallowed it all, dropping the tray on the floor. "There. Where's the bathroom?" he rasped.

Frisk realized her mouth was hanging open, and shut it. "It's...why do you ask? You're a skeleton."

"Right. Right." He scuffed the bones of his foot on the carpet. "Oh, look at this. Fork yes."

Sure enough, he'd found the fork. She scooped it up, setting it on the table, and out of nowhere, the priestess felt a real smile lift the corners of her mouth. "Just in tines."

The words hung in the air for a long moment. Frisk was beginning to feel stupid when Sans smacked his thighbone and gave a shout of laughter. "I'll be damned! You got the point."

"It's food for thought," she said, and grinned as he doubled over. "I'm sorry. Please fork-give  me."

Just like that, she thought distantly. Yesterday – the day before? – she'd fought for her life against a boss monster who interpreted her overtures as a deadly threat, and now they were giggling in her room like drunken schoolgirls. Was this going to work after all? Was this how real peace began, with awkward silence and stupid puns? If not, Frisk could always console herself that this was the most she'd laughed in years.

~

Sans was not wondering the same thing. He was thinking how he'd woken up not knowing where he was and had had to figure out that he wasn't dreaming about the battle in his cell; a human witch really had trapped him and knocked him out with some kind of weird brain-magic. Once he got over the fact that he couldn't take any shortcuts and wouldn't fit through the windows, though, he had to admit things could be worse; the bed really was the most comfortable thing in the world.

Talking with the witch was not comfortable. It was bad enough when she was asking him questions about his capture and not breaking out of prison, but then she had to give him food and say things that made sense, and things that made even more sense, and then...

He'd never understood why human men made such a huge fuss over women. Monsters came in so many shapes and sizes that anything was possible; the inside really did count more than the outside, except maybe when it came to reproduction. But that was a rare occasion for monsters, who thought that humans' obsession with it was shallow and weird at best. Sans in particular had no interest in the human form unless he was trying to destroy it; they were all just skeletons with varying degrees of hair, meat and fluids in the way.

And then that infuriating woman had turned around in the sunlight, veil and stupid fork in hand, and he suddenly couldn't breathe. The overall picture was what made him feel a huge mess of feelings he didn't like or understand, but he could see every detail perfectly: her lips pursed in annoyance, the sun reflecting off that black circlet thing, chestnut hair shining and eyes half closed against the light. Her dress was still black, but today it was a looser, laced-up style, shoulders partly hidden under some kind of sheer material that ended high up her neck.

And then she had turned her head and done something with her hair, and now he couldn't think things right. All he could try to do was turn away, then eat it all in order to make her go away, and only his punning instinct had saved him from saying or doing anything else stupid.

Why did she have to like puns, too?

This was bad. It had gotten very complicated, very fast. He had to get out of here. She'd demonstrated some emotion behind her priestess-y facade; maybe he could appeal to it, persuade her to take some other monster under her wing and...wow. Speaking of wings, as she laughed, he happened to look down at her from a different angle, and she had a really nice rack. It was hard to see under such dark clothes, but they accentuated the graceful outline of neck and shoulder perfectly. Under the sheer material, her collarbone was—

"...going to do it," she was saying, wiping away tears of laughter. "I'm not all-powerful, but I have enough influence at court and with the Church to guarantee your safety." Frisk looked up at him, bright-eyed, and his SOUL did another loop-de-loop. "So, Sans. Will you stay?"

He didn't want to, it was a bad idea, and he said, "No," in his mind.

She smiled, tilting her head.

"Yeah," Sans said out loud.

[yinyangofnevermore]

I desperately want Yang to get hurt protecting Blake and Blake says something like “I’m not leaving. Not this time.” Or “I am NOT breaking my promise.” Just some yangst.

How’s this:

Blake and Yang made their way through the streets of Mantle, taking on any of Salem’s Grimm that they came across.

 They were beaten and bruised and exhausted, but they persevered as they continued on in their fight to protect the city and its people.

