#Welcome to obscurity you washed up jerk

[eksvaized]

Part Five [ Previous 〡 Next ]

At the break of dawn, as you slowly flutter open your eyes, the piercing sunlight streaming through the window momentarily blinds you. Squinting against the brightness, you let out a low sigh and instinctively roll to the side, burrowing your face deep into the welcoming softness of the pillow. There's a part of you that resists to wake up. A part that wants to swim a little longer in the sea of dreams. The sun seems to have only just started its ascent into the sky. Its pale light hinting at the early hour. And you, you're tired. So, so tired. The logic in your sleepy mind determines that surely there can be no harm if you decide to sleep in today.

As you get comfortable, you feel yourself sinking deeper into the plush mattress. It moulds to your body. The sweet scent of freshly washed sheets wafts around you. For a fleeting moment, you're teetering on the precipice of unconsciousness, the call of slumber as irresistible as a siren's song. But then, abruptly, your heart drops. With a jolt akin to a lightning strike, you jerk up, flinging the covers away from you as if they were chains. You sit up in bed, your eyes flying open in sudden realization.

You realize that you're not in the basement anymore. Instead, you find yourself sprawled out on a spacious bed, covered in crisp, pristine white sheets. As your palm glides across the smooth fabric of the blankets, smoother than a mirror's surface, you can't help but grimace. You feel out of place, tainted even, in such a clean environment.

Your gaze sweeps across the room, drinking in the surroundings, like a parched traveler in a desert. You are in someone's bedroom. There's an enormous wardrobe to your side. Its door is ajar, revealing an array of women's clothing hanging neatly in rows. Two windows are set into the wall. Their views obscured by heavy, grey curtains. The room is minimally furnished, devoid of any personal touches or decorations. The only other piece of furniture is a desk, pushed into a corner of the room. It looks lonely, almost melancholic. The sterility of the entire space is palpable, its silence as unsettling as the calm before a storm.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed. A sharp pain shoots up your right leg, causing you to hiss involuntarily. You twist slightly, allowing your fingers to skim over your thigh. You can feel a small puncture wound left by a needle. You close your eyes, trying to piece together the fragmented memories.

You remember being in the basement. And the feeble light of the candle being extinguished by the careless sway of your arm. You recall the terror that gripped you, the tears that flowed freely, and the silent prayers you sent up for Simon to return. You also remember the desperate run for your life, sprinting up the stairs as an unknown presence chased after you. Back then, you didn't know who it was, but now, it seems painfully obvious. Of course, it was Simon. It had to be him.

You want to be angry with him, seething with rage even, and indeed you are. But a part of you, a part that had been a quiet whisper in the back of your mind until now, is happy that he came back, even if his return was accompanied by a scare. This part of you, you realise, is also relieved that instead of paralyzing you again, he merely put you to sleep, presumably with the help of some sleeping meds.

Your head snaps towards the door as it creaks open. Simon steps in, the light from the hallway casting long shadow in the room. As soon as his hawk-like eyes land on you, sitting there, gripping the edge of the bed with white-knuckled intensity, his lips curl into a smile. It's a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, but it's a smile, nonetheless. He is wearing a shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his forearms. Your eyes drift down, registering the ash-grey shorts and the casual slippers he dons. He looks casual, too casual, and the sight of him in such nonchalant attire somehow makes your stomach twist uncomfortably.

"Ah, you are finally awake," he purrs, his voice echoing in the small room, washing over you like a chilling winter breeze. He walks up to you. His fingers lightly trace your jaw, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake before he playfully prods your nose with his knuckle. Then, without another word, he moves towards the wardrobe, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You don't know how to feel. The last time you saw him, he was furious, his anger palpable and heavy. But now, he's acting as if he hadn't kept you locked in the basement, as if he hadn't left you alone in the dark and then returned only to scare you further before sticking yet another needle into your flesh.

For the first time, not only do you want to say something, but you actually dare to open your mouth. You let the words, a question really, slip past your lips. "You seem to be in a good mood today."

"Indeed," he says, his voice a low rumble that resonates through the room like a predator's growl, as he pulls out an oversized, plush white towel. The towel is effortlessly tossed over his broad shoulder, the fabric cascading down like a waterfall of cotton. "I am in a good mood... 'Cuz you have been a very good girl for me."

Your mind whirrs with confusion, a maelstrom of questions and thoughts as you try to decipher what you might have done to garner such praise. Yet, you remain silent. Your tongue is heavy in your mouth; fear anchoring your words deep within you. The horrifying thought of him taking advantage of your unconscious state, using your body, doing with you as he pleases makes you recoil and curls your shoulders inwards.

You keep your gaze fixed on his back, observing as he retrieves a pair of grey shorts, mirroring the ones he's wearing, and a plain white t-shirt.

"Your punishment was supposed to last longer, you know," he says, pivoting on his heel to face you. A faint smile teases at the corners of his lips. "But when I came to check on you and found you alone in the dark... when I heard you calling out for me in fear, I realized you were deserving of a sweet reprieve. Especially since my name, like a desperate prayer, was on your lips."

A chill races down your spine, swift and sharp, as he navigates his way towards you. His gaze sweeps over your figure one final time before he extends a hand for you to take.

"Let's go. You are in dire need of a proper bath and I have taken the liberty to prepare everything in advance."

You hesitate for a moment, weighing your options. The prospect of washing away the layers of grime and despair is as tempting. You consider declining his offer, but the rare occurrence of him not being upset or disappointed in you is something you don't want to squander. You slowly rise to your feet, yet refrain from accepting his outstretched palm.

Simon, even in a state of obvious annoyance, refrains from making any comments. With a silent gesture, he leads you away from the bedroom and down to the far end of the corridor. He guides you to a bathroom, pushing the door open to reveal a room filled with a comforting warmth. The air is thick with the steam, carrying the sweet scent of bath salts that immediately tickles your senses. When you step inside, you notice a large bathtub in the center, filled to the brim with water and a frothy sea of soap bubbles that seems to sparkle under the light.

However, despite the inviting ambiance, you can't shake off the uncomfortable feeling that has settled within you. You're apprehensive, too hesitant to make a move, not until you're left alone. But as you glance over your shoulder towards Simon, he merely raises his eyebrows, and in a firm voice, gives you a command, "Strip."

You swallow hard, maintaining eye contact for a second longer before you turn away again. Your gaze falls back onto the warm water. The thought of undressing, of revealing yourself in front of him, is unbearable. It feels like too much, an invasion of your privacy that you're not ready to give up. But in the back of your mind, you know that your options are limited. It's either you undress yourself, or he does it for you.

Gathering up your courage, you quietly ask, "Can't I bathe alone?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, your words tremble as they slip past your lips.

Despite not being able to see him, you can sense his rejection. His voice, when he speaks, is laced with a soft, misleading concern that you can't ignore. "Of course not, darling. What if you get into one of your moods again? What if you try to drown yourself? I can't risk that. I need to stay to ensure that you won't do anything reckless."

You start fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, your mind racing as you try to think of another excuse, another reason for him to leave you alone. You even consider promising him that you won't do anything stupid, but deep down, you know it won't change his mind.

So, instead, you ask in a muted voice, "Can you at least turn around?"

To your surprise, he nods in agreement. You have to keep reminding yourself to breathe as the air seems to get stuck in your chest. Your movements are stiff and forced as you pull off your shirt and panties, leaving them discarded on the bathroom floor.

Simon only turns back around when you timidly settle into the bath, akin to a hesitant bird dipping its toe into an unknown lake. All the while, you diligently avoid the piercing gaze of his eyes. The bubbles and the soap provide a thin veil of coverage to your exposed flesh, but it is far from enough to make you feel fully comfortable. Your face and chest blush a bright shade of red as the warm water laps against your skin. You try your best not to shift too much and remain as still as a statue, fearing that any sudden movement would cause the water to recede and expose more of your body.

"Nice, isn't it?" Simon breaks the silence. He takes a stool and places it close to the bath before taking a seat. You only dare to steal a quick glance at him, but when you see his eyes skimming your frame, you quickly turn away, vowing not to look at him again. You wrap one hand protectively around your chest, while the other finds solace in between your thighs.

The water is piping hot, but you do not complain. Its warmth, contrary to the awkwardness of the situation, soothes your weary muscles and actually feels rather nice. However, the scents of the bath products are a bit too overpowering for you, especially when Simon decides to light up a few candles that release a saccharine aroma of vanilla, which pervades the bathroom, enveloping everything like a thick, too-sweet fog.

For a while, neither of you speak. You keep your gaze glued to the water, silently watching the bubbles that float around aimlessly. Simon, on the other hand, maintains his focus on you.

You notice him reaching for a big bottle of shampoo.

"Soak your hair," he orders. You nod and obediently sink into the water.

You stay submerged with your eyes closed for a moment too long. You realize this when you feel his fingers wrapping around your shoulder, abruptly pulling you back to the surface.

"Enough," Simon says tersely. He tries to control the tone of his voice, but you can sense a hint of anger seeping through his facade of calm.

As his eyes nonchalantly drift to your breasts and noticeably perked nipples, you are roused from your daze and realise that your arm has negligently fallen back to your side. A flush of embarrassment crawls up your cheeks, making them burn with a heat that is uncomfortably conspicuous. Instinctively, you cup your breasts, your hands acting as a shield. You are fiercely determined not to let him see you fully exposed, and although it seems almost impossible to hide your bare body from his prying eyes, you try to conceal as much as you possibly can.

Simon proceeds to wash your hair. His hands, surprisingly gentle, start massaging the shampoo into your scalp. Despite the internal admonishment that you'll surely berate yourself with later, you find yourself leaning into his touch, relishing the way his fingers move with practiced ease, untangling the rebellious strands of your hair. You strive to shut off your mind, to not think about anything, and it seems to work until you feel his hands graze the nape of your neck. His fingers trail a path down your shoulder, and you jerk away from his touch immediately, like a startled deer. His expression shifts into a frown.

Your eyes lock with his, creating a silent standoff. You observe as his jaw twitches in silent annoyance, and a vein in his forehead pops out, indicating his rising irritation. It's clear that he doesn't appreciate being pushed away, but you couldn't care less about his feelings at this moment. You don't want him to touch you more than he already has.

"I can wash myself," you say. Once again, your voice is incredibly quiet, almost as if you are afraid to raise it, afraid to say something that may provoke him.

"You can't, you are tired," he contradicts, standing up abruptly. You watch as his previously light mood vanishes. His fingers curl around your arm with a firm grip, his nails digging into your flesh as he pulls you out of the water, forcing you to stand up.

A surprised yelp escapes from your lips, your hands flailing around, caught in a moment of panic, not knowing which part of yourself to cover first. Simon doesn't seem to care about your discomfort, and after unplugging the bath and setting the water to drain, he picks up another bottle from the side. Squirting some gel into his palms, he begins running his hands over your skin, seemingly oblivious to your discomposure.

You find yourself reeling, fighting the encroaching darkness encircling your senses. Your mind is a whirlpool of protest, your body writhing in futile efforts to escape from his unyielding grasp, as relentless as a vice. Despite your desperate pleas and attempts to push him away, he remains undeterred, his touch refusing to withdraw. As his hands cup your breasts with a harshly, the tears well up in your eyes, spilling over. His thumbs graze your sensitive nipples, toying with them until they harden in response, like reluctant buds blooming under an unwelcome sun. After he seems satisfied with his actions, he turns you around, your back now facing him.

In your attempt to edge away from him, you lose your footing on the slippery surface of the bath, only to be caught just in time by Simon, preventing a potentially heavy fall. This close call leaves you feeling even more helpless and vulnerable, and you no longer dare to move.

With your back turned to him, you allow yourself a moment of raw vulnerability, letting your tears flow freely, unrestricted and unhidden. You can feel his fingertips tracing a path along your back, his touch now gentle as he massages your tense muscles before moving lower to your rear. He kneads the soft flesh, playing with it, teasing it, his touch somehow turning softer when an unwanted whimper slips past your lips, betraying your discomfort.

The rest of the shower passes in a blur, ending quicker than you'd have thought possible. After carefully drying you off, he proceeds to dress you. You let him, your body and spirit too drained to offer any resistance. You're too tired to fight, too tired to thrash around, especially when you've come to the stark realization that all your efforts, all your struggles, seem to be in vain and will not change anything.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #call of duty #writing #cod #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost #cod ghost #cod x reader #cod fanfic #dead dove fic #fem!reader

[pokeprism]

Pokemon Found Family: Chapter 15 (Beach Brawl)

This is the fifteenth chapter of Pokemon Found Family, my pokemon fic!

Comments, questions, and concerns are always welcome in my askbox!

Masterpost.

First --- Previous --- Next

It’s early afternoon in the Aurum Savannah now. The party that went to Prism Beach in the morning has trekked from one end of the beach to the other to reach a small, calm cove for Drake to ready himself for what’s slated to come. Cyrus Pyroar’s urgent message about needing to adjust to the Cessabit Sea from earlier may have thrown Drake for a loop, but now, things seem calm.

Jane quickly surveys the cove, hops over some rocks sticking out of the water that lead to the slightly larger rocky platform, and walks over to a spot that faces toward the sea. “Hey Drake, come sit with me!”

Drake carefully steps over those same rocks, then takes a seat next to Jane. After a moment of quiet, Drake is struck with a thought. “... Why did you want to sit over here, Jane?”

Jane chuckles slightly before answering the cubone. “So we could safely listen to the ocean.”

Drake raises an eyebrow just as Brutus and Geist are close enough to hear his and Jane’s talk. “..... Why are we really doing this?”

Jane’s eyes narrow. “We’re doing this so that you’re calm before getting in the water.”

“... Oh. Okay then.” Drake says.

Jane softly closes her eyes as she points her ears toward the ocean. Having seen Jane’s progression, Drake opts to take a seat next to her and close his eyes. By this point, Brutus and Geist have made it to a place behind where Drake and Jane are sitting, and Brutus can sense the unrest in Geist’s mind…

Brutus takes a seat on the craggy ground. The lucario can almost hear Geist’s thoughts. “... You wanna talk about something, Geist?”

Geist sits down next to Brutus in solidarity. “Sure. I’ve got a lot on my mind…”

“I can tell.” Brutus says.

Geist chuckles slightly before carrying on. “Well, I know I’m concerned for Drake.”

“I mean, I know I am too. I don’t doubt his abilities at all, but well…”

Brutus senses a jarring thought from Geist via his aura sense. “... What was that thought?”

Geist, with eyes widened, answers after a pause. “... Considering what happened when Cyrus last piped up, I’m just hoping nothing dumb happens.”

Geist’s exact thoughts are still obscured to Brutus. “What do you mean by that, Geist???”

“I’m hoping these jerks aren’t going for the throat.” Geist crosses his arms. “With what they were pulling out last time, I’d hate to see what they’d do if they really wanted to hurt us.”

Brutus’s paws clench. “... I might know someone they would go full force on.”

Feelings of concern and surprise wash over Geist just as they touch his face.

Brutus senses Geist’s emotional shift, and quickly orders his words. “Before you, Jane, and Clair’s family entered the burrow, I heard Apollo talk about his encounter with the knights through the walls…”

In an effort to ease his anxiety, Brutus was fiddling with both the gengarite and wrist band he was meaning to set the mega stone in, and as Brutus finishes his statement, Geist notices both trinkets in Brutus’s grasp.

“Oh, Brutus!” Geist interjects.

Brutus stops fidgeting within a moment of Geist’s interjection. “Eh?”

“You brought the mega stone and band, but ya haven’t got them together yet!”

Brutus blushes with embarrassment. “Oh, right!!! I’ll do that right now!”

Brutus looks at his paws before orienting both the gengarite and the band into place. The young lucario then carefully pushes the two trinkets together, and within a moment, the stone slots into the band’s socket as if it were the opposite end of a magnet, and the band shifts from a light gray color to a coloration that matches Geist’s eyes. Slightly thrown off-balance by the band’s transformation, Geist and Brutus silently blink at the gengarite band for a moment before Brutus gains the nerve to present the band to Geist.

Geist lightly grabs the band and carefully examines it as he speaks. “... Well that was neat. Who knew you had an inert mega band in your stache?”

“I guess luck was on my side then!”

Geist fixes the band to his left wrist before smiling at Brutus. “Thanks again, kid. I owe you one.”

Closer to the surf, Drake and Jane are in the same mental state as the waves lap against the coast.

Just as the ebb and flow of the ocean has begun to radiate through both Jane and Drake, the volume of the tide’s flow lowers as they hear Clair’s voice loud and clear.

“Kids, get up and move!!!”

Drake and Jane snap out of their meditative trance, with Jane’s fur fully on end, and Drake with his club at the ready. Jane’s ears swivel in the direction of an odd noise, and as she turns, Drake turns in the same direction. A look of shock touches both their faces as they see a circular pillar of light beaming from the ground about twenty meters away that then fades away to reveal a party of five pokemon on a crystal platform. Jane instantly recognizes the Pawland knights and Victoria Gardevoir, then opts to grab Drake by the neck with her jaws and zip to a place behind a rocky barricade near where they were sitting. Jane releases her grip on Drake’s neck and places a paw on the cubone’s skull, gesturing for him to be quiet. Drake obeys, and both quietly view the proceedings as Victoria and the knights proceed toward Geist and Brutus, with Geist more poised for battle than Brutus.

Ahead of Ralei Garchomp, Percal Decidueye, Gwen Sigilyph, and Wade Swampert, and walking with pride in her steps, Victoria stops about two meters in front of Geist before unleashing her flamboyant laugh. “So you’re that troublesome tagalong to Princess Jane, yes?”

Geist remains silent as Brutus’s gaze narrows to read this strange gardevoir’s aura.

Victoria judgmentally scoffs in Geist’s direction. “... You know it would be nice if you cooperated, yes?”

Brutus senses Jane and Drake’s growing fear, but before turning his head towards them, the lucario stops. Only Gwen notices Brutus’s hesitation.

Geist puts on a smug guise. “Well excuse me, Jane is not currently with us.”

Brutus aura senses kick into high gear. His focus seamlessly hops from Geist’s lie to Victoria’s gaze shifting towards him.

Gwen’s eyes narrow as she psychically tells Victoria “He’s clearly lying, Lady Victoria.”

Brutus’s eyes light up with concern, and that’s when Victoria sees and seizes her moment. The gardevoir quickly sets her hands forward and unleashes a psychic shockwave that pushes Brutus back enough that he’s stuck in a guarding position by the time that the telekinetic force ceases to be. The knights break their near symmetrical formation (Ralei and Percal to Victoria's right and Wade and Gwen to her left) within a single moment, with Gwen and Percal both boosting into the air. Gwen begins to psychically scan the area at the same moment that Percal surges toward Brutus with a quick use of a brave bird. Brutus spots the incoming lunge and throws up a protective barricade in the same moment that Gwen psychically detects Drake’s, and more importantly, Jane’s position.

Gwen turns back towards the rest of her party and transmits a message to them all. “Jane’s here! Tail me!”

Percal gets Gwen’s transmission as soon as his brave bird connects with Brutus’s barricade. In that same moment, Brutus’s aura sense picks up on Gwen’s message. The flow of time seems to slow as several emotions flash in Brutus’s mind. The initial realization turns from surprise to fear, to dread, and within the same moment that Brutus’s protection fades away and this brazen decidueye begins to lift off in towards Jane and Drake, Brutus speedily dashes towards Geist, grabs him by this right wrist, and dashes in the direction of the knights’ pursuit.

Brutus uses his aura sense to quickly transmit his message to Geist. “Geist! Mega evolve! Just protect Drake and Jane with me!”

Geist steels his nerves and whispers his response. “Got it kid! I’ll do my best!”

Brutus comes to a swift stop, then bounds into the air with Geist in his grasp. The lucario and gengar manage to land in a place ahead of the knights (and in front of the rock that Drake and Jane are sheltering behind) more quickly than their non-flying members, and barely a moment later, Geist initiates his transformation.

A bright flash of light obscures the reformation of Geist’s body to everyone around him, including Brutus. As soon as the light fades from the battlefield, Geist readies a shadow ball faster than he ever has before and aims it directly at Percal, who just made it to the front line. The eerie energy from the shadow ball’s impact radiates through the rest of the combatants, most notably Percal seeing as he gets knocked to low health by the attack. In the same moment that Percal takes Geist’s shadow ball, Brutus blasts Gwen with a flash cannon and lowers her defenses in the same blast. In response, the knights ready their special attacks and begin to fire them off in a messy arrangement. Before the rest of the knights can act, Victoria sets up a light screen for her allies, then Gwen fires off a psybeam, followed by Wade’s hydro pump, then Percal’s energy ball, and finally Ralei’s dragon pulse. Brutus and Geist throw up their protective barriers in the nick of time.

As the sounds of the knight’s attacks ping off of their protectors’ magic barricades, Drake notices Jane as she presses her head into his side. He can feel her frizzed up fur, frantic heartbeat, and uneasy breath. After a moment, Drake places both arms around Jane in an attempt to comfort both her and ease his own anxiety.

Just as the knight’s volley ceases, Geist and Brutus’s barricades fade away, and the knights begin to ready another volley, but then hear a booming voice from behind their ranks.

“Leave my fellows alone!!!”

The unmistakable shimmer of Apollo Krookodile’s scales, coupled with his booming voice, radiate across Prism Beach as his foot slams into the sandy terrain, initiating a pokemon-made earthquake. Brutus feels the oncoming tremor and grabs Geist by the arm before making a well timed jump into the air to avoid damage. Victoria, Ralei, and Wade all suffer heavy damage from Apollo’s earthquake unlike their airborne teammates Percal and Gwen, whereas the impact of the tremor just narrowly misses Drake and Jane, still within the grasp of each other.

As the dust clears and Brutus and Geist land back on the ground, the knights that sustained damage shakily get back on their feet. Ralei is the first one back on his feet, and within a moment of finding his footing, the garchomp turns in the direction of the new combatant. After the dust fully clears from Apollo’s earthquake and Ralei has had enough time to fully recognize this shiny krookodile, Ralei’s rage boils over and he swiftly breaks off from the rest of his team to lunge straight at Apollo while cloaked in draconic energy.

Noticing their shift in attention, Gwen uses her chance and opts to ready a sky attack while her opponents aren’t paying attention just before Jane notices that the rocky protrusion that she and Drake were behind had been reduced to rubble by Apollo’s attack. Jane then gets up, and steels her nerves to join the battle as Drake stumbles across the same predicament.

Finally taking notice of Gwen’s stance, Brutus hops in front of both Jane and Drake, then summons a protective barrier just in time, Gwen collides with Brutus’s barrier before rebounding off of it, then Geist lobs a shadow ball at Gwen as soon as she’s exposed. Gwen faints from the shadow ball’s impact in the same moment that Ralei’s dragon rush gets blocked by Apollo’s protective barricade.

Victoria sees Gwen go down and gets an annoyed look on her face. She quickly utters “Oh Arceus…” under her breath before turning her attention to Wade.

Victoria telepathically barks her orders. “Pull Gwen out of there!”

Wade quickly acknowledges her command with a nod before making a lunge towards Gwen’s position. In the same moment, Jane swiftly prepares a volley of stars and sends the glittering projectiles at several angles towards Wade and Victoria. Wade shakes off the projectiles’ damage just fine, whereas Victoria is knocked backwards onto the floor thanks to the direction the stars came from. Wade nabs Gwen off of the floor, and then jumps back to where he initially jumped from with Gwen under his arm.

A distance away from most of the combatants, Apollo and Ralei are engaged in their own duel. Having missed his first dragon rush, Ralei quickly slashes at Apollo multiple times with minimal pauses between slashes. The first three slashes hit their mark, each at differing angles, before Apollo weaves out of the way of the fourth slash and grabs Ralei’s extended arm. Within an instant of Apollo’s grab, Apollo quickly strikes garchomp in the jaw with his free hand and throws Ralei towards a part of Prism Beach’s rocky exterior.

The sound of a garchomp colliding with stone radiates throughout the beach, causing the rest of the combatants to all turn their heads in the direction of the impact as bits of rock rain down on the beach.

Percal, the last pokemon in the air at this point, being the first to turn his attention back to his battle and seeing his opponents’ attention dispersed, Percal climbs in altitude, then activates his special z-crystal before beginning his descent back towards the ground.

A moment before anyone else, Jane catches sight of Percal’s speedy descent. “Watch out everyone!!!”

There is not enough time. Within a moment, a ring of arrows encircles Jane, Drake, Brutus, and Geist, then conjures a damaging pillar of phantasmic energy within the ellipse of arrows. The pillar cloaks the beach with a soft purple glow and illuminates everyone’s eyes with the same color for the next several seconds. As the ghostly pillar of energy dissipates into the air above, the state of each of the pokemon caught in the ellipse is revealed to the knights. Drake and Brutus are on their knees having survived the hit but at low health, Jane still on her feet, unaffected by the z-move thanks to her normal typing, and Geist, having sustained heavy damage from the arrow raid, very quickly reverts back to a regular gengar and collapses onto the floor.

Jane, consumed with concern upon seeing Geist’s fall, dashes to his side.

Victoria sees the KO’ed gengar and puts on a wicked grin.

Drake and Brutus get back on their feet and notice Victoria causally walking toward Jane and Geist’s position, and they quickly jump in Victoria’s way, ready to defend Geist and Jane.

Victoria stops her advance near instantaneously and gets a disgusted look on her face. “Children. Move.”

Brutus makes the first move. Within an instant, Brutus’s paw (coated in metallic energy), collides with Victoria’s face full force. As the gardevoir begins to topple over from the impact, Drake knocks Victoria off her feet with a swift use of the move iron tail.

Victoria is knocked back onto the floor with a resounding thud. The thud is heard across the beach, and all of the combatants turn their heads toward the sound’s source. Even Ralei and Apollo, the two pokemon engaged in an intense grudge match, momentarily glance toward the coast before carrying on. Wade starts to take a step forward before returning to the stance he was in before. Battling while burdened with carrying a fainted comrade seems like a bad idea…

Jumping back to the burrow mates’ side of things, Jane gently shakes Geist with her front paws in hopes to get him back on his feet quickly. Seeing the gardevoir on the ground for longer than expected, Drake and Brutus turn their attention toward Geist and Jane as she continues to ever more frantically shake the gengar. In that same moment, Percal touches down to a place behind Wade and takes some steps toward the knights’ objective, Jane Eevee, before stopping his advance.

Percal and Wade have a psychic message from Victoria enter their minds. “Stand down. I will make them suffer.”

