#yes‚ you can drag out his turns if you manage to get a critical damage kill with Fell Bullet--which is easy to do with this ID--but ...

[cruelfeline]

So I finally restarted my Kingdom Death Monster campaign (for like... the third time) and finished playing through the prologue. Highlights of the battle:

Wylk gets attacked by the white lion immediately. No significant injuries. An okay start! Rys and Lesh are on the opposite end of the showdown board, so they throw their stone shards to achieve automatic critical hits. Take off one of the lion's weird people-hands!

The okay start swiftly deteriorates when the lion y enraged. Higher damage makes it all the more likely that we're going to be visiting the Severe Injury Table. Which is Unfortunate (TM).

Things deteriorate further when the lion performs a grasp attack. This not only severely injures Yelen (spiral fracture of the arm; gives her a temporary -2 strength modifier, basically making her useless, and results in her having to skip the next hunt), but it also leads to the lion grabbing her and dragging her away from everyone else. So now she's knocked down, functionally useless, and the lion has moved far enough that the rest of the group can't attack the next turn.

The lion tries to attack Yelen again, but she manages to use her one surival action to dodge! Which is very good because the lion is still enraged, and the amount of damage it can do would likely lead to another roll on the Severe Injury Table. The lion's turn ends, and Yelen is able to get up and move away.

At the same time, Lesh is able to finally reach the lion. Sadly, he has thrown his stone shard away to gain a previous critical hit, so all he has to fight with is fist and tooth. Which he does. Successfully. And manages to hit the lion in its testicles because of course that's an option.

Now, the fist and tooth method has a +1 luck modifier, meaning that a hit has to role a 9 or a 10, rather than just a 10. And joy of joys, we roll a 9.

Which essentially results in Lesh bite-tearing the lion's testicles off. Huzzah! Except that now the lion will target him for the rest of the battle, no exceptions.

But that's fine! Between stone shard throws and successful hits, the lion is almost dead. It's still enraged, but it also has a number of serious injuries that diminish its efficacy. It's been smacked in the head and disemboweled, so things are looking hopeful. Even though Yelen's arms are having A Day.

Wylk manages to land the final blow, and the lion is defeated. With no deaths! Yay! Everyone survives, though Yelen is out for the next hunt. We'll have to make a new survivor from our new settlement's starting population. And ye, the lantern hoard Lumena has been established. Maybe it will prosper! Probably not, but it's nice to have dreams.

For the uninitiated: Kingdom Death Monster is a campaign-style game that I can best describe as like... a boss-battler? Maybe? You make a settlement of survivors, and these survivors hunt monsters. The resources they gain via hunt are used to make armor and weapons and settlement upgrades. The difficulty level is high. Survivors can die due to a bad roll of the dice, even if they're very strong.

The world it takes place in is a literal plain of stone faces wreathed in darkness. It is inhabited by grotesque monstrosities. People die in very, very creative ways.

It's a lot of fun! But it's not a game for the faint of heart.

[slimereader]

Dragon Quest V - Victory!

On September 24, 2023, I beat DQV. I started this save on the Android version in 2019. I managed to beat Nimzo on my first attempt! My strategy:

I prioritized abilities that can be used without spending MP and items with infinite uses. That meant I mostly used monsters on my team, although I did have at least one twin all the time, so I still got lots of party chat. For most battles including bosses, I only used four party members, although I did utilize all 8 during the final battle. My mainstays:

Ryuka the Hero (LV:37) with Pankraz's sword, Pallium Regale, Ogre shield, Meteorite bracer, and Elfin charm. Mostly physical attacks and reviving with Zing and Kerplunk. I did cast Kaswoosh a few times. Due to my carelessness I had to Kerplunk him early on in the second phase, and he remained dead for most of the fight lol.

"Harry " the Hero's Son (LV:34) with Zenithian Sword, Zenithian Armour, Zenithian Shield, and Iron helmet. Physical attacks and some Kazap, while rationing MP for a few key heals and Kazing. The Zenithian Sword itself is critical for removing magic like Bounce from enemies, although I used that more against Bjorn than Nimzo.

Harriet the Hero's Daughter (LV:31) with Faerie foil, Princess's robe, Scale shield, Happy hat, Circle of Life, Circle of Water, and Dragon staff. Yes, I only used her to cast Puff! with the Dragon staff. I kept her in the wagon until very late in the game, so she was a bit under-leveled for a while. In my defense, Puff! worked great and she's immune to fire breath attacks while transformed into a dragon, which is useful since almost all the bosses seem to use them. I think she got in a few Kacrackles as well.

Goodian the Slime knight (LV:37) with Steel broadsword, Spiked armour, Dark shield, Hardwood headwear, Magma staff, and Sage's stone. I would have him cast Boom on normal enemies, but for big bosses he was the healer. He was pretty fast and couldn't be killed in one hit. Obviously the Sage's stone was a goddess-send; with him healing everyone a little bit every turn, I used relatively few healing spells. I think he also had an Elfin elixir which I used on the Hero's Son and the Yggdrasil dew. The Magma staff doesn't do very much damage, but better than his physical attack while saving MP.

The rest of the party sat totally neglected in the wagon, biding their time and gaining experience points. I was afraid they'd be useless in the final battle, but they proved me wrong. The cavalry:

Mason the Golem (LV:20) with Double-edged sword, Zombie mail, Iron shield, and Hades' helm. You get the Double-edged sword not long before the final battle, and I equipped it to my Golem as an afterthought. It worked AMAZINGLY WELL. Between the Golem's high defense and health, Meditation skill, and Focus Strength skill, the damage dealt far outweighed the recoil. And skills don't cost MP! A surprise heavy-hitter, I think he probably did the most damage out of everyone besides maybe the Hero's Son.

Kim the Chimaera (LV:25) with Cobra claw, Dark robe, and Hermes' hat. Mostly I took her out only to Multiheal, but her Freezing Blizzard skill also came in handy (for the low cost of 0 MP).

Mohicat the Great Sabrecat (LV:32) with Orichalcum fangs, Leather kilt, Iron helmet, and Bianca's ribbon. I hadn't focused on his build at all, so I was a bit worried about his defense, but thanks to his speed and luck he stayed alive for a decently long time. Just Focus Strength and attack.

Drongo the Drag-goof (LV:16) with Iron cuirass and Top hat. He was one of my main party members until I replaced him with a better dragon... the Hero's Daughter. Flame Breath nonstop.

I did find it funny that the Hero's family were widely celebrated for defeating Nimzo and not the good, honest, hard-working monsters. After all that fighting, it's time for the victory celebration!

[imagine-nation20]

Sunshine and The Art of Picking Your Battles

Summary: “I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone today, but it looks like my plans just changed.”

Requested By: Anon

Request: “I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone today, but it looks like my plans just changed.” for Jason Todd (with the reader being kidnapped by any villain you want)

