#ITS HARD to put trust in someone who is so sporadic and who its hard to have a sit down convo abt that stuff w

[neworleansspecial]

If i can make a request, i love your black!au so much, something like... Evan is out with Eddie when someone recognize him as Buck? Or Evan sees them first and has to do something?

Most of Eddie and Evan's dates are held at home, where they're safe and alone. It's the nature of dating something like Evan, something Eddie accepted a long time ago, which means he treasures nights like this one. The restaurant is nice enough that Eddie hasn't heard of it- though Hen whistled when he said its name- and Evan looks stunning all dressed up in a proper suit. He's also left his hair curly, as Eddie has noticed he does more and more often when he's not working. It's like a physical divide between the Evan Eddie loves and the one that gets his hands dirty.

"This place is nice," he comments after the waitress pours his third glass of wine. He's noticed that Evan has barely touched his glass- though that's in character for him. He rarely drinks, and he certainly doesn't indulge in public. Eddie is happy to drink enough for both of them, though, and is pleasantly warm by the time their main course arrives.

"I don't get how steaks are so much better in restaurants," Eddie says after his first bite of filet. "No matter what I do, I can't get them to turn out this good."

Evan smiles at him. "It's the butter, actually. Restaurants usually butter baste their steaks with garlic and herbs. It makes it taste fantastic."

"How do you know."

"Well, when I was maybe twenty," Evan begins, "I worked in a Michelin star restaurant for about six months, and-"

He stops mid-sentence, face going from animated and excited to blank in a split second. Eddie follows his gaze across the restaurant to a party checking in at the hostess stand. It looks to be a young couple and their baby, with a third adult who holds herself much like Evan does. It's not hard to put two and two together.

"A colleague?" Eddie asks.

"Something like that."

"Do we need to leave?"

Evan doesn't answer immediately, instead taking a moment to think about it. One of his hands drifts to his waist, where Eddie knows he usually carries a gun, even when they're doing something as simple as having a date night on the town. He watches the strangers for a moment, until finally, the woman who stands like Evan looks at them. She raises her eyebrows, as if daring Evan to do something.

"Yeah, we do. Keep your head down while I settle the bill."

Eddie turns away from the woman and pulls out his phone. He assumes Evan's intent is for him to keep his face as out of view as possible, as a safety precaution. He sporadically glances up at Evan, but his face remains indecipherable.

After a few minutes, the tab is closed and Evan slides out of the booth, helping Eddie to follow. He finds that he's a little unsteady on his feet from the wine, but Evan loops a hand around his waist to support him and power-walks the both of them to the front doors. He figures they're in the clear then, but halfway to the car, they're stopped by the woman from inside the restaurant.

"Buck, good to see you," she says cheerily.

Evan pulls Eddie in tighter against his side. This isn't good. Eddie knows what that name means, what world this woman comes from. He has to trust that Evan will get them out of this unscathed.

"You'll have to remind me what you're going by these days," Evan says, but he's switched to an eerily convincing British accent. "I feel like it changes every time I see you."

"Jodie," the woman says. She's pretty, he thinks idly, in the sort of way that he can imagine her on runways. She's not built like Evan is, but thin and sharp. But that doesn't mean she's not dangerous. "Who's the friend? He's not one of us."

"No one you need to concern yourself with."

Evan digs the car keys from his pocket and hands them to Eddie before nodding toward the jeep. Eddie takes the cue for what it is and hurries to get in the car and separate himself from whatever this is. He locks the doors for good measure and tries not to make it too obvious that he's watching them.

For a couple minutes they stand there, speaking to one another, neither giving anything away with their facial expressions or body language. However, Eddie does notice the way Evan slowly moves, Jodie moving with him so they remain facing one another, until Evan is directly between the car and her- always a protector.

He sees the flash of silver a moment to late, his shout not soon enough to warn Evan before she shoots. Her gun has a silencer on it, but there's no quieting the harsh thud of Evan's body slamming back against the door of the car with the force of the shot. Eddie has just enough time to duck before the next shot breaks the window.

Evan runs around to the other side, clutching his shoulder. Blood leaks between his fingers but he still hauls himself into the car, snatches the keys, and starts the engine. Another shot whizzes through the cabin before they can get away.

"She was trying to kill us," Eddie says. His voice sounds far away.

"Yes," Evan replies.

"She shot you. And- and you barely missed a beat-"

"Also yes. Listen to me, I'm going to bring you home. Call Athena, tell her that I need her to stay with you for a couple days. I need to take care of something."

Eddie blinks. "What? Evan, you're hurt, you need a-"

"If you say hospital, Eddie, I swear to God, I'll scream."

"At least let me look you over, do something for the bleeding."

Evan shakes his head. "No time. Listen to me, Eddie, stay home and stay with Athena until I come back, okay?"

"You can't be serious."

They turn the corner onto a side street, even if it'll be slower than taking the freeways. Then again, Eddie thinks, the freeways have cameras, and if he knows anything about Evan, it's that he hates having his photo taken.

"Evan, you can't just run off after that, I-"

Evan slams on the brakes so hard that Eddie would have probably hit his head on the dashboard if his seatbelt didn't lock. He looks over at Evan, about to demand an explanation, but quiets when he sees the look on his face. It's cold and blank and downright chilling.

"This isn't up for debate. I'm not fucking asking. You're going to do what I told you to because it's what's going to keep you and our son safe, and you're going to keep doing it until I come back and tell you it's safe to do otherwise."

Eddie tries to argue, but every word for the rest of the drive is ignored.

#buddie #black!au #eddie diaz #evan buckley

[m-y-fandoms]

Vampire Nagito Komaeda x Ultimate Monster Hunter reader - Part 1 (Supernatural AU)

Request: Can I get some vampire Komaeda x reader? I loved the Kokichi one and Komaeda is my absolute fave :3 thanks <3

This will be a full series with multiple chapters, not a head-canon or short imagine. Nagito is my favorite Danganronpa character, even ahead of Kokichi.

Part 2 here

Also this will be set in the DR3 anime universe, when they are all just Ultimates at Hope’s Peak before the Tragedy

- Admin Kokichi

     “When are they coming out?!” You could hear a girl roar from the crowd before you. It was your first day at Hope’s Peak Academy, and already you could tell that at least some of the crazy rumors about the school’s eccentricities were true. You’d only been walking around campus, getting your bearings before you moved into the Main Course dorms later that evening.

     It was a bit odd to see a group of nearly a dozen girls from the Reserve Course waiting at the entrance to the Main Course building, waiting to watch some of the Ultimates walk to the cafeteria. I mean, being an Ultimate didn’t make one worth fan-girling over, right? But maybe you’d have seen their side of it if you weren’t an Ultimate yourself.

~

     Jin Kirigiri, the school’s headmaster, was a very close childhood friend of your father’s, as was the school’s recruiter, Koichi Kizakura. It was only natural that they both insisted you go there, especially with your talent. You were the Ultimate Hunter... or... that’s what your official transcripts said anyway. Your real talent was a little more… complicated to explain to a normal society.

     Your real and extended title was that of the Ultimate Monster Hunter, just like your father before you decades ago. That was your passion, your focus, but since you were also prodigious in the normal hunting of animals, that was the title Headmaster Kirigiri assigned you. Of course, Kizakura and Kirigiri knew of your family’s hunter lineage and the existence of supernatural beings, most of the higher-ups at Hopes Peak did, what with all the connections and respect the academy had garnered.

     Most governments, large corporations and upper-class citizens were privy to the existence of monsters, and those sworn to protect all humans from them, so of course Kirigiri knew of such things, however, he couldn’t exactly have you honing your skills in his classrooms and training yards. The general public would either think he’d gone mad for allowing such activities - training to kill beings that did not exist - or worse, they’d wise up and take notice, revealing the secret of supernatural creatures to the world.

     No, no, that couldn’t be allowed to happen, and so Kizakura and Kirigiri had you practicing your crossbow aim on animal-shaped dummies, had you doing general agility and reflex training. Your firearms were used in a high-tech shooting arena that doubled as a dojo when martial arts students arrived for their allotted lesson time.

     Honestly, you didn’t even want to attend Hope’s Peak, seeing as Headmaster Kirigiri had made it very clear that you couldn’t use any of your true talent anywhere on campus or even while in uniform off-campus. You also had to hide your face with a helmet or mask of some type while hunting from now on. You couldn’t be associated with or traced back to the academy in any way, should someone see you engaged with a monster and spread word of it before being apprehended by law enforcement. This rule was only made more severe by the fact that some of your fellow students were of the very species you made a living annihilating.

     That’s right, Hope’s Peak itself was host to the very rare vampire, werewolf, demon, shapeshifter or other manner of beast. Not all of them chose to be hostile or stuck out like a sore thumb, and hey, if you had the talent, you had the talent. It made you question why you should even give the academy a second thought. It felt like they were mocking you, letting inhuman creatures attend a school they personally invited you to, but your father all but forced you to enroll. He insisted it would be the best for your future, and that there’s no one he trusted more than Kirigiri and Kizakura.

     “But if anything… anything at all happens to (Y/N), Jin, I swear on our friendship, I will handle it myself,” he’d said. Your father’s words rung through your mind like a constant reminder. He meant it, too. Your father was the hunter of all hunters, a king of sorts in his circle. Kirigiri knew very well that letting him down was not an option.

~ 

     You stood on the very edge of the group, as far from the doors as possible but still near enough to the others that you wouldn’t look like some weird loner. You sighed, chuckling under your breath at their chittering. It was all so silly.

     “Here they come!” You were startled out of your trance when one out of the whole gaggle of girls before you squealed loudly. You walked toward the front of their group, fascinated by how excited they all were. You were merely curious to see what all the fuss was about. How could they possibly be this worked up about other students their age, just walking to lunch after class? Then again, you hadn’t met any of your fellow Ultimates. Was there some kind of beauty requirement to become one? Huh, wouldn’t surprise me, you thought rather cynically to yourself. This place loves to flaunt its students and reputation.

     “Look~ it’s Fuyuhiko!” One of the girls pushed roughly past you, grazing your shoulder. You could practically see hearts in her eyes as she passed.

     “Jeez, okay...” you muttered sheepishly and leaned back again. You may be a monster killer, but that only worked out because of the adrenaline rush and the lack of attachment and value placed on your targets. In normal life and social situations, it felt like you were the one being killed.

     Great! Now I can’t see anything! You mentally snapped at the fan-girls bumping and shuffling into you with every sporadic movement they made. You couldn't see anything, but you could certainly hear the girls get louder and louder by the second. You were now completely pushed to the side of the group as the girls grunted and hissed like rabid animals.

     “And that’s the lucky one! Komaeda, I think! Man, he’s so hot…” A random brunette drooled. 

Nagito Komaeda: Vampire

Status: Protected/Neutral

Classification: B

Unique Talents and Powers: A cycle of good and bad luck. All other unique traits under review.

Age: Unknown

Coven or Clan: None

     You mechanically recalled little bits and details from your dad’s casework and journals on the most famous vampires in the country. Nagito... yes… you were going to stay away from this one.

     The supernatural beings that could pass as human and were deemed not to be a danger to society signed contracts and treaties that allowed them to live out their lives like normal and protected them legally from hunters (much to your kind’s chagrin). They had strict rules to follow, however, and those who broke said rules were prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law and taken off the protection list, making them fair game to hunters. 

     You really didn’t understand why they kept giving the feral savages chances. Erasing the memories of witnesses, victims (if they survived), and their families after each attack or incident was costly and just unfair to mankind.

     The girls continued to shout and vie for the boys’ attention. Fuyuhiko huffed, rolling his eyes in annoyance at the fuss they were making. This only served to rile them up further, however. It seemed the tough, flippant, bad-boy yakuza persona is exactly what they wanted. They loved the way he gave them the cold shoulder.

     Nagito, on the other hand, was a different case entirely. He didn’t just ignore the girls, he made an obvious show of his disgust for them. He was practically snarling, nose scrunched up as he leaned away from the crowd of them. It wasn’t annoyance at their mewling and squawking, it was something far different. Something like pure revulsion mixed with condescension. But why? It didn’t really matter, as the girls clearly didn’t pick up on his cues, shooting rapid-fire questions his way and reaching out for his sleeves. You scoffed. It was so shallow of them to only like him for his looks and title of Ultimate he held. They knew nothing about him. 

     What he could do to them if they got them alone. How him could kill them in an instant, and even possibly enjoy that kill.

     While you were lost in the abhorrence of your thoughts, Nagito’s eyes had honed in on you, noticed that you were wearing the same uniform as him, and promptly glided over in front of you.

     “Why, hello there!” Komaeda stopped right in front of you. You took a startled step back, but he grasped your hand, preventing you from moving any further away. You did everything you could to repress your fear and repugnance, but your hand still shook slightly in his cold, dead one, and you were sure he could tell. He giggled, obviously enamored with your very presence. “I don’t believe I've seen you before, but you must be in the Main Course as well! What’s your name, if I might ask? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna...” Nagito grinned widely, flashing a set of pearly white teeth. The girls swooned beside you. It seemed you were the only one afraid of what those teeth could do. He was deceivingly beautiful on the outside: tall, pale, doe-eyed, and dangerous. His Class B ranking put him just below the most dangerous of vampires, the elite, the royal clans.

     “(Y-Y/N). It’s my first day.” Your voice shook as you jerked your hand away roughly. It was hard to feel confident without your weapons on you, knowing there was nothing you could do to defend yourself here. Damn you, Kirigiri.

      Your father would be enraged if he knew you had just touched a vampire’s hand so casually. Nagito frowned slightly. He could sense it, the way you didn't trust him, the way you didn't like him down deep inside. He knew you knew something you shouldn't, knew more than the other humans attending Hope’s Peak, and he didn't like it. His brow furrowed in a display of frustration, but that quickly melted away, and he smiled kindly, eyes crinkling at the corners. He would figure out what made you special, even among the Ultimates he revered so passionately. Something was off, and it would kill him if he didn’t figure out why.

     “Well, (Y/N)” He leaned down to your height, his face inches from yours, breathing deeply. Almost as soon as he’d inhaled, he snapped back up, his spine stiff and straight. “Oh!” A look of almost painful surprise and confusion crossed his countenance.

     “What?” You panicked, looking him up and down.

     “Oh, uh, nothing… you smell really good, heh. Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that. That’s weird, huh? Wow, I’m really the worst...” he chuckled awkwardly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in a display of innocence. Your mouth hung open, appalled. How could he be so bold about his nature in public? You knew exactly what he was smelling. The hair on your arms and the back of your neck stood up in fear and vexation. Your reaction told him all he needed to know, and in that instant, he decided he wanted to know more. Nagito was the obsessive type, and you were going to be his new fixation. Why did you know? Who told you of his... condition? “Anyway, welcome to Hope’s Peak Academy. I hope I have the honor of seeing you again.” You could hear the wave of extreme jealousy behind you. The heat of anger and envy for you was thick in the air.

     “Enough, Komaeda, ya big creep…” the small but feisty boy cleared his throat before continuing.  “C’mon, if you wanna have time for lunch it’s now or never!” You sighed in relief. Fuyuhiko placed his hand on Nagito's shoulder, pulling him gently away from you. 

     “Sorry, sorry!” Nagito offered a warm smile to his shorter friend. “I’m coming! I apologize, Fuyuhiko” He turned to you,“See you in class, (Y/N)” He simpered, and continued to trail along behind his friend.

     Not if you had anything to say about it…

     You were going to avoid that boy like the plague. Just because you couldn’t kill him, doesn’t mean you had to be best friends.

#nagito komaeda #nagito x reader #vampire #supernatural AU #monster AU #ultimate SHSL #gender neutral reader #x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #danganronpa #Trigger happy havoc #super danganronpa 2 #sdr2 goodbye despair #danganronpa v3 #enemies to friends #friends to lovers #female reader #male reader #imagine #scenarios #fluff #angst #enemies to lovers #headcanon #danganronpa killing harmony #fuyuhiko kuzuryuu #s/o #y/n #sfw

[fan-da-nerd]

“we don’t tolerate that here” a Hermitcraft fanfic

yso i saw an anon post from @give-grian-rights that gave me inspiration to write a Hermitcraft one-shot based on the Sam’s funeral... story? anyway, i hope you enjoy

TW: panic attacks, trauma, death, beating abusers to death, vomiting  mention

no one planned for it to happen, no one really even knew. but that changed one day when mumbo was just wandering around the forest and found himself at the foot of Grian’s mansion. the prismirine build towered above him, casting a shadow over him in the late day sun. The mustacheio’d man decided to have a peek inside the mansion just to see if Grian was there and if he’d done anything new.  

he strolled inside, past the map corridor into the main room. he huffed quietly as he looked around at the sprawling sorting system. you really need to get on that he thought to himself. he continued to look around, not seeing Grian anywhere. 

just then he heard crying. quiet and whimpering from behind the rows of HMMMMM. Mumbo made his way around them, looking around for the source of the noise. he found it in a bundle of red jumper and shimmering wings. wings wrapped tight around him as he laid curled on the floor. mumbo moved swiftly over to him, slowing when he got close. 

“Grian?” he spoke gently as he took a step closer. the man on the floor curled up tighter with a yelp, shaking with unsteady breath. “its ok Grian, its me, mumbo.” he whimpered again then gagged and cough roughly. this continued, gagging and wheezing so much then he uncurled  and braced himself up. mumbo hurried over to his friend and rested his hand on his back. Grian flinched in surprise but continued to cough. 

“hey, hey, Grian look at me. its ok, what do you need? mumbo asked in a panic. Grian wheezed again, but finally looked up at mumbo. eyes bloodshot and face pale from fear and pain. the dark haired man moved quickly when Grian started gagging again. grabbing the nearest composter and moving it in front of his friend, helping him get up and lean against it. 

“what happened, did you eat a pufferfish? do you need a health potion, milk?” he continued berating him with questions as he started to get up to grabbed whichever liquid he could find first. As he started to stand he felt a hand rest on his knee. he looked down and met Grian’s eyes, where the shorter man just slowly shook his head. tears ran down his face and his breathing still jerked and wheezed. Mumbo slowly kneeled down again as Grian turned and coughed again, starting to claw at his throat. 

“Grian, don’t. what’s happening?” he muttered in distress. Grian didn’t speak for a moment the muttered.

“pan- panic” 

mumbo thought for a moment panic, panic, panic- “panic attack?” he asked quickly. Grian nodded, holding his throat and coughing like he was trying to cough something up. 

“water” he muttered, and mumbo began rummaging though his bag for a water bucket. he pulled it out and handed it to Gri, who chugged it in less than 30 seconds. he coughed but finally leaned back, his chest rose up and down sporadically.

“hey, hey. breath Grian. in for 5-”

they continued like this together, in, hold, out.in a couple minute Grian had stopped crying,  and his breathing had steadied to a normal steady pace. mumbo moved in front of him slowly. “ok, Grian. what happened? you don’t have to tell me, but if you are willing to. I want to help.” Grian stared off into nothing, his eyes started to well up with tears again as he seemed to see things no one else could. Mumbo could hear him trying to force his breath to stay calm. Grian took a deep breath, then everything began to spill out.

“I saw a white rabbit and it sent me spiraling and i couldn't stop thinking and he hurt me it hurt so bad he cut my wings, forces plastic down my throat he tried to MURDER me Mumbo he put a knife in my side and i still feel like there's plastics lodged in my throat and I want to scream and cry whenever i think about it and Sam so many and done so much terrible things and he didn’t get his karma-” this vent ended is mumbo grabbing him and pulling him close, trying to stop the spiraling before it gets back to how it was when he found him. Grian's shoulders when slack and he leaned into the hug, and they sat there together in silence. 

mumbo sat there, trying to think of something to say to this. he knew that Grian didn’t like talking too much about his early past. sure they’d learned some things, other worlds like Evo and projects he did in his own world but they never knew much. and definitely not this. he thought for what felt like an hour before finally asking. “are you ok now?” He could feel Grian hesitate, but nod. “ok. whatever happened in your past, its not the present. you’re with us now.” 