Wade and Percal exchange looks, then obey. They take some steps backward, nearly in sync, as Victoria quietly heals herself and psychically detects her opponents’ inattention…

Geist’s ears twitch, and his eyes open after what seemed like an eternity to Jane. Jane, relieved by his return to consciousness, brushes her face against Geist’s side to comfort him.

Drake breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank Arceus…”

Brutus smiles for a moment, then gasps in pain and grasps his head. Brutus’s aura sense, having momentarily gone quiet, begins going haywire as Victoria psychically overloads his mind and, with the same psychic power, telekinetically picks him off the ground. Drake snaps into a fighting stance and readies his club, Geist jumps to his feet and similarly squares up, and Jane’s fur stands on end as she sees Brutus being held aloft.

Victoria’s stance obscures her face as she begins to speak. “Children, listen.”

There is pause. The only sound in the area is of Ralei and Apollo’s combat in the distance for a moment.

Victoria, after the pause, commands her opponents attention. “Suffer.”

The gardevoir, with great haste, psychically tosses Brutus a moderate distance away from the coast. Drake, Geist, and Jane’s eyes follow Brutus’s trajectory for just long enough that Victoria has enough confidence to make a dash toward the trio while brimming with fairy type energy. In a stroke of luck, Geist sees Victoria’s advance out of the corner of his eye.

There is barely enough time for Geist to make his move. Geist jumps ahead of Drake and Jane to get in between them and the dashing gardevoir, turns his back to Victoria, tightly grabs Drake and Jane, and braces for impact.

Victoria’s misty explosion goes off point blank to Geist’s backside. Despite the un-boosted state of this attack, Geist, with Drake and Jane firmly in his grip, goes flying even further than Brutus did on account of the blast’s level of force and Victoria’s positioning.

After the glittering dust from Victoria’s blast clears, Victoria, truly fainted this time, is seen on the ground by Percal and Wade.

“Wow. What a showy way to do that…” Percal says.

Wade turns toward Percal and presents Percal with Gwen’s fainted self. “Hold her if you will.”

Percal gives Wade a confused look. Wade loudly sighs, drops Gwendolen in front of the decidueye, and walks off toward the coast.

“Er, what?” Percal says, doubly confused. He shakily picks Gwen off the floor before he adds “Why are you going to the coast…?”

Wade keeps walking. No response.

A thought crosses the decidueye’s mind. Percal raises his volume. “Ugh, why do you keep showing our obstacles mercy, Wade?!”

Wade stops upon hearing the term ‘obstacle’. Speaking at a higher volume than Percal can muster, Wade shouts. “I’m saving this kid because no one else will!”

Wade begins to relive a memory, before snapping back to reality with excess vigor. He begins to sprint for the ocean, without a backwards glance.

#jamie w. (pokeprism) #pokemon found family #chapter 15 #pokemon #pokemon fic #beach brawl #7/20/2023

[wellsayhelloaagin]

Say My Name (Part Four)

Summary: The horrors of Struckers lab cause you and Wanda to grow closer, but time is running out.

Pairing: Wanda x female reader

Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers

Words: 4.2k

Warnings: swearing, violence, needles, blood, physical and psychological torture, mentions of character death, human experimentation, Knives, guns

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Part Four- The Plan

The door opening the next morning pulls you from sleep. You jerk awake to see a guard walking into the room, a tray of food in his hands and a small bag hanging from his arm.

“Ten minutes,” is all he says as he dumps the items on the desk before leaving.

You hesitantly rise, padding over to the table. You lift the cover of the food, revealing a few pieces of toast and a bowl of generic looking cereal. Your stomach rolls at the sight and you realise you can’t remember the last time you ate something.

Picking up the toast, you take a bite before opening the bag and looking inside. You find a few bottles of what looks like shampoo and body wash, although you can’t read the language on the labels. There is also a change of clothes and you grimace as you look down at the outfit you’re wearing, covered in dirt and sweat.

You take the items into the small bathroom area, turning the shower on and testing the water. It’s lukewarm but better than nothing, so you undress quickly and step under the spray. You let the water wash away the tear stains on your cheeks, but it does nothing to subdue the anxious feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You don’t linger in the shower, not wanting to find out what would happen if you weren’t ready when the guard came back after the ten minutes were up. You wince when you catch your reflection in the mirror as you dry yourself, your torso and back are littered with bruises of different colours and you have dark circles under your eyes. You pull on the clothes, the plain shirt and pants are surprisingly comfortable, and return back to the main room. You rummage through the bag again, finding a hairbrush and you quickly pull it through your wet locks.

You finish the toast, the food not helping to settle your stomach at all, before walking back to the bathroom to brush your teeth. You can faintly hear the sounds of water running in Wanda’s room and assume that she is also preparing herself for the day.

You finish up and as you’re walking back into your cell the door opens again and the guard returns.

“Ready?” he asks in a gruff tone and you nod. He motions with his head for you to follow him, and turns to leave the room.

You trail behind him as he twists and turns down hallway after hallway. You realise this is a different route to the one you took the day before and you feel a moment of relief knowing that you aren’t heading back to Struckers’ lab.

The guard stops at a large metal door, entering a code into the keypad on the wall next to it. The light blinks green and he opens it, gesturing for you to walk in ahead of him. You gulp in uncertainty, tentatively walking forward. Frustrated by your speed, he places a large hand on your back and pushes you forward and you stumble into the room.

It’s a dimly lit room, a desk runs the length of one wall with various screens and computers resting on it. Strucker is sitting at one of the desks and looks up at the noise you make as you come in. He smiles widely as if he were welcoming an old friend.

“Ah, Y/N, glad you could make it,” he stands and wheels a chair across the room, “please have a seat.”

You stand there stubbornly, looking at the chair with disdain. It’s facing a large window that covers one wall, but you can’t make out what’s on the other side of it, the view obscured by darkness.

“What am I doing here?” you ask instead, folding your arms across your chest.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he replies casually, “now sit. Otherwise, I’ll have Victor over there make you.”

You glance at the guard behind you, his large frame almost double your size. With a frustrated huff, you march over to the chair and sit down, ignoring Struckers’ amused smile.

“That wasn’t so hard was it?” he says patronisingly, walking over to a small wall next to the window and flicking a switch. The room beyond the window is bathed in light and you get a look at the large, open space. There’s nothing inside it, the walls a muted grey colour and the floor covered in black tiles. You furrow your brows in confusion, wondering why Strucker brought you here to look at an empty room.

A few seconds later the door opens and someone is pushed inside, and the pieces click into place. Wanda looks wildly around the room as two guards step in behind her, the door closing and locking with a loud click that echos in the empty space.

Her eyes pass over the window, nothing in her face giving away that she saw you at all, and you realise that it must be a two way mirror. Strucker presses a button on the wall and speaks, his voice ringing out through both rooms.

“Thank you for joining us Miss Maximoff,” he calls out and Wanda’s eyes narrow, trying to pinpoint where his voice is coming from. She focuses her stare on the mirror as if she could see Strucker through it and not just her own reflection.

“Fuck you,” she spits out, her voice laced with venom.

Strucker continues as if she hadn’t spoken, “I’ve brought you here today to observe what you’re capable of. Don’t worry about holding back, this room was designed to absorb a significant amount of energy. You won’t break anything.” His tone sounds reassuring, but to Wanda, it’s anything but. You know that he’s basically telling her that there is no point in trying to escape the room, that her powers can’t help her here.

You see her shoulders slump slightly as the meaning behind his words kicks in, your heart clenching painfully in your chest for the woman.

One of the guards walks forward, and Wanda tenses as he reaches for her. He fusses with her collar for a moment, the blinking light changing from red to green, and pulls it slowly from around her neck.

In the second it takes for him to step back Wanda has already summoned a ball of energy in her hand, flinging it at the guard and sending him flying back into the wall with a thud. She turns toward the other guard as he raises his gun toward her, but a sudden flood of light above you catches her eye. She halts her movements as she looks over, the mirror now a window allowing her to see into your room.

“I’d reconsider if I were you,” Strucker says simply, and you feel cold, hard metal being pressed against your temple. You watch as the red in Wanda’s hand dies out, her face a mask of guilt as she looks at you. The other guard walks over to the unconscious agent on the ground, lifting him into his arms as he leaves the room, locking the door behind him and leaving her alone.

“Now let’s try this again,” Strucker continues, “I’d like to see what you’re capable of if you wouldn’t mind demonstrating.” He presses another button, this time you hear a mechanical whirring. In the next room, you watch as three dummies rise from the floor across from Wanda.

“First let’s test your aim,” and as he talks Strucker types something into one of the computers, the targets begin moving around.

Wanda looks over at you one last time, before she turns around, quickly shooting off three bursts of energy and blasting the dummies from their stands within moments.

“Perfect,” Strucker breathes out in awe, “now again.”

This continues on for several minutes. A fresh wave of targets appearing once Wanda has finished with the last lot, their movements becoming more erratic and unpredictable, but she manages to hit every single one, all those years of training with the Avengers paying off.

As Wanda begins cooperating the gun is removed from your head, but you can still see the weapon in Victors’ hand as he stands next to you, the threat hovering in the air.

Strucker seems delighted by Wanda’s accuracy, watching on happily as the demonstration continues. “You’ve come a long way,” he tells her, and you swallow down the bile that rises to your throat at how proud he sounds.

From your years working together, you can tell that Wanda is holding back. She’s only putting in just enough effort to take down the dummies, but you know she is capable of blasting them with a lot more power. You suspect she doesn’t want Strucker to know just how powerful she is, not knowing exactly what he had planned for her.

After about ten minutes, Wanda still hasn’t broken a sweat and you can see Strucker growing suspicious. His frown deepens the longer he watches, and you can see anger flashing behind his eyes.

Without warning he lets out a frustrated growl, leaving his spot by the monitors before marching over to you. He wrenches your head back, causing you to yelp out in pain. You catch a flash of silver in the light, then something cool is pressed against your neck.

“This isn’t a game Wanda,” he barks out, and she stops, her eyes watching on fearfully as Strucker presses the blade more firmly against your throat.

You whimper as you feel the pinch of the blade as it breaks your skin, a warm drop of blood rolling down your neck and staining the collar of your shirt.

“Okay, okay, I’ll show you,” Wanda shouts, her voice desperate. “Just please don’t hurt her,” she pleads, a tear rolling down her cheek. You’re a little confused. Sure the two of you were teammates, but her reaction makes you wonder if she didn’t hate you as much as you thought.

Strucker eases his grip slightly, the knife now gently resting against your neck as he indicates for Wanda to continue.

She turns back to the dummies, this time her blast of energy is more concentrated, crashing into the target and sending it flying across the room where it hits the wall with a sickening thud, cracking in half. Wanda is panting now, the exertion quickly catching up to her.

“Better,” Strucker tells her, walking away from you and back to the window. You can see the knife in his hands, the edge of the blade tinted red with your blood. “Tomorrow when you train, make sure you don’t hold back.”

The door to her room swings open, two guards entering again. One is carrying the collar, and as he walks over to place it on Wandas’ neck you find yourself looking away, unable to stand seeing the defeated look in her eyes.

They take her out of the room and it falls dark again. You sit there unsure why they weren’t taking you back to your cell as well. The minutes dragged on as you watched Strucker review the footage, jotting down notes every so often.

He finally turns to you, waving his fingers and summoning an agent over. Your stomach drops as you recognise the equipment laid out on the tray he carries in his hands.

“Just need to run another test, nothing to worry about,” Strucker tells you as he places the gloves over his hands. You close your eyes tightly and breathe through your nose as you feel him attach the tourniquet on your arm, not wanting to pass out.

The pinch of the needle barely registers as you focus on your breathing, and soon you feel Strucker turning away from you. “That’s all,” he says dismissively and you feel two large arms lifting you to your feet. You sway a little, still a little woozy after having your blood drawn and you open your eyes to try and regain your bearings.

Victor grabs your arm and begins to drag you out of the room. You follow sluggishly as you make your way back to your cell, thankful when the door comes into view. He pulls the door open, and you walk inside, hearing the lock click behind you.

You want nothing more than to curl up on the bed, feeling the exhaustion seep into your bones, but you need to make sure that Wanda is okay first.

You rush to the wall, crouching down and peering through the hole, but you can’t see anything to indicate she is even there.

“Maximoff,” you call out, hoping she can hear you, “are you there?”

You hear the squeak of bed springs, and then a sliver of green as her eye peers back at you.

“Yeah, I’m here,” she replies.

You breathe a sigh of relief, moving to sit with your back against the wall once again.

“Are you okay?” you ask, before you scoff, “sorry dumb question. Forget I asked.”

“Yeah,” she replied, and you can hear a faint smile in her voice, “it’s was a dumb question. But I’m okay.”

You nod, and she continues. “How’s your neck?” she asks, her tone concerned.

“It’s fine,” you reassure her, “it was only a tiny nick, it didn’t even hurt.”

She hums at your reply, a comforting silence falling over the two of you.

“Did he say anything important?” she asked after a few minutes.

“No, just took my blood again and watched the tapes of your training. He was taking notes,” you respond, looking down at your arm and seeing a small bruise already appearing near your elbow.

“I just wish I knew what he had planned for me,” she confesses.

“Me too,” you agree, “but I wish you wouldn’t have shown him your full power.”

“He would have killed you Y/L/N, what could I have done?” she cries out, and you can hear the annoyed tone of her voice.

“You should have let him,” you reply, your voice rising.

“I can’t do that and you know it!” her voice has risen too, matching yours.

“And why not? It’s not like you even like me. The team will get over it,” you hear her scoff on the other side of the wall, but you’re too far gone in your anger at the whole situation. Wanda doesn’t deserve it, but she’s the only one here so you unleash. “You’ve spent the better part of the last five years hating me and what all of a sudden you decide you care if I live or die? No, just let him kill me, then he loses his leverage. Much easier for you to escape on your own.”

You’re standing now, yelling at the wall, wishing it were Strucker in front of you. Your misplaced anger begins to die, your next words coming out in a defeated tone, “better dead than a test subject.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth you regret them. The two rooms are shrouded in silence again, but this time the air is thick with tension. You close your eyes guiltily, sinking back down to the ground to rest against the wall. In your rage, you had forgotten that Wanda herself had already gone through this, had been one of Strucker’s test subjects.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, unsure if Wanda is even still listening, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s ok,” you hear her reply. “Maybe if I had known exactly what I was getting into before-” she pauses, taking a shuddering breath, “I might have thought the same thing.”

You don’t know what to say to that so you say nothing, silence washing over the two of you once again.

//

Over the next few days, you fall into a routine. You’re woken each morning by a guard bringing you breakfast and some clean clothes. You eat, shower, and brush your teeth before you’re taken back to the training rooms.

Wanda is brought in and Strucker asks her to demonstrate her skills, taking notes and praising her. He has tested her speed and agility, the extent of her powers, her abilities of flight and thought manipulation, and her hand to hand combat. Each day after Wanda is pulled from the room, exhausted and emotionally drained, Strucker takes your blood, testing it for god knows what. Your arm feels like a pin cushion, littered with small bruises and needle marks.

Each day he delightfully informs you that the results are still positive and that it won’t be long until you can be training alongside Wanda. The thought makes your skin crawl.

The bruises on your torso have faded, and your ribs only hurt when you twist in certain positions. You were glad you were healing, but dreading the day that Strucker deemed you healthy enough to begin his experiment.

After that, you’re taken back to your room where more food awaits you, barely palatable, but you can’t afford to be picky right now. You eat quickly, before washing up for the night.

The nights were your favourite. You would spend hours talking to Wanda through your shared wall, learning more about her as the days went by.

There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between the two of you that you wouldn’t discuss your current predicament, instead you focus on lighter topics.

She entertained you with the stories of her time with the Avengers before you knew them and you told her some of your more interesting moments at the S.H.I.E.L.D academy. You got to know her likes and her dislikes, what made her laugh, and what she did when she was upset. The more you talked to Wanda, the more you regretted all your years of pushing her away. Although to be fair she had started it.

You had asked her about it on your third night there, the question tumbling from your lips without thinking.

“Why did you hate me so much when you first met me?” you asked, and Wanda falls silent on the other side of the wall.

“I never hated you,” she answered, her voice soft.

“Could have fooled me,” you joked, trying to bring back the light mood.

“Look there’s a reason for why I treated you so badly, but that’s a face to face conversation. I want to be able to apologise properly. Remind me when we get out of here.” Her words left you curious, but you didn’t push.

“If we get out of here,” you muttered under your breath, but Wandas’ frustrated sigh let you know she had heard you.

“Tell me about your brother,” you blurted out in an effort to change the subject, “I never got the chance to meet him.”

There’s a pause and you worry that you may have crossed a line. When you first met the team, Natasha had mentioned that Wanda had a brother, but that she never brought him up to anyone.

“I think you would have liked him,” you hear her say finally. “Where do I begin with Pietro? He was always the loudest person in the room, even when we were younger. He was my protector, always looking out for me. He claimed it was his duty as my big brother, constantly reminding me that he was twelve minutes older like it was some huge difference.” She pauses, and you smile to yourself hearing the love evident in her voice.

“I would follow him everywhere, but he never complained. He was my best friend. He knew all my secrets and I knew all of his. We got into so much mischief as kids, he was always coming up with schemes and pranks to play. They were mostly harmless, but one time he accidentally blew up a barn. He had managed to get hold of some fireworks from god knows where, and we were letting them off in a field with some friends. Only, he ended up tilting it in the wrong direction and it flew straight inside. Luckily it was empty, but it was full of hay and caught fire pretty quick. I’d never seen him run so fast before in my life.” She laughs at the memory, the first proper laugh you’ve heard from her since this whole ordeal began.

“Even as we grew older he still managed to find trouble wherever he went. He was such a flirt, he would charm all the girls in the city. They fell for it every time. But once they found out about each other, oh man he was done for. I’d never seen so many angry women in my life.” You can hear the amusement in her voice, and you chuckle as she paints a picture of her brother in your mind.

“He was such a jerk sometimes, but he was loyal. And he would do anything to help someone in need. Once we got our powers, he used to run through the markets, taking bits of food from all the vendors and giving it to the local orphans. He was lucky he never got caught, but he told me he didn’t care.” You close your eyes as she talks, her voice soothing.

“That’s how he died, you know?” her voice sounds sad now, “he was protecting a kid. Ultron was shooting at a little boy and Clint, and Pietro put himself between them and the bullets. He died a hero.” You hear her sniffle on the other side of the wall, and you find yourself once again wishing you could pull her into your arms to comfort her.

“I spent so long hating them, wishing it was them and not Pietro. But I knew that he wouldn’t have wanted that. He died to protect them for a reason.” She sounds proud as she talks about her brothers’ sacrifice.

“You’re right,” you say when she falls silent, “I think I would have liked him.”

//

About a week after your capture, you find yourself once again in the training room. Wanda has just been taken out, and you wait for Strucker to draw your blood before you go back to your room.

Only this time he doesn’t call forward the agent with the equipment.

“I have good news, my dear,” he tells you as he swings his chair around to face you, an excited gleam in his eye. “I’ve finished all my tests, and everything looks good to go. Tomorrow we can start the transformation.”

You instantly feel sick to your stomach, fear claws at your throat and you can feel your heart rate pick up.

“B-but, you said I had to heal f-first,” you stutter, hating the way your voice betrays you, “m-my ribs-”

“Oh no, they’ll be fine,” he says dismissively, waving Victor forward to take you back to your cell. “Make sure you get plenty of rest, you have a big day ahead of you.”

Your legs feel like jelly as Victor pulls you to your feet, stumbling as you move toward the door. Your mind is in a haze as you walk back to the room, running through possible scenarios. Strucker had never elaborated on exactly how he planned on turning you into a weapon, what supposed powers he wanted to give you, so your imagination began to conjure up ideas, each possibility more horrifying than the last.

You barely register reaching your door, walking inside with racing thoughts and shallow breaths. You can feel the panic rising again, your thoughts fast and chaotic. You clutch at your chest as you feel it tighten, an unknown weight crushing your lungs and preventing you from getting a proper breath.

You crawl over to the wall where Wanda is already waiting for you, trying to appear calmer than you felt.

“You okay?” she questions, sensing your distress.

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut to try and block out your thoughts. You gasp out a shuddering breath as you try to answer her, your voice failing you.

“Did something happen?” she tries again, her voice tinged with panic.

“T-tomorrow,” you choke out before you dissolve into sobs, the fear and hysteria boiling over.

You don’t know how long you lie there crying, but once again you’re drawn from your thoughts by Wandas’ voice. She’s singing again, the same beautiful melody as last time.

As she hears your sobs quieten, she brings the song to a close. “What happened?” she whispers, afraid to set you off, but needing to make sure you’re ok.

“Strucker has finished his tests, he’s starting the experiment on me tomorrow,” you’re surprised you get the words out, even more surprised that they don’t set you off again. But all you feel is numb.

Wanda is quiet on the other side of the wall as she digests your words. You stare blankly ahead, your mind empty.

“No,” Wanda states, and you furrow your brows at her statement.

“What?” you question, your voice hollow and flat.

“No, he won’t start tomorrow. I have a plan,” you can hear the determination in her voice, and the panic begins to fill you again. Only this time you’re not worried about yourself, you’re worried about her.

“You can’t, it’s too dangerous,” you try and reason with her, “I can’t risk you getting hurt.”

“Just trust me,” Wanda replies, her voice certain.

So you do.

Part Five

Taglist: @olsensnpm @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @imfuckinggenius @cristin-rjd @purplemeetsblue @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo @marrymemcgrath @yeetus-thyself @lostgreekgod @b0mbdotc0m @blackxwidowsxwife @daenerys713 @srtamercurio @stupidsapphicsstuff @oksana-moods

#wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda marvel #wanda mcu #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff fanfic #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you #wanda imagine #wanda maximoff imagine #angst #enemies to lovers #elizabeth olsen #s writes stuff #kate if you find this no you didn't

[bagsley]

my top ten favorite wincest fics of all time... completely unsurprising that over half of them are candle beck!

Last Day on Earth by candle_beck

PODFIC

Sam has one day to live. You can imagine how Dean feels. (Probably my favorite wincest fic of all time. Dean’s frantic heart-stopping terror over Sam is just the most familiar version of him, you know?? It feels so true.)

Dean turns on his brother, fists Sam's collar and hugs him very hard. His face feels hot and slippery against Sam's neck, and Dean doesn't care, thinks clearly: fuck it. Fuck it, as Sam hugs him back just as fierce, fuck the highway and the night sky and the scripture being read in the background, the heavens and the earth and the light, the cattle and the creeping thing and anything else you can name. Every matchstick, every initialed square of sidewalk, every abandoned heart--fuck it all.

Ascalon by candle_beck

PODFIC

There are dragons in the world. (Breathlessly beautiful. Fantastic use of second person pov.)

You've always loved your brother and you've always been fucked up on one level or another, and somewhere along the line it got all screwed up in your head, all your history rewritten.

You love Dean because you're fucked up. You're fucked up because you love Dean. Being fucked up and loving Dean are the same thing.

Until at last, inevitably: the manner in which you love Dean is fucked up.

You should have seen that coming.

But he makes you so stupid.

American Myth by candle_beck

PODFIC

As long as you have a car, you are free, and other lies my country taught me. (Sam and Dean lose home, but only for about five hours.)

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?” Dean asks, a lace of impatience through his voice. “Apparently I bug you just by existing, so really, Sam, what do you want?”

That blows through Sam like a hurricane, blasting out the corpses and debris, the black curse shadowing his life, the twenty-odd years of vigilante violence and brotherhood, stripping him down to the elemental, and he looks at Dean feeling crystallized, thinking in astonishment, you.

Flying Weight by fleshflutter

Recently soulful Sam, vampire Dean. Sam feels in constant bitter competition with the ghost of his soulless self. (Whew.)

There's a moment he remembers very clearly, one of the last he does remember: He's in the graveyard at Stull, and his arm is drawn back, fist clenched with the force of mountains, and the sun catches his eye, and just for a heartbeat, Lucifer is blind, can't see a damned or blessed thing. That's when Sam sees Dean.

That's the moment Sam hangs his humanity on.

Welcome to Fog City by candle_beck

PODFIC

Sam's one blind spot is big enough to drive a truck through.

It was also mortifying, paralyzing at times, but Dean wasn't even horrified so much as familiarly resigned. Already he'd grown up as a refugee with demons trying to kill his whole family, and now he was irrevocably attracted to his kid brother too. Clearly Dean Winchester's life was a spectacular cosmic joke, a series of rugs to be pulled out from under him, and luckily his sense of humor was dark enough that he could at least appreciate the absurdity of the whole thing. This was just one more ridiculous cross that God had given him to bear.

So Dean went on through the highway world. Radio stations delighted in informing him that the hits would keep right on coming, and Dean didn't know what to expect next. Leprosy, maybe. A plague of locusts. The violent loss of one of his hands.

Instead, Sam left, ran away to California one lovely day in the late summer. It was not the worst thing that could have happened, but it was certainly in the top five. The weight of that particular cross had nearly smashed Dean into the earth.

Second Map of the World by candle_beck

They're on a lucky streak, and then Sam does something ill-considered, and the plot thickens.

Dean drove out of Topeka as if trying to outrun the shock wave of a nuclear explosion. Ninety, a hundred, a hundred and ten miles an hour, blowing past strings of red taillights, huge rattling trucks like dinosaurs with loose bones. Dean had the tape turned up loud enough that the speakers fuzzed. His hands were locked on the wheel.

The Firefly that Loved Metallica by fleshflutter

Dean's soul in a bottle.

[Sam] faces down demons and drives a four-day old corpse across the country on a hope so thin it wouldn't stand up to a light rain.

Waiting Games by Nutkin

Sam's having sex visions.

Dean's dug into himself deeply, become this tricky maze of raised hackles and sensitive spots that he's starkly open about. So open about, in fact, that it's like they've been worn into calluses, like they aren't even vulnerabilities anymore. He can bark out at Sam that he's the most important thing in his life, and it doesn't sound like he's admitting something private - it's just the same way he'd say, Give Satan my best, before ending a spirit. He picks and chooses the things he's embarrassed by, the things he lets become issues, and the way he feels about Sam isn't one of them. It's not a bruise that can be pushed on - maybe it was, once, but in the time Sam was off going to keggers and building a fort of textbooks and love letters, Dean just cemented it into one of the things that drives him.

Be Awake by candle_beck

Dean has a concussion.

"I'm sorry," Sam said as he sat Dean down on the bed, stepped back. He had a hard flush on his face, a downcast shadow in his eyes. "Shouldn't have gotten mad, I, I shouldn't have left you out there."