The image of the Ace Ops giving up on Mantle had seared its visage into Yang’s mind’s eye. She refused to be like them. She refused to give up. And she knew Blake and the others felt the exact same.

A winged Beringel took a hefty swipe at Blake, and Yang saw her purple aura flicker again as Blake grunted from the force of the blow.

Yang shot herself forward at the Grimm, loading it with time delay explosives as Blake wrapped Gambol Shroud’s ribbon around its body. Yang landed next to Blake and grabbed onto Gambol Shroud and the two of them heaved the Grimm up into the air together before they watched it explode in the sky.

Yang put her hand on Blake’s shoulder as she breathed heavily, her abused lungs burning as they fought for air.

She looked at their surroundings, at all of the ruined buildings with smoke billowing high above. She could see several bodies buried under the rubble. The city’s sirens blared loudly, telling anyone who didn’t know that the Grimm were running rampant.

“I’m not sure how much more of this my body can take,” Yang said between breaths.

“We’ll take as much as we have to in order to save the city,” Blake said, her eyebrows furrowed in determination and her ears flat.

Yang glanced sideways at her partner and nodded.

Moments later, they heard an explosion a few blocks away.

Their eyes met before they both took off in the direction of the blast.

Yang saw a pink and black blur fighting several Atlesian Knights with an umbrella in the center of the ruckus as they neared.

“Neo,” Yang growled.

Blake’s eyes narrowed as she and Yang threw themselves into the fray.

Their arrival only surprised Neo for a split second as she registered who the two young huntresses were.

She grinned, tipped her hat and sketched a quick bow before she twirled her umbrella, Hush, in preparation.

Yang’s jaw bulged as she ground her teeth at Neo’s cocksure attitude, her semblance seconds from exploding in irritation.

She glanced over at Blake’s steady presence and calmed herself with a deep breath.

Blake met her gaze and they both leapt into action.

They circled Neo, both shooting at the small woman from opposite directions.

Neo deftly dodged most of the their attacks and blocked the rest with Hush.

Blake threw Gambol Shroud to Yang, yanking the blonde back across the circle they’d created. Yang aimed a kick at Neo as she soared through the air, but the small woman bent backwards as Yang flew past her, leaving her wholly unharmed before she popped back up.

Yang landed next to Blake and quickly turned to face Neo once more.

Neo smirked and leapt at them, lashing out in a flurry of attacks that made both huntresses retreat a few steps back from the force of the onslaught.

After several moments of being on the defensive, both Blake and Yang finally regained their footing. Yang blasted forward and began an onslaught of her own while Blake gave her support fire from behind.

Punch. Dodge. Parry. Kick. Duck. Round kick. Back step. Jab. Upper cut. Side step.

The two seemed quite evenly matched as Neo had to both fight off Yang’s direct attacks and Blake’s support fire, until Yang just barely overreached.

Yang leapt forward, her prosthetic arm leading the way in a punch as Neo side stepped out of her path. The smaller woman grabbed Yang’s arm, utilizing Yang’s momentum to yank her forward and throw the blonde off balance as Neo’s knee connected with Yang’s ribs.

Yang’s aura flickered miserably but held as Yang crumpled to the ground, spurring Blake into further action.

She threw herself forward into a front flip, whipping Gambol Shroud around with her, causing Neo to step away from Yang and pay attention to this new assault.

Yang recovered a few moments later and gave Blake support fire as the Faunus huntress trapped Neo’s umbrella in an ice shadow clone.

Neo grimaced but broke the ice, brandishing Hush once more with a flourish.

Blake spun Gambol Shroud on its ribbon in a renewed attack forcing Neo to parry each blow until she finally slipped past Blake’s guard and sliced Hush along the young huntress’ lower leg.

Blake’s aura shattered and she cried out as the sharp tip of Hush drew a deep gouge down her shin. She stumbled a moment and fell to her knees.

“Blake!” Yang screamed in concern, blasting herself forward with Ember Celica.