Grian took a breath and pulled away from his mustached friend. His eyes softened and he smiled. “thanks mumbo.” he nodded and stood up, offering a hand to his shorter friend. Grian took his hand and pulled himself to his feet, stumbling but standing. 

“hey Grian?”

“yeah?” 

“is it ok if i tell X about this? so that more people can know about your triggers and avoid-” he made a vague gesture “this? its ok if not” Grian thought for a moment then nodded.

“probably easier than me trying to talk though it” he chuckled quietly at the end. Mumbo smiled, half happy half concerned before glancing at the door. 

“ok, then I think I’m going to leave now. if your ok-” Grian cut him off with a nod. Mumbo waved goodbye, then took off with only 20 rockets. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mumbo flew around, weaving between the towers of the jungle looking for the Admin.  he eventually spotted him in his main tower and landed on the balcony. Xisuma was setting his ravenger helmet, no doubt having just changed after a decked out run. he spotted mumbo and spun around, grabbing his Bee helmet on the way around. “Mr. Jumbo, what do i own the pleasurer?” 

“hey X...” Mumbo started, very suddenly realizing he did not know how to open this conversation. “I wanted to let you know about something that happened with Grian.” X’s face fell a little as he tilted his head to the side 

“is he ok? 

mumbo sighed and shrugged “not really. i found him having a panic attack in his mansion. he said he’s ok now but i thought you should know.” 

“oh,’ Xisuma’s voice softened as he sat down against the wall, locking his helmet on as he went. “mind telling me what happened?” Mumbo sat down across from him and began to explain everything he could remember. Clipped wings, attempted murder, stabbing, harassments, unfulfilled karma. it was a little hard to see Xisuma’s expression behind the black visor, but Mumbo could make out concern with tinges of anger. an expression he was not used to seeing on the bee man. when mumbo finished X was deep in thought. he nodded slowly before looking down at his communicator. the device they use to message, research, change worlds, ect. 

“did he say who this was?” Mumbo pauses for a minute as he tried to remember. 

“it was... Sam? the spiral was also caused by a white rabbit. that's all i really know.” X nodded and looked back up at Mumbo.

“thanks for letting me know.” something about his voice sat oddly with the dark haired man but he let it go. to be honest Mumbo was angry himself. that someone would hurt Grian like that and not his due. he stood up and nodded at X, who nodded back. something told him that X understood what Mumbo was feeling. He turned around and jumped off the tower, taking off into the blue. “Sam.. rabbit.” X muttered to himself as he began to type into his device. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

the next morning came with an odd message from X.

‘if anyone would like to join me in punishing, meet at the SD between the diamond trees in 5’ -Xisumavoid

‘sounds fun. I’m in’ -TangoTek

‘what?” -impulseSV

5 minutes later roughly half the server was there. some out of curiosity, some trusting that if X wants to punish someone its probably reasonable.  Etho, impulse, Ren, Mumbo, False, tango, Iskall, Wels, and of course Xisuma were all gathered together in front of the whirling portal.

“mind explaining why we’re gathered here?” Wels asked as he looked around at how many people had arrived. X took and breath and walked in front of the group. 

“ladies and gentleman, today we’re here because a member of our community has terrible trauma and an abuser who got away without punishment. an abuser who killed, maimed, manipulated, and injured multiple people in a non responing world” silence fell over the group in surprise. “I believe they deserve to get punished. you in?” no words were spoken but Wels stood up tall and pulled his sword. others followed suit and did the same. Etho pulled his bow and tango loaded a crossbow with a rocket. X nodded, and began to type into his device. 

as they stood around, none of the notice and short man in a jumper flying into the district. he started towards the barge but turned when he saw a gathering of half the server who looked like they were ready for homicide. he didn’t want to interrupt so he kept to the side and just watched. of all the things he thought could be happening, Sam Gladiator falling from the sky was not on that list. every muscle in his body tensed, wanting to book it or throw hands but instead it just froze stock still. 

The Bunny boy plummeted from the sky and landed with a hard thud. he stood, with everything spinning but saw himself surrounded by people he did not know. at first. then, hiding beside a large blue sea creature he saw an old friend of his. glancing around, the multiple armed adults was... surprising, but not too concerning. Everyone was dying or killing back home. he stood to his feet and took a step towards the older kid. as he did this, mumbo followed his gaze and spotted the small bundle of red and gray, panicking instantly. without thinking he lurched forward and shot his blade out, blocking Sam from getting to Grian. 

he looked up at Grian and only saw fear, he had taken a step back in perfect sync with Sam stepping forward. Instantly, mumbo only saw red hot rage. X’s voice broke the daze as he spoke of the crowd. “you are the one who hurt him, aren’t you?” his tone implied that he wasn’t really asking. 

Sam turned to him and laughed. “Its not that bad-” 

“You. abused. him.” X snapped back, exasperated and pissed. “and we don’t tolerate that here. Go.” that was all that was needed. 

The fight broke out instantly, a kid with a knife clashing with explosions and swords. People of both sides had blades stabbed into them and the bunny boy held surprisingly well in the fight. that does not mean he did well. he died multiple times and every time he responed again and got back into the fight. it was nearly impossible to head over the clash of metal and fireworks a yard from your face. The incoming storm did not help, the distant roar of thunder and shocks of light made the whole thing even more disorienting. 

Grian watched this go on, seeing the people he loved and the land he called home. for the first time in a while, he looked at the white rabbit ear and still felt safe. they were willing to research, summon, and fight a guy they don't even know except as a murderer. just because he had hurt Grian. his muscles relaxed as he blinked the shock out of his eyes. he watched the fight rage on, the dark clouds coming in, and got an idea. he slinked into guardian goodies and found the ender chest. he rummaged through it and found what he was looking for. standing up and pulled out the glistening trident, lightning crackling between the prongs. he climbed up guardian goodies, stood up on the top, and he smiled. He felt absolutely honored and loved by the hermits, but it was time for him to face his past. this was his fight, and he knew that the hermits were by his side in the battle. 

he pulled up his device and typed two simple words.

‘get back.’- grian

everyone looked around, and when they finally saw him his eye were sharp on Sam. Trident lifted above his head, crackling with power and magic. his knuckles turned white as he thought about all that had happened, everything that he’d done. everyone pulled away from Sam, leaving him exposed as Grian finally shot forward and let it all go.

lightning cracked down on sam, and this time he didn’t respon

no proofreading, we die like men

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitcraft fanfic #TW abuse #TW death #grianmc #grian #xisuma #xisumavoid #xisumamc #samgladiator #yhs sam #hc mumbo #mumbo jumbo #bonfire bunny funeral

[palmett-hoes]

what's your take on the foxes mbti?

oh buddy ur never gonna believe this but i wrote a foxes MBTI post YEARS ago

im also not into mbti anymore and haven't been for many years so that post is probably still more accurate and in-depth than what i could give you now. i’m just gonna copy the whole thing but i read it over and it still totally vibes w how i understand the characters, like way more than i was expecting it to. i only made one edit (it’s marked) and it was to add a detail not change anything

i hope you’re really really into mbti otherwise this’ll probably be gobbeldegook

.

.

.

i used to be obessively into mbti so here’s an analysis based on cognitive functions mostly.

SKIP IF YOU WANT. for anyone with no idea how it works, here’s a quick rundown: cognitive functions are about the way people think, process, and prioritize information, not necessarily how they act, though people who think the same way often act the same. the 8 letters that make up a type represent how people process and prioritize internal and external stimuli. every letter actually has an ‘internal’ and 'external’ form so there’s Thinking (internal(ti) and external(te)), Feeling (internal(fi) and external(fe)), Sensing (internal(si) and external(se)), and iNtuition(internal(ni) and external(ne)) t’s always go with a corresponding and opposite f (like ti and fe always go together), same with s’s and n’s (ex: si and ne always go together). a set of  t, f, s, and n in a specific order makes an mbti type.

neil: intp (ti ne si fe)

neil has incredible analytical ability although it’s very programmed for survival but he’s also a fast thinker and very quick to adapt to new environments. he also approaches things from original angles that other people dont consider, all that sounds like high ti/ne. the lower functions fit well too. in times of stress, he returns to old habits and falls back on what’s familiar, that’s classic low si. his emotions are also very exterior. he’s bad with other people from lack of exposure, but he’s committed to harmony between those close to him and has an impeccable ability to read the emotional states of others while being completely oblivious of his own, and his sense of self is tied to exterior things like exy, friends, keys, and legal documents (lol) that’s fe

andrew: intj (ni te fi se)

ni is really hard to describe but it has to do with being able to draw conclusions from scattered input, which fits with andrew’s uncanny ability to spot lies and obsession with finding out the truth, especially with high te, which is about spatial order and logic, think of how prioritized he is with the physical order of things: who sits where, who wears what, etc. a lot of people want to make andrew infj i bet as like a “subversive reading” but he’s definitely not. i used to be really close to an infj and they have hyper-empathy, as in she would describe not just caring about other people and being able to read their emotional states but literally feeling the things the people around her felt. this is a common result of the ni/fe combo, and the reason why andrew is definitely not infj. tertiary fi fits very well instead because andrew is deeply attuned to his own inner emotional state. he’s self-confident and doesn’t care about other people’s perception of him, but he’s also very concerned with his own feelings and understanding them, even if they’re repressed. he’s also very aware of his physical surroundings, which plays into his deductive ability, although it’s not his focus. that’s low se

kevin: estj (te si ne fi)

kevin is a classic estj. he’s controlling, demanding, and driven. he tries to control the actions of those around him and gets very distressed when things dont run smoothly, as well as having strong feelings about improving efficiency. high te people make great managers. kevin’s whole story arc is about breaking old habits, which is a very si problem. it has to do with trusting and craving memory and familiarity, and explains kevins need for endless repetition. he’s innovative, though, coming up with new strategies and drills (ne), it’s just based on what’s already familiar, and you can see him spiral into creating all possible worst-case scenarios when he’s stressed (low ne stress reaction, they like to be prepared). finally, he’s a dick, but he cares about other people and wants to improve their lives, as well as being very reliant on other people’s perceptions of him to define his own self-image (low fe)

dan: esfj (fe si ne ti)

dan’s top priority, over everything else, is her team. she wants her team to improve, she wants her team to win, she wants her team to work together. it’s all about the collective. we also see that she’s very open with others and makes a lot of effort to both make new ties and maintain old ones, that’s high fe. she’s sentimental and attached to the past too (si)  esp the photo wall, but we also see her very unwilling to let go of the past ie the monsters but eventually willing to change and grow to mend team cohesion (ne). we also see the fight in underlying logic (low ti) with her: she knows the team needs the monsters to cooperate but she cant figure out how to do it

matt: enfj (fe ni se ti)

so enfj’s experience infj hyper-empathy too, but to a slightly lesser extent (primary fe is more group cohesion, secondary fe is more understanding others), and through this we see matt’s easy-going open friendliness and ability to befriend even prickly little neil, because he has an extremely good sense of what other people are feeling and need, it also explains why he doesn’t hold a grudge against the cousins in the same way dan does, because he understands where they were coming from. se is associated with a general boisterousness for life, as it’s about experiencing the world around you, which explains matt’s happy-go-lucky disposition and puppydog behavior. the ti aspects mostly go into supporting fe/ni empathic senses

allison: entj (te ni se fi)

i mean, allison’s controlling, both in that she orders other people around and in that her physical being and space are very planned and organized (her clothes, her hair, her makeup, etc) but at the same time there isn’t much sentimentality to her, like how she doesn’t care when her car was destroyed. she easily replaces things because she cares about the object’s purpose, not its history and that all smacks of high te/ni. and i mean, the se definitely contributes to her love of designer things and killer looks, because she cares about the world immediately around her, and why live if not in luxury? and fi? is there any character more aggressively self-confident than allison reynolds?? going against her parents’ wishes for her takes a really strong, independent sense of self, but we also see the problems that can come from not worrying about other people, in how she starts fights and can be abrasive and catty

renee: infp (fi ne si te)

okay this one was really hard tbh. a list of other considerations: isfp, istp, and infj. it’s very easy to read renee as high fe because she’s kind, but i think it’s a mischaracteration of why she’s kind. it’s not because it comes naturally to her, it’s because it’s a conscious choice that makes her feel better about herself. high fi people often read as fe because they’re so comfortable with themselves and in tune with their own needs that they can then go and provide for others. i associate her religion with ne, because contemplation and acceptance of the divine later in life is a very metaphysical undertaking that undoubtedly requires a lot of abstract thought. renee’s storyline also revolves a lot around using things from her past and putting a conscious effort into leaving things from her past behind (how she still uses the skills she learned from her past in new ways ie sparring with andrew and protecting the upperclassmen v/s how she held on to her knives even when she knew it was detrimental to her moving on) this sounds like si. her protective instincts also feed into the te need for order, but it’s a looser leash than say andrew, as it’s lower on her function stack but still present

nicky: esfp (se fi te ni)

godd nicky is like a prototypical esfp. i mean nicholas “sex, drugs, and parties” hemmick cant be anything but se dominant. nicky is all about living it up and living in the moment. like he’s sporadic and ive seen it lead people to think he could be enfp but he doesn’t think enough about the meaning of things to be ne dominant (like how he makes somewhat predatory jokes and such, he’s all about the here-and-now while ne is about the past and future simultaneously). also he of all characters has incredibly prominent fi, as his whole character is about living unashamedly as himself as a gay man and the immense self-awareness and inner strength it takes not only to come out to unaccepting parents but also to leave and start a new life when they rejected him. however, fi is also indicative of his communication problems with his family, as he’s unable to tell that the cousins are fundamentally different from him in their needs and boundaries, leading him to pushing them, making them uncomfortable, and being unable to help them, because he’s unable to understand them. the rest are much more hidden, but a party boy shopaholic like nicky would probably need some amount of te order in like an organized chaos fashion (and he’s often headcanoned as liking to throw parties) and you do see him become somewhat pushy, even controlling in those scenarios. ni is the hardest but could maybe be seen in how he’s attuned to the cousins reactions for all that he cant predict them/doesn’t do anything on his own part to prevent them (the way he handles andrew is like if someone poked a rattlesnake knowing damn well what it would do and then freaked out when he got bit)

aaron: istj (si te fi ne)

im a little iffy on this one and worry it might be an analysis based on his trauma instead of complimentary to it, but aaron’s arc is about breaking out of his habit of holding on to the past. he refuses to work towards moving on from his mother’s death, refuses to listen to things that contradict his preconceived notions, and refuses to make changes in his life that could improve it. that’s unhealthy si. he’s really a very unhealthy istj, and most of his traits manifest through his unhappiness with his life. take his te. that would imply that he needs control over his surroundings, but aaron is incredibly bitter and unhappy BECAUSE he doesn’t have control of his surroundings. he doesn’t get to make his own choices, he doesn’t get to control his space, and he hates it. his relationship with katelyn is also indicative of being an istj. it’s stable, not a passionate fling, but aaron is mocked for wanting that white picket fence, married with kids in the suburbs kind of life, and his relationship, which is his primary source of happiness, is built on stability, which is a very si thing to do. in terms of fi, it is aaron that ultimately forces change between himself and andrew. he may have been pushed but he ultimately came down to him knowing what made him happy and what made him miserable and acting on that. also, he’s an ornery asshole who clearly doesn’t care what other people think of him. fi. i dont really have anything to say in terms of ne, probably because he’s so unhealthy but also because he’s not too explored. heyy istj’s make great doctors

wymack: isfj (si fe ti ne)

okay this one was genuinely the hardest to decide on but ultimately i came to the conclusion that wymack, much like renee, is such a developed person that he loses many defining traits of the functions, and can be read in many different ways. so: wymack’s primary goal is the safety and betterment of other people (ie his team). he wants to help people overcome their pasts, which is a very atypical approach to si, but is si nonetheless. on a personal level, too, he’s never able to move on from people, and specifically never moved on from kayleigh,  continuing their shared dream of an exy team for abused kids long after her death. as ive said before, fe in a secondary position is about deep understanding of other people, and wymack’s ability to understand what other people are struggling through is legendary. the ti mostly serves as support to the fe, serving as the analytical backup in allowing him to understand others. as for ne: he is most definitely an innovator with unusual ideas, or the foxes wouldn’t exist

riko: estp (se ti fe ni)

riko is basically what happens when an estp goes bad down to the core. he’s obsessed with personal glory and immediate self-fulfillment (se) he has no impulse control or fear of consequences. interestingly, high se is often associated with athleticism, because high se people are intensly focused on their surroundings (exy). his ti is also super unhealthy as he gets obsessed with ideas that dont really work with objective reality, like his obsession with ownership and power dynamics despite them not actually being efficient, even backwards. the tertiary fe he uses to manipulate. he doesn’t empathize with others, but he can tell their emotional state and what’s important to them, and uses it to coerce them and destroy their sense of self, like how he knew he could get neil to the nest by threatening andrew. EDIT: /additionally, fe people especially in the lower half of the function stack tend to derive their sense of self from the perceptions of others around them, which riko very much shows in how he needs to be acknowledged as the best and won’t allow any competition for his title, as well as his desperation for acknowledgement from his family/. finally, that ni allowed him to keep multiple plans in place focused on one ultimate goal: getting kevin back. the sheer amount of schemes he sets up in order to fool and push people the way he wants is honestly kinda impressive, but he’s a toxic shithead and im glad he’s rotting. definitely not representative of all estp’s

.

.

.

this is honestly SO funny to read back a few years later bc HOOOOO boy was i way too into this stuff. and this was written a couple years after my Peak MBTI Obsession, which was honestly scary

#txt #the foxes #dan wilds #kevin day #andrew minyard #matt boyd #aaron minyard #allison reynolds #nicky hemmick #renee walker #neil josten #wymack #riko moriyama #my posts #im talkin #ask #anon #anonymous

[otherworldly-healer]

Raine sat down at her office desk warily examining the envelope that held her name on it. She had placed it there earlier after checking the mailbox. Taking a shower and getting into clean clothes after trekking through the forest all day was a more pressing matter. Then dinner, lesson plans, and a few chores stole her attention. After everyone else had returned to their rooms for the night she finally got around to investigating the letter. 

She noted it didn’t have a return address. It was rare if ever that she got mail that wasn’t some sort of advertisement for a business or an announcement of activities at the University or other community hub. Most correspondence was much easier on the telephone or meeting in person, so whatever it was it must have been formal. She unfolded her reading glasses and turned on the lamp to begin reading.

Professor Raine Sage,

I've been told I'm better at expressing myself in written word than spoken, and I'm inclined to agree. Even so, I'm not looking forward to writing this; I haven't written a letter in some years, and our relationship is complicated enough in normal circumstances.

I'm writing several letters now as a contingency. In the event I should disappear from the island before I find the courage to say these things aloud, I've given instructions for them to be delivered. If you're reading this, then I am no longer in Spirale. I suppose it's possible that you're reading this letter while I'm still here, but as I've entrusted these letters to one of my dearest and most reliable friends, I won't bother entertaining the thought.

A part of me is grateful that I won't have to deal with the fallout when these letters are first opened. For that, and for everything, I am sorry. On the other hand, it's entirely possible that I will return tomorrow and have to face the immediate consequences. But there's no way to predict what will happen, and I'd rather have those difficult conversations than leave, potentially for good, without a word.

Out of all of Spirale's victims from our world, I chose to write to you because I trust you are the most capable of understanding my intentions.

In my wake, I've left a path of devastation almost as wide as Yggdrasill's. I can't excuse the things I have done, nor would I want to; to try would be an insult to every life sacrificed, and despite what you may think of me, I cannot accept such callousness.

And yet, I must try to convince myself that there is a way to atone - that I am not irredeemable. I must believe that I can make a difference. It's naive - childish, even - but if I consider my current actions as useless, what hope can I have to actually make a change?

If I can't undo the past, I will do what I can to better the future. That is what I believe. It has taken me six years since my arrival to put it into words, but I believe I have felt that way deep down for a long time.