A/N: Jason Todd will forever and always be the best robin and I will not take criticism. Also I love writing established relationship with superheroes where one doesn’t know the other is a vigilante, so enjoy some reader having no sense of self preservation, and Jason outing himself as the red hood.

~~~

You hated Gotham. Or rather, you hated the criminal underbelly of Gotham, which wasn’t so much an underbelly as it was a very obvious toupee on the top of the head of the city. Gotham was built on crime, and it would probably crumble under the weight of crime. Most people who lived there were either involved in crime, or involved in the vigilante justice served by the masked crusaders.

Running a bar in Gotham was bad, running a bar in the crummy part of Gotham was worse. That is, if you could claim any part of Gotham wasn’t crummy.

Still, it was a better job than some of the other options. Who could blame the owner of the place appointing you manager and fucking off to his apartment in the only part of Gotham that could afford working deadbolts.

So it was no wonder that you got jumped on your way home after a particularly grueling shift.

Three men dressed in suits too nice for the area. It was pretty much common sense to learn some form of self defense if you were going to live in a city like Gotham, however, three against one wasn’t exactly fair odds.

They tied your wrists, dropped a bag over your head, and then hit you with something heavy and blunt that was probably going to leave permanent damage.

Waking up was a headache, to say the least. Your head pounded like a drum, the blood rushing through your ears sounding like the waves against the harbor. Or maybe that really was the harbor.

It didn’t really matter, because you had a bigger problem to worry about than whether or not the ‘whooshing’ in your ear was blood or water. 

A man, dressed in an expensive suit, stood a few feet away. His head was covered in the dark, slightly shiny material of a mask, shaped like a skull. Beady eyes peered through, staring you down.

“So, what is a bartender like yourself doing associating with the Red Hood?” Roman Sionis was easily recognizable, and his identity was not a secret to the citizens of the city. He seemed almost proud to lord the fact that everyone knew who he was, but couldn’t put him away for anything tangible.

Unless of course that person was Batman or one of his many disciples.

“What the fuck are you on about?” You slurred. You cursed yourself internally for your inability to keep your mouth shut. Most of the time you were okay, but you were tired, and in pain, and this was the third time this week you had been assaulted, so you were over it. Criminals and crime lords were a dime a dozen, and despite his very intimidating reputation, you could not care less about Black Mask.

He laughed, and it almost sounded genuine, “I’m talking about the fact that I have on good word that Red Hood has been in your shitty little bar almost every night for the past week.”

You were going to kill Kallista.

You avoided associating with vigilantes, but your coworker, and the woman who worked most night to day shifts, was known for giving vigilantes free drinks when they dropped in. Now, it seemed you had been mistaken for her. Serves you right for having the audacity to pick up her shift when she was sick.

You had seen a few of them drop in on your way out, but never Red Hood. She probably told him not to catch you, since you would have reemed her for it. Red Hood wasn’t a criminal, but he was known for incurring their wrath like no one else, and that usually ended up in situations like this.

Yes, Kallista was going to die… so long as you made it out of this.

“Listen pal,” you started, glancing around the room for a way out. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You weren’t a bad friend, and you certainly weren’t going to sick Roman Sionis on your friend. Even if she did get you in this situation in the first place.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” He yelled, taking quick steps towards you. You winced back, hearing the flick of a switchblade, and feeling the cold press against your cheek.

“Listen, if I was associating with the Red Hood, I would have told you by now.”

“For some reason, I just don’t believe you.”

“Well well well, look what the cat dragged in,” A voice echoed through the warehouse. From above, you could see the familiar brown leather jacket, and bright red helmet of the Red Hood. He was reclined against a support beam, legs dangling off the one he was sitting on. “I’m going to be honest with you, I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone today, but it looks like my plans just changed.”

Hopping down from the beam, he landed, knees bent, feet light. It was almost impressive, the way he could silently drop. If you weren’t so tired, you might have taken the time to marvel at the way his pants bunched and stretched. Kallista was right after all, there was a certain appeal to the vigilantes in uniform.

Roman shifted around you, knife going to your neck. You took in a sharp breath, glaring at the Red Hood as he faltered in his pace.

“Take another step and she dies,”

“I was gonna say thanks for coming, Hood,” You glared, “but you’ve kinda made the situation worse.”

You could almost see the tick of annoyance through the mask. His fists clenching slightly, he grumbled, “This is the thanks I get?”

“I’ll thank you when I don’t have a knife to my jugular.”

Black Mask tightened his grip on you, knife digging in a slight bit. You didn’t think it had pierced skin yet, but you couldn’t be sure. 

The next few seconds seemed to go by in an instant. The shattering of glass, the whizzing of something through the air, the knife nicked your neck, then was gone, and so was the grip of Roman Sionis.

Red Hood moved towards you, gloved hands untying the ropes that kept you bound to the chair. You looked to the side, seeing Black Mask passed out on the ground, a strange arrow sticking to the outside of his helmet. You could have sworn you saw little strings of electricity still moving over the black material.

The masked vigilante hoisted you from the chair, his arms slipping behind your back and beneath your knees.

“Seriously?” You deadpanned, “I can walk, you know. My legs aren’t broken.”

It didn’t seem like he cared, as he scoffed, “I still haven’t heard a thank you.”

“I didn’t think heroes were so egotistical.”

“Not really a hero, sunshine,” you could hear the smile in his voice, even through the strange effect his helmet gave off. You went stiff at the name.

Jason faltered mid step, and you knew you had him. Spewing a flurry of curses, you wriggled out of his hold and onto the gravel below. The rocks bit into your skin, and Jason moved to crouch and help, but you were already up and slapping at his arm.

“You son of a bitch, Jason,” you whisper shouted, “you’re so stupid. How long have you been the- no, I don’t want to know.”

“Sunshine-”

“Don’t you sunshine me, Todd,” you growled, “You didn’t think to tell me you were a fucking vigilante? And moreover, you were getting free drinks from my coworker while she ranted to me about your thighs?”

“What?” Jason asked, shaking his head. “No, no, I wasn’t… I was looking out for you! I was trying to make sure you got home safe! What about my thighs?”

You paused, mouth hanging open. You hadn’t known Jason for very long. He had come in during one of your shifts with a busted lip and a dazzling smile, and left with your number and the promise of a date. You should have guessed back then, if you were being honest, but you believed him when he said he had gotten jumped. Maybe he had been telling the truth, just not the whole truth.

Stalling so that you didn’t give in to his guilty look so easily, you glanced around. So it had been the ocean you were hearing. You turned back around, trying and failing to hold the vicious glare.

“You better have a ride back to my apartment, cause we are about to have a long talk about impulse control, honesty, and the art of picking battles.”

“You sound like my dad.”

Silence.

“OH MY GOD IS BRUCE WAYNE-”

[winterscaptain]

permanent.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: just in case you missed it, i published a family tree for the hotchners! at this point, jack is married to bella and living in d.c. she’s a journalist for the washington division at the new york times and is generally pretty awesome. as always, lemme know what you think!

words: 3.1k warnings: language, hospital setting, canon-typical injury

summary: “write your injuries in dust, your benefits in marble” - benjamin franklin. au!december 2035

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

“Come on, Soph! Go, baby, go!”

Your daughter is a vision. She streaks across the field, her green and yellow uniform almost melding with the grass as she keeps control of the ball. You can’t see her face too clearly, but you know she’s scanning the field with the same intensity you see in Aaron’s face beside you. 

Isaac plops down on the bench behind you, home from Los Angeles for winter break. “How’s she doing?” 

Aaron half-turns his head, keeping his eyes on the field. “Going for a hat trick - if she makes it, it’ll be her third this season.” 

“Excellent.” 

Caroline, down the field with her choir group, lounges happily between the legs of one of her friends, eating popcorn. When she sees you looking, she waves at you.

You wave back for a moment before your attention’s caught by a collective gasp and Aaron’s hand shoots to your forearm. You turn back to the field, but you missed it. 

Everyone’s moving and you don’t know why. 

With shocking agility for his age, Aaron all but leaps down the bleachers and onto the field. Your eyes search for Soph, but there are too many people on the field, all of a sudden. 

Caroline’s standing on the seat of the bleachers, her friends steadying her with their hands on her arms and ankles. 

There’s a hand, soft and scared on your shoulder. “Mom?”

You open your arms, and your nearly-grown son ducks under it, curling into you as you stand. “Do you want your earbuds?” 

You feel him nod and you pull them out of your bag. His trembling quiets a little after he fits them in his ears. 

There’s a clamber, and Caroline appears at your side. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know. I wasn’t watching.” 

She exhales, shaky and worried. “Where’s Dad?” 

“On the field.”

But where? 

You find Aaron, his salt-and-pepper hair stark in the autumn light. He’s talking to the referee, his brows low. 

You hear sirens. 

+++

“Oh, hey! What’s up, Mom?” 

You almost hate to ruin his mood. 

“Jack, honey, can you get down to the house at any point tonight?” 

You try not to grip the handle above the car door too tightly as Aaron races through the suburban streets, following the ambulance. Soph was definitely lucid when they loaded her up, but definitely in a lot of pain. 

“Ye - Yeah...Why?” 

“Soph’s headed to the ER - something happened on the soccer pitch today and her knee…” You shake your head. “I dunno. Her knee looks really bad.” 

“Fuck. Okay.” You hear him shuffle around and click his mouse - checking his schedule. “I can get down there after my last meeting at four - I’m headed there in a few minutes, but won’t be able to swing any earlier. I’d cancel it, but it’s literally SecDef and the Joint Chiefs and -” 

“That’s fine - I just need someone at the house with the kids until one of us can get back. Elliot’s at baseball practice until six and I’m not sure if -” 

“I’ll be there. I’ll get El and then I’ll swing by for Isaac and Caro if they’re still with y’all down there.” 

You glance over at Aaron and nod. He heaves a sigh of relief and mouths Thank you. 

“Thanks, Jack.” 

“Yeah. See you soon. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.”

+++

When you’re finally allowed in to see Sophia, her eyes are red and puffy with tears. Her right leg is braced and elevated at the knee. 

Her doctor explains the situation - dislocated knee and splintered patella with a torn meniscus and ACL. “This kind of traumatic knee injury poses a couple of issues…” 

He explains that the rehabilitation and surgery needs for both the ACL and meniscus are exceedingly different, and “It’s entirely possible Miss Sophia will experience permanent joint damage. However, we won’t know that until we have an orthopaedic surgeon look at it tomorrow.” 

“What about sports? Can I still play?” Soph tries to sit up farther, but Aaron’s arm shoots out, locking her against the bed across her shoulders. 

The doctor looks hesitant, and it’s all she needs to burst into tears again. Aaron moves, sitting on the side of the bed and wrapping her up in his arms. He looks over her head at you and your lower lip disappears into your mouth as you meet his gaze. 

You shift your attention to your other children sitting patiently behind you.

Caroline’s practically bit her nails to the quick - her hands looking more and more like her Aunt Emily’s as the moments pass. 

Isaac’s been sitting in the wide windowsill for the entire afternoon, his headphones on, staring out the window, his mouth tight and fingers tearing into the foam stress ball you keep in your purse. 

We’ll need another one of those. Or five.

 You get a phone call, and you step out. “Hey, Jack.” 

“Hey. Just got Elliot. We’re headed over to the hospital now. How’s she doing?” 

You sigh and press a hand to your forehead. 

“Oh, shit. That bad?” He asks. 

You don’t comment on his tell pickup. It’s in his blood, at this point. “Yeah. She’s definitely out for the rest of the season, and we’re looking at some long-term stuff, too.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Hey! I’m still here and she’s gonna kick your ass if you keep swearing in front of me, dude.” Elliot shouts from the back and it almost makes you smile. 

“I’m actually inclined to agree with you, Jack. We’ve got a dislocated and splintered patella in addition to a torn meniscus and ACL. It’s going to be a long rehab.” 

You hear a deep sigh into the bluetooth system in Jack’s car. “Well, I’ll stay here for the duration.” 

“No, no honey it’s alright. Your dad is home full-time and you’ve got a huge project reaching critical stages. Your room is all ready for you, but you really don’t have to hang around if you can’t manage the drive every day. And Bella -”

“Bells is looped in. She’s fine. She’s more than happy to tag out if we need to. Her deadlines are really loose right now what with the whole ‘nothing going on in Arlington’ thing this week. She’s heartbroken for Soph and wants to help where she can.” 

“Alright.” 

“Hey,” He huffs, sounding a lot like his dad. “I’ll let you go. I’ll text when I’m outside.” 

“Okay. Thanks, bud.” 

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Anytime.” 

+++

Sophia’s sleeping when Alice and Hank come to visit later in the evening. Aaron went home a couple hours after Jack, planning to tag out with you later so you could get some sleep in your own bed before work tomorrow. 

Alice immediately embraces you, all but falling into your lap as you hold her. She’s shaking.

“Is she okay?” 

You push her back, smoothing some wayward edges at her hairline. “She will be.” 

Alice’s dark eyes fill with tears, and you brush them off her cheeks as they fall. 

“She’ll need your help, though. It’s gonna be a long time before we figure out what’s permanent and what’s not.” 

Alice nods and retreats, sitting in the plastic chair by Soph’s side, folding her arms on the mattress and laying her head on them. “Hey, Sofa,” she whispers, though Soph can’t hear her. 

“I haven’t heard that one in a while,” you tell her. Sofa is a nickname Derek gave Sophia when she was little. No big meaning to it, but it stuck. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if she stayed there all night. 

Hank lingers by the door. In the shadow of the room, you could easily mistake him for Derek, but that concerned pull at the corners of his eyes screams Savannah. 

Eventually, he crosses the room and sits on the little lounger beside you. 

He takes your hand and you kiss his knuckles. “I bet this isn’t how you wanted to spend your winter break, huh?” 

A little laugh leaves him. “Maybe not, but little Miss Thing over here dragged me out the door before I could get two words in edgewise.” He gestures vaguely toward Alice and you actually smile. 

“Yeah. In my experience, Morgan women don’t fuck around.” 

“You got that right,” comes a voice from the doorway. It’s Savannah, fresh off her shift and still in her white coat and scrubs. She scours over Sophia’s charts and checks on her before sitting on your other side. 

“Do you want the bad news or the good-but-also-kind-of-bad news?” She asks, almost inaudible. You glance up at Soph but Savannah shakes her head. “She’s out - those pain meds will leave this entire visit a blur.” 

You sigh. “Fine. Hit me with the bad shit.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” 

Savannah rests her elbows on her knees. “I’ve seen a knee injury like this exactly once before. No matter what you do, they can’t and don’t always heal right. She could need a mobility device permanently, even after she’s healed, and I can tell you now she won’t play again.” 

That’s okay. She’s okay. 

Better soccer goes than her life. 

Soccer is her life. 

You only know that Alice can hear everything when her shoulders start to shake. She doesn’t make any noise as she cries. She’s like her dad that way. Hank stands and places a hand between her shoulder blades, but says nothing. 

“Is that the worst of it?” 

Savannah nods. “Yeah.” She takes a breath. “The kinda good news is that she’ll be totally fine no matter what obstacles she may run into. She’s tough. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a Hotchner.”

She snorts. “Hell, I watched you bounce back from crazy life-threatening shit with a quip and a grin.” 

You raise your eyebrows and shrug. “I do what I can.” 

+++

Caroline curls into her father’s side, her double bed big enough to manage the both of them. It feels a lot like when she was little - she’d have nightmares or couldn’t fall asleep and Aaron would come and sit with her until her breath was even and slow.

“Dad?”

“Mhmm?”

“What’s Soph gonna do about college?” Caroline’s voice is small, nearly smothered in Aaron’s shirt. “She already has scouting offers and stuff.” 

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “I’m not sure. We’ll all have to figure it out together, won’t we?”

+++

Aaron steps into the room, closing the sliding glass door behind him. Alice, just as you predicted, snoozes next to Sophia, her head pillowed on her arms. Sophia’s upper body almost arcs around her and she managed to snag one of Alice’s hands in her adjustment. 

Those two…

Maybe he won’t escape the inevitable after all. 

Morgan-Hotchner? Hotchner-Morgan? 

He really only ever prepared to lose his name with Caroline. Soph always seemed far too… herself to take on a new one. 

We’ll see.

You’re asleep in the pull-out chair, your brow drawn and arms crossed over your chest. He approaches you as quietly as he can, putting his go bag down and sitting beside you. 

Much to his chagrin, you startle awake. 

“Sorry,” he says in a whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

You shake your head. “You didn’t.” Talking through your yawn, you add, “Just had a weird dream is all.” 

Aaron pulls you close and you relent, tucking into his side with a hand pressed to his chest. 

“Did Savannah come by?” He asks. 

You nod. 

“What did she say?” 

You sniff a little, more from the antiseptic smell than any emotional response - that will come later. “Soph won’t be able to play again unless fuckin’ divine intervention or some shit comes along and fixes her knee from scratch, but she’ll be able to move around just fine with a cane or brace or something after a while.” 

Aaron can only imagine it now - fits and righteous anger about getting around the house, watching games from the bench - the list could go on forever. “She’ll hate that.” 

You hum in agreement. “Just another parenting challenge. Already have the rest of the gamut covered neurodevelopmentally, so we were bound to get a physical challenge at some point.” 

“Never more than we can handle.” 

Shaking your head, you note, “This one just might do us in.” 

+++

“I swear to God, if I see you in the office at all this week I’m gonna smash your kneecaps in.” Emily pauses. “Sorry. Too soon?” 

“No, no, it’s fine.” You laugh a little and Soph sits up, her brow asking a question. 

You answer, pulling the phone away from your mouth. “Your Aunt Emily told me she’d smash my kneecaps if she saw me at the federal building this week.” 

Soph snorts. “Nice. We could match.” 

You reach over and tweak her nose. “We already match.” 

“Hey.” Emily grabs your attention again and you put your cell back to your ear. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to be here. Stay home for Soph right now and I’ll sign off on it and turn everything in for you.” 

You roll your eyes. “I can’t believe you turned into Rossi, Miss I’m Past Retirement Age But Twisted the Bureaus Arm to Let Me Work Myself to Death.”

She laughs and hangs up, leaving you and Sophia alone again in the hospital room. She tucks back into her Jello, taking bites that are way too big. 

“How are you feeling, bug?” You brush her cheekbone with your thumb and she shrugs. 

“Can you hand me my headband?” 

You reach over and dig around in her back until you find the wide swatch of colorful fabric. She takes it from you and shoves it over her head, pushing her hair back with practiced ease. 

She’s just like her dad. 

What? Loyal? 

Yeah. But also chronically avoidant. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

She huffs, playing with her fingers. “I’m fine. I think.” Her breath is shaky. “I can’t really tell with all the meds I’m on, but it feels… really bad.” 

When she looks over at you again, her eyes are glassy, tearful. “I know I can’t play again, maybe not even run.” 

You reach out for her hand, but don’t say anything. 

“Momma…” She pauses, looking down at her blanket. “Momma, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I feel like I only know how to play soccer. I don’t know how - I don’t know if I want to do anything else. I’ve never thought about it before.” 

You run your thumb over her knuckles. “Soph, you can do so much. You have a great strategic mind - you think in these big, creative webs. It’s such an asset.” 

“Don’t profile me.” 

“I’m not profiling you, baby,” you tell her with a smile. “I just know that about you because you’re my daughter.”

Her mouth twists. “Right.” She looks down when her phone buzzes. 

“Who is it?” 

The corners of her lips tip up. “It’s Alice. She’s asking me if I want anything from the drive thru.”

You mirror her little smile. “That’s nice of her.” 

“Yeah.”

+++

“Alright so you have twenty nuggets, large fries,” Alice digs around in the bag, taking things out as she speaks. “And… a vanilla milkshake.” 

“God, I love you.” Sophia wraps her hand around Alice's head and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

Alice laughs, deep from her chest. “Shit, Soph, if all I have to do to secure your love is get you crap chicken, sign me up.” 

“You could get damn close.” 

Aaron watches the girls sit beside each other in the bed, taking turns dipping their nuggets in the sauce. They’ve always been this way, exchanging barbs and affection in equal measure. Symbiotic in the extreme, one is never far from the other. 

You’re home, getting everyone else in bed and settled for the evening. Isabella drove in a night early - Jack’s headed back to D.C. apartment for a series of days-long meetings at the Pentagon regarding his latest project. 

Aaron’s excited to see her. It’s been a helluva thing to see his son married, even more surreal to know and love his son’s wife like his own daughters. 

His phone rings. 

Speak of the devil. 

“Hey, Bella.” 

Sophia looks over at the mention of her sister-in-law, and Alice looks beside herself with delight. As well as being a hit among the parents, Bella’s a winner with the kids, too. 

Some days, Caroline likes her more than she likes Jack. 

“Hey, Pops. Want to tag out?” 

“Sure. I’ll switch with you. How long do you want to be here?” 

He can almost hear her shrug. “Eh. I’ll spend the night. My column isn’t due until the end of the week and I’ve got it covered. Don’t need to work, don’t really need to sleep. Win-win.”

“If you say so.” 

“I do. I’ll be there in twenty.” 

She hangs up before Aaron can respond, so he just pockets his phone and takes the loss. Sophia, after taking a sip of her milkshake, asks. “Is Bella here all night?” 

“Yeah, bug. She’ll be here.” 

Soph and Alice share a look. 

+++

“Well, Bella has more patience than I do,” Aaron says, dropping his go bag at the bedroom door. “She’s stuck with H&M for the rest of the night at the hospital.” 

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m glad the girls have company, and fun company, at that.” 

“Fair enough.” 

The two of you quiet for a moment, and you tuck further under his arm, placing your hand over his heart. 

“Aaron?” 

His hand traces up and down your back, slow and steady. “Yeah?” 

“What can we do for her? She sounded so… defeated today.” 

And it’s true. You’ve never seen Soph like that, even at her lowest. If you were honest, it scared you a little. 

“We can be her parents. That’s all. And she’ll figure something out. If she needs to take a gap year, she’ll manage. She and Alice can search for programs together.” He sighs before he continues, leaning back to look at you. 

“All we can do is ask her what she needs and support her as best we can.” 

+++

tagging: @avengersbau @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygranger @hotchsflower​ @hotchslatte​ @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @kerrswriting @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-dr-reid @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @reids-mismatchedsocks @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @venusbarnes @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me @itsalwaysb33nyou @finnologys @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hothothotchner @happyvol7 @ssa-holmes @mac99martin @ssahotchner99 @triangularroses @vagabond-ing @itsmytimetoodream @magic_in_the_eyes_of_the_beholder

[crown-anon]

@hearts1ck my beloved

November 1st

CW: explicit; more CWs under the cut

format: one-shot

people: GeorgeNotFound

pronouns: he/him; reader has male anatomy; more specifics under the cut

edited 14 March 2021

anonymous asked

consider. okay. CONSIDER. consider masochist george. okay?? okay. okay LISTEN.

I think I have a problem with gimmicks also. because. because. ever since strawberry milk george, I. I have not stopped thinking about strawberry flavored lube. because! listen okay hear me out.

(this is absolutely 110% a response to discovering that you share a birthday with him. what of it?)

I know everyone likes pillow princess george and. that's okay. that's FINE. these are not mutually exclusive.

george looking up at you with The LookTM wearing some pink strawberry milk lingerie. not even lingerie really! just something cute like that

& him being like. "I know you love me 👉👈 but I need you to fuck me like you don't"

so I was. thinking. that brat george is the exact kind of person to say (playfully & consensually) "but I don't wanna give you head, I just wanna fuck >:(" after you've got him worked up, maybe from teasing him throughout the day, or edging him a little. but you still need some type of lube. so you go to apply the first bottle you see and he's pink when he asks you "😳 is that ... strawberry ... ?" and you're confused like ??? bro you just asked me to fuck you into next week why're you interested in the flavored lube

but. but listen. he would get so enthusiastic about it. at first it's just "maybe I can stand to eat them out just a little bit before ..." and then after you come the first time it devolves really, really quickly into the need to just. take care of you. and it stretches on until you've come three or four times, and you're still shaking, and he's just. completely gone in subspace

hmm ... george climbing up onto your lap when he's done with you, going in to give you a kiss, and he tastes like strawberry. and he ends up moaning right into your mouth because he's been so horny but so? understimulated?? that he outright jumps as soon as his dick grazes your thigh. it would only take a couple stuttery grinds before he's finishing on both of your stomachs

and he's just so cute when comes, or when he bites down on your shoulder to keep himself quiet. and it's your birthdays. so, you decide you'll give him a reason to cry. and he'll finally get put in his place! it's a win-win for both of you!!

istg every time I send you an ask I discover something new about myself. you. you have made a dreamteam simp out of me. I am but a shell of the man I once was. I think I should thank you? [👑]

hearts1ck

i say this nearly every time you send stuff in but...... by god you own my soul. all of it. this – i – first of all, the implications of masochist george losing his fucking mind when you’re rough with him? guhhhfjklgjgf. and ,..d,,f,,, ,, ,, george in pink lingerie. i. i . a... pink satin slip maybe or .... ohghfd; oh my god those. that cat panty/bra set. im ascending im losing my brain as i type this i cannot –

okay im back on earth. he’d get into that rhythm and settle like liquid while he gets to work on you, and his subspace face is so self-satisfied and nearly smug so he’s just having the time of his life,,, and he makes such a loud noise when his dick twitches against your thigh and maybe... JUST MAYBE he whimpers extra watery when you drag his hips to grind against where you’re wet and dripping/your spent cock as if he’s the one who’d get overstimulated by it. when he finally leans away, eyelids heavy, you gently fit your hand over his jaw and ask, “did you even ask? it’s one thing to come without permission, but not even caring to ask? georgie, i might just be offended,” and he whines “green”s against your neck before you even check-in

and because u made it abt both of our birthdays ,,,, spanks for each year we’ve been alive methinks ??? and then the scratch down his ass gets him hard again and he’s so embarrassed by it, ,,, , ,, ,, ,, ,, ,

also thank god you’ve joined the george boat. i’m so proud of myself for hopefully being part of the reason you got dragged over here HJFKDHSKD

#👑 anon #(my beloved) #keep #anon thoughts: george #redsick #SHAWTY WANT THE WHOLE CREW SHAWTY BAD

as soon as you said birthday spanks I decided I had to write more about this. and I was going to leave more snippets in your askbox like the fucking gremlin creature I am, but then my thoughts started. actually having structure? and then I started writing it. and I tried to do homework and write on study breaks only but. I just kept coming back to this. this is the polar opposite of writer's block. I think I'm cursed or something. so here I am rushing to finish this so that I may rest in peace!!

yes I've been writing nonstop since I sent you that ask. what of it. what the fuck of it.

when I said I discover something new about myself every time we interact, I. I'm serious. I think I might be insane or something. I'm way too sadistic. you'll see. what the fuck is this? what the fuck did I just write??

this would have done so much critical psychic damage if I had posted it on November 1st in real life, but mental illness says I can't let my horny thoughts rattle around in my brain for that long. so!! it's you guys's problem now xoxoxo

I'm not fucking proofreading this. love you though 💗

I did end up proofreading actually. oops! looks like posting at 23:00 isn't always a good idea.

November 1st

CW: explicit, anal (kind of vague), bondage (collar + leash), corruption, domspace (I think??), edging, handjob, humiliation, masochism, oral, praise, sadism, spanking, subspace, swearing. I call George a whore and a slut at least once. and also, George calls yellow at one point. this one kind of surprised me so just. Be Careful. I cannot believe I wrote this. I don't know where this came from.

format: one-shot

people: GeorgeNotFound

pronouns: he/him; I use the word "sir;" reader has male anatomy; I use the words "cock," "dick," and "head;" reader can ejaculate

—

dawn shines through drawn curtains, illuminating the tile floor and your robed figure reflecting off it. batter sizzles in the skillet as you flip the last pancake over. this side looks golden brown, like honeycomb or caramelized sugar. that delicious, freshly-baked fragrance mingles with scented candles. it's perfect, you smile. he's going to love it.

you lift the pancake with a spatula, stacking it on top of the others on his plate. you bring it to his seat at the table, along with the butter, the syrup, the honey, the jam…and you go to pour him a drink.

"hey baby," you greet warmly to the sleepyhead rubbing his eyes in the entryway, still clinging to a pillow. his hair's a mess, only wearing socks and a sweatshirt that reaches down past his thighs. you reckon he'd only just crawled out of bed.

"morning…" he yawns, stumbling past you to take his seat.

"milk?" you ask, he only nods. "did you sleep okay?"

he hums affirmatively. "I…can we…"

one track mind, you joke inwardly. but you don't blame him. "of course," you open the fridge.

you hear him pause. "…is it too early for that?"

"no, no!" you give him a lighthearted laugh. "I kind of expected it, to be honest…I want it, too."

he's silent under the noise of you rummaging through the fridge. "I—"

"sorry—it looks like all we have is strawberry milk. is that alright?"

"yeah…yeah, that's alright. I…actually…wanted to try something new." you shut the fridge, he's fidgeting in his seat.

"hit me with it," your expression is gentle. you pass his cup off to him, but he holds his hand over yours a little too long, looking up at you.

"fuck me like you hate me."

you don't know if it's hearing him swear, or the way he said it so calmly, or how he closed his eyes and swallowed hard before his tone could dip down into something lower. but like a match in an torrent of gasoline, suddenly you're burning up.

you only realize you're staring when he bites his lip and looks down. you start to say something, but the words don't form.

he laughs nonthreateningly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "is that a yes?"

you laugh with him. "I…yes, absolutely yes." you turn back around to make your own stack of pancakes. "you should eat first, though."

"what?" he teases. "will I need the energy?"

you smile. "yeah. I think you will." you can practically feel him open his mouth in protest, but he stays silent after that.

and it stays mostly silent while you cook your pancakes. you hear the clinking of his fork on his plate, but it isn't very disruptive. it sounds like he's hurrying to finish his food.

when you go back to the table with your own platter, he's already done eating. he's red down to his neck, fidgeting with the hem of his sweatshirt, looking at you expectantly. you spot a pair of tassels peeking out from under it, just below his hip bones. is that…

he pulls the hem up just a bit, holding your gaze. he smiles, apparently satisfied watching your face heat up.

"I—you should go…go get ready," you manage. he gets up before you even finish your sentence, only stopping to give you a quick kiss on the cheek.

except it isn't quick, when he slides his hand down to rest firmly on your collar, and leans in to trail kisses down your neck. "a-and leave that on," you stutter.

he pauses, just under your jaw. "leave what on?" he murmurs.

your breath catches, you shut your eyes. "whatever the fuck it is you're wearing under there."

he's hardly grazing your skin, but you can feel how hot he is next to you. it takes all of your willpower not to shiver.

he pulls back quickly, only his hand lingering. "I don't know what you're talking about." and just like that, he disappears into your bedroom.

you reach up a hand tentatively to your collar, hot to the touch. I'm in way too deep, you decide, and force yourself to take a bite of your food despite your nerves.

—

"that," you hiss. "that fucking outfit. that."

"oh, this?" he bites his lip, hooking his thumb in the keyhole. "this's just what I went to bed in last night."

"fuck you. we both know that isn't true."

he tugs gently on his top, pulling it a little to the side. "what's the big deal? can't I wear something special for my birthday?"

"it's special, all right," and you leave it at that, opting instead to slot between his legs where he sits waiting on the edge of the bed. you bring up a hand to cup his jaw, brushing your thumb across his cheek. you'll never get enough of the way he looks at you, like you're intoxicating.

…? you frown.

"is something…missing?" he perks up instantly at "missing."

"what…?" he chooses his words carefully.

"the collar—your collar. where is it?" you turn away to start going through your bedside table, but the way his lips quirk up into a sly smile isn't lost on you.

that's lube…that's a vibrator…where the fuck is it…? "w-what collar?" he stumbles over his words.

your mind jumps to say, the collar that came with that outfit, or I know you know what I'm talking about, but you won't give him the satisfaction. you decide to speak a little darker, only a firm "George." you hear him swallow.

"w-well," his voice is shaky, "you only told me to leave on whatever I was wearing under my shirt. and…I wasn't wearing that collar at breakfast…s-so technically…"

you stop looking immediately. you turn to take him in, legs crossed, stance confident, but expression showing uncertainty. you can see the regret on his face. "get up." he takes a shallow breath. "get up."

"I'm—"

"don't I'm sorry me," you snap. "you look for your fucking collar on your own."

he slips off the bed, looking ashamed, but starts digging through the drawer all the same. "I really am sorry," he murmurs. you take his place sitting on the bed. he finds what he's looking for rather quickly: a simple white leather collar with a bell, and a leash. he hands them off to you shyly. "um, here…"

"good boy," you praise. "kneel."

he shuts his eyes and does as he's told. you can see the bliss wash over his face just at being ordered around. his lips part a little as he lets out a heavy breath. if only I knew what this would do to him, you muse, I'd have done this ages ago.

you fasten the collar, revelling in how he shivers at the gentle sensation of cold leather hanging around his neck. you leave it a little bit loose, but still comfortable, and hook the leash in its place. he sits obediently still on his knees, looking deep in thought.

"Oh, I know what I'm gonna do to you," you bait. "how old are you today?"

"mmm. twenty-five." he looks down.

you smile, holding tight onto the leash. "I'm gonna edge you. twenty-five times."

he flinches away immediately, yet hums in pleasant surprise when the leash snaps taught. the bell jingles stiffly. "no way. that's way too much."

"I think you should've thought about that before you wore that to breakfast," you decide, tugging a little. he's caught off-guard and stumbles forward, stopping himself by leaving a clumsy pair of kisses on the inside of your thigh. the metal and leather feel refreshingly cool against your feverish skin. "we've got all day, baby."