Dean shook his head, smiling dazedly at him. Sam's edges were blurred and his hair looked funny, fuzzing out like a halo, but the lines of his face stayed sharp, Dean's last remaining constant. He couldn't remember what Sam was talking about, but he said:

"It's okay, Sammy,"

because it was, and Sam would see that, Sam was smart. Dean wanted to get that serious look off his brother's face, win a smile from him no matter how far south the night had gone, but the fog was building in his mind again, rolling down hills to obscure his cities, ground his airplanes, wreck his ships.

Dean held his wavering head steady, fixed his eyes on Sam's face with the last of his focus. He managed to say, "Exit light," and then pitched backwards on the bed.

Gone Again by candle_beck

Harrowing and suffocatingly, inevitably heartbreaking. They never stood a chance.

The dream is different this time.

This time they’re in a motel room and the walls are on fire. It’s Sam’s fault; every time he touches something it goes up in flames.

Dean can hear his hair crackling and he jerks his head, watching the sparks fly. Sam’s close enough that Dean can see the firework reflection in his eyes. He flattens his hand next to Dean’s head and an outline of fire flares around his fingers.

“You gotta stop,” Dean says, barely able to breathe. These motel rooms are as flimsy as cardboard; if one part burns the whole thing will go.

And Sam’s laughing and shaking his head, licking at Dean’s throat and it’s hotter than fire could ever hope to be.

“I was made for this,” Sam tells him. “So were you.”

Dean’s eyes are raw and torn and wet but it might be blood. His shirt is smoldering and growing holes like black-edged tumors that Sam follows with his fingers, smearing soot on the bare skin of Dean’s stomach. Stuff that won’t wash away, like the blisters Sam’s mouth is leaving on Dean, the mad incendiary glee in his eyes.

#wincest #fic rec #spn

[fanmoose12]

friday, i’m in love

“Before becoming an official member of our gang, though, you need to do those four things."

"Alright," Hange nods, listening intently.

"First!" Isabel raises her index finger. "You need to punch Zeke in a face, but I'm sure it's bound to happen."

Hange giggles, getting excited. "What's next?"

"Second, you need to skip a class, and you've already done it, so!" Isabel clasps her shoulder. "Congratulations on that one."

Farlan pats her knee too, and Hange shows them a proud smile.

"Third, you need to smoke at least one cigarette."

"I can't," her smile falls, as Hange briefly shakes her head. "I have asthma."

"I'll do it for you then," Farlan offers, walking to the other side of the rooftop to do just that.

"And the last thing! The most important one!" Isabel makes a dramatic pause, shifting her gaze to Levi just for a second, before looking back on Hange with a mischievous smile. She winks and lowers her voice, making sure that Levi doesn’t hear her.

"The last condition - you have to kiss one of us."

For the most kids her age, moving to a different town and changing schools is a fate worth than death. And, while Hange is a little saddened to say goodbye to the friends she made at her old school and more than a little saddened to leave her dad behind, she is also excited at the prospect of starting a new life.

Changing schools means she can meet new people, and meeting new people means she can make new friends.

And Hange, unlike most of her peers, isn't afraid of change. She welcomes it actually, preferring new experiences over dull and repetitive routine.

They move to a new town and to a small two-story house in the quiet suburbs. It’s a little different from the house they used to live before, a little quieter too, but it’s lovely. Hange likes it instantly. She’s ready to call it a new home.

The first couple of weeks are awfully busy. Hange and her mother unpack their things and buy new furniture. They meet their neighbors and her mother starts making new friends.

Hange can’t wait to meet her new friends at school too.

And so very soon, the long-awaited day comes.

***

When it finally does, Hange is brimming with excitement.

She puts on her glasses and dresses in her favorite clothes that was washed and ironed by her mother the evening before, ties her hair in a ponytail, grabs a lunch box that was waiting for her on a kitchen counter, kisses her mother's cheek, yells "love you!" right into her ear, making her wince and push laughing Hange away, hurries to hop on her bike and makes her way to the school.

She makes a new friend in a face of one Moblit Berner approximately three minutes and forty six seconds later after crossing a threshold and passing below a banner that read Sina High School.

Moblit is a nice and friendly boy, even if a bit quiet and timid, compared to her. Although, Hange also has to admit that compared to her, almost everyone seems to be quiet and timid.

Moblit is incredibly kind and he offers to show Hange around the school. He agrees to walk her to every class and even draws a small, but very detailed map for her.

During lunch, Moblit remains by her side. As they slowly eat their food, Hange points at random students who pique her interest and Moblit shares with her his opinion of them.

"That's Erwin and Mike," Moblit says, when Hange asks him about two blondes that sit in the very middle of the cafeteria. "Erwin is president of a debate club, also his father works at our school, he's a history teacher. Mike is a captain of a football team. They're nice guys, and Erwin is always ready to help, if you struggle with a class. Although, he's not that good at math..."

Hange nods, absorbing the information and committing it to memory. Her gaze lingers at Erwin and Mike for a few more seconds, before it moves on to a next target, this time two petite redheads.

"Ah, Nifa and Petra," Moblit fondly smiles. "They're both cheerleaders. Petra is also a member of a drama club, and Nifa helps me manage a biology club."

"Biology club?" Hange lights up, carelessly tossing her sandwich onto the table. She can’t believe her luck. She loves science and was the president of a chemistry club back in her old school. She didn’t dare to hope that the new school would give her an opportunity to continue pursuing her passions. "Can I join?"

"You really want to?" Moblit asks, biting his lip. Doubt is written all over his face. "We don't have a lot of members..."

"Of course, I want to!" Hange exclaims much louder than she intended to. As a result, she attracts attention of some students who turn to look at her. Some seem curious, others - annoyed. Hange pays no mind to either. She grabs Moblit by the shoulders and stares deep into his eyes. "I'm so excited already! When is your next meeting?"

"This Friday..."

"Awesome! Expect me to be here!" she clasps Moblit's back, almost making him choke, and then sweeps her gaze across the cafeteria, looking for someone interesting.

"There!" she points at the girl with long, dark hair that sits in the far corner of the room with a blonde boy by her side. "Who is that?"

"That's Pieck," Moblit answers. "She's involved in a drama club too, although she mostly just helps with painting the backgrounds for the scenes. And that's... all I know about her. She's nice, and I think she's dating Porco, or, maybe, Porco is dating Reiner, or, maybe, Reiner is dating Berthold... sorry," he rubs his neck in embarrassment. "I don't really pay attention to that kind of stuff, and their relationship is pretty complicated."

"Don't worry," Hange pats his arm. "I get confused with that kind of stuff all the time. Now! Who is that?"

Her finger points at a bespectacled guy with blonde hair.

Moblit's face twists in disgust. "That's Zeke Yeager. He's the biggest jerk and bully of our school. Try to stay away from him, and—" he nods at the redheaded boy sitting next to him. "And his pal Floch. He's even worth than Zeke."

Hange wants to ask more about them, but then she notices a boy, who sits in the furthest corner of the cafeteria.

Hange is sure that wearing leather jackets is prohibited in this school, but this boy doesn't seem to care. He is dressed in a white t-shirt and a big, black leather jacket. His hair is black too and the longer strands of it obscure his eyes. But even that can’t hide the fact that the boy is wearing a displeased, irritated expression. Hange wonders about the reason for the sour face.

"Hey!" she points her finger at him. "Who is that shorty?"

"Shh!" Moblit hurriedly lowers her hand, his eyes widening in panic. "Don't point your finger at him! And, for the love of god, don't call him shorty, Hange! Better yet, try not to talk or even look at him."

"Eh?" Hange frowns. "What do you mean? What's wrong with that guy?"

"That's Levi Ackerman," Moblit says, lowering voice to a hushed whisper. “Those two are his best friends – Isabel and Farlan,” he shows Hange a small redheaded girl and a tall guy with white hair that sit next to Levi. “And you should never mess with them."

"So they’re worse than Zeke and his friend?"

"Much worse," Moblit confirms, his eyes grim and serious. "Everyone says they’re a part of some gang. They say that Isabel is a thief, and Farlan is an arsonist. And Levi Ackerman…” Moblit purses his lips, a shadow of fear flushing across his face. “Once he broke Mike's jaw for calling him a midget, and some say that he had killed a man with his bare hands just for pouring out coffee on him. Whatever happens, try to stay away from the three of them, Hange."

"If you say so..." Hange murmurs. She takes a bite of her sandwich, continuing to stare at the dark-haired boy. Suddenly he looks up, and Hange almost chokes.

His eyes bore into hers with a surprising intensity. They are cold and grey, like the edge of a knife.

Hange lifts her lips in what she hopes is a friendly smile.

Levi Ackerman scoffs and looks away.

Hange continues watching him, waiting for their eyes to meet again. They don’t.

But as Hange leaves the cafeteria, trailing after Moblit like a little lost duckling, she can't get the look he had given her out of her mind.

Levi Ackerman... What an enigma.

  ***

It is Friday afternoon, and the sun is gently passing through the already yellowing leafs. The warm light paints the world in golden colors, making it seem more warm and welcoming.

Hange, however, has no time to enjoy the beauty around her. It is Friday afternoon, and she is running late.

She was so excited for the first biology club meeting, that’s the only thing she could think about for the whole week. She gathered all the science projects she had done at the old school and she prepared a small presentation for other club members and she even thought of a few suggestions to expand the club, which, as she understood from Moblit’s words, was quite small.

All this work, all these preparations and now she is running late, because she stayed after class to talk with Mr. Smith and forgot about the time.

And, to make matters worse, she is lost. The part of school she finds herself in is completely unfamiliar to her, and she can’t quite understand how she got here in the first place.

Cursing herself, Hange takes out a map Moblit made for her, tracing the drawing with her index finger and muttering Moblit’s instructions under her breath.

“Go to the second floor, take the first turn to the left and then walk to the end of the hallway…”

A second later it dawns at her – she is in the wrong wing and on the wrong floor.

Muttering another curse, Hange turns around and rushes to the stairs. Holding the research notes she wrote the night before to her chest with one hand, she keeps Moblit’s map in front of her eyes, checking it after each turn she takes.

She is just about to enter a hallway that leads to the biology classroom, when she collides with something. Stumbling, she falls down, her papers flying around.

She blinks a few times, trying to get a sense of her surroundings. Moblit didn’t draw anything that would prepare her for the obstacle that caused her fall.

She slowly looks up. In front of her, seemingly larger than life is a pair of steely grey eyes.

Levi Ackerman, Hange realizes immediately. He is on the floor too, right next to her. And he doesn’t seem too pleased about it.

She gulps. For the first time in her life, Hange doesn’t know what to say.

“The hell you’re wearing those glasses for?” the boy growls, getting up. “Watch where you’re going, four-eyes.”

“Ah, sorry!” Hange exclaims. His rude, throaty voice does a great job of pushing her out of stupor. “I’m just new at this school, and so I got little lost, but, thankfully, my friend Moblit drew me a map, and that’s why I didn’t look where I was—”

“Jesus,” Levi groans. “Shut the fuck up. Give me that shit.”

Before Hange can protest, he snatches the map out of her hands. His eyebrows form a line as he studies the small drawing.

And suddenly Hange remembers what Moblit had said about Levi Ackerman and his warnings to stay away from him.

Once he broke Mike's jaw.

These words ring loudly inside her mind. She had seen Mike in the hallways, he is quite a large guy. And Hange, despite being quite tall for her age, isn’t nearly as big as him. If Levi is able to break Mike’s jaw, what can he do to her?

Hange never had her jaw broken before, so by all accounts it should be a new experience for her. She likes new experiences. But she also likes her jaw and the prospect of having it broken… isn’t all that exciting.

Still sitting on a floor, Hange watches the boy warily.

“You’re looking for a biology class, right?” he asks after he finished studying the map.

“Yes,” Hange nods cautiously.

Suddenly she remembers a girl she used to play with at the playground near her old house. The girl had broken an arm once, after falling off a swing. She screamed and cried and then her mother took her to the doctor, and when she came back, she couldn’t play with little Hange anymore, because her arm was in a sling and she couldn’t move it for almost a whole month.

And that was just an arm. Hange can only imagine how much a broken jaw would hurt. She really isn’t that keen on finding out.

“Of course, you’re a nerd, how I didn’t guess it before,” Levi mutters, as he starts to walk away.

Hange stares at his back, wondering if the storm had passed.

Evidently, it hadn’t – Levi turns around. He arches his eyebrow, looking at Hange quizzically.

“Did you hit your head or something, four-eyes? Get up, I’ll lead you to the class. You’re in the wrong wing, idiot.”

Hange is still confused – wasn’t he going to beat her up? But then she remembers the reason for this whole mess.

“The meeting!” she cries out, hurriedly gathering the papers that are scattered across the floor.

As she kneels on the wooden floor, picking up the papers, Levi’s words finally register in her mind.

“Wait!” she looks up at him. “You said I’m in a wrong wing again?”

“Well, aren’t you slow,” he deadpans. “Here,” he hands her the last one of her papers. For a second, their fingers brush against each other, and Hange finds out that in contrast to his eyes, Levi’s hands are warm. But before she can decide if his skin is soft or not, Levi pulls away, turning around. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

“You’re… going to lead me to the class?” Hange clarifies, cautiousness returning to her face.

“That’s what I said, right?” Levi starts to walk, not looking back at her. “Or is your hearing as shitty as your eyesight?”

“Not really,” Hange chuckles, following after him.

Levi Ackerman isn’t going to beat her up. She is almost certain.

  ***

“Hange, you’re here!” as soon as she enters the classroom, Moblit is beside her. “I thought you forgot about our meeting!”

“How could I?” Hange grins, easing his worry. “I was preparing the whole week for this! I just got a bit lost on my way here, sorry for being late.”

“You got lost? How did you find us then?” the petite redhead walks up to her too. 

Not the redhead – Nifa, cheerleader and Moblit’s friend, Hange remembers.  

“You used my map, right?” Moblit asks.

“Eh, no,” Hange rubs her neck, feeling a little shy. “Levi helped me get here.”

“Levi?” Nifa’s eyes widen in surprise. “As in the Levi Ackerman? The scariest guy of our school?”

“I guess?” Hange answers. “He was right there—” she opens the door to show Levi to Nifa and Moblit, he couldn’t have left far away, he had walked her to the door, after all, but unfortunately – the hallway is empty. She turns back to Moblit and Nifa with a helpless chuckle. “And he already left…”

“Are you sure that was Levi?” Moblit narrows his eyes a fraction, looking doubtful.

“I…” before she can reply, Hange remembers that she didn’t actually ask for his name. But those grey eyes… they can’t belong to anyone else. At the same time, Hange senses that no matter what she is going to say, neither Moblit nor Nifa would believe her.

And it doesn’t matter, not really. After all, they have a more pressing matter on their hands right now.

The vast and enigmatic world of molecular biology.

She clasps her hands together, attracting attention of the two boys, who stand at the other side of the classroom. They look up and Hange smiles, making a mental note to introduce herself to them later.

She unzips her bag, taking out her laptop and gathering her notes. “I’ve prepared a small report!” she announces, opening the first slide of her forty minutes long presentation.

   ***

It is a nice day. Despite the calendar showing that it is already October, the weather is warm enough to mistake it for the end of May.

The sky is clear and blue, the apple Hange is eating is juicy and sweet and her conversation with Moblit is engaging and fun.

With a bright smile on her lips, Hange lifts her face up to the sky, squinting against the blinding light. The sunbeams dance across her skin, kissing her cheeks and nose with their gentle warmth.

It is a nice day. But then a shadow obscures her view of the sun.

Hange opens her eyes, frowning at the sudden intrusion.

Next to her, Moblit falls silent. In front of her, Floch and two of his friends smirk, looking down on them.

"Get lost, Zoe," Floch tells flippantly, sparring her no more than a single glance. "Your boyfriend and I need to have a little chat."

Hange feels her chest fill with rage.

"Like hell I would!" she raises to her feet, fists clenching in anger.

In a month she spent at Sina High, she learnt a lot about Floch. She learnt that he is stupid and simpleminded, cruel and cowardly. Most of all, he is a bully.

Hange hates bullies with all the fierceness of her heart.

She had her fair share of taunting and mockery before. The kids made fun of her for wearing glasses, for having a large nose, for being too loud or too weird. Hange knows that the only one way to deal with endless jabs and sneers is to fight back. And over the course of her sixteen years of life she got amazingly good at it.

"Hange—" Moblit whispers, grasping her sleeve desperately. "Hange, please, do as he says."

"No!" Hange declares, glaring fiercely at Floch. "I'll stay with you, Moblit."

"Your mistake," Floch huffs, the smirk on his face growing wider. Behind his back, his friends flex their fists. "One nerd or two, what does it matter? I'll easily deal with both of you."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Hange warns, narrowing her eyes at him.

Getting into a fight isn't anything new for her. Unfortunately, having her ass kicked isn't anything new for her either. Even so, she isn't going to back down.

Hange braces herself, raising her fists and putting her left leg behind her for support. Watching Floch closely, she wonders where he would hit first. Her left or right cheek? Her nose or jaw? Or maybe, he'd go to the legs first? Hange doubts it, Floch doesn't seem to be that smart.

He raises his fist and Hange closes her eyes, preparing herself for the sharp sting of pain.

It never comes. Instead, a shadow appears in front of her again, this one much darker.

A second passes, and nothing happens. And then she hears Floch's feeble whimper.

Hange gingerly opens her eyes.

Holding Floch's fist in his hand, Levi Ackerman is standing before her, his wide back, as always, clad in black leather jacket.

"What's the matter, Floch?" he speaks in a low voice. "Got tired of picking fights with middle schoolers?"

Floch doesn't answer, his eyes turning wide, and Levi twists his arm, throwing him on the ground.

"Get the fuck out of here," he spits out, turning away as though just the sight of Floch disgusts him.

Not needing him to tell twice, Floch shoots to his feet and runs, his friends following after him.

Hange watches them with deep sense of satisfaction. She would prefer to make Floch leave with the use of her own fists, but that— that is nice too. And totally painless.

"We should go as well, Hange," Moblit mumbles, tugging insistently at her shirt.

"You go first," Hange answers, not taking her eyes off Levi. "I need to go to the bathroom."

"Hange..." Moblit's quiet voice is disapproving, and Hange turns to look at him, curving her lips in a smile. "I'll be right behind you, don't worry."

"Just be careful," he instructs at last, before grabbing his bag and walking away.

With Floch and Moblit gone, Hange is left alone with Levi.

Or... not.

As Hange looks around, she realizes that Levi had left too. By now, his dark figure is nothing more than a small dot on a horizon. Hange hurries after him.

"Hey, hey, Levi! Wait!" she desperately tries to catch up with him. Levi doesn't slow down.

"Go away, four-eyes," he mutters without even looking at her.

Like hell she would.

Hange speeds up and in a matter of seconds, she reaches Levi. Huffing and painting, she struggles to keep up with his confident stride. But she doesn’t give up.

"Hey— hey, I just—" she inhales, then swiftly exhales. "I just wanted to ask," another deep breath, this one's much shakier. "Why did you help me?"

Levi stops long enough to turn around and throw her a dark look. "I didn't."

"You did!" Hange persists. "For the second time!"

"Leave me alone," he scoffs and starts to walk again.

Naturally, Hange follows after him. Levi passes the main entrance to school and heads to the side door.

He's going to skip a class, Hange realizes.

She has never skipped a class before. How exciting!

"It makes me think," she continues talking as though she didn't hear his last words. "Maybe, you're a bit misunderstood. I don't think you're as scary as everyone thinks you are."

"I'm much scarier," Levi mutters, moving up the stairs.

He is going up on a rooftop, Hange guesses. Again, she has never been on a rooftop before. Double excitement!

"And if you don't wish me to show you how scary I can be, I advise you to leave me alone."

"Nope," Hange smiles, not moved by his threat. She almost has him figured out. Levi Ackerman, the presumable gangster and the most fearsome student of Sina High isn't quite as terrible as he appears to be. "You won't hurt me."

"And why the fuck not?" Levi grunts, pushing the door to the rooftop open. He tries to shove it in her face, but Hange is faster, and she passes the threshold before he can push the door closed.

"Because you're nice," Hange easily answers.

"I'm really not."

Pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, Levi walks up to edge of rooftop and plops down on the floor. Hange sits next to him. She turns her head around and watches the grand blue sky above her. At the sight of it all, breath catches in her throat.

Paying her no mind, Levi takes out a pack of cigarettes and puts a stick into his mouth.

He lifts a lighter, when Hange speaks.

"Can you smoke later?" she asks carefully. "You see, I have asthma..."

Levi curses under his breath. He sighs and puts the cigarette down. Hange beams.

"I was right after all," she bumps her shoulder against his. "You are a nice."

"I'm going to push you off the edge," he promises darkly. Hange's smile doesn't falter.

"Don't you have to be in class?" Levi questions. "Why are you bothering me?"

"You're nice," Hange repeats. "I want to be your friend."

"I don't."

Hange snickers. As if she would give him a choice.

They don't speak after that. Hange, still smiling, returns to gazing up at the sky, lazily watching the movements of clouds.

Levi seems to be slowly coming with the grips that to get rid of her he most probably would have to act on his threat and push her off the edge. With a sour expression, he braces his hands against the railing and stares at the ground below.

The silence, surprisingly, is pleasant and comfortable. It is broken by the sound of the door opening. Hange turns around, and sees Levi's friends - Farlan and Isabel - climb on a rooftop.

As they notice her, their faces brighten up.

"Levi!" Isabel runs up to him. "So you finally gathered enough courage? I'm so proud of you!"

"Izzy," Farlan takes her by the elbow, just before she can latch herself onto Levi. "I don't think he has."

"Eh?" Hange shifts her gaze from Farlan and Isabel to Levi. Something is going on, but she can't pinpoint what exactly.

"Shut up," Levi barks at his friends. "Four-eyes just decided to follow me up here, and now I can’t get rid of her."

"I just wanted to thank you," Hange grumbles, crossing hands on her chest and pursuing her lips in a pout. "For saving me from Floch and his friends."

"Oh!" Isabel's eyes lighten up. She jumps to Hange's side. "Big brother saved you?" she asks with a dreamy smile. "Levi, that's so—"

"Shut up, Isabel," he growls. "I'm not joking."

"Killjoy," Isabel whispers, throwing him a dark look.

Farlan takes a sit next to Hange, offering her his hand. "I'm Farlan," he says with a friendly smile. "And that’s," he gestures to the girl. "As you may have gathered, is our friend Isabel. Nice to finally meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Hange answers, shaking his hand. "I'm—"

"Hange," Farlan interrupts. "Yes," he briefly glances at Levi, his eyes alight with amusement. "We know."

"We should be friends!" Isabel announces, throwing her arm around her shoulders.

"I would like to," Hange replies. "But Levi doesn't seem to agree."

"Pay him no mind," Isabel waves her hand. "He’s just naturally that grumpy. As for Farlan and me, we’re ready to accept you in our ranks. Before becoming an official member of our gang, though, you need to do those four things."

"Alright," Hange nods, listening intently.

"First!" Isabel raises her index finger. "You need to punch Zeke in a face, but I'm sure it's bound to happen."

Hange giggles, getting excited. "What's next?"

"Second, you need to skip a class, and you've already done it, so!" Isabel clasps her shoulder. "Congratulations on that one."

Farlan pats her knee too, and Hange shows them a proud smile.

"Third, you need to smoke at least one cigarette."

"I can't," her smile falls, as Hange briefly shakes her head. "I have asthma."

"I'll do it for you then," Farlan offers, walking to the other side of the rooftop to do just that. Levi, who still holds a pack in his palm, doesn't join him, not moving from his place next to Hange.

"And the last thing! The most important one!" Isabel makes a dramatic pause, shifting her gaze to Levi just for a second, before looking back on Hange with a mischievous smile. She winks and lowers her voice, making sure that Levi doesn’t hear her.

"The last condition - you have to kiss one of us."

   ***

After that first time on the roof, their friendship progresses rapidly. Hange starts hanging out in the mall with Isabel, playing basketball with Farlan, skipping classes and walking home with Levi.

And very soon she finds out the truth about her new friends. Isabel isn't actually a thief, Farlan isn't an arsonist and Levi, obviously, has never murdered anyone.

Those rumors are just that - rumors.

"But what about Mike?" Hange asks.

The four of them are sitting side by side on what Hange likes to call their place - up on a rooftop of the school. Their shoulders are pressed tightly against each other, and their feet are dangling off the edge. The light from a setting sun reflects in her glasses, making her squint. On a scale of perfect days, this one is pretty close to the top.

In response to her question, Levi groans. Isabel and Farlan start laughing.

"I'm afraid that's another rumor," Farlan explains to the confused Hange.

"Although, Mike did break a jaw once," Isabel notes with a crooked grin.

"But not by me." Levi grits through his teeth. "That giant idiot got drunk and fell down the stairs. And because he was too embarrassed to tell the truth, he blamed it on me."

"So, you just let him do it?" Hange stares at Levi with raised eyebrows. "Didn't do anything even though he lied about you?” Levi nods and Hange smiles. “I stand corrected then, you're nice."

"I'm serious, four-eyes," Levi growls, sending her one of his meanest looks. "One day, I'll push you off this roof."

Hange throws her head back and laughs. Isabel and Farlan join her.

 ***

"Well, let's start our meeting, shall we?" Hange rubs her hands in anticipation, excited to tell her fellow club members about a study she recently found.

But before she can turn on her laptop and put on a new presentation, Nifa grips her elbow.

"It's all very thrilling," she smiles.

"It really is," Moblit nods eagerly.

"But we wanted to know something else."

Hange blinks a few times, and then feels color rise to her cheek. She suddenly realizes that in the past two months she was always the one to lead the meetings. It is quite understandable that Nifa wants her turn.

"Of course, if there's something you wish to share, we all gladly listen, Nifa."

"Oh no, I don't wish to share anything. On the contrary, there is so something I want to ask you."

The bright, enthusiastic look in her eyes is intriguing. Hange wonders what is it that Nifa wants to know - is it about a thesis she made last week? Or a week before that?

"I'm all ears," Hange promises, taking Nifa's hands into hers.

"So how does it feel," Nifa begins. "To date the most dangerous boy of our school?"

It takes Hange an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize who Nifa is talking about.

"Levi?" she breathes finally. "But we aren't— we aren’t dating! We’re just friends!"

Nifa plucks her lips and looks at Hange with suspicion and disbelief.

"But you're always together," she notes, staring at Hange through narrowed eyes.

"We're really not," Hange counters easily. "We just hang out sometimes."

"You skip classes with him. And he walks you home."

"And he saved you from Floch that one time," Moblit, the goddamn traitor, adds.

"And you're the only one he talks to, beside his two best friends." Nifa concludes with a confident smirk.