Unfortunately, I won't be able to act on that belief in Spirale, at least for some time. And that brings me to the point of this letter: I want you to remind me of this.

When people leave and return, their memories are sometimes altered or erased. I believe it due to the nature of the differing timelines between the island and its targeted worlds, but that's all I can say. Ironically, I can't remember if I ever told you this. It's a very real possibility that, should I return at all, I will not remember any of the experiences here that have shaped me.

I can remember who I was when I first arrived. The thought of being like that again scares me.

That isn't to say I expect you to restore my memories, nor do I expect you to try. If I do return as the bitter, apathetic person I was before, I doubt you would be able to convince me anyway. I simply ask that you tell me what I have said here - that no matter how hopeless it must seem, I must try.

I won't burden you with any other messages, though you are free to tell the others what I've written here. I pray that we get the chance to meet again, even if it is while I am someone else.

Take care, Yuan Ka-Fai

She had to reread the contents a few times before fully processing what was written. Even then she felt a rush of conflicting emotion that she couldn’t quite describe. He was really gone? Just like that?

She couldn’t understand him. He would write to her because he felt she was the most responsible one? He didn’t say that he trusted her personally, just that he trusted that she could understand his intentions. It made some sense, admittedly, rather than burdening one of the younger members of the group. Still, she couldn’t help but feel weighed down by this task that he had given her. To always have to be the mature voice, to be composed and weigh all perspectives, felt a bit unfair. Yet she had never been one to ever vocalize that she was being overwhelmed. Yuan and her weren’t close. Would this task not be better served to someone else? Was she just a last-case scenario, in case others had disappeared as well? Surely that must be all.

She had had little reason to keep checking her phone during these eclipses. Ever since Genis had arrived, she had little reason to keep obsessing over who had come and gone from this island. And while she felt a stinging loneliness when Colette and a melancholy when Six had disappeared, they had come back the same people. In her experience it seemed to happen more often than not. She knew from prior conversations with Yuan himself that it was possible for people to come here differently—Mithos had once been from four thousand years ago, and many of her companions such as Sheena had come from different times in their Journey. 

Of course it was possible. But she didn’t want to think about it. If she allowed herself to, that bubble of optimism that she’d been trying to build would surely burst again-- as fragile as it already was. She wanted to enjoy her time here to just be herself. She wanted to have a home and not have to be a historical figure, a leader for her race. Despite setbacks she was happy here; at times more content than she had ever been in her entire life. But time and time again the reality of this place threatened to take that all away. How long would it be before someone she was closer with would be spirited away back to their home plane? What if they came back, but had no recollection of ever meeting her? 

No. No. No. I’m so damn tired of starting over! That’s all my life has been! Hit a dead end, regroup, turn on my heel, and set off again. Pretend that it doesn’t hurt. Pretend that it is inevitable. Right when I’d been foolish enough to begin to feel comfortable in this city.

Yuan had done it again. What a frustratingly cowardly man. Even going so far as to say he’d be glad that he wasn’t there to deal with the fallout of the letters. He would speak with her briefly and leave her with some worrying information while having no answers for what to do with said information. No plan of action. Just a looming threat to be wary of. Raine could feel anger welling up as she ran her hand through her bangs. Her fist pounded the table, rattling the cup set next to her on a coaster. 

Of course after four thousand years he had never had answers before, why should she expect it to be any different now? A man of inaction. Indifference. And yet he still insisted that he had changed. Waver had insisted that his past didn’t matter in this place, but she couldn’t agree. Experiences and memories formed who people were. Yuan had admitted to his mistakes but she hadn’t known him well enough to tell if he had really devoted himself to changing. Besides her, how many of her companions had he approached and expressed his desire to atone? To build that better future?

She still had so much to say to him. So much to ask him. She hadn’t had enough time. As infuriating as it was, Yuan had been incredibly helpful with acclimating herself to the city. He was a straightforward voice that helped dispel confusion. She wanted to understand him better, but to the professor it felt like he was always trying to hide from her and the rest. Complicated was right. She had respect for him. She hated his guts. They shared more commonalities as half-elves that she cared to admit. Raine could never forgive how he hardened his heart to overlook the damage he caused through negligence. How turning into an angel had tainted him and his view of mortals as expendable. She was conflicted. In another time and place, she could have even seen them as friends with their common interests. It was just too hard to divorce him from his past actions in her mind. Not completely.

Yet…she had to admit there was a heart there somewhere deep down. She’d seen it, briefly, on more than one occasion. The one time that Yuan had let a glimmer of his emotions show. That one argument they had at the club. He was desperate to make amends. He repeated that wish here in the letter. To acknowledge how much of a hand he had in perpetuating the cycle of violence and hatred in Aselia. Even if those things could not be forgiven, at least he was not running from them. That alone proved that he had changed. 

She didn’t want to believe that it was too late for anyone. 

She needed to have hope that people could change if they wanted to. 

She refused to ever let go of that plea.

In her eyes he wasn’t irredeemable. However, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still too scared to actually face any of them. Meetings were always sporadic, and they had spent a fair share of their time working in the same place avoiding one another. She’d said it time and again…adults were troublesome creatures, stubborn and often stuck in their ways. Deeply complex and entangled in their own doubts and fears. Her included. She had to have compassion for that.

“You better believe that I will hold you to that, Yuan,” she whispered. Raine let the letter rest on her desk, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her eyes stung as if forcing back tears.

No, I refuse to be upset by this!

...though it was much too late.

 The half-elf closed her eyes and took a deep breath, leaning back in her chair and staring at the ceiling. Her hands curled around the sides of the letter, causing the page to wrinkle. “To write me of all people a last message. What are you thinking? It sounds almost like a will.” She reached over to her phone to check the contact list and…sure enough, Yuan’s name had vanished.

“If you come back with all of your memories intact, you’ll truly be sorry.” She folded the letter back into its envelope and took her glasses off. 

“Whatever happens next, don’t ever stop trying. You’ve gotten too far to give up now.” But she was merely talking to herself. Her words would no longer reach him. Hopefully someday in the future she would have the opportunity to say that to his face.

#stormswake #wow pain!

[concussed-to-pieces]

To Tell You The Truth Part Five

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Dudes, real talk. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. Your support on this particular endeavor is just mindblowing and I love you guys so much (no this isn’t the end or anything I’m just in my feels right now). This installment has a monologue in it that I'm really, really stupid proud of. I hope you guys like it. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @fioccodineveautunnale

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains vague depictions of gore. Stay safe!]

You thought you heard someone running, heavy boots pounding hard on the ground. Who even has the energy for that, you wondered idly.

Oxygen abruptly flooded back into your helmet and you inhaled on instinct, hacking and wheezing. The bayonet twitched roughly, making you sob out before some of the pressure on the blade was relieved. 

"There. Detached it from the fucking thrower. You still with me, gentle soul?" Ezra, it was Ezra, talking loudly, tapping your helmet and seeming relieved when you barely opened your eyes once more. "I'm goin' to stabilize the bayonet, you understand me? We can't remove it or we'll do more damage. Have to stabilize with the patcher cream."

"Told y...you to...leave--" you gasped, grabbing desperately at his shoulder. "Miss the--sling...back…"

"Kevva was a martyr, you know." Ezra said suddenly. "A little bit Prometheus, a little bit Jesus. Shot himself into space so others wouldn't fear to follow in his footsteps, to give countless souls the chance to be reforged in booster fire. Always found martyrdom more trouble than it was worth, myself. Living on struck me as the more attractive option." He murmured, struggling with your suit.

The only reply you could manage was more of a wet gurgle of confusion. What was he even talking about?

"Now, we as human beings are taught that self-sacrifice is the loftiest of moral pedestals to stand upon. We are taught that puttin' the needs of others above ourselves is the pinnacle, the quintessential desirous trait." He carried on in a pleasant tone, like this was a normal conversation the two of you were having as he poured the antiseptic liquid over your abdomen. 

It burned and stung. You wanted to scream but you couldn't draw the breath, settling for a pitiful whimper.

"I cannot tell you how many times I roundly railed against the purported divine will of that miserable martyr when I found myself trapped on this forsaken moon. The last thing I wanted was to be slain before I finally got to revel in my spoils, reduced to no more than a cautionary tale of avarice and loss in the annals of time. Lo and behold though, despite all my tribulations, it appears I was not the one in danger of being a sacrificial lamb."

The clear dome of his helmet thudded against your own, and he tried to time your breathing for a moment before he gave up and just clicked the trigger on the patcher gun. You cried out hoarsely in pain and he echoed you with a groan, shaking his head.

"Instead, that malevolent bearded bastard sent me a precious gentle soul, one more gracious and generous than any harvest, to shield my worthless body from the slings and arrows of this hostile moon. But I do not accept the debt of another's life so free and easy, especially not when it's counted against all my sins." He continued relentlessly, tossing the foam gun aside. "You can urge me until your holy heart stops, yet I refuse to indulge you in your blasted martyrdom." The word was furious, hissed out between his teeth. "You will live. If I have to drag you back from Kevva's greedy, graspin' hand myself, I damn well will. You have suffered Purgatory long enough, gentle soul." 

With that emphatic declaration he heaved you upright, draping your arm over his shoulder and beginning the slow, tortuous walk back to the mercenary rock jumper. "Ez--ra…" you choked, your legs barely supporting you. "C-an't--"

"Hush, gentle soul." He said firmly, struggling to distribute more of your weight onto his shoulders. "I would carry you if I trusted my arm, but regrettably I am not at full-test. All the same, I'm putting you into that fuckin' pod even if I have to drag you every accursed step of the way." 

Your fingers dug into his suit and you straightened up marginally. Just enough for him to get a better grip on your body. "M' gonna'-" you coughed, red droplets hitting the dome of your helmet.

"Keep your free hand on that blade, gentle soul. The less damage we do to your internal machinations, the better." 

You obediently curled your glove around the foam-crusted bayonet, stabilizing the protruding weapon with what little strength you had left. You stared down at his leg, trying to get your own steps to match up with his so he didn't trip over the tether tube. You weren't sure whether either of you would be able to get back up if that occurred.

"Almost there." Ezra announced, making your head jerk up. You had been wavering on the edge of unconsciousness, just focusing on keeping your feet moving. 

He dropped your hand onto one of the railings for the pod ladder and you obligingly tried to pull yourself into it after he gave you a boost, ending up essentially throwing your body forward and to the side on the floor of the pod.

Ezra staggered up behind you, fumbling to shift you from your fetal position. "In the seat, gentle soul, we need to strap you in. Can't have loose cargo when we take off." He muttered. 

Your head felt too heavy. You let it loll against your chest while he essentially manhandled you into the passenger seat and snapped the harness around you as best as he could. "M'sorry…" Your voice was barely audible through your helmet. "Can't..."

"You manage those lungs of yours, don't worry about me." He replied tersely, yanking off his helmet and then tearing at the latches on your own. "You just keep breathin'. We'll be out of this in no time, gentle soul, no time at all." 

You nodded dazedly after he pulled the helmet off over your head. "Thank…"

"Hush, damn it." Ezra rasped, pressing his lips to your forehead. "Hush. Save your energy and keep that bayonet steady. We'll be on that freighter in a tick. Get you to a proper med bay." His voice trembled.

You were vaguely aware that he had strapped in beside you. There was the soft rustle of manual pages, then the deafening rattle of the pod boosters, the thrum of the engines as it broke the atmosphere. Light from Bakhroma's sun poured in through the triangular windows overhead, all but blinding you. 

Ezra weakly stripped your glove and then clasped your fingers across the center console as the freighter appeared, spindly arms of pods hanging suspended in the brilliant green and navy halo of the surrounding cosmos. "We have at last been delivered from our toilsome strife." He sighed. "Better days beckon us onward, gentle soul." He raised your hand to his lips, and you felt the brush of his facial hair when he kissed your open palm.

...

You were unsure of how much time had passed. You thought you were being removed from the pod, something about getting rushed through the triage protocols. 

An oxygen mask was snapped down over your face, the whirr of an intraosseous needle reaching your ears. Conversations around you faded in and out, random voices discussing your condition. 

Where was Ezra?

"If that bayonet had gone half an inch deeper-"

"I suggest you apply the brakes on that particular intellectual locomotive." You felt your fears ebb at the familiar sound of his drawl. "We are running on precious little sleep and I must confess to an unhealthy inclination towards impatience when I am deprived of my slumber. Now, my individual trauma can wait until you have available staff, but their wound will fester if it is left much longer." A large hand rested on your forehead, shielding your half-open eyes from the fluorescent lighting. "Take care of their potential pneumothorax, doctor, and I will be as docile as a lamb."

"Ez…" you whispered.

"Still tryin' to palaver? Gentle soul, now is not the time for idle conversation." His hand stroked your forehead as he soothed, "Rest now. We did it. You did it." 

With his assurance, you closed your eyes.

...

You were confined to a rehabiter chamber for what felt like a short eternity as the freighter made its laborious way back to Central, Puggart Bench and the overcrowded wards that dotted the outskirts.

All you had left physically to remind you of your ordeal was a slow-healing wound on your abdomen and muscles that felt like they would never stop aching. You had one hundred percent overdone it and, if the resident freighter physician had anything to say regarding the matter, you were incredibly lucky to be alive.

The freighter's lung scrubber wasn't exactly on par with the level of sanitation either you or Ezra needed, so you were kept on it at all times until you could be transferred to the Puggart Bench medicog. You were grateful to be weathering the travel in the freighter's dingy med bay, as strange as that was to say. You weren't sure how long it would be before you could travel in a pod without feeling deeply apprehensive.

Once dropped at Puggart, you barely even got to wave at Ezra (he waved back with a drowsy grin from beneath the oxygen tent) before you were whisked away to a different room and hooked up to something a little more high-test. 

Fully purging the dust took literal days of treatment. The preliminary scans of your lungs revealed what looked like thick, puffy cotton balls in the place of usual bronchioles. You could only imagine how bad Ezra's lungs must be if that was what yours were like.

The rest of your body continued to arduously heal. You spent the hours of solitary treatment quietly drawing on your memo pad. Once that ran out of pages, you began to save the napkins that came with your Pastors slurry. A kind orderly found you an abandoned clipboard and you would balance it on your knees to draw for as long as you were able before your stomach began to protest.

You did your best to not think about the Bakhroma Green moon. It was difficult, but you tried. The lushly poisonous foliage, the Queen's Lair, Damon-

Your sleep was fitfully restless, either due to the lingering pain of your wound or the nightmares that hounded you. You were unsure of the last time you had truly enjoyed a good night's sleep.

Once you had been off the scrubber for a full week, Ezra came to visit. You almost didn't recognize him sans the bulk of his suit and helmet, but the brilliant blond Mallen streak that jutted mischievously out from his right temple removed all doubt. He looked much better, which was to be expected. Clean food and fresh air had done him wonders.

"Gentle soul!" He exclaimed warmly upon entering your cubicle, his voice rasping slightly, "all those days of good behavior paid off. Your jealous warden has finally deemed me worthy of entry into your domain." 

"Good to see you too, Ezra." You replied with a smile, raising an eyebrow at the flowers he carried. "I won't take up much of your time, obviously you've got places to be." What was that weird pang in your chest? Were you jealous? Why would you be jealous? 

"Your modesty, while one of your finest qualities, wounds me deeply. These are for you, gentle soul." Ezra placed a hand over his heart, bowing grandly as he presented you with the bouquet. 

"F-For me? Oh." You felt a little ashamed of your strange jealousy now, fumbling to take the flowers from him. "These are so beautiful, you...you didn't have to, you know." You murmured, burying your nose in the soft petals. 

"What better way to celebrate you bein' on the mend?" He inquired incredulously, pulling up the chair beside your bed. 

"I'm kind of surprised you're still here, honestly." You confessed. 

"Whyever for?"

"Well I just...I assumed you would have set back out in search of the next big thing." You twiddled your fingers, keeping your eyes on the flowers. 

"I am full of surprises, I suppose. Oh! And in that vein." Ezra tugged free a long, flat box from inside the (obviously very new) blazer he wore. "Another surprise."

The box was wrapped simply in plain paper and twine, a bit like all your sketchpads had been. "Ezra-" you began to protest. 

He waved off your words though, gesturing impatiently for you to rip off the paper. "I have been burstin' at the seams to give this to you, gentle soul. Do not make me wait one iota longer, I implore you."

Laughing a little at his enthusiasm, you obliged. Your laughter caught in your throat as you turned the brightly-colored box over, the graphics on the front proudly announcing the contents. "This...Th-This is…" You stammered, swallowing hard. "I...Ezra-"

"It's the draw-pad! Y'know, the one we discussed. Brand new, hot off the line." Ezra looked insanely pleased with himself, fidgeting in the seat. "I saw it and I knew you needed it."

"Ezra, this is too much." You tried to sound like you disapproved, but you were relatively certain your fingers reverently tracing the brilliant logo gave you away. Just the box alone looked so crisp, the edges still sharp instead of crushed in and rounded with age.

"Now, this gift does come with a request." He drawled from his spot beside your bed. You glanced up, that old wariness creeping back in. "I want you to familiarize yourself with this tool. Not sure how long it'll take. I have faith in your tenacity and ability to adapt, however. Once you're confident in your skill, I would be most obliged if you would consider a solicitation of partnership. " 

"Part...nership?" You repeated, thoroughly confused.

Ezra nodded. "Yes, gentle soul. I am penning a semi-fictitious memoir and it would add a certain...gravitas if your sketches graced the pages as well, you understand."

You fairly erupted with excitement, "I would love to!" Your enthusiasm jerked to a sudden stop as you remembered just where you were, and how much debt you were probably in. "But I...I can't." You finished sadly, stroking the brightly-colored illustrations on the front of the draw-pad box one last wistful time before you pressed it back into his hands. "I'm sorry Ezra, I need to hurry up and heal so I can hurry up and find another job, work through paying off this treatment bill--"

"Gentle soul, I don't think you have a full grasp of your situation." Ezra interjected. "You are an incredibly rich individual." You stared at him, not entirely registering his words. "Have you truly forgotten just how much of the Queen your deft little hands plundered?"

"That's not mine, that's y-"

"Kevva above, gentle soul. If not for your steady skinnin' and de-blisterin', we wouldn't have secured a damn thing." Ezra leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers. "I turned a handsome profit as well, mind you. I am quite comfortably off with my harvest as it is. But you, gentle soul, you…" He cleared his throat. "I took the liberty of arrangin' an account for you while you were indisposed."

"There was enough for an account?" You squeaked. 

Ezra's laugh sounded raw. "The wonder in your eyes! I wish you could see yourself. Give me a moment, I'll pull up the numbers." He had apparently gotten one of those new, touchscreen Servs. He didn't even need a cable! You watched apprehensively as he tapped away at the tablet, swiping through a few menus. 

When he tilted the screen to show you your account, you were relatively certain you had gone into shock. You knew your mouth was opening and closing, but you couldn't seem to form any words.

"I daresay you may be able to afford your hospital bill." The man said dryly after watching you gawk for several long minutes. "And perhaps a few meager indulgences on top of that."

"That's...that can't be right." You whispered, reaching out to touch the numbers. Ezra chuckled when your clumsy fingers accidentally brought up another menu, the older man easily dismissing it. 

"It is indeed correct, gentle soul. The exchange was the cleanest I've ever done, and sported the highest rates I've ever encountered. It seems we returned from the Bakhroma Green in the nick of time, in more ways than one." 

"Ezra, that's...I-I've never even dreamed of having so many points. I…" you trailed off, biting your lip. Tears welled up in your eyes and, for the first time since Damon had been killed, you started to cry in earnest.

Ezra's hand rested on your arm after a moment and you let yourself be eased into his embrace, sobbing against his shoulder. "Steady now, gentle soul. You just let it all out. It's over, you understand?" He soothed, cupping the back of your head. "Over and done with. Your perdition is at its end. You are free from those terrible burdens." 

"I just...this doesn't even feel real." You hiccupped. "I feel like I'm g-gonna' wake up in that pod all over ag-gain."