you expect to hear some kind of protest, you're crazy. or a playful taunt, I'm better off doing this by myself. but he knits his brows and openly moans at the thought. "all day…" he repeats.

he looks up at you, almost pleading, and you can hear the resignation in his voice when he whispers "alright."

"get up here," you command. "on top of me." as he climbs up into your lap, a little too eagerly, you add, "and take your dick out."

you shrug your robe off your shoulders while he's working on his panties, and without thinking, you ask, "color?"

he stops, leaving his head poking cutely over the waistband. he looks up at you again. "…what?"

"um…color," you explain. "like, how are you doing? is this okay? I don't actually want to hurt you. uhhh…green means good, yellow means slow down, and red means stop."

he stifles a laugh. "you're such a nerd. I'm okay."

"alright." you blush a little. "we can stop whenever you need to. this is for you…" you think of something horribly unsexy to say. "…birthday boy."

now he's really laughing, with his whole body. you think the way it makes his collar jingle is cute. "oh my god. shut up. just shut up," his expression turns serious, and he drops to a whisper, "and fuck me."

that got you hot again. you pull him by the leash into a kiss, you bite his lip, you eat him up. and you grab the both of you together with your other hand, you moan in tandem. you can feel how you took him by surprise in the way he twitches under your thumb, the way he leans into you with his whole body. you part from the kiss and he leans back on his heels, panting hard, holding on to your shoulders for support. you can feel him shaking a little.

when you move your hand all the way up the first time, you squeeze both of your heads gently, and he practically falls into you. muffled in the crook of your neck, he begs, "god, do that again."

so you do. again. and again. what was a string of stuttered breaths turns into a single broken moan as you jerk the both of you off. when you think you're getting close, you let go of yourself to focus all your attention on him.

"fuck, sir," he whines—hahaha, that sir made your cock leak a little. he shut his eyes tight. "I-I-I think—I think I'm—"

just like that, you stop, and he goes slack, practically laying on you. but he doesn't grind back, or even move to touch himself. that won't last very long.

you let him come back down, knowing edging takes a lot out of you; maybe even more so than actually coming does. slowly but surely, his breathing steadies. you rub between his shoulderblades affectionately, still trying to ground yourself, too.

once you've found your voice again, you question, "are you gonna count for me?"

he makes a sound against your skin, somewhere between excitement and fear. "…o-one." you revel in how fucked-out he sounds already.

"one what?" you prod.

he seems at a loss, like he's forgotten himself, what he said. after a minute or two of pondering, he catches on. "…sir."

it's your turn to moan. your dick jumps at the honorific, still mostly untouched against your stomach. "good boy." and you dive back in. twenty-four to go.

—

it's noon. you're working on nineteen. and your partner's getting much more…expressive. he's started biting his hand to keep himself quiet, but he's still…

"I-I—oh fuck, I'm—fuck, I-I'm—I'm—" he whimpers through his teeth. and he yelps, whole body shaking, bell jingling incessantly, when he comes all over your hand and stomach.

you take your hand off him immediately, and this time he does try to reach down, ride through it, but you grab both his wrists to stop him. he grinds down uselessly against your thigh and your dick. although you're still hard, and only a hairline trigger away from coming yourself, it doesn't stop you from keeping this brat in line. you only bite your lip and close your eyes.

he leans his forehead against yours, moving in to give you a kiss, but you push him away.

"did you never learn how to fucking count?" you growl.

he winces. "I-I-I-I'm…I'm sorry—"

you scowl at your hand, covered in come. "here, slut," you raise it up to his lips. "clean this off for me."

he tears up a little, but takes your fingers into his mouth all the same. pretty quickly, though, he spits them back out.

"it doesn't taste good…" he complains.

"oh? oh, it doesn't?" you mock. "but it felt good, when you came without my permission, like a cheap fucking whore."

a couple of tears spill over, roll down his cheeks, yet he says nothing, only moving back in to lap his come off your hand. you can see it in his expression that he's not very happy about it, but he doesn't protest further.

"is this good enough, sir?" he asks, when it seems that he's gotten it all. it looks clean enough, you agree. you grab him by the chin, hooking your thumb in his mouth. you don't even have to tell him to suck.

"you come without my approval again, and it's over. you can go back to playing minecraft—or what-the-fuck-ever—with your friends for your birthday. do you want to sleep on the couch, Georgie?"

if he wasn't crying before, he's definitely crying now. he doesn't shake his head, but he circles your fingertip with his tongue enthusiastically, as if to say, I'll be good, I'll be good this time, looking up at you doe-eyed.

"bend over for me," you demand. "across my lap."

he does so immediately. he slips a little bit while he's changing positions, you hear the bell ring, and he scrambles to correct himself. he settles with his ankles crossed and his head in his hands, propping himself up on his elbows. you feel a little bad, you admit, but you won't budge; he has a safeword, you trust that he'll use it.

"let's try that again," your tone softens. "I want you to count for me, okay?"

he nods.

you pull his panties to the side, pause briefly, and bring down your hand with a satisfying smack.

"ohhhhhh—" he moans, jolting a little. "—holy shit, did you just spank me?"

your stomach drops, you go to rub him gently where you just hit him. "is that okay—?"

"it's hot, it's so hot, fuck," he shifts in your lap. "um, sorry…one."

seriously, something about hearing him swear awakens something in you, every time. you're fired up. you spank him again.

"mmm—two…" is he…? "three…"

you pause to massage his ass again, and to speak. "you're…you're hard again, aren't you?"

you didn't even spank him yet, but he lets out a moan. "fuck, I—I just. I want you. I want this. so, so much."

you wonder if this is actually the same George who was fidgeting with his pillow in the dining room this morning.

"you're so bad, getting turned on by something like this," you tease. he only moans in response.

"four—five—six—seven…" he chokes out. "it's starting to sting…"

you take a break, kneading the skin where your angry red handprint is starting to take shape.

"eight…nine…but god, it hurts so good…" he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "ten…"

at ten, you linger for a moment, holding a handful of his ass. "does it?"

"yes—yesyesyes," he buries his face in the pillow, and shivers. "fuck, eleven…twelve…"

you pull his panties down to his knees, and switch sides. he lifts his hips up, so I can reach him better, you guess. you don't miss the telltale glint of a butt plug, but you'll get to that later.

"thirteen—fourteen—fifteen—sixteen," he moans between slaps. he's gripping the pillowcase so hard his knuckles are white.

in this new position, the way he jumps with every hit makes his cock brush against yours just right. fuck, you're still hard from earlier. this time you're the one who whimpers.

"seventeen, eighteen," he pauses, breathless. you pull gently on his leash, he arches his back and moans, "n-nineteen." his bell jingles.

he grinds down, just for a moment, and the friction is delicious. you're a little dizzy, you think you might've thrust back. you both sigh at the feeling.

"…t-twenty…see? I-I can count…I'm a good boy…I'm good for you…aren't I?"

"you are," you murmur, but you aren't sure he hears you. "you're so good…"

"twenty-one—twenty-two…I-I feel like I haven't done anything right today…twenty-three…"

"…George…?" you hear a muffled sob.

"twenty-four…" he mumbles.

"George?" you start to get concerned. he just keeps crying. "hey…" you whisper. you gently prompt him to turn him over; the pillow's a little wet. you pull the panties off all the way, and get him out of the bra, which had a little stray come on it. you help him sit up in your lap, and pull him into a hug.

"am I really just a whore…?" he asks brokenly.

"you've been so good for me, baby. you've done everything I've asked." you wipe his tears away with your thumb. "are you okay?"

"but I—" he coughs. "—I came too soon, I came without your permission…"

you kiss his hair, and hold him to your chest. "you've been so patient. I'm proud of you."

he finally wraps his arms around you. "I-I'm sorry."

"nonsense," you reassure. "your comfort takes priority. are you okay? color?"

"I…" he searches for the words. "I dunno. yellow? I…that hurt, I think. being…degraded?"

you comb through his hair with your fingers. "I understand. thank you for telling me. I love you."

—

you stay like that for a minute. you grab him a snack and a drink, but for the most part, you just enjoy each other's company, tangled-up together. you don't bother putting your clothes back on.

it's later in the evening. you're straddling him, peppering his shoulders with kisses, and he's giggling underneath you. he turns over to give you a short and sweet kiss.

"baby?" he says, looking expectantly.

"what is it?" you sit back on your heels.

he hesitates. "…I wanna keep going. from earlier."

you're serious again. "are you sure you're okay?" you grab his hand, bringing it up to kiss his fingertips. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm alright," he assures. "I remember you promising me an all-day thing, though."

you blush, a little surprised by his forwardness. "of course. I think…I…" you laugh. "I wanna fuck you."

"yeah?" he smiles, leaning up close. "show me how much."

you hold his jaw while you kiss him, biting his bottom lip between your teeth. he tastes like the coffee and cream you made him earlier. you feel his breath hitch. he reaches up to hold your shoulders.

you pull back. "hey, blow me first."

"what? why?" he giggled.

"it's been a couple hours, I'm not hard anymore," you coax. "I thought you liked taking orders?"

he cringed. "but come tastes gross!"

you slid off him and hopped off the bed, opening the drawer. "suit yourself. you get to watch me jack off, then."

"fine by me, I think you look good when you masturbate."

"ohhh, I forget, you're too blissed-out to pay attention to how I look when you're getting fucking owned."

"I am not!"

"you are too!" he sticks his tongue out at you.

you open the lid, pouring a little on your hand, a little on your cock. it's translucent pink, seems a little fragrant. you give yourself a couple of strokes with a sigh.

he's quiet for a second, then, shyly, "um…is that…strawberry flavored…?"

you bite your lip. "I thought you weren't gonna give me head?"

"I was just curious." it's a weak lie, but you say nothing.

your eyes are shut, but you can feel him moving around a bit on the bed, you hear his bell ring a couple times. you feel a hand on your thigh, so you decide to peek. and holy shit.

your partner's made his way to the floor, on his knees between your legs, holding his leash in his mouth, his fucking mouth, what the fuck. his thumb's rubbing circles on the inside of your thigh. the half-lidded look he's giving you should be criminal.

"you—I thought you said you wouldn't…" you can't find the words. you reach out and take the leash from his mouth. you see your hand shake in front of you.

"I'm just watching…" he whispers, looking up at you, mesmerized.

you're only able to get a couple of pumps in before he's joining you, hand over yours as you get yourself off. just the extra sensation of somebody else's touch is enough to make you bite back a moan.

"fuck—!" you jolt when he licks a stripe up the underside. he mouths over the head, jerking you off on his own now. you move to grip the sheets in one hand, his leash in the other. and you come without warning. you see it end up on his hand and your stomach before you shut your eyes tight.

he's quiet while you're coming down, just helping you ride it out, giving you kisses on your thighs. when you look back down at him, he's got two of his fingertips in his mouth, licking them clean. he stands up abruptly, it startles you a little. you see his bell ring. and he grabs you by the hips and leans down to your midriff.

"…I don't think I cleaned you off all the way earlier…" he breathes, and he starts to lap up the mess of his and your come that's been on you since this afternoon.

what the fuck. why is this so hot? why is he so hot? all too soon, your spent cock twitches in interest at your lover. he cups it with a hand, smiling against your tummy. you're so sensitive it hurts. you think you mean to say something, but nothing comes out.

"hmm…?" he bites his lip. "you still want some more?" all you can do is whine. at this point, you don't know if it's in protest or invitation.

you don't get the chance to find out either, because fuck, he's really going down on you now. you don't know what the fuck he's doing with his tongue, or where his gag reflex went, but at this rate you're gonna come again.

"George—George, baby, I—slow down, I-I'm—" you plead. his leash slips out of your hand, you tip your head back.

he swallows.

—

the last thing you remember is coming harder than you ever have in your life. you think you held him by his hair. you might've fucked his mouth a little. he's never let you come in his mouth before…fuck…

it's nighttime now. he's riding your thigh, got one of his legs slotted between yours. the friction between his knee and your overstimulated cock feels embarrassingly good. you're so dizzy, all you can articulate is a loud moan. you don't sound at all like you remember. his bell keeps ringing and ringing and ringing as he grinds against you.

he leans down, one arm holding your hip, the other keeping himself propped up. he bites your shoulder, hard, hard enough to bruise. he comes on both of your stomachs.

"George," you beg. you're losing your voice.

"mmmmmmsir," he slurs. "fuck me."

"George, I…" you don't know what you're saying. the end of your sentence turns into a whimper.

"you need me to get you hard again? you need me to rile you up?" he turns to kiss your jaw, feeling around for your dick. "like this?"

"George," you sound urgent, until he squeezes right around the head, and you forget what you were saying. you're pretty fucking close to forgetting who you are entirely.

he sits up on top of you, grinning. "love the way you say my name, sir."

that name. all it takes is the way he says that fucking name and you're ready to go again. you flip the two of you over, so that you're towering over him instead. "you still didn't. fucking. ask me. if you could come."

he giggles, a little crazed. he hooks his arms around his knees, hugging them to his chest.. "so what? so what? you gonna fuck me 'till I behave?"

"yes," you reach down, "I think I will." and you pull out the butt plug he (probably forgot he) had in all day.

"fuck—" he sobs. you watch his dick bob. precome drips into a pool on his stomach. "—green—green—so fucking green."

you're still sensitive from coming twice—you're pretty sure he is too. you lean down to give him a kiss, you moan into each other's mouths. he tastes like strawberries and his and your come. it is a little gross, you admit. but he's so tight and so fucking cute that you can't bring yourself to care. you part, and there's a line of salvia connecting the two of you.

"wait—" you say, but it comes out like a growl. "roll over."

he gets on his hands and knees, reaching back and spreading himself open for you. fuck.

you fuck him like that, holding the leash tight, loving the way he arches his back into the bed. the bell on his collar jingles incessantly.

you spank him, one last time.

"th-that's twenty-f-five—oh, fuck, sir," he growls, clinging on to the blankets for dear life.

you pin one of his hands in place and reach down to touch him. he starts laughing again.

"mmmmmmay I please come, sir? I—fuck—I'm so close, soclosesoclose," his breath stutters, you can hear the breaks in his voice. he buries his face in the blankets.

I'm close, you think, but the words don't make it out. "you're so good—you're so fucking good—come for me—fuck, come for me."

—

you're a mess. there's some drying solution of come and lube on your stomach. not to mention whatever the fuck's going on with your hair. your robe is discarded haphazardly on the floor. you think you've got a hickey, but you can't remember where.

actually, you're both a mess. he's also covered in come, sweat, and lube. he's got a red ring around his neck where you pulled him by the leash a little too hard. he's just covered in bruises. he clings to your arm, still fast asleep. you both passed out pretty quickly after…whatever that was, but you got back up a couple hours later. it doesn't look like he did, though.

actually, your whole bedroom is a mess. a blanket or two ended up discarded on the floor. there's an empty bottle of edible lube somewhere around here. your kitty lingerie set, still dirty, somehow ended up hanging in the closet. the first time you woke up you were both cuddling with a butt plug that you misplaced in the heat of the moment.

you don't think you've ever seen him like that. you can't even put it into words. you've never spanked him. he's never called you sir. you've never come in his mouth. he's never…begged for you like that before. you've never been so exhausted after coming that you both just, just fainted.

you feel lightheaded, and dead tired. you know you both must have gotten back up and gone at it at least a couple more times, but it's blurry, you can't remember. all you know is your vibrator's missing, and you feel…unusually empty, like you do the morning-after getting railed a little too hard.

last night…what the fuck happened last night?

you contemplate getting up, slipping your arm out of his embrace, pulling the covers back up around him, leaving to make breakfast. you're kind of disgusting, several hours after sex without cleaning up properly. you want to get yourselves some washcloths, maybe take shower together, or run him a bath. you know he's gotta be way more sore than you are.

you catch yourself staring, lost in thought; he just looks too cute when he's very clearly roughed up, but still sleeping soundly. and with the way he wanted…the way he needed you yesterday, you don't think he would want to wake up alone.

maybe it's okay if we sleep in a little longer.

you stroke his hair and whisper, "happy birthday, baby boy."

—

edited 14 March 2021

[angelic-serenade]

Alastor + disaster cook! S/O

headcanons

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

gif, original work and characters do not belong to me

you could not cook to save your life

any attempt at cooking would result in certain failure in the best case scenario and 5.4 magnitude earthquake damage in the worst

sure, you could make edible pasta and if you really put your best efforts into it, acceptable omelette too

but anything past that level of complexity was simply out of your league, a lost cause to put it mildly

don't you even think about making a cake, that shit's dangerous

as they say: as above so below

when you landed in Hell and found yourself joining the Happy Hotel soon after, you came to find out your culinary skills had not magically improved

which is quite ironic since Charlie had made you head chef of the hotel

the string of curses which had left your lips upon hearing the news had been legendary, even for Hell

you adored the demon princess with your whole heart (or whatever was left of it anyway), bUT REALLY CHARLIE? YOU DO NOT GIVE A GUN TO A CHILD AND EXPECT CASUALTIES NOT TO HAPPEN

at this point you were certain she was subconsciously auto-sabotaging

either way, you didn't have the heart to tell her no, so you decided to put your heart and soul into trying to learn how to properly cook, which didn't turn out to be the ideal choice of words since you were in Hell and your soul was probably rotten to the core

at least, nobody could say you hadn't tried your damn best

and hey! some days your cooking hadn't even been completely sickening

you decided to stick to easy, “safe” dishes though, you know, just to be sure

so pasta and eggs were definitely a thing

a constant and repetitive thing to be precise

you were trying your best, okay? nobody in your place with your limited set of skills would have taken the job, but you did and you deserved recognition for that feat alone

or a fucking donkey hat for your skyrocketing dumbness levels

things were not so bad at first

both Charlie and Vaggie were very supportive, each one of them in their own way - even though you had totally seen Charlie trying to swallow pure unadulterated fear that one time you had announced you wanted to try to cook something more elaborate

Angel Dust on the other hand... hadn't been as considerate as to lie to your face about what he thought of your cooking

"fuck me doll, this shit's disgusting"

*insert the I don't have friends they disappoint me vine here*

Vaggie had proceeded to give Angel quite the earful while Charlie tried her best to cheer you up

you went full hermit mode on them for two days after that

you were proud of yourself, handling criticism so well

anyway, the cycle kept repeating, with the only difference that most days Angel would grab something to eat outside of the hotel and join you during meals only to blankly stare at the plates and silvery

Charlie had tried to shield you from the truth, but you weren't that stupid

you respected Angel's choice, really, you did, and you had decided to be the bigger person among the two

that's why you began to put a lil bit of laxative into his portions whenever he decided to grace your efforts and actually eat your "disgusting cooking"

y’know just to spicy things up a little

at least now he had a valid reason to complain

with the whole fiasco on live TV and the sudden and suspicious appearence of the one and only Radio Demon at your doorstep, however, things started going haywire

Alastor's presence was eeirly demanding and unsettlingly charmimg at the same time

so it was only natural for you to gravitate the fuck away from him whenever you could

you always acted politely, greeting him whenever you bumped into him through the corridors of the hotel, but you only went as far as to appear courteous because you didn't want for him to go Hannibal Lecter on you. thanks, no thanks

“and what can you do my feminine fellow?”

“I can suck your dick!”

you had snorted a bit at that which immediately shifted the strawberry pimp's attention to yourself

“and what about you, pretty dame? I take it you're in charge of the kitchens around here?”

dressed in your chef attire, you were going to meekly answer him, but before you could, roaring laughter erupted in the room. it belonged to the one and only slutty spider you found oh so irritating

in the fraction of seconds, Alastor snapped his neck at an unnatural angle to stare at the spider with a strained smile on his face

needless to say, the cursed image would forever haunt your traumatized psyche

“hasn't your mother taught you it is rude to interrupt a conversation which you have no part in? that just won't do!”

static filled the air and you feared you were going to implode if the heavy pressure didn't lift off soon enough, so you decided to take action

“ugh... yes, I'm the head chef! but, well, I... could actually use some practice and proper training?”

you hated how uncertain you sounded, but Angel's comments and your own dissatisfaction with your culinary products made you quite self-conscious about your skills

“don't fret your pretty little head about it, my dear! I, for one, am a culinary connaisseur and wonderful chef, if I do say so myself. I'll be ecstatic to guide you through your training!”

how you'd be able to handle his booming voice during hours and hours of practice was your first and main concern, but you had never been one to refuse the chance to finally prove the people who had criticized you wrong *cough cough* Angel Dust

since that day, Alastor began to personally give you cooking lessons

he was exuberant and pretty sly when it came to veiled jabs about your dreadful cooking, but he really took his time to help you out

which you had been both grateful and suspicious about

“now, we can't have our future patrons starving to death, can we?”

he was strangely patient and an overall good teacher too (emphasis on overall)

he guided you step by step through each dish, simultaneously showing off his own flawless culinary skills

you hated that you daily found yourself boosting his already GIGANTIC ego, but you couldn't help it. you could only dream about reaching that level of artistry in cooking

he always came up with creative recipes to test your limits and cooked for you in order to make you more familiar with different tastes. his mother’s were your favorites, jambalaya being his one true specialty 

he had blindfolded you once and proceeded to present you with various samples of spices, oilments and all kinds of food so that you could acquaint yourself with the smells and flavors of the ingredients and figure out yourself which ones would best suit a certain dish

saying you were hesitant at first was an understatement, because you know? being completely at the mercy of a sadistic serial killer who had terrorized the seven circles of hell? not even being able to see him? not on your bucket list

he had tried to ease your nervousness with the whole “if I wanted to hurt anyone here, I would have done so already” thing, but it was getting kind of old pretty fast

“if I had been one to play with fire, I'd have joined a circus”

he found your sense of humor as endearing your sheer presence

(when he rolled up his sleeves to cook, you felt like you could catch fire any minute, you were a slut for strong skinny arms) 

yes, Alastor had always loved to show off his own impeccable skills but he unexpectedly found himself enjoying the moments spent in your company too

he relished in seeing you fail again and again, but he also admired the way you always managed to bring yourself back up to your feet each time

he had yet to fully understand if it was foolishness or stubbornness to guide your steps

either way, you turned out to be his favorite form of entertainment in the hotel!

no matter how many slights would he send your way, you'd always manage to find an appropriate remark that made his permanent smile stretch a little more in sheer amusement

“oh dear, this beef is so undercooked one could still hear the poor beast’s lament”

“the only noise I hear is the obnoxious ramblings of an arrogant boomer”

he wasn't technically a boomer but it was always so satisfying to irk him with terms he had no knowledge of

during your cooking lessons, when the only thing left to do with a dish was wait and pray for the best, you'd come to talk about everything and anything

he'd talk to you about his precious New Orleans as he remembered it and you'd fill him in on recent historical/social developments of your time

he always looked so taken when you shared with him that modern knowledge and it made you feel useful for a change

it was, dare you say it, almost adorable how he'd ask you countless questions about your home town, the catastrophes of the last century and had there been any other war since his death?

the topic switches almost made you dizzy though

once or twice, when the timing allowed, he'd even indulge in a musical show to pass time

on the days your mood soured because of a particularly complicated recipe or bad result, he'd drag you along and dance until you were so distracted by the absurdness of the circumstances that you forgot about your previous sadness

with time, his musical shows became more frequent as he realized you'd always offer him a genuine smile after his flashy performances

it was out of personal indulgence, not because he liked the way his music always seemed to cheer you up

he'd not been vocal about the way he tried to comfort you, but you were grateful nonetheless

the first time you managed to succesfully complete one of his complicated recipes, you had almost cried

“now, now deary, under my watchful eye, it was only a matter of time until you'd finally blossom into a fine cook!”

“Alastor can I... can I hug you?”

and how could he say no to such an adorable expression? he found himself stunned into silence, not being able to tell you yes either, therefore you slowly came closer as if trying not to scare a wild animal away

when Alastor passively stood before you, not moving away, you wrapped your arms around him

he really was such a dorky noodle

he didn't relax into the hug, but he kept still as you relished in the moment and let the pressure you had hoarded for months now loose

Alastor proceeded to show off your dish during dinner and even Angel Dust could do nothing but shut up and dig in

The all powerful Radio Demon was simply so proud of your progress - not that he doubted you'd prevail in the end, thanks to his expertise and guidance

from that moment onward things only got better and even if you didn't necessarily need Alastor's help anymore, neither of you ever mentioned going your separate ways

you were both secretly glad for the silent agreement

friendly banter and dad jokes were a daily occurrence and with your new-found confidence in the field, you'd always bite back showing off new delicious dishes instead than words

you still had trouble every now and then, but Alastor was always there to help you out

not that you'd ever hear the end of it if you actually asked him for help

“what was that, my darling? is the mightiest chef in Hell having trouble in Paradise?”

you had noticed however that he'd started sneaking glances your way more than usual lately and he also started following you around wherever you went in the hotel. he became your shadow both inside and outside of the kitchen

the attention soon became unnerving, even more so when you'd go in the kitchen only find a different flower on the counter each morning

you came to realize that Alastor's advances were rather old fashioned, but you would amuse the dork and yourself for a while before taking charge

gifts became an ordinary occurrence as well as praise and you preferred not to think about what praise could do to you when it came from Alastor

he enjoyed your reactions to his flattering words a little too much, he had to admit

you had had enough of his childish antics one day and you decided to finally put your plan into action

“Al, can you come here for one sec?”

he wasn't particularly fond of the nickname, but you just loved to get under his skin as much as he did when it came to you

“what can I do for you, my darling chef?”

“here, I have a gift for you”

he looked uncharacteristically unsure of what to do but slightly amused as well. in the end curiosity took the best of him and he finally decided to open the box you had handed to him rather unceremoniously

“what is this dear?”

the apron you had chosen was a perfect fit for your long boi

“read it, please”

“kiss the cook? well, if you ask me so nicely, I just might have to”

he then proceeded to peck your cheek and you swore you could have fainted right there and then by the sheer sweetness of the gesture

it hadn't exactly been what you had planned, but you weren't going to complain

your relationship was bound to be full of surprises apparently

[dudeandduchess]

Giyuu x F!S/O: A Nightmare Come to Life (Angst, NSFW Scenario)

Summary: A one-sided love that turns even more tragic after a night spent together. Note: @biznichwrites and I are trying out an alternate reality collab fic, and this is the result. We have the same first half (which she wrote), and we divert into different endings. In Biz’s words, think of it as Yin and Yang. You can read Biz’s fluff-filled piece here. Word Count: 9,324

***

Warnings: Smut, Angst, Suicide, Depictions of Blood, Character Deaths, Love Triangles, Talks of the Afterlife

She had filled her head with pretty lies, thoughts of soft, fluffy things that tickled her stomach like butterflies. The sight of one of the few other water breath users - the pillar, in fact - brought a smile to her face. He was perfect for the role - eyes as blue as the ocean, steady like the waves, strong like a deep current, carving his own path like a river, yet calm like the water's surface at night.

What started as infatuation became a crush, leaving her whole world centered around him. Inside she knew she wouldn't grab his attention, even if she was one of a handful of slayers at the water estate. Their rarity made them all busy on missions, there wasn't much time to see each other in passing, so she treasured every moment spent in Giyuu's presence.

Despite their schedules, she tried to do more for him. The maintenance he had performed almost single handedly was spread among the both of them. Mending his uniforms when they were damaged, even his beloved haori once. Salmon was always stocked once she figured out it was his favorite, even going as far as to cook it just as he liked. That was a mistake on her part - his glowing smile pulled her in deeper.

Still she felt her heart ache over the months. No matter what she did he never spoke a word to her, not that he really spoke to anyone else. Had she done something to make him hate her?

The day she had given up on his heart came shortly after. It wasn't often she needed help or saving, but a lower moon was a bit beyond her hope to slay. She had kept neck and neck with it for some time, praying that a pillar would arrive to slay it before it ate her. Like written from a bad romance novel, her Pillar came just as she felt weak after hours of battling, his blade cutting through the neck of the lower moon with ease.

Her knight in shining armor, so to speak. He came to save her, specifically him. Her heart fluttered in joy, tears gathering in her eyes. Maybe he would be impressed that she managed to last so long, to stay alive and keep the moon busy until someone stronger arrived. Her breath hitched as she heard him inhale, as if to speak.

"He wasn't much trouble, you should have been able to slay him. If you're weak you should know not to challenge a moon." He hadn't spared a glance her way, simply flicking his sword to clear it of blood before sheathing it. Her heart broke as he walked on, leaving her to watch the mismatched haori on his back as the distance between them grew.

"Giyuu, you should try to get close to others! I know it's scary but there's plenty of people out there that are nicer than the way Shinobu makes it seem." Tanjirou smiled at the elder water slayer, urging Giyuu to connect to others the way they had, at the very least.

"I'm not sure about that. People don't like me." Giyuu sat with his legs pulled up by the bank of the river they stopped at.

"All you can do is try! Didn't you want to become friends with Sanemi?" Tanjirou wasn't going to let Giyuu escape this time, even if it meant some friendly pestering.

"Yeah, I think he likes ohagi so I was going to give him some." Giyuu stared into the distance, trying to imagine the violent man attempting to receive a gift.

"What about (Y/N)? She's been nice!" Tanjirou was hoping to point out anyone who had been kind to the pillar, at least someone who wasn't filled with malice.

"Who?" Giyuu's face went blank at the name, unable to recall who the name was attached to. "I quit remembering names of most slayers since they die so fast."

Tanjirou deflated at that, finding it sad for Giyuu to view life in such a bleak manner. It felt him grasping at straws to find the correct words to express himself as he thought of what to say next.

"You remembered me before I was a slayer! She survived a solo fight with a lower moon, I don't think she's dying any time soon, you know." Tanjirou hoped the other would understand what he was saying, at the very least.

"Oh… She didn't beat the moon, though." Giyuu, like a child that was done with the conversation, drew idly in the sand below them with a stick.

"Well we can work on the ohagi for Sanemi, how about that?"

Giyuu thought of the girl Tanjirou had mentioned. He didn't know what to make of it all - she had survived, which is what he was looking for in a friend, but she wouldn't have without help. At the same time neither would have Tanjirou. Perhaps he was being too critical, she was still alive and kicking to this day.

However he hadn't seen her much since then. Maybe she was training more? That was enough of an explanation for him. It wasn't unusual for the entire water estate to be empty with as few of the water breath users completed the final selection, much less survived long enough to rank high enough to live in the estate.

The next time he saw her, presumably after a mission as she was returning at dawn, he recognized her more than just a name. He bit his tongue, unsure what to say as he stood on the engawa staring at her tired body limping closer. The moment her eyes caught his she glanced away, turning towards another part of the estate to rest in.

He would have questioned it more, but occurrences like this weren't uncommon. People avoided him, that was normal. Yet the way she kept herself at a distance made him want to find out why she did such a thing. Why did she hide away from him?

His breath caught in his throat one morning, watching as she sat on the far end of the engawa in a simple yukata. She must be getting ready to sleep, given most slayers were nocturnal, but he thought she looked nice in the morning sun. Pretty even.

Months dragged along, her eyes never meeting his own. Yet he felt himself drawn to her. All the actions she had taken before - he hadn't forgotten them, but he hadn't fully appreciated them at the time either. She had done something for him without being asked with nothing in return. Someone that selfless couldn't be a bad person. He still felt a bit bitter with himself for being so critical with her, the same he felt with Tanjirou. Neither deserved that.

It wasn't until Murata and a few others had saved up a large sum of money to buy enough alcohol to drown all the demon slayers, that he had a chance to interact with her. The whole time he was tense, almost awkwardly staring at her the whole time.

"Earth to Giyuu, you there?" Really, Murata was the only one that talked to the pillar so freely, with the exception of Tanjirou. Having kept the pillar alive at one point gave him a bit of the right, so no one spoke of it.

"Hm?" Giyuu's head turned back to Murata, clearly not aware of anything he had just said.

"I was seeing if you were going to drink with us. We're celebrating a year of not losing any water breath users. I figured of anyone you'd want to join." Murata handed him a bottle, not really waiting for a response. Was it responsible for a pillar to drink? Not at all. Had they organized this with Kagaya in mind? Of course, they had consulted with him to make sure they could celebrate freely.

Giyuu stared at the bottle then back to Murata, eyes flickering between the two. "I've never drank before…"