Neo smirked as she eyed the vulnerable Faunus girl and thrust Hush forward toward her chest.

All Blake could do was watch as the umbrella came at her.

Suddenly Yang let out a grunt as Hush’s tip pierced her weakened aura, allowing the blade to plunge into her abdomen.

She gave Neo a gruesome smile as she grabbed Hush and released her semblance in a massive blast of fiery energy aimed at her enemy.

The last thing Yang saw before Neo shattered and disappeared was a look of pure surprise on the small woman’s face.

After her semblance blast died down, Yang collapsed.

Hush landed several paces away, bent and burned.

“Yang!” Blake cried out, rushing as quickly as she could to Yang’s side.

She placed her hands over Yang’s wound, applying pressure in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“Why would you do that?!” She said, tears glistening down her cheeks.

Yang wiped one away. “You really think I’d let her kill you? We protect each other, remember?”

Blake stifled a sob and held Yang’s hand to her cheek. “But you got hurt because of me. Again.”

“Better for me to take a gut shot than for you to take one to the chest. I’ve got abs of steel, after all,” she chuckled lightheartedly, but the laugh quickly turned to a groan of pain. “This sucks, to be sure. But at least I’m fairly sure I’ll live. A chest wound would have a less than optimal outcome. And I’ll take a hit for you like this any day if it means you’re still with me.”

Blake couldn’t stifle the sob this time and Yang tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear as she cried outright.

“I’m so sorry…” Blake’s voice trembled. “You’re always getting hurt because of me.”

Yang gazed into golden eyes that seemed connected to her very soul, and saw the pain and fear and self-loathing within them.

A moment later, she recognized the look as Blake’s flight response.

She’d seen it before.

She could never forget that look. Or how it made her feel.

She removed her hand from Blake’s cheek as if stung, a hollow feeling resounding throughout her body, drowning out the pain of her wound.

Blake could see the hollowness reach Yang’s eyes.

“Yang, wha—”

Yang’s eyes grew watery and she looked away. “Don’t leave me again…” She said, her voice small.

Blake’s eyes went wide. “What? NO! No no no no no! I’m not leaving again! I won’t do that!”

Blake gently turned Yang’s face to her and wiped a tear away as she pressed their foreheads together.

“I’m not leaving again! I promised!” She said, her own tears beginning anew. “I swore to you that I’m not going to break my promise! And I won’t!”

Yang sniffled. “You won’t?”

“No! I won’t! I—I can’t!”

Yang cocked her head to the side in confusion.

“I can’t leave you because… Because I love you.”

Yang froze for a moment, processing what she’d just been told. “Yo—You do?”

Blake’s cheeks were on fire, her face still mere inches from Yang’s.  “Of course I do…”

Yang ran her fingers through Blake’s hair and blinked when one of Blake’s tears dripped onto her face. 

She drew Blake down closer to her and lifted her own to meet her halfway in a gentle kiss.

“I love you too,” she breathed when they parted.

Blake’s breath hitched at her words and she leaned back down to kiss her again.

“I’m sorry you got hurt again,” she whispered moments later. “Because of me…”

“Hazard of the job, you know that.”

Blake nodded.

“But at least I was able to give you more of a hand with Neo than I did with Adam that first time…” She paused in thought. “Well, maybe not as much of a hand as that time,” she said with a grin, waving her prosthetic in the air.

Blake gave her a wry look, her ear twitching in mild annoyance as she smacked Yang lightly on the shoulder before she leaned down to kiss her again.

[ravenbrenna09]

Remember when I said I wasn’t entertaining this idea (yeah, I don’t either)? Well, I’m not, technically, but I might consider making this story one day (when Hogwarts AU, Twitch Streamer Robbe, and FWB are all done and completed and never before). 