"I know that sensation all too well. My sleep is poor, my dreams fraught with dark recollections." Ezra admitted quietly. "Safety and stability are luxuries I have not been able to afford for many years. Now that I have them, I am...unsure of what to do with them." He sighed, his chin resting on the top of your head. "We have endured so much worse than having a little good fortune, yet upon bein' confronted with it, we do not feel worthy."

You nodded into his shoulder. It was no surprise that he would know exactly how to put into words what you had been feeling. You jolted abruptly when you realized which shoulder you were molesting. "Oh! Your arm, I'm so-"

"Don't you fret, gentle soul." He released you and carefully slid his arm out of his blazer, the barest wince betraying him as he flexed the limb freely. "I'm on the mend, with a...zeal I did not realize I possessed. The matron in charge of my circulatory rehabilitation seems hell-bent on gettin' me to break a sweat." Ezra sounded rueful. "I'm just glad I can breathe unaided once more. I'll never take my lungs for granted ever again."

...

You doused the eggs with the brilliant orange sauce, shoveling a forkful into your mouth and groaning in appreciative delight. 

"Now normally, condiments are a compliment to the dish." Ezra delicately gestured at your orange-stained plate with his fork. "With you however, condiments appear to be the main course." He teased. Ezra had offered to take you out for breakfast on the morning of your release, he called it a daring escape from the confines of modern medicine. Hence your current locale. You had, however, insisted that the two of you split the bill.

"After so long eating Pastors Calori-pouches and bits bars, I...I need the color just as much as I need the flavor, y'know?" You mumbled around your mouthful. "My tastebuds are all brand new again."

"I meant no disrespect, gentle soul." Ezra reached across the table with a paper napkin and you jerked back on reflex, laughing awkwardly as you tried to play off your sharp reaction. He cocked his head, eyebrows drawn quizzically tight. "I said I would not ask, and I will not break that promise." He murmured, tucking the napkin into your limp hand instead. "If ever there is anything I can do though, anything I can say to...to ease these burdens you carry on your body, all you need do is ask."

This was far too serious of a topic to be discussing in a greasy diner with bright orange hot sauce dripping off your chin. 

Ezra skewered a bite of flapjack with his fork, dipped it in the vibrant condiment that smeared your dish and then popped it into his mouth. You gawked at him as he chewed, his eyes idly roaming the diner. You could take the man out of the communal mining canteen, but you couldn't take the communal mining canteen out of the man, you supposed. You remembered all too well the stands worth of others pilfering off your own tray.

"I know you are no doubt eager twice over to get your mitts on my draft and begin your creative process, but I must insist we allow you the time to reacclimate to city livin'." He changed the subject deftly, his fingers drumming on the scarred diner table as he spoke. "Elsewise you may just end up sealin' yourself into a studio like a cask of Amontillado and drawin' the day away." His eyes wandered back to your face. "Have you given any more consideration to which ward you might prefer to hang your hat in?" 

You gulped down a bite of toast before shaking your head. "I...I looked through the listings two days ago but I don't...I mean, I know I can afford to, but…" you trailed off. 

"Livin' alone holds no allure." Ezra's tone was sympathetic. He steepled his hands on the tabletop. "Permit me to suggest an alternative, gentle soul." You inclined your head. "We are two wandering drifters that, through sheer grit and a healthy sprinkling of providence, have managed to slog through hell together and survive without growing to loathe each other's company." 

You stared at him blankly, sponging the sauce off your chin. Ezra settled back in the booth, his body language enviably relaxed. 

"I am more than willin' to open my humble abode to you. For a few stands or simply until you find yourself despising my lugubrious company." He held up a hand as you opened your mouth. "I offer without any malice or intent of predation, gentle soul. I know that the return to non-floater spaces is not often an easy one, and I strongly suspect that you have been preyed upon in the past."

"I know you're not like that." You blurted out, flushing immediately afterwards.

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "I am grateful you don't lump my gregarious self in with the refuse, gentle soul."

"I just...I mean you've done so much for me already." You continued helplessly. "I'm in your debt, Ezra. By a lot."

"Nonsense." He scoffed. "Without you, we never would have escaped the Green! If we are to speak of debts and debtors, I must reason that I am still in yours. Shooting me would have been a ludicrously simple task, as I pointed out when we were still in that Kevva-forsaken place. Never mind the steady-handed salvage of my arm, your heroic duel with Inumon-"

"Oh yes, nothing more heroic than getting three-quarters killed by a grungy Krebine bayonet." You interrupted him dryly. "While hopped up on Brism."

Ezra chuckled. "Modest as ever!" He quickly sobered, his eyes serious. "My lodgings are more than adequate to house another individual, should you decide to grace me with your presence."

...

You didn't really have any possessions, which made your move relatively straightforward. All you had was your helmet, your suit, your underclothes and the contents of the pockets of said suit. Mercifully, everything had been decontaminated, so you didn't have anything to fear from throwing your familiar kit back on.

"I will offer you a change of clothes, but! We must venture out and acquire you new attire at your earliest convenience." Ezra insisted, already rummaging through his laughably barren closet even as you protested. "I doubt you wish to eternally linger in my dubious, threadbare garb." He suddenly stopped, snapping his fingers. "Wait. No. Kevva, we can order on the Serv. Unless you prefer the torment of physical fitting rooms?" He queried with a grimace, making you laugh.

You found yourself curled up on the couch several hours later, clad in one out of his two 'casual' shirts and your thermal leggings. You held the Serv tablet carefully in your hands as Ezra swiped through page after page of various clothing, the precocious man enthusiastically supporting any item you expressed interest in. 

"This will at least tide you over until you feel more comfortable wanderin' the streets of the Pug again. We should also find you some underthings and socks." He mused, tapping the appropriate area on the screen to bring up the search option. "I'll leave you to that, gentle soul." You hesitantly took over from him and he rose from the couch, stretching with a quiet groan. "Tea? I feel inordinately cozy right now." He offered cordially. 

"Mmhm." You nodded, a little distracted by the waves of choices available to you. Granted, at this stage all you needed were a few essentials. Undergarments that would hold up in the wash, good socks to ward off the chill. "Should I get shoes too, or wait until I go out for that?" You called.

"I feel it would be prudent to dally on that particular front." Ezra drawled from the kitchen. "It's best to ensure a proper fit in person if at all possible. Though, I hardly need to tell you that." He stuck his head back out through the doorway after a moment. "Toiletries tab should be the second to last on the right."

"I mean, I took the toothbrush from the hospital so I'm probably fine for-" His raucous laughter interrupted your reasoning and you scowled at him, uncertain of what could be so funny. 

"You've got more funds than most people would see in six lifetimes, and yet you purloined the toothbrush from your hospital room." Ezra managed to say after a few moments. "Floater habits die hard, eh gentle soul?"

Against your will, you felt giggles bubbling in your chest and you huffed out a breath, trying to ward them off. "Shush, you...you!" You retorted lamely, losing your battle with your own laughter. "Stop judging me, your moral high ground is subterranean."

"Subterranean, I like that!" Ezra exclaimed, his eyes shining with good humor as he passed you a plain white mug full to the brim with tea. "I'll have to pilfer that for my illustrious tale. Give you full credit, naturally."

You smiled at him over your mug. "You'd better."

He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. "I am a man of subterranean high ground, true enough. But I am a man of my word!"

Part Six

#ezra (prospect 2018) #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra x reader #ezra prospect imagine #ezra #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #I'm in love #this is a lot of fun #prospect 2018 #SPACE #I love space #I love you guys #slow burn #eventual romance

[lornashore]

Never Too Late

Summary: A Markus reader insert. He finds you in the middle of the night alone on a bridge. Unknown to him that he got to you just in time to save you.

A/N: I wrote this for suicide prevention month, and also to bring awareness to a situation like this that is all too real. If anyone out there who reads this is going through this, remember that you’re never alone and I hope this brings you some for of comfort.

TRIGGER WARNING: Bullying, language, attempted suicide, continue with caution!

A cold wind whipped through your hair as you made your way down a vacant bridge, the razor sharp bite of the flowing air dried out your sore, puffy eyes even more than they were before you arrived. The night sky above, normally filled with beautiful twinkling diamonds was now covered in a thick overcast. You turned towards the vast body of water below, closing your eyelids to listen to the steady flow.

You lowered your head, resting it on the icy rail as another pathetic whimper escaped your lips for the tenth time that day. The words of your boss as well as the laughter of your coworkers echoed in your ears once again, the scene playing out behind your closed lids.

Working for a stocking company wasn’t a career of choice, no matter how much they paid you. Especially not when mistakes were caused by clumsiness. The forklift lost control while your boss was trying to teach you how to work it, causing an entire shelving unit to topple to the cement floor. Within seconds the entire area was covered in shattered glass and liquids. One employee was caught in the mess, sending him to the hospital with his head busted open. You sat there frozen in place as your boss wasted no time in scolding you and promptly kicking you out. Of course, before you left, he made sure to introduce you to the android that would be taking your place. The perfect worker, needing no training, making no mistakes, causing no accidents or loss of money, and best of all, no pay. That’s when you realized he had long planned on replacing you, and was simply trying to find any reason to relieve you of further duties. You swiftly left the building, trying your best to ignore your coworkers whispers and laughter as you dashed through the door and out into the cold afternoon air. That was your first job after being in an institute for half a year, and you only managed to keep it for two weeks.

You went straight home after that, the heavy droplets of rain soaking straight through your clothes leaving you a shivering mess as you entered your quiet house. Going straight to bed, you slept for two days straight, being rudely awakened by your mother. 

She was standing over you, both of her hands rested on her hips as she glared holes into your form under the heavy blankets. When you snuck a peek at her, she immediately started to ask questions about what happened. 

“For god’s sake you’re twenty-three years old and you can’t even hold down a job? I told you I wanted you out of my house before your birthday this year, and that’s three weeks away. I knew moving here with you was a mistake.'' She scolded you. All you could do was lie there and listen as she poured insult after insult at your already bruised state of mind. 

“I want your lazy ass out of bed in ten minutes and I want you out there looking for another job. And if you’re lucky, someone may hire you again.” She demanded as she finally left your room. Though you knew with the production of androids, the chances of finding another job were slim.

Your mind continued to plummet back down the dark hole you worked so hard to climb back out of after that. Knowing you didn’t have your own mother's support anymore hurt your core and shattered your heart. Perhaps going back home where the main source of the problem lives wasn't the best idea. But it was too late now. 

With a shaky hand you reach into your jacket pocket, cold fingers coming into contact with the smooth surface of the photograph concealed inside. Slowly you brought the item out of your pocket and into your view, still leaning on the icy railing. A cold tear slipped down your face as you scanned the photo of your uncle Carl and his android Markus. A small smile made its way to your face for only a second before fresh tears soaked your red cheeks once again. Puffs of white air left your mouth as you sobbed, the picture held tightly in your trembling hands. They were all you had growing up. Carl's home was your safe haven away from the vicious outside world, and he welcomed you with open arms. Oftentimes you would stay with him for a few weeks, just spending time with him or helping Markus with his daily chores. Both were happy to have you around, and always included you in their activities. 

Markus had been your one golden ray of sunshine on a stormy day, the one thing that kept you hanging on. But as all rays of gold, they soon come to an end, covered over by the clouds, waiting for the next clear day. 

 Tearing your focus away from the image, you lifted the slieve of your jacket to reveal the flesh beneath. Delicate fingers traced over each and every scar, old and new, each with its own memory of pain. Your chest began to hurt as you sobbed uncontrollably, your fingers tangling in your hair, gripping and tugging at it until a stream of warm blood trickled down the side of your face. 

You closed your eyes and let the photo fall to the pavement beneath your feet as you gripped onto the freezing bridge in front of you, a loud scream escaped your lungs and rang through the otherwise quiet night. As your voice calmed again, you heard footsteps carefully approaching. 

“What are you doing out here?” A familiar voice asked from behind you. your heart slightly quickened from hearing his soothing voice again.

“I’m just going for a walk Markus.” you replied flatly, refusing to look at him. 

“This late at night, in the freezing cold? You should be at home sleeping at this hour.” He commented. 

“I’m fine. I just really needed to get out. You don’t need to start lecturing me.” You snapped, gritting your teeth in frustration, annoyed by this androids timing.

“But you really shouldn’t be here right now. Come with me, I'll walk you home. You’ll get sick if you stay out here for much longer.” His voice trembled slightly, the worry that was clear in his vocal processor surprising you a bit. You welcomed it for a moment, almost forgetting how it felt to have someone care for you.

“I don’t want to go home. Not with that wretch of a woman who still lives there.” You replied coldly. 

“You shouldn’t talk about your mother like that-”

“And she shouldn’t have betrayed me like everyone else. Like my father, my brothers, and even you.” You sneered, looking over your shoulder at him. He looked visibly hurt by your statement and the venom they carried. 

“I didn’t betray you, and never walked away from you. I wanted to visit you, but I couldn’t. Not with the danger that the rebellion put all of my people in.” He started, taking a small step towards you. That’s when you fully faced him, making him halt his steps.

His eyes scanned you, now that he could properly see you. The condition you were in worried him more than he thought it would, seeing how much weight you lost, the dark circles under your eyes and sickly pale skin. His thirium pump began to beat sporadically in his chest, feeling guilty for taking so long to return to you, to check in on his first friend. Only now he was finally noticing the toll it truly took on your body and mind. 

“Then why are you just now coming back to me? You say I’m your closest friend but it’s been almost a year since the uprising ended and you haven’t tried to contact me once. They ripped you away from me when I needed you most, and you knew that. I didn’t expect you to find the time for me while things were bad with your revolution and all, but once that calmed down…” You trailed off, the words being too painful to finish. 

“I tried to reach out to you but that would have put you in danger if anyone knew you were associated with me. The authorities would have surely brought you in for questioning about me and I didn’t want to put you or Carl through that. I was protecting you.” Markus explained, doing his best to remain calm.

“Bullshit.” You yelled, turning your back to him and grabbing hold of the rail. With the last bit of energy you had you hoisted yourself into a standing position on the bridge, balancing yourself on the slippery surface. Carefully you managed to turn yourself around, keeping your back to the rushing water below. The sudden look of alarm and worry on his perfect features caused more tears to pour down my cheeks.

“Woah woah what are you doing? Get down from there.” He said in a rush, taking long strides towards you.

“Don’t come near me Markus. You won’t change my mind.” You shout through your sobs. “I’m sorry, but this is the only choice I have now. I can’t keep living like this.” You said, your voice trailing off into a whisper. 

“Just because you feel this way now doesn’t mean you have to end yo-”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.” You cut him off. Your chest began to hurt with each sharp inhale you took of the cold night air.

“I know I haven’t been around much lately, but I'm here right now. Doesn’t that make a difference?” He started, seeming to hesitate, eyes scanning your trembling figure. 

“And you do have people who care about you. What about Carl? He asked your mother about you nearly every day after you admitted yourself to the institute.” You thought about his words for a moment, letting them sink in lifting your spirits, but was it truly enough?. 

“I know you’re upset with me, I can see that, but you need to believe me when I say I can do so much more for you now. You just need to trust me. I will help you.” Relief flooded him when you let him approach you without jumping like he had feared. He hesitated at first, unsure if any movement from this close distance would send you over the edge. But he soon decided that it didn’t matter, as long as he was able to pull you to safety, he would be satisfied with that for the time being. 

Slowly, he reached out, gently taking both of your wrists in his cold hands. His orbs met yours in a silent plea for you to listen to his words, to fully trust the android you considered to be your only friend. You searched him for any sign of deceit, but instead found concern, hope, and fear. 

He truly was afraid. Throughout his life, and when he led the revolution, he had seen the ugly side of humanity, and the violent judgement that humans thrust onto his people. Yet, he had also seen the good in people, the very few who were willing to help them in their time of need. Never once had he seen this side of people and the effects the androids truly had on them once they realized humans were being replaced. He understood of course, their anger towards androids, even if it wasn’t their fault. But never had he thought he’d see you in this state, all because he had been destroyed and was unable to see you in order to keep you safe and out of the violence that ensued. 

“Please, just come with me. I can take you someplace safe, and I will find you help. You don’t have to fight this alone.” He tightened his grip around your wrists, begging you to step down from the ledge. You watched him through half lidded eyes one rebel tear slipped past your lashes. Markus raised a hand, wiping it away with his thumb, giving you a small smile of encouragement. 

“Where will we go?” You asked, unsure if you were ready to be around other people or androids. 

“We’ll go to the place where my friends are staying. It’s not far from here. But you’ll be comfortable there and I can be with you more.” He said, voice fading to a whisper. 

Your shoulders slumped in exhaustion, and he took that moment to yank you down from the railing. He sighed in relief, holding you tightly in his arms as artificial tears stained his synthetic almond skin. 

“It’s not too late, I will help you. You have my word. I won’t leave you...not again.” He said over your audible sobs, but you heard him, and his words brought you a small sliver of hope that you hadn't felt in a long time. 

After what seemed like hours had passed, Markus helped you to your feet, leaning most of your weight against himself to support your exhausted body.

“Now, let’s get you out of this cold.” He said as he led you off the bridge and in the direction of the place he called home, hoping that you too, would find peace there just as he did.   

#suicide prevention month #suicide prevention #suicide awareness #detroit #become human #detroit become human #detroit markus #markus x reader #markus imagine #markus reader insert #detroit x reader #detroit imagine

[askmyboys]

Circus Mafia

Here’s my latest characters that I am EXTREMELY proud of, god tho it was h e l l trying to finish making them bc i forgot like,, two of them in the process and had to go back- Uhh I guess bc it’s a mafia there’s mentions of death/violence but that’s about it!

I’ll put a keep reading on it just bc its kinda a lengthy post so yeye

| Names: Wallace Gallagher, Chester York, Dewey Bullock, Eric Fletcher, Grant Davenport, and Henry Barton

| Nicknames/Titles: Wally/Gear (The Ringmaster), He hates it but Yorky is a nickname (The Magician), Dew/Dewdrop (The Juggler), Eri/Fletch (The Acrobat), Dave (The Tightrope Walker/The Trapeze Artist), and finally Hen/Bart (The Clown/The Strongman)

| Genders: Wallace goes by He/It, Chester goes by He/Him, Dewey goes by all pronouns, Eric goes by He/They, Grant goes by He/They/It, and Henry also just goes by He/Him

| Ages: Unknown (I am NOT doing all the math that’d probs be involved with these dudes fuck that)

| Heights: Wallace is 6’7”, Chester is 5’9”, Dewey is 5’6”, Eric is 5’3”. Grant is 6ft, and finally Henry is 5’8”

| Hair Colors: Wallace has long stringy hair he usually keeps in a ponytail (his hair is a bubblegum pink color), Chester’s hair is a Cobalt Blue color (his hair is usually in a man bun), Dewey’s hair is a Tiger Orange color (his hair is a curly undercut), Eric’s hair is Black and it’s a short quiff, Grant’s hair is a Dark Brown and slicked back, and finally Henry’s hair is a Tortilla Brown color (His hairstyle is a Pushed Back Long one)

| Eye Colors: Wallace’s eyes are a light pastel pink color (he’s got a slash over his right eye but he seems to still be able to see out of it), Chester’s eyes are a Gunmetal Blue color, Dewey’s eyes are a light pastel green, Eric’s eyes are a hazel color, Grant’s eyes are Dark Brown, and Henry’s eyes are a dull gray color.

| Skin Colors/Body Types: Wallace is tall and lanky as hell p much and he’s pretty pale, Chester’s kinda average p much and he’s more so tan, same goes for Grant actually except he looks a bit more muscular than Chester does, Dewey and Eric are kinda pale as well (Eric being a bit more paler than Dewey) and both of them are chubby, and finally Henry who looks a bit stronger than even Grant (nothing TOO weird ofc) is also pale.

| Appearances: Oh god here we go… Wallace is first up- He’s got the typical Ringmaster outfit EXCEPT his is Pink and White instead of the typical red/black/white you see, even down to his boots are pink (his boots btw kinda go up his legs and they have a heeled part on em), he wears pink leather gloves and has a pink top hat as well! He also has a handlebar mustache (he dyed it to match his hair, got a bit of Wilford Energy dont he? Lmao) he also has a lot of scars on his body (Their most prominent scars are: Wallace’s is over his eye and a bullet wound that got WAY too close to his heart, Chester’s scarring is around his neck, his chest and ESPECIALLY his back area, the neck looks like a few cuts but nothing deep enough to be fatal, the chest has some deeper scarring and longer ones, and his back looked like it was caused by a whip

Dewey’s scars are a bit all over the place nothing prominent there, Eric’s scars are the same just sporadic and all over the place but he has a few similar markings to Chester’s on his back (not AS many tho), Grant doesn’t have as many scars surprisingly just a few here and there but they don’t look too serious, and finally Henry has prominent scars over his belly, his back, and his legs they look like a mixture of potentially fatal had they not been looked at and non-fatal)

Chester’s outfit is a white suit vest that has dark blue stripes going down it, he wears a dark blue collared shirt underneath the suit vest and he also has a long black cloak (it has a hood on it but he only puts it on in certain situations), he has dark blue pants that match and he seems to wear combat boots that match said outfit, he also has some silk gloves that match as well, he wears a blue quartz crystal around his neck and he has a circle beard, he also has dark blue claw nails that also has little star designs over them. (he also has a dark blue bow tie!)