"Now is a good time to start!" Murata laughed with a pat to the pillar shoulder before disappearing into a small bunch of slayers.

Giyuu had drank nearly half the bottle in the course of a few hours, but he didn't find himself relaxed. Rather he found himself in a flurry of emotions - sad remembering everyone he's lost, angry with himself for allowing his life to be ruined by both demons and his own mismanagement of his emotions, but most surprising of all he found himself jealous.

The only female slayer of the bunch was flirted with endlessly. Most of the less than classy lines were met by laughter by the slayers. He knew they were treating it as a joke, even when she pretended to be the man hitting on Murata pretending to be a woman, but he didn't like it. He rested knowing that it was all in fun, though.

His drunken eyes met hers, making her already flushed cheeks even more red than previously before she glanced away. He was happy she was mindful to wear hakama, least the drunk young men around them get any ideas.

"Murataaaaa, when are you gonna get a wife? You keep talking about settling down but you're doing a shit job at it." Her laughter was kind enough, even if she was poking fun.

"(Y/N)! You know I-I-I---! I'm trying! It's just difficult!" Murata floundered under the playful scrutiny before returning a rebuttal, "So when are you getting married (Y/N)?"

"You know I'm dying alone, don't ask dumb questions." She laughed, but the laughter joining her was awkward, quiet and confused. Technically she could pick any slayer and they'd say yes - just for a lack of women around them, especially ones that understood the nature of their jobs. A moment passed but no further comments or banter had been added to the conversation after her bleak comment. Her face heated realizing she had made a fool of herself, not that Murata was much better as he fumbled moving the conversation forward.

Giyuu watched as she tilted up the porcelain of her heated sake, taking in how her throat contracted as she gulped. Was it proper for her to drink like that? No. But it technically wasn't traditional for women to wield swords and hunt demons, so it wasn't like social protocol meant much to her anyway.

Almost silently she slipped away, padding over to her room at the far end of the estate. His eyes followed her movements, taking in the dejected way she looked. Was she broken-hearted? He didn't understand why, she was pretty in her own way, stronger than most gave her credit for, smart enough to stay alive. Maybe he was more fond of her than he let on.

After some time the men grew rowdy, playing games and raising their voices. Murata seemed to stop drinking after a certain point, clearly aware of his limits.

"Murata?" Said slayer turned his attention to Giyuu, almost surprised that he spoke. "Is there something wrong with (Y/N)? She left a bit ago."

"Oh… I made a mistake and brought up something I shouldn't have, she's probably just having some time to herself." Murata prayed the Pillar didn't press for more info, being one of the few she admitted the situation to. He was far too drunk to stop himself from slipping up.

"Is she sad?" The lower ranked slayer blinked at the question, taken aback at how simple it was.

"Yeah, she just has her ways of dealing with it - wait! Where are you going?" Giyuu stood, moving toward the woman's room without another word. Murata prayed it didn't make things worse.

The pillar stood outside her door, listening as her crying was muffled into hitched breaths and harsh inhales to quiet herself. He wasn't sure what he was doing with the alcohol in his system, but he slowly pushed the shoji open and closed it quietly behind him.

"Is there something wrong?" He was trying to be nice but the jump of surprise from her was clearly not the reaction he was searching for. Her hand rested above her heart in surprise before gripping the cloth in anguish.

"I'm fine. You can go back to the others." Her head tilted away, not meeting his eyes.

"I'm sure Murata didn't mean to upset you. Did something happen? Did you lose your fiancé?" It was the only explanation he could rationalize why she wouldn't take a spouse when she had her choice of men flirting with her earlier.

"I said I'm fine. Leave me alone." She flopped back down on her futon, facing away from him. He wished she didn't look so pretty or the light of the moon didn't accentuate the curves of her waist and hips. Despite her words he never left, she knew at the lack of sound her shoji made when open and shut.

Rather he shuffled closer, nowhere near as elegant as he usually moved. Still he slid his fingers into her hair, finding himself rationalizing the feel of her hair with the need to soothe her.

"I'm sure you could find a husband in the slayers if you're worried about that." He didn't like it, especially the thought of not being able to freely look at her and the risk of never being able to touch her again.

"I said my plan was to die alone, it's not that complicated."

"Why?"

"Men don't want a woman like me." Her words croaked from her throat and he could help but sink into the futon and pull her back to his chest. His nose was pressed to the back of her hair and he could bask in her scent.

"That's not true." The more of her he got, the greedier he became. He wanted to remind her that the other water breath users would marry her, but she clearly wasn't interested.

"You don't know that." He felt her back trembling as she held back her distress and he hugged her closer. "I'm covered in scars, I can barely fight and I'm a pitiful slayer, I don't have anything to my name but what I wear, I'm not pretty and dainty like other girls-"

Her hands covered her mouth. She was complaining to the very person that filled her with insecurities. Deep inside she wanted to hate him, but she couldn't. It didn't mean she wasn't bitter. Her love for him had soured, painting her into a corner of self-depreciation. She knew this wasn't him, this was some drunken version of the man likely looking to have a piece of her.

For what it was worth, she would let him. At least it would be the final chapter to the broken heart saga of her life.

"None of that is true."

"I don't need lies to make me feel better."

He was growing a bit frustrated. His hand gripped her waist, both keeping her still and holding her to him. He was painfully aware he could slide his hands lower to grip the curve of her hips or slide his hands upward to cup her breasts.

"You're pretty. A good slayer. You're good as you are." He couldn't think of anything more grand to say, not that he was eloquent with words anyway. He prayed she understood, but the pause in her response made fear eat at his chest. Had he said the wrong thing?

"...Did you want to sleep with me?" That was the only conclusion she could think of. He was drunk and needed a body that was willing. If he was into women she was the closest one, and considering she was the only one in the estate he had to act fast.

"Sleep with you?" His words were quiet, as if he was scared to say them loud enough.

"As in sex. Did you want to have sex with me?" She was only so bold because she was facing away from him. The alcohol and bitter feeling in her chest brought up the question, but she could never work up the nerve to ask if she was looking directly at him.

He buried his face against her neck weighing the options. She was drunk, but so was he. There was no way either should do this. At the same time he doubted the option would ever be available again, especially as his attraction to her grew.

"Yes…"

He hovered over her, pushing in deeply with a moan. Her eyes had shed so many tears through the night, even more when he undressed her, but he couldn't help but to find her more addicting than before.

"You're so warm, oh fuck…" His head rested against her shoulder as he found himself able to thrust into her depths. "You're so beautiful, so perfect."

He heard her crying harder, moans of pleasure breaking through her moans of agony. Long had passed the attempts to calm her tears, especially when she grew nervous when he saw her naked.

He never missed her whispers of self-depreciation, how she fought all compliments that slipped from his lips as he undressed her layer by layer. Even if she found herself disgusting he couldn't agree with her. Every scar he uncovered, every little imperfection his eyes found cemented his infatuation.

It was her, something so unique to only her. No one else could replicate every little aspect of her.

Yet he couldn't make her stop crying. Soft whispers of praise didn't just fall on def ears but only pushed her into further despair. Every kind thing he said only brought more tears.

He didn't miss how her hips canted into his, how her eyes grew hazy as pleasure set in - the way her lips trembled after he kissed her, the second of hope in her eyes before she turned her head away.

The soft hiccups between whimpers were never lost on him. They came at his every kiss and praise, every moment he touched her in a way she enjoyed. As if some part of her wanted to receive his adoration before becoming buried in negativity.

She couldn't deny it, either. Simply knowing he didn't despise her, or at least a part of her, both healed and hurt her. For a moment she had some value to him. She was someone worthy of his sole attention.

Rough hands graced her body, pushing her hair from her face before guiding down her neck to cup her breast, gently squeezing her nipples before tracing her scars down her torso. When he reached her hips one hand held firm while the other graced the area above where they were joined. He remembered in a haze that men had talked about women feeling good there. A clit? All he knew is that her legs tightened around his hips the moment his thumb grazed the tip of the bud.

Abusing such a sensitive spot to see her reactions was a bit cruel on his part, but he wanted to see her relieved of her tears. It was time she felt good - both in terms of sex and about herself. He basked in the moment he hands left her face to cling to the bedding below her.

Dipping down he kissed her lips again, taking in how she seemed to squeeze tighter at the simple piece of affection. Despite the fact she felt inferior he adored having her like this - seeing her broken, in a way no one else has seen before, and the ability to see her put back together again. The vulnerability neither showed the world, only shared with the other.

He shifted his hips, thrusting deeper than before. She clenched around him in ways that made him regret never considering doing this sooner. At the same time, he knew their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Their suffering was similar in a sense, they both could understand not having any value in themselves. Had he really been so blind to her all this time?

"You're so good." His head fell to her shoulder as his hips jerked into her warmth. The man felt elation when she gave in and clung to him. At first her hands were lightly touching, only loosely circling his back. Even if he wasn't sober he recognized enough of her reactions to make her react how he wanted.

Kisses were placed to her cheek and jaw as he tilted his head from her shoulder. Her breath shuttered, her nails timidly scratching his skin as her hold grew more firm.

He didn't expect her to orgasm from such simple affection but he couldn't explain why else her core felt as if it were milking his cock. Her arms and legs tightened around him, pulling him flush against her as her face buried into the curve of his neck.

It was welcoming to hear a cry of pleasure rather than anguish. The sound graced him, bringing him to climax shortly after her. Had he been sober he would have been more mindful of mindlessly cumming inside her without a second thought. For the moment he wanted to bask in the feeling. The afterglow of sex was only highlighted by the feeling on her nuzzling into his neck.

For a moment she accepted him. Someone liked him, even if he could still hear her hiccup as warm tears covered her cheeks again. He considered wiping her tears away but decided that he would rather let her hide against his chest. It was somewhere safe, where the judgements of the world that had brought her so low couldn't touch her.

Her heart throbbed at the feeling of him holding her close, even as they shifted to lay chest to chest on the futon. His cum dripping out to dirty her thighs wouldn't deter her for enjoying the moment. Regret and shame could come later, for now she wanted to accept just a grain on the validation he gave. Even if he regretted in the morning she wanted to savor the moment.

*** [Jen’s part starts here]

When morning came, Giyuu greeted it with a heavy heart and an even heavier head. Flashes of what he’d done the night before played in his mind; and with every memory that flickered in his mind’s eye, he felt his heart sink deeper and deeper into the pit that was his stomach.

It was true that he realized that he was fonder of (Y/n) than most, but he was in no way prepared to take on the responsibility of caring for someone else’s emotions. He could barely even keep himself in check, who was to say that he could help heal her broken heart?

Especially when he was the one whom had broken it in the first place.

There was nothing more that he wanted to do than to get out of that room before she woke up, but the sight of her curled up beneath the lilac blanket had him staying right where he was. The least he could do was tell it to her straight, instead of running away like a coward.

He had to tell her that what had happened between them was a mistake.

And that was how (Y/n) came to: seeing Giyuu sitting right next to her— with his clothes already on, and with his head in his hands, as if the weight of the world had been perched on his shoulders.

A small smile made its way onto her face as she sat upright— gripping the blanket tight to her naked chest, and gently laying a hand against his arm. Only, instead of welcoming her touch, the Pillar’s body tensed up.

She felt her heart sink at that, as her smile dissolved into a confused frown. Had she done something wrong? Was last night not good for him? Did he find her repulsive in the morning light? Those thoughts kept flitting around inside her head, weighing her emotions down even more than they were when her brain had been addled with so much alcohol.

Slowly, she retracted her hand away from him and moved to tuck the blanket beneath her arms— holding them up to cover her modesty, even though she knew that he’d already seen everything. There was just something about being around him at that moment that had her feeling so insecure of herself; like she’d known all along, no one would have found her appealing, least of all the Water Pillar.

Giyuu tried to reach into himself to find the right words to say, almost clinging on to the notion of spouting lies in his desperation to spare her feelings. But he couldn’t do that to her, not after he’d taken the last thing she had left to offer him, aside from his heart.

“Thank you for last night,” The young man began softly, and his words felt like a harsh slap to (Y/n)’s face. Because those words weren’t the words of love that she’d fantasized about; they were cold and flat, as if he was saying them out of politeness instead of sincerity.

She’d known that it was going to be impossible to make him fall in love with her; but it didn’t hurt any less to have him try to gently turn her down, just as he was doing at that moment. Everything in her wanted her to scream and rage, to make him do the impossible task of turning back time— if only so she could push him away.

Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, even though she tried so hard to keep herself from showing him any kind of reaction. Her chest grew even heavier with the silent expectations that she’d had for his next few words— mentally bracing herself for a spiel that was going to push her away from him for good.

“But last night… can’t happen again. It was never supposed to happen.”

Still, when he uttered the words, she couldn’t help but flinch and look down at her lap— where her hands were worrying the lilac-colored blanket between her fingertips. And, no matter how hard she tried to push back her tears, they still welled up in her eyes and began to roll down her cheeks in hot rivulets.

Words had eluded her, as all she could think about was Giyuu’s own sentence that more or less said that sleeping with her had been a mistake.

“I can’t be in a relationship with anyone right now; I won’t be good for you, nor will I be good for anyone else.”

(Y/n) pursed her lips at that, cutting off the sob that wanted to escape her lips, as his words burrowed themselves deep into her heart— cutting her deeper and deeper until she felt like there was nothing left inside her chest.

Instead of staying, however, Giyuu slowly got up from where he sat and made his way over to the door— pointedly avoiding looking at the crying woman, whom was barely holding herself together in his presence. “I’m sorry, (L/n). Please forget everything that happened last night.”

The slayer couldn’t even bring herself to look up at him, even well after he had closed the shoji quietly behind himself. Her entire body felt so helplessly broken and cold, numb down to the tips of her fingers, and easily fragile even as she moved to hug herself in an effort to hold herself together.

That was the last day she had ever talked to Giyuu, let alone even looked at him. It made for an awkward time around the Water Estate, so she had gotten in contact with the one person whom she knew she could count on to save her.

It was a desperate attempt to cling on to Sanemi, but it was all she could do when she had been backed into a corner with no other option. It was either she moved in with her childhood friend, or risked Giyuu finding out the secret that she so desperate wanted to keep from him.

She would not have acted so delicately in any other situation, but as time went on— she noticed that Giyuu had been coming back to the estate later and later; until he would be gone for days at a time with no word to anyone if he was out on a mission or on an errand.

The Pillar she had known was not like that at all, so it was a cause for suspicion.

(Y/n) had tried to avoid him as much as she could, but doing her old tasks of mending his uniform and haori, as well as washing his clothes had been hard to let go of— as everyone already had a routine that they had stuck to, and no one was willing to switch chores with her, unless she told them the real reason why she suddenly wanted to switch to doing kitchen tasks instead.

And in doing those tasks, she slowly found that his uniforms and haori were always newly mended, with the subtle signs of a feminine touch. But it wasn’t until she’d seen the embroidered heart on the sleeve of his haori that she’d arrived at the conclusion that he was seeing someone.

His words of how he couldn’t be in a relationship with anyone played in her mind, as a bitter laugh bubbled free from her lips— which was then followed by such quiet and breathless sobs that made her feel even sorrier for herself.

Because there she was, still in love with the same man whom had turned down her love and was adamant about not being in a relationship with her. Only to find out that he was seeing someone else; maybe even loved that someone.

That would explain why he was brooding less often on the rare days when he stayed in the estate, and would also explain why his overall aura seemed lighter than before.

Of course, it hurt, and she knew that she couldn’t keep turning a blind eye to it— not when his mere presence was an insult to her pain.

That was how she found herself moving in with Sanemi and telling him everything that had happened between her and Giyuu, before eventually coming clean with the fact that she was two months along with a baby— Giyuu’s baby, to be exact.

Sanemi had offered to take the child in as his own, and had even made hints of wanting to marry (Y/n)— all of which she had adamantly refused. Because she couldn’t do to anyone else what Giyuu had done to her, and that was use her.

“I can take care of you. No one would even dare to say anything if the baby doesn’t look like me, as long as I say that I’m the father,” Sanemi had insisted, cupping her face gently in his hands and wiping her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “Please, (Y/n)… let me take care of you.”

Little did she know that Sanemi’s words weren’t being said out of a false sense of duty, rather for something completely genuine and heartfelt. He felt for her what Giyuu never did, yet Sanemi was too hesitant to put any pressure on her— as he was ready to keep her in any way he could, rather than lose her altogether.

The Wind Pillar loved her too much to do that to her, so he lived most of their life keeping his own feelings to himself. It hurt to see her pine after a man who didn’t want her in the first place, and it hurt him even more when he found out that she had been used the way she had, so enough was enough.

He had wholeheartedly accepted her to move into the Wind Estate, ushering her to just leave her things at the Water Estate— all so she wouldn’t have to bear witness to more of Giyuu’s thinly concealed happiness.

It took everything in him not to throttle the Water Pillar the last time they’d had a meeting at the Demon Slayer headquarters, because that content expression on Giyuu’s face grated so badly on his nerves— especially since he always heard (Y/n)’s soft cries at night, when she thought that everyone was already asleep.

Even being near Giyuu made Sanemi’s hackles rise, because he believed that he shouldn’t be so content with his life— not when he had left (Y/n) hurting by herself. To add insult to injury, Giyuu hadn’t even asked anyone for (Y/n)’s whereabouts— which he had initially expected to happen.

But it appeared that Sanemi had expected too much, because it seemed that the other Pillar didn’t even care at all. He didn’t even give any indication that he was worried about (Y/n) at all; and that only angered Sanemi even more.

He would be damned if he even let Giyuu get a glimpse of (Y/n) or her child ever again. So, he swore to never let the Water Pillar close enough to hurt the person he loved the most; never again.

***

All the while, Giyuu felt like he was walking on cloud nine. For once in his life, he felt content and mildly happy in the arms of his lover. However, that contentedness could only last so long, until the thoughts of that night with (Y/n) played in his mind.

Every kiss and every touch plagued him when he was weakest, and the more that he dwelled on his guilt, the more that he felt empty inside; as if the happiness he felt showed its true nature by being fleeting and temporary.

He tried to mask it at first, pretending to keep up the act that nothing was bothering him— just like how he’d felt in the first few months with his lover. The words he’d said to (Y/n) the morning after had him shaking his head to get rid of them, and it was easy to ignore at first— until it had gotten up to the point where he couldn’t even have a moment’s peace without his words coming to gnaw at his conscience.

He knew that he’d done (Y/n) so much wrong by lying to her like that— by telling her that he wasn’t suited to be with anyone when, in reality, he just wasn’t ready to open his heart up to her; at least, not at the time. It was easier to open his heart up to someone who didn’t have a clue that demons existed— someone whom he knew he wouldn’t be able to lose, if he just kept them in the dark.

He had let his own irrational fears decide for him, but what was done had already been done— and he couldn’t take anything back.

His shame and guilt were the main reasons why he never sought her out, even though he had heard that she was living with Shinazugawa at that point.

Did he feel guilty? Yes. Was it taking its toll on his newfound relationship? Definitely.

Giyuu had gotten to the point where he couldn’t even close his eyes without seeing how broken (Y/n) was when he’d left her in her room.

And it wasn’t until he’d seen (Y/n) come back to the Water Estate with Shinazugawa that things had snapped into place for him. Jealousy stirred within his chest, especially when he saw the care and gentleness that the Wind Pillar treated her with— and he found himself wishing that it was him in his place.

The way that the silver-haired Pillar was acting towards her could have been construed as how a husband would act with a wife, and Giyuu found the thought of (Y/n) being married to his comrade leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

Still, he could only look on from outside her room, as they picked out the things that she wanted to take— namely: her family’s mementos.

And no matter how hard he tried to talk to her, Sanemi made a point to cut him off and take up all of her attention; leaving him feeling so unneeded and uselessly dismissed to the side, as if he didn’t even matter.

Giyuu couldn’t even say anything as they left with nothing but a small rucksack of the things she had wanted to bring— leaving her room in pretty much the same state as she had left it in, in the first place.

He’d tried to get a hold of her after that, sending her numerous letters via crow and always getting them sent back in an untouched state. All that was left for him to do was go and visit her at the Wind Estate, but he was saving that last desperate attempt for when he really needed it most.

But, not even his lover’s company was enough to keep his mind off of (Y/n); always seeing her face in his mind whenever he closed his eyes, and silently wishing that it was him that she had been talking to and softly smiling at on that day when she returned to his Estate.

He wished that he was Shinazugawa, all so he could have her in his arms again.

So, that was how he found himself ending things with his civilian lover; feeling horrible that he hadn’t felt as much guilt when ending things with her, as opposed to how he felt when he pushed (Y/n) away.

When he’d gotten back to his estate the morning after breaking things off with his lover, he found things much more silent than usual. There was no activity in any part of the grounds, and it seemed that there were no slayers in the house; even those who should have been asleep weren’t there.

It was as if his estate had suddenly become a ghost town.

And it was only in the afternoon, as he was sipping on his tea, that he found out exactly what the cause of everyone’s absence was.

Murata staggered into the house with his arms slung over two other slayers’ shoulders. His face was all red and blotchy, while his cheeks were marred with both fresh and dried tear tracks that had Giyuu setting his tea cup down and listening in to what was happening.

“I can’t believe that she’s gone,” Murata cried through a sob, shaking his head in disbelief as the two other men carried him through the halls— stopping right by the doors that led to the engawa, and bowing as a show of respect to Giyuu.

“Gone? Who?” The Pillar asked softly, feeling a tinge of uneasiness touch his chest as he waited in nervous anticipation for his subordinates’ answers.

However, the lower ranked slayers looked between each other before one of them spoke up, “It’s (L/n), Tomioka-sama. She was found dead last night… by seppuku.”

Giyuu felt as if his entire world had stopped at hearing the news. His entire body felt cold, and his heart had all but stopped beating inside his chest. Tears pricked the backs of his eyes, as he furrowed his eyebrows in bewildered confusion— and denial.

His heart, which he had held so carefully within himself, began to crack with every shaky exhale that passed from his lips. And he tried opening his mouth to speak, only to close it when no words would come out— until his own tears spilled over and ran down his face in hot rivulets.

He hadn’t wasted anymore time after that; instantly making his way towards the Wind Estate and getting there when dusk had long since bathed the world in darkness.

Lanterns lit up the path that led to the estate, where people were trickling out of the gates in either pairs of small groups. Most of them were expressing their pity towards the husband of the deceased, which confused Giyuu immensely; not to mention the fact that it harped on his nerves, as his jealousy reared its ugly head inside him.

“I heard that she was five months along. Poor child.”

He pushed past the thinning crowd, feeling his heart begin to race even more as reality slowly began to set in.

She really was gone.

And it was only when he reached the wake that had been set up in the backyard that the tears he’d thought had long run empty began to roll down his cheeks once more.

Flowers adorned each and every vacant space of the altar that (Y/n)’s body had been laid on; all of them in a creamy white color that seamlessly mirrored the kimono she wore. But it wasn’t the ornate kimono, or the grandiose display that caught Giyuu’s attention; it was the smaller, but not less ornate, kimono that had been laid over (Y/n)’s chest— with her hands cupped over it, as if protecting it from the world.

He felt the last bit of his heart wilt away at the sight of it, because a part of him just knew… that child was his; or, it had been.

“What the fuck are you doing here? I didn’t invite you.” A familiar voice snarled behind Giyuu, making him whirl around and meet Sanemi’s angry lilac eyes. They were more bloodshot than usual, and seemed puffy— as if he had just gotten done crying.

“I have a right to be here.”

“The fuck you do. You did this to her!” Sanemi yelled angrily, shoving the other Pillar with all the strength he could muster, and knocking him down onto the ground before the altar. At that point, more tear had overflowed from his eyes, and were dripping down his face; yet he made no move to wipe them away. “I loved her. I wanted to give her the world, but all she wanted was a bastard like you!”

The Wind Pillar lunged at Giyuu at that point, unmindful of the bewildered crowd around them as he reared his fist back and landed a solid punch to Giyuu’s face.

“You’re the reason she’s gone! You don’t deserve to fucking see her again!” Before he could throw another punch, Sanemi was pulled off of Giyuu by two pairs of strong arms— and when Giyuu looked up, it was to see both Gyōmei and Rengoku looking down at him with what he could only construe as pity.

Still, as his fellow Pillars pulled Sanemi away, he could still hear the other man’s cries of how he had never deserved to even look at (Y/n) in the first place.

Giyuu looked back at where (Y/n) laid, feeling shame envelope him more and more the longer he stared at her from his place on the ground. He didn’t even make a move to stand up, because he was so ashamed of what he had done to her.

And, for once, he agreed with Sanemi: he had never really deserved to even look at (Y/n) in the first place.

Still, the longer he looked at her body, the more he felt his guilt gnawing at him. The longer that he took her in, the more that he couldn’t keep himself from thinking just how much pain she had been in when she was dying.

He couldn’t help but think that she had suffered all of that pain, just so she could be free of him. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

***

To say that Giyuu felt tired was the understatement of the century. He was so torn and beat up, and missing one arm as he waited for death to consume him. He couldn’t even feel anything as he felt the last ounces of life drain away at his fingertips.

But, in his last moments, all that filled his mind were thoughts of (Y/n) and all of his regrets— as all of them had to do with her and their unborn child.

He knew that he shouldn’t have pushed her away like that; that things could have been different had he stayed and tried to open his heart up to her. He also knew that things would have been different— that he would have been happy in his final moments— had he tried to give (Y/n) the life that she deserved.

If he had just tried to love her back, instead of taking so long to realize the real extent of his feelings for her, then maybe— just maybe— he would have been fighting even harder to stay alive.

Images of what he thought their child would have looked like flickered in his mind; each one bringing more tears to his eyes than the last. He saw her holding their child, smiling at him so warmly as she welcomed him home— a thought that would never come true, because he had been the one who’d pushed her to end her own life.

And, in her death, all those dreams of the simple life they could have had as a family plagued him— as if it were an alternate reality that was playing in his mind whenever he found enough solace to fall asleep. In his dreams she was happy— greeting him so warmly at their own home after he came home from a mission.

But the part that made his heart ache the most were the images of a baby boy— with blue eyes, much like his— who would crawl on the floor just to get to him; clinging tightly to his hakama just so he could stand up on his own two feet and demand to be carried.

“Papa, up! Yuu miss papa!” The boy would cry out, almost close to tears as he looked up at Giyuu earnestly. And, like always, it would make the Water Pillar’s heart ache— because it was another reminder of what he could have had, but had chosen to let go of.

Happiness was within his grasp, yet he’d thrown it away out of fear. He’d cast (Y/n) aside and had never tried to make amends, so it was his own fault that she was gone.

She hadn’t wanted to be a burden to Sanemi, and she hadn’t wanted to beg for scraps of his affection— so she had done what she thought was necessary to free him and the Wind Pillar of any sort of obligation to her.

He’d only found that out after Shinazugawa had— reluctantly— given him a short letter that wasn’t even meant for his eyes. They were only meant for Sanemi, but the other pillar had wordlessly given him the piece of paper during one of their Pillar meetings, and had not spoken to him since.

A tourniquet had been wrapped around his wound, yet he still felt nothing as medics raced to patch him up as best as they could. He couldn’t even lift his head up, what with the heaviness of his thoughts weighing him down.

Giyuu could only let his head loll to the side as he took in the way that the only remaining Pillar— aside from him— had been wrapped tightly in bandages. But, he’d noticed, that he kept his right hand enclosed tightly around something.

The medics had tried to get him to let go of it, after they’d thought that he was already asleep— but were met with hostile glares and snarls that warned them to stay away from whatever he had been holding.

And it was only when Sanemi had already passed out that he saw what the other man had been tightly holding on to: it was the very necklace that (Y/n) had come back for that day at his estate. He’d seen it briefly when he had been waiting for her to wake up, and there was no mistaking it— it really was (Y/n)’s.

He felt his chest tighten at the sight of it, and part of him longed to reach out and claim it for himself; but another part of him— the more rational and conscientious side— had him stay right where he was.

After all, he was the reason that she was gone in the first place. Just like he was the reason that his sister had died, and also why Sabito had died.

And as he thought more about it, the more he realized that all he brought to others were pain and suffering— and death.

So maybe, dying at that moment was a fair price to pay for all the people he’d hurt in that lifetime. He could only hope to see his sister and Sabito briefly, or maybe even (Y/n), before he accepted his fate in hell.

BONUS:

Cold, icy fear gripped (Y/n)’s heart tightly; the pressure only getting heavier and heavier on her chest as she placed a shaky hand on top of her abdomen— ignoring the warm blood that had already soaked through her yukata, and was slowly pooling on the floor where she sat.

She couldn’t even lift her head with the shame she felt weighing down on her shoulders, because she had chosen the most cowardly way to go. It wasn’t what she had been raised to believe in, but it was the only form of escape she could think of.

Still she hoped, and prayed, that Sanemi would never resort to blaming himself for her decision to end it all; and that Giyuu would find it in himself to forgive her.

At the very thought of Giyuu, more broken sobs left her chapped lips— making her muscles contract, and agitating her self-inflicted wound even further. It hurt so much that she just wanted it to be over— that she just wanted to feel her life drain out of her at a faster pace— but she knew she deserved to feel all of the hurt that she could in her last few moments.

She deserved to suffer, not because she was taking the coward’s way out, but because she was taking an innocent life along with her.

Her hands moved to cup the small baby bump on her stomach, knowing that whatever life that had been in there was already gone— or already close to being gone. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Her words repeated themselves over and over in her head— inevitably bringing her back to the moment when she had written the very same words, with shaky hands, on parchment; immortalizing them in a letter that she had addressed to Giyuu.

I loved you when I didn’t even love myself. And that was wrong of me. I’m so sorry, Giyuu.

More tears rolled down her cheeks, as her heartache doubled at the memory of writing the words down played in her mind. She could feel what was left of her soul slowly chipping away, with guilt and fear gnawing at it for having claimed to love a man that she knew would never even love her.

I’m sorry to the child that could have been; a broken mother, and a father who didn’t want it… I couldn’t do that to it. I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me, Giyuu.

Please, it’s all I ask… that in another lifetime, if you ever see me again, that you would not hate me for doing what I thought was best for you and the baby.

Maybe, in another life, in an alternate reality, we could have been happy… just not in this one.

Her head was beginning to spin with the blood loss, and she knew that it wouldn’t take long before she finally met her fate— so, with one last prayer, she asked the spirits of her deceased family members to take care of her child when she crossed over, and to look after Giyuu.

All because she knew that she would never be able to do it from hell.

“I’m so sorry,” were her last words to the life that had been inside her, before she slowly succumbed to her mortality.

And, when she came to, it was to a cold and desolate place that was filled with nothing but darkness. No matter where she looked, all she could see was pitch black.

Of course, she was afraid, but all of that fear vanished when she looked down at her arms and saw a tiny child that was swathed in a white blanket. Her breath caught in her throat, as guilt bubbled up inside her— lodging itself in her throat and making her tear up as she took in more and more of its features in the dim light trained on her.

With the lightest touch she could muster, she lifted her right hand up to the baby’s cheek and traced its smooth cheek— gasping softly when it opened its eyes and presented her with irises that were much like Giyuu’s blue ones.