HTTYD 1 Spoilers

Note: Sander is 17 and Robbe is 15

Robbe is not the son of the Chief with his long brown hair that’s growing a little too long for his liking and a couple clothes with holes in them. But, he’s still very much the social outcast of the Vikings. His mother is a seamstress who specializes in battle armor and his uncle works at the blacksmith shop near his house (which Robbe helps out frequently during nightly raids) and Robbe’s mind is full of ideas. He can barely lift an axe, let alone throw it, and his friends, the few that he does have, similarly tease him for it. But, he’s going to prove that he is as much as Viking as anyone else in this village.

In contrast, Sander is the son of the Chief with his signature leather jacket and hair that he somehow managed to get several shades lighter by using berries. Raised to take over the village from the very beginning of his life, Sander has trained hard and fast for the strategy and combat that comes with it. But, in reality, Sander would rather sit in the trees and sketch the sunset than fight and kill dragons or whatever the Viking way was. But, his father is strict in what he wants and Sander has to follow them. He’s going to be the next Chief and his father has been the best Chief the village has. 

On the night of a raid, Robbe manages to shoot a Nightfury out of the sky, half-based on luck and half-based on his mind. The village doesn’t believe him and mocks him for it but his mother implores him to never give up hope and to trust his own mind. Unbeknownst to him, it was the first night that Sander truly laid eyes on him (they live on opposite sides of the village and rarely interact and Robbe knows him, not the other way around) and Sander’s never seen anyone so beautiful in the aftermath of being humiliated. 

Robbe sneaks out to the forest and finds a nightfury tied up. But, when Robbe tries to kill him, because it’s the Viking way, he physically can’t do so and quickly undoes his bounds. The freed-dragon tackles him and roars with a warning before flying off. Unsurprisingly, Robbe faints shortly after managing to stand up and is found by Sander, who escapes into the forest to get away from his father. The two of them talk as they head back to the village, Robbe trying not to feel embarrassed in front of the Chief’s son, and the two of them end up in the village. The Chief comes around and informs Sander they’re leaving to find the dragon’s nest as well as the fact that everyone at and below the age of 17 is going to be put into mandatory dragon training.

Great, Robbe thinks.

Despite fumbling on the first day of training, Robbe shows to have a way with the dragons, never outright attacking them but managing to back them in a corner. After training and dinner, Robbe frequently goes into the forest and searches out the nightfury, his new friend, who he likes to call Toothless, in hopes of helping him fly again because he was the one that caused him to be unable to. In the process, he’s learned a lot about dragons. One day, as he’s trying to flee, he runs across Sander, who followed him to the blacksmith, and questions him on what he’s working on. 

Despite being the chief’s son, despite being able to take (or arguably needing to) all the glory, Sander’s simply curious about Robbe and where he disappears to. In the muted light of the blacksmith, the two nearly kiss but are interrupted by Senne De Smet, Sander’s only friend and another trainee. Sander leaves and Robbe disappears into the forest yet again and flies for the first time, exploring the world on the top of a night fury. 

when the Chief returns and Robbe was named the Champion of the Training, getting the “honor” of killing his first dragon, the boy plans on leaving the village, knowing that he’s unable to kill a dragon. He leaves a note for his mom and his uncle and grabs a sack of clothes and flees into the forest, intending on flying away on Toothless and never returning. Sander sees him fleeing and follows him. In the coven where Robbe and Toothless meet up, Sander sees the night fury and is amazed. Upon realizing that Sander had followed him, Robbe is panicking, thinking that Sander is going to tell the Chief and have Toothless killed, and Sander admits that he’s never been interested in killing dragons, admitting that’s what he thought that’s what he had to be. for a minute, the two of them are quiet and Robbe questions "what if there’s more?”

Toothless doesn’t trust Sander, at least not at first. From the minute that the Chief’s son walked into the coven, he’s suspicious and on guard, baring his teeth and growling at him as he stepped closer. But, Robbe, his friend, didn’t seem wary of him, just nervous for Toothless if the village found out. But, Toothless didn’t have to like this guy. But, when Robbe offers to show him how to fly, there’s a mystical look on this new guy’s face and okay, maybe, he’ll like him a little bit. But, first, he’s going to make it a little difficult for him after making Robbe so anxious in the beginning. 