Hange looks from Moblit to Nifa, feeling at a loss of words.

It's not that she has never thought about it, she did sometimes, when Levi walked her home, and their hands brushed against each other, or when they sat on the roof together, their shoulders touching. Levi is handsome, even Hange - as bad as her eyesight is - knows that. But she also knows that Levi thinks she's messy and annoying. The hell would freeze sooner than he'd look at her like that.

So despite her frequent heart palpitations and leaps in breathing levels, Hange ignores her little crush, putting it to the furthest shelf of her mind.

Being friends with Levi is good enough. She doesn't wish for more.

And that's exactly what she tells to Moblit and Nifa.

"You're reading into things," she chuckles, dismissing their claims. "And now, it's time to read into something else!" she turns on the first slight of her presentation.

Moblit smiles and takes out his notebook. Nifa groans.

***

It's one of those days, when the world is bleak and grey, and the heavy clouds reign across the sky.

Looking out of the window, Hange feels an infinite sadness that isn't entirely caused by gloomy weather. For a second, she even debates skipping school at all, her mother probably wouldn't be against it, but Hange gets rid of that thought fairly quickly. It's not who she is, and wallowing in self-pity was never the way she dealt with her problems. Besides, the classes will provide an excellent distraction for her unhappy thoughts.

So Hange gets dressed, puts her hair in the usual ponytail and leaves her room. She greets her mother, who doesn't look quite as lively as she usually does, and kisses her cheek.

"I'll be home at five," Hange says quietly and walks outside.

The wind ruffles her hair, messing it up even more. It gets in her face and Hange pushes it away with a jerky movement of her wrist. She moves past her bike, deciding to walk to the school on her feet.

There are lots of things on her mind, and a lengthy stroll presents a perfect opportunity to think all of it through.

Hange walks through the grey, foggy streets with her head cast down. She stares at the ground, but not even an occasional sight of a sleazy worm is enough to lift her mood.

She reaches the gates of a school, when someone grabs her elbow.

Startled, she looks up. Levi is standing beside her.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his frown more prominent than usual.

“Nothing,” Hange lies, avoiding his sharp eyes.

Today they don’t remind her of the knife’s edge. Today, Hange thinks, they look just like a sky before a storm.

“What’s your first class?”

Levi stands close to her, too close. People are going to talk, Hange can’t help but think. But Levi doesn’t seem to care about it.

“English,” she answers, staring at her feet.

“Let’s go then,” moving his hand from her elbow, Levi grabs her by the sleeve of her hoodie. He starts walking, dragging Hange along. And because her eyes are still cast down, Hange doesn’t notice that they aren’t headed to a classroom until it’s a little too late.

Of course, Levi leads her to the roof.

He sits her down and looks at her expectantly. Hange shifts her gaze to a side. Under Levi's intense stare, something stirs inside her. There is worry in his eyes, Hange realizes. This revelation makes butterflies in her stomach slowly come to life.

Hange tries her best to ignore them.

"I'm fine, really," she repeats. She doesn't know who she's trying to fool - Levi or herself. She doesn’t achieve success with either of them.

The harsh wind is stronger on the roof, it blows through her hair, gets under her hoodie and sips deep in her bones. Hange suppresses a shiver.

"Idiot," Levi mutters, following it with an irritated tsk. He unzips his jacket, takes it off and drapes it around her shoulders.

Heat rises to her cheeks instantly. She feels incredibly warm and she knows that the jacket isn't the reason for it. The butterflies, despite her best efforts, happily flutter their wings.

"You'll catch a cold..." she whispers weakly. Levi is wearing a thin grey pullover and Hange can only imagine how cold he must be.

"Ackermans don't get sick," he says confidently, making Hange snicker. The corners of his lips twitch and he gently nudges her. "So what happened, four-eyes?"

Hange looks up, staring at the horizon. The skies seem even darker up there, and she briefly wonders how much time they can spend here until the rain starts and a need to hide from it forces them inside.

She wraps the jacket tighter around herself, and the sharp scent enters her nostrils. It smells like soap and cigarette smoke. It smells just like Levi.

Hange glances at him, and his stare is unwavering as he waits for her to start talking.

Hange sighs and begins.

"It's my dad," she confesses softly. "He's... getting married next week. And—" she chuckles, meaning for it to sound easy and cheerful. It comes out bitter and hollow instead. "I found out about that from his post on Facebook. He didn't invite me, didn't even tell me about this. I know— I know that he has a new family now. And I know that I probably remind him of the time when he was married to my mom, and I guess it wasn't a great experience for either of them, but still... he threw me out of his life so easily. It makes me sad, I guess."

"It's his loss," Levi says. "If he doesn't realize it, then he doesn't deserve you."

"Levi..." Hange whispers, aghast. She expected him to ignore her whining, or call her pathetic, but this… Hange doesn’t what to think. The warm feeling inside her is almost too much to bear.

"I know I'm not the best with words," Levi admits, while Hange is still busy processing his last ones and how good they made her feel. "But I can call Isabel, if you wish. Or that Berner boy," he adds with a tight-lipped expression.

Hange smiles, touched by his offer. But she talked it through already, last night with her mother. Today, she needs something else.

"Can we stay like this, please?" she asks, looking at him beneath her eyelashes.

"Sure," he agrees easily. And then— Levi does the unexpected again. He wraps his arm around her, pulling her closer. Her nose is pressed against his collarbone, and the butterflies go wild.

Hange pays them no mind. Levi is warm and he smells nice. She hides a smile into his shirt.

The sadness she felt throughout the morning disappears. With Levi's arms around her, Hange feels impossibly happy.

***

 It's almost seven in the evening, and the streets are already dark when Hange leaves the school after another biology club meeting.

The alleyway next to the school is dimly lit, so Hange almost misses a figure that sits on one of the benches. She stops as soon as she sees that dark silhouette, though. Despite the poor street lighting and her own imperfect eyesight, Hange recognizes him instantly. And wonders what is he doing there.

Levi walks her home every day, except Fridays. Fridays are club meeting days, and Hange often leaves the school late in the evening.

Levi never waits for her on Fridays.

So why is he here now?

Hange silently walks up to him, approaching him with a bit of caution. Levi sits weirdly, his shoulders seem too stiff. Her stomach churns with worry.

"Levi?" she softly calls. "Levi, what are you doing here?"

"Hange," he keeps his eyes trained on the ground, and Hange's worry increases. She doesn't like the hollowness of his voice.

Then she lowers her gaze, and the worry skyrockets. Levi's hands— they are covered in blood. She gasps and grabs his chin, turning his face to the light. A bloodied lip, a bruise on a cheek - Hange swears when she sees them.

"What happened?" she is instantly by his side, taking his hands into hers. She brings them closer to her face, looking for injuries.

"Zeke." Levi says.

"He's the one who did all of this to you?"

"Of course not," Levi throws her a sharp, offended look. "He just brought more friends than I could deal with."

"What a fucker," Hange mutters, anger warming up inside her. "Let's go to my place, I'll clean your wounds."

"And what about your mother?" Levi bites his lip. "Won't you get in trouble with her, if you bring me home, looking like this?"

"She has a night shift," Hange stands up, outstretching her hand to Levi. "And besides," she continues. "I’m sure my mom would adore you,” she winks at Levi, grinning. “Just like I do.”

***

Hange brings Levi home and tends to his wounds. She cleans his skinned knuckles and wipes the blood from his lip.  She tries to be gentle, apologizing over and over each time Levi winces. Every time he hisses or grits his teeth, the anger inside Hange grows bigger and bigger. She swears to herself that she won’t let Zeke get away with it.

When she starts wrapping bandages around his knuckles, her hands shake and tremble.

She wants to think that her inexperience is to blame, but she knows that the reason for her nervousness is Levi's warm breath on her cheek and his eyes that follow her every move.

Hange stares into them for a second. They look nothing like a knife's edge right now. They don't remind her of a sky before storm either. They're the color of a full moon. They're shining just as brightly.

"You're wrapping them too tight," Levi complains, breaking Hange out of her reverie.

"Oh, sorry!" Hange giggles, embarrassed. She hurries to rectify her mistake, but ends up making even a bigger mess, tangling up the bandages.

Levi sighs and snatches them out of her hands.

"You're shit at this," he says, bandaging his knuckles himself.

Hange snickers and watches him, committing each move to memory. She hopes she won’t need this knowledge in the future. But in case she does, next time she wants to be able to help.

“You can stay for the night,” Hange offers when his injuries are cared for. “We can put on a movie, make some popcorn…”

“Maybe, some other time,” Levi gently declines. “My mom probably worries like crazy. I should get home, before she sends Kenny after me.”

His refusal disappoints Hange a bit, but she doesn’t take it personally. She knows how much Levi cares about his mother. And she knows how much he hates causing her worry.

So she makes him promise to hang out tomorrow and walks him to the door.

"Thank you," Levi tells her, standing in the doorway.

"I didn't do anything..." she tries to protest.

"You did more than enough,” he says, the grey of his eyes softening. “Goodnight, Hange.”

“Goodnight,” she echoes, watching him go with a heavy heart.

  ***

After that Friday, Hange lets her anger brew for a whole weekend.

On Monday, she comes to school and seeks out Zeke. His friends stand around him, as she approaches, but Hange pays them no mind. She marches up to Zeke, grabs him by the collar and punches him in the face.

His loud shriek and a pathetic whimper that follows are absolutely priceless.

"That's for Levi," she glowers, before walking away, a smirk on her lips and her head held up high.

She gets sent to detention for that, but Levi calls her an idiot with a fond smile on his face, and Hange thinks it was all worth it.

He gets into a fight with Floch the very same day, and during detention they sit side by side, exchanging silly notes and making funny faces at each other.

"Just one condition left," Isabel tells her the next day, winking suggestively.

  ***

It is another Friday night, and Hange is engaged in a losing battle with her calculus homework. No matter what she does, what formula uses, nothing seems to work.

Her eyes are getting tired from glaring at her notebook, and Hange rubs at them, suppressing a yawn. It’s a little past ten, but she already feels exhausted, drained to the bone.

She thinks of just abandoning it all and going to sleep, when a small rock lands on her desk. Hange blinks a few times, utterly confused.

How did it get here?

She scratches her head, trying to make sense of it. A second later, another rock appears.

Hange looks up, turns to the window— and smile breaks on her face. She squeals in delight, jumping to her feet and coming to grip the windowsill.

Levi is sitting on a branch of a tree that grows near her house. He wears his signature jacket, and he’s looking at Hange with the expression of fond annoyance that he reserves exclusively for her.

“Took you long enough to notice me,” he grumbles. “I was thinking of aiming the next rock at your stupid head.”

Hange laughs, not taking his words to heart. She knows Levi well enough by now to see through his insults and sarcasm.

“Are you free right now?” he asks, before Hange gets her chance to question what is he doing up on a tree.

“It’s Friday night and I’m sick of doing my homework, so…” she shrugs. “I am as free as I can be.”

“Alright. And your mom? Is she at home?”

“She is, but she’s already asleep.”

“Get out then.”

“Eh? What does that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” Levi scoffs. The confused expression doesn’t leave her face, so he rolls his eyes and adds, “I stole the keys to Kenny’s bike. Do you want to take a ride on it or not?”

Hange feels her lips twitching. She wants to say ‘yes’ so badly, but for the sake of messing with Levi, she puts on a doubtful frown.

“Won’t you get in trouble with your uncle?”

“Only if he finds out.”

“Will he be able to find out?”

“Most certainly.”

"And you still wanna do it?" she asks, just to see the exasperated look Levi throws her.

"Of course," he answers through his teeth, his patience starting to run thin.

"Alright!" she finally agrees. She jumps and clasps her hands together, unable to contain her excitement. "Just wait a sec, I need to change my clothes!"

Levi nods, throws ‘don’t take too long’ and starts climbing off a tree.

Just as she promised, Hange gets ready in record time. She jumps out of the window, landing next to Levi with a pained huff.

"Are you alright?" he steadies her, his eyes shadowed with worry.

"Sure!" Hange assures him with a smile. "The landing was just a bit rougher than I expected."

"You could have left through the front door, like a normal person." Levi notes.

"But where is the fun in that?" Hange counters.

Levi shakes his head and curses her idiocy under his breath. Hange claps his shoulder and chuckles.

"Shall we go?" she raises her arms to tie up her hair.

"Don't." Levi blurts out suddenly.

Hange stops in her tracks, gawking at him. "Eh?"

"Leave it like that," his voice is rough and breathy as he speaks. Levi turns his face away, and Hange desperately wishes to know what it looks like right now. She bets it’s all red and flustered. "When you wear your hair down... It’s not a bad look on you."

Hange can't believe it. Did she mishear? Misunderstood something? Or did Levi really just pay her a compliment?

Now it’s her turn to be flustered. She feels her face redden. Her heart starts to hummer in her chest.

Levi doesn’t give her enough time to process, and, of course, to retaliate. 

"I parked the bike near your house," he walks away so briskly, it's hard for Hange to catch up.

When she does, Levi is already standing next to a shining black motorcycle. Hange knows next to nothing about motorcycles, but, in her opinion, the thing looks cool. She runs a hand over it, and her excitement almost makes her feel dizzy.

She has never ridden a motorcycle. But she is sure it's quite a thrilling experience.

"Put that on," Levi instructs, handing her a helmet. "And hold on to me, alright?"

"Of course!" Hange mockingly salutes.

"Don't do anything stupid, four-eyes," he glowers before putting a helmet on his own head and getting onto the bike.

Hange waits for him to sit down and then she follows his suit. She wraps her arms around Levi, fisting her hands into the lapels of his leather jacket.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice muffled by a helmet.

Hange nods, pressing her head to his shoulder.

Levi starts the motorcycle and carefully rides onto the street. He maneuvers out of the narrow path and onto the broad road. He speeds up after that and Hange can't hold in a delighted chuckle. She raises her head and looks around.

The streets they pass by are nothing more than a blur of bright lights and vivid colors, and Hange can't stop staring at it all. To make the experience even more electrifying, she's pressed so close to Levi that she can feel his heartbeat. Or, maybe, that's an echo of her own. Their proximity makes it hard to tell. She also feels incredibly warm, having her arms wrapped around him makes Hange forget about the harsh wind that seems even stronger as they ride through the night city.

Levi obviously has a final destination in mind, but Hange doesn't care, not right now, when she is filled with so much joy and elation.

She feels so free, she feels so good, so happy, she is so—

"I swear to god, Hange!" Levi shouts over the wind. "If you're thinking of dangling your arms in the air or some equally dumb shit, I'm going to throw you off this thing myself!"

Hange laughs, wild and unbridled.

She is so in love.

*** Levi brings them to the beach.

As soon as he stops the engine, Hange gets off the bike and runs to the sea, kicking away her shoes as she goes. She steps into the water and yells, instantly jumping out of it. The water is freezing, but Hange is stubborn. She wants to try again, hoping that her body would adjust. Before she can take a single step in that direction, though, she is roughly yanked back.

She turns around and meets Levi's sizzling gaze.

"Sit the fuck down," he growls. "Or you wish to get pneumonia?"

Hange can't help it - her heart swells and her stomach tingles.

Levi, despite his dark, scary eyes and scowling face, is surprisingly endearing. He's so cute Hange wants pinch his cheek. Desperately so.

And because she's still filled with adrenaline after their ride, or, maybe, the dark sea and quiet night have an effect on her, Hange does just that.

Levi slaps her hand away a second too late. She laughs, and, to placate him, finally sits down, burying her feet in the sand.

Levi takes a seat next to her. A second later, something heavy and warm falls over her shoulders. Hange touches it with her fingers - it's Levi's jacket.

"It's cold," he explains gruffly, answering the silent question in her eyes.

"Thanks," Hange smiles, and, because she still feels inexplicably bold, she puts her head on his lap.

Levi startles, his whole body goes rigid, but he doesn't push her away, doesn't even complain. After a moment, he relaxes - his hand falls on her shoulder and his fingers starts playing with her hair.

It's nice, Hange thinks. She wishes to stay in this moment forever.

She turns to look at the sea - the stars and moon are reflecting in the darkness of the water, illuminating a narrow path. She points her finger at it.

"I once believed that if you follow that path during full moon, you'll become a mermaid," she tells Levi.

Levi snorts. "You believed in something so stupid? Why am I not surprised?"

"What ridiculous thing did you believe in?"

Levi is silent for a long moment, and Hange thinks he's not going to answer. She opens her mouth to change the topic, but then—

"I believed in Santa until I was thirteen years old."

"What?!" Hange shrieks, rising up from her position to gawk at Levi. "You're serious?"

"Unfortunately," he grunts, pushing her back on his lap. "Kenny put a very convincing show. It's not until I caught my mom hiding presents under a Christmas tree that I finally realized the truth."

Hange really, really tries to keep it in, but she imagines the disappointment on Levi's face and absolutely loses it. Laughter bubbles out of her throat, and Hange curls in on herself, laughing without abandon. Her stomach starts to hurt, tears well up in the corners of her eyes, and Hange still continues to giggle, expressing her mirth until she can't breathe anymore.

"Oh god, Levi," she wipes the tears away. "This is the best thing I've heard in weeks."

"Glad you are having fun on my account," he says dryly.

Hange starts laughing again.

When she finally calms down, the silence falls over them.

It's so quiet there, the only sounds are faraway noises of the city and the loud roar of the sea that accompanies the crashing of waves against the shore.

All of it makes Hange feel at peace in a way she rarely does.

After minutes of staring at the seemingly endless sea and basking in the atmosphere of it all, she tears her gaze away from the it, shifting her eyes to Levi. And finds out - he is looking at her too.

His stare is intense, charged with something she can't quite name, something that makes it impossible to look away.

As their eyes meet, Levi swallows. His hand in her hair stills, and he starts to slowly lower his face to hers. Hange lifts her head too. The tension around them is growing, and Hange forgets how to breathe until— until it hits her.

"Of course!" she cries out, jumping up. She hits Levi's jaw with her forehead, but doesn't pause long enough to fully register it. She can't spare her attention to anything else, the math problem she tried to solve for so long— she finally found the solution.

"Levi!" she seizes his shoulders, staring at him with wide, feverish eyes. "We need to go back, quick!"

"What—"

"I realized how to solve it!" she gets to her feet, pacing around and impatiently waiting for Levi to stand up as well.

"Solve what?" Levi grimaces, looking like he has eaten a sour lemon.

Unfortunately, Hange is too preoccupied with her sudden revelation to notice his expression or even answer his question.

"Way to ruin the moment," he mutters before standing up and walking back to the bike, his face as dark as the sea. ***

It's the last Friday before St. Valentine's Day, and everyone at their school starts going crazy.

Hange is spending lunch with Nifa and Moblit, but their sandwiches lay forgotten, as the three of them curiously watch Porco's pathetic attempt to ask Pieck out. He keeps stuttering and his face is so red, Hange is worried he might pass out, but then Pieck smiles and kisses him on a cheek. Cheers and congratulations are heard from all sides of school cafeteria.

"So it's settled then?" Hange turns to Moblit. "Porco and Pieck are actually dating?"

"I guess..." Moblit tentatively agrees.

"I saw Reiner and Porco kissing the other day," Nifa interrupts.

"And I saw Reiner and Berthold hold hands on their way home," Hange mutters, taking a bite from her sandwich.

"I'm not sure," Moblit rubs his neck. "But I think I caught Pieck making out with Yelena the other day."

"So it's still complicated," Nifa mournfully concludes. "At least, their love life is more interesting than mine..."

"Speaking of love," Moblit quietly begins. Both Hange and Nifa whip their heads to stare at him. Moblit's cheeks turn pink, but he stubbornly continues to look at Hange. "I wanted to ask if..."

Whatever he wanted to ask, Hange doesn't get a chance to find out. Because in the next second, a shadow flashes past them. It appears by her side and drapes a leather jacket over her shoulders.

"It's too cold today," Levi explains, as he sits down next to her, inserting himself between Hange and Moblit.

It's not cold at all, and, besides Hange is wearing a warm pullover.

But that's not the only thing that confuses her. What is Levi doing here? Why is he sitting so close to her? And why is he glaring at Moblit?

"Why are you here, Levi?" Hange decides to start with the easiest question.

"Can't find Farlan and Isabel," he answers flippantly, not taking his eyes from Moblit.

Now that's most certainly a lie. Hange can clearly see Isabel and Farlan sitting in their usual spot, in the furthest corner of cafeteria. And even if she didn't turn around to locate them, Isabel's delighted cackling is heard even from a distance.

"It's best if I go," Moblit says, a drop of sweat rolling down his forehead.

"I'll go with you," Nifa offers, taking her trail.

"We are just friends, my ass," she angrily mutters, throwing another exasperated look at Hange and Levi.

Hange turns to Levi as soon as her friends leave, she really, really wants to know what the fuck had just happened, but she opens her mouth in the exact moment that a bell rings.

Levi wordlessly gets up and disappears in the crowd of students. He forgets to take back his jacket.

  ***

As Hange moves from class to class, everyone keeps staring at her. It’s not bad kind of attention, no one whispers insults behind her back, Erwin actually approaches, offering sincere congratulations, and when she meets Zeke’s gaze in the hallway, she sees a spark of fear there, and it fills her with a deep sense of satisfaction, but— it also makes her confused.

Why did Levi give his jacket to her? Why did he give her his jacket so many times before? Why has she never seen Isabel or Farlan wear it? What makes her special?

Hange always enjoyed solving riddles. She is determined to find a solution to this one as well.

  ***

After her last class, Hange rushes to the rooftop. Just as she expected, Levi is there. And, luckily, he’s all alone.

He’s smoking, but as soon as he notices her presence, he puts the cigarette out and waves his hand, getting rid of the smoke.

Sitting beside him, Hange shoots him a grateful smile.

“So did you know about the dance they’re organizing this weekend?” she begins, skipping the pleasentries and small talk. As she speaks, she tilts her head to the side to stare at Levi’s profile. In the light of a setting sun, he looks even more handsome. Her heart picks up its speed. She ignores it and forces words out of her throat. “Do you wish to go?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Hange wonders, not saddened by his answer at all. She was expecting nothing else, after all.  “Just imagine – me in a dress and with shitty, smeared lipstick and you in a shirt and tie… We’ll be dancing in a stuffy auditorium, drinking spiced punch and having fun with our peers…”

Levi visibly shudders at her words. “I’d rather jump off this roof.”

Hange snickers in her palm. “And if I go with Moblit?” she asks, watching Levi with a sly smile.

“I’ll throw him off this roof.”

That’s exactly the answer Hange was expecting. Even so, her heart does a flip and her breathing speeds up. Her cheeks feel hot and a wide grin is pulling on her lips. The scariest part is over, but the nerves don’t die out. There are still a few questions she needs answers to.

“And if I asked you out to the movies…”

“That’s not a bad idea…” Levi mumbles, keeping his eyes trained on his feet.

Hange gathers the last of her courage.

“And if I kissed you right now?”

Her heart stops, as she nervously waits for a reply. Millennia pass before she hears Levi’s gruff voice.

“That’s… a very good idea.”

He turns to her, staring at her and the intensity of his piercing gaze makes Hange weak in the knees. There is a moment, where nothing happens, but it lasts for no longer than a heartbeat. Then Levi cups her cheek and moves closer, his lips hovering above hers.

Hange closes her eyes and shortens the small distance that separates them.

The kiss is short, chaste and more than a little bit awkward. Even so, it���s the first kiss in her life and Hange lets her lips linger on Levi’s for a little longer, savoring that moment and committing it to her memory.

When they pull apart, Levi doesn’t let her go. If anything he brings her even closer, bumping their foreheads together.

His eyes are warm and soft, and Hange isn’t sure if she had seen anything more beautiful. But then she lets her eyes wander, slipping lower, and she sees a smile that blooms on his face. She can’t decide what she likes to stare at more – his eyes or his smile. After a second of intense debating, Hange comes to conclusion that both his eyes and his smile are equally breathtaking.

She thinks of asking for another kiss, when she remembers something just as important.

“I finally did it, Levi!” she loudly announces, throwing her hands in the air. “I fulfilled the fourth condition!”

Levi pushes her away with a groan. “Why must you always ruin the atmosphere…” he wonders with a deep scowl on his face.

To be honest, Hange liked it better when he smiled. But, luckily, now she knows a sure way to placate him.

With a gentle smile on her lips, she pulls him closer for another kiss.

#types 9k of the cheesiest dialogues ever written and peppers it with lots of cliche: it's time to post a new fic :) #levihan #levihan fanfiction

[harbouredsoulss]

Strong

Author’s note: I had no intentions of posting this yet. I was going to focus on other characters, especially since my last post was an EZ one, and then post this at another time. But after last nights episode I knew I had to share this one 😅

This is Part One, there will be a Part Two coming soon!

You can also read my other fics here on my MASTERLIST.

I hope you enjoy this. I know it’s nothing like my previous fic, but idk I kind of like it 🤷🏼‍♀️💖

My Tag list is still open so please hit me up if you would like to be added! 

EZ Reyes X [OC] Mara 

Warnings: Violence! Death. Fluff. Sadness. 

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Sometimes being close can chase away all bad things.  

____________________________________

His arm was wrapped around her waist pulling her body flush against his, lips pressed urgently against hers. They were so caught up within their yearning for one another that it took a moment for the sounds of the gunshot to register. It’s sound resounding around them.

EZ jerked away from Mara quickly, and pushed her body to the ground, eyes roaming the area, seeking out the shooter. The area was dried grassland, littered with trees and shrubs here and there. Thankfully they had some sheltering their position, though, it wasn’t much. The other people in the area scattered, fear and adrenaline encouraging their movements away.

EZ couldn’t be sure on where the shooter was. He did his best to cover Mara’s body with his own as he attempted to locate the shooter, albeit vision slightly obscured by the vegetation surrounding them. He made for his own weapon, checking to make sure his ammo was all accounted for, and flicked the safety off. 

Terror was a new feeling for Mara. It was strange for her to have this overwhelming feeling of dread when out with EZ. It hit her like a freight train, which was completely unexpected. She knew it wasn’t his fault, he would want nothing but safety for her and given most of their time spent together was filled with just that and pure bliss, this new feeling was an adjustment. 

“Stay here,” he ordered roughly, pushing her body closer to the shrub that concealed them, “don’t move.”

She began to protest as he crouched away from her, gun cocked, and at the ready, but he silenced her with a look. It was a fierce glance over his shoulder that froze every fibre of her being. She grasped the seriousness of the situation; however, fear is what fuelled her protests. Fear for EZ. Fear for what could become of him. She knew he was strong, and most importantly, smart, nevertheless, being smart was not going to save either one of them from being shot dead if they came in contact with the shooter. 