“Hello, you must be (Y/n).” The soft and melodic voice had the young woman jumping in surprise— tightening her grip around her baby and holding him closer to her chest, as if to protect it from the stranger. And when she looked up, she was met with the face of two women— much more beautiful than her, and with presences so comforting that it made her want to hug them and cry in their arms. “I’m Tsutako. Tomioka Tsutako.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened at that, as she knew that Giyuu had had an older sister once upon a time; someone he had never mentioned, but had been talked about within the lower ranks of the slayers— and it was, regretufully, how she knew.

“You might not remember me, but I’m Shizu…” The other woman whispered, smiling slightly all the while.

“I… you’re Sanemi’s mother. I remember,” (Y/n) admitted quietly, trying to hold back her tears as reality sank in: she really was in the afterlife. She’d died and brought her child along with her.

She didn’t even dare to ask why they were there; she already knew the reason. Her family’s spirits had ostracized her and didn’t even bother to show themselves to take her baby to heaven with them. It was a thought that stung her deeply, but she had no choice but to shoulder it and try to pretend that it wasn’t affecting her at all.

All so she could save face.

(Y/n)’s eyes flitted from one woman’s gaze to another, knowing full well whom she was supposed to go with, and what she was supposed to do. Yet, her limbs stayed frozen— wanting to hold on to her baby for a little longer, even though she knew that they didn’t have forever to stay in limbo.

She looked down once more at hers and Giyuu’s son, inhaling deeply as she brought him up to her face and pressed a kiss to his forehead; desperately fighting off the tears that had clouded her vision, and had begun to stream down her face in hot rivulets.

It felt like her heart was breaking all over again, as soon as she’d had a momentary taste of happiness.

“Please take care of him,” (Y/n) whispered, nuzzling the tip of her nose against her baby’s cheek and memorizing how he smelled like; as it was the first and last time that she was ever going to see him. “And please always tell him how much his mama would have loved him. And that she’s sorry for not giving him a chance to live.”

Her tears had dripped onto the now-sleeping baby’s face, which she wiped off with the tips of her fingers— right before hugging him close one last time; savoring every second that ticked by, before she reluctantly stepped towards Tsutako and handed him off to her.

“Your father would have adored you.” Giyuu’s older sister gave (Y/n) a sad smile at that, fully knowing what it was like to have to say goodbye to someone she loved, and held the swathed bundle close to her heart. “Does he have a name?”

“Yuu. His name is Yuu.”

[imaginesmai]

Peter Parker - Fuck you, Beck

Plot: You had been given strict orders, yet you couldn’t ignore Peter’s call for help, even if the boy was too stubborn to do so; and even if you can be the one needing help at the end.

At the team’s insistence, and as you father’s last will, you had tried. God, you really, really tried. You even told your mom to tell you to stay away – and she was one of maybe 3 people that could force you to do anything. But the moment the whole situation took a sharp left turn, and it seemed that Fury was willing to him fight hundreds of drones by himself – after your boyfriend was hit by a train?

Yeah, that was a solid ‘fuck you’ to the director, as your father had said.

Even your mother, who had been telling you to stay away and let him handle his problems, who had promised she would convince you not to get involved for the sake of Peter, was starting to threaten putting on the Rescue suit, and she didn’t like the Rescue suit. You were sure that if Tony was still alive the decision would have been taken a while ago, but you wanted to let him.

Because since the final battle, Peter had become distant. It didn’t matter if he assured you that he still loved you and wanted to be with you. Sometimes, you felt like your father’s memory would always haunt him when he looked at you. That was why you had let him go, that was why you thought it was a good idea for him to accomplish the mission without help, and that was why it took you so long to realize that he did need your help.

“Friday, how long?”

“29 minutes” the AI responded, and it always amazed you how your father could hear her with the wind rushing past him.

“Faster. Please”

“Of course, Miss Stark. May I remind you, that you cannot speak when you arrive. The cover is –“

“Yes, Fri. I remember”

The thing was, that Thaddeus Ross had strictly forbidden the Iron Man suit to be seen in the sky since your father’s death. Tony had already been a big problem for the man, and once the whole blip thing had been solved, Thaddeus had breathed down your necks until you had signed a document that promised to put down all the suits. Pepper, always the good woman, had insisted in letting a small division of suits for the protection, all automatics.

So that was what you were supposed you be, an automatic suit with no intelligent life that had to save your dumb boyfriend from a fight with drones.

London came into sight in a instant, and from up there you could see the destruction caused by Beck. The suit swayed dangerously as you lowered the speed, still not used to the armour. In fact, it was the third time you used it, because Tony had refused to put you in risk by using one.

But Peter was in danger, and you would do anything for him.

“Uh, you still there Friday?” you asked, not sure if the drones would interfere in any way.

“Always”

“How – how is Pete doing?”

“Karen is still in silent mode, but is reporting bruises and contusions, nothing fatal or severely damaging. However, it is advisable to get him to a hospital soon. His condition is not the best to be fighting Mr Beck, but he’s managing”

The thing was, that Karen was silent because of you, and you wanted to drown in a lake of guilt. Happy had called you when Peter entered the plane, and you had talked with him briefly. In that conversation, you had screamed, he had yelled and both had said things that you didn’t mean. Like, if he was more responsible he would have stopped it sooner. Or that you would probably disappoint your father with that attitude.

Your relationship hadn’t been the same, that was for sure, but if everything went good, you promised yourself to fix it before it was too late.

“Let me know if anything semi-critical occurs. Thanks”

By the corner of your eye, you saw Michelle and Ned running away with Happy. There was a boy you didn’t know with them, but you weren’t worried about them, because the bodyguard could hold a fight on his own, even against drones. People were screaming and running too, making it hard for you to focus on where you could land.

The idea of running away and saving Peter had been not second guessed, but now you started to realise why your mother preferred to use the Rescue Suit rather than you using Tony’s. Because your father saw the armour as a second skin, and even then, he had some difficulties moving around. You were new, being the air was cool, yet landing wasn’t going to be. You spotted a clean space between the top of the bridge and a fallen railing, so you decided that would be it.

The suit, however, decided otherwise.

It took you a while to stop fully, and you got the impression that you looked like a worm trying to escape from an apple. That the suit was too big meant you couldn’t calculate the distances well, so only one of your feet made it to the destination.

“Uh, Friday?” you called out for the AI, still holding yourself in the air. “Could you – could you steady me? Maybe?”

“I don’t think I understand your order” Friday’s voice came through the speaker. You were barely holding yourself up by the propulsors, one feet on the air.

“Yeah, sorry. Friday… can you, help me to get on the ground?” you asked, and as you did, you regretted it.

“Of course, miss Y/N. Protocol ‘old man needs his nap’ initiating.”

“No, wait – !”

Memories of Peter and you messing up with your father’s suit before the snap came back. He hadn’t really used since then, because he went with the nano one; so you couldn’t do anything as the protocol started, and you fell down to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

You were afraid, for a second, because you remembered you were in bridge and if you fell to the water you would be damned. The suit would be functioning again when it touched the ground, but you didn’t know when that would be.

If Peter ended up saving you instead, you swore you would drown yourself in the river, with suit and a chain.

The fall was cut short when the suit hit the edge a tunnel made of glass that you didn’t know existed. You weren’t aware that a hit with a suit of metal could hurt so much that it left you out of air, but it did. Miraculously, the glass didn’t break and you didn’t fall through, yet got stuck into a bit of embarrassing position.

Your head was facing one end of the bridge, one of your hands dangling from a broken glass and the other sprawled wide to the other side. Your legs were wide open, and you prayed to God that everything that you had screamed hadn’t been heard through the com.

“What the fuck is that?”

Moving as quick as a ton of metal let you, you rolled on your side and crunched on your knees, looking to where the voice came; and once more, your breath left your lungs.

Peter was in front of you, kneeling on the ground and with the worst appearance you had ever seen him. He had one of his eyes swollen shut, and the other was on its way. There was a trail of blood from his nose that dripped to the ground, and you observed in pain how it was slightly crooked. His lip, open, was bleeding too, and you didn’t bother in counting how many lacerations he had on his face. Ignoring how damn good he looked in the suit, you winced when you saw it open in different points.

He was holding his wrist protectively against his chest, almost curling around it, and you were tempted to drag Beck until he was kneeling and apologising.

“Is that – is that Iron Man?”

The faceplate of the ironman suit moved again, and a bunch of red screens appeared up when you saw Beck. He wasn’t what came to mind when you thought about a threat – if anything, it was the opposite. He was bruised to, but not as much as your boy.

If Friday hadn’t been son intelligent, your cover would have been blown up, because threats and insults flew through your mouth when you saw him. But none of them made it outside the suit; instead, Friday talked.

“This is ‘you messed with the wrong guy’ protocol” Friday talked, and the suit was in her control again. You sighed when she put you straight and relaxed against the metal. Never again. “If you’re hearing this, is because you’ve hurt one of Mr Stark kids, either Y/N, Morgan or Peter”

Beck looked as if he had seen a ghost, and since you didn’t have control of the suit anymore, it probably looked like; because it didn’t look like a messy octopus anymore. He backed away a few steps, and for the first time, you noticed the gun on his hand. He had a lose grip on it, but suddenly you got the whole picture; he had been threatening Peter with a gun, had pointed him with a gun.

Something you hadn’t felt since your father died took over, and you were aware of the possibility of losing Peter without apologizing. Of him dying not knowing you were proud of him, that you loved him.

You looked to Peter, who was already looking at you. That he had one eye closed didn’t let you read him like you usually did, but his eye bore into you through the metal. Friday talking became white noise in the background, and suddenly you were at the funeral again. Peter walking away without saying a word and avoiding you for weeks. That wasn’t how things were supposed to end.

If there was something that differentiated you from your father, was that you were much less talkative that him.

“ – so it might be of your best interest to –“

Friday stopped abruptly when you raised the hand of the suit and fired. Beck was thrown backwards, so far that he actually hit the other side of the bridge. Even Peter, who was busy looking at you, jumped at the sudden action. Everything was silent for a second, besides the screams and the buzz of your ears. You wished that, maybe, the next sound would be the sound of someone moving, or Friday alerting you from movement.

“No pulse detected. Threat eliminated”

The sight of the bridge became blurry, and you felt like the suit was closing around you. You had killed, without asking questions or knowing a man. You had killed because of a sudden outburst of anger, and there was a death corpse a few feet in front of you. You started breathing as if air was missing, and your body became lax in the suit. Friday had a brief second of release and then took control again. While you tried not to die from a panic attack inside the suit, Peter got up and walked closer to the suit.

The boy stepped up until he was face to chin with the suit, and squinted his eyes. There was nothing that could be seen from the outside; still, Peter didn’t move.

“Mr Stark would like to remind you to stay safe, Peter” Friday talked, although Peter wasn’t listening to hear really. Besides all the pain he was in, there was another fact that worried him. “There will always be a place for you at the Stark’s house, so if you’re still listening, please call any adult that might be of assistance in –“

“Friday?” Peter asked, hesitant. His voice was small and weak, almost like a breath. “Is there anyone inside the suit?”

“This is an automatic suit ready to protect, Peter” Friday started. “According to the deal with Thaddeus Ross, this is part of an elite of suits destinated to protect citizens”

“That’s not what I asked, Fri” Peter sighed.

It seemed as if wheels were turning inside Peter’s head. He alternated between looking at the faceplate and the arc reactor. You didn’t get to see the scrunching of his face that you thought of so adorable and cute, because you were too busy trying to get away from the suit. It didn’t let you move your arms, or feet, and the automatic mood didn’t let you flex the limbs. Besides, making an order to open the suit seemed like something impossible.

So you missed the few minutes that took Peter to understand that an automatic suit wouldn’t be making those quiet distress noises that he could hear with his super hearing. Once he realised, and made sure no one was around chocking to death, he proceeded wrap his arms around the suit neck.

“Peter, I have to warn you to step away. I’m not able to take you home, but can provide you someone to do so” Friday talked, but didn’t move and Peter practically hung from the suit’s neck. “Would you like me to call –“

Friday stopped talking as the suit fell to the ground, the parts failing apart in a mess of metal broken pieces. Peter thanked his lab sessions, and that Tony had taught him how to disable a suit in case someone used it against him.

He caught himself in his knees and hands, wincing when another hit was delivered to his body. He was sure that he had broken bones that he didn’t know existed.

Peter wasn’t surprised when your body followed next, and was ready to catch you and tuck you against his shoulder. You had curled into a ball around yourself, and was too busy breathing fresh air to notice Peter.

You weren’t as talkative as your father, but you had inherited the panic problem. You weren’t sure when it started; maybe the third time you were kidnapped or the fifth that someone tried to kill you, but they were frequent and bad. Killing someone for the first time was enough excuse to have one of those, you guessed.

So you didn’t really register your surroundings, not that Peter wasn’t supposed to be touching you or that the suit was not longer around you. Only that you had to calm yourself.

Peter didn’t say anything, just held you. He ended up rocking you lightly, having fallen onto his butt and wrapped around yourself as much as you around him. It didn’t worry him that someone would find him without the mask, or the destroyed Iron Man suit, because the place Beck had chosen to hide was pretty good. He only focused on not mimicking your state and keeping calm.

Finally, you stopped panicking. You untangled your head from Peter’s shoulder and his hand stopped caressing your head. He seemed to tense by the movement, but relaxed once you were face to face.

Close up, he looked even worse. His eye was red rimmed, there were bags under his eyes and his smile was the most fake thing you had seen on him. Still, he was trying not to sob himself out in front of you, so you smiled for the both of you.

“I’m sorry” you said, not wanting to wait another second. “I didn’t meant what you said, I’m so, so, proud of you. And you’re doing it amazing, I promise. You’re – you’re the best superhero ever, and I’m sorry I said those things. And that I didn’t try harder, because, uh, because I need you and –“

“I’m sorry too” he chuckled, cutting you off with a kiss. The hand that was still resting on the back of your head pulled you closer until you could crash your lips, and he squeezed his eye shut.

“How did you know?” you asked, once he let go. “That – that it wasn’t Friday”

“There is no way Friday let out that scream when falling over” Peter’s face softened. “And I could hear you. From inside the suit”

You hummed and, for a second, let yourself forget about the situation around you. Your head went back to where it belonged, to the space between Peter’s head and shoulder. You didn’t know who needed more, because Peter hugged you tighter and you heard a faint sob leave his lips.

“Thanks for saving me” he talked again, and chuckled wetly. “Although I must say your father managed the suit much better”

“Yeah, I think we’re even” you smiled and pressed your lips to his skin. You felt the gossebumps raise there, and you repeated the action. “Let’s not do this again. You’re coming with me to the lake house for a real vacation. And I don’t care what May says”

“She will be happy to have the apartment for herself and Happy” Peter joked.

Somewhere, far away, you heard the first sirens showing up. SHIELD would be there shortly, and you would have to face a very angry Thaddeus Ross in your way home. Not to talk about Peter, who probably had a bunch of explanations to give. Still, the moment was yours, and neither of you moved. You decided to keep solving the problem that had brought you to the situation itself.

“And you?” you asked, and felt as confident as when you were landing with the suit. “Will you be happy? If you, uh, come to the lake house? Because if you don’t feel like it it’s okay”

You felt rather than heard Peter sigh, and he pulled you back to look at you in the eyes. He looked far more relieved than before, and had a more real smile than before. The hand at the back of your head moved to cup your cheek, and rub its finger against your cheekbone.

“I’ve been kind of an ass” he chuckled and looked down, to where your legs were tangled together. “But that hasn’t changed, I’ll be happy wherever you are, because I kind of love your clumsy ass too much”

You smacked his shoulder minding possible injuries and leaned again for a kiss. It was slower, even if you didn’t have time to do so. In a minute, the rest of your problems would be knocking down your door and dragging you away from Peter.

But thankfully, it seemed like your bigger problem had fixed itself.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

Tom Holland and Peter Parker Taglist

@delicately-important-trash

@lexxxistrips

@smilexcaptainx

@aikaterrina​

@zalladane​

[illuminated-cowboy]

Stag Serenade

Chapter 2

Wildfire

 Arthur shoved his hand into the dirt, feeling absolutely nothing as he phased right through it. He pulled through, trying to dig up at least a small amount of the loose soil, but he couldn’t manage.

An idea occurred to him, maybe he couldn’t dig up his body, but if he could get to his body, maybe he could dig himself out?

He reached in again, attempting to pull himself through while not being able to push off anything. He just floated in place in the dirt, kicking his feet as he tried making sense of the physics of being a ghost.

He realized there weren’t any.

“Come on, there’s gotta be a way to do this.”

“Are you still trying to get to your body?” a disembodied, yet not unfamiliar, voice embarked.

Arthur groaned, knowing it was his immortal curser again, “Yes I’m still trying to get to my body, dumbass!”

“Here, I’ll make this a bit easier for you.” With the sound of a finger snap, Arthur found himself face to face with his own body, cold dirt surrounding his almost fresh corpse.

“There you are, you ugly fool.” Arthur rolled over and held his own hands, what was left of the right one at least. Like a glove, he slid himself in, relaxing until he felt a click, a bump, something. He really wasn’t sure how he’d know when he was truly back in his own body again.

“I’d like to warn you of something, Arthur.” The strange man’s voice called out again.

“And what might that be?”

“Once you’re in your body again, you will not be able to die. But, you will feel like you are dying.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Because so far feeling dead has just frustrating.”

“Just a warning. I felt like it would be wrong not to warn you.”

“Right, but you didn’t feel it would be wrong to offer a dumbass like me immortality only for me to think you were joking, did you?”

“Oh come on now, there are so many possibilities ahead of you. You could become the smartest man in the world by the time you’re 1000. You’ll witness firsthand all major events going forward, even the end of the world most likely!’

“Right. So how long until I-Argh!” A sudden jolt of pain made its way through Arthur’s body, his lungs felt crushed and scarred, his torn arm began bleeding heavily as every nerve began to gain feeling again and his heart started pumping his old cold blood throughout his veins.

“Fuck! You son of a bitch, fuck you!”

“Good, you made it before there was too much nerve damage. I’ll leave you to it then.”

Arthur fought against the uncomfortable feeling of dirt entering his nose and eyes, the earthy taste and unpleasant crunch filled his mouth as he screamed in agony. Realizing he could only use one arm, he reached up above his face, trying his best to angle himself in a way that he could lift himself up without packing the dirt down on his lower half.

I will kill that bastard if I get the chance, I will rip his fucking throat out for doing this to me. I just wanted to be dead already, fuck!

He felt himself moving upward, a positive result for sure. He felt a spiritual power surge through him, it helped him to keep going harder and harder despite feeling weak and exhausted.

Finally, he reached air with his hand. A couple more breaths and one final pull, and his head emerged, like a mangled newborn baby. He screamed and cursed at the world as he burst through, dragging his revived corpse away from his grave and over to a tree to rest. His arm was done for, once he had his strength back he’d have to cut it off completely.

He spit out particles of dirt and blew black snot from his nose, coughing up far more than blood in-between. He struggled to breathe, every breath felt like eternity and the satisfaction of an oxygenated lung was far from grasp. He looked to the moon to take his mind off the pain and misery he was feeling, it illuminated his dirty, dampened features and reflected off his eyes gloriously. He couldn’t see himself, but he was sure he looked like a dead man walking.

Once he was sure he had hacked up every bit of dirt and blood left in his body, he reflected on the coming sunrise, realizing an entire day had passed since he had died. This was a sunrise he was never meant to see, and he wasn’t sure if that made him feel like a badass for cheating death, or a miserable man cursed to walk a world he was never intended to walk.

He finally felt recovered enough to rise to his feet, a dull ache radiating through his body and intensifying with every step. He wasn’t sure where he was even going, but he was sure if he walked long enough, he’d end up at a lake where he could wash up eventually.

He performed a dance of dragging his feet, groaning to himself, and taking large, unplanned steps in one direction or another. Sometimes he caught himself going in a small circle, and he’d have to recalibrate and jolt himself to the opposite direction.

The sun began to beam down on his dirt coated head, so he raised an arm up to shield the sun and happened to see the movement of an animal somewhere in the distance.

The whinny of a brown filly filled Arthur’s heart with a bit of relief, finally something besides a tree to stare at as he hobbled along.

As he approached the horse, he could make out a dark brown saddle on her back.

“Oh girl, please tell me your rider owns a bathhouse.”

The horse turned, noticing Arthur’s hobbling out of the corner of her eye. He reached out a hand and looked around for her owner, “Hello!” he called out as his hand touched the filly’s velvet nose.

She gave out a content snort at his presence, at least he knew that if her owner didn’t come around soon she’d likely be friendly enough to let a strange zombie man ride her.

A familiar voice called out from the woods, effeminate and soft, “is someone there?!”

“Yes ma’am,” Arthur looked around, unsure of where the voice was coming from and unable to put the name on his tongue, yet sure he had heard this voice before, “don’t be frightened by my appearance miss, I’ve been through one hell of a night.” His gaze settled on a woman approaching from the woods, a rifle in one hand and a dead rabbit slung over her shoulder.

She looked frightened and readied her rifle. “Who are you!?”

Arthur raised his hand and lifted a brow as he realized who the woman was, “Charlotte?”

She lowered her rifle and smiled in relief, “Arthur? What happened to you?!” She ran over to him excitedly, concern and worry overtaking her face as she realized just how torn up he was.

“Boy am I happy to see you.”

“I would say the same if your arm weren’t hanging off, what happened to you Arthur?” She gently touched just above the ripped section, trying not to let her shock overtake her ability to offer help.

“Wolves. Lots of ‘em.” Arthur chuckled painfully. “Only took one of ‘em to do this though.”

Charlotte cringed in second-hand pain. “Please, let me take you back home, you’ll die like this out here.”

“Kinda wish I did die, would hurt a hell of a lot less.” Charlotte shook her head, preferring to not think of her savior rather dying than being alive. She gently turned him towards her horse, assisting him up as much as she could before attaching her catch to the saddle and lifting herself up onto her filly.

Arthur held the woman gently with his living hand, steadying himself on the mare, “So, when did you get a horse?”

“I figured she was a necessity. Bought her in town one day, she’s been very loyal. Named her Wildfire.” The filly kicked up her hooves and began transporting her riders down the trail.

“She’ll be good to you til’ her last breath. My ol’ boy died about a day ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Was he ill?”

“No, no… It was, well, a rat. In a way.”

“A rat?”

Arthur tried looking for a way to describe what he meant without tainting her image of him. “I’m not a good man, Charlotte.”

“You keep saying that. But actions speak louder than words. And we are always our own worst critics.”

“It’s possible I have a chance to begin again,” he sighed, “but I’ve tried that so many times, always ends with someone getting hurt.”

“Well, you didn’t hurt me. You helped me, you saved my life. I will forever consider you my friend for that alone.”

“I was in with some bad guys. For a long time. The only ones who didn’t betray me in the end either died or left to make their lives better. And for that, I will never blame them. I should have left too.”

Charlotte slowly began to understand. “Well, it looks like you did leave. So now the question is, what will you do now?”

“I dun’ know.”

“Well, you can stay with me as long as you need to. I have an extra bed and you won’t be imposing.”

Arthur considered being stoic, denying her offer with something along the lines of “That’s alright Mrs. Balfour, I’ll get on just fine.” But instead, he sighed, and nodded to himself. “I think I could use the comfort of an indoor bed, thank you Charlotte.”

“I’m happy to hear it. I could use the company too. Maybe you can teach me some more survival skills as well!” She said cheerfully, looking behind her to catch a glance of the war-torn man. “Once you’re all fixed up, that is.”

The brown filly gave out a whinny as a fox crossed her path just a gallop away from the old cabin. Charlotte road her over to a fence post and dismounted, holding out a hand to assist Arthur down.

He chuckled as he oriented himself, attempting to first dismount alone. “In a normal world, I’d be helping you down, Mrs. Balfour.”

“Well, I’ve lost sight of whatever a normal world would be considered.”

With a shot of pain through his body, he winced, and grabbed for her hand reluctantly, trying not to fall or put too much pressure on the woman.

He tumbled down, buckling to his boots as Charlotte reached out to grab him, keeping him from falling far.

“This arm, Charlotte, it’s gotta come off.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened in response. “Shouldn’t a doctor make that determination?”

“Well, the last time I saw a doctor he told me I was dying, so I’d rather make the calls from here on out.” Charlotte wrapped an arm around him and assisted him as best she could, steadying him through every stumble and trip he endured as they made their way to the cabin.

“I don’t want you bleeding out on my watch.”

“I’ll be fine, Charlotte. I just need a good bath and a knife.”

She looked at him with pain in her eyes as she opened the door. “Well, if you think it’s for the best, I trust you.” She guided him inside to a chair, and he let out a moan of both pain and relief as he sat down.

“I feel like I could sleep forever, just right here.”

“I’m going to go get you a bucket of water and some soap and we can wash you up.” She gently patted his shoulder and grabbed a large wooden bucket by the door before heading outside to the well.

Arthur sat in silence for a moment, looking around her home. The home of a widow who, Arthur figured, was surely sufficient enough to have survived on her own.

Or maybe not. Maybe in another world, Arthur hadn’t helped her, hadn’t seen her when she needed him. And maybe nobody else had helped her either.

Maybe she was only alive because of him. The opposite of many, many people Arthur had come across in his life.

Arthur began undoing his shirt with his one good arm, getting down to the last button but finding it a struggle to actually get it off his shoulders, a mixture of pain and the lack of a second working arm being the culprit.

Charlotte walked back in; a bucket full of fresh water by her hip. “Oh, let me help you, Arthur.”

He leaned forward a tad, and she came around the backside of the chair, pulling as tenderly as she could at the blue button-up. One arm down, the healthy one at least. Coated in bruises but other than that, usable and strong.

His other arm was a different story, sticky blackened blood coating the ripped and worn fabric, she contemplated whether pulling it quickly was the right decision or pulling it slowly and possibly prolonging his pain.

He winced and turned away as she pulled it off, the blood pulling at his hair and torn skin. Fresh blood pooled on the floor in small amounts as she was careful to avoid touching the exposed flesh. Once it was off, he looked like half man, half bloodied beast.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

“Hey, you didn’t attack me,” he mustered a grin as he took a good glance at his arm. The skin was completely torn away, the bone entirely dislocated from the rest of his skeleton, the forearm only hanging on by the thinnest strands of red threads, “I’d be real impressed if you did though.”

“Right. Well, I think you should get nice and clean before attempting major surgery on yourself.”

“Of course.”

Charlotte brushed her hair behind her ear before twiddling her thumbs for a second and asking, “do you need, help?”

“I do believe I might, but uh,” Arthur reached for the bucket with his good arm, “to save you the trauma, I’ll take care of the nasty bits later.”

Charlotte let out a relieved sigh. “I’ll go get something to scrub you with and a bar of soap.”

Arthur nodded in agreement. “Wouldn’t you rather we do this outside though?”

“It’s fine, I’ve been meaning to give the floor a good cleaning anyways.”

“Yeah but, this is gonna be a lot of blood and all, I don’t wanna-“

Charlotte came back from her room with a bar of soap, a hunting knife, and a couple towels. “I really don’t mind. It will be more comfortable for you in here.”

“Alright.”

Charlotte dunked the soap in the bucket, working the lather into a hand towel and taking Arthur’s good hand, rubbing the mixture up and down his arm.

Their eyes caught each other; hazel meeting blue. She refused to admit her heart skipped a beat at the sight, because despite his worn appearance and his dirt coated features, his eyes had so much more life in them than they did the last time they met.

She smiled, reaching a hand to gently touch his chin, pulling him slightly towards her as she gazed closer into those suddenly piercing eyes, “you’re healthy again, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You were sick when you were here last time.”

“Well, you cure one thing, you end up with a lost arm I guess.”

She chuckled as she released her tender grip and continued to clean him up, handing him the towel and reaching for a new one to wash his face with, dabbing it under his eyes and behind his ears before wetting down his untrimmed hair and scrubbing it between her fingers.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly happened? I know you said it was wolves but, you look like you were buried underground.”

“Do you want the truth or do you want a lie?”

“I would prefer the truth, but if you’d rather be creative and keep the details to yourself, I’m still curious.”

“Well, I got the shit kicked out of me, died. God or Satan or whatever, he told me I was immortal now, but my body got attacked by wolves. I got buried then had to claw out of my own grave with one arm.”

“My, you are quite creative. I’ll have to keep you around for story ideas from now on.”

He smiled, “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“You know, even on Cal’s deathbed he was still telling jokes too.”

He looked to her with awe. “Any man lucky enough to have you as their wife would die happily regardless of the circumstances.”

She grinned, her eyes almost tearing up. “That’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever been told.”

“It’s been a good long time since I’ve been treated to a nice bath as well.”

“This next side will probably sting.” She said as she grabbed another clean towel and came round to the destroyed arm.

“I’ve felt worse, do whatever you need to do.”

She squeezed the towel, dripping cool soapy water down into the open wound. Arthur groaned in pain, his chest tightening as his teeth gritted against the feeling. He turned away, appearing to physically try and remove himself from the troublesome arm.

“Fuck,” he muttered through his teeth, struggling against it but knowing it had to be done, “give me the knife.”

She continued to rub down the arm, “I’m not even nearly finished getting all the dirt off-”

“Whatever is in there is in there, get me the goddamn knife!”

The woman reached for the hunting knife she had grabbed earlier from the table behind her, handing it to Arthur in one swift motion.

“Get my belt and tie it around my arm, as tight as you can.”

She hurried in front of him, kneeling and undoing the brown leather belt from his hips. Wrapping it around his arm and pulling it as hard as she could manage, blood squirting from the bottom, Arthur held the knife tightly before making one final request, “you got any alcohol?”

“Um, I have some rum in the cabinet.”

“That’ll work.”

She nodded, running for the container, and bringing it back to him. He placed the bottle between his legs, popped the top off, and took as many swigs as he could until the numbing feeling kicked in.

“I’m gonna need your help here, darlin’.”

“Anything, Arthur. I’m right here with you.”

“I’m gonna need you to hold this arm here as high as you can.”

She blinked twice. “You need me… while you…”

“I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t need you to but it’s gonna go a lot smoother if you do.”

“Okay.” She grasped his hand, cold deadened fingers between her own, and pulled the arm vertically, moving down to hold it by the length just before the wound.

Arthur stuffed a towel in his mouth, readied the knife, and began slicing into the flesh, screaming muffled into the towel as his entire body contracted in pain.

Charlotte held strong, looking away as blood splattered on her blue dress. With one final push, the arm came off, and the stump that remained poured with red liquid as Arthur tossed the knife and held the stub up as high as he could, pulling the belt tighter around it.

He spit out the towel onto the floor. “Candle!” he shouted, nodding to a candle that happened to be lit in the corner.

Charlotte dropped the arm and ran for the candle, handing it to her wilderness survival man without putting it out. He rubbed away as much of the blood as he could with a towel, then held the stump to the candle flame, trading his stinging pain for a burning pain.

The worst was over as he finished his self-surgery, laying back in the chair as Charlotte took the candle away. She returned to offer him more rum, to which he nodded and opened his mouth, silently begging that she pour it in and not stop.

With a bloodied arm on the floor, pools of suds and human liquids leaking from Arthur like a dripping pipe, he took one final moan and relaxed his eyes. “Thank you, Charlotte.”

“It’s no trouble,” she looked to the arm, the mess, the bloodied beautiful man in her chair, “I’ll go bury that in the back before it decomposes. Please, call for me if you need anything.”

And with that, Arthur was armless. He took one last look at the cold, bluish body part as Charlotte wrapped it with a towel and walked it out the door.

He picked up the rum and took another swig, the pain dulling his drunken state, yet still feeling the need to smile and say to himself, “I’m unarmed!” He giggled like a madman, trying to continue holding his brand-new stump above his arm, taking more sips in-between uncontrolled laughter, the majority of the rum dripping onto his beard and chest rather than his mouth.

By the time Charlotte returned, Arthur was far gone, flying high and performing a mixture of moaning in pain and giggling in pleasure.

“My angel!” He shouted at her. She took the bottle from his hand and rubbed some suds out of his hair.

“Do you want to keep bathing tonight or-”

“I will tell you,” he hiccupped and pointed a finger up, “what I want.”

Charlotte looked at him concernedly. “And what might that be?”

“I want for you to just give me the gentlest of kisses, right here,” he pointed to his forehead, “because women’s lips, they heal all wounds.”