Okay, so after Toothless managed to settle down, Sander seemed to be enjoying the flight. Though, to be fair, he seemed to be enjoying it either way but the constant whipping and bobbing into the water was getting on Robbe’s nerves more than Sander’s. Flying above the clouds, Sander looked like he was trying to memorize the world around them, his arms wound tightly around Robbe’s waist and gently patting Toothless’s sides to reassure him. High above the clouds, they almost kiss again, getting frighteningly close this time. 

But, then, Toothless senses something and they’re thrown into the dragon’s nest, deep within a mountain surrounded by dense fog, and almost caught by the giant dragon that’s ordering the others to get it food in its teeth and they barely manage to escape back to the village unharmed. For the first time, Robbe and Sander fight, a little. Sander wants to tell his father about the nest but Robbe knows that they’ll have to explain how they found it and Toothless’s life would be in danger. But, Sander understands because he would do anything to protect his friends. 

Before heading into the village, Sander, in a particularly bold move, backs Robbe against a tree and kisses him. Shrouded in the darkness that the forest provided at night, the two kiss each other in earnest and continue to do so until they’re nearly discovered by someone walking past the forest. 

Before Robbe’s “kill” the next morning, Sander comes down next to the pit to see that Robbe is standing nervously at the edge of the pit. Robbe comments that his mother is waiting in the crowd and says that she’s proud of him. He admits that he’s not going to be able to kill the dragon with all he knows and Sander replies that he knows. Robbe makes Sander promise that the village won’t find Toothless if something happens to him and Sander affirms before asking “try not to get killed okay?” Robbe nods his head and Sander kisses him in the shadows before the gate starts to rise.

Naturally, everything goes to shit. 

When the dragon is startled by someone beating against the cage and starts shooting fire at Robbe, his shouts are heard enough to cause Toothless to flee the coven and head in the direction of the village. Meanwhile, Sander and Jens are both trying to get into the cage with him. Jens manages to get the gate open but only Sander can push himself beneath it. As the others try to get it open more, Sander rushes to get the dragons attention and manages it but only for a little while before Robbe gets pinned. But, Toothless breaks through the cage and fights the dragon, practically beating it into submission.

However, the Vikings quickly overtake Toothless and it’s only Robbe’s shout that causes him to stop fighting before he killed the Chief, Sander’s father. Robbe begs them not to hurt him as Sander holds him back and Toothless struggles not to fight. Back in the Chief’s House, the Chief rails into both of them, and Sander accidentally reveals that they know where the nest is and only a dragon can find it. Without another word, the warriors of the tribe head off with Toothless in tow.

Unable to sit back as they go to their deaths, Robbe wants to do more and knows that he might be able to stop or at least help them. Sander questions what he wants. He and the other warriors bond with dragons before flying off after the village. Once they arrive, the battle already in chaos, Sander is the one that lists off the order trainees to the others before going off to drop Robbe with Toothless at the ship. After wishing him luck, he goes to help in the fight.

But, Robbe can’t undo the chains on Toothless and they’re both knocked in the water. Robbe swims to him and attempts to free him, but he’s too weak and ends up nearly falling unconscious. However, he’s pulled from the water by the Chief, who dives back in for Toothless. Now free from the chains, Toothless soars out of the water, bringing the Chief with him, and Robbe hops on his back, ready to take flight. The Chief apologizes for his choice words, telling him to be careful because he can tell that Robbe is important to Sander. 

After his words, he takes flight. 

When Sander is knocked off his dragon by the head dragon, Toothless manages to catch him in time to which Robbe expresses relief. Now that all of the other trainees are on the ground, Robbe and Toothless work together to beat the dragon by pulling him into the air and igniting the gas in its mouth as it attempts to fire at them. In an attempt to escape with only one working tail fin (the one that Robbe manufactured was burnt up in the battle), Robbe is knocked off Toothless’s saddle and falls into the flames and Toothless dives to catch him, managing to do so and shielding him from the flames. 