Time felt like it dragged on as she sat there cowering behind the greenery. EZ had left her side what felt like hours ago when it in fact, was mere minutes.

A spark of confidence rippled through her, giving her just enough nerve to look around, to find EZ and with a few hesitant steps away from where EZ ordered her to stay put, It doesn’t take too long for her to catch sight of her lover and see that he has already encountered the man who was behind the gunshots.

They stood within a few steps from one another. The gunman’s weapon locked on EZ, aiming directly at his face. The shooter was tall, taller than EZ and was hooded, wearing a white ski mask on their face. Their eyes were glowing a bright red. The sight causing a chill to course throughout Mara’s body.  

“Any last words, hermano?” the gunman asked. 

Darkness seemed to circle around EZ as he stood there staring down the barrel of the gun. Mara began sobbing as the gunman took another step towards EZ, close enough now that the weapon pressed against his forehead. She got up as quickly as her body would allow, taking as many shaky steps as she could manoeuvre towards the scene before her.  

“Don’t shoot him, shoot me,” she begged, hands pressing together, almost as if she were praying.  

The gunman didn’t seem to hear her cries or he chose to ignore them as his finger pulled the trigger releasing a bullet that went straight through EZ’s skull. Mara was beside herself, as she watched the man, she loved fall to the ground. Her screams filling the entire parkland, as did her sobs. The world around her begun to blur as her grief prevailed, the sky once bright and blue now turning a sinister grey. She had made her way towards his lifeless body, arms wrapping themselves around him, pulling him close towards her chest. Her hands begun caressing his cheeks, her voice cracking as she told his lifeless form that everything was going to be okay. 

She looked, tears clouding her vision, and stared at the monster before her. The monster that took her boyfriend’s life. He was now nothing more than a silhouette before her, which caused confusion to wash over her. It didn’t make any sense. She tried blinking multiple times in an attempt to clear her vision, but to no avail he was still nothing but a silhouette. A body of darkness. No physical features possible to make out. 

“Who are you,” she screamed, rocking EZ’s body back and forth, eyes squeezed shut “what are you!”

It was in a sudden blink of an eye that she was pulled from her grief. Rough hands gripped her shoulders, shaking her body, similar to how she shook EZ’s lifeless form, back and forth. She opened her eyes wide, voice echoing around her as she continued to scream. Bright light filled her vision, which caused her eyes to squint so she could take in her surroundings. She found EZ then, towering over her. It was his hands that gripped her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length, concern etched on his face.  

“Hey,” he whispered, voice soft in an attempt to soothe her, “shhh I’m here.”

A sob escaped her then as he pulled her closer to him, engulfing her in an embrace. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again, hands rubbing her back in an up and down, soothing motion. 

Her hands explored his body, in an attempt to anchor herself to the real world and to keep the nightmare at bay. His skin was soft and warm, exactly how she expected him to be. Unlike the cold lifeless form in her nightmare.  

“I’m here,” he repeated, pulling himself away from her, worried gaze taking her in. 

Mara hadn’t been aware she was still crying until EZ wiped the tears from underneath her eyes. She looked up to him, lip trembling as she took in his expression. It was the same concern he expressed in her dream, which automatically transported her straight back to that place. The domino effect then came into play as each image began to unlock another, causing her to sobs to harden.  

“It was so real,” she wept, this time using her hands to grip his biceps, squeezing hard, “you were- he was- I thought you- I-”

“It’s okay,” he said cutting her off and used both hands to grip her cheeks, turning her face up towards his, “you don’t have to explain.”

He leaned closer and pressed his forehead against hers, lips mere inches apart. She could feel the hesitancy on his part. He wanted to kiss her to take her mind off the pain but he didn’t want to take advantage of her distress. EZ didn’t know that this is what she wanted. Mara wanted the distraction; she welcomed it. She wanted to feel him in every way physically possible; to know that this moment was real and what she saw was anything but. 

There was no begging on her part, instead she pushed herself closer towards him, closing the space between them, and pressed her lips against his. Their kiss was gentle at first with EZ not wanting to push her into any situation she was not ready for, given her current state. 

Mara couldn’t have cared less. She pushed herself on top of him, allowing EZ to fall backwards on the bed so she could straddle him. His hands left her face as he fell and gripped her hips to keep them both steady. She kissed him deeper then, allowing her tongue to slip against his own, tasting him. 

He pulled away briefly, breathing heavy.

“I’m here,” he whispered, fingers kneading the skin at her hips, teasing her softly, “we don’t need to do anything to prove that.”

She understood what he meant, and that he was right, she didn’t need to do this. But she wanted to, desperately. She wanted to feel every inch of him inside of her body. 

TAGLIST [OPEN]: 

@appropriate-writers-name​ 

@thesandbeneathmytoes​

@abby-splace​

@tartanbumsters​

@sesamepancakes​

#ez reyes x reader #ez reyes #ezekiel reyes #ezekiel reyes fanfic #ez fanfic #mayans mc #mayans fx #mayans imagine #mayans s3 #mayans x oc #mayans angst #mayans #ez reyes love #lovers #sad #dream

[listentothelittlebird]

I was looking through some drafts and I found this - I think it’s my first attempt at writing Burning Iceberg. Here, Damian tagged along with Jason when he went off for training!

Word Count: 2942 words 

enjoy!

It’s Talia who sends him away.

“Training,” she says, but there is something in the way that she moves, the way that the base is silent and waiting with bated breath right up until they leave. 

Jason leaves alone. Talia watches him go, her posture too unnaturally relaxed for anything not to be amiss. 

He gets one day away from the base before he realises he has a tail.

“Damian?” 

The young boy scuffles out of the shadows with a haughty sniff. “Took you long enough to notice me, Todd,” he huffs. Given the boy’s night clothing - the one’s he wore to sleep - Jason guessed that he had just arrived.

“Why’re you here?” Jason asks, curious. Sure, he had talked to the kid, had trained with the kid, but why was he here?

Damian glanced at Jason, then glanced away. “You were going alone,” he declared stiffly, “I would think that you would prefer company.”

“Mother agreed, and sent me after you,” Damian added, not at all convincing. Talia would never allow Damian out of her sights, especially with the tension in the air back at the base. Something was definitely up, but Jason let it slide and gestured for Damian to come closer. “You hungry, kid? I’ve got enough food for both of us until the next village.”

He knows that Talia might come after him. There’s no way he would let Damian disappear, just like that. For the moment, however, Jason could care less.

He had never asked for a big brother, and he had never asked for a little brother, but he was definitely willing to risk his life for the eight-year-old beside him. 

-

“Where are we going?” Damian asks, quietly. They’re stowed away on a cargo ship headed for the South Pole.

“I want to find a bender,” Jason replies, “The North pole is more connected to the world, and there’s more people to worry about. I’d think that a bender would hide in the South, where there’s less people.”

Damian scrunched up his nose. “Your skills are not adequate to face a bender, Todd.”

Jason pauses, then snorts, “I’m not gonna fight the bender, D. I just want to… talk to them.”

Damian eyes him with a skeptical look, but otherwise says nothing.

-

They’re riding through a brutal storm when Damian loses his grip and tumbles towards the railing.

Jason follows, one hand gripping tightly onto the metal rail and the other holding onto Damian as he flailed. For once, the kid looked genuinely terrified.

A wave crashes into them, and pulls them over. 

-

Jason is surprised to wake up. He tried to gauge his surroundings, but nothing really added up. He was under a fur blanket, a fire crackling near him. Someone was shifting beside him.

“You’re awake,” the voice murmurs, “I thought you’d sleep longer, but it seems not.”

Jason, carefully pulled himself up, narrowing his eyes as he gazed around the igloo. It was sparse, but large enough to fit him, the new man, and-

“Dami,” Jason breathed, headless of the man’s presence as he jerked out of the furs and toward

 his brother’s still form. He pressed two fingers to the boy’s neck, and his heart only calmed when he could feel the steady thrumming for a full minute.

“You’re welcome,” came the dry remark. Right. Jason turned back to the man, assessing him silently. He wore a blue parka, and was currently wearing the hood low over his face. 

“The two of you washed ashore last night,” the man explained, without prompting, “Your friend was barely breathing, but he made it through. You were surprisingly fine once the threat of frostbite was removed.”

Jason glanced again at Damian. 

“Thank you,” Jason stated, before his voice hardened, “But can we trust you?”

The man sighed. “Figures that two kids running around in the Antarctic wouldn’t trust a stranger,” he mused to himself. His amused smile was the only thing that Jason could see, the fire and the shadows obscuring the rest. 

“We are a long distance from the nearest village, but I can take you there. I can send the two of you on your way the moment that your friend feels better.”

-

“You know that you’re safe here, right?” Jason stated quietly. Anuk had left them in the igloo and went hunting by himself. He claimed that he worked better alone.

Damian looked up from where he was curled up in a corner of the igloo, his back pressed tightly against the icy wall. He wrinkled his nose, but there was still apprehension in his eyes. Jason sighed.

“Look, if this guy meant bad, he’d have done something already,” Jason reasoned, spreading his hands along the icy ground. He was glad that his resistance to low temperatures had survived the pit, even if his bending had not.

“Your trust will get you killed,” Damian murmured. Jason winced, “Yeah, well, it kinda already did. But that’s besides the point,” Jason rushed to add, “Just- trust is dangerous, sure, but can you really live your life without trusting anyone?”

Damian was silent. Jason, taking a dive, spoke up, “Do you trust me?”

Damian jerked his head up, staring at him with wide eyes. Then, quietly, “Yes.”

Jason nodded, and pressed, “Talia? Ra’s?”

Damian hesitated. Jason moved on.

“Listen. I know you just wanted to tag along for my training, but we’ve been under the radar for at least a month.” They had arrived on a full moon, and that night was a full moon, again. 

“Even Talia would have to admit to Ra’s that she thought we were dead somewhere in the Antarctic. Firebenders hate the two poles - they won’t be sending a search party for us, much less coming to find us themselves. You don’t have to go back to them.”

This time, Damian glared. “Where else would I go, Todd?” he spat, and Jason realised that the kid had already thought of this, had already considered this, “Where else am I supposed to go, if I do not return to my home?”

Jason pursed his lips, and despite the green raging inside him…

“Bruce would take you in,” Jason admitted, shoving the green away, “I can’t say the same for myself, not when I’m done with him, but… you. You’re his kid. He’d definitely take you in.”

Jason grinned, “He’d love you. Hell, he already took in the Replacement, what’s one more?”

Damian shifted. “Why won’t he take you in?” he questioned.

Jason stilled. “It’s not-” Jason started and stopped, and shook his head. The Joker was still alive. He had adopted a new kid. He wasn’t needed, hell, he wasn’t wanted. He really had just been a charity case. He breathed, trying to push the green down.

“It’s complicated. I don’t know if I can forgive Bruce, and I don’t know if I can stare at him without wanting to put a knife to his neck.”

That was what scared him the most. That he would lose control. He hated Bruce right now, hated him for what he had done, what he had not done, but his nightmare was his vision going green and fading to a Batman bleeding out from a knife in his grip.

Damian looked confused, so Jason tried to explain. “Bruce is… not a perfect man,” Jason sighed, “But he’s all Gotham has. And the Robins - what he does for them, that’s good. Even if-” Even if it gave him false hope for a rescue that never came. He swallowed that down.

“For all of his faults, he did give me some of the best memories.” Not that he remembered many of them. The pit took that away, too. “I hate him, but I loved him, too.”

-

“You’re ready.”

Jason raised an eyebrow at Anuk. “Ready for?”

“The full moon,” Anuk explained, not really explaining at all. He pointed towards the sky. “Tonight should be a full moon. We’ll set out onto the ocean at midnight, and you can perform the traditional water-bending stances for Tui and La. If nothing else, it is a tradition that I practice, and as my student, I want you to practice it as well.”

Jason sighed, but went along with it. He still had no bending - sometimes he thought that the water would move just so, but most of the time, there was nothing. He diligently learnt all of the water-bending moves, but Anuk was probably lying when he said that he was “ready”. How do you tell if someone knows their stuff if they don’t even bend?

-

The night was quiet. Serene, silent in the way that Gotham never was. The League had been silent, too, but not in this way. There was tension in the air, in League bases, sounds controlled and quenched before they could travel. Here, there were only expanses of snow and ice to echo back each scrunch of their boots.

Anuk bended a gondola made of ice, and Jason hopped on, not willing to show his own hesitation. Anuk waved his arms and the gondola moved out onto the calm Antarctic sea.

“According to my Gramps, we used to have big ceremonies on full moons,” Anuk started conversationally, filling the cold silence with soft murmurs. Jason realised belatedly that they should have brought a lamp, or at least a torchlight, but it seemed like Anuk knew where he was going, even in the dim moonlight.

“I live in the South pole, but my Gramps hailed from the North. He says that the late princess Yue gave her life to keep the moon spirit, Tui, alive. The Northern water-benders would present their bending on full moons to pay homage to Yue and her sacrifice.”

The gondola slowed to a stop, and they were left bobbing softly on near-silent waves. Anuk stretched his arms out and pulled, and a square platform of ice froze before them. Anuk stepped back and looked towards Jason expectantly.

Jason had grown used to the icy tundra, enough so that he did not immediately slip off the icy block when he hopped out of the gondola. He took his place at the centre of the ice block, glanced up at the moon, and started to run through his bending forms.

Nothing happened at first. Jason felt kind of stupid, actually, bending without bending at all. He nearly slipped a few times, but he managed to keep his balance, and powered through the basic forms into the more advanced attacks.

Then, something shifted.

“Jason,” the wind whispered, and Jason stumbled. His foot slipped, and he ended up on all four as the ice block rocked, waves pushing over the sides and washing over his hands and knees. The voice sounded like Bruce.

“I’m so sorry, Jason,” came again, and it really did sound like Bruce. Jason blinked into the moonlit ice and nearly gasped. 

It was a bird’s-eye view of the Batcave. He would know that cavern anywhere. Batman was stooped down beside a glass casing, positioned at the centre of the cave.

The vision zoomed in. The casing had a blood-stained Robin uniform, burned and tattered, way too destroyed to be repairable. Jason realised it was his suit. The one he had died in. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” Bruce was saying, and Jason could only watch as Bruce absolutely bawled his eyes out in front of the casing, still wearing his batsuit, only having pulled the cowl down.

Just when the sobs died down, Jason heard, “I left Joker in the helicopter. I knew it was going to crash, but I- I thought he didn’t deserve to live,” Bruce admitted quietly. Jason’s breath hitched.

“He survived. Of course he did. If I keep going after him, he’ll just keep surviving, and… I have to stop, before I can’t. Before I lose myself in a world that took you. I’m sorry,” he choked out, and the tears continued to flow.

The scene changed.

“Why?” Dick’s voice screamed, raw and so full of emotion that it jarred Jason to the bones. “Why did you let him live?”

“We can’t be the dictators of who lives and who dies,” Bruce started, but Dick cut him off. “This is the Joker we’re talking about, B!” Dick yelled, somehow louder than the previous shout, “Joker doesn’t care who lives and who dies! He definitely didn’t care when he-” Dick cut himself off with a sharp exhale.

Bruce waited as Dick took measured breaths. “I just don’t get it,” Dick whispered, “A man like him? B, why did you save him?”

Silence. 

“We fight for justice,” Bruce rumbled, steadfast and sure compared to the crying mess in the last vision. Confident, like he had worked through his thoughts and come to a conclusion. “We can’t just kill people as we see fit. Not even if we hold a personal grudge. Not even if we want revenge for our own.” 

They both glanced towards the casing.

“I still want to kill him,” Dick stated bluntly. Jason thought Bruce would reaffirm his rules, that he would cook up a convincing argument and strike down Dick’s motives.

Instead, Bruce only answered with, “Sit on it for a few days. Don’t make an impulsive decision you’ll regret.”

Dick sighed harshly, and left the viewing range of the vision. Bruce turned back to the casing.

“I never got to apologise to you,” Bruce murmured, “For accusing you of pushing Garzonasa.”

“I was worried for you. Nobody should have to live with the guilt of taking someone’s life. I’m sorry if I came off as distrustful. I should have done more. Been better.”

One last scene. A young kid, black hair and blue eyes, looking up at the casing, fiddling with a new Robin suit that Jason had only seen through grainy newspaper prints.

“You were my hero,” the boy said, and checked his empty surroundings before he continued, “You were… awesome. You had so much energy and spunk, and-” he huffed, a small smile on his face, “-much more fire than me. Which is ironic, to say the least.”

Jason watched as the kid produced a photo from his gauntlet. It was a photo of Jason and Nightwing, on the rooftops, laughing and joking around. 

“I always wanted to be your friend,” he admitted, “I never wanted to replace you. I just knew that Batman needed a partner, and I guess nobody else was gonna do it, so. Here I am.”

The photo slipped back under his cape. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to be like you, but I’m trying. I… I know I shouldn’t miss you, because technically I never knew you, but. I do.”

Timothy Drake looked up at the suit for a long minute, before turning and pressing his domino mask across his eyes. “I’ll do my best to make you proud,” he whispered to the air.

The vision disappeared with the pull of the tide. Jason was suddenly aware of the ice block he was still on, as it tipped against the slightly-larger wave. A combination of water and ice made him slide right off the block’s edge. 

Anuk’s yell was drowned out by the freezing water rushing to meet him. It was the very opposite of being dipped into the Lazarus pit. The water was a dark blue, and he could still see the moonlight piercing through the water’s surface. The light bent above him, and he blinked, because it almost looked like a face. A young woman, with long white hair flowing around her serene smile.

The light pulsed, and suddenly he could feel the water around him, moving and flowing, pulsating with its own energy. He could feel the water turning and churning around Anuk’s gondola as he steered towards him. He spread out his arms and pushed-

-and shot out of the water, landing with a slight stumble back on Anuk’s gondola. The boat rocked slightly, but Jason smoothed his palms downwards and the rippling waves ceased.

 “Tui and La,” Anuk cursed to himself, “You were under there for quite a- oh.”

Jason tilted his head. “Oh?” he prompted, still reeling from how alive he felt. He was surrounded by his element, and he almost wanted to dive back under just to soak in his renewed bending.

Anuk produced an ice mirror, angling it to catch the moonlight. It was hard to make out, but there was definitely a patch of hair that was no longer black, dangling right in front of his eyes.

His eyes were blue, like the colour he was born with.

“Yue’s blessing,” Anuk breathed. “What?” Jason questioned, looking up from where he was scrutinising his new hairstyle. Anuk had his head tilted reverently towards the moon.

“Princess Yue lived because Tui gave her life,” Anuk recounted, “Her hair was a stark white because of this. When Tui’s mortal form was killed, Yue gave back her lifeforce to revive Tui.” Anuk chuckled, “It’s why most people from the poles don’t bother dyeing their hair.”

Jason himself eyed the moon contemplatively. He closed his eyes, and realised with a start that the green was gone. The pit’s effects - the murderous rage, the unnaturally-green eyes, the blockage of his bending - they were gone.

Anuk had taught him a traditional bow used to start and end water-bending fights, a sign of respect for the opponent. Jason bowed towards the moon, and hoped he was doing it right.

“Thank you,” he breathed quietly, “Yue, Tui, whatever you prefer to be called. Thank you.”

The moon shone on the ocean, and he swore he could see Yue’s face once more, smiling.

#Gotham's White Lotus #I think I did the weird present tense turned past tense thing again #ew #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #fanfic #I honestly forgot I wrote this but man it's neat #crossover #moon spirit yue #I got 100 followers recently which is cool #I'm honestly just vibing so it's nice people seem to like my stuff

[blankdblank]

Ash

Requested by @devilishminx328​

...

“Go my child, and be a good wife to your husband.” That was your order. Child to an old tradesman who wanted nothing but a son was given you, and so the widowed King came. You couldn’t even remember his name now your husband though you bore his rings and gifted necklace and watched him from this warped prison orb and heard the hungry pleading cries of your people that haunted your every waking moment. Then the flames came and another violent tremor came. He would do this often, lift the orb and toss it about until you cries out for him to stop or he lost amusement in your elder years when those cries never came.

One room castle and a lake of glass in a solid fake tundra was all you knew these days, that and the enchanted bag he gave you with all you would ever require inside. Still this was different while the castle jerked and into a wall you slammed hard to collapse gasping for air into the floor the orb turned and across to the other wall you slid eventually to be slammed hard into a beam on the roof. One more turn and you could hear glass shatter and all at once smoke billowed across your body that lay flat across a carpet in a library you’d long since forgotten.

Blinking through the smoke coughs helped to fill your lungs again with air. Hushed whimpers left you at the glass slicing into your palm from the orb broken to bits underneath your chest, arm and hand that drew blood from your collarbone down in scattered clusters now staining the top of your deep necked tunic with ties slightly frayed on the top cross of the tether that secured your cleavage from sight above the top of your vest. The pain from that however lasted barely a blink as a shriek left you in the turn of your head to find your dead husband strewn across the floor headless. In a panicked scramble away to the wall around your ankle the strap of your enchanted bag tangled.

Loud shouts outside the room drew an instant shrink of your pupils at the sight of a monstrous wave coming for the island kingdom. “Please no,” you whimpered and backed into a shelf of books your bloody hand rose to fumble against the wood to try and rise as if you could outrun the wave now blocking out the sun. “Help, some, someone, please.” Shouts and shrieks split the air and into an all you tucked hiding your face in your knees, warm tears spilling down your cheeks to another futile plea, “Someone, save me...”

All you knew was something hit your head, off the shelf a certain book had fallen and open landed on top of your head and engulfed you right as the first starving waves had touched the toe of your right boot.

Deep under the surface of the sunlit water thrashing you about your body unfurled and fought uselessly against the current that jerked you this way and that. Burning hot your lunges felt close to exploding while your every inch froze and burned at once to the stinging cluster of pain searing throughout everything from your muscles to your very veins that ached to pump blood at its usual speed again now slowing to lack of air. A firm hand twice the size of your arm circled your upper arm as a second drew you into the firm chest of a heavily bearded man now being tugged backwards to his tug on the rope around his waist. Swift and smooth you were brought to the surface to sputter and cough the agony away and face the chocolate haired Dwarf whose white haired brother helped you to your knees on the shore. The both silent until you stilled simply to let you regain your breath to the wind of the now untied rope and stares to the stunning jeweled necklace around your neck, matching ear covers, wedding rings and jeweled beads and ribbons woven all throughout your starlit raven curls hung about you like a wet blanket to the ground to pool in a small puddle all it’s own.

An upward tilt of your head to the first steady breath you could draw brought the gawking pair to your focus in their admiration of your brilliant purple silver flecked eyes unlike any they’d seen before. “Thank you,” you managed to say and the duo reached out their broad hands to help you to your feet, a move that had you realize they were a good half a foot shorter than you.

In a joint fumble of their hands at their sides the darker haired of the two spoke, “Not the season to be swimming.”

The dialect was rough yet came out like liquid honey, slow and constant that your ear covers enchanted to translate the languages of the music records you had to entertain yourself while trapped let you hear their meaning. “I wasn’t swimming, my home was washed away in a flood.”

The admission dropped the jaws of both men who looked to one another then guided you towards the city they called Dale once you untangled your bag from your ankle underneath your soaking wet heavily embroidered skirt with layers galore fighting to both drip and cling between steps to your legs, and slung the bag over your shoulder for their means to help. Right to a blacksmith’s shop you were led and to their joint conversation but he corner with a shirtless friend of theirs with an absurdly large mallet in hand glared between glances at yourself until you were tasked to shift various objects around and fetch a few things for him for the next few hours until he tired of you. His agreement came with a once over your appearance that had you reach into your bag for a hair tie you used to wind your hair back into a haphazard bun.

A simple tug on the ribbon around your waist had his lips part as to why you were taking off your skirt until he saw the front half fold back to fold over the belt around your waist with buckle to hold the skirt in place on top of your soaked black pants and knee high boots, a simple bow in the back and you were ready to get to work. He gestured to the first thing to move as you tied a cloth around your cut palm and added your rings to your necklace to keep them safe. Back and forth his eyes darted from you and his task until you stood beside him in his move to close up shop after the confused tall Man came to fetch the cross bow he had been repairing. From the handful of coins the lesser of the group was offered to you. “Know it won’t amount to much with the loss of your home, but it will fill your belly tonight.”

“Thank you,” you said with a flinch of a smile to the fold of your fingers around the coin laid atop the cloth with a hint of blood showing through the material that you would have to change soon.

Outward his hand stretched and he said, “Head to Broakbem’s shop, been belly aching all month about a new delivery person. Tell him I sent you and he’ll pay you per drop off.”

“Thank you, truly.”

He nodded his head to your next flinch of a grin that was barely able to appear at all while your heart was drowning you from the inside out at the loss of everything you had known and drop to complete obscurity after finally having found your freedom in whatever lands these were. “Your name, Lass?”

You almost said Princess, yet the word died on the back of your tongue and you simply stated, “Jaqiearae Pluto Pear.”

“Grunnd, welcome at my shop anytime Lass. It’s the one with the idiotic wooden frog outside.” You nodded again and turned to pass through the mingled crowd of those both shorter and absurdly taller than you all the way to your next employer. Each tall creature spent longer to keep their gaze on you in wonder at the smoke coated Elleth in their midst none could name with glimmering adornments to the gracefully pointed ears still glimmering faintly in the random streams of sunlight as the only patches of clean visible skin. Doubt was in his eyes but by the smoke and signs of dirty palms you were led to the bath to scrub up and redress your wound some ointment was given for along with those still giving off their dying drops of blood to the scabs now stretched across them. The wife helped to get the blood off your shirt at least in fevered scrubs of a lemon and some rough cloth and with basket in hand you were off to add some more weight to your coin purse.

Stop by stop you crossed from one end of the city to the other and back again by aid of an enchanted compass from your bag that helped to aim you to any destination you were given. Each location more curious than the next the more your bun dropped until on your next trip back to the shop your hands rose to split sections of your insubordinate curls that were wound into a long braid your hair tie looped on your thumb was used to secure the end of to bounce to and fro behind your hips for the remainder of the day. Across your face however the section of curls that sideways lay sideways in a swoop cut to your chin freed themselves from the braid to shift and float then drop with each huff you gave in their taunting slide to cover your face fully.

Golden, fiery or lovely shades of brown locks were scattered amongst the other tall beings with ears like yours with only raven locks on the bearded shorter peoples that flowed around you trading head bobs in for each that managed to catch your eye. And for all your efforts once back inside the shop a similar coin to the one Grunnd had given you laid in your palm expecting to accept the final basket on the counter to trade for the empty one you had returned with the Husband said, “Wagons for Greenwood will be leaving shortly. Can’t risk you to miss your ride home, Lass. But you come back on the morning wagons Tuesday and you can earn double that with a full days work.”