She smiled, and kindly humored him, pressing her lips tenderly to his forehead. He pulled her close, his one good arm wrapping gently around her waist and pulling her in for a hug. She held his head under her breast, fingers trailing his cheek as she further indulged his desires for human touch.

“It’s been a while, darlin’.”

“Since?”

“Since I was loved.” He looked up at her, eyes looking even more pained than when he was cutting off his own arm. “I loved only so many women, and they didn’t love me, Charlotte. They used me, they used me and they left me when I couldn’t be what they needed. And that’s on me, I’m a horrible bastard.”

“No, Arthur, that’s on them honey.”

“No it ain’t, Charlotte. I hurt them bad, and I’d hurt you too if you got too close, but, I wanna be close to you. And I ain’t never wanna hurt you.”

“That’s enough of that,” she pulled away with kindness, holding his hand with both of her own in an effort to guide him somewhere to lay down, “come to bed, sleep this off and we’ll figure out the rest when you’re feeling better.”

He stumbled to his feet, holding her hands like they were precious jewels, looking at their every detail through his blurred, drunken vision, “I don’ wanna hurt you, Charlotte.”

“Don’t you worry about any of that right now, come with me.” She wrapped her arm around his back and assisted him into her guest bedroom, laying him down gently on the bed, holding his arm up and resting it on a pillow by his head.

She pulled out a blanket and laid it over his bare chest, keeping him warm for the rest ahead.

She kissed his forehead once more, wishing him a goodnight without words, then closing the door behind her to give him some privacy.

Arthur came in and out of a blacked-out state, desiring to go wander the halls and find Charlotte again to continue his self-deprecation, to show her and prove what an awful man he is, and why she would be right to toss him out and let him suffer. But she wasn’t going to do that, and he wondered if he really made such an impression on her that she would now trust him like this.

He could easily hurt her, maybe not physically but surely emotionally. That’s why Mary left him, right? He couldn’t change. He wasn’t redeemable.

But either she didn’t believe he would hurt her, or she didn’t care. Maybe she had been through the same pain as him, enough so that she didn’t care, just like he didn’t. Or at least, just like he kept trying to convince himself that he didn’t.

[pandoraborn]

DAY 13 BREATHE IN, BREATHE OUT. || oxygen mask. ||

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

So much for trying to print up ‘Missing’ posters for Erin. Between the printer jamming and the tea almost burning because of their worry, there are now four people in Henrik’s living room, most of them covered in blood. Jameson’s jumping to his feet, dropping his cup of lukewarm tea onto the carpet, spilling the liquid everywhere with his hands flailing, signing his confusion at a rapid pace. Henrik pauses briefly, wanting to demand answers, but the sight of Jackie unconscious and bleeding profusely has him already turning on his heel to storm off toward his lab. Priorities: Jackie first, everything else second.

It makes no difference if people show up by ambulance or portal, he’s going to ask no questions, he’s just going to bark orders for Amon to follow him down to the lab. Inside, he pulls a bed out and clears it for Amon to set Jackie down. Henrik gets to work, poking at Jackie and figuring out where all the injuries are. There’s hardly a spot on Jackie’s body that’s free of blood or any sort of marking, so Henrik mutters to himself in German as he rushes around, grabbing things he may need, or even may not need, but might find use in anyway.

As the sole medical staff present, he feels a burden he doesn’t like feeling, like Jackie’s fate is completely in his hands. It’s overwhelming, his mind racing with thoughts of trying to save Jackie and thoughts over Erin missing. Come to think of it, it hadn’t just been the kids going missing, Marvin and Jackie had turned up missing as well, and had been for a few days now. Henrik sucks in a few deep breaths as he tries to focus only on the task at hand.

One thing at a time.

He grabs his portable oxygen tank and drags it over. Placing the mask over Jackie’s face, Henrik makes sure it stays in place before rummaging through his cabinets for drugs, anesthetics, and anything else that’ll help numb the pain. He wishes he had better equipment to help stabilize Jackie’s breathing, because the flimsy mask is barely doing anything. 

Don’t panic. Just focus.

His movements are methodical, calculated. He hasn’t realized he’s even stopped speaking completely as he drags the syringes and bottles back to Jackie’s side. Stitches. Surgery. Coma? Maybe. Probably needed.

Next is a blood bag. Jackie’s going to need a blood transfusion. He has the blood for it. Not a whole lot, but a couple of bags for Jackie’s blood type should be enough to help, until he can get more. The hero also needs stitches. Surgery might be needed, to reset and fix splintered bones. Henrik knows he has synthetic materials for that very purpose.

What he wants is a team.

No, no, no time. He grabs one syringe and fills it with an anesthetic. He’s going to have to put Jackie in a coma in order to do everything he wants to. He gets about halfway when Marvin jumps to his feet, cluing in on what Henrik’s doing.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Marvin protests. He gets up, as if to stop Henrik, but Chase throws an arm out to block him. “I can help-”

“Nein, Jackie needs medical attention. He’s suffered too much damage to his body. I need to put him in a coma, I need to perform surgery, I need to do so many things to heal him. Where were you?” His own voice is short, temper barely kept at bay. He’s not angry at Marvin, he’s angry at Jackie. He’s angry at himself. He’s angry at this entire situation in which he’s left out of the loop and has a child missing.

“I was with him!” 

“No you weren’t,” Amon whispers. “You were outside your apartment.”

Marvin feels like his head is going to burst, along with his heart. Seeing his husband in critical condition, barely clinging to life already aches, but now that Amon is throwing digs at him, it’s even worse. Marvin is struggling to breathe as he tries to keep the tears at bay. “Jason...Jason he…”

“Enough. I do not need to know details,” Henrik snaps. “Jameson, please take all of them upstairs so I can tend to Jackie. I need to concentrate!” He leaves it unsaid that he’s not going to let them distract him; he refuses to lose Jackie right here when Jackie’s in his hands.

He washes his hands and puts gloves on, just as Jameson gently guides the other three out of the lab and back up the stairs. He watches them leave, before carefully injecting Jackie with the anesthesia, purposely giving him a higher dose than normal, to ensure he stays asleep for awhile. He knows Jackie can handle the dosage.

“I’m sorry for the coma, mein Freund. But I’d rather you not feel pain anymore.” He wipes his own eyes with his sleeve before grabbing all the tools needed to operate on Jackie to make sure he lives. On top of all this, he’s worried for Erin. All the kids have been missing for days, and Henrik and Jameson had no idea where everyone had gone off to. He feels like he missed something important, but hopefully Marvin can offer the missing pieces when Jackie’s stable.

Upstairs, it’s quiet. Marvin still feels like he’s going to burst, and no one’s looking at each other. Amon especially is avoiding his gaze, so Marvin just gets up and walks outside, a little relieved to see Jameson following him.

{I know you’re distressed over Jackie, Marvin. But we’re going to need answers.}

“I... Everything’s a mess, Jameson. The kids are still missing, Vin’s missing, Jackie’s dying, and I just. I feel alone and helpless. I don’t know who all is doing what anymore, and I can’t breathe.”

Jameson mulls those words over for a minute before shaking his head. {I’ll start off by reminding you you’re not alone. But I need more to go off of than that, please. Erin is my son too.}

Marvin sucks in a breath, dabbing at his eyes. He murmurs a quiet thank you when Jameson offers a handkerchief, and blows his nose into it. “Jason captured Jackie and me, held us captive. He spent the whole time torturing Jackie, and I managed to escape when Jason’s back was turned. I didn’t have enough time to grab Jackie too, and my hands were bound-” 

{Yes, I can see the markings around your wrists, and I could see the condition Jackie was in. What about Erin? What about Nebula and Alphie?}

“We think Jason got them too. I don’t know. You can ask Amon too, he and Chase might know something.” Marvin winces when he realizes how bitter he sounds. Is he subconsciously mad at Amon for blaming him? Marvin doesn’t know anymore.

{Amon isn’t my concern right now, you are. You showed up covered in blood. It doesn’t matter if it’s Jackie’s blood, you’re clearly not handling things well right now. I’d like to help, and please don’t tell me I can’t.}

“No, you can help. I’m so used to-”

{You and Jackie being the protectors, I know. Henrik and I know how to fight as well. Maybe not as well as you, but we have our own ways of outsmarting an enemy. I would like to know who that enemy is. I’d like my son back.}

Marvin nods absently. “You’re right. You’re right, I’m so stupid.” He lets out a quiet sob, leaning against Jameson for comfort. Jameson wraps his arms around Marvin, giving him the comfort he clearly needs right now. They both remain silent as Marvin cries for a long while, letting most everything out. He’s not sure what scares him more: two people he loves losing faith in him, failing as a parent, or just feeling utterly helpless at this point. It’s too overwhelming.

{We’ll figure out everything together. We need to be a team now. Can you come back inside and tell us everything we need to know? I don’t want to lose more sleep over worry.}

Marvin nods and pulls away, dabbing at his eyes with a clean corner of the handkerchief. “Yeah, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

He falls quiet again as they head back inside, where he sits down again. The scene is much the same: with Amon and Chase sitting on the couch together. Chase is staring at the floor, playing with his hat, and Amon is purposely ignoring Marvin. Marvin sits down in a chair and slumps back, fighting the overwhelming urge to sleep. He hasn’t slept in days, he’s aware, but he knows if he tries now, he’ll fail.

{Start at the beginning, please.}

“Danielle has the kids somewhere,” Amon pipes up. He’s sitting up straighter, wings folded around his torso again. “At least, I think she does, or at the very least, played a role in taking them. One of her lackeys said as much when I was trying to escape out a collapsing building. 

{Where was this building?}

“Middle of the city. She drugged me with something to make me vulnerable to smoke and debris, so I barely got out with my life. Jumped timelines to get Chase’s attention and help.”

{Ah, I was wondering.} Jameson manages a small smile. {It’s lovely to meet you, Chase. I do wish it was under better circumstances.}

“Likewise.” Chase returns the smile. “Amon took me back here and we ran into Marvin unconscious in front of his apartment. He had shackles around his wrists, so we took him inside. I had ‘ta saw them off.”

{Marvin, what happened when Jason had you?}

“He had Jackie and me locked up in some dungeon-esque room.” Marvin shrugs, letting his head fall back so he can stare at the ceiling. He doesn’t do that forever, because he’ll still need to communicate with Jameson, after all. “He shackled me to the wall and kept me silent with a gag so I couldn’t perform magic on him. He spent the entire time torturing Jackie by poisoning him, shocking him, kicking him around. At one point, he made a taunt about the kids, so I assumed he had something to do with it.” 

{That’s two different people who have a role in where our children have gone. Something doesn’t seem right here. Would they be working together?}

“Doubtful,” Chase says. “I don’t know this Jason, but I know Danielle, and she’s really calculating. If she’s working with someone, it’s because she’s drugged them into complacency.”

“Jason doesn’t seem like the type to let someone get that close to him,” Marvin points out. “Chase, is there anyone else from your timeline that Danielle might know? Or anything that might connect her to Jason?”

Chase hesitates, setting his hat back on his head. “There…is someone else.”

Amon nods. “It’s Cian. I didn’t get a great look at him, I only saw him from a distance. But I saw Vin with him.”

{Pardon, but who is Cian? Isn’t Vin-}

“Vin is Marvin, yeah,” Chase says. “Cian is a fae, but not like your average one.”

“Let me explain this,” Amon says sharply. “Think of your worst encounter with someone. Imagine them to be a fairy. Now this particular fairy doesn’t just steal your name or is averse to iron, he’s deadly and dangerous. He doesn’t care about petty tricks, he actively seeks to cause chaos and strife. Hell, wouldn’t put it past him to be influencing us right now, especially if he’s in this timeline.”

Jameson’s expression turns into a worried one. {This can’t be good. Isn’t there a way to stop him?}

“The best we can hope for is to try to find where he’s got Vin.”

“What if Vin is working for him too?” Marvin asks. “He was corrupted awhile ago.”

“No,” Chase snaps. “Vin’s smarter than that. I know my best friend, I know he’s not about to fall for some stupid demon or otherworldly creature’s stupid magic twice. No, if he’s with Cian, it’s not by choice.”

“So. Then we need to find where Cian might be. If we find Vin, we could probably find the kids, too.”

“If a dark fae wants to have his way, there’s only one place he’d store a prize for all eternity, and it’s not a place I want to think about going to.” Amon wrinkles his nose. “It’s going to be deadly and we need a ritual to open the portal.”

“You don’t mean-” Marvin lurches forward, mouth agape.

Amon nods. “Better get some sleep, Marvin. Eat some god damned food because you’re going to send me to Tír na nÓg.”

---

TAG LIST

 @caori-azarath @inspiredrawaw @shadowtigress2 @burnt-toast-life @lilsprout-exe @randowaffle @oasisofgalaxies @sibling-ursidae @reboosh @scarletender @alphaqwerty7 @imma-gummibear @writingandwhump @dmnfox @thebluejaysworld @immcgill @scubacatwoman @zel-lk @definitely-asexual-volcano @kami-theawkwardmess @n-anon @sleightofsight @imabinerd @elycia1805 @gutter-sun-fun @spiccykels

[thebiasrekkers]

Make It Right [BTS Mafia AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: Series | Mafia!AU | Crime!AU | Angst | Romance/Fluff | Smut

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence (bloody violence), Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,327

Tag List: @prisczero, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @unoriginal-username15432, @halussali, @shrimpmsg, @ggukkieland​

AN: And here we go...

Chapter 57: Boy Meets Evil

“But in order to be free from this crime, it’s impossible to forget and give up.”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

One Week Later Incheon – Sungui; Nam District South Korea

Hoseok and Seokjin stood side by side as they looked at the large, gray building in front of them. They parked their car at the end of the long road, surveying their surroundings. The morning sky was overcast and shrouded the landscape in hues of grays; desaturating everything. Autumn was already upon them and foliage that was once fully in bloom would soon begin singing their songs of lamentation as they died.

It was the season for beginnings to come to an end.

The old factory was worn from years of neglect. Rust spots were speckled over the iron and there were a few spider cracks along large windows on every side. Several other sedans were parked nearby, presumably Jade Fang members. Hoseok cast a critical eye over them, his gaze meeting Seokjin’s. They both nodded, stepping in sync as they approached the large metal double doors.

His hand went out to reach for the handle, pulling it open. The hinges screamed from abuse, crying for attention. The sound wailed through the expanse as the bottom portion of the door scraped along the concrete flooring. Seokjin followed closely as he entered, pulling the door closed behind him. The ambient noise of the city quickly transformed into that of a tomb.

Their footsteps echoed over the wide space. Hoseok took note of the many wooden crates that lined either walls, giving access to a variety of blind spots. The factory had a single floor that was one big open space. High above it, catwalks ran along the rafters all leading from the factory manager’s office: a metal cube suspended at one end of the warehouse. Abandoned shelf scaffolding broke up the empty space. Crates and pallets were strewn around, making decent hiding places.

He frowned when a few of Changkyun’s underlings looked at him suspiciously – each of them armed with bats, pipes, and knives. Sliding his hand into his pocket, he smirked while shaking his head. It was obvious that Changkyun didn’t trust him and that was fine. After the damage he’d caused, Hoseok couldn’t blame him for taking precautions against him.

Even if this was supposed to be a general meeting.

“Jin Hyung,” a voice called to them, causing both men to halt in their steps.

They looked over to the right where another portion of the factory broke off, seeing Wonho reveal himself. He flicked his tongue out over his lip ring, grinning like a man who’d just won a high stakes poker game. Hoseok slowly blinked as Seokjin situated himself to his right.

Wonho stopped just a few feet short from them. “I didn’t expect you to be here. I figured it would be Namjoon-ah like usual.”

Seokjin shrugged. “Yeah well, we’ve decided not to be so predictable.”

They watched him peer around them, as though he was expecting more people. “The others?”

“None of your business. Besides, he asked to meet me, did he not?”

Hoseok flicked some of his hair out of his eyes, watching the smirk on Wonho’s face grow a little more. There was a small flame of anger that continued to burn in his chest. But he didn’t say anything. He waited for Wonho to look at him, bowing his head in respect, before giving a gentle sigh.

“Where’s Changkyun-ah?”

Without breaking their gaze, Wonho raised his hand up and pointed toward the large metal stairwell that led to the manager’s office. Hoseok started to make his way to the stairwell, but stopped when Wonho side-stepped into his path. He cut his eyes at him, his brows knitting tightly. He was in no mood to play any sort of games right now. This was about business.

“Sorry Hoseok-ah,” he said, holding his hands up in a mock show of surrender, “gotta search you. Boss’s orders.”

Hoseok looked around at the armed men in the warehouse before meeting Wonho’s gaze. “…are you fuckin’ serious?”

Seokjin took a step forward but Hoseok held an arm out to stop him. He rolled his eyes, lifting his other arm so that Wonho could frisk him. No one moved, however, and this irritated him.

“Whatever. Let’s get this over with, huh? I don’t have all day.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, moving toward him.

It didn’t take long for Wonho to search him. The clothing he wore was loose-fitting around his torso while his pants were a slim fit. It made movement easier for him, but would have been obvious had he concealed anything on his person. After the search was finished, he stepped to the side to let Hoseok through. He heard Seokjin move only to take note of the sound of him being stopped. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Wonho was now impeding his brother’s path.

“Wonho-yah,” came Seokjin’s even tone, “move.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Jin Hyung. Hoseok-ah has to go on alone.” He grinned. “You can keep me company instead.”

“It’s okay, Jin Hyung,” reassured Hoseok, “I can handle it from here.”

Seokjin didn’t seem satisfied with this, but he shook his head. He knew there was no stopping Hoseok now that he was set to take care of things once and for all. This would be the last time they would have this altercation with their former brothers of the underworld. Timing was crucial.

Hoseok ascended the stairwell slowly, the iron steps rattling under him as he moved. Both hands were in his pockets as he walked, his eyes continuing to look at all the various angles of the factory warehouse. If he knew Changkyun as well as he thought he did, then his other upper-tiered members were scattered around outside. They would be on the lookout for anyone to try and shake things up.

But he already had an ace up his sleeve for that.

At the top of the stairs, the door to the office stood. To the left, a grated walkway led out over the floor, spreading into catwalks that sprawled the entire place. There was a small square window on the door smudged with dirt. He knocked loudly, the sound reverberating off the walls and bouncing back to hit his body in small tremors. When the door opened, it was Shownu standing in the doorway. They stood silently, almost gauging the other, before he shifted off to the side to allow him entrance. Once inside, Shownu exited the manager’s office and closed the door behind him.

Hoseok saw Changkyun nursing a cup of coffee from an electric kettle. The only furniture in the room were two heavy wooden tables. The rest of the office was bare; a thin slit of a window overlooking the warehouse floor. He watched him turn, smiling as he sipped from the mug. Changkyun held out the cup to Hoseok.

“Did you want me to make you a cup?”

“Are you repurposing this place?”

Changkyun snapped his fingers and pointed at him, a look of satisfaction clearly painted over his face. “Wow, you don’t miss a thing, do you Hyung?”

He shrugged, gesturing to the electric kettle with a simple tilt of his head.

“The market value for this place was decent. People need jobs and I just got my hands on a permit to start turning this into a mass shipping facility.”

“How long have you been working on this?”

He watched him hum, as if he really needed a moment to pause and think. “A few months now.”

“I see.”

“There’s money to be made, so why not make it?” He walked back over to the kettle where another mug sat on the table. “Did you want coffee or no?”

Sighing, Hoseok pulled the sleeve of his jacket back to look at his watch. “I thought we were here to talk business?”

“Always so serious,” he said, smiling, “you can relax. I won’t bite.”

“You killed my brothers and my sister-in-law,” came Hoseok’s slow response, “what the fuck did you expect?”

Changkyun clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth while shaking his head. “Oh, come on now. I already told you that this wasn’t personal.”

“You made it personal.”

“Wrong!” His voice boomed out over the small space. “I made a point.”

Hoseok scoffed. “Is that what you call it? A point?”

“Yes, I do.” He set the cup down on the table. “I warned you, Hyung, about how weak your defenses were when you left your power behind. The people around you were at risk the minute you decided to step into the light. Money and power talk and while money has done you some good, your lack of power exposed your neck to me.”

There was a pregnant pause that stretched between them. He wasn’t sure if Changkyun was waiting for him to respond to his statements, but there was nothing for him to say. Not yet. He wanted to hear everything his former brother had to unleash on him before he came out with a rebuttal of his own.

Changkyun moved away from the table, crossing the room to stand opposite of him. His back was now to the office window while Hoseok’s remained facing the door. They stared each other down; both attempting to read the other.

If looks could kill…

“Your business was with us, the Golden Jackals. You didn’t have to drag Eden into it. She had nothing to do with this.”

Changkyun waggled his finger at him. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

“How?”

“Attacking just you would have seemed personal. That’s not my endgame. Eden was an unfortunate casualty, but she was also a necessary piece that you needed to lose in this game.”

A flash of burning outrage slashed across Hoseok’s chest. For him to refer to his sister-in-law as a mere “casualty” was about as much as he could stand. But instead of launching himself across the room to lay into him, he curled his hands into fists at his sides. He couldn’t let him get under his skin so soon. They’d only just started talking.

He took a breath, a seemingly vain attempt to dampen his anger.

“So,” Hoseok breathed, “you still think this is some kind of game, huh?”

“I do.” He grinned. “And I’ve won.”

Snorting, Hoseok folded his arms across his chest. “The game isn’t over, Changkyun-ah. I still haven’t given you the keys to my kingdom.”

He watched Changkyun’s mouth form into a small ‘O’ before it spread into an arrogant smirk. “And are you?”

“They’re not mine to give.”

“I beg to differ.” Changkyun took another step closer. “You held Yongsan and Gangnam in your hands for years. You controlled those territories in a way that the other district bosses can’t ignore. It won’t be as easy as a simple gang scuffle to settle things.”

Hoseok frowned. “And why not?”

“Because you made it that way.”

He couldn’t stop the incredulous laugh that slipped out of him. “So what? This is my responsibility?”

“It never stopped being your responsibility.” He closed the distance even further, reaching a hand to grasp at Hoseok’s shoulder. “Don’t you see that?”

For a while, all Hoseok could do was look back at him. This was the man he once considered a good friend; a brother. They had so many ideas for the future. Ideas to make things better. Back when everything made sense because life was simpler. Hoseok believed he could talk Changkyun into turning over a new leaf with him – of paving a road with clean hands and leaving the dirtiness of the underworld behind them. He thought that Changkyun was better suited for a life that didn’t involve crime, betrayal, and cruelty.

The hope for that began to dwindle the day Hoseok saw him murder the former Jade Fangs leader in cold blood.

It completely vanished when he cremated his family’s bodies.

“It’s still not too late, Hyung,” urged Changkyun gently, “you can still join me. Reclaim your territories and come back home. I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have.”

Hoseok sighed, closing his eyes and hanging his head slightly. “Changkyun-ah.” He lifted his head, eyelids fluttering as he opened them to meet the other man’s gaze. “I’m glad we had this talk. You’ve confirmed a few things for me.”

Changkyun canted his head slightly, his calm and welcoming expression melting into slight confusion. “What things?”

“That you haven’t changed. That you never will change.” Hoseok smiled pityingly at him. “You’re incapable of it.”

He felt his hand sliding off his shoulder, dropping limply at his side as he frowned. He didn’t say anything, so Hoseok continued.

“You’ve always been so sneaky. Planning everything so that you are always five steps ahead of the person you’re trying to overtake. You’re good at playing the long game and that’s why you always think you’ve won. That you’ll never be beaten.”

“I have yet to be proven wrong.”

“I’m a thinker too. But there are better thinkers at my side. People who retraced months of your steps in the process of doing their research. People who are better at getting into your head than I am.” Hoseok gave a wide gesture to the empty office space around them. “People who knew about your plans for this warehouse days before my arrival.”

For the first time since their conversation began, Changkyun looked perturbed. Hoseok wasn’t in the business of pouring salt into wounds, but he was done playing nice. He was done giving warnings.

He was finishing this today.

Lowering his gaze, he looked at his watch one more time. His smile grew a little bit wider as he locked his eyes with Changkyun’s – relishing in the realization that slowly overtook his face.

“And those same people found out that you had the gas and electric rewired for the building before having it turned on.”

And then the world shook violently beneath their feet from the explosion downstairs.

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: “Gravity”

Good lord, folks. Buckle your seat-belts because we’ve got a lot to get through this episode. I think this is my longest recap to date, so settle in.

Episode Eleven’s “Gravity” starts out simple enough, focusing on the two fights we’d set up during “Out in the Open.” First up, Ironwood vs. Watts. Overall this fight does a really excellent job of showcasing their different fighting styles. Right from the start Watts is pointing his gun forward to take a clear shot at Ironwood, whereas Ironwood points his backwards to use as a surge of momentum.

He’s going to do this frequently throughout the battle, constantly using his gun to maneuver in the air, slow falls, regain his balance, and change directions, a much more complicated series of choices than the one-off shots we see Ruby use with her sniper rifle. This is partly because Ironwood seems to have a much larger supply of bullets---some sort of energy/dust ammo---than Watts does. His steampunk-esque gun holds only nineteen bullets, requiring him to keep track throughout the fight. Which is always a fun trope but sorry, Watts, you can’t compare to the king.

Thus, with limited weaponry available to him, Watts is forced to get creative with the arena itself. We see him manipulating gravity, shooting up columns of water and fire, and making use of his own pathways between platforms, all in an effort to throw Ironwood off and catch up unawares. However, Ironwood is, frankly, the much better fighter. He was right last week to assume he could handle Watts even though he sent three off to tackle Tyrian. He’s able to recover much more quickly and learns from any mistakes, as evidenced by his ability to hit Watts dead on while in the air the second time he takes out the gravity. When they come together in hand-to-hand Ironwood easily dominates, no doubt thanks not just to his military training and huntsmen lifestyle, but also in large part to his prosthetics which I would assume grant him more speed and power. Throughout the course of the fight we see Watts consistently take more damage to his aura and he’s unable to sense when Ironwood is sneaking up on him. After that little maneuver, Watts (presumably) grows reckless and lets off his last three or four shots in a random barrage. All of them miss.

This emphasis on emotion continues when they land back onto the main stage with Watts shouting, “You never appreciated my genius, James! You just stood atop it and called yourself a giant.” Oh, did Ironwood actually do something horrendous in the past? Is there something juicy that would explain---though not excuse---Watts’ turn towards villainy? Nah. He quickly follows that up with, “You chose that fat imbecile over me!” referring to Pietro. So... nice one, Watts. Crazy arrogance, willful ignorance of Pietro’s own, clear genius (anyone who can create Penny is no slouch), as well as a bit of fat-shamming on top of it all. No sympathy from me.

This moment emphasizes how unhinged Watts is becoming though as the fight turns against him. Even when he manages to setup a head shot Ironwood reveals, “You’re smart, but you’re not the only one who can count,” referencing that Watt’s emotions got the better of him, leading to him wasting his last bullet before it could be of real use.

...except not. I’ve got to admit, I was very pleased when all of this---or at least this particular moment---was merely a plan to get Ironwood to let his guard down. Watts is way too smart a character to be done in by the “You got too emotional and that made you sloppy” trope. So kudos there (even if it remains to be seen whether that Pietro comment was really his motivation, or just another part of the plan). Instead, he uses Ironwood’s confidence in his victory to trap him with the rings that control the arena, essentially pinning Ironwood’s non-prosthetic arm through the energy shields he’s been using. We can immediately see that the parts that have touched Ironwood already have horribly burned the skin.

And that ends up being Watt’s downfall. Not stupidity on his own part, but his lack of understanding of Ironwood himself. He assumes that this truly is a trap for him, rather than another sacrifice. After all, what fool would ruin their one remaining arm to stop him? Watts himself wouldn’t. Don’t pull, he cautions Ironwood, not “unless you’re hoping to add more metal to that body of yours.” Watts goes so far as to turn his back on Ironwood who then makes the sacrifice we all knew he would. One burned, useless arm later and he’s free.

I would like everyone to keep this moment in mind. Namely the utter devastation of it. I’d go so far as to say it’s as bad at Yang losing her arm in Volume 3. Despite seeing it bandaged later, Watts at least thinks it will be a complete loss if Ironwood sacrifices it. He’ll need to “add more metal,” AKA replace his arm, so though he obviously still has it in the following scenes, we don’t know if it will ever be functional again. Just as important, Ironwood had to choose to do that to himself. That wasn’t a horrific, but ultimately clean cut done in a moment of surprise. That was a conscious decision, a slow pull through all that pain, and then having to finish your fight immediately afterward. It’s a very different kind of psychological trauma, no better or worse than having someone take your arm from you by force. Throughout this volume I’ve seen a lot of fans being critical not only of Ironwood’s main decisions, but just his overall attitude as well. Too strict, too stern, doesn’t smile enough, yells sometimes, etc. basically associating someone who isn’t all sunshine and smiles with someone who is “bad.” Ignoring for the moment that we can say the same thing about many of our group---notably Yang---I have little doubt that I’ll see similar posts after this episode. Writings in the vein of, “Ironwood is unhinged! I can’t believe he yelled and hit his desk like that!” So everyone just keep this moment in mind and ask yourself how calm you’d be if you’d sacrificed your arm like that all of half an hour ago. And then found Salem’s calling card on your desk. And then came to the realization that the allies you trusted have been lying to you from the start. And then Salem herself appears to mock you. And then your city is about to be overrun. Basic summary of the rest of the episode: holy shit. So yeah. If Yang is allowed to be angry and upset after losing her arm, or just angry in general like she is in the later half of “Gravity,” I think we owe it to Ironwood to let him be angry too. I have a lot of feelings about the utter insanity he’s been forced through with little to no support and if he wants to take all that out by hitting his desk once, by god I’d say that’s a good coping strategy given the circumstances. Both the writing and the fans tend to erase trauma once you’ve passed age 25. The girls have every right to be upset, to break, to not trust people because they’ve been through a few months of hardship, but Ozpin isn’t allowed the same after a couple thousand years of that. We’re going to see the same hypocrisy later in this episode---the group can be upset about lies but Ironwood is not---and I’m hoping (against hope) that the fandom doesn’t make that worse by sweeping this injury under the rug. It’s horrific and absolutely has a bearing on his inability to keep his cool with the group immediately afterwards. We’ve long passed Ironwood owing them endless reassurances and calm responses. 

Anyway, Ironwood still manages to finish the fight because his remaining arm is his robotic one, giving him the strength to easily drag and raise Watts into the air one-handed. He dangles him over the edge of the arena, announcing that he will “sacrifice whatever it takes to stop [Salem].” A clear bit of foreshadowing for his decision at the end of the episode. Watts responds that he hopes he does.

We then move to the Tyrian fight which, on the whole, I don’t think was done quite as well. Granted, there are a lot of enjoyable and badass moments. I like that Clover’s first act is to announce that Tyrian is under arrest, maintaining the law that Atlas (and Ironwood) works to uphold. It doesn’t matter that Tyrian is a crazy serial killer in league with an immortal sorceress hell-bent on destroying the world. Even crazy serial killers have rights and are given the option of surrendering, even when everyone present knows there’s exactly zero chance of that happening. It’s the principal of the thing and the ability to say, “We gave him a chance.” In a world overrun with inequality, this is a small but important attempt to level the field. If you do something wrong you face legal action and those rights are announced to you. Same for Tyrian. Same for Team RWBY. But we’ll get to that.

For now, we see Qrow attack first and like back in Volume Four he and Tyrian are pretty evenly matched. The tide doesn’t turn until Robyn and Clover come into play. Throughout this exchange we see a lot of cool combos among the three of them. Tyrian will block an incoming arrow with his tail only for Clover to snag it with his hook. Robyn can get another arrow to perfectly bounce off the walls and then Qrow’s scythe, hitting Tyrian dead on. Clover can dive between Tyrian’s legs, giving Qrow the opening he needs to attack. It is, as said, pretty badass... almost a little too badass. Personally, I would have appreciated them messing up once or twice. They’re all professionals, yes, but Qrow and Clover have only had one fight together. Robyn, meanwhile, wasn’t even allied with them until an hour ago. This is a situation where skills shouldn’t really trump, “We’re three very distinct people who don’t know each other’s fighting styles well, trying to attack one guy in very close quarters.” There should have been some screw-ups. Especially when we take semblances into account. What, are we supposed to assume here that Clover’s semblance just conveniently overrides Qrow’s? That no mistakes---let alone anything bad---will happen in this fight despite the fact that it’s an extreme parallel to Volume Four? That whole battle emphasized, “Don’t come closer!” because when people fight near Qrow bad shit happens. Now, he fights with two other people in a narrow alleyway and there’s not a single repercussion. Based on their travels looking for the geist, I don’t buy that Qrow��s semblance is just conveniently inactive while near Clover. Even if I did... that’s not a very good writing decision. To me, it’s just more evidence that Rooster Teeth doesn’t understand its own rules/doesn’t know what to do with an ability like Qrow’s. It causes problems only when they explicitly want it to. Then, miraculously, it’s no longer in effect.

Still, we’ll acknowledge that RWBY had a lot else it wanted to accomplish in this episode, so the need to power through this fight is somewhat justified. I personally would have had the entirety of this episode be the two battles---I was shocked when both ended just eight minutes in---but I’m obviously not the one writing the show. Thus, instead of an episode devoted to both the action and the emotion of confronting our two main villains this volume, Tyrian loses his cool after getting punched in the gut, manages to catch Robyn’s arrow in his teeth... 