When Toothless sees Sander running towards him, Toothless opens his wings and reveals to him that he did manage to catch him before he was engulfed (and killed) by the flames. Sander nearly weeps with relief, holding onto Robbe and reaching out to touch Toothless. The Chief comes up and comments that they need to get back to the village quickly to get his foot looked at. 

Robbe wakes up in his home with Toothless resting beside him. At first, Robbe freaks out and Toothless is ecstatic that he’s up, racing around the room and knocking stuff over, but as Robbe goes to stop him, he realizes something and looks down at his foot, which is now replaced with a wooden leg. Toothless helps him up and they head outside where dragons are now abundant and working with the Vikings now that they aren’t being forced to find food. The Chief is the first one to reach him and comments on his new foot. Robbe glances around and questions where Sander is. 

Suddenly, there he is, jumping off the back of a Deadly Nadder and moves towards him, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and kissing him in front of the entire village. The village hoots and cheers them on as Robbe pulls him closer. Sander pulls back and says, “I thought I told you to try not to get killed.” Robbe rolls his eyes and his mother comes up, hugging both of them tightly before moving to question Robbe on the state of his leg and if he has any pain. Sander comments that the wooden leg was his first piece and Robbe replies that he loves it. Sander blushes and admits that it could use some work before Robbe says that they can work on it together. 

Then, the two of them take flight with the rest of the trainees.

Alright, now, I’m going to bed. 

[saxxxology]

What Goes Bump in the Night - 12

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, Victorian social dynamics, allusions to non-consent and dubious consent, dominance/submission, slow burn with eventual smut, suspense/horror/gore themes.

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

Series Masterlist

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TWO YEARS LATER...

Yours and Sam’s relationship continues. The brothers work hard, sometimes leaving for weeks at a time as they go on hunting trips with their colleagues. Per Sam’s preferences, you spend your time reading and researching for them, which gives them considerably more time to focus on whatever case is at hand. 

On your second summer at the Winchester house, Sam takes you overseas to England for a much-deserved holiday. You spend the first day of the trip being sick in your private room onboard and finally venture out on the second to gaze out at the open sea. When you return, Sam promptly jumps back into the life, only giving you a couple of days to readjust to living at home before requesting your aid. 

One cold night in August, you’re woken by the sounds of an infant crying in the distance. Maternal instincts quickly take over, and you slip from the bed, runing from the room even as Sam warns you to stay back.

You follow the cries to the front door and let Sam work the heavy bolts back. It’s cold outside, and you shudder when a gust of cold wind washes over you. The cries are much louder now, and you peer through the darkness to see a basket on the stoop, piled high with blankets.

“What the hell?” Sam steps out and carefully picks the basket up, cradling it in his arms as he walks back inside and lets you close the door. Once you’ve thrown the bolts home, you’re at Sam’s side, eager to peer into its depths. 

There’s a pup nestled inside the blankets, wrapped snugly in a few thin layers that have done little to keep the chill out. The wailing hasn’t ceased, and Sam hears the sound of his brother’s bedroom door slamming shut. 

“What is that?” Dean asks loudly as he takes the steps two at a time. He’s upset at having been woken so late, and Sam places a hand on his chest, stopping him from coming closer. 

“It’s a baby,” you murmur, quickly unwrapping the blankets and checking the infant for injuries. He’s unharmed, if a little bit thin, and you swaddle him in one blanket and gently cradle him against your chest. He’s cold, his ears, nose, and fingers especially.

“There’s a note,” Sam says, pulling a thin piece of paper from the unraveled blankets. He skims over it, eyes narrowing before he starts to read aloud.

“Dear sirs, this is my son, Jack. He was born on May eighteenth, in the year of our Lord 1890. I am very sick and I am not strong enough to care for him. Your home is the only place I could think of where he would be truly safe for the time being. Sincerely yours, K. Kline.”