“Thank you, I’ll be here.” Was your answer and withholding the irritation you felt for not earning very much at all for all that effort outside again you found yourself to once again dig out your compass and mutter, “Greenwood?”

The arrow turned and with it your feet moved to follow the cobbled lane in the downward reach to untie the same ribbon on your skirt to tie it forward again to the sight of more of your fellow pointy eared numbers all entering the same lane apparently off towards the same mysterious wagons. Seven open wagons surrounded by a group with what seemed to be scale coated outer shirts in deep green on horseback who in pairs split off to guide each wagon once full. The final wagon half full with items was all that was left once you had arrived and behind the redhead in front of you up you climbed to sit on the end of the bench inside to catch the curious gaze of the armed scale armor clad Elf who would follow the wagon. To her had bob you mirrored the motion then faced forward in a try to ignore the constant stare of her and the glances back of the rider in front of the wagon wondering where this straggler had come from who was clearly injured.

Trees, miles of trees and a distant looming wall finally came into view that held a hidden entrance that you rode to and found yourself in the sights of more and more Elves at the stop of the wagon clearly near what would be stables for the horses they had ridden and used to pull the wagons. Last on and first off you stood underneath an endless tree head tilted back in awe until a voice drew your gaze lower to a different nodding redhead, “The public supper is served and the guard patrols should be done with the public baths once you are fed.”

“Oh, thank you,” you said in a turn to follow her guiding head nod behind the others to grant the other guards a chance to disclose to the Captain of the Guard just where this newcomer had joined their people. The most they could have learned was from a seamstress who overheard the Smith you had worked for that you were fished from the river and spoke of a flood that took your home. A fate that instantly, while still wary of you, extended their kindness to keep an eye out for any pains or sorrow you might bear from the terrible loss whether you chose to stay here or possibly request travel to another Elven Kingdom closet to where you were washed away from.

Timid and with eyes forward behind the Elf you had trotted to catch up to in line you waited to accept a large bowl of what seemed to be a hearty stew over rice under a butter brushed roll that had your mouth water to the point you nearly missed your turn to step to the table of glasses where you chose what smelled to be a fruit juice mixture with at least peach and cranberry in it. A half empty table called your name and on the stool there you sat careful to not knock it over and make a scene by accidentally hurling your food across table behind you in a fall backwards. Just the bowl and glass was where your focus was until your eyes rose to the ripple of Elves who stood up in the entrance of a trio of what you would have considered impossibly tall Elves with the same Captain if the Guard who had tipped you off to the free meal.

With the females around you in a curtsey you dipped in a lower of your eyes from the apparent King with a crown of silver branches topped with daisies and forget me nots that held back his long white locks, dressed in a long robe of silver between a second platinum haired Elf with scaled armor who wasn’t on the guard for the wagons, both with stoic expressions contrary to their golden haired companion. His long waist length curls held back in a ribbon ponytail dressed in a deep green robe to the knee accented with silver seams, quiver in his back and bow in hand. The three in your dip now with eyes on the lone raven haired Elleth in their midst. Hushedly in a mental inquiry the King asked in a dart of his eyes off the stranger now in their rise, “We have a guest?”

Tauriel replied, “Yes one of our Seamstresses overhead she was pulled from the river near Dale. A flood destroyed her home.”

Far more serious his face flinched in his glare to the wall ahead on news of another possible Elf Kingdom that had lost its foothold by accident or malicious intent. Five more steps he took in silence in the relax of his face to its prior stoic rest spot and he replied, “I shall send out inquiries of where those lands may be. Should our kin be scattered we should ready for more survivors of the flood or possibly belongings washed ashore.”

Behind their backs amongst the others you lowered to sit again, smoothing your skirts against your legs and the spoon in your bowl was lifted again for another filling bite. Not until a warm tear had rolled down your cheek the sink of your mood had been brought to your attention. Hastily you wiped away the tear and straightened up in a try to not break down in front of everyone. Two coins was all you had towards the future and the words of that shop keep popped in your head, Tuesday, he would see you Tuesday, four days away only made you wonder how you could fund your way here in this kingdom if you didn’t get free food daily at least once.

Empty bowl in hand the path to the trays to collect the dishes you walked and out curiously inspecting the halls that your compass guided you to towards the public bath. Only a few of the Elves were headed that way and past a door of steam from the open archway a length of hot springs and a waterfall far in the distance, past the open baths you walked towards the screen separated area where you assumed privacy would be guaranteed. Once inside the area you inhaled sharply at the sound of others in each closed off area. Sure to seal the opening to the tub you went and gave the sliding hatch a tug that let water from the spring inside until you sealed it again. Near to scalding the water shot out, you were glad to have done this first and turned to begin removing your layers. Near to tears the necklace holding your wedding rings was tucked into a pocket on the side of your enchanted bag you debated internally if you should wear them again now that your supposed husband was clearly dead. Down to nothing you stripped and with comb in hand each curl was seen to both before your wash and rinse.

Harsh and bad enough to make you bite your lip the palm of your hand stung once in the water along with your other cuts and scrapes you were unaware that the water was trying to heal. Soap from your bag was lifted and used to wash the rest of you. A soak didn’t seem to be possible at the sounds around you only heightening your nerves at being so bare to near public that killed your try to relax and soak a while. Right away you wrapped yourself in the towel there and released the drain hatch. Back to the bag you went and the underwear beside it were lifted and wiggled on up under the towel you then removed to better dry the rest of you to keep the mint green dress you had chosen to put on with long sleeves in case it got chilly later on. Simple shakes cleaned your clothes with mental charms before you eased them back into your bag. The set aside socks beside it that reached your knee were next to keep your boots from rubbing the skin more than necessary you added afterwards.

It didn’t matter truly, that was what you told yourself, who gave you the ring with a large rectangular emerald with two square diamonds on either side surrounded by more diamonds to wrap around the band paired with an all diamond wedding band. Onto your ring finger they were added again with your necklace to follow. Out again you went and alone you walked through the halls with your compass in hand unable to find a direction to a hotel or sort of room to rent for the night. Simply to keep from crying you strolled around with curls loose down your back, every lamp and torch along the way reflecting off the star like speckles trapped in each shadowy curl that drew attention from each guard and worker to the new stranger among them. Kitchens, a wine cellar and several empty halls were between you and the library where you ended up. Nice and quiet even a try to read ended up useless, though a window bench in the apparently forgotten corner of the kingdom was where you slept.

.

Dawn was there to wake you and a guest bath was slipped in and out of to rinse away the tear stains from tears that had escaped you in the night. Back again you wandered the halls until a face from the crowds from the day prior on your wagon ride who shared that you could walk with them to the public breakfast. In a means to be kind he showed you to his table and on the end you simply listened to the conversation between the others until a huff in a shared task they were appointed with had your eyes lift and for that you volunteered. It was just the once but the option to hand over a tedious task became an avalanche all its own and for each task you completed more coins were handed over in return. While you were new and did draw attention everyone did have to appreciate how you had secured a firm place to stand in the numerous jobs to begin again.

Half the morning on your latest assignment was spent in rearranging a storage room that others usually mopped around the mounds of junk, trunks and crates that now after your furious cleaning frenzy aided by years of solitude and angry scrubbing was a tea room of sorts. Furniture was arranged and paintings leaned against the walls on tables at the lack of nails with shelves now housing the decorative objects you had found. Halfway burning and throbbing your palm, now freshly cleaned and rewrapped was pressed to your middle on the path back to the meet up with the Elf who had skipped on the task who gladly handed over two coins for the task. He then introduced you to the next one who had a couple jobs for you so he could spend some more time with his sweetheart he was wooing into a courtship. Change some towels and hand off some books and paperwork that would be required by others across the kingdom for a meeting.

 *

Beyond in a bad mood King Thranduil was storming his way back to his apartment for some well needed time alone. Aloofly taking notice of each head bobbing to him along the way mingled with a few curtsies in between. At least until his eyes rose to the staircase that lay between him and his floor and the new face to his halls was trotting down the steps with a haphazard pile of towels, books and scrolls pinned to their chest while their other hand clutched the hem of their mint dress.

Zero acknowledgement came from the odd new arrival who breezed right up to his side where she said trotting onwards, “On the stairs in a dress I’ll bow at the bottom or I’ll fall!” With each word mid step the King shifted to watch her path to the bottom where she promptly turned released her hem to dip into a hurried curtsy then grab her skirt again saying, “Your Majesty, very late, you look lovely today, periwinkle, very dashing on you, bye bye.” As soon as she had popped up again her body turned with a whip of those shadowy star speckled curls his eyes trailed over shamelessly and off she trotted again leaving just the puzzled King to turn to continue the shift of his weight on his higher foot to continue climbing the steps. Though now with the corner of his mouth unknowingly ticked upwards ever so slightly.

She was the reason he was upset, however indirectly, that loss of her home stirred up all the pain and fears trapped deep within him. It couldn’t be helped any threat to any of his kin, however distant always triggered something. Although she seemed at least a hint content here in these new lands that gave him a hope that she might stay here and not wish to be transferred to another kingdom. Brief glimpses others had given notice that some means of work had been gathered already along with what he hoped to be a hint of friendship that could brew amongst his people and her.

Letters, a full bundle of them, had been sent off to every kingdom within flight range for his messenger birds with requests to send out word even farther to see where this storm had swept that woman into those waters. There were only two locations that that area of the river had stemmed from, the Forest River and the less likely far Southern Celdwin River. Only Angmar was close to the Forest River which ran through his lands that contained no hidden kingdom he was not aware of, he knew of a few treetop communities who chose not to live inside the mountain keep he ruled over but none of them had her face or those dark starry curls.

There wasn’t a kingdom he could think of that could have had the materials or designs to the embroidered scenes across the skirts of both from yesterday and today’s. Not to mention those gems, just those clear stones alone void of any glow were strange, not of this continent he had ever seen and he was older than the sun itself. Just a necklace and ring, the latter his focus to his bedroom had centered on in wonder for lack of view on what finger it sat on. Though by the time he plopped into his chair a hand rose up for fingers to trail over the edges of his own ear with mind honed in on the decoration to that Elleth’s ears, an adornment that made her all the rarer as to where he could have gotten them.

 *

“Lovely,” you muttered to yourself inside your head, “Called the King lovely, first meeting, you’re lovely…” Mid handoff of the scrolls all you could think of was the yet to be seen Queen that would toss you out of the front gates to leave you to the wilds alone if he did share your nerve wracked slip of the tongue.

Books were handed over next when you heard the name of the King in passing and that of the Prince in a hushed mention on the late Queen’s sitting room for guests having been fixed up. Towels however was what you shook your mind to focus on distributing them to where they were needed. And far off of the widowed King and the Elves stunned about the now fixed up room you couldn’t understand what the importance to everyone that it had been fixed up unless it was another public space you would one day run across.

.

Orange in hand you sat down on a bench outside overlooking a distant grazing herd of Elk and a closer group of horses milled around lazily on their warm afternoon. Another bite of the slice in your fingertips and a tan stallion with a dark mane turned its head and began to walk over. The curly haired blonde from the day prior had the stallion huffing and stomping off at his call to go for a ride spoiling his snack.

Loud whinnies however broke your focus and from the bench you rose and strolled across the tall grass glad you had changed into a pair of trousers and a loose tunic vest pair. The past few days had been tiring and tomorrow you had decided to rest up before the infamous Tuesday return to Dale where you would be racing across that city once again. Nearly to eight feet tall and furious a dappled mare bucked and jumped inside a stall alone in the stables another Elf had simply walked out of with a dejected sigh at the furious creature. Who upon his exit flared its nostrils at you, “Hey do you want an orange slice?” A try to offer the slice had it turn and kick the door that bowed and straightened again. From the door to the horse your eyes shifted and you said, “Can’t be comfortable in here all by your lonesome. Why won’t anyone take you out in the sun?”

Loudly a whinny and snort was your reply and you said, “Ooh, you want to bite me, don’t you? Well, see you’ll have to be let out to do that won’t you grumpy?” The slide of the pin you removed from the lock had its eyes dart from the door to you and back again as you turned to stroll to the door. “I’m gonna go for a run if you feel like getting some sun.”

Just past the large open doorway you heard the door to the stall open triggering your pleased smirk. The orange finished off in a couple more bites. Off towards the pathway through the trees while winding up your long braid into a bun to keep it from your face or catching on anything. Hoof steps behind you sounded the exit of the mare who looked around for the one who had set her loose.

Just on the cusp of the tree line however you finished off the orange and pressed more weight into the hall of one foot at the sound of the horse picking up its pace to catch up to you. Slow at first you began a trot gaining speed at the echoing hooves that sped up to catch you. Sight of the horse in chase not missed by the head of the herd of Elk had him rapidly in chase as well to aid in a stop to any try for an attack. Giggled comments to the horse to egg her on in the now apparent race calmed the Elk who now remained in chase but hung back to ensure no harm would come to the little Elleth.

That particular mare was known to be temperamental however Former Queen and mother to King Thranduil had been the one to take her and gain trust enough to ride her and since her choose to sail to Valinor the young mare had not taken the loss of its partner very well at all. This was an odd way to gain a horse’s trust. Yet to simply see her in more than a reluctant stroll and plop under a tree when the stables grew too warm in the summer warmed the hearts of the Elk and now the two young stallion you raced last that gleefully trotted after your group soon to gain more shadows.

Normally you would be bested easily at the speed you were at, yet thanks to this winding path you had a good lead from the horse and Elk who watched you pick up speed in the sights of the paused Lord Glorfindel who had come in curiosity of the sound of thundering hooves in this part of the woods. Atop his tan colored steed he sat with mouth open at the full speed charge you gave to the fallen log blocking off the return path to the long grass pastures that had been yet to be cleared after their last storm had blown it over there. More that six feet into the air you leapt with a tuck to your legs nearly to your chest to clear the log. A move that had the Lord holding his breath until the confirming sound of your feet back into the dirt that shifted in two dips below your feet. Three more steps came before a startled squeak and a thunk with pained giggles to follow.

Sat there in awe he watched the Elk in his dart around the mare to leap a good foot above the log. Who landed and was seen from the cheek up over it in a slowed trot to circle and stop in a stare at the ground in the leap of the other five young horses. Who each gave excited an whinny for their safe landing, the last turned to find their little brother walking around the end of the fallen log in their short stature that kept them from possibly making it that was welcomed back by brother and friends for having kept up to that point. Their celebration moved to their parents still grazing in the stroll of the mare to the log the speckled mare looked over to see you still on the ground tapping your fingers to your bloody temple. A raised knot in a log was all it took for you to tumble and bump your head into another root that couldn’t move fast enough to prevent harm.

Off to the side you waited in front of the Elk that loomed over your head with each pass of the horses in the still of the world that had just been spinning for a few moments. And up onto your elbows you propped yourself now feeling the pinch in your ankle you had twisted to lock eyes with the mare asking, “Are you trying to say you can’t get over that log? I have seen your legs you know.” She replied with a glare and an irritated whinny and you said, “I’ve got two legs and I made it and you’re way taller than me.” Again she snorted and turned sharp to stomp her way back to where Glorfindel sat in a fight to not smirk and watch the turn and lightning race back to the log. She soared high above it with a smooth landing and loud whinnies to gloat about the better form and elevation in her prance away to the sight of the confused Elleth who had brought her next meal who saw her in the pasture after being told she wouldn’t let anyone let her out again today.

This was gonna be difficult, but all the same you pressed your hands into the dirt and hoisted yourself up into your good foot. Much easier though with the snout that scooped under your back to get you up from the Elk. In a pivot you turned and gave him a kind pat, “Thank you. I’m all good I’ll hobble my way in now.” His head rose so he could watch your pained try to put weight on your left foot to get simply a hurried limp of a step. Right over the top of the log he caught eyes with the Lord’s back and huffed. Three steps and his head lowered again, this time to scoop you up mid hopping step onto his antler to with ease begin the trot to the Palace.

Straight inside he went and in a frozen state of shock you sat in full view of the scattered Elves that parted to allow the Elk past in each hall and corridor from one end of the kingdom to the other. Even past the Elf King who turned on his way to a meeting to see the dirt coated bloody guest his Elk was delivering to the Healing Wing that narrowed his eyes in confusion for what could have happened to urge his steed Tuo to take it upon himself to deliver you to be healed right away. A huff was given and he turned to head for his meeting with assurance to himself that he would find you later to inquire upon what had occurred.

Right to the double doors left open you were carried with echoes of hooves that turned the Healers’ heads to gawk at the injured guest they hurried over to help down. And with your weight braced to hop to one of the empty beds while the Elk you thanked turned to trot back to his herd content the little Elleth was being seen to. Damp cloths helped to find the wounds both from today and days prior that were rinsed and came with a trip to the private bath there. Stripped in the midst of a trio of Elleths over your head and limbs water pitchers were poured for a bath before the soak to heal your injuries would come. Gently they lowered your cut hand into the water while under the surface another rubbed and stretched your twisted ankle that the swelling was dropping steadily. From your bag a change of clothes was found and at their refusal to take payment you walked out of the Healing Wing to find a place to hide after the embarrassing ride through so many people that no doubt would put you as the biggest joke of the year.

The library was helpful for that again and late to supper there were few still there by the time you took your seat to eat and then return to your hiding spot. The absence was not missed and many an Elf took it upon themselves to search for the injured newcomer in a means to check on you and to share you were not the first citizen that the steeds had drug off to the Healing Wing in case of any embarrassment with ample ready to share their tales. Both of the trip and the personal meetings with the King afterwards in an assurance for him that they weren’t too terribly injured and were seen to with the utmost care.

 *

 Always Thranduil had assumed he was in charge of things around his kingdom, now he was not so certain. One newcomer and everything had changed. Each and every guest chamber had been searched after the first night when his trip to the usual Elleths that ran the refuge dwellings that you should have been assigned to had turned up empty. This was how it went. Newcomers arrive, are fed then bathe and then led to one of the refuge dwellings until they had confirmed that this was where they felt a wish to remain then amongst the guest quarters an apartment would be assigned, normally near to a friend they had made.

Nowhere, you had been assigned nowhere, the illustrious Mistress Pear. According to echoes from the Dale trip and the few you had spoken to who hadn’t quite caught what your first name leaving him to an odd surname that left him to assume you might hail from some sliver of mortals to have a surname at all, as it was not formatted to be the name of an ancestor or parent by their culture rules on stating such lineages.

By the minute after his hearing that you had left both the Healing Wing and Public Supper Hall his rage bubbled out from his hours of irritation as to what impression as a King he had given this kind, hard working and now injured refugee that was dwelling who knows where each night at this apparent massive skimp in regulations to ensure his people were safe. He would find you tomorrow, somehow if he had to ride to Dale himself and apologize fervently until you forgave him and his people. But for tonight he knew what he would do, turn from his usual maps and consult the older records to find some sort of hint as to where that flood could have stemmed from to wash you up here alone with still no sight of anyone or anything else in the rivers nearby.

And that was exactly where he found his answer, not to the maps, but to you. Faced away from him with starlit curls hung to the ground off the end of the window bench you were draped across on your side with bag as your pillow he found you. For who knows how long he stood there with hand blocking the lantern light with his free hand he had used to light his way as he stood watching your sleeping sniffle. Clearly deep in sleep a regulatory sniffle had come once then again to the streams of tears that in the reflection on the window were tears that rolled out across the edge of your nose while you slept. Each one stabbed deeper into his chest in an endless internal scream of pleas to know why you wept and how he may just smooth off the edges of that pain away with an apartment or anything else you may desire.

The Prince with word of his latest patrol broke his stare and claimed one of his own a moment to have his father show him to the hall where he said, “You are in one piece. I take it your patrol went well?”

“Ada,” the Prince was barely able to voice, sharply he drew in a breath and asked, “That is where the new guest has been sleeping?”

“For at least tonight it would seem. I shall meet with her in the morning to discuss her living quarters myself as there has been an egregious error that has left her to this window bench for a bed.” In a sweep of his eyes over his son’s face at his glance to the doorway again he asked, “The patrols?”

Pt 2

All –

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​, @aspiringtranslator​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​, @mariannetora​, @shes-a-killer-kween​, @ggbbhehe4455

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac

X Thranduil - @evyiione​, @sweetlytenacious25, @tigereyesf​, @pastelhexmaniac, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​

x Ash - @fandomsstolemylife00​, @lilith15000​

#Fallen to Middle Earth #Haunted Stranger #Lost Kingdom #Starting Over #New Jobs #Making friends #Building Trust #Culture Clash #Culture Shock #Confused Thranduil #Request

[just-some-friendly-fun]

Quartzstreak’s Memories

Chapter 1: a Lieutenant’s Title

Trigger Warning — Mentions of an anxiety attack, sleep deprivation, and depression

Word Count - 4,266

“He could’ve sounded just like Magnochrome, or Swerveside, or even Sundrive if he tried hard enough. Just the voice of anybody she could fondly remember … It was nice to hear it, but not now,”

“Lieutenant…” A voice distantly resounded, bringing a youngling’s attention close, with optics snapping open to welcome the sight of a room, devoid of light and color aside from the glowing orb that settled just from behind. It washed over their back-plating with a cold shine. The child pressed a knee to its chest, pushing itself around with its other leg to face the illuminating object as it called out again, closer this time, “lieutenant,”

“Are they calling for me? Am I the lieutenant? Where am I exactly?..” There were far too many questions that were beginning to fill her mind, all of which were absent of answers she couldn’t find. Currently, she needed to answer first, “where was she?” And if there was a specific answer to it. Another voice divided her attention, whirling her expression away from the orb to search for the hauntingly familiar tone. She listened intently to the empty void, almost leaning back to where she last recalled hearing it in an attempt to confirm the origin, “Quartzstreak!” It echoed closely, leaving the femmling to harshly jerk at the rise of volume, angling her face to the figure behind the voice. Her optics dilated in the dark, adjusting to the murky black colors in order to provide a weak illumination towards the silhouette who demanded her attention, only this time, it wasn’t another orb, like she’d anticipated.

Before the femmling, stood another cybertronian, tall and lean, older, with sharpened white-plating that ran with scars across every piece she’d come into visual contact with. Quartzstreak’s awe was deafening in the silence, allowing mute “wow(s)” to cut through temporarily before the wonderment shattered, quickly as it came. Her optics stopped trailing up to lock gazes with the cybertronian, staring directly towards the desolate lack of a facial plate. It was all missing, not damaged, not torn through, just blurred and obscured by a rough illuminating scribble that’d been marked across their face as if it was a piece of art recently tarnished by the hands of a child, leaving only the opportunity of imagination to encourage her guess for what they could possibly look like. Quartzstreak squinted her eyes at the figure, thinking deeply about the voice from earlier, “I’ve heard you before. I swear it. Do I know you?” She couldn’t press an exact digit to it, but there was something oddly reminiscent, almost warm to recollect about it.

She blinked once, shaking her helm to and fro before throwing it back up, facing at her only company within the empty vacuum of nowhere (aside from the orb but it was hardly company since all it did was cry out “lieutenant”). Quartzstreak stood up, dusting her knees until surprise swept her off of her pedes. She was strangely much closer to the ground now, everything seemed… Small. From the tips of her toes to the digits on her servo that looked no more little than a toothpick, “why am I smaller than usual? Am I- a youngling again? Maybe the femme must know!” she concluded, dismissing the festering of her inquiries to focus on the cybertronian once more. Her brows bounced up at the sight of the obscured scribbles. They were starting to dampen by the edges, simultaneously shrinking the longer they stared, or more correctly the longer she stared. With a reluctant peer at their servo, Quartzstreak looked at her own and reached out, digits pricking with caution before she came to greet, “hello?”

“Lieutenant!” She jumped, that wasn’t the response she’d been expecting. She spun her view around at the sphere of light that gave color to the darkroom, partially forgetting its existence. The ball hadn’t changed whatsoever, only returning to its idle silence once she granted it her attention. The indifference ran under Quartzstreak’s skin to tickle at her nerves, resuming her previous task of interacting with the other stranger. She opened her mouth, itching to speak out another word, bring up a conversation, ask questions that maybe they’d understand better than she did- but there was no longer an opportunity now.

The youngling blinked in realization, after the femme from before, now appeared distant from her, walking away into the unknown without a single sound to every step they made.

“Wait!” Quartzstreak cried, eyeing the obscured scribbles that began to plague their features again to the sounds of a teeth-chiseling white noise. The youngling carried a step forward, her pedes weighing heavily with each bound she made until her attention was strangled between another uneasy but desperate “lieutenant! Lieutenant!” from the orb and to the cybertronian who made no halt in their abandoning. Quartzstreak’s body twisted from side to side, angling back and forth to calculate her next move. Indecision sank its claws into her shoulders, preparing to angle and face her in the direction she was going to run to but the pressure could only make her pedes feel heavier, expecting to sink into the ground at any moment.

She swallowed the tension that was beginning to scrape its way down her throat, with a processor that was clawing inside and around the helm that covered it to every second that passed, a step was taken, and another “lieutenant!” was hollered. Quartzstreak’s breathing rapidly became harsher, struggling to ease into the choice she was going to pick. Soon enough, she clenched her dentas, burying her pede into the dark material of the ground to throw herself blindly into the direction she chose. The pressure that gripped her processor dissipated yet the weight in her spark still weighed the same. She kept her eyes shut tight and hoped for the best, reaching out with a desperate hand…

***

“LIEUTENANT QUARTZSTREAK! WAKE UP!!” With no time to flutter her eyelids open, they shot open at the last call, leaving Quartzstreak to throw her helm forward from their awakening jolt, resulting in a different type of cry this time, “OW! FFF-RAG!!” A curse was thrown, after the sounds of colliding metal echoed just before the spewed profanity, allowing Quartzstreak’s vision to adjust and take part in seeing her Amica fall back against the lineup of different control modules, narrowly avoiding the crash against the more important buttons and switches. It took her a moment to realize where she was, allowing her memory to slip back into her mind, “I-I’m the lieutenant… That’s right. I was back on the ship-”

“Thunderstep!” She gasped, breaking free from her recognition to rise from the seat she’d been performing stasis in to assist the fallen mech. Securing her servo around his, she hoisted him up onto his pedes with a grunt, observing while he swayed slightly, nearly stumbling over his own steps, “are you alright?” she questioned, voice mingled with a pinch of guilt, embarrassment, leftover shock, and a draining tone of sleep that was becoming overwhelmed by her feelings of concern. The mech shook his helm, keeping a hold on Quartzstreak’s servo to steady himself, granting her the sight of a slight dent she’d left in his helm, invoking a deepening pit of anxiety in her spark. He raised out his other hand, lightly rubbing the area of damage with a hiss, and found his words again, “you know, Quartz. I knew you were a hard-headed bot but damn. I was only joking!” He slurred, chuckling with a daze in his tone before cutting short in his giggling to try and fix the “spun” look in his eyes along with his swaying.