But it’s a bomb. 

Down he goes. Fight’s done.

Which leads us into the second half of the episode. I want to preface this with a short acknowledgment before we go any further.

Did these last ten minutes give me what I’ve been looking for since the beginning of Volume Six? No. It’s easy to assume it did because all the pieces are there. Ironwood is finally angry about the secret keeping. The Ace Ops are criticizing the group left and right. Surely this is the “The group is capable of making mistakes and they should be called out for it!” that I wanted, right? Not really. For the simple reason that there is a massive difference between:

A story that acknowledges mistakes as mistakes. The characters either grow from this lesson or dig in their heels and are painted as being in the wrong for that decision.

and

A story that takes what the audience (me) perceives as mistakes and frames them as justified choices. The characters do not grow because they’re 100% sure they’re in the right and those who would criticize them are painted as in the wrong. 

“Gravity” is so far into that second option I don’t think the series can come back from it. Does the group face criticism? Yes, but every single time the writing insists that it’s undeserved criticism. It paints the group as the underdogs facing unfair odds, rather than equals---with all the responsibility that comes with that---facing criticism that they need to own up to. Absolutely nothing in this second half implies that the group is going to learn from their mistakes because they, and the writing, still insists that they weren’t mistakes. Which is precisely what we’ve gotten before. Cordovin might criticism them, but Cordovin is in the wrong. Winter might criticism them, but Winter is in the wrong. Every time a character goes, “Hey, you shouldn’t have done this” the group responds with, “Yes we should have!” and the story backs them up. Yes, you should have attacked Argus. Yes, you should have stolen an airship. Yes, you should have lied to Ironwood and spilled the secret to Robyn. Yes, yes, yes. That’s the takeaway every single time. The group is never in the wrong. Others just think they are and those others are painted as cruel, militaristic, unhinged characters.

It’s not at all what I was looking for. Just more of the same.

So that’s the preface. In terms of what we actually get, Ironwood returns to his office with his arm bandaged and in a sling, carrying Watts’ bag, only to drop it when he sees the queen piece on his desk. He calls Winter asking, “Was anyone caught entering the school grounds while I was away?” and when she says no Ironwood has her race off to the Winter Maiden, unknowingly leading Cinder there in the process. “Now show me where you’ve been hiding her.”

We then cut to the group where the trouble begins. They’re not just curious about why Ironwood is recalling them with Mantle still in need of evacuation, they’re actively questioning it. This is the attitude I simply don’t understand. The group acts as if Ironwood is deliberately screwing everyone over when they know better. This is no longer the beginning of the volume where they thought he was some horrific dictator hell bent on destroying his own Kingdom. This is just an hour or so after, “We should tell Ironwood!” and the happy-go-lucky ‘We trust him now’ moment. Even less time after Ruby stared up at him in awe with, “He’s doing it.” They had reason to trust him before they even made it to Atlas. They were given even more reasons in the form of Ironwood sharing his secrets, early licenses, and being allowed to work on the tower. They then still waited until Ironwood was doing everything they wanted before giving him some of that trust back... but the moment he stops doing precisely what they want---we want to keep evacuating Mantle---he’s deemed suspicious again. 

I mean seriously, is the group that dense? Are they incapable of thinking to themselves, “Wow, something must have happened if Ironwood is recalling us before evacuations are complete,” which is precisely the case. The scene tries to frame it as “Group Good” and “Ace Ops Blinding Obeying Orders Bad” but that aspect doesn’t even come into play. There’s nothing blind about it. It simply takes two seconds of critical thinking skills to realize that something really awful must have happened back at the Academy that trumps what you’re doing in Mantle. This is what I mean by the writing being biased. Before we even reach the fight in Ironwood’s office it’s trying to paint him as potentially cruel, potentially suspicious, potentially abandoning his people, look how worried our heroes are about this secret decision he’s made... when all that requires ignoring some really basic deduction in order to reach those assumptions. Remember that intelligence is a plot device in RWBY. If they want Ironwood forced to spill his secrets, he’ll randomly start talking about them in front of his enemies. If they want Ironwood painted as the villain, the group will randomly be incapable of realizing that maybe, just maybe, something went wrong on the home front and you’re needed there.

Things just get so much worse from then on. The group splits with JNR going off to find Oscar and, admittedly, I was shocked we got that at all. I mean yeah, it’s setup for the final reveal at the end of the episode, but the fact that anyone remembered Oscar was missing---let alone happily went off to find him---was still a surprise. So only Team RWBY heads back to Ironwood’s office where they find him (rightfully) panicking over the queen on his desk. Weiss tries to baby him, acting like he’s freaking out over nothing, when all these characters should recall precisely what Ironwood himself points out: the last time we saw this symbol it was a message that Beacon had fallen. He’s not paranoid here. He’s entirely justified in his panic. Ironwood likewise points out that they may have been duped into bringing thousands of people into Atlas as easy targets and Vine agrees, setting up that the Ace Ops are on Team Ironwood throughout the course of this conversation. Not out of blind loyalty, but because he’s right. That is a concern. That may be the plan. We do need to try and do something about that. Team RWBY, however, isn’t convinced.

That is, until Ruby realizes that the chess piece is made of black glass. Which means Cinder left it. Normally I’d congratulate her on that deduction---it is the one smart move we see Ruby pull this whole episode---but I just hate what follows. Namely that Ruby and Ruby alone controls her team’s opinions on a situation. Again. We saw it back in the snow, then again when Blake announced in the elevator that they’d do whatever she wanted. Team RWBY is the one who blindly follows their leader, not the Ace Ops, the only exception being Blake and Yang going rogue in regards to Robyn, but we see that hive-mind mindset here again. Ironwood brings up a good point? Nothing. Ace Ops support that point with more logic? Nothing. Ruby supports it? Oh, suddenly Weiss and Blake are taking this seriously. Suddenly Yang is fired up and ready to do whatever is necessary. Ruby controls the room. It’s only when she’s on board that her teammates decide this is worth getting riled up about.

Which, as I’ve said before, is a horrible way to write a diverse group. Especially when the writing is trying to paint the Ace Ops as mindless soldiers. For all their claims that they just have to follow orders, they’re the only ones parsing through this situation and coming to their own conclusions. It’s just that their conclusions do end up aligning with Ironwood’s which is the “bad” take in this scene. Team RWBY, however, waits until their leader makes a decision and then simply rides her cloak tails. The day that Blake, Yang, or Weiss legitimately disagree with Ruby---not a token “Are you sure we should keep secrets from Ironwood? We’re not actually challenging this. Just checking in”---is the day the writing will disagree with her. AKA, no time soon.

Blake tries to give some bland reassurance about them all being with Ironwood to which he responds, “Are you with me? How did Robyn know about the global communications tower?” Thank you! Thank you for giving us Ironwood’s characterization back and acknowledging that he has no reason to buy their generic ‘Got your back’ statements when everything they’ve done this volume has proven otherwise. They don’t support Ironwood, only themselves and their own teams. The minute he does something they don’t like he’s chucked under the bus. Too bad the writing doesn’t acknowledge any of this and instead continually paints the group as being justified in their decisions. It’s that hypocrisy again. When the group yells at Ozpin for keeping secrets we’re supposed to be on their side. When the Ace Ops yell at the group for keeping secrets we’re... still supposed to be on their side.

Weiss tries to diffuse the situation with “None of this matters right now!” which is real rich when they were just complaining about Ironwood not telling them why they were called back. They get to worry over that, but Ironwood isn��t allowed to worry about them outright betraying him? “Loyalty always matters!” he shouts back and he’s right. Why should Ironwood trust them to have his back in this crucial moment when they’ve never had it before? I’m already seeing more of this hypocrisy among the fandom. When Ozpin kept secrets and told lies the group was given a whole volume to be pissed about that and fans still, to this very day, insist that it hasn’t been enough time for them to get over it, to regain even a portion of that trust. But now that Ironwood has been lied to and betrayed in the same manner? People are annoyed that he’s not just shrugging it off. How dare you not get over in thirty seconds what our heroes got weeks to work through. His inability to just suck it up, as it were, is used to make him seem irrational here. I don’t see anyone, characters or fans alike, acknowledging that his anger is as righteous as the group’s was out in the snow. That there is the disconnect.

Of course, something has to break the tension. Drawn by all the fury and fear, a grimm pops out of Watts’ bag. A fail-safe for if he was defeated and captured. Salem immediately takes control of the grimm and kills it, using its form to appear before them. She reveals that it doesn’t matter that her men were captured. They were just there to “set the stage,” which they’ve done. Still doesn’t explain the random Penny side plot to my mind (seriously, why did the story bother to resurrect her when she has done nothing plot-wise or emotionally?), but whatever. Much more importantly, the stage is set for Salem herself. She’s approaching with the grimm army we saw her amassing which is... iffy.

First off, why? Why after a thousand years has she suddenly changed her MO from keeping to the sidelines to a full-on attack? Again, what’s the catalyst for that massive change? We don’t know. Meanwhile, from a writing perspective, I’m hesitant about having our Big Bad thrown into the mix before the finale. We know there are plenty of volumes left in this series, which automatically undermines any battle they might have with Salem. Will they win?? Of course not! Because RWBY isn’t over yet. Granted, this could all just be a ruse of some sort. Maybe Salem just wants them to think she’s approaching with an army, which would be much more up her alley in terms of long-distance manipulation. But if not... seriously, what’s the point of that?

Here’s hoping it’s a bluff.

Speaking of manipulation, we get a fantastically creepy moment where Salem tells Ironwood to “simply accept the futility of your situation” while smiling like a kind mother. That’s the Salem who is truly dangerous. Ironwood reaffirms that he won’t give up the relics and Ruby pips up with, “We don’t have to kill you to stop you.”

Hey wait. I’m gonna give you all another graphic.

This is Ozpin’s stance! This is his plan! His version of hope! We spent all of Volume Six having the cast beat on him for, “Omg Salem is immortal?!” and with the exception of Nora’s comment, no discussion of this in Volume Seven... but now suddenly Ruby is making this announcement? The group came to this revelation sometime off screen which we a) don’t get to see and b) once again created no scenario in the form of, “Wow! Ozpin was right all along! Maybe we should go talk to him...”

I’m just... wow. The number of times the writing takes what the group and the adults do, the exact same perspectives and decisions, and twists it so that the group comes out looking like heroes and the adults look like misguided, unhinged fools who need to be put in their place... I’m really over it at this point. And by extension the group themselves. Their characterizations have been so badly mangled at this point I legitimately don’t like them as people. I don’t care if they say they want to protect Mantle, or if they say they’ll support Ironwood, or if they say they’re unsure about their choices. All their actions claim otherwise.

Rather than grappling with the huge revelation that the group is apparently no longer obsessed with Salem’s immortality (or rather that Ruby isn’t. The rest of the group doesn’t actually matter. As established, they sync up with her beliefs the second she announces them), we return to Summer Rose. Salem goes, “Your mother said those words to me” and Ruby... loses it? What? I would have been 100% on board with this if we’d gotten it last Volume because then we saw Ruby losing her cool periodically. The smashed alcohol bottles. Chucking her scroll. Screaming at Qrow. That was all building to something. But then we had a year and roughly twelve episodes of normality. Ruby jumps into her fight with Cordovin and has been fine ever since. Hell, she’s been bubbly and confident, goofing off with Penny in one episode, then giving strong orders to her team in another. The one time we see her falter was in her conversation with Qrow and he reassured her completely that she was both doing the right thing and in no way comparable to Ozpin. Now, suddenly, one line from Salem and Ruby collapses? Full on incapacitated? I could buy the crying while still standing strong, I could buy a collapse if we’d kept her characterization going from Volume Six, but this kind of reaction in this context just felt so extreme. Doesn’t help that I really wasn’t sold on the voice acting here. Those cries sound less like devastated sobs and more like weird hiccups. Not to rag on Lindsay. On the whole I think she does a really excellent job as Ruby, it’s just this particular moment didn’t read right to me. I didn’t feel Ruby’s supposed grief here.

So that was... a lot for one line from Salem in a volume of otherwise confident and cool-headed Ruby. We also don’t see it amounting to anything, as per usual with RWBY’s writing. Ruby isn’t out of commission for the rest of the conversation or anything. She pops right back up after a second in Yang’s lap, just as confident and go-getting as before. There was no lead up to this and there are no consequences for the breakdown. Rooster Teeth honestly seems to think they can just chuck random things into the story---Ruby needs to show emotion at some point!---and then just leave it at that, entirely disconnected from everything else around it. Would we have known that Ruby just had her first breakdown of the series a minute later while once again betraying Ironwood? Nope.

Finally, this scene shows us again that the Argus battle was a bunch of nonsense. Ruby’s eyes nearly activate when she’s grieving for her mother, imagining---or perhaps seeing via Salem?---a sad Summer, not a smiling one. Just like her eyes activated while seeing Pyrrha die. Just like they activated when Blake was nearly killed by the Apathy. They activate now while thinking about her mother’s death. The montage of happy moments in lieu of the sad ones not working last volume was entirely out of place.

Salem finally leaves. Now everyone is panicking about this army. Elm points out that they’ll know if anything approaches. Vine checks and realizes that Watts took out their perimeter. Either that or Salem has already destroyed everyone and everything out there. It’s impossible to know. During all this Blake asks if the Amity tower is actually finished and we get more nonsense about how Ironwood is evil for telling a lie, but the group is always justified in telling theirs. The writing really tried to compare Ironwood telling Mantle---who I guarantee 100% does not care about whether a communications tower is finished while they’re getting attacked by grimm---a lie to lure out one of their biggest threats to Blake and Yang going behind Ironwood’s back to tell a potentially non-trustworthy outlaw about said tower, risking that the information would fall into the wrong hands and doom the project before it could be completed either way. Those are not in any way comparable situations, yet the writing really has Weiss going, “General Ironwood?” in a ‘How could you betray us like that?’ tone while Yang continues to look pissed.

And as if they didn’t know! How is this a personal betrayal? They were all helping to build that tower. Surely they’d know it it was that close to being done. Again, critical thinking skills, people. Anyone with two brain cells and their insider information should have looked at Ironwood’s announcement and gone, “Oh, that must be a bluff. Just a few days ago we were arguing about whether to continue taking resources from Mantle. No way is Amity ready. He’s going after Watts. Who is indeed the much bigger threat. Considering that he has control over the entirety of our technology and there’s literally no downside to telling Mantle about a finished tower when they’re getting devoured by grimm.” This is another, “But lying is wrong!” in the face of “But lying kept us alive...?” 

Does everyone get what I’m saying here? How RWBY takes these situations and tries to paint them in an absolutely ridiculous light, expecting the audience to blindly accept this perspective despite everything else they’ve seen for themselves? Like, two episodes ago? I swear I’ve never encountered writing that treats its audience this badly. Scene after scene relies heavily on the viewer having no ability to think for themselves. Just accept that Ironwood is a horrible person for lying about the tower even though there are no repercussions for that and we JUST watched him defeating Watts as a result. Like, five minutes ago. That just happened. In this episode. 

Ironwood then drops the bomb that Winter has gone off to claim the Maiden power. Interesting development. I wonder what that means exactly. Is she just going to lock herself away until the Maiden dies naturally? Do they have her on some sort of life support and is there an agreement to pull the plug if necessary? Are they going to use a machine similar to the one Pyrrha was in and try to force the change early? Or is this just a misleading comment and Winter is merely off to protect the Maiden, no intention of taking the power now? Who knows. We’ll have to wait until next episode to find out.

Ironwood likewise announces that the staff and the lamp need to be locked away now that they’re compromised, even though they’ve been compromised since they first saw Tyrian in Mantle. Insert another [this scenario is so stupid and contrived] explanation here. It’s made worse by Ruby’s childish “You said we could keep it.” Excuse me? What, did you think the lamp was your personal property now forever and always? Is Ruby really sitting there arguing that something Ironwood told her weeks ago trumps the obvious logic of putting the relic where it’s somewhere safe? That’s the characterization we’re going for, a leader who cares more about, ‘But you said we could have it!’ over the fate of the world? What even is this? The fact that Ironwood has to explain to them that the situation has changed just reinforces the group’s overall attitude. That is, one of arrogance and importance. They literally need to be told why putting the relic in a nearly impenetrable vault is better than letting them have it just because they want it. Plus, you know, they lied about the lamp from the start. So there’s that too.

Finally, Ironwood reveals that Amity was originally a plan of Ozpin’s but he didn’t push it far enough. Instead, he intends to use the staff to lift all of Atlas instead, hopefully taking two relics and a Maiden far out of Salem’s reach. Ruby wants to use the tower for its designed purpose instead, which is only a valid option in her mind because the writing was stupid last week. If there had actually been any logic there---if people had been allowed to react naturally and in a variety of ways to the Salem announcement, rather than a super convenient “Yeah! Let’s all work together!” across an entire, panicking city---she wouldn’t be quite so eager to tell the whole world. But we all know at this point that logic bends to the protagonists’ whims, so Ruby wants that same perfect ending across all of Remnant. She stands her ground, as does her team. Obviously.

Meanwhile, the Ace Ops aren’t just following Ironwood’s orders like the writing wants us to think via Harriet’s earlier comment. Rather, they’re each thinking through the situation for themselves and making very good points. If Salem has taken out our perimeter than we know our tech and people don’t stand a chance against this army. We just finished up the fight in Mantle and none of us are in a position to start another. Notably, Harriet brings this up, the one whose aura took a massive hit while nearly getting crushed underfoot. Vine points out that sometimes you have to lose a battle to win the war, but Team RWBY, to be blunt, simply doesn’t care.

I’ll be blunt myself here too: I don’t have an easy solution to this particular scenario. I don’t know what the “right” or the “wrong” choice is. Weighing starting a fight with VERY high stakes you’ll lose against abandoning the people of Mantle is just a straight up horrific decision. Like so much of what Ozpin faced, there is no clear-cut, good answer here. Do you stand by the people and risk the world, or work to save the world and doom the people? I don’t know and I do commend Rooster Teeth for writing a difficult choice... just not in giving each side the weight it deserves. Because as said, we’re meant to root for Team RWBY, always. Theirs is presented as the “right” choice every time, despite the fact that, as established, this is far from a black and white decision.

What frustrates me the most is when faced with all of these logical and very important considerations (we might not have backup, we’re in no position to fight, if Salem gets the relics and another Maiden the world is screwed) the group won’t even acknowledge these things. They’re so set in their own perspective they won’t even give these HUGE concerns the time of day. Rather, Yang shoots back, “You can’t just back down from a fight!”

That’s it. That’s the group’s problem in a single line.

This is what got Pyrrha killed.

It’s something the group should remember. She also insisted on fighting when she should have retreated and, since this was back during the days when characters actually faced consequences for their actions, it cost Pyrrha her life. Granted, going after Cinder was a truly useless endeavor. Pyrrha achieved nothing with her sacrifice. Here, Team RWBY hopes to save the people of Mantle, adding a clear justification for their insistence on fighting... but this is nevertheless indicative of that larger “punch it until it stops moving” mindset. It’s not that they decide to fight instead of retreating that’s the problem, it’s that to their mind fighting is the only option. Ever. This is what led to them attacking Cordovin and destroying Argus’ mech, drawing a massive grimm in the process. When faced with the option of backing down, Team RWBY doesn’t consider that an option at all. Which is heroic when up against an actual enemy, far less so when you’re facing an ally and the choice to fight has serious repercussions attached to it. Hell, the group doesn’t even consider compromises. They could have easily acknowledged that collecting the relics, the Maiden, and getting the staff to work on Atlas will take time. You do that while we focus on evacuating the rest of Mantle to the city. But no, even the concept of a compromise simply isn’t possible. You just always fight. Straight up. Anyone who suggests anything less isn’t a true huntsmen. “We’re loyal to the people!” Ruby shouts, as if “the people” doesn’t also include the rest of the world that Ironwood is trying to save and that they’re endangering by keeping the relics and Maiden within Salem’s reach. 

That is one messed up perspective to tout in a story infused with the complex and the morally gray.

The real kicker though? Ruby’s ‘My way or the highway’ attitude obliterates a solution that fell straight into her lap. Jaune calls and says straight out that they have another situation. If Ruby had listened to her teammate for just three seconds they all would have learned about Oscar, thereby undermining Ironwood’s plan. He can’t keep the lamp safe if he doesn’t know where it is. You look for it while, again, we evacuate Mantle. Then we take everything out of Salem’s reach. Win-win. Instead, Ruby blasts her way through the situation. Literally, dodging Ironwood and hiding behind his desk shouting a highly bias version of his plan in the hopes of getting everyone on her side. And it works. 

Because those like Clover don’t get to hear any of that context. Like how the perimeter is gone, there’s an army potentially coming, no one is in a position to fight, we’ve already lost a relic... they just here a Ruby’s version of events that paints Ironwood as the callous man Robyn thought he was---oh my god he’s abandoning Mantle for no good reason!---and people will react accordingly. Ruby likewise doesn’t care that shouting such information over all channels does things like, say, clue Tyrian into their plan. She just wants to do things her way, right now. Pausing to think (because thinking isn’t fighting) simply doesn’t happen.

I used to adore Ruby as a hero. Someone who was intrinsically good, hopeful, and wickedly clever in her ability to come out on top. Now she’s stubborn, arrogant, at times cruel, and charges in headfirst like her sister, refusing to consider any perspective other than her own. And her team endlessly supports that. The writing endlessly supports that. This isn’t our hero working through her flaws, but rather a flawed character that the writing refuses to acknowledge is flawed. When Ruby flies behind Ironwood’s desk the music rises triumphantly, just like it did when she attacked Cordovin’s mech. When Ironwood announces that they’re under arrest, Ruby spits back, “We won’t just let you take us” and we’re supposed to cheer.

Which brings us back to the question of whether the group really faced consequences here. Let me give you all a random, non-RWBY example of two scenes. Scenario One:

Parent: You punched her?

Teen: She insulted me!

Parent: I understand that, but that doesn’t mean you were justified in attacking her.

Teen: Oh, I was.

Parent: Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t, but you can’t solve all your problems that way.

Teen: I... I know that, okay. Back off. I just get so angry...

Parent: I know. We’re going to work on that. You’re grounded this weekend. We can discuss this more then.

Teen: [sighs] Fine.

vs. Scenario Two:

Parent: You punched her?

Teen: She insulted me!

Parent: I understand that, but that doesn’t mean you were justified in attacking her.

Teen: Oh, I was.

Parent: Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t, but you can’t solve all your problems that way.

Teen: Screw you! It worked didn’t it? I think a good punch goes a long way.

Parent: That’s not... okay look. You’re grounded this weekend so---

Teen: Like hell I am. [Proceeds to run off]

Teen: [Later to friend] ---and then she tried to ground me? Can you believe that?

Friend: Holy shit what an asshole.

If we put aside my own iffy dialogue for the moment, Scenario One acknowledges the complexity of the situation while likewise pointing out that the teen didn’t handle herself well. RWBY has achieved that here: the ethics of this scenario are acknowledged as complicated, but the group did things they shouldn’t have, as evidence by Ironwood’s anger and the Ace Ops’ criticism. However, Scenario One goes on to let the teen acknowledge that mistake, thereby validating it in the first place. A consequence is set, grounding, and they accept that, thereby further validating that their behavior needs work. They accept the consequence because both they and the writing acknowledge that the consequence is deserved. It takes what was previously two subjective stances---they say I’m wrong, I say I’m right---and encourages the audience to find the middle ground. Neither was totally wrong or right. The teen might be justified in some respects, but still made mistakes in others. She needs to improve. 

RWBY, however, steers firmly into Scenario Two wherein the teen (Team RWBY) insists points blank that they never made mistakes in the first place, thereby encouraging the audience to question whether Ironwood and the Ace Ops (the parent) is right to be calling them out at all. We see no humility or guilt, only confidence. Ruby shouting “No!” at Cordovin when she’s told to surrender. Yang keeping silent after admitting that she and Blake told Robyn, not bothering to apologize or admit that this might have been a breech of trust. They challenge the validity of the claim that mistakes were made and by virtue of being protagonists encourage the audience to challenge it too. Finally, we see them reject the consequence because they will not admit that it’s deserved. The teen will not accept a grounding. Ruby: “We won’t just let you take us.” We’re then told by others that this rejection was warranted. The friend reinforces the view that the teen was right to run because that punishment is undeserved. The message is, “You never did anything wrong in the first place.” The plot of RWBY likewise reinforces the view that resisting Cordovin’s arrest was right by having her randomly let the group go. The consequence is replaced with a reward and, presumably, we’ll have a similar situation wherein the group either defeats the Ace Ops or is released by them. The consequences never take hold because the writing doesn’t think there should be consequences in the first place. Team RWBY isn’t going to be arrested here. They’re certainly not acknowledging that on some level they deserve to be. We didn’t see that humility while they were cuffed on the airship---that most basic acknowledgement of, “Did we make some mistakes? Could we have done something better? Is Ironwood right to be this mad?”---and there’s none of it now here, either. The tone is pure, “How dare you try and arrest us? We’re the good guys here!” 

This remains as pro-protagonist as it has been the last two volumes. There are no consequences, only another hurdle for the group to overcome, painted as heroes for doing so. It’s Team RWBY vs. The Ace Ops and there’s no confusion about who we’re supposed to be rooting for. The Ace Ops because the group should rightly be stopped from hindering Ironwood’s attempts to keep the relics and a Maiden out of Salem’s hands, for their own lies and secret keeping that endangered them all this volume? Nope. It’s Team RWBY as the presumed heroes, facing off against soldiers who (supposedly) prioritize orders over what’s “right.” 

And yeah, Oscar is gone. There are a number of dismantled robots and blaster fire in the room where Neo presumably took him. So unless they do a flashback we don’t get to see if/how Ozpin reacted to this initial attack. I hope they do provide a flashback because otherwise that’s another crucial scene of Oscar’s that happened off screen...

Can’t wait to see what else we’ll end up with next week! Until then, 💜

[nadiya-ffxiv]

Bounty Call: Ghost Ship

BOUNTY DETAILS || A ship has been spotted drifting around the waters of Vylbrand, paying no mind to the other vessels it crashes into in its passing. Through the day on deck the ship appears empty but at night the true crew reveal themselves, freezing and possessing those who attempt to board their ship. The ship does not move during the day but at night it glows eerily, the spectral crew mates appear and fend off intruders as the ship continues on the waters. Slay the ghosts that haunt and drive the ship through the seas, allowing the vessel to be returned to the people of La Noscea.

LOCATION || Last rumored to be halted near the Bloodshore when the sun set.

REWARD || 40,000g for the spectral cloth of each ghost on board.

BOUNTY ROULETTE || (6) Unexpected Aid! A nearby adventurer chanced upon your hunt and helped at a critical moment.

As the residents of Costa el Sol returned to their homes, the golden hue of dusk slowly faded into the dark blue of night. The distant clicking of giant sand crabs could be heard over the gentle rush of the ocean waves, and the subtle crooning of a nearby seagull disturbed the otherwise peaceful night air. A single droplet of rain splattered against the wooden deck overlooking the shore, followed succinctly by several more until the entire beach became enveloped in a heavy rainshower. A quiet observer sat along the deck’s edge; an unassuming if not entirely ordinary looking individual if it hadn’t been for the wild mane of untamed curls whipping around her head. That and, of course, the pair of bunny ears protruding from the crown of curls, marking her as a Viera and generally an uncommon visitor to these parts.

“‘Scuse me, Miss,” a voice said from behind her. “I’m about to go on me break, but I can get ye a drink or sommin’ before I do?”

The Viera glanced over her shoulder at the barkeep. She gave him a small smile that did not quite seem to reach her eyes, and shook her head, “No… thank you.”

He gave her a curious look and shrugged his shoulders before disappearing to the other side of the circular rotunda. She heard the quick strike of a match and the strong aroma of cigarette smoke. It won’t be long now, she thought to herself. 

As her eyes fixed themselves on the horizon, the young Nadiya Wolt was reminded of a great many memories. Life aboard a seaship hadn’t been a natural transition for the Viera. The majority of her young life had been confined to the security of the forest, after all. Even in the comfortable stillness of her bed in the Goblet, she could sometimes feel the soft ebb and flow of the ocean glide across her body like a long lost lover returning home. It was about the only thing Nadiya truly missed about that life. Then again, it hadn’t been a life of her choosing from the start.

Suddenly, the seagull from before squawked unpleasantly and flapped its wings in a mad dash to fly away. Nadiya watched the bird fly inland, brows knitting together expectantly, before spotting an unearthly glow beginning to form on the horizon. Its greenish hue permeated the dark blue surrounding it, until the shape of a ship materialized from the shadows. Her expression darkened as she verified what must surely be her target creep closer towards shore before eventually stopping several malms from the coast.

Nadiya narrowed her gaze. She took the next few moments to mentally prepare herself. The ship sat unnaturally still, its beckoning glow an ominous warning to all who witnessed it.

From the other side of the rotunda, the barkeep perked up at the sound of something falling into the ocean waters. He peered around the pillar he was leaning against, surprised to find the quiet stranger no longer sitting at her perch. He glanced around curiously, shrugged his shoulders again, and took a long drag from his cigarette.

Nadiya’s head broke the surface of the ocean waves as they raged around her. The wind had picked up, making the journey all the more difficult, but it hadn’t been an all too unfamiliar situation. She paddled onward, taking large strokes as she swam toward the glowing vessel. The waves, strangely enough, seemed to carry her there… as if the ocean itself wanted to aid her in her efforts. And as Nadiya closed the gap, the sheer size of the ship rivaled any vessel she had seen previously.

She paddled to the hull of the ship and gripped at its wooden beams with one hand, using her other hand to unhook a small blade from her thigh. In one swift motion, Nadiya stabbed the hull with the blade above her head, using it to hoist herself up and out of the water. She struggled to keep herself up, fighting to keep her grip on the slick boards, made even more difficult by the added weight of her wet clothes. Above her head was a small perch with a doorway leading to inside the ship. She would need only be able to reach the landing… if she could just keep from slipping.

With gritted teeth, Nadiya stretched an arm as far as it could reach and gripped the space between two boards. Lifting by her fingertips, she managed to hoist herself up enough to plant the heel of her boot on the hilt of the blade and push up, flattening her stomach to the wall of the ship. She took a moment to breath, eyes glaring at the landing overhead, before promptly leaping sideways with outstretched arms. By a narrow margin, her fingers found the edge, her legs flailing wildly as the ship lurched too and fro. Nadiya grunted as she heaved herself up onto the platform and slumped onto her side, the rain relentless in its pursuit of making this mission more difficult.

She suddenly regretted not having that drink from before.

Inside the ship, Nadiya couldn’t detect anything afoul. In fact, she couldn’t detect anything at all, which was perhaps even more unnerving. The door had opened up into what must be the captain’s quarters. A desk was stationed at the far end of the room with what looked like a bed adjacent to it. Approaching it, Nadiya sifted through pieces of parchment haphazardly strewn across the desk, attempting to find any clue that might shed some light on the mission. One in particular caught her eye: A sketch of a Roegadyn male, faded from water damage, with giant swathes of ink crossing out his features… as if someone had angrily marked out his face. Nadiya thumbed through several more, finding nothing more of any interest, and proceeded to a narrow staircase on her right.

There was a door at the top of the stairs. Nadiya quietly pressed a palm against it and peered through the crack as she eased it open. Her eyes widened at what she saw.

Clambering across the deck were over a dozen men. But what made them truly horrifying were their pale, ghostly complexion… their eyes hollowed out to an empty blackness and their expressions seemingly frozen mid-scream.

Wait… literal ghosts?! Nadiya thought. She hadn’t thought this would be an actual ghost ship. When she had accepted the bounty, Nadiya fully presumed that this was nothing more than a seaman’s tall tales. That what some were calling a ghost crew was merely fantastical ramblings of men imbued with too much corrupt aether. It quickly dawned on Nadiya that she was woefully unprepared for this. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t get the time to back out, as one of these ghostly men suddenly blocked her view from the door and thrust it open.