Sam sets the paper back inside the basket and peers down at the baby. His cries have petered out into soft, whimpering coos, and you’re carefully wiping the tears off his reddened cheeks.

“He’s still cold,” you murmur, “we need to feed him.”

“With what?” Dean asks gruffly. 

“We have milk in the pantry, correct?” You watch his nostrils flare and turn instead towards your Alpha. “Sam…”

With a grumble, Dean stalks away, heading back to his room. The sound of the door slamming again echoes all the way to the living room, and Sam lets out a deep sigh. 

“Sam,” you try again, “please?”

He swallows thickly and watches the baby root against your chest, searching for a nipple to latch onto. “Take him upstairs,” he says softly, “I’ll get the milk.”

You take the stairs carefully one at a time, trying not to jostle the baby too much. When you’re safely back in your bedroom, you slide back underneath the covers, slowly maneuvering Jack so that he’s cradled in one arm. You grip both of his hands in one of yours, trying to warm his chubby fingers. He’s barely three months old, and you have no idea how long he’d been out in the cold before his cries had finally woken you.

Sam comes back several minutes later, an old bottle half filled with warm milk in one hand. Jack’s begun to whimper again, his frustration evident as he tries in vain to search for food on a foreign body. 

“It’s from when Dean and I were little,” he murmurs when you give him an inquisitive look. “I sterilized it and the nipple’s a little stiff, but it should be okay for tonight.” He slips into bed beside you and watches you offer the bottle. Jack greedily accepts it, cooing lowly as the warm milk fills his belly. “I don’t understand why anyone would consider leaving their child with us,” he says. “We’re known through the city for being scientists who study inhuman things, not caregivers.”

“Maybe she knew I’d take it?” you supply. “At least he’s out of the cold. Any longer out there…” shaking your head, you lean down to nuzzle his soft blonde hair. 

“Where’s he going to sleep?” Sam asks. 

“Right here.” You pat the mattress next to you. “He can sleep between us, we’ll keep him nice and warm.”

Sam’s jaw tenses, but he gives in. He’s suppressed his Alpha instincts for a long time, especially with his denial of wanting children. Now, seeing you holding and nursing a baby sparks a warmth in his chest that he can’t stop from spreading. For a brief second, he wonders if this is how his father had felt when he’d seen Mary holding each of their newborn sons for the first time. 

“Just for tonight,” he says, trying to remain firm. The last thing either of you need is to bond with the infant, and as an Omega you’re already on your way there. “Tomorrow, we’ll have to let him sleep elsewhere.”

Satisfied, you allow Jack to finish the rest of his bottle and pat his back until he burps. You smile and nuzzle his cheek as you wipe the milky spittle from his chin, and Sam lets you tuck him in beside you before he turns out the light and lies down as well. One of Jack’s pudgy fists nudges his chest, and the baby gives a nervous whimper as he’s shrouded in darkness.

“There, now,” you coo before Sam can do anything. “It’s okay, Jack, you’re safe.”

It takes Sam a long time to fall asleep. When he does finally drift off, he’s torn between two final options. Convincing you to take Jack to an orphanage is going to be a long shot, and keeping him isn’t preferable either. Having a child in the house has never been a good idea, at least in his mind.

We’ll see what happens in the morning, he thinks to himself. 

***

You wake up to the sound of Jack’s mewling cries. Sam’s already out of bed and getting dressed, and he barely casts you an eye as you sit up, gathering the squirming baby to your chest to calm him.

“Good morning,” you offer him a small smile. “Did you sleep well?”

He grunts a reply and tucks his shirt into the waistband of his pants. “I’m going to make a run into town,” he says shortly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“What for?” You ask, sliding out of bed with Jack still cradled in your arms. 

“We have nothing to care for a baby,” he says, “even if it’s temporary.”