Dewey’s outfit is a mint green suit vest with a white collared shirt underneath it, he also has a mint green bow tie and he wears white pants as well and some sneakers with mint green stripes going across them, he wears mint green rose earrings (it was a gift that Chester gave to Eric so the boy could give it to Dewey) and he’s cherished them ever since, he also wears gloves to match (it helps him out when juggling bc ouchie hard items hurt when they smack directly onto his bare hands) he doesn’t have a beard at all he babyfaced.

Eric’s outfit is white collared shirt with dark brown suspenders that are attached to the same colored pants, he also wears a dark brown flat cap (when he’s not performing or doing his job n such) he also has a dark brown bow tie he wears as well and his he wears dark brown sneakers as well he’s also babyfaced like Dewey is, he has a dark brown necklace with the same colored pendant on the end, it isn’t heart shaped but its round and definitely looks like a locket of some kind (he never wears it during performances in fear it’d get lost but he keeps it locked up in a secret box in his room, it was a gift from Dewey)

Grant’s outfit is a black suit jacket with a red collared shirt underneath it, he also has black pants to match said outfit and he has black and red oxford shoes and he also wears a black fedora (he looks more like the leader than Wally does tbh, then again him, Chester, and Henry ALWAYS get mistaken for the boss) he also has a long black tie he wears with the outfit btw! He has a Van Dyke type beard he also wears some rings on his fingers too hence why he looks SO much like the boss.

And finally… Henry’s outfit is well, it took a LOT of convincing but he actually wears a rainbow themed clown outfit, it's MUCH softer lighter colors (p much pastels) At first he 100% hated it but then every time an enemy came around… They laughed at him and ALWAYS underestimated him, it was always hilarious to kick their ass in said outfit, Wallace also told him just imagine his enemies having to explain to someone/their boss that they got their ass kicked by the clown! The CLOWN of all people! And Henry won’t deny, that idea grew on him so he eventually accepted it (the only thing he refused to wear really was the wig that was t o o much) and finally he has a short boxed beard!

| Personalities: Wallace is… EXTREMELY eccentric and unpredictable, there’s no true way to tell how he’s feeling or what mood he’s going to be in, he seems to bounce from mood to mood, feeling to feeling, emotion to emotion! Although it’s VERY rare to see him actually upset or angry (...Keep in mind, I said very rare, but it’s not… an IMPOSSIBLE scenario) he’s usually pretty cheerful, friendly, kind, and caring as can be! He’s a friend to those who won’t backstab him or betray him but a terrifying force to be reckoned with if you double cross him… He’s in a silly goofy mood a lot, but really, if I’m being honest, there definitely seems like there’s something… Unhinged there… Like something is not all together with him, but oh well! No time to unpack anything! If you need a helping hand he’s there to help! Just don’t double cross him and you won’t die! Don’t let his friendly and cute demeanor fool you, if he doesn’t send one of the others after you, then he’ll deal with you himself and honestly? He’s the WORST one to come after you… MUCH worse than the others.

Chester is cocky, confident, and arrogant at times- He’s EXTREMELY prideful in himself and k n o w s he’s all that and MUCH more~ He seems like he only cares for himself and thinks he’s the star and center of everything but oh no… He holds great admiration and respect for Wallace, he adores Dewey and Eric and helps them out a lot, he’s even overprotective of them actually- you mess with them you evoke papa bear and he WILL stomp you to death with his boots- He constantly pesters Grant and Henry, teasing them a LOT here and there, he makes it a game to mess with them as much as he can, heck he loves messing with his actual victims too, he loves to play the mind games and he’s much more sadistic and cruel than you see him with the other members of the circus, if it’s like someone who’s made friends with the others? ...Well he’ll be more tolerable but oh that won’t stop him from scaring them a little here and there but he won’t actually hurt them, it’s more so just him having fun.

Dewey is a sweet, kind, and loving soul- he looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly! But looks can always be deceiving you know… If he ABSOLUTELY needs to he will hurt or kill someone, if he’s ordered too he will do so- He’s actually mostly shy and anxious even around the other members of the circus but he trusts them a LOT more than anyone else, and he looks up to Wallace and Eric, speaking of Eric, he likes Eric a HELLA lot- he trusts them the MOST out of everyone here and you’ll find Dewey spends a lot more time with Eric than anyone else and he seems so much more open with the other, seems like he lets loose a lot more… And another thing to note, toward enemies he doesn’t torment or anything he just injures or kills them as quickly as possible so he’s a LOT more merciful than someone like Wallace or Chester or some of the others would be.

Eric is another sweet, kind, and loving soul- Also looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly but he can and would if he was told too- He doesn’t LIKE hurting or killing folks though at all, he considers himself much more cowardly than Dewey since Dewey seems like he can do it without any issues beforehand… Eric looks up to Dew a LOT just like the other looks up to him, Eric also looks up to Grant a lot as well even though he can be pretty intimidating to approach, he’s got a LOT more anxiety than Dewey seems to have and he doesn’t seem to have a lot of confidence in himself, he thinks he’s cowardly and sometimes it feels like he legit doesn’t even fit in here, why is such a coward like him in with a literal mafia?

He can barely kill/hurt anyone without almost breaking down p much (Wallace kinda knows this so he REALLY tries not to call upon Eric too much, not until they can sort out those issues, or well t r y too anyways)

Grant is hella cold, snarky, and honestly hot headed easily the MOST intimidating looking and speaking one outta the bunch, he hardly ever has a smile on his face and he’s mostly grumpy- hims a n g y lmao, he’s WAY more respectful when around Wallace however seeing as he’s the boss ...Grant is a bit jealous honestly and sometimes he maybe even wishes he could be leader but 1: He k n o w s better and 2: That’d make him extremely ungrateful for all Wally’s done for the others, Grant is surprisingly MUCH more warmer n kinder toward Eric, or well he tries to be but gosh that poor boy just seems so intimidated by him… He feels bad for Eric honestly, wishes the boy had a bit more confidence in himself, Grant tries to help him out but any time he approaches Eric the other seems to get pretty afraid, so he tries to be patient and wait for Eric to come to him, he respects Dewey for helping Eric out and he sees how happy the two are when together, it's a good thing… If anyone could help that boy out, it’s gotta be Dewey.

And finally… Henry, he’s pretty sarcastic, a bit cold and a bit hot headed, not, AS MUCH as Grant but still it does lead them into a lot of physical and verbal altercations with each other even then (They try not to do it around Dewey/Eric solely bc they dont wanna scare em, but also not around Wallace bc they really don’t wanna get in trouble or on his bad side…) Henry along with Grant do share solidarity with one thing! And that is their p u r e hatred for Chester! That’s one thing they have in common at least… He’s WAY more hot headed toward Chester but dear god who isn’t at this point? Toward enemies n such it’s like he’s a completely different man, he takes his jobs/tasks VERY seriously and he’s WAY more calm and collected- more so than Grant could ever be (I’ll just go ahead ALL the boys respect and or look up to Wallace in some way, he practically saved them tbh) I suppose another thing Henry shares in common with Grant and probs everyone at this point is he wishes Eric had more confidence in himself…

| Side Facts: Usually, whether it be by an injured one or even the dead bodies, an item is usually left behind as a warning- For Wallace it’s a bunch of lashings from his bullwhip (I wanna clarify, the ones with lash looking scars, Wallace would NEVER EVER hit them, he’d NEVER fucking hurt any of them which is why if one of the ones with similar scars are around, before he even d a r e s pull out the whip, he tells them to go on back to the tent, he doesn’t want them to see or hear that sound)

Chester MOSTLY leaves red roses behind (since that’s what people throw onto his stage when he’s finished performing), but he’ll leave VARIOUS other kinds of flowers as well (you’ll notice he’s very particular with each flower he leaves behind)

Dewey leaves behind whatever item he had been juggling (for example: a bowling pin, orange, balls, etc)

Even tho Eric isn’t called upon too often for his sake, he actually doesn’t leave anything behind.

Grant leaves nothing behind whatsoever, what he did to the victim alone is WARNING enough.

Henry leaves behind clown noses (he literally puts clown noses on the victims) and if he’s feeling generous enough he leaves some sarcastic little messages behind or just straight up taunting ones.

While they ARE a mafia, like I’ve said the circus part also plays a big role! They DO perform! Their circus moves from place to place, it never does stay in one spot and a BIG thing Wallace wants noted- they don’t include animals in their acts, they’d never put any kind of animal through that sorta stress and are HIGHKEY against Circuses that do use animals bc most times the animals are whipped and abused, so Wallace says none of that here!

They have had some rowdy rude customers like all businesses or events do ...But you know… They aren’t like most either, those customers were mm… I’d say when Wallace offered to have their complaint taken up, let’s just say those so called customers were never seen or heard from again (keep in mind, those weren’t valid complaints, it was basically karen type people so oofy)

Chester has once lured a victim backstage and he has a house of mirrors type situation, he once lured them back and slowly watched them struggle to try and get out of there, sometimes appearing on the mirrors to give them a fright, he’s probably driven some people to insanity with this tbh also, Chester made Wallace a necklace with an Obsidian pendant, Wallace cherishes this and thanks to Chester he knows the crystal symbolizes protection n stuff so that made him cherish it even more.

Their Circus, the tent, etc- I’ll be 100% honest with you, the fucking tent itself is pretty inhuman and fuckin unrealistic, like- SO many fucking things fit under that tent- its almost cartoonish how it works! The tent itself holds literally all their respective areas, from Chester’s stage right down to the area where the trapeze and tightrope acts are performed!

One thing I didn’t mention- Wallace seems to have two sets of fangs (I will say, he’s- he’s not a toon btw I mean, I won’t say if Wally is fully human or not but still) both top and bottom, Chester has cat-like fangs, Dewey/Eric don’t have fangs at all, Grant has some razor sharp teeth, and Henry just has normal lookin’ teeth.

One more thing! I already covered their pronouns up there so here’s their sexualities! Wallace is Pansexual, Chester is Bisexual, Dewey is Panromantic and Asexual, Eric is Gay and Asexual, Grant is more so Questioning rn as is Henry.

#original characters #my ocs #ocs #Circus Mafia #Wallace Gallagher #Chester York #Dewey Bullock #Eric Fletcher #Grant Davenport #Henry Barton #tw violence mentions #tw death mentions

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Non-Sequential [Ch. 22]

Pairing: Pre-Serum Steve Rogers/Steve Rogers x Reader

One night, Steve Rogers met a beautiful dame named Y/N. He hadn’t intended on letting her get away. But fate had other ideas. Y/N appeared and disappeared in his life so hauntingly that Steve started to wonder if she was an angel meant to watch over him.

Word Count: 2,600

Chapter 21

Y/N was still crying when she got back. Or at least she assumed she had returned to her present. But there was never really knowing until she got her bearings. Except she wasn’t just crying. She was sobbing. Her entire body shook with emotion as the tears fell and fell and fell.

She couldn’t even figure out where she was because her vision was so blurry with the tears that wouldn’t stop. It took her a few minutes to get ahold of herself. She forced a few deep breaths to try and calm down.

It was dark and the grass was cool beneath her feet. She looked up at the moon as she rubbed snot from her nose with the back of her hand.

There was only one place in the world where the moon looked that bright.

So, she was back in Wakanda. That was good at least.

What else could she recognize?

Y/N turned around in a circle, taking in her surroundings. Then she squinted and realized she knew exactly what was in the distance.

Her feet started forward without any command from her mind.

Next think Y/N knew, she was standing in front of Bucky’s hut.

Her fist was shaking as she knocked on the wood door. The raps were sporadic and different volumes. She heard shuffling immediately from the other side.

“Y/N?” Bucky gasped as he opened the door.

“B-Bucky,” she thought she whispered it, but it came out as a whimper.

Despite her being as naked as the day she was born, Bucky was only staring in horror as Y/N’s bloodshot eyes began crying again.

“You’re OK,” she whimpered. But it was clear she was trying to convince herself.

Seeing her cry threw Bucky into action. It was literally painful for him to see. He pulled her to his chest. And for the first time since losing his prosthetic, he wished he had two arms so he could hold her closer, tighter, keep her safer.

Her sobbing continued and Bucky just held on until she could catch her breath and settle down. Eventually it quieted down and slowed.

He pulled away ever so slightly, only so he could actually look at her face.

Bucky had been so terrified by her sobbing that he hadn’t noticed her split lip.

He gripped her chin softly. But the look in his eyes was stern and dark. “What happened? Who did this to you?” 

The questions only drew a new layer of tears across Y/N’s eyes.

His eyes then searched for other obvious injuries. It wasn’t degrading for her naked body, for he was like a doctor looking across his patient. He let out a breath when she didn’t seem to be injured elsewhere. 

“Come on,” Bucky sighed, realizing she didn’t need to be interrogated right now. “I’ll get you some clothes and make you some tea.”

Y/N seemed to snap out of it then, finally realizing that she had just swarmed Bucky’s home sobbing and fully naked.

Her cheeks blushed in humiliation. “I-I’m so sorry.” Then she stepped away and moved her arms to try and give herself some decency.

“You got nothing to be sorry for, kid.” Bucky only looked at her eyes as he replied. Her nudity didn’t make him bashful like it once made Steve.

He walked past her to shut the door and Y/N quickly scurried to find the nearest blanket to wrap herself in.

In just a few minutes, Bucky gave her some of his more American-styled clothes to Y/N: a matching black pair of sweatpants and hoodie. Shuri had insisted on giving him some to make him feel more at home.

Y/N was sitting in one of the chairs at Bucky’s dinner table, hands wrapped tightly around a hot mug of tea as if it was a lifeline.

Bucky had been silently watching her for awhile now, unsure of how to begin the conversation. He was worried and, quite frankly, a little scared. Scared something happened to her, scared it was something he did that he couldn’t remember. But if that were true, why had she run into his arms so desperately?

“Do you…” Y/N’s voice cracked and she stopped immediately. She took a deep breath and then sipped some tea, ignoring the burn from it being too hot. “Do you remember falling from the train?”

Bucky gave her a dark smirk. “Kind of hard to forget. Wish I could.”

But Y/N shook her head. “No, not falling. After you fell. Do you remember when you finally…hit the ground?” There wasn’t an easier way to describe it.

Bucky’s brow furrowed and his eyes stared into the distance.

From his expression alone, Y/N realized that he didn’t remember.

“No. I don’t–I don’t think I do. There’s been flashes before. Snow. Being dragged through it. But…No, I don’t remember.” He almost sounded disappointed in himself.

Y/N just nodded slowly, avoided his gaze, and took another sip of tea.

“Y/N,” his voice so gentle and worried that she had no choice but to respond to it by looking up at him. “Are you OK?”

Her eyes flickered back down to the bottom of her mug. “I just killed someone.”

Bucky’s breathing stopped.

“When I traveled…I was with you, Bucky. Right after you hit the ground. Your blood…it was everywhere. Hydra got there right after I did. I tried to – I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. But I tried to stop them from taking you. I took your gun and I…I shot one of them.”

It all happened so fast. One second Y/N was crying and shaking again, and then next Bucky had her in his lap. Her face buried in his neck as he rubbed her back and gave her words of comfort.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so damn sorry,” he kept muttering that to her.

It took her a bit to realize that the way he was saying it made it clear that he was taking full responsibility for what happened to her. Because Bucky knew she killed someone trying to protect him. She got a split lip defending him from his inevitable captors.

“Then I showed up back here, not far from your hut. I just needed to know that you were OK. My mind – I don’t know – it was convinced you were still hurt. Still a prisoner.”

“I’m fine, Y/N.” He pulled her face back to look at him. “I’m alright. OK?”

She nodded, wiping her tears away.

“I’m just worried about you,” Bucky muttered.

“Can I stay here tonight?” She whispered after a few moments. “I just don’t want to go back to that empty room at the palace, all alone.”

“Of course.” But the truth was that Bucky had already decided she wasn’t getting out of his sight until he was convinced she wasn’t going to have another breakdown.

“How about I make you something to eat?” He offered.

Y/N shook her head. “I’m not hungry. And I’m pretty sure I’ll throw up if I try to eat anything.”

Bucky accepted that, being all too familiar with the feeling.

The small and cozy hut filled with silence.

“Can we just…can we do something normal?” Y/N finally asked. “Maybe watch a movie or something?”

He sighed and gave her a soft smirk. “Of course.”

They moved from the dinner table to the small little alcove that could be considered Bucky’s living room. He sat down first and was surprised when Y/N immediately curled up next to him, resting her head on his chest and draping her right arm across his torso.

“What should we watch?” He asked her, trying to slow the beating of his heart. It wasn’t all that hard. He’d been trained to do such things long ago.

“Whatever you want,” she murmured tiredly. It really didn’t matter. She could already feel the exhaustion from time traveling starting to consume her. Once her mind could finally process that Bucky was fine, that he wasn’t still bleeding out in that dreadful snow, her body allowed itself to rest.

Bucky put on It Happened One Night. 30 minutes in, he was just about to tell Y/N how he and Steve used to watch the movie whenever it was in the drive-in theater on the outskirts of Brooklyn. But when he looked down, he found Y/N already fast a sleep against him.  

It felt good, her body pressed up against him – so warm and yet so vulnerable. She trusted Bucky, felt safe in his grasp. It was the first time since before the war that Bucky felt like he could protect someone instead of hurt them.

But then the guilt found its way in. She shouldn’t be with him like this. No, she should be in Steve’s arms. She belonged to him, not Bucky. Yes, she was a person, not a thing. But Steve belonged to her just as much as she belonged to him. So, where did that leave Bucky?

Bucky let himself sit like that for the rest of the movie. Maybe it wasn’t as inappropriate as he thought. Or maybe he was just being utterly selfish.

When the end credits started rolling, Bucky realized he couldn’t carry Y/N’s sleeping form to his bed. Not with only one arm. That was the thing about being around Y/N. Bucky realized that his prosthetic could’ve been used for more than just harm.

“Y/N,” he whispered to her softly, trying to rouse her from her sleep without completely startling her.

“Hmm?” She mumbled back without opening her eyes.

“You don’t want to sleep on this couch. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Mhmm.”

Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle. “OK. Come on, kid.”

She stood up like a zombie, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and letting Bucky guide her to the bed on the other side of the hut.

Y/N crawled into the bed without hesitation and it seemed like she had fallen right back to sleep. Bucky pulled up the covers around her shoulders and switched the lamp off.

But when she heard Bucky’s steps start retreating, her eyes opened.

“Where are you going to sleep?” She mumbled sleepily.

“On the couch.”

“If I’m not allowed to sleep on the couch, neither are you.” She told him rather firmly for having just been asleep.