Nadiya jumped back and stared up at the figure, his empty eyes burrowing down at her with the weight of a hundred lost souls. She froze, unable to think of anything to do, when her instincts took over and she kicked a foot out toward his chest. It made contact, surprising herself, and he was sent careening backwards onto the deck.

Nadiya sprinted out and leapt over him, teetering sideways as the ship swayed angrily back and forth. The commotion she had caused caught the attention of the other crewman, their gaze shifting toward her. She pivoted in a circle, realizing she was surrounded, and backed into the ship mast. Her feet bumped into a fallen broom and she quickly scooped it up, brandishing it as a weapon. Nadiya felt insurmountably foolish, but what good would her pistol do against ghosts?

One of the men came at her and she made a wide swing at him with the broom, making a loud crack against his jaw. Nadiya squeaked, eyes wide as she watched him stumble backward. A beat passed, and then she promptly dropped the broom and unholstered the pistol from her hip.

Several rounds went off, each one a direct hit as they came at her. When one would attack, she would shoulder him in the chest, firing at another as he came on her opposite side. Even in close quarters, Nadiya could be a deadly shot, made evident by how she ducked, twirled, kicked, and swung the barrel of her pistol. Nadiya scaled the ladder leading up to the crow’s nest, giving herself the high ground to pick off each crewman as he tried to grab at her ankles. When the bodies of each crewman laid strewn across the deck, one lowly individual stood at the helm of the ship.

“You know…” she began as leapt from the ladder, her boots making a wet thud against the deck. “For ghosts… you all are a very corporeal bunch.”

The man’s back was turned to her, but Nadiya could clearly make out he was the captain of this ship. She stood her ground, pistol raised to aim at his back, and said, “Any last words before I send you back to a watery grave?”

The captain was motionless, his arms crossed over his chest. The rain pelted them relentlessly. For a moment, Nadiya assumed he would keep his silence, and so she cocked the hammer back at her pistol and readied her finger on the trigger.

Then, he began to laugh.

As he did, the bodies of the crew began to rise from the ground, each one shuffling back to his feet. Nadiya watched in silent horror as they did, and quickly tried to think of an escape plan. Before she could throw herself overboard, a voice called from overhead.

“What did I tell you about playing in the rain?!”

She looked up just as a man fell from the sky, a rose lanner circling overhead.

“Nikolas!” Nadiya exclaimed, suddenly glad to see a friendly face.

The Midlander landed behind her. Without hesitating, he threw out his arms wide and a blinding light beamed out from his chest. Nadiya had to cover her eyes, but could just make out the dark silhouettes of the crewmen disperse into ash as the light enveloped them. They opened their mouths to scream, but no sound escaped them. And as the light faded from sight, so too did their fleshly bodies, leaving nothing but the dirty garments in their wake.

Nikolas turned to Nadiya, raindrops scaling down his face as he smiled. “You’ll catch a cold, my dear Nadiya…”

Nadiya smiled a wide, toothy grin. “I’d kiss you if you’d actually like it, you know that?”

Nikolas grinned wryly, “Yes, yes… and though you are quite the beauty, dear, you lack a certain masculine aura that I personally find most alluring.”

Nadiya grinned back at him before promptly returning her gaze to the one remaining crewmember. The captain faced them now, his seaworn face twisted into an angry grimace.

“I follow your lead,” Nadiya said and gripped Nikolas’ hand. “My aether is yours.”

He smiled, squeezing her hand in his, and held up his palm to face the captain. As the light grew from his hand, the captain let out a colossal scream. The dark hollows of his eyes and mouth persisted in the light before they too faded into dust, leaving nothing but the clothes on his back on the ground. Nadiya approached the heap, picking out a cloth bandana and holding it out in front of her face.

“That’s 40k… and more if you can find any others,” she said to Nikolas, plopping the spectral cloth in his hands. 

“Not bad… though, I expect to split the pot 70/30 now…seeing as I did all the work.”

Nadiya scoffed, paused, and then moved toward the helm. “Make it 60/40, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Nikolas grinned a cheeky grin and went to retrieve any more spectral cloths. “Can’t say I don’t love me a good deal,” he mused, pocketing what he could find from the scraps of clothing.

Nadiya rolled her eyes and shook her head. She placed either hand on the wheel and called out to Nikolas behind her, “Let’s bring this beauty back to Limsa, eh?!”

FIN.

[darkestwolfx]

Long Haul - Re-Review #48

Okay, I think I managed to reply to most people yesterday, but I had over a hundred odd notifications to scroll through - so if I missed your comment, I’m really sorry! So, moving on to today’s review.

It’s all nice and steady, business as usual, and there’s even some lovely peaceful music until we get to the ‘duh-dun’ part and in comes trouble.

“All ships divert from bay 2:1 and await further instructions.”

“Bravo Two Four, I gave an order to divert.”

“Sorry control, missed that.”

Okay, it wasn’t their fault, as such, there’s very little you can do about radio interference, but these things will happen and cause chaos. At least it wasn’t deliberate for once!

“We hit something! How bad is it?”

“We’re going into meltdown!”

That bad is your answer, mate.

“Space Hub One, come in. This is International Rescue. Do you need assistance?”

“This is Controller Conrad. Our core is ruptured, the coolant unit is leaking, and we’re going into meltdown. Apart from that, everything is fine.”

Yes, that makes everything sound just peachy! I wouldn’t cool that everything is fine. Apart from what? Everything is dying on you basically. Meltdown is pretty... finite?

“Do you have an EVAC in progress?”

“Yes, I’m riding the power controls to buy time until everyone is out. But I’m only delaying the meltdown. I can’t stop it.”

“Alan, you reading this? You need to get up there.”

“FAB John, I’m on my way.”

Hooray for Thunderbird Three! Although, did Alan leave with any plan other than to get Conrad who was going to evacuate anyway? It seems like John was predicting a rescue would be needed here, which isn’t a bad thing, I just wasn’t entirely clear on the reasoning. On the one hand, you’ve got predicting something before it happens which is great; but on the other, you’ve got acting too soon, which then dragged Thunderbird Two up, when maybe Virgil could have just gone with Alan? I know it’s all for the sake of story, so I’m not going to dwell here for long.

“Conrad, time to get out of there.”

“Okay, I’m heading out.”

Apparently, according to the writers with their hands of God, you are not!

“Alan, Conrad was still on board when the comms went down. He was about to evac, but I don’t know if he made it.”

“If he’s there, I’ll find him. I got him! But he’s not moving, and life signs are very weak. One wrong more and the whole thing will break apart.”

Just to my penny’s worth in here, very cheery start to the episode! No, really, it was nice to see an episode which did just get straight down to business and save the humour for later, really heightened the tension. I do love episodes where we just get to dive right into the deep, there’s something rewarding in them me thinks.

“This is the duty log of Space Controller Conrad, Space Hub One. I’m running out of air and time. I don’t know if anyone will hear this... I hope everyone else made it out. This is all my fault, I should have spotted that cruiser. I’m sorry.”

I really liked this guest character! They gave us so much backstory for him too and the music! I just loved it all. I will be honest, teared a bit at that speech. It’s like he was leaving a message on the log, expecting it to be his last, expecting to die there, and still thinking of others regardless.

“Brains, how do I get into this thing?”

The music behind this conversation was also awesome!

“You can’t cut through. That chute is designed to withstand meteor hits and collisions with space debris. And I’ve got worst news.”

“Of course you do.”

“Oxygen levels have reached critical. Conrad is running out of air.”

Skipping a bit here and keeping the focus on these two, all alone in space - I really felt for Alan and Conrad here. They were so close an yet so far.

“Alan, I don’t want anyone else to be put in danger because of me.”

“Hey, we’re International Rescue. It’s what we do! And I’m gonna stay right here until we open the door.”

Alan really has grown. If this mission had been put on him in Series 1, I don’t think he would have been able to cope, what with his focus then on being able to go on missions, and being allowed to spread his wings. Series 2 for Alan is really an example of how he begins to balance his love and excitement for what he does, with a practical working attitude like his brothers. and actually, he is really good at in this episode.

“So, Conrad, how do you become a Space Controller?”

“You’re making conversation to try and take my mind of the meltdown, aren’t you?”

“Nooooo....”

He so is!

“It’s okay, I haven’t got anything better to do. I always wanted to see the world. I mean, really see it.”

Uh, perfect description of how John feels?

“Now all I want is to see my home again.”

“And where is that?”

“Slough. My family still live there. And they’re all heroes. My brother’s a firefighter, the other’s a paramedic, and my sister’s a police officer. Do you have any idea how much pressure that is?”

Uh, perfect description of Alan? Of course he knows what that feels like.

“I can try to imagine.”

“I just wanted to make them proud of me. I mean, space! That’s a pretty big deal right? And I blew it. I didn’t react fast enough.”

“It was an emergency situation. You responded as fast as you could and you got everyone out safely.”

“Everyone but me.”

One of the most emotional discussions in TAG? i think so. And it didn’t matter that it was involving a guest character, because they said everything which needed to be said. The Tracy boys may be our heroes, and they may battle with much higher levels to live up to, but there are families out there who have the same struggles. I really think this will have resonated with people out there. It’s hard to not resent elder siblings when you feel like they are constantly above you and we sort of saw Alan going through that in Series 1. Conrad was a good person for him to meet - this scene was thought-provoking, powerful, and reflective. Everything it should have been.

Now back to the whole Tracy Island interlude.

Personally, I love the silent moments we had which begun this scene. Virgil and Scott silently walking into the room, and the looks whilst they wait to find out whether they’re too late... I really felt that. Sometimes we don’t need words in a scene to convey emotions. I mean, did you see the way Alan’s shoulders dropped when he thought there wasn’t going to be an answer, and the way the boys looked at Brains? Said it all.

“Then we need a plan fast. The temperature is still rising and we’re running out of time before the whole thing blows!”

“Ok, Brains, give us a run down of our options.”

“I admire your optimism in thinking we have more than one.”

Brains, please try not to pessimistic for one episode? It’s hard, I know, and it’s ironic of me to ask him that, because I am also a pessimist so would probably be doing the exact same! Ironic, I know, but really, that got me.

“Without a working coolant unit, the power core will keep overheating until meltdown. But it’s too damaged for repairs. we need to replace it.”

“Ok, where do we get a replacement?”

“Right here. We use the same cooling system for the power system on Tracy Island. And I have a back-up.”

Of course he does, this is Brains we’re talking about! Always ready, like a Scout right? I wasn’t a Scout, so I might be wrong on that one.

“Great! Problem solved.”

I love how Scott was turning to leave, striding away all purposefully to go and get everything!

“It’s not that simple. That coolant unit is massive. The one at the space hub was transported bit by bit. It took weeks.”

“And we don’t have weeks. Is there a vehicle that could take it in one piece?”

“Thunderbird Three, but-”

And we all know what’s coming next!

“But disconnecting it from the hub means no life support for Conrad.”

Thank you, Scott.

“You said we had one option?”

Yes. Yes he did. Shall we find out what it was?

“Thunderbird Two could carry it.”

“Uh.. I think you’re forgetting the whole ‘in space’ part of the mission. Thunderbird Two is not a space ship.”

Listen to Scott, ever the obvious! No, really I love how ‘eldest brother’ he acted in this episode.

“I think it could break free of Earth’s gravity and make it to the space hub.”

“You think? We need to be sure.”

See, big brother! I really love it when he acts like that.

“I don’t know about this, Virgil, what do you think?”

“Well, Scott, I think Thunderbird two is going into space!”

Space, Space, Space! I feel like it’s a new catch phrase! Let’s see how many times I can fit the word into this next section of the Review.

“Hey Brains, when you’re done here, can you make Thunderbird Four into a spaceship too?”

*Watch as Brains’ face literally lights up, and then Scott proceeds to crush his dreams. Payback for Gordon and the Panda?*

“Uh, let’s not get carried away here guys! Besides we need Thunderbird Four standing by as a submarine!”

“FAB. But could you blame a guy for asking?”

“Right!”

Look at those faces! Scott is sick of it already.

New version of the countdown? Love it.

“Thunderbird Two is go-ing into space! Woo-hoo! Going into space! Going into space! Going into space! Going into space!”

Virgil has been to space before, this is nothing new for him... except it’s in Thunderbird Two and that must be like his absolute dream! It’s one thing to go in Thunderbird Three with Alan as a co-pilot, it’s another thing entirely to take your own ship up, and on a maiden voyage of sorts. I love the excitement in this scene - and I’m a little surprised Scott didn’t admonish the whooping over the radio!

“Ok, but keep monitoring. Closely.”

Oh, wait, that’s why, he’s too busy worrying his every last nerve! Fairly so though, I think I would have done the same.

“Come on, old friend, you can do this.”

And the faith here? I don’t think I could ever have as much faith in technology and machinery as these boys do and I think that is a testament to them, what they do, and their equipment. Connections really do mean everything, and I know we had this discussion in one of the comment sections, but I think it really is possible that these 2060 epic works of machinery are sentient.

“Only a few thousand metres to go.”

“We made it!

And we have lift off! The dream is a reality.

“You have pizza?”

“No, I was joking.”

Meanie. Alan took you seriously. Although why I don’t know!

And the rescue is pulled off with success! Back to Earth we go, after another ‘Thunderbird; debate;

“This way, I get to ride in Thunderbird Two. I mean, it is the coolest Thunderbird.”

“Right?”

New catchphrase for Virgil?

“I’m choosing to ignore that.”

“Virgil, it’s your heat shields! They took took much damage on launch. Thunderbird two is going to burn up on re-entry!”

“Virgil, I’m coming for ya’!”

“It’s too late, Alan. Thunderbird Two is caught in Earth’s gravity.”

Yes, Scott, just shove Brains out of the way! I must admit I love that scene.

“Virgil, you guys have to bail out in the pod.”

“Negative, Scott. Can’t do it.”

“We can build another Thunderbird Two. We can’t rebuild you!”

That line still gets me. It’s so poignant.

“Eject, now!”

Virgil won’t do that. He’s a go down with your ship kinda guy.

“He’s right.”

And that is Brains’ way of saying that he should have thought of that! Really, Conrad is actually very, very smart. I think he should have been offered a job on the spot. I mean, that’s a pretty good interview performance, right?

“Conrad’s plan just might work.”

“Might?”

“It might definitely work!”

“I hope so.”

So do we all, Scott.

“Come on Thunderbird Two...”

And Thunderbird Two does. Hooray! The underwater landing was quite entertaining as well.

Now for a happpy shot.

“I should have reacted quicker.”

Stop being so hard on yourself! I think he’s one of the good ones.

“Hey, your quick thinking up there saved us. And Thunderbird Two.”

“So Conrad...”

Little shoulder bump! Love it.

“What’s next?”

“I’ll drop in and see my family in Slough and then it’s back to the Hub.”

He’ll have one heck of a story to tell.

“Hey Brains, how long would it take to re-fit Thunderbird Two to take Conrad back up to the Hub?”

“Thanks, but this time I’ll get a ride designed to go into space. Alan?”

“And which Thunderbird is the coolest?”

“Thunderbird Three is the coolest.”

“Yes, it is.”

He deserved a visit to the Island after saving Virgil’s (and his own of course) life like that. He seems like a really smart, switched on kid who just got stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time in a tough situation. I love episodes like this one because it reminds us that everyone on this show is human - even those in the Tracy family.

P.S. Shall we have the coolest Thunderbird debate? Now seems like a good time since the boys have instigated it. Stick your thoughts below if you want to!

[killscreencinema]

Death Stranding (PS4)

The first week of quarantine, I lost my job.  It wasn’t COVID related, more like “I hated my job and my employers finally realized it” related.  So it was actually really good timing that I began this game while unemployed, as virtually delivering packages to people made me at least feel like I still had a job! 

Death Stranding, released by Hideo Kojima’s new independent studio in 2019, is set in a bleak, post-Apocalyptic future where the world of the living and the dead have converged in a catastrophic event called, well, the “death stranding”.  Dangerous phantoms, called “BTs”, roam the countryside, dragging anyone unlucky enough to encounter them into their world.  The only person who can stand up to them is a porter named Sam Bridges (Norman Reedus), who has a unique condition called DOOMS which allows him to sense a BTs presence (who are otherwise invisible to the naked eye).  Paired with a child bred to act as a link between the living and dead, called a  Bridge Baby, or BB, Sam can even see a BT, making him the only candidate who can possibly bring the world back together by traveling the wastelands of the former United States, delivering packages and connecting the surviving human cities via something called the “chiral network”.

So it’s basically a fucked up, but better, version of that Kevin Costner movie The Postman.

Also, if it seems like my story summary took longer than usual, welcome to the world of Hideo Kojima!  I tried my best to explain the story in a brief synopsis, but I still didn’t even scratch the surface of it.  For example, I didn’t even mention how Mads Mikkelson intermittently drags Sam to a battlefield-like purgatory so he can steal his BB; or how Sam’s mysterious connection to the BTs makes his bodily fluids deadly to them, so you will often use weaponry made from his piss, blood, and shit to fight them; or how his primary objective is to rescue an enigmatic woman named Amelie, who may or may not be the daughter of the recently deceased President of the United States, from terrorists who want to use Amelie to bring about the extinction of humanity.

This game is bananas, ya’ll... but in the best way.

I started this game with extremely low expectations, as it had been critically lambasted by most of the major gaming sites and YouTubers.  From the previews of the game I watched, it just seemed.... weird.  I didn’t understand what the hell I was looking at - Norman Reedus with a pod baby strapped to his chest, and a strange flappy doodad on his shoulder, while walking on a tar beach strewn about with dead whales?  What the fuck, Hideo?  Visually alone the game was such a stark (and I mean *stark*) departure from the Metal Gear games, so when I found out the gameplay was delivering packages, I became convinced that Hideo Kojima had done lost his goddamn mind. 

Turns out... and this should hardly come as a surprise... the man is a goddamn genius.

Truly brilliant art always offends and bewilders the senses at first because your mind doesn’t know how to cope with what its experiencing.  Watch any given David Lynch movie and you’ll see what I mean.  The human mind has trouble processing totally new information that has no frame of reference in memory or cultural awareness, which is why “weird” art initially repulses before it gains a following (and many great artists die in poverty before they are recognized for their genius).  Imagine introducing a peasant from the Middle Ages to a helicopter - they’d think it looks absolutely ridiculous, so when you tell them it can fly, just IMAGINE their incredulity. 

Anyway, I think that is why initial impressions of Death Stranding were so negative - it was a lot to take in for a lot of gamers used to being spoon fed repackaged versions of the same games but with different titles.  Even things that seem at first “original” have recognizable gaming mechanics that ease the player in.  I mean a game set in the apocalypse where the core gameplay is centralized on package delivery???   There’s nothing like this!  So your reaction is either going to be “This is brilliant” or, like the medieval peasant, “this is ridiculous”.

Mind you, I’m not saying if you don’t like this game, you’re as stupid as a medieval peasant.

I get why people would hate this game - it’s very different than a lot of games out there.  Death Stranding is bold and audacious in its storytelling and its gameplay.  It takes a lot of risks that most AAA publishers (like Konami for example) would balk at, which is why Kojima had to create his own company to make it.

The gameplay seems simplistic at first - deliver packages from point A to point B.  However, it’s a little more complicated than that.  For one, the key element of the game is item management and learning not to bite off more than you can chew.  Sam can only carry so many boxes, and the more you stack on top of him, the more difficult the journey will be, especially when crossing BT territory or bandits (called MULES) nipping at your heels.  You also have to take into account the rocky terrain, river crossings, and weather (oh, did I mention that rain in this game, referred to as “Time Fall”, can rapidly age items and people?).  The game is all about carefully choosing equipment you’ll think you will need, whether it be weapons, ladders (for climbing large cliff faces or crossing deep rivers or chasms), sprays for repairing damage to packages, or even a spare pair of boots in case the shoes you’re wearing wear out.  So to say that the game is “just delivering packages” greatly diminishes some of the nuance going on here.  Yes, there are lots of long stretches of just walking across a landscape to some of the most melancholy music ever assembled on a soundtrack, but I’d argue that having patience for those moments is part of the gameplay. 

The game can be frustrating, such as when Sam refuses to climb a ledge you KNOW is climbable, so he just trips and falls over instead.  The vehicles that you eventually unlock are some of the most goddamn frustrating vehicles in video game history.  At first, I figured it was because I would eventually unlock better modes of conveyance more adequately adapted to crossing rough terrain, but no - they all drive like shit.  Just getting the truck to drive up a hill without spinning out and rolling backwards can fray on one’s nerves.  It’s hard to discern how much of it is the vehicle and how much might be poor controls.

The story, as alluded to above, is ambitious at best and pretentiously bloated at worst.  However, if you’ve played any of the Metal Gear games, you know what you’re signing up for when it comes to high concept, over-indulgent story.  I would say that for the most part, Death Stranding’s story is coherent enough to enjoy, although there are long expository cut scenes that convolute the plot more than clear it up.  Fortunately, the characters are well developed enough, and are interesting enough, to keep you invested (a storytelling skill that is perhaps Kojima’s saving grace).  Also, the more dramatic beats of the story are impactful enough to still resonate, even if you’re not entirely sure what the fuck is going on.  It helps to have talent like Norman Reedus, Mads Mikkelson, and Lea Seydoux in the cast, whose performances bring the characters to life.  Sam in particular might have been an insufferable loner, were it not for Reedus’ gruff likeability that made him famous from Walking Dead. 

If you’ve avoided this game because, like me, you were convinced by bad reviews that it sucks, I would highly suggest that you reconsider.  It may not be as fun, or compelling, as a Metal Gear Solid game, but it’s an interesting departure and one worth experiencing.

[citrinekay]

hi! i've got kind of a prompt: bill and holden have been seeing each other for a while and they're doing a decent job at hiding it, but then one day one of them slips and says something that to anyone listen might seem like harmless banter, but wendy notices something else is going on and finally confronts them

This was actually really fun to write! Thanks for the prompt 💕

Holden tilts his face toward the gust of warm, summer air through the half-open window as the dull, gray edges of the Quantico building emerge from the treeline up ahead and the extended Memorial Day weekend fades into the past. He closes his eyes to cling to the relaxed state of mind he had sunken into over the three-day break for a few more seconds before they’re thrust back into work. 

“Ugh, I can feel the stack of requests growing from here. Why can’t we have one more day off?” He complains. 

Bill’s hand squeezes around Holden’s where they’re attached on the seat between them. 

“That’s life. All good things must come to an end.”

Holden frowns, and casts him a coyly petulant gaze. “You sound like my mom.”

Bill chuckles, and guides Holden’s hand up from the seat leather to press a quick kiss to his knuckles. “Well, not everything.”

Holden bites back a smile, feeling himself blush. 

When they pull into the Quantico parking lot, Holden takes off his seatbelt. 

“I’ll go in first.” He says.

“Okay.” Bill says, pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket. 

Holden interjects his hand before Bill can put the cigarette in his mouth. “Kiss first.”

Bill’s mouth tugs with a slow smile, and he leans over to capture Holden’s mouth in a firm, simmering kiss that lasts much longer than is probably safe. Holden leans into it, breathless and willing, before grudgingly pulling back with a sigh. He quickly glances around the parking lot, but there’s no one within their vicinity to witness the exchange. 

“Fuck.” He mutters, exhaling a slow breath past pursed lips. 

“What?” Bill murmurs, though his eyes are glinting with mischief. 

“You know what.” Holden says, “I’m really going now.”

“I’m five minutes behind you.”

“Okay, see you in there.” 

Holden climbs out of the car, and scans the parking lot again before heading for the BSU entrance. The mild breeze cools the flush on his cheeks, and by the time he makes the long walk and the elevator ride down to the basement, he’s managed to rearrange his expression into one of nonchalance. 

When he arrives at his desk, the case files that he’d been complaining about are stacked about a foot high in his incoming tray. The outgoing tray is significantly smaller, a daunting discrepancy that speaks to how the rest of the week is going to go. 

Bill comes in five minutes later just like he’d said and walks behind Holden’s desk to get to the coffee stand in the corner. His hand discreetly grazes the width of Holden’s shoulders, sending a delicious buzz through his veins that makes his knees go weak. Holden shoots a stern glance over his shoulder, grateful that he’s seated. Bill’s mouth purses against a devious smile as he pours himself a cup of coffee, and heads into his office. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Holden turns to the incoming requests. It takes him close to an hour to get his thoughts in order and focused on the task at hand while his mind and leaping heart keep wanting to sift back through the warm, sunlit memories of the long weekend. 

Six months. He reminds himself. It’s only been six months. 

He knows he shouldn’t be entirely getting his hopes up about the longevity of this relationship, especially when their close working relationship could be irreparably damaged in the fallout should things go wrong. They should be taking it slow. Neither of them have dated another man before, or even attempted to hide a relationship from nearly everyone in their life. They’ve been doing a pretty good job of concealing it in Holden’s opinion, but the task is growing more difficult with every day that passes. It’s nearly impossible to focus on work when the object of your affection is just across the office, a perilous distraction of longing gazes, secretive smiles, and whispered exchanges when no one is looking. 

Two hours later, Holden has the mountain of requests separated out into three categories: urgent, escalating, and minor. He carries the stack of urgents into Bill’s office. 

“I’m done sorting.” He says, entering without knocking. 

“Okay, let’s take a look.” Bill says, waving him closer. 

Circling the desk, Holden sets the stack in front of Bill, and perches on the edge of the desk. 

“I’ve identified the most urgent, and we have two cases here that I think require on-the-ground assistance.” Holden says, taking the two folders off the top. “You and I can take one, and Gregg and Jim can take the other one.”

“Sounds good.” Bill says, taking a drag of his cigarette and perusing Holden’s position on his desk with a contained smile. 

“What?” 

“Nothing. You just look good up there.”

Holden glances away, blushing again. He can’t help it. Bill’s appreciative gaze triggers instant heat, a warm flood that journeys from his belly and outward. 

“Where are the cases?” Bill asks, clearing his throat. 

“We’ve got on in Michigan and another in Florida.” Holden says, “Miami, actually.”

“Mm, Florida golf course.”

“Florida hotel room.” Holden adds, flipping open the Miami folder with a disinterested gaze. “Ocean views.”

Bill’s mouth seeps with smoke. “You got something again Michigan?”

“The beaches aren’t as great.”

“We’re supposed to be there working.” 

“Says you, talking about golf courses.”

Bill takes his reading glasses off, and sizes Holden up with a penetrating gaze. “Who says we’re going to have time to visit the ocean?”

“I don’t know. Once the case is over? We could take a few extra days. We deserve a vacation every once in awhile, don’t we?”

“In Miami?”

“Sure. Why not? Some place you’d rather be?”

“Not necessarily.” Bill says, leaning forward to tap ashes into the tray. He lowers his voice, “I don’t care where it is as long as the bed is comfortable.”

Holden shifts on the edge of the desk, feeling his veins going warm and tingly. Their gazes hold, both of them knowing they shouldn’t be talking like this at work yet unable to quell the teasing affection. 

“So, you don’t care?” Holden whispers, his voice slightly trembling. “Miami or Michigan?”

Before Bill can answer, a sharp knock on the door jolts them both out of the suggestive layers of conversation. Holden glances over his shoulder to see Wendy leaning in the doorway, and quickly hops off the edge of the desk. 

“Sorry. Was I interrupting something?” Wendy asks, her eyebrow arching. 

“No, of course not.” Holden says, feeling his face grow hot again. “We were, um … we were just discussing the urgent cases.”

“Care to share it with the rest of the team?”

“Yes. Let’s get everyone in the conference room.” Holden says. 

Wendy gazes suspiciously at them for a long moment before leaning away from the door frame. “All right. I’ll get everyone together.”

“Thanks, Wendy.” Bill says. 

When she walks away, Bill shoots him a glare. 

“What? You were the one facing the door.” Holden says, gesturing vehemently. “How long was she standing there for?”

“I don’t know. You were the one sitting on my desk.” 

“Let’s just go.” Holden says, shaking his head. 

In the conference room, their other co-workers provide a conversational buffer, but Holden can feel Wendy assessing them critically from across the table. He feels sick. 

Wendy is smart, intuitive; if anyone was going to figure out what’s going on between him and Bill based on behavioral clues alone, it would be her; but she’s also the last person he would want to expose himself to, aside from perhaps Ted or someone in upper management, because she’s the most honest and exacting. He values her opinions and respect, and he has no doubt that she would highly disapprove of an office romance. 

The next day, Holden expresses his worries to Bill over lunch in the cafeteria. 

“What if she knows?”

“Look, Holden. I’ve known Wendy a long time. She isn’t going to say anything.” Bill says, “She’s not a tattler.”

“Doesn’t it make you uncomfortable?”

“Yeah, but it’s nothing she can prove.”

The conversation does little to ease Holden’s nerves, and ends up being entirely insignificant. Two days later, everyone is packing up to leave for the day when Wendy sticks her head out of her office, and asks for Bill and Holden to come in for a moment. 

They exchange anxious glances before Bill rearranges his face into superb composure, and nods for Holden to follow him. The last intern exits out the exterior door just as they slip into the office. 

“Shut the door.” Wendy says, though no one is around to hear them.

Bill eases the door shut. “What’s this about?”

Wendy sets aside the transcript and notebook in front of her, and turns to face them both directly. 

“We’ve all worked together for quite some time now.” She says, her tone calm and steady. “I’d like to think that means we all trust and respect one another to some degree.”

“Of course.” Holden says. 

“Wonderful. Then, I’ll just ask this question directly, and expect an honest answer.” She says, spreading her hands benevolently. 

Bill and Holden trade nervous glances. Bill’s jaw clenches and his hands clasp tightly behind his back as he turns his gaze back to Wendy. 

“Okay. Ask away.”

Wendy leans forward to lace her hands in front of her, and gathers a deep breath. When her gaze rises back up to shift back and forth between them, her expression lacks any type of nonchalance or levity. 

“Is there something going on between you two?” She asks. 

Holden feels his stomach drop. Despite his years in hostage negotiation and behavioral science, he can’t conjure a quickly manufactured expression of calm or a believable lie. He’s sure he’s already given away the answer by looking away from her decisive gaze, fidgeting with his hands, and turning red. 

“Going on?” Bill echoes, managing an attempt at evasion. 

“Yes.” Wendy says, coolly. “Romantically. Sexually.”

Holden almost chokes. “Wendy, this is …”

“Inappropriate?” She finishes, her eyebrow raising. “More inappropriate than the two of you spending more time staring at each other and talking than actually working for the past few months?”

“Jesus, Wendy.” Bill curses, quietly. 

“That wasn’t exactly an answer.”

“We’ve all been working hard.” Bill says, “We’re busier than we’ve ever been. I find it a little insulting for you to imply that we’re not pulling our weight just because we’re …”

Holden lifts his gaze from the carpet to stare at Bill agape. It isn’t an affirmative, but it’s close enough. He hadn’t expected Bill to give up the truth so easily. 

“So, there is something going on.” Wendy concludes. 

Bill sighs, and rubs a hand over his forehead. “Yes. Happy? Is this interrogation over?”

“Not quite.”

“C’mon, Wendy. Our personal life isn’t really any of your business.” 

“It is my business if it affects my job - all of our jobs.” Wendy says, her tone softening. “I’m not angry.”

“Well, thank God for that.” Bill says, putting up his hands. “That’s the all-clear I was searching for.”

“Okay.” Wendy says, her eyes narrowing. “Before you start getting defensive, I’d just like to say, I care about both of you very much.”

Silence settles. Holden can see Bill’s prickling posture relax a bit, and feels his own stomach ease its churning. 

“In fact, I want you to be happy.” Wendy continues, “If that means with each other, fine. I’m simply concerned.”

“Concerned?”

“You know my stance on sexuality. I don’t discriminate, but other people do. A lot of people here at the FBI do, in fact. I don’t think I need to tell either of you what would happen if someone other than me found out what was going on.”

“We don’t need to be lectured.” Bill says, “We both know what the stakes are.”

“Then, consider being more careful? More discreet, perhaps?”

“Discreet?” Holden says, “I thought we were being …”

Wendy casts him a dubious gaze, and his throat knots.

“Careful.” He finishes, weakly. 

Wendy chuckles softly, her rigid facade cracking to expose amusement. 

“What?” Bill demands. 

“I suggest you try harder.” She says, rising from her desk and gathering her things. “If I had to guess based solely on your behavior, I’d say this has been going on for five, six months?”

“Six.” Holden whispers. 

“Hm.” She murmurs, her mouth tipping. She swings her gaze over to Bill. “And you, Bill - I expected more from you.”

“Me?” 

“Come on, you made it easy for me. Obvious, actually.” She says, patting him on the shoulder as she walks past him toward the door. 

Bill sputters for a moment before pressing his mouth shut. His brow pinches with an irritated frown. 

Wendy pauses with her hand on the door knob. 

“Truly,” She says, casting a fond glance over her shoulder at both of them. “I’m happy for you. Just, please, be more careful.”

Before either of them can conjure a response, she slips out of the office, and lets the door swing shut behind her. 

Bill shifts his gaze to stare at Holden disbelief. 

“Did that just happen?” Holden whispers. 

“Yeah, I think it did.”

They stare quietly at one another for a long moment until Bill starts to chuckle. 

“What?” Holden demands. “You find this funny?”

“Yeah, a little bit.”

“You’re unbelievable. What if she had been angry?”

“I told you she wasn’t going to tell anyone.” Bill says, reaching over to catch Holden by the wrist and reel him in. “You know what this means though?”

“What?” Holden asks, scowling as he braces his hands against Bill’s chest. 

“No more coming into my office and climbing up on my desk.” Bill murmurs, leaning in to kiss him slowly on the mouth. 

“Hey,” Holden protests, tipping his mouth away from the tender gesture. “No more of that either.” 

“Nobody’s here.” Bill says, snaring Holden’s lower lip in a kiss. 

Holden resists for a moment before melting into the kiss. Their lips stroke both and forth for a long moment, and he’s rendered dizzy again. They break apart with a muted gasp from the back of his throat, his lips prickling with friction. 

“Come on.” Bill murmurs. “Let’s go home.”