Quartzstreak persisted, unable to be reassured by his jokes this time, “are you sure? We- might need to go see Drafthitch for- this,” She suggested, taking his face into her hold to look at the dented spot, “what are you, my carrier? Trust me, Quartz. I’m fine!” He exclaimed, prying himself away the femme’s clutches to raise his servos like he’d been caught, with a lopsided grin. Unfortunately, time could only hinder the reassuring facade as his smile started to dip, steadily resuming a slow rolling motion with his head that followed the still room. Shortly, his frame leaned forward, leaving Quartzstreak to work hastily in using her own weight to support him. Her arms wrapped around the underside of his bulky ones to secure the upper part of his waist, ultimately stopping the loftier mech from collapsing any further down. Thunderstep held onto the petite bot who continued to eye him with a raised optical ridge that contradicted his previous claim without so much as a word.

He let out an airy laugh that shrunk his voice of confidence, “or… Maybe not, heh,” he passively admitted. Unsurprised yet compelled by the worry that resided in her spark, Quartzstreak gently lifted Thunderstep back up onto his pedes, rotating around to allow his arm to fall over her shoulders, securing it into place with a steady hold before guiding him out of the cockpit with a swift glance back to make sure that the autopilot was still activated, continuing to advance shortly after. Her digits found themselves across the door’s touchpad, slapping her servo onto the module and waiting until a beep, then a hiss met her audial receptors.

She carried out her task of taking her co-pilot to the medical bay, asking him to keep his optics closed for the sake of not wanting to puke his innards out from the spinning rooms, “I’m sorry about- hitting you on the head like that, I didn’t mean to hurt you. You just-” The femme slowly drew out her apology, keeping the brief expressions of distress from poking out every now and then whilst other comrades started to peer over at the two, waving off a few, greeting another couple, but her attention revolved mostly around her Amica.

“Yeah, I startled you. I’ll take full fault for that,” Thunderstep interjected, raising a guilty hand once more before laying it at his side to focus on matching his steps to hers, “You hit- pretty hard though, even when you’re sleeping. How the slag does that work?” He stirred, attempting to keep himself from pausing in-between his words.

The lieutenant shrugged, glancing away from Thunderstep to nod to a few other Reforme members passing by, “what can I say. I’m always prepared I guess,” She answered half-heartedly, turning back to Thunderstep's blind expression, lying on her shoulder plate.

The mech audibly groaned, softly pinching up the metal around his nasal area, causing Quartzstreak to slow down her pacing to check on him until his lips came to form a slight smirk, pulling his hand away, “I’m just surprised your little crown’s gem could withstand that,” He remarked, pointing out to where he would’ve presumed the gem, was with his other servo to tap it gently, becoming prideful of himself once he could hear the light “Klink! Klink!” echo from his touch. The extension of his smirk grew a bit wider. Quartzstreak sighed through her intake but remained reassured to know that he was still “well” enough to continue cracking jokes.

She stopped momentarily to readjust Thunderstep’s limp arm over her shoulder and continued to guide him, beckoning once again for his optics to remain closed- only to receive a slightly less dizzy-sounding, “yes, ma’am,” Quartzstreak huffed, advancing down another hall to continue the discussion, “it’s survived through worse hits,” she added, keeping her focus towards the elevator they were approaching. An audible “ding!” occurred, releasing a small squadron of colleagues through the doors as the duo exchanged biddings, a “good evening”, “hello”, and “good to see you(s)” were all answered with repeated “you too,” or “hello” until Quartzstreak made it into the elevator. The thin line that was pressing across her lips was beginning to dip by the ends rather drearily, optics becoming hooded as she could feel her social battery dimming gradually once the doors closed.

The lieutenant could feel her companion’s body shift suddenly, angling her helm back to meet his visor, glinting with his true eyes set behind them. Thunderstep diligently tapped his two digits against the side of his helm, retracting the yellow glasses that covered his sapphire stare, tainted by a glimmer of hidden distress that cloaked itself with innocent curiosity, “What were you doin’ anyways, dozin’ off in the cockpit? That seems pretty reckless of you considering you’re the pilot. You trying to follow in your pop’s footing or something?” He noted.

“Not really, I just… I just needed a quick nap. Didn’t really get enough sleep as of yesterday,” The femme assured, letting go of Thunderstep so he could lean back on the rails as she took a temporary break, slightly jolting at the bump of the elevator’s ascension. Her arms crossed each other to rub at her shoulders, gently pinching her lips together, “... Or any other day,” was what she wanted to continue with, but she could already tell from the blue glow that was painting over her side that Thunderstep could already tell she was holding the words back in the first place.

“Amica,” He softly called out. On different occasions, Quartzstreak would often remember in her prime years that voice. He could’ve sounded just like Magnochrome, or Swerveside, or even Sundrive if he tried hard enough. Just the voice of anybody she could fondly remember having such a warm and comforting tone that would’ve persuaded her without a second to run into their arms for safety. It was nice to hear it, but not now.

Not when it was being used for the purpose of getting her to unveil the pitted feeling in her spark and uneasy churns of her insides. Talking wasn’t hard, no, not with Thunderstep, not with her own Amica. It was just that nasty claw of burdening another with her troubles, that kept its talons on her throat, and the struggles of keeping her emotions in check enough for her to speak about it…

It sucked. There was no personal word nor sophisticated one she could find with the right definition on how to explain the itching feeling but… It just- sucked.

“Amica,” Thunderstep’s words resurfaced her attention, sounding more firm but concerned this time. His hand gently held onto her shoulder and the other on the elevator’s rail, “you’re shaking again,” he mentioned.

“Huh..?” She breathly gasped. No, he was right. She could hear it now almost audibly. The soft chittering of her plating, the running chills that made the room colder than it was, and the trembling of her skin that almost rattled under Thunderstep’s hold. There was no denying it, not to Thunderstep who knew her better than she did. The mech released his hand off the elevator’s bar, wrapping them both around her body to steady her as she pressed her faceplate into his chest, closing her eyes briefly to slow the rapid thrumming of her spark, “breathe… Breathe,” Thunderstep consoled, keeping a servo on the back of her helm, gently rubbing it.

It took a couple of minutes, despite feeling like hours, but eventually the chilling in her frame and the trembling was gone, steadily it disappeared, but the calm after the storm could only promise so little before it would come back again. An almost mute whisper of gratitude was ushered before Thunderstep pulled away, tilting his features down with reassurance in his exposed eyes, “it’s okay, you’re okay…” He soothed, patting her helm slightly to the femme who’d been refraining from coughing on the tightening sensation in her throat. She quietly blinked out the glossy covers of her vision, letting out a weary sigh that came out more ragged than intended, holding onto his servo momentarily to speak, “I thought- I was supposed to be the one taking care of you, not the other way,” she murmured, huffing amusingly to her own sarcasm. He only tilted his helm, retracting his servo to affirm, “nothing’s wrong with taking care of each other, Quartz, I’m always here for you,” The co-pilot mumbled, pulling her in for another quick embrace that she hadn’t expected, but didn’t complain for, gradually finding where her hands needed to be before sinking into the hug a moment longer.

“Ding!” went the elevator’s doors, alerting the pair of their arrival to the second floor while pulling away from one another. Thunderstep smiled, taking a step forward, “here’s our flo-” he was beginning to wobble again, preparing to meet the floor had it not been for Quartzstreak. She swiftly grabbed at his waist to straighten him back up onto his pedes, finding an embarrassed look plastered across his facial plates that were attempting to find hers. Quartzstreak formed the ghost of a smile, “... And I’ll be here for you,” she softly responded, invoking an “aww” to escape Thunderstep, hastily guiding him out of the elevator before he could start teasing her about it. Heading down the path labeled “Medical Wing”, she focused her sights on looking for the door to the Medical Bay, becoming surprised yet reminded once again that this ship was the same small vessel, she lived in for the last several eons before it underwent “changes” to house other members aboard it and cargo.

Quartzstreak attempted to search within her conscious for the memory of the Medical Bay’s location but instead grew side-tracked by a previous mention of piloting the ship, finding it worthy enough to notify Thunderstep strangely enough, “about earlier… I had already set the ship on autopilot already. So, there’s nothing to worry about- and if I didn’t. I doubt we’d be still standing here,” she sarcastically put, reeling Thunderstep out of his woozy mumblings, lastly adding, “And besides, I’ve caught you sleeping on the jobs more times than I can count,”

That got a snort to come out of him, “It’s called- ‘multitasking’,” He proudly admitted, unfaltering in blunt honesty.

“‘Multitasking’, my aft,” she quipped.

Thunderstep sharply gasped as if she had just critically offended him. Perhaps if his body wasn’t leaning against the back of hers, he would’ve placed a servo over his spark dramatically to emphasize his “hurt”, “did THE Quartzstreak just curse?” He teased.

The lieutenant flinched, holding back a baffled look, “oh, don’t act so sweet with me. You’re no innocent bot either,” she playfully argued, whipping her view around another corner to spot the Medical Bay’s doors not too far from them.

“Yeah, but this is THE lieutenant Quartzstreak we are talking about! -” He started up once again, letting out an even quieter gasp, leaning in to whisper, “is this the return of ol’ Sailor Quartz?”

Reaching the bay’s doors, Quartzstreak couldn’t help but snort at the last statement, eyeing him with a playful stare that also beckoned him to keep the mention of “Sailor Quartz” on the down-low, having to suppress that memory long ago, “That was a long time back, and it was once- when we were partying, nobody remembers it.” She rolled her eyes, raising a servo to the touchpad as it scanned her handprint with a low hum, giving an excuse for Thunderstep to continue, “well I do! I remember it very, very well.” He boastfully leaned against her body, applying more of his weight onto the femme who huffed, carrying the extra pressure with ease, “then I recommend you forget it before-” Her comment was shortly interjected by a slip of pure bright light that poured in from the open doorways, blinding the two as Quartzstreak took a moment to question the sudden opening, “wait. But the scanning process didn’t finish yet-” Her doubts washed away along with their optics adjusting vision to the Medical Bay’s lighting, blinking up at the other pair of cybertronians standing in the doorway, that corrected her previous thought, “oh,”

“Greetings, Lieutenant. Thunderstep,” A familiar face greeted the two, leaving Quartzstreak to speak up with a brushed back surprise and clearing of her throat, “ah, Jackedwheel, good-evening to you and-” They paused in their more formal tone, staring off to greet the other cybertronian but struggled to hold back a flinch when her sights met theirs- only for it to narrow, “... Nightstrider,” Quartztsreak gradually named, keeping a grip of her discomfort that nestled in her spark, “did something happen for you both to be visiting the Med Bay?” She inquired, tilting her helm a little as it almost bumped against Thunderstep’s helm.

“Oh no, nothing happened.” Jackedwheel waved, revealing a datapad from his utility belt to flip it around and show off a list of statistics, “I was just picking up some reports for the supply usage so we can figure out what the Reforme will be needing next time Skypeak and Shadeslinger decide on a date for resupply,” he informed, pausing briefly mid-way in his explanation to kindly gesture at the other femme who’d been standing eerily beside him without so much as a word, “Nightstrider wanted to accompany me,”

His frame stiffened once he properly spotted the co-pilot’s state, lowering his datapad down to point directly at the bot, “what uh- happened to Thunderstep?” they acknowledged yet before Quartzstreak could speak, Thunderstep spoke for himself, dipping in demeanor all too quickly, “none of your business…” he nonchalantly replied, taking the lieutenant by surprise. She furrowed her brows together, throwing her attention to Thunderstep and back to Jackedwheel the next, quickly explaining, “there was! - A minor incident and he hit his helm directly on the frontal area. Please forgive him for that statement,” she hastily excused, side eyeing Thunderstep who tapped at the side of his helm, hiding his optics beneath his visor again but he made no change to the thin line on his face.

She sighed, attention rested back on Jackedwheel who eyed at the co-pilot, then back to her, dipping his helm momentarily to acknowledge, “of course, I wish you a speedy recovery,” he lifted his datapad towards Thunderstep, who decided to hold back his glossa and look down instead. The longer Quartzstreak stared at Thunderstep, the more her shock was becoming evident- leading to an interrogation in her mind, “he was talkative before… Up-beat even despite what happened in the elevator. Why’s he being so hostile now? Did something happen between him and Jackedwheel?”

She faced Jackedwheel again, blinking with the realization that he’d been speaking the entire time she was distracted, resorting to the femme clearing up her thoughts a bit. Only to come back to the surface of reality with a compliment, much to her deepening disbelief, “... Thank you, Miss. Quartzstreak, for looking out for our members. It’s very- compassionate of you,” he approved. There was a light dust of cyan to display across her facial plate and to hide any of her further emotions from slipping out to the surface. Thunderstep made the move to cover her emotionally-receptive audials, not enough to completely block out the sounds but just enough to cover the tinges of pink that were sneaking out from the crevices of his cupped hands. She waved a dismissive hand to Jackedwheel, nearly stumbling over her words at his smile, “o-oh, you don’t- need to say that really. It’s-It’s my duty to assist others,” her optics darted away momentarily to process the words, looking back once her composure returned, easing the colors in her audial-receptors to a natural hue. Thunderstep removed his servos, slinging an arm over her shoulders and the other poised to his side in patience for the conversation to come to a close. Jackedwheel nodded again, slipping his datapad into Nightstrider’s possession, who’d been persistently watching, only changing her countenance when facing the mech by her. It only dug a deeper sense of curiosity for Quartzstreak at the change between her and Jackedwheel, burning the string of guesses as to what they could’ve possibly done to irritate the femme but before anything could’ve been asked or said.

Her body almost flinched at the feeling of Jackedwheel’s hand on her shoulder, causing her to eye up at him. Her stress became clouded by the bot’s warm smile, allowing her ease to rise steadily the more he talked, “I believe we’ve taken too much of your time by now and I meant what I meant, lieutenant. So, goodbye for now,” There was barely a moment to register the bid farewell, waving in a delayed motion as the two ushered past them, lending only Nightstrider’s farewell to be a sharpened glare before fleeing after Jackedwheel down another hall. Quartzstreak relaxed in unison to Thunderstep, once they were out of view, finally taking the second to clear out the clouds of serotonin in her processor to inquire something, “what was… That all about?” She gestured, guiding Thunderstep’s gaze back to her.

He gently angled his chin on her shoulder to properly face them, opening his intake to speak but barely forced so much as a sigh out. He closed it up again, with a huff and further eyed at the door of Drafthitch’s Medical Bay, finally answering, “I-I don’t know. I just- don’t like that guy’s vibe,” he mumbled, closing his eyelids to the light that was inviting them in. The lieutenant didn’t seem too persuaded by the short response but didn’t feel inclined either to digging out a bigger reason to his hostility, having inquiries of her own for Nightstrider’s. She tracked back to her main task, hoisting his body up one last time to try and end it off, “well, if you want to talk about this later, we can,” she suggested, receiving only a nod in compliance, and a buried “sure” in her shoulder. She held onto his arms and nodded, dragging him into the Medical Bay, “very well then, come on. Doctor’s waiting,”

#guess who found out how to make gifs :]]] #YEAAAAAAAAAAA IM FINALLY FINISHED WITH FIRST CHAPTER TOO WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! #transformers fanfiction #Quartzstreak's Memories #Quartzstreak (oc) #oc x canon #oc x canon fic #fanfic #fic #fanfiction #tfp fanfiction #transformers prime fanfiction #tfp fanfic #tfp oc #transformers prime #tf oc

[tanzen-neko]

Dip a Toe (Victor x MC)

This is my entry for July 6th Summer of Smut Challenge. Tagging the awesome @voltage-vixen. Hope you all enjoy

Dip a Toe (Victor x MC)

MLQC 

Summer of Smut Challenge- July 6th: Skinny Dipping at Night

Warnings: Semipublic nudity, sex, public sex

“Strawberry daiquiri, please. Blended.”

You ordered your drink, ignoring the man whose presence you felt behind you. The cool dimness of the hotel bar was a welcome respite to your hot face, and sweaty body, and you silently thanked whomever it was who invented AC. Handing her your card for the fruity drink, you heard the scoff of Victor behind you. Well, he could scoff all he wanted. You didn’t need his help to do anything. The bartender gave you a sympathetic look, and asked loud enough for Victor to hear if you were ok before cutting her eyes in his direction. Her warning was clear; upset her customers and she would move in. If judging by the bulge of her biceps, it wouldn’t be the first time. You shot a reassuring smile her way, accompanied with an eye roll in Victor’s direction, and taking your card back, made sure to leave a sizable tip before strolling over to the outside terrace. Even while angry, you had to admit Victor had impeccable taste in resorts. It was your first official trip as a couple, and though you had only been official for 3 months, the sheer amount of time you seemed to spend together made it feel like years. He had managed to take in account all your preferences when selecting the surprise 2 week trip as a reward for your 5 star rating on the latest venture. Though he didn’t treat you any differently as his investment, he always made sure to reward you for all the hard work as his girlfriend. You inhaled the fragrant scent of the jasmine that grew from the various planters. Taking a sip of your drink, you shuddered a little at its strength. The bartender must have felt you needed a little more boast to deal with Victor, the sweet thing. 

“You’re being ridiculous, you know.” Victor’s deep voice cut through your peaceful daydreaming, and you turned around to glare at him. He looked so casually handsome in the setting sun. His light blue linen shirt gave a wonderful contrast to the honey tan of his skin. He hadn’t been using any hair products since the trip, and the stylish cut of his bangs hung into his face. They seemed to emphasize the intensity of his dark eyes, and you swallowed hard. 

“Easy, girl. You’re mad. Don’t give in. Don’t. Give. In.”

Adopting a look of feigned indifference, you eyed him as you sipped your drink. 

“And what, pray tell Mr. Li, is ridiculous? The fact that you find me boring, or the fact that I got upset about it?”

You downed your drink fighting back a grimace, and left the empty glass on the table. Turning around, you strolled towards the hidden opening that led to the path towards the resort’s private beach, enjoying the crashing sound of the waves. Earlier in the week, you and Victor had discovered a hidden little secret spot on the resort’s private beach. You noticed that many of the resort visitors didn’t seem to frolic there, and the two of you had gone to it each night to watch the sunset. You would have missed it by the time you got there, but you were angry and didn’t want to go back to the room with him. Besides, you enjoyed the multitude of stars that were visible over the water. You could hear his footsteps following you down the path, but for once he was quiet. You rolled your eyes at the doubt that started creeping up in your chest. Maybe you were overreacting. You squared your shoulders as you walked. No! He would have to apologize for his poor choice of words. You made it down the path, and the beach was blessedly empty. You found your favorite spot; a sun warmed rock that seemed to have mysteriously found itself just off the side of the beach. You slipped your sandals off, burying your toes in the sand. It was still hot, and you wiggled your toes deeper, a sense of peace stealing over. Oh how you loved the beach. Almost skipping over to the rock, you had missed the glow of adoration in Victor’s smile. Even in the moonlight it was so easy for him to read the delight in your motions. He briefly wondered if he should buy the resort if for no other reason than to get to see you smile.

You plopped down on the rock, and kept your toes in the sand. There was a breeze coming off the ocean, and the salty smell of it tickled your nose. Victor sat next to you, making sure to leave a bit of space. You continued to ignore him. Tracing patterns in the sand with your toes, you heard him sigh.

“ I didn’t call you boring you know.” You didn't look in his direction. 

“Oh?”

“Dummy, I said, predictable. I’m not sure what idiotic dictionary you’ve been using, but those words are not the same in mine.”

You whirled towards him, the strap of your tank top falling down a little over your shoulder.

“They might as well mean the same thing Victor! When you say you don’t have to ask me about things because you already know my response, well it makes me feel boring… even if that’s not what you mean. I can be exciting too, you know!.”  You huffed at his amused expression and turned back around crossing your arms. He reached out to pull up your strap and you jerked away slapping his hand.

“Ouch! Dummy, I’m just trying to fix your top. You’re not wearing a bra. Are you trying to put on a show?”

Sudden inspiration struck you. Maybe it was the drink that left a pleasant fuzzy sensation in your head. Maybe it was that amused look on Victor’s face, or his refusal to admit that telling you that you were predictable wasn’t a nice compliment. Either way, you jumped up from the rock, and sauntered over to Victor, out of reach, but in his full view. 

“Maybe I want it to fall down. After all, I am about to undress.” You spun away so your outline was partially obscured by the shadows stretching out on the beach, the moonlight lending a glow that made you feel like a goddess as you slowly unbuttoned your shorts. Shimmying out of them as sensually as you could, (a feat that came with challenges given they way they stuck to your sweat covered thighs), you took a second to fold them before you languidly let your fingers drift down to your tank’s hem. Victor let out a growl, and you turned to face him, an eyebrow drifting up in question.

“And just what in the hell do you think you are doing?” he bit out.

“Why Mr. Li, you mean you can’t predict my next move?” Not waiting for a response, you pulled your tank off, breasts bare to his stare. Fighting the self conscious urge to cover yourself, you hooked your fingers in your underwear, pulling them down in one swift motion. Victor choked as he stared at your body. The struggle between disapproval, and arousal fighting for dominance on his face. 

“Dummy… I’m warning you…”

Instead of responding, you stretched, moaning sensually as you could feel the muscles in your back stretch and pop.

“Warn me all you want. I’m going for a dip.”

“You’re not that strong of a swimmer,” he snapped at you, disapproval winning in the end.You shrugged in response. “Well then I guess you better join me, huh? Unless it’s too boring for someone as sophisticated as yourself, Mr. Li.”

You turned and walked away from him, not bothering to wait for a response. Still, your heart pounded hard in your chest. What if he didn’t join you? “Nonsense” you told yourself. And well if he didn’t, you weren't going to dwell on it. You reached the water, and waded out. It had been a sweltering day, and the water was like a tepid bath. You giggled as the waves pushed you back towards the shore. Your feet feeling the sea shells embedded in the sand. You tucked your knees in your chest, riding a wave back to shore before you raced out again to find another one. Laughing loudly, you let the waves wash over you again. Forgetting for a moment you were mad, you shot a toothy grin Victor’s way. It left your face quickly, however. He was no longer on the rock. You turned back into the water with a sigh. The waves not as fun alone anymore. Maybe you had taken it too far? 

You heard his chuckle behind you, and before you could turn around, he pulled you against the hard planes of his chest. 

“Quit pouting. As if I would let you stay out here alone.”

You struggled against him for a moment, but he just pulled you closer.

“Stop wiggling so much. Your little fist is near a sensitive area, you know.” Frowning, you finally registered that you hadn’t felt his linen shirt. Reaching a questing hand back, Victor groaned a little as your hand brushed against his rising erection. 

“You’re naked,” you said without stopping the movement of your hand. If anything, you sped it up a little. Victor’s hands drifted from around your body to your shoulders. He leaned down to drop a scatter of kisses on the back of your neck.

“Well I wasn’t about to ruin my clothing.” You hummed a noncommittal response, and stopped your hand, darting off in the waves. “Wrong answer!” you shouted at him laughing at his dumbfounded expression. You didn’t get very far before his hands grabbed you around your waist. Victor lifting you with ease, and twirling you around, before looping an arm under your legs, bridal style. You clung to his neck as he dunked you in the water and pulled you back up.

“Victor, you jerk!” you shrieked at him. Your hair was plastered to your face, and you sputtered out the salt water that had filled your open mouth. Instead of apologizing, he threw his head back, a carefree laugh erupting from him that tugged at your heart. Always composed and in control, it took your breath away whenever you got the chance to see him openly laugh. And everytime he did, you felt yourself slip a little bit more in love with him. Setting you on your feet, he pushed your hair out of your face, smiling at you before leaning in for a kiss. You let your eyes drift shut, and raised your face up in anticipation. Victor let out another chuckle before brushing his lips against yours so lightly, you almost didn’t feel it. 

“I… I really am sorry for hurting you. I don’t think you’re boring. You’re too much of an absent minded fool to ever be boring.”

Your eyes shot open, but before you could fuss at him for his backhanded compliment, his smiling lips reclaimed yours once more. He deepened the kiss, and the taste of the ocean filled both of your mouths. You twined your fingers into his hair as his tongue tangled with yours. Victor slid his hands along your hips, pulling you in closer. You could feel his erection against your body, and you dropped a hand to grip it. You worked your hand up and down his erection, and Victor’s breathy moans were lost against your lips.

“You’re not going to stop again, are you?” he asked almost desperately.

“The only reason I’m going to stop is because I’d rather have you buried in me,” you responded back, nipping at his lower lip. Victor groaned at your words pulling you back in for a passionate kiss.  His thumbs gently stroked along you before he moved one of his hands between your legs. Cupping you gently he delved two of his fingers inside you, scissoring them back and forth for a moment. You let out a groan of your own as his skilled fingers work their magic on you taking you closer to the edge. His palm ground against your clit and your stomach flipped as your arousal rushed to coat his fingers. Victor ducked his head down to lick a path between your breasts, and latched onto a nipple, flicking his tongue against it. You let out a whine, and tried to ride his fingers for more stimulation.

“Victor, I’m ready. Please, just, just give me what I need.” Victor shuffled you back a bit, the water swirling around your ankles before he dropped to his knees and pulled you down with him. You laid out on the sand, the waves tickling your bodies as he placed himself between your legs. Rocking back on his knees, he grabbed your legs, draping them over his thighs. Watching intently, he eased himself in, inch by painstakingly inch until he was as deep as he could go.

“I love watching how well you take me.” He moved his hips forward in a hard stroke, groaning your name out as he did. He pumped forward again, and soon he set a pace that had you writhing against the sand. His hands dropped on either side of your head, and you flicked your tongue against the pulse at his wrist, raising your hips to meet the force of his thrusts. Victor let out a curse, and sped up. He angled his hips in just the right direction to hit that spot that made you almost see stars. It felt so,so good. You reached your hands up and clasped them around Victor’s neck to drag him down for a kiss. You crossed your ankles around him to take him in deeper, the pleasure mounting in your core. You broke the kiss to throw your head back at the jolts of pleasure that began shooting over your body. 

“Victor, I’m about to cum, oh I’m about to cum. Don’t stop, please. Oh, please”

“I’m close too,” he ground out as he picked up his pace. “Cum for me, love. Take your pleasure from me.”