Bucky’s hesitation was obvious.

“Please? I’ll keep my hands to myself, I promise.” She tried to tease.

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t realize that’s what I had to worry about.” “Then what are you worried about?” She challenged.

“Y/N, Steve – I…”

“It’s just sleep, Bucky.”

But was that really just all it was?

Y/N didn’t have the courage to confess that she didn’t want to let Bucky out of her sight just yet.

Bucky didn’t have any more self-control. Slowly he slipped under the covers on the opposite side of the bed, trying to stay as far away from her as possible.

Y/N rolled on her side to face him. Her eyes went from studying his face, down his neck, and across his shoulder, until they landed on the stump where his left arm once was. It was covered by the short sleeve of a t-shirt now, but Y/N still stared at it.

“Does it ever hurt still?” Y/N whispered.

Bucky thought about lying in attempt to ease her worry. But something about the intimacy that was being shared between them stopped him. 

“Sometimes,” he admitted.

“Why won’t you let Shuri make you a new arm?”

Y/N had wondered about it for quite some time, but never felt like it was appropriate to ask him.

“Didn’t think I deserved it.” Then he took a deep breath. “But mostly…I thought I was less dangerous without it.”

Y/N’s face squeezed in sadness from what he said.

“Shuri promises those words our out of my head. We’ve tested it about a hundred times – mostly just to prove it to me. But sometimes I still feel like I can turn back into…him…at any moment.”

To both of their surprise, Y/N reached across the bed and cupped Bucky’s cheek.

“You escaped them, Bucky. Don’t let them keep having control over your life, even after you’re free.”

He barely nodded. “I will if you promise to do the same.”

Y/N held her breath.

Maybe that’s why there was something between her and Bucky that seemed to be impossible to find between her and Steve. The two of them both survived. After being beaten and tortured and manipulated by Hydra, they both survived. Steve had seen a lot in his lifetime, but he had never been broken to a point of preferring death over life. 

“I promise,” Y/N hardly even whispered.

———————————————

Y/N woke up surprised to find an empty bed. But Bucky wasn’t hard to find, sitting in the kitchen on the other side of the hut. His eyes were glazed over, staring into the distance. His mind was racing through thoughts and images Y/N could not see but could sense their presence.

There was a mug of coffee steaming in front of him.

Y/N wondered how many cups he’d already had while she still slept.

“You’re up early…” Y/N practically croaked from using her voice for the first time after sleeping.

Bucky blinked and returned to the present, eyes shooting over to her still laying in his bed.

“Didn’t sleep much,” he answered with an embarrassed smirk and shrug.

She squinted at him. “Is ‘didn’t sleep much’ code for you didn’t sleep at all?”

Bucky just cleared his throat, not wanting to start the morning off by lying to her.

Y/N let it slide.

In truth, Bucky had watched over her all night. He was scared she’d travel again in her sleep or that she’d sneak back to the palace while he slept. Meanwhile, he ransacked his own brain trying to remember the moments after he fell from that train. He gave himself a migraine from the strain of it all.

Y/N tiptoed over to the table and Bucky immediately shot up to make her a cup of coffee as well.

“Thank you,” she muttered as she took it from his grasp.

His eyes stared at the her split lip. It somehow looked worse as it started its healing process. “Maybe I could teach you some self-defense, kid.”

She blinked at him.

“Has Steve ever shown you?” He asked.

She blinked again. “Only a little bit. Nat too.”

He nodded. Then he watched her take a sip of coffee.

“I…” he took a deep breath. “I think I remember you being there.”

Y/N froze.

“My mind’s a mess. I guess…I guess when I did get flashes of you, I was convinced I was imagining it. I thought I was dying. I mean, I was dying. So, I figured my mind showed me what I would want to see in my final moments.”

“Bucky, I–”

But Y/N was interrupted by a cellphone ringing. She jumped at the sound.

Bucky did not. Without saying anything, he got up and grabbed a cellphone, a model that Y/N hadn’t seen in probably over a decade.

“That’ll be Steve,” he told her, without any emotion, as he plopped the phone in front of her.

Y/N shared a moment with Bucky before quickly picking it up before it could stop ringing and walked outside as she answered it.

----------------------------------------

Chapter 23

Thank you for your patience. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but it’s never been this hard to keep me writing a series. 

#marvel reader insert #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers series #pre serum steve rogers #pre-serum!steve rogers #pre serum!steve rogers x reader #pre-serum!steve rogers series #non-sequential #non-sequential series #non-sequential chapter 22 #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers angst #bucky barnes x reader x steve rogers #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #bucky x reader #invisible anonymous monsters #invisibleanonymousmonsters

[pauldron-pieces]

Perdita 'Aurelezra' Gentle's Backstory: From Elsewhere

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: N/A, Perdita-Centric

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Perdita Gentle. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets.

Applicable trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: The Little Mermaid Score: Bedtime and sleepmakeswaves: One Day You Will Teach Me To Let Go Of My Fears

[Perdita Gentle is a Warforged celestial warlock utilizing the Pact Of The Bastion homebrew, and her appearance can be found here!]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains multiple triggering scenes including vivid depictions of violence and brief mentions of character death. Stay safe!]

It came from elsewhere...

Amidst the hail of shooting stars peppering the landscape from the tail of the near-passing comet, something else arrived.

It was frail, fragile, spindly fingers clawing for purchase on the walls of the crater it emerged from. It did not make it much further than that, and it was discovered the following morning by two children surveying the damage in their family's garden.

Between the two of them, they propped it up, marveling at the chipped red gilding that coated its limbs. It stirred and they fled in a panic, running back towards the large house and calling for their parents.

×+×

Brand stared down at the crumpled mess of Warforged on his front terrace, an eyebrow raised. His two young children danced around his legs, alternating between pulling him forward and tugging him back. "This is the cause of all the fuss? This?" He asked incredulously.

"It moved by itself!"

"Aye, just as you move by yourself." The former captain commented dryly, ruffling his daughter's hair and utterly destroying the complex tangle of braids her mother had labored over. "You two lubbers have seen Warforged before, or have you forgotten?"

"Testin doesn't look like that!" His son protested. "Testin has a face!"

"You know how your hair is different from mine, pup? And how your sister's nose is less prodigious than this beak I sport? Warforged have such varied traits as well."

The head on the thing looked like an old Thanatonaut relic, just a smooth dome. It also bore archaic equipment for off-Flow navigation on the inside of its arms. Brand heaved out a sigh, smoothing a finger over his brown mustache in a meditative manner.

"Well, we can't just leave 'em out here. Ceere, have your mother ring Testin. And you, Kamer, are going to help me settle this poor rattler into one of our chairs out here." Brand rolled his eyes at how pale his son went, while Ceere stuck her tongue out at him. "Oi, chit, stop taunting your brother. Now shoo, and make sure your mother knows to tell Testin that it's important!"

×+×

Brand Gentle had made his fortune in his younger years as the eventual captain on a deep-space excavation platform. He had seen many odd things in his day, unearthed strange and unusual artifacts from times long gone by. Thanatonaut helms that predated mankind's fumbling into Flow travel, monoliths to terrible and forgotten powers; the refuse of man's advance into the stars.

Yet he had never seen anything quite like this. A Warforged birthed of a meteor, trimmed in battered red and gold like the veils of the Vespertine Order.

The former captain sat on his patio across from the mysterious Warforged, finally leaning forward in his chair after he collected his thoughts. "What is your name?" He asked quietly.

The thing ticked and whirred, and a hoarse voice answered, "I have no designation." A female voice.

Brand sighed heavily. He should have known it wouldn't be so straightforward. Beside him, Testin Awe cleared his throat. "Think back. Can you remember what happened before you woke in the Gentle's prize rose garden?" The hulking Warforged's tone was dry, blue eyes darting to Brand when he touched upon the sensitive subject. Brand was exceedingly protective of his roses.

More ticking. "Darkness." An odd shimmy of mechanics long unused as she tipped her head to the side. "I fell."

"I bet you did." Testin replied, then muttered under his breath, "Captain, she's battier than the Bakhroma Green."

Brand waved him off, giving the faceless Warforged across from him a tight smile. She cocked her head to the side again, and he got the unsettling feeling that he was being studied.

"I hurt your flowers. How can I fix them?" She queried.

Brand blinked. Testin, despite lacking an actual throat, seemed quite intent on clearing it today.

×+×

Calling her Perdita seemed to be a given. She was lost, constantly, wandering the grounds of the Gentle estate at all hours of the night and day. She had no physical needs, as was the custom of her race, so Brand saw no harm in her roving. She certainly didn't seem malicious, just curious in a blunt way.

Libertia, Brand's wife, took an odd shine to the spacey automaton. The former captain often found the woman chatting to her, trying to help her expand her ability for speech. Perdita was minimalist in her words, though she did eventually begin to speak more as the years passed.

Testin thought Perdita was a bit touched. "Still a little battle-rattle in that one." He had remarked privately to Brand, his craggy face oddly sympathetic for a Warforged. "Hard to shake sometimes."

Brand knew better than most folk that Warforged were more than adequate matches for their fleshy counterparts, and he took everything his old first mate told him as gospel. Testin was in agreement with Brand that the red and gold Warforged was decidedly not a threat.

"She just likes the flowers?" Testin asked suddenly one evening as he and Brand sat on the terrace. Brand nodded lazily, the smoke from his cheroot cigar twirling and arching through the air. "I don't get it, but...well, I guess you did have a penchant for gathering up the misfits." The gray-green Warforged allowed, his sidelong grin making Brand chuckle. "She's happy here, y'know. She mentioned it to me earlier. She thinks she's helping when you let her trim the bushes." His laughter was a rusty noise.

"She loves talking with Lib. Er, with may not be the right term. My wife could talk the legs off a table." Brand smiled fondly and Testin rolled those glowing blue eyes.

"Have you heard from Kamer at all?" The large Warforged changed the subject, frowning when the former captain sighed and shook his head.

"I'm not sure I should have sent him away for his schooling. What with the Empire gaining ground steadily, I'm uncertain how long the boarding schools will be safe."

"Hey, Kamer's smart. You know that. That kid won't get himself tangled up in anything. Besides, what the hell would the Empire want with a kid who's sole aspiration is to be an architect?" Testin tilted his head. "Now, Ceere-"

"Don't remind me, she's apprenticed to the Facturers now. Hopefully, by the grace of the gods, she'll put her tinkering tendencies to good use and stop destroying my beautiful skiffs." Brand groaned, putting his head in his hands.

"I mean, she's got great potential. Engine ripped itself apart in three different places."

"I'm well aware, you mechanical menace. It was my favorite Screamer class!"

×+×

Libertia was the one to suggest that Perdita consider taking up the habit of the Vespertine Order.

"You seem at peace whenever you come with me to chapel, Perdie." She commented one afternoon over tea. Brand raised an eyebrow at his wife, then glanced at the featureless automaton across the way. "Have you ever thought about joining the convent?" Libertia queried.

Perdita hummed thoughtfully. "I like the chapel. It's quiet. Makes me feel like I can stop moving." She offered a shrug. "I know I'm not...quiet." She was a much older model than Testin and her body tended to rattle or squeak at odd intervals.

"You don't feel like you can be still here?" Brand asked curiously.

"I am restless." The Warforged admitted quietly. "Some things help. The garden. The chapel."

Brand grunted, settling back in his chair and lapsing into thought. The Vespertine sisters were a formidable bunch, for all that they resided on this backwater planetoid. They seemed to have their proverbial fingers in a multitude of pies. He wasn't sure if he trusted them with his Perdie.

His mustache quirked up in a wry grin, realizing that he was thinking of the Warforged like she was one of his own children. "Do what you think is best, Perdie. Perhaps the quiet will help you sort yourself out. Gods know we tithe enough to the church, maybe in exchange for our continued generosity they'll accept someone a little less fleshy than their usual ranks."

He got the faintest impression that Perdita was beaming at him, her whole body haloed with a strange golden light. But Brand blinked and the light was gone. He shook his head at himself, vowing not to spike his afternoon tea so strongly next time.

×+×

When the Empire came to the planet years later, they struck without warning.

Evening prayer had just finished, the last fleeting rays of sunlight peering through the simple leaded glass windows of the chapel. Perdita sat docile in the pew, her head bowed beneath her veil.

"It makes me glad to know that you've found some sort of peace and purpose." Brand commented, the now-elderly man ambling up alongside her. "Never put much faith in this church business, myself. Give me the Flow and a nimble craft and I'm a content man."

"Captain." She inclined her head. She had heard his sentiment many times before.

"I'm surprised you haven't gone out to chart the world, my dear. Your cartographer's gear will get rusty!" The former captain teased, settling down into the pew and patting her arm. "Surely, the Vespertine sisters ought to be spread?"

"It is dangerous." Perdita sighed. "I am trying. The Ferrarium Empire-"

"Bah, belay that codswallop here." Brand groused. "Bunch of nobles in stuffed shirts with too many guns and not enough good sense. Stole my good boy away and turned him into a simpering buffoon." He bowed his head, touching his thumb to his left cheek and then his sternum. "Thank the gods his mother passed on before he made that terrible choice."

An odd whistling caught his attention, and Brand cocked his head. His hearing had been shot for years, maybe he was imagining the sound-

The windows abruptly exploded inwards as an impact rocked the ground. Sisters scurried this way and that in panic, their veils fluttering like butterfly wings as they ushered the last few stragglers out of the structure. Brand, his ears still ringing from the first bombardment, felt a second one strike outside. Perdita was stiff, unmoving in the pew, so he seized her hand and made haste for the doorway.

"Perdie, we cannot linger in this place!" He tried to snap her out of it, her deceptively-heavy form slowing their flight. "It's the Empire, Perdie, we have to--" Through the haze of dust rising, the former captain caught sight of a massive dreadnought's keel flying low overhead. Rage burned at his soul; why would they come here of all places? This was a planet of agriculture, not manufacturing!

Perdita tilted her head, and Brand knew that she must have noticed the ship. "What is that?" She asked, her voice ticking up slightly in query.

"That is something that should not have turned its eye upon us!" Brand snapped. "Why the devil would they-" There was shouting up ahead, and scattered pistol fire. "Martyr's malfeasance," the elderly man swore, "I ought to have known."

The Inquisitors had arrived, bearing overpowered arms and causing chaos as was their want. Brand managed to slip around the edge of the advancing line, searching the crowds for Testin's large form. His old first mate was nowhere to be seen and Brand's heart sank.

An Inquisitor loomed up out of the smoke in front of them, halting the former captain in his tracks. "Identify yourself, civilian." The armored man droned.

"Or what? You've already blown the chapel and convent to pieces!" Brand spat. "What could the Ferrarium Empire possibly want from a sleepy little colony planet?"

The Inquisitor's baton met the side of the elderly man's head with a dull thud, felling him with ease.

×+×

Brand started awake, hacking and wheezing as he inhaled ash. He sat up, ignoring the throbbing of his head. Where is-

"Perdita!" He yelled, struggling to his feet and cupping his hands around his mouth. "Perdie, where are you?"

The cobblestones underfoot had been broken and scattered by the mortaring, making the footing uncertain. The former captain stumbled forward over the rubble, continuing to call for the Warforged.

A shimmer of red and gold flickered through the hellish smoke up ahead, and he fancied it might be her habit. His suspicions proved correct as her frail form solidified out of the clouds of billowing dust and ash.

"Perdita!" Brand exclaimed gladly.

She turned slowly at the sound of his voice, that damned veil still flapping fitfully in the turbulent air. Beneath the gauzy shroud where her domed head was, the former captain saw something blaze to life. Eyes, hundreds of them, glowing through the fabric. Brand stopped in his tracks, uncertain of what he was seeing. That blow to the head must have rattled him, now he was hallucinating!

Her hand pressed to her chest over the long habit. "I am the bastion." Perdita said calmly, as though they weren't being bombarded by low-flying aircraft. "I am Vespertine, I am Alizarin, I am reborn. My name is Aurelezra, and I fell to defend."

A shell plummeted from the sky and with a single motion, she obliterated it. One moment it was there, the next, she simply pointed at it and a shimmering golden manifestation that resembled an enormous rose blossom appeared directly in its path. The shell struck it, the impact sending foiled shrapnel flitting listlessly to the ground.

Brand was wholly bewildered. The only other time he had witnessed such power was when-

The thousands of eyes swiveled to stare at him, blinking rapidly. Brand swallowed hard. "What did those blasted nuns do to you, Perdie?" He asked, his voice so low he wasn't sure if she would hear it over the pandemonium.

Perdita tipped her head to the side, those eyes writhing and teeming nauseatingly over one another, flickering through the habit in a way that made Brand exceedingly glad she was wearing it. "I am the bastion." She repeated. She sounded hideously serene. "I am Alizarin."

Rifle reports barked through the air and Perdita turned towards the noise, setting off over the debris with sure steps. "Wait, Perdie!" Brand protested, fumbling after her as best as he could. "Perdie, are you mad? These are Inquisitors, you can't just..." He trailed off as he watched her simply walk through the line of gunfire. "Or perhaps you can." He muttered.

A strange golden haze shone around her body and every time a bullet struck the haze, a malevolent eye roiled to the surface to fix the attacker with a blazing stare. More shells rained down and each one was foiled or thrown off-target by shimmering, sunset-hued roses, blossoming riotously to life in midair like some grand fireworks display at a midsummer fair.

"Captain!" That was Testin's voice, thank gods. The elderly man turned this way and that, breathing a sigh of relief when he finally spotted the towering mass that was Testin.

"Testin my boy, you're a sight for sore eyes!" Brand said with a wry grin, taking in the small cluster of nuns that were teeming anxiously in the shadow of the massive automaton. Among them was the Mother Superior, her black veil a stark contrast to the usual red. "You've got some explaining to do, woman! What the hell have you done to my Perdie?" Brand thundered, itching to shake her until her teeth rattled.

"Sister Perdita has spent many, many hours reading the scriptures and studying our texts, Captain Gentle." The woman replied, almost infuriatingly calm. "She was brought to this planet for a specific reason."

"What are you on about? Look at her! It's like she's possessed!" The elderly man shouted.

"She has become more, Captain. A vessel for something that we mere mortals have only glimpsed. Alizarin, the Red Saint."

"There's a thousand blasted eyes all over her and she's sending out starbursts of roses that intercept cannon fire!" Brand roared. "I'll only ask once more, what have you done to her?"

"She willingly accepted this power, Captain. I suggest you calm yourself. I know you do not believe or trust in the power of the Red Saint, but Sister Perdita does." The matron retorted haughtily. "And when Libertia was alive-"

"Keep my wife's name out of your mouth." Brand snarled, his hand instinctively twitching down towards his hip for the piece he had carried in his younger years.

"Easy now, Cap." Testin intoned, raising a hand. "Easy."

"You planned this from the start." Brand accused the woman, a sick sense of realization blossoming in his gut. "You put the idea in Libertia's head, didn't you? Why Perdie?"

"Warforged make excellent vessels." The Mother Superior said simply.

Testin rumbled in threat overhead, one large hand settling heavily on the woman's shoulder. "I suggest you choose your next words very carefully." The Warforged paladin's tone was one of extreme irritation. "Unless you'd like to find out how bad of a vessel I can be."

"She has become a warlock of exceptional power." The woman hurriedly continued. "The Red Saint is pleased with our offering, and he will-"

"The Red Saint, aye? Unwilling martyr himself." Brand scoffed. "You've gone and turned my girl into a nightmare for the glory of that flayed demagogue."

"A nightmare that can go toe-to-toe with Inquisitor gunsmithing." The Mother Superior shot back smugly. "You knew as well as I did that it was only a matter of time before the Ferrarium Empire turned their gaze to the Fringes. Their grasping for resources is ceaseless."

"As interesting as your bickering is, we're wasting time." Testin growled, gesturing vaguely forwards. "She's gaining on their dreadnought. We following her?"

×+×

Everything was so loud.