He grabs his coat and gives you a short kiss before turning and leaving the room. He’s upset, and you can practically feel the tension mount when he leaves the room without fully closing the door. You wait for the creak and slam of the front door before looking down at the baby.

“You need a bath and a change, don’t you?” you coo, immediately overtaken by maternal instinct. “Come on, then, let’s give you a nice bath and then we’ll get you some breakfast.”

You’ve never bathed an infant before, but you slowly get the hang of it. It’s easier to simply draw a bath for yourself and bring Jack in, holding him firmly as you pour warm water over his body. He protests loudly when you wash his hair, and immediately calms when you allow him to float his body in the water, held up in your arms. His little arms and legs pump reflexively in the water, and you watch him play for a few minutes before getting out and carrying him into the bedroom. There aren’t any clothes for you to change him into, so you settle for swaddling him in one of the softer blankets he’d been delivered in and make a nest of four pillows to lay him in while he sleeps.

Dean’s in the kitchen making breakfast. He eyes you suspiciously as you walk in, but you pay him no mind. You learned to ignore Dean’s attitude a long time ago.

“Sam was upset,” he says gruffly. “Bringing that baby here was a bad idea.”

“Desperate mothers do desperate things,” you reply simply, gingerly dismantling the bottle and setting it in the sink. “She probably didn’t want her baby to get sick.”

“Could’ve just taken it to an orphanage, that’s what they’re there for.”

“And what would they do with him?” You rinse the inside and refuse to look at him as he butters a slice of toast. “They give children away to abusive parents or send them straight into the workforce.”

Dean grumbles around a mouthful of bread. “Just don’t keep it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap back. “I understand that Sam is less than happy about having a child around, but he is my Alpha and I will discuss this with him as I see fit.”

Dean relents with a quiet growl. “Where is it, anyway?”

“Asleep in our bed upstairs,” you answer simply as you pour boiling water over the glass and set it on the rack to dry. “I bathed him and let him rest. I was just going to make him a little bit of milk for breakfast.”

You finish sterilizing the bottle and prepare another small serving of warm milk before heading upstairs. Jack’s awake and wiggling around in his blanket, and he immediately takes the rubber nipple in his gums. He finishes the bottle in only a few minutes, after which you burp him again and snuggle back underneath the covers. 

Sam returns after another hour. He’s carrying a burlap bag in one hand, and you cast him an anxious glance as he sets it on the foot of the bed. 

“Please don't be upset,” you beg quietly, “I know you don’t want children, but I want to have him a little while longer—”

“I’m not upset.” Sam heaves a sigh and glances at the tuft of blonde hair visible between your breasts. “I just… you know how I feel about wanting children.”

You watch him start to unpack his purchases and hesitate briefly before speaking. “You’ve never explained why.”

Sam freezes for a beat. His eyes close, and he turns slowly to sit on the edge of the bed. “You know that I wasn’t born out of my mother’s will,” he says, “I’ve always been afraid that if I create a child, I’ll become my father, or pass his… his afflictions onto them. I don’t have the time for them, anyway, or the patience.”

 “Jack isn’t yours,” you try to reason. 

“He’s barely been here twelve hours,” Sam says sharply. “I understand that children have been on your mind lately, but… Y/N, we can’t keep him.”

You clutch Jack tighter. “Just a little longer,” you whisper, “please, let me just… what if he goes to someone else and he gets hurt or grows up abused?”

“We’ll find him a place where that won’t happen.” 

You try to hide the tears in your eyes as you cast your gaze down at the sleeping baby. “I don’t want to let him go.”

Sam’s chest aches when he sees an errant tear stream down your cheek, and he reaches over to wipe it away. “Don’t cry,” he murmurs, “I know you want him, I really do, but we can’t.”

You pull your face away from his touch and turn away, slowly lying down on your side and tucking Jack in against you. Sam bites the inside of his cheek and stands up, slowly unpacking the rest of the supplies before muttering something about making something to eat, heading downstairs and leaving you alone.