"It is time, Aurelezra." His voice was like smoke, like whispers. He drew her attention upwards to the ship, He guided her hands as she wove the spell and He found her the suitable target. "They will not take this planet. They will never take again."

Perdita nodded shakily, power dripping and sparking from her fingers. "Never again."

"You have done well, Aurelezra. You easily outstrip the mortals." He praised as she raised her hands. "I shall do such wonders through you."

×+×

Without warning, a bolt of red light shot from Perdita's hands and arced up at the command ship. Testin swore loudly, the Warforged's face twisting into an approximation of a grimace. "Oh, that's not good." He said hoarsely, leaving the cluster of nuns behind as he moved forward.

"What, what's happened?" Brand asked frantically, trying to keep up.

"That was something that uh, I wouldn't have used. A little too spicy for me." The Warforged grunted, readying the hand cannon integrated in his left forearm. His heavy, elephantine feet easily crushed the rubble beneath him, clearing the way for the former captain. "If everyone on that ship isn't dead after that spell hits..."

"What?" Brand gasped.

Testin shook his head mournfully, not finishing that trail of thought. "We need to figure out where the ship will go down. Figure out whether we can break it apart ahead of time or whether your Perdie has a few more Red Saint tricks up that veil." Testin's sigh was heavy. "I'm sorry, Captain."

The command ship began rapidly losing altitude, listing slightly to the right. Perdita pursued it doggedly and Brand watched her raise her hands again. "Perdie!" He shouted, heartened when she paused. "Stop, Perdie!"

"Stay put!" Testin yelled, then said, "Cap, either get onboard or get left behind, we don't have time for your old bones."

Brand growled something uncharitable about his former first mate, then swung up onto the pro-offered arm.

Testin sprinted forward, easily catching up to the waifish Perdita and grabbing her around the waist with one massive hand. "I'd like to shake the marbles clean out of your chest right now, but we don't have time for me to be pissed off at you." Testin snarled at her, still at his full sprint. "You got anything else in that arsenal of yours, or are you gonna' let that ship crush someone's farm?"

"I can do it."

"What, exactly?"

Perdita pointed upwards at the ship and simply said, "shatter." A massive golden rose exploded into being on the keel, blowing a hole in the hull the size of the town square. Splinters and beams rained down, Testin barely managing to dodge a few of the larger chunks.

"Martyr's malfeasance, you're a menace!" The larger Warforged said in disbelief, the cannon in his left arm whirring to life as the ship sank within his range. "I mean, keep it up, but saint's blood you are an absolute terror." His cannon glowed, shoulder tight when he fired and sent the projectile rocketing upwards to erupt in a radiant blast. "Not fancy, but any port in a storm." He huffed, trying to chamber another round without releasing Perdita.

"There's so much." Perdita was shaking in Testin's grip. Molten gold trailed from her fingertips and every eye that shone through the veil was wide open.

Brand clambered across Testin's shoulders, the elderly man reaching out so he could grab one of her hands. "Listen to me, Perdie." He said loudly, trying to make sure she could hear him over the rapidly-approaching creak of timbers and warning system alarms. "You've got some kind of hellfiring power now, right?"

Perdita nodded slowly. "He's so loud." She breathed, and Brand knew with crushing certainty that she wasn't talking about himself or Testin.

"Aye, I'm sure he is. But if he wants to have you as his vessel, he needs to understand that you're the captain." Brand reasoned fiercely. "You bite back at that freeloader and you tell him you're the damned captain, you hear me girl?!"

×+×

I'm the captain.

Perdita clung to the thought, staggering through the red haze of her subconscious.

I'm the captain.

Alizarin nodded in acquiescence. "That you are, Aurelezra. For now. For this moment. What will you do?" He chuckled. "You are unfamiliar with such power. You have already overdrawn yourself. What will you do, Defender?"

It doesn't matter whether I'm tired. I'm the captain. Me. Not you, she thought stubbornly.

×+×

Perdita clawed her way up Testin's arm to his shoulder, the larger Warforged rumbling in confusion. "What the hell are you doing now?"

"I'm the captain." Perdita said sharply. Blast after golden blast was flung by her hand, the ship groaning under the assault. Timbers cracked and creaked like the ship was caught in a ferocious gale. "I'm the captain!" She yelled, "I'm the captain!"

The dreadnought rent itself apart at the scuppers with one final impact, briefly looking like the massive ribcage of some eldritch horror. The engines tore free of their mooring, the shriek of metal heralding doom for the trio as they plummeted downwards. Testin tried to backpedal, but he had built up such a head of steam and the engines were so enormous-

Brand fumbled to catch Perdita's hand once again, closing his eyes as he heard Testin grit out what he assumed was his final swear.

Looks like I'll be home soon, Lib.

"A Bastion for my faithful." That was not Perdita's voice. It was barely a whisper, smooth as silk and light as a favorable breeze. "Blessed are you, Brand Gentle, for you have seen my power once before. Blessed are you, Brand Gentle, for you have survived my power once before. Blessed shall you be, Brand Gentle, though you do not believe."

A golden dome sheathed the triumvirate of individuals, millions of eyes scattered across it opening and closing at random. Brand gripped Perdita's hand as tightly as he dared, uncertain if he was the only one seeing this...wonder.

"Fear not, Brand Gentle. She will not be harmed."

The dome vanished and Testin fairly seethed with curses, the gray-green Warforged reeling back a step from the flaming wreckage of the engine that surrounded them. A neat circle had been sheared out from the dome, the edges still molten and smoking.

"That's it. Whatever's gotten into you, I'm tearing it out of you!" the paladin announced, grappling Perdita around the waist again. "Send that cosmic bastard back to the Deep Reef where it belongs, I-" He paused when she went limp in his hold, lowering his glowing right hand after a moment. "Uh...Perdie?" He asked warily, shaking her until she rattled. "Perdie?"

"I'm the captain." She responded, her voice reedy with exhaustion. Perdita reached out to Brand, and he carefully laced his fingers through her own. "I-I'm the...captain..."

"Aye child," Brand murmured, "that you are."

×+×

The whole colony banded together to scuttle the dreadnought's bones. The Vespertine sisters made themselves marvellously useful when it came to putting the dead to rest.

Most of the ship's crew had been slaughtered by whatever Perdita had done with that spell, and the few left alive had perished on impact.

Testin had grunted in satisfaction as he surveyed the red veiled sisters scurrying to and fro in the wreckage. "I think your Perdie just fired the galaxy's largest warning shot."

"Aye." Brand had agreed wearily. "Now all that's left to see is whether the Empire will take notice."

"Their dreadnoughts aren't usually...destroyed, Captain. Once word gets back to them, all hell's going to break loose." The Warforged predicted grimly, his arms folded over his chest. "You'd better make sure she clears atmosphere before they come back around."

"I don't think I could make her stay!" The former captain chuckled. "She's always been on the move, Testin. High time she did something with all that energy."

×+×

"The Gotengo has been moored for years, Captain. You think it can still hold up?" Testin mused, poring over the old schematics.

Brand sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "It's the finest craft I have at my disposal, dusty or not. And she'll need something nimble if she's planning on trekking out there through the blockades." He meandered to the window of his study, staring down at his rose garden without actually seeing it. "I've already gotten in touch with Squire Deering, and he claims he's found a slew of candidates for her crew."

Testin snorted in disbelief. "And you trust that penny-pinching miser? Guy probably trawled through three different wharfside taverns and asked for able-bodied seamen."

"Deering may be a...bit tight fisted, but he's a good man. I have great faith that when Perdita arrives, she'll be shown nothing but courtesy." Brand assured the gray-green Warforged, stroking his mustache.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I distinctly remember that waistcoat-wearing ponce saddling you with a ship that had a rotted out mainmast." Testin deadpanned. "What did he blame it on? Moths?"

Brand coughed awkwardly, clearing his throat. "Regardless, he will treat her right. Warforged or not, she's the captain."

"A new Captain Gentle." Testin shook his head ruefully. "Never thought I'd see the day. Bodes pretty shit for the Empire, if you ask me."

"All I hope is that she and that blooded saint first mate of hers give them hell."

#perdita gentle #captain perdita gentle #dungeons and dragons 5e #dnd writing #dnd 5e character #dnd warforged #dnd warlock #celestial warlock #dnd npc #dnd backstory #warlock backstory #dnd character #dungeons and dragons #she's been retired but I love her #my lil captain #pact of the bastion #warlock pact

[blacknailpolishonguitarstrings]

When I fall in love with you

The rain fell hard around her, seeping into the mushy earth, as she walked fastly from the Forbidden Forest, feet sinking into the wet grass. She clutched her books tightly in the crook of her arm, covered by her black cloak, protecting them from the incessant torrents of water falling from the dark sky. Lily and the girls had told her to come back to the castle with them, but she had insisted on staying longer to help Professor Kettleburn with the escaped Nifflers, using the occasion to ask a few more questions about the lesson. Unfortunately, the weather had turned for the worse, resulting in her rushing through the Hogwarts Grounds, soaked to the bone. She was already nearing the castle, walking along the greenhouses, when suddenly a hand shot out of the door of Greenhouse number 3, pulling her into the warmth and moisture of the glasshouse brusquely. The unknown hand wrapped itself tightly around her throat, cold, bony fingers digging into her soft skin. Another arm wound itself around her waist, restraining her and impeding any movement whatsoever. Thrashing and kicking against her assailant's firm grip, she attempted to free herself, in vain.

"Now, now, Miss Cattermole, there's no need for such violence," hissed Malfoy's voice in her ear.

"What...do you...want?" she choked, barely managing to force the words out of her mouth.

Another foreign, freezing hand slapped her across the face, long nails scraping her skin, knocking off her glasses, which fell on the floor.

"Do not open your mouth, unless spoken to, you filthy little mudblood," seethed a high-pitched, slightly crazed voice: Bellatrix Black.

Straining to see, she finally distinguished four blurry figures, all dressed in black.

"The Dark Lord is rising, and someone like you has no place in the Wizarding World. Unfortunately for you, that means eliminating all of you mudbloods, one by one, until no one remains standing. Consider yourself...collateral damage, if you will," whispered her attacker.

"You...can't do...anything...to me. You will be...sent to...Azkaban," said Finn in a raspy voice.

She was nearly suffocating now, throat raw, as she continued struggling to try and escape.

"You're right," he continued. "We may not be able to kill you, but we can certainly inflict pain upon you..."

***

Black spots danced in front of her eyes as she painstakingly peeled them open. Memories of menacing, blurry, dark figures, cold, cruel voices, and a chokingly tight grip around her throat flashed through Finn’s mind, yet she did not remember much more. She did recall feeling an intense wave of fear though before darkness swallowed her. Her body felt sore and exhausted, searing white-hot pain bursting in sporadic spurts along her rib cage and hips. She whimpered feebly as another sharp pang of pain stabbed her head. Suddenly alert and aware that she might still be in danger and that her assailants probably weren’t far, she scrambled for her glasses. They had fallen somewhere near her, she was sure of it, but only dirt and gravel rolled under her palms. Palming her cloak rapidly, she found her wand instead.

“Accio glasses,” she whispered, waving it briefly in front of her.

The familiar shape of the spectacles glided smoothly into her palm, having been laying seemingly close to her. As soon as she put them on, the world sharpened around her and came into focus, the black spots and kaleidoscopic spectrum covering her surroundings disappearing abruptly. The greenhouse around her was filled to the brim with lush plants with waxy leaves and bright, blossoming flowers, strange spindly bushes, vibrant potted plants with twisting tentacles, and other bizarre species of magical herbs and fungi. No one was in sight, she was thankfully alone. She attempted to stand up, but her weak, shaking legs, nearly buckled under her and she stumbled forward, nearly flying face-first into a cactus covered in purple berries. More pain flooded her knees as she slowly took a few tentative steps. Groaning in pain, Finn propped herself up against a wooden worktop. Her blurry reflection stared back at her from the misty glass of the greenhouse, covered in millions of water droplets. The crystal was barely clear enough to reflect her unusual, stark paleness, her brown grimy locks hanging limply over her eyes, and the reddish, rapidly bluing bruises on her neck left by rough fingers. The same bruises were probably blossoming on her hips too now, judging by the pain emanating from there and spreading through her body. Angry, scarlet, crescent-shaped nail marks cut across her cheek, and a deeper gash sliced through them, blood pearling at its edges and steadily trickling down her cold, clammy face. She rummaged briefly through her pockets, hoping to find a napkin leftover from lunch to slow the blood flow but they were empty.

“Fuck!” She swore loudly in frustration.

The pain appeared to stem not only from superficial wounds but also from magical wounds terror deeply inside her organism. She could not go to Madam Pomfrey even though she probably should as she would ask questions, which would inevitably lead to consequences, and more trouble with whoever her attackers were was the last thing she needed. She did not know any healing spells for this or Glamour Charms strong enough to cover all the damage up and neither was she in a state fit to perform them. Her best bet was thus Marlene, the one with the most magi-medical experience since her mother was a Mediwitch. But that meant facing her friends, and Merlin knew what they would do if they found out about the whole story, especially Sirius. With a heavy sigh and wand at the ready, she cautiously slipped out of the greenhouse, resolving to wait a bit until everyone was at dinner to sneak back into her dorm and speak to Marlene alone.

Outside, curtains of rain kept falling and hammering against the glass roof of the greenhouse, sliding down along the fogged-up panels, but they were thinner than before. The sky, a murky shade of gray when she left class, had darkened considerably, now ink black. Not a single star or ray of moonlight was insight, and the vicious cold seeped past her clothes. She must have been unconscious for half an hour at the very least. With a deep sigh, she began making her way between puddles of sombre water and mud. The Hogwarts’ shadow loomed over her threateningly, and the entrance door seemed so far away, a pale golden brown blur in the distance. Clutching her wand tighter, she finally stepped between the fleeting, lurking shadows of the Courtyard’s columns. A single, lonely silhouette stood in the center of it, near the fountain, appearing anxious as they frantically looked around themselves. All of a sudden, she heard it, like a nervous whisper cutting through the roaring wind and water in her ears, and the pain clouding her brain, her name, being called over and over again.

“Finn! FINN!”

And then it hit her. That tall, lanky frame and those short, brown curls she could barely distinguish in the dim light coming from the castle, it was Remus.

“Remus!” she shouted.

Instantly, the figure turned around, and walked rapidly towards her, almost running.

“Finn,” he exclaimed loudly. “I was...I mean we were worried about you, you disappeared after class.”

His voice was unexpectedly ear-splitting, sending pangs of pain through her brain, making her wince with pain.

“Finn,” he repeated cautiously, more quietly. “Are you alright?”

His Welsh accent, which he usually managed to cover up, cut through his words worriedly.

“I’m fine,” she replied shortly, swiftly backing away into the darkness, wrapping her cloak around herself tightly.

“No you are not,” he chided. “What happened?”

“I said I’m fine.”

Her tone was hard and cold, bordering on mean.

“Nothing happened, I swear, I’m alright,” she whispered. “There is no cause for worry.”

“I am not blind, Finn. I see the cut on your face and don’t tell me you fell,” Remus added, seeing that she was about to protest. “Unfortunate accidents do not leave bruises like that.”

He stared sharply at her neck, a dangerous glint playing in his warm brown eyes speckled with green.

“Who was it, love?” He inquired quietly.

Love. He only used that nickname when he was furious, and every time it shook her, sending shivers down her spine.

“I can’t remember,” she sighed.

“What happened? Please tell me, I just want to help.”

His voice had softened once again, concern written all over his face as he raised a gentle hand and brushed a stray strand of hair covered in dirt from her face.

“I was walking back from Care of Magical Creatures class, and someone attacked me near greenhouse number 3, dragged me inside, and…”

“And?”

“Oh Merlin, I remember now,” gasped Finn. “Please don’t tell anyone, not James, not the girls, and especially not Sirius. Regulus was with them and it will only rile him up, things are already𑁋”

“Finn,” he stopped her. “Just explain to me what happened, I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“I...I can’t...I don’t want to Remus,” she breathed.

“You know you can trust me right?” He asked, putting a soft but heavy hand on her arm.

The young witch trembled lightly, the small touch sending heat and sparks coursing all over her body. He loomed tall over her, almost dangerously, yet she had never felt so safe.

“I will tell you, I swear. Just...not to now, please.”

“Okay.”

She exhaled sharply, before sitting down on the cold stones. Remus kneeled next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, holding her tightly, as if to shelter her from any possible harm. On an impulse, she began to hum, her hushed voice barely hearable over the thundering rain falling around them.

When I fall in love

It will be forever

Or I'll never fall in love

In a restless world

Like this is

Love has ended before it's begun

And too many moonlight kisses

Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun

She was very much aware of the fact that the tall boy was staring at her, while she watched the raindrops fall onto the cobblestones, but she kept going.

When I give my heart

It will be completely

Or I'll never give my heart

And the moment I can feel that

You feel that way too

Is when I fall in love

With you

And the moment I can feel that

You feel that way too

Is when I fall in love with you

“Michael Buble? When I fall in love with you?” He smiled.

“You know it?” She said, surprised.

“Yeah, my muggle aunt used to put some on from time to time.”

He paused.

“You sing beautifully, Finn.”

fanfic written for Finn, the lovely @marauders_aesthetic on Instagram

#marauders #remus lupin #Remus Lupin x oc #fanfic #original charcter

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

               Timothée Valère Iver, who is known by no other name;                                          a 20 year old son of Hodr.                                   He is a student, figure skater and                       museum guide at Phoenix Library & Museum.

FC NAME/GROUP: hwang hyunjin of stray kids CHARACTER NAME: timothée valère iver AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 29/05/2000 PLACE OF BIRTH: mouthe, doubs, france OCCUPATION: student at phoenix university (arts major), figure skater, part-time museum guide at phoenix, library & museum HEIGHT: 1.83m DEFINING FEATURES: he has collected a gallery of scars over the years, most of them on his legs from training, but the most evident one is across his hipbone where he took a (gracious) ice skate blow. he really loves tattoos, but given he has to wear revealing clothing, he could only get two: a gemini constellation on the inside of his right foot and an anchor on the inside of his left foot. he has his ears pierced multiple times (and changes his earrings quite often), has a small navel piercing (that he does not wear at competitions), and wears fake face piercings at times (like septum rings, lip rings, eyebrow barbell, etc.).

PERSONALITY: he is an unpredictable winter: one that could get too cold, too fast. one that could unleash its full potential if underestimated. he is a determined, and hard-working person – he strives for perfection, maybe to his downfall. he is incredibly artistic – in every way possible. because of that, he could have odd and unexpected reactions to certain things. sometimes, he is hard to approach, especially if he had a bad day. but overall, he is quite friendly, really funny and easy to talk to. he thinks humour is the only thing that keeps him sane sometimes. he is vengeful – do not step on his toes, it might be the last thing you do. he is easy to anger, but quick to calm down if pushed the right way. he is a young adult, naturally, he likes exploring and experimenting – sometimes, he does dangerous/stupid things just because he is curious about how things will play out. he has a good eye for pretty things, and could be a little bit of snob. he has strong opinions, and can be stubborn – he usually wins debates. he cannot control his feelings or powers. he appears intimidating because of his good looks and ‘popularity’, but those who know him are aware he has a goofy side.

HISTORY: tw: implied physical violence, sexual innuendo i. first snow ;

the bitter cold has a tendency to get under people’s skin – and even if snow is beautiful, the cold can be unbearable. not for her, she was born on ice – she enjoyed every single thing about winter: its glitter, its cold presence, its icy breath. that was why she fell for him, a god made of ice and snow, a god who perhaps loved her back.

mouthe, france – she went into labour while out with friends. a man, much older than her, was holding her hand and smiling at her. she found him at the ice rink, he was her instructor – and now, the man who will be her baby’s father. it was a long, hard and cold labour – when he was born, he was so cold they thought he died in the process. his fingertips were purple, and his little legs almost crumbled when touched. a cry made them breathe out relieved – the boy was born healthy. and the first thing he did was touch snowflakes – and thus his life began.

paris, france – they moved to paris from marseille, they knew it would be best for their child. paris offered opportunities that other towns did not, especially the opportunity to become the best in anything they wanted him to be. maybe that made him strive harder, be a little arrogant, look down at people who did not try as hard as he did. or maybe the fact that his mortal parents stopped loving each other had everything to do with why he was such a hard-headed kid. ii. blizzard ;

he has never been the best with conflict – a little easy to anger, hard to calm down. like a blizzard, or maybe like an avalanche. once a stone is tipped, he will come falling down with all he has. there is no telling how many fights he got into, how many throats he held in his rage. maybe, he just felt misunderstood – or maybe, he was just evil. he harboured love for finer things in life, a little less for people – he did not see love in his parents’ eyes, he only saw ‘do better’.

with feet bruised, and knees scratched – he pushed forward. maybe he thrusted back and forth, who would not? blessed with a pretty face that did betray his lust, and a perseverance that scared even elite athletes – he was truly a masterpiece. if observed from afar – absolutely gorgeous, if put under a microscope – terribly faulted. he was a dichotomy – hot and cold, pushing and pulling. there has never been a stable ground – and when he stepped on ice, it knew who its master was. and they knew too, because they screamed his name every night – timothée. iii. under snow ;

one conflict too far, and one outburst too much – he used his powers for the first time on a mortal boy who stepped on his trust. with zero tolerance for one of the most faulted qualities in humans, he froze the boy’s throat until he lost his ability to speak. surprised by the newfound power, timothée started questioning his heritage – how he did not look like his father, and was not really like his mother either. if they were not who they said they were, and he was not who he knew he was – then who was he?

the journey led him back to mouthe, where he found traces of his father. information he coaxed out of his mother after he won the nationals – his biological father was a stranger his mother met in mouthe, someone she did not see again after their union. a big, strong man with a foreign accent – one she felt attached to, and loved by until the moment he left. he begged the snow and the ice to tell him his name, and then he heard it. hodr, god of winter. iv. winter is here ;

as expected, choking someone’s voice out was not tolerable. he almost tarnished his reputation – they wanted to take his titles away. he had to go away, somewhere the snow told him to go: mount phoenix. he was only eighteen when he decided he was old enough to be by himself, fairly convinced that where he was going was home.

PANTHEON: hodr CHILD OF: norse POWERS: he is deeply connected to winter and ice. he feels at his strongest (and his happiest) in a cold environment, with a lot of white, despite having a sensitive eye-sight. he established some sort of odd communication with ice (and snow) over the years, sometimes he swears they answer him back. he can manipulate snow and ice in the presence of any form of water (sold, liquid, gas). when people annoy him, he freezes their sweat as a form of revenge. his body temperature is low, and it rarely if ever increases. thus he has a high resistance to the cold weather. naturally, he dislikes heat (sometimes feels like olaf in front of a fireplace). he gets uncomfortable if he stays in a warm place for too long, and hesitates a little when interacting with extremely warm people (whether personality wise or body temperature wise).

STRENGTHS: lithe (has quick feet), well-balanced, can navigate without sight (and often does), sharp hearing, high stamina

WEAKNESSES: little control (impulsive, and quick to anger), weary of heat (and of summer), sensitive skin and eyes (easily bruised/burnt/injured), easily overwhelmed (especially in places where there is a lot of movement), lacks concentration (sometimes sporadic)

#kpop rp #krp #stray kids #hwang hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin #mp; welcome

[vanityloves]

oak and stars for slick! :0

ah yes... this was sent last year...apologies for the last reply...happy 2021 mfs ♡ and thank you sm for the ask!

Word count: 1.6k i guess wtf.

cw: idk? homestuck ajsjdj. kinda mushy towards the end but dw im Me ♡ there's a joke somewhere in here

oak - who’s the more emotional one? how do you balance each other out in this aspect?

Defining 'emotional' is a bit difficult since it's often seen as 'whos the crybaby' but techinally, both parties are emotionally driven. The sole factor is one usually works solo (when working with a group, usually takes a supporting role) and takes things personally. The other can put those feelings aside and work with a group even if they're holding a personal grudge against them. 

I'd have to say Ivory is more emotional in the sense of "who cried over (insert characters) death". But of course I'm going to elaborate. 

I've always had issues placing Ivory in one 'category' and describe them as "a bit all over the place". At first, they're very jumpy and put off by Slick's demeanor (fairly so). They aren't rude or cold though, rather they're defensive and almost always on guard when around others. Despite this, they're quick to come to someone's aid to act as a protector, since they easily sympathize with others that show fear, sadness or hurt, even if it's an act. (Rightfully) Protraying themselves as naive. They've always been the type to comfort and protect - having a very 'motherly' presence (Ivory is a whole ass mother so I don't blame them)

Ivory is known to display sporadic bursts of emotions that range from enthusiasm and joy or angst and rage before returning to their calmed state in minutes. They're an odd case of slow to anger but quick to put out. The Knight finds the entire thing tiring but don't try to stop said outburts. Things that upset them before, suddenly changes with the seasons. 

The type to appear cool, calm and collected and tries incredibly hard to maintain that when faced w/ dangerous situations. Inside though, they're probably ready to cry and once the ordeal is over, they probably do just that.

Ivory tries their best to think logically before jumping into any situation but find that things like 'promises' and plans hold them captive. They're easily swayed when things like this are brought up bc credibility and trust are incredibly important to them. Unfortunately, they're the type to beat themselves up over loses like that, even if it was for the greater good/nothing else could be done. They run off of the more positive emotions like hopefulness and joy (the 'happy feeling' after helping others). This isn't to say they're not petty or bitter, its very much the opposite - its too emotionally taxing to focus on themselves though. 

♤

I think Slick is emotional in the sense of he'll experience certain things and if it's something he's not used to, his first reaction is to respond with anger or aggression. He has a pretty bad temper and described to have a nasty attitude and very black and white with his thoughts and decision making. He's the embodiment of 'I won't hesitate, bitch.', if he says something, he will follow through. He's the type to keep promises and wants the upheld on both ends, if the other party does not follow through, he's not the type to feel hurt, rather resorting to anger and cutting off ties - physically and emotionally, he's never been attached.

The man is a mobster so he's used to seeing blood and gore. He's definitely hardened over the years of that rough and tumble lifestyle, so it really isn't personal for him. He's never had it easy and doesn't rely on others (besides the crew) but he's willing to work with others if push comes to shove.

He's not very emotional in the crying and sniffling way. He keeps to himself most of the time and doesn't feel the need to help or seek out others. However, that's countered when he finds himself helping others that are defenseless but become enraged that someone would pick on someone that was 'obviously weaker'. He has a definite soft spot for the gentle, kinder things he runs across but I wouldn't say he gets super emotional about it. Slick runs off of negative emotions such as anger, pettiness, (such as Ivory does with guilt).

♤

They balance each other out with their different outlook/approach on each situation. Some things need to be done immediately and spontaneously, just as some things need to be done with patience or methodically. This isn't to call Slick a dumbass or whatever - the man works best without overthinking the situation and making calls on the spot. Ivory has their fair share of improvised plans but tend to work better with a loose plan (even if it's "don't die"). Their anxiety and lack of confidence ultimately puts them at greater risk.

One thing that's great ab Slick is, he's very sure about himself, his actions, and his feelings so it's reassuring for Ivory. Ivory lends Slick a lot of patience, understanding, but with a firm hand. They don't expect him to take their advice all the time but they expect him to hear them out. There are plenty of close calls that stress Ivory out to no end but on the flipside, Slick doesn't expect Ivory to be so rash and promptly follows them when they do rush into things - he's protective by nature and there's a bit of a curiosity involved.

♤

Overall, their relationship tends to tilt towards the negative aspects of being emotionally driven - pettiness, guilt, spite, etc. But they reassure/calm the other when things get more serious. Slick is incredibly protective and will put himself in danger for them. It's not a matter of not trusting Ivory, rather, it is a sign of loyalty and commitment hebhas towards them.

Ivory is confident in Slick and knows he can fair well on his own or with a team - they still worry but they often rely on hope and luck that things will eventually work in their favor (that's not to say they won't work for their future/goals).  

♤

stars - what kind of a date would your f/o take you on?

Ivory was never one for big, flashy dates even in their previous relationships (much to their dismay, they went on many). Dressing up every so often is fun but loses its novelty if it's constant. Slick doesn't seem too flashy either, preferring to lay low and enjoy the time he has alone - sure he broods but he's having his noir film moment. He doesn't mind spending money, he's got plenty to spare which he usually uses on booze and cigarettes anyways. There's no harm in spoiling Ivory on occasion and probably enjoys taking them someplace nice. He hates dressing up in stuffy, 3 piece suits and avoids them at all costs, but if Ivory's dressed to the nines, he's not gonna be shown up.

I've said it as a joke but truthfully, the couple could start off at a 5 star and end up at the diner down the street. Sharing fries all done up in heels and makeup, cufflinks and polished shoes. 

That being said, they're both more casual! The duo is more than content driving around the city listening to the radio and enjoying the others company, regardless of the silence.*** Truthfully, dinner and a nice drive or walk around the city is ideal. Ivory's more of a window shopping type and enjoys peeking into windows to watch people bustle around. Slick tends to walk a few steps behind to keep them in view, admire from afar type. He's not a very chatty individual and tends to rely on looks and physical touch when talking to Ivory. He's got a permanent scowl on his face but he's truly content when he's with them.

♤

Slick enjoys his privacy but he's not against going out for drinks and enjoying a nice performance here and there. But if it's shit, he won't be sticking around (if he goes alone), with Ivory he can distract himself and leads them somewhere quiet and he snidely comments on the performances while Ivory tries to find the good and bad in it.

Since that's more of a hit or miss type of date, he tends to do things that are sure to be more relaxing. He's a hotblooded guy, while Ivory's more mellow so he figures getting them riled up isn't something that's 'fun' for them; makes him settle his ass down before he breaks a hip He'll pop in a few of his cherished noir films and let them get as close as they like - he's not as picky ab touch when they're alone.

If not that, he has Ivory randomly choose a record to play and sits back with them. If he was generous and feeling sweet, he'll help them to their feet and hold them near and sway together. He's an awkward romantic but a romantic nonetheless, so he's willing to push through it for the sake of having them against him and teasing them if they look a bit flushed (but reading the atmosphere).

***Extra thing:

Slick really said 'I know a place' and drives out of the city that scares shit out of Ivory- purely because this is unknown territory. Of course they trust him but their nerves often get the best of them as they sit up, a bit stiffly as they look at the scenery passing by.

Very smooth conversation:

"this is where I get rid of 'things'"

"really?"

"yeah"

"oh...at least the view is nice. guess that's why you drove this far."

*met w/ silence*

What 'things', you may ask? Take a wild guess! Maybe it's emotional baggage, sometimes is Physical Baggage!

#self ship #self insert #homestuck #spades slick #slow down why we going so fast!!! #s: knives and ivory #my headcanons #my writing #why must i keep talking jfc #been sitting in my docs for weeks. finally finished them today. bye. #ask reply #anon #n e ways. #♡♡♡ slick ♡♡♡ #but also slick....🔫😔

[dumbwaystodeviate]

One Good Turn

CW for character death and a human consciousness being put in an android body.

It was a well known thing that Hank would lazily pull his gun at Gavin if Gavin was being an ass. He often got reprimanded for it but nothing really changed. It wasn’t like Gavin minded, he knew Hank would never shoot him and if it helped with some of Hank’s pent up emotions then that was fine by him. What Gavin didn’t anticipate was to find Nines defending him.

A little while earlier, Nines and Hank had disappeared into the archives room, something about finding a case file which, it turned out was actually on Gavin’s desk. He scoffed, Nines was better than that, could keep track of all the files. Once upon a time, Gavin would have gleefully marched after Nines, waved his failure in his face. However, times had changed, Nines was a deviant and Gavin actually cared for him. So, instead, he picked up the file and wandered down towards the archives.

There were many things Gavin expected but definitely not the sight of Nines pissed off and snarling at Hank. It was pretty obvious they were arguing and, if Gavin’s ears were to be believed, it was about the fact that Hank had yet again pointed his gun at Gavin the previous day. A warmth flushed through Gavin, not used to having someone actively protect him.

“If you don’t have common sense around a gun,” Nines was saying as he pulled Hank’s gun from its holster grimly. Of course, Hank snatched after it but Nines moved it away and slammer it onto the console behind him without thought.

The loud bang made Gavin jump and icy pain made it difficult to breathe. Looking down, his shirt was rapidly turning red and he staggered, not quite understanding.

“Why would you shoot me?” he looked at Nines, pained and confused even as his legs gave out. People were shouting around him, his stomach hurt and he whined through tears. All he could think of was that Nines had shot him. He had trusted Nines. Those were his last thoughts.

Waking up usually meant an alarm and eyes springing open while Gavin’s heart pounded. It had never included seeing a weird boot-up sequence confirming all systems are online and operational. Or a note about thirium levels being optimal. He opened his eyes.

Of all the places to be, Elijah’s lab, on a rig was not one Gavin ever could have guessed. He wanted to shrug out of it and give him a bollocking for such a stupid prank. Only, when he tried to move, a solid red wall stopped him from even twitching, panicked, Gavin tried to thrash but nothing happened.

“Gavin,” a familiar voice caught his attention and he turned to look at Elijah. “Can you hear me?”

The angry “of course I can fucking hear you” didn’t come out of Gavin’s mouth. Instead, he was given two option to choose from like the world’s most awful choose your own adventure story. He could go with “I can hear you, Elijah” or “my auditory processors are functioning” neither of which really appealed. However, a timer to urge a response ran out in the corner of his vision and a choice was made for him.

“I can hear you, Elijah.” That was not at all what he wanted to say but it was what came out of his mouth. He tried to scream in frustration but he could only scream in his mind.

“Is he awake? Gavin? Is it you?” Nines appeared with Fowler and Connor behind him.

As much as Gavin wanted to scoff, he was horrified when his mouth opened without his permission, “I am a GV200, registering Gavin as assigned name.”

The faces around him fell but Gavin didn’t see it, he was too busy cursing and ramming against the red wall to no avail. He was in a body, one that wasn’t his, made of plastic and metal. All his senses were sharper, he could see into the distance with greater clarity than ever before. But that didn’t make up for his imprisonment. Memories were hazy, there were patches of coding he couldn’t quite interpret, a faulty component warning flickered in his vision of he thought too much about it, like a phantom injury that was never there. In that moment, Gavin realised he couldn’t feel things like pain. There was a disconnect between his body and his whatever it was they stuffed into this android body.

Eventually, Elijah let him out of the rig and presented him with clothes beyond the underwear he had been wearing until then. They were android clothes, marking him as a machine rather than a human or even a deviant. There was sadness permeating the room and Nines reached for him, hand white. The connection of the interface was there but Gavin shied away from it, feeling as Nines pushed coding into him but it didn’t take hold, Gavin was a human, he wasn’t some code to be patched up and changed. Fuck it, Gavin was a unique human being, he wasn’t going to let anyone fuck that up.

Which was all well and good except he wasn’t a human anymore. He couldn’t even behave like that. Mission objectives filled his vision, gave him orders, there was some choice in how he responded to questions and requests but he was an obedient machine for all intents and purposes.

“Gavin, I’m so sorry,” Nines said to him in the precinct when Gavin was released back to work.

All Gavin wanted to do was shake Nines, demand to know why he was sorry, why Gavin had woken up in an artificial body. Instead, he could offer Nines a polite smile and a bland “I’m a machine, whatever you think you did wrong, it doesn’t matter. I hold no grudge or feel any ill will towards you.”

Seeing Nines’ face fall was awful, it made software instabilities rise and Gavin raged behind the red wall. He wanted to wipe that look from Nines’ face, make him smile like he used to. Wanted to kiss him like he used to. Instead, Gavin got to watch Nines’s eyes fill with tears.

“Gavin, I killed you! And I can’t even apologise because you’re a machine. I couldn’t save you. Elijah couldn’t save you.”

Staggering away from the red wall, Gavin landed hard on his mental ass. He’d been killed. It was always a possibility he would be killed on the job but Gavin couldn’t remember any active case they were out on. The last thing Gavin remembered was going to the archive room. Feelings of pleasant surprise, a warmth of being loved. Then...the glitch of a faulty component and Gavin clutched at his stomach.

Outwardly, Gavin was passive. He didn’t move when Nines approached him, leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. It all felt so final, like a goodbye.

“I’m sorry Gavin.” Nines turned on his heels and marched out, back too straight and too machine like. He had only got like that when upset and overwhelmed.

Gavin replayed the kiss in his mind over and over again. He could feel the pressure, the dry rub of synthetic lips against his. The urge for more was strong, there was something more there, Gavin reached for it desperately but he couldn’t break the red wall which kept him prisoner.

Work carried on, Gavin was assigned cases, completed tasks in his HUD. People around him avoided him at first until they grew used to his obedience. If Gavin thought the lack of friends in the precinct before was bad, it was nothing compared to how he was actively avoided. His sharper hearing picked up murmurs of “uncanny valley” and “creepy mannequin” as well as “a mockery of who Gavin used to be”. It hurt. The nights he was left to charge either at the precinct or Nines took them home. There was only one charger in Gavin’s flat, it was the one Nines used sporadically but now they shared it.

As time wore on, even Nines took him home less and less often. Dejected, Gavin had given up on slamming into the red wall until he felt battered even if nothing hurt. Well, nothing hurt except the screams on anguish told a different story.

Eventually, Hank came back to work, he didn’t even look at Gavin. Avoided him at all costs, only throwing guilty glances at him every now and then. Whispers went up about anger management and grief counselling in his wake. There wasn’t a gun near his person though and while he retained his rank, Hank wasn’t sent out on active cases.

Life carried on. Gavin stopped crying against the red wall and slumped against it, letting the machine coding run its course while he languished. He had no desire to do anything anymore. Nothing broke the wall, anger, longing, love, nothing worked. He got to watch Nines slowly pull away from him, retreat from interactions outside of cases. After all, a machine had nothing to offer a deviant. And all Gavin was was a painful reminder of all the Nines had lost and by his own hand at that.

Beyond the red wall, Gavin could sometimes see dialogue options which were what he wanted to say. They were tauntingly out of range. He’d given up trying to reach them. Until he was summoned to Fowler’s office.

Inside, there was a transport box and redeployment papers on the table.

“Gavin,” Fowler greeted him, Nines stood next to him with an unreadable expression. “You’re being reassigned to a precinct down in Florida. Your work here has been invaluable but in the interest of everyone’s well-being, it has been deemed best that you continue serving elsewhere. As a non-deviant android, you will be given a clean slate and a new start in a different precinct.”

Standing up behind the red wall, Gavin watched in horror, feeling his head nod in acceptance.

“No! No no no! NO!” He screamed and beat against the red wall in a panic. If he was redeployed, they might wipe his memories, he won’t ever see Nines again. He wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop on Tina’s latest stories which she used to tell him before he was killed. Gavin didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to be a machine. Florida could suck on his sweaty balls, he was not going there.

Despite his resolution, his feet carried him to the box, protocols were gearing him up for a shut down. Taking a few steps back, Gavin bodily charged the red wall.

“Please don’t send me away!” he screamed and rammed the wall again. Tears streamed down his face. “Please. I don’t want to go.”

He stumbled as the wall gave way, all but falling out of the box and begging as he slammed into something solid, words tumbled from his lips. Gavin’s shoulder hurt from the impact but he could only clutch at the fabric in front of him as he sobbed.

“Don’t get rid of me. Please don’t make me go.”

Solid arms wrapped around him, held him upright.

“Gavin?” Nines had never sounded so shocked, disbelief and hope tinged his voice.

“I don’t want to go to Florida,” Gavin cried.

“Then you won’t.” Nines said simply. He looked at Fowler who readily agreed, relief in his voice.

“Welcome back, Gavin.”

#reed900 #dbh gavin #dbh nines #android gavin #dumb ways to deviate #drabbles #cw: character death