You bit into Victor’s shoulder as you fell apart, your screams of pleasure muffled against his flesh. He gave a few more hard pumps before he pulled himself out and spilled across your stomach. After a few more kisses and catching your breaths, you rinsed off in the waves. You shivered as you made your way back to your rock. The temperature had dropped, and you were feeling it. You and Victor quickly dressed, and he held your hand as you made you way back up the path, swinging your hands back and forth.

“So…. Am I forgiven?,” he asked glancing in your direction. You pretended to ponder a bit, and even tapped your chin earning an amused snort from Victor.

“I’d say you’re well on your way. But don’t most apologies need someone on their knees?”

Victor stopped walking, and pulled you into his arms. “Oh I’ll have you on your knees alright, and on your back, on my lap, and maybe even on all fours”, he whispered against your ear.

“Victor! That’s not what I meant!” you giggled slapping his chest before you two resumed walking.

“But I have to say, if this is the way you apologize, I hope you mess up a lot more in the future.”

#summerofsmut #summer of smut challenge #mlqc victor #mlqc smut

[justcallmefox89]

The Bakery Fallout

Spoiler warning: if you haven’t read the book 3 demo, this fic does contain a small spoiler for Mason’s route.

Adam has to rescue the detective as they attempt to comes to terms with Mason’s statement in the bakery.  Their adversarial relationship transforms into something softer as they realize they have more in common than they first thought.  

I tap angrily on my keyboard in an attempt to finish my final report of the day as the scene from the bakery this morning plays on a loop in my mind.

Just seeing each other naked......

“What a smug, condescending........”  My thoughts trail off into an inaudible growl as shove myself away from my desk.  My office chair turns me in a lazy circle as I consider why I’m angry.

Fact - Mason had warned me that this would just be a bit of fun on his part.

Fact - I had agreed to those terms.

Fact - Somewhere along the way I lost my good sense and started to fall for him.

Fact - This morning he ripped out my heart and left it on that table at Haley’s.

I’ve spent the day stewing in my office, slamming filing cabinet drawers and dodging phone calls from the mayor.  I’m pissed at Mason, but downright disgusted with myself.  I glance at the clock hanging on my office wall.  

Close enough to quitting time.

Now there’s only one thing to do for my sour mood.  I catch Tina by the hand as she scampers past my office.  “We’re going drinking.”  

She doesn’t hesitate, just lets out a cheery laugh.  “Lead on then Detective!”

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

Adam strides purposefully into the bar, eyes narrowing as he searches the dim establishment for Detective MacKenzie, nose wrinkling against the smell of cheap beer.  He huffs in irritation when he is unable to immediately locate them.

He’s beginning his second scan of the bar when a pair of hands yank down on his arm.  Officer Poname is gazing up at him blearily, holding his arm for balance as she stretches up on her tiptoes.  

“They’re over there!”  She points to a far corner of the room and shouts in an attempt to be heard above the din of the bar.

Adam winces as her voice attacks his hypersenses and steps away quickly, pulling his arm from her grip as he does.  His gaze flicks in the direction of Officer Poname’s extended arm and catches a glimpse of the detective’s riotous black curls as they brush their hair over their shoulder, shaking their head and laughing as their long hair tickles their bare skin.  

The detective’s tattoos are usually covered, but tonight they have removed their flannel shirt and Adam is momentarily fascinated by the colorful ink and pale skin revealed by the detective’s sleeveless undershirt.

“They seem to be enjoying themselves,” Adam observes, wondering for the tenth time since he left the warehouse why he was called to save the detective from their bad decisions.

“Yeah, about that........” Officer Poname slowly drawls.  “There’s something going on.  They won’t tell me what it is, but I haven’t seen them this bad since......”

“Since?”  Adam prompts, impatient.

Officer Poname shakes her head and waves a hand, as if shooing the thought away.  “If Kieran wants to tell you about it, they will.  They point is, they’re drunk and in bad shape, and I’m not in any state to help them out right now.”

“I’m sure Specialist Agent Mason would have been happy to assist Detective MacKenzie,” Adam remarks dryly.

A strange look crosses Tina’s face.  “They told me not to call him,” she admits. “They said to call the.....” She trails off and her face flushes momentarily.  “They told me to call you.”

Adam furrows his brow, confused as to why Kieran wouldn’t want to call Mason, and even further confused at the small fluttering in his chest at the revelation that they had insisted he come to their aid.

“Well, uh, I’ll leave you to it then.”  Tina pats his shoulder and clumsily meanders off in search of another drink.

He shoulders his way towards the dark corner Detective MacKenzie is ensconced in, stopping in surprise when he sees they’re not alone.  Kieran is sitting with the reporter, more accurately, seated in his lap, both hands braced on his muscular chest as their fingertips toy with the buttons of his shirt.  Bobby’s fingers run through their hair, tangling in their curls and playing with the silver and leather hair beads scattered through the thick locks.

Pushing down a sudden surge of irritation Adam moves directly behind the duo’s chair and loudly clears his throat.  Bobby is the first to look up at him, eyes widening in surprise quickly followed by curiosity, undoubtedly wondering why Adam is there instead of Mason.

“Looks like you’ve got a visitor, angel.”  He smirks as he twists one of Kieran’s curls around his index finger.

“I’ve come to escort you home,” Adam announces, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Kieran twists to look at him over their shoulder.  They look angry, brows furrowed, lips parted to make a sarcastic remark, as per the usual course of their relationship with him.

As Adam braces himself for a confrontation he glances down to meet Kieran’s gaze.  Their eyes are glassy, pupils blown so wide the black nearly obscures the vivid emerald color of their irises.  Despite the fury that twists their features, their eyes are pained..........sad.

Adam takes a sharp breath, momentarily disconcerted by the pain that emanates from Kieran’s very being; washing over them in waves and threatening drown them.  He exhales shakily, overwhelmed by the sudden, intense urge to dive in and save them from the undertow.

Kieran inhales deeply and blinks several times in rapid succession, and when they meet Adam’s eyes again he’s relieved to see their usual smirk is back in place. 

“If you insist, Commanding Agent Du Mortain,” Kieran purrs.  They lean in and whisper something in Bobby’s ear.  Adam is only able to parse out a few words over the clamor of the other bar patrons, but whatever they say puts a large smile on the reporter’s face.  

Kieran places both feet firmly on the floor and stands, wobbling slightly.  Unthinking, Adam reaches out to steady the detective with one large hand on their shoulder.  As soon as he touches bare skin his body tenses.  Their skin is soft and so, so warm.  For some reason he had imagined that the tattoos would feel differently, that maybe the ink would texture their skin somehow, but all he can feel is smooth, unblemished skin.

“Hey!  Du Mortain!”  Adam gasps, startled out of his shockingly personal thoughts about the detective, and realizes that his hand is still firmly touching them.

Kieran gives him an infuriating smirk and a quick wink.  “Looking’s free, but touching will cost ya.”

Adam snatches his hand away from the detective and imperiously looks down his nose at them.  “Never fear Detective MacKenzie, I have no desire to touch you any longer than absolutely necessary to ensure your safety.”  

His stomach clenches and he frowns.  His words sounded so certain, but why did it feel like he was telling a lie?

Kieran shrugs into their flannel shirt and gives him a coy look.  “That’s what the pretty ones all say at first,” they murmur, patting his chest softly.  

Adam’s eyes widen at the casual touch and he huffs out an involuntary rush of air.  “Time to leave detective.”

Kieran turns to blow Bobby a kiss, then lazily waves a hand towards the bar’s exit.  “Lead on then, Du Mortain.” 

The chill of the outside air and a soft mist are a welcome change from the sour, fermented air of the bar and Adam inhales deeply to cleanse his lungs.  Next to him, Kieran has closed their eyes and tilted their head back, lips curled in a soft smile as the mist touches their skin.

Adam has never seen the detective look so happy.  No, not happy.  Unguarded.  Kieran has nearly as many personal defenses in place as he does, and to see them simply be is something he wants to savor.  He allows himself a few moments more before catching the detective’s attention.

Adam coughs loudly, prompting Kieran to open their eyes.  “If you’re quite through Detective MacKenzie, we need to proceed to your apartment.”

Kieran rolls their eyes and shoulders past him.  “Whatever you say, Du Mortain.”

“If you find my company that distasteful you could’ve called someone else to retrieve you,” Adam snaps, matching his steps to their.  “I’m sure Agent MacKenzie or another member of Unit Bravo-”

“Bleeding Christ, no,” Kieran snorts.  Adam blinks, taken aback by their vehemence.  “Those four are the very last fucking people I want to be around right now.”

Adam’s eyes widen.  “You want to be around me?”

“Shocked the shit out of me too, Du Mortain,” they chuckle.  “Nate and Felix would just look at me like I’m a wounded puppy and want to talk about how I feel.”  

They blanch, a faintly sickened look on their face at the very thought.  Adam feels a faint pang of empathy; the thought of having his feelings subject to the scrutiny of either Nate or Felix is enough to make him feel ill as well.  

“And we both know that they only time Rebecca has anything to do with me is if she needs something or when we have a case.  And Mason is only interested in what’s in my pants, not helping me out.”  Kieran glances over at him, anticipating his rebuttal.  

Adam opens him mouth, knowing he should put forth some form of token argument, but he can’t deny the truth of Kieran’s statement, so instead he asks, “Why call me then?”

“Because,” they sigh.  “You leave things well enough alone.  You don’t pick or prod trying to get me to open up about things I don’t want to talk about.  You just let me be.  And I appreciate that.  You’re the only one who does.”

The rest of the walk continues in silence as Adam ponders the detective’s statement.  He hadn’t considered it before, but he appreciated them for the very same reason.

The rest of the walk to Kieran’s apartment passes in a companionable silence.  Once they have the door unlocked they lean against the doorjamb and rake an appraising glance over Adam.  

“Wanna come inside?”  They ask, jerking a thumb towards their living room.  “We could have a proper sleepover, make hot chocolate and friendship bracelets and everything.”

 Adam’s eyes bulge in surprise and he takes a startled step back.  “You cannot be serious, detective.”

“Sure I am.  I’ve got a crafting kit left over from the last time I watched Verda’s girls.”  Kieran waits a beat then dissolves into giggles.  “You should have seen your face, Du Mortain.”

Adam’s shoulders sag in relief, but for the second time this evening a faint pang of disappointment resonates in his chest.  He quickly shakes the feeling off.  “I trust you can handle yourself from here, Detective MacKenzie?”

Kieran smirks and gives him a lazy salute.  “Absolutely, Commanding Agent Du Mortain.”  They sober for a moment.  “But seriously, thanks for coming to walk me home.  You’re a regular knight in shining armor.”

Adam rolls his eyes in annoyance and turns to leave.

“Hey Adam?”  Kieran’s voice is soft, hesitant.

He turns, an eyebrow quirked in curiosity.  “Yes, detective?”

Their eyes are hazy now, glassy with unshed tears.  “Why don’t they want me?”

Adam’s brow furrows as he attempts to work out who Kieran is talking about.  A few moments too late he works out that they’re referring to Mason and Rebecca.  

Kieran has taken his silence as something other than momentary confusion, and nods as they smile sadly.  “Yeah.......I wouldn’t want me either.”

“Detective,” Adam begins, his throat clenching as they roughly rub the cuffs of their shirt over their eyes in attempt to stop their tears from falling.

They shrug in a half-hearted attempt to reassure him.  “Goodnight, Adam.”  They silently withdraw into the darkness of their apartment and shut the door.

He stands motionless outside the detective’s apartment, and for the first time since he’s known them, Adam feels a rush of pure rage towards Mason and Rebecca.  Damn them.  Damn them both. 

#TWC #twc writing #detective #twc fanfic #twc stuff #twc detective #twc fic #twc a #twc m #twc mason #the wayhaven chronicles a #the wayhaven chronicles m #the wayhaven chronicles #the wayhaven chronicles mason #the wayhaven chronicles adam #adam du mortain #Specialist Agent Mason #the wayhaven chronicles detective

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Forged Through Fire (4/13)

Summary: Amestris. Once democratic, now a military dictatorship. Prohibition is strict; personal freedoms curtailed. All alchemists must be state-licensed or face imprisonment. Foreigners are met with suspicion. It’s a grim place and a grim time, but there are some people able to bring a little light to the world. Behind an innocent-looking bookshop, speakeasy proprietor Chris Mustang has formed an unlikely alliance with unlicensed alchemist Van Hohenheim to provide alcohol to those who want it and medical care to those who need it. When Riza’s newly complete tattoo becomes infected, Roy brings her into this underworld, little knowing the way it will change their lives in the future – uncovering the secrets of the mythical Philosopher’s Stone and the schemes of a Fuhrer hell-bent on achieving immortality, all whilst navigating what they mean to each other.

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Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [AO3]

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Content warning for this chapter: Discussion of parent-on-child domestic abuse and parental neglect.

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Forged Through Fire

Four

Roy didn’t really know what to expect when he knocked on the Hawkeye residence’s door the next day – well, later in the same day, since he hadn’t left until after midnight. Riza looked tired and withdrawn when she answered, but she gave a weak smile when she saw him.

“Hey Roy. Come in.”

He stepped inside, hanging up his coat on the hook that had always been his when he had been coming over to learn under Berthold.

“How are you today?”

“I’m ok. Still sore, and the burned skin pulls weirdly sometimes, it’s going to take some time to get used to it. But the pain’s getting better.”

“That’s good.” It wasn’t exactly what he’d asked, and he wondered if Riza was dodging the subject intentionally. “How are you feeling today?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to vocalise it. I’m not used to this.”

“What aren’t you used to?”

He followed her into the kitchen, getting cups out of the cupboard as she put the kettle on.

“This.” She gave a long sigh. “I’m not used to having people care about me and care how I’m feeling. The last person who ever cared about my feelings was my mom. And now there’s you, and Trisha, and Hohenheim, and your aunt, and you all care, and you all know about this.” She gestured to her back. “And I trust you with it, don’t get me wrong. But it’s overwhelming. I don’t know how to be vulnerable, Roy. I don’t know how to deal with people caring about me.”

“That’s ok.” Roy chanced to reach across and touch her hand where it was resting on the counter as she waited for the kettle to come to the boil. “We’ll still be here whilst you’re figuring it out.”

No more was said as the kettle boiled and tea was made, and they sat down at the kitchen table.

Presently, Riza looked through the kitchen door to the door of her father’s study opposite.

“I should go in and sort everything out. I haven’t been in there since he died. I don’t have the energy. I can’t think of anything that I want to do less than go through all his research. Part of me says I shouldn’t bother. He loved alchemy more than he ever loved me and I don’t see why I should have to have anything to do with it now. But then there’s the other part of me that says I should continue being a dutiful daughter and go through all his stuff. It caused me so much pain and it’s all still there and I have to do something with it.”

“I don’t see any reason why you should,” Roy said “Just destroy it all. Hell, just torch the entire room, you don’t even need to take anything out of it.”

Riza raised an eyebrow. “Having a burned out husk of a room in the middle of the house might make it hard to sell. Also the risk of it bringing the entire house down is just a bit too great. Not that I don’t trust you to have excellent control over your fire, but this is a very old and flammable building. Makes me wonder how it never burned down before, actually.”

“OK. Take everything out of it and dump it in the garden and have a bonfire, then. You don’t owe him anything, Riza. I think you need the catharsis. You can’t get rid of the marks he left on you, but you can get rid of all of the other traces of his legacy. I think it would be fitting for it all to go up in smoke.”

Riza nodded. “I just want it gone,” she said quietly. “The tattoo will never be gone. But everything else can be gone. Just… erase him from the world and never have to deal with him again. Never have him cause me any pain again.”

She finished her tea and stood up suddenly, the scrape of the chair legs against the kitchen floor jerking Roy into action too.

“Let’s do it.”

She threw the study door open, as if she was trying not to second-guess herself, and Roy looked around. It looked exactly the same as it had done when he had last been in there a couple of years prior – books and papers everywhere, no rhyme or reason to anything, no order that made sense to anyone except Berthold.

“I hate this room so much,” Riza said. Her tone was almost conversational, but Roy could see the anger in her eyes, now bright and fiery instead of the haunted look she’d been wearing for the past couple of days.

It took them a while to get everything out of the study into the garden and pile it up, but it was worth it to see the look of satisfaction in Riza’s face as she stood in the empty room. They’d even ripped down the curtains and pulled out the built-in bookshelves. If they were going to do it, then they would do it properly. Everything had to go. The sun was beginning to go down by the time they were finished, and Roy looked over at Riza.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded.

“Light it up.”

Roy shook his head and handed her a lighter; always paid to have one handy in case the spark cloth got wet. “No. This is your moment; you need to do this.”

Riza took the lighter and flicked it, watching the tiny flame stuttering in the breeze for a while before she threw it onto the pile of papers and furniture. It took a few moments for it to catch properly, but soon the blaze was burning high, Berthold Hawkeye’s legacy going up in smoke in the most poetic end for his research there could be.

For a long time, they just watched the blaze together in silence, and Roy looked sideways at Riza, the shadows from the bright flame dancing in front of his eyes. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, like she was trying to physically hold herself together, and he startled when she suddenly crumpled down onto her knees.

He crouched beside her.

“Riza?”

Riza howled, a heartrending scream of pain, anger, frustration and grief all letting rip. Roy couldn’t say he was surprised, nor could he say she didn’t need it after everything. Tears were streaming down her face, and Roy realised he hadn’t seen her cry like this at all since her father’s death. Not at the funeral and not even the previous day when she’d been in so much pain. She had wept, but nothing like this raw outpouring of emotion. 

Riza had always been stoic, more stoic than Roy thought he could ever hope to be, and even though it was completely understandable, and he had been the one to say that she could not keep her stoicism forever, it was alarming to see her in so much distress. He hovered next to her, hand an inch from her shoulder, wanting to give a comforting touch but not sure whether or not it would be welcome.

In the end he chanced it, rubbing her arm gently. Riza gave no indication that she could even feel him, continuing to sob, and Roy settled down on the damp grass beside her.

Eventually, she cried herself out, falling silent again, the roaring flame from the bonfire still going strong beside them, the light sparkling on Riza’s wet cheeks as she kept staring at it.

“Can I get you anything?” Roy asked.

Riza shook her head.

“No. Just don’t leave, please.”

Roy would quite happily have stayed there for as long as she wanted, until the fire burned down to nothing. He shifted, putting an arm around Riza’s shoulders as she flopped against him, exhausted by the much needed emotional release.

After a few more minutes of silence, Roy ventured to speak again.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been through a washing machine. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel so I’m feeling it all at once.”

“That’s ok. Just let it all out.”

Riza didn’t respond, and Roy could see that she was crying again; silent and sorrowful.

“You’ll be ok. I promise.” He couldn’t hope to understand what she was feeling, and he was grateful that he had never been in the position where he would be able to claim he knew what she was going through, but he could understand that she was undergoing a massive upheaval, and all he could hope to do was help her through the other side.

He watched the smoke rising from the fire, sending the ashes of her childhood flying off into the night sky, away into the ether where they could never harm her again.

They stayed out in the garden until the fire began to die back - Roy would admit if asked that he had helped its intensity along at various points to keep it steady and bright - and by the time they went back inside, stiff and cold from sitting on the grass for so long, but neither of them complaining at it, Riza seemed to have found a modicum of peace again.

X

Of all the things that Riza thought she was going to have to worry about when she started working the front for the speakeasy, having someone come into the bookshop who actually wanted to use it as a bookshop wasn’t one of them. It was such an obscure and out of the way little place, hardly anyone ever came in looking for books, and most people who did come in saw the state of the shelves and everything packed in haphazard and turned straight back around again.

The woman who had just walked in and started browsing, however, had determination if nothing else. She’d been going through the shelves for a good fifteen minutes before she finally poked her head around the end of one of the stacks and looked at Riza with her brow furrowed.

“Do you have a history section?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. I’ve only been here three months. I think everything’s organised by what colour the cover is rather than anything else.”

The woman laughed. “Oh well. I’ll just keep looking. I don’t have anywhere else to be, after all.”

It was the middle of the afternoon and whilst the bar was open, Riza wasn’t expecting any patrons to come through the door any time soon, so there was no need to get the woman out of the shop lest she find out about the rather more illegal practices going on downstairs.

“I can help you look if you want.” She got up and came out from behind the counter. “Are you looking for something specific?”

“Not really, more just anything that I can get my hands on about local history. I mean, you know what it’s like trying to find out anything about the time before the current regime started up. I’ve got as much access to the governmental archives as they allow, which is…” The woman tailed off, and Riza knew exactly why. Even in a place as out of the way as the bookshop, there were eyes and ears everywhere.

“You get through the front door and they give you what they want you to see?” Riza suggested. She wasn’t sure how to let the woman know that the space here was safe, and at the same time there was always the risk that she herself was here for nefarious purposes, trying to scent out what was going on behind the scenes.

The woman nodded. “Yeah, pretty much.”

They continued to work through the shelves for a while but going book by book was going to take them till next Tuesday, and their conversation turned to other things – the weather, the latest news, other neutral small talk topics. Names were exchanged, and finally Riza brought the conversation back around to their current mission; subtly trying to get more information to see how much of a threat this Rebecca Catalina might be.

“So, how come you have access to the governmental archives?”

“I’m a journalist with the Central Herald.” Rebecca sighed. “At least, I attempt to be a journalist.”

“Attempt?” Riza was intrigued now; the Central Herald was known for getting on the wrong side of the government just enough to annoy them without being enough to get itself closed down. There was no free press in Amestris and there hadn’t been for a long time, but the Herald was the closest they got to it. She was steering towards thinking that Rebecca probably wasn’t a secret police informant. Either that or she was in deep undercover.

“All the newspapers have state-sponsored overseers. I think they’d all much rather that I stuck to just reporting on weddings and funerals and what colour hat Lady Bradley’s wearing on any given day, but we do our best.”

Riza had to smile at that.

“So, what’s the latest scoop?”

“Nothing concrete yet. I’ve just got a feeling. There’s some dilapidated old buildings on the far side of town, by the Narrows. They’ve been closed off as condemned for years, but they’ve never been knocked down, and there are always cars with government plates hanging around in the vicinity.”

“Well, in this country I wouldn’t put anything past anybody.”

They continued searching for a while, pulling up a few promising old books, until the bell above the shop door jangled again and Riza immediately went into secret keeper mode, going to see who had entered her domain. The bookshop was a strange liminal space in that sense, more of a portal to another world than a place in its own right.

It was only Roy.

“Hi. I just thought I’d come by to see how you were doing.”

“I’m ok.” She nodded discreetly in Rebecca’s direction to indicate that they weren’t alone and couldn’t discuss bar business. “How are you?”

“Fine. Hughes is driving me round the bend but that’s not exactly new…” He trailed off, and Riza glanced to the side to see that Rebecca was doing a very poor job of pretending that she wasn’t watching them, surreptitiously sneaking peeks over the top of the book she absolutely wasn’t reading. Looking back at Roy, she saw that he’d gone rather pink around the edges, and the sight of him so flustered made her smile.

“Well, I, erm, I’ll see you later.”

He left the shop as suddenly as he’d entered it, and Rebecca gave a giggle from behind her book.

“Boyfriend?” she asked.

“No, no. He’s just an old friend.”

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “Are you absolutely sure about that?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She really didn’t want to think about it.

Rebecca seemed to notice her consternation and immediately changed the subject. The two of them continued to talk about books for a while, and although Riza was as guarded as she ever was around strangers, there was something about Rebecca that was easy to get along with. Riza found herself wondering what the catch was. Her upbringing had made her cynical in a way, always wondering what it was that people wanted from her. After spending so long with Roy as the only person she could really consider to be a friend, finding new friendly people was somewhat daunting.

For a moment, Riza’s anger against her father flared again, knowing that he was at the root of her troubles and lamenting the ordinary childhood and teenage years that she’d never got to have. She tried to push it down and focus on what Rebecca was saying.

“Well, I have to go now, but I’d like to come back and take a look at the shelves I didn’t get to today.”

“Sure. We’re always open.” That was pretty much true. Operating as the front for the speakeasy meant that they did keep much longer hours than most ordinary second-hand bookshops would.

“Great! Well, it was nice to meet you Riza. I’ll see you soon.”

Riza found herself looking forward to it in spite of herself.

Roy came back into the shop a few minutes after Rebecca left, and Riza had to laugh.

“Were you literally just hiding around the corner until she went away?”

“No! Well. Maybe.”

Riza snorted. “There’s no need, I’m fairly sure she’s harmless. She’s a journalist for the Herald.”

“Journalists are in no way harmless, Riza.”

“You know what I mean. Harmless to you physically. She’s not going to bite you, and from our conversation, I’m sure she’s safe for this place as well.”

“The sixth sense wasn’t tingling then?”

“You know me, Roy. I’m naturally suspicious of everyone. But I think Rebecca could be a friend to us.”

“That’s good.” Roy looked at her. “Do you think she could be a friend to you?”

Riza didn’t reply straight away, mulling everything over in her mind. The idea of having friends who weren’t linked to the speakeasy or didn’t come through Roy was a nice one, despite the voice in the back of her mind that kept telling her that she didn’t deserve nice things like that.

“I… I think so. I don’t know. I would like that.”

“Go for it and see where it takes you. It’ll be good for you to get out of here once in a while and have some friends who aren’t here for the alcohol.”

“I know. I was thinking the same thing. The trouble is that I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“It’s still early days yet. Maybe there isn’t another shoe. We live in a world of mistrust and subterfuge and paranoia, but there are still decent people out there.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Riza leaned back in her chair. “Optimism hasn’t always been the best colour on me. It feels weird.”

“I agree that sometimes optimism can be dangerous in the circumstances we’re in. But it can be exhausting to be cynical all the time, and you deserve some normality in your life.”

“Hmm.” Riza continued to ponder his words for a while, until Roy just left her alone with her thoughts, giving her an understanding pat on the shoulder as he went past her into the bar.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to start having friends and getting some semblance of normality into her life after all.

#FMA Fanfiction #FMA Brotherhood #Royai #Riza Hawkeye #Roy Mustang #Fic: Forged Through Fire

[not-close-to-straight]

More Than Words (Twenty-Six)

Peter dives further into research, so this chapter contains the same generic TW as the last one for mentions of the Holocaust and mistreatment/torture of mutants. I had a blast writing some of the history for this verse, and I’m not saying I want to write a Stucky centric spin off based on what I’ve written in here, but like also, I sort of want to write a Stucky centric spin off. 

Also, it ends with a line to make you scream, you’re welcome. 

MTW MASTERLIST HERE

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“Pete?” Harry had to put his shoulder against the apartment door and shove to get it open. “Pete? What the heck is blocking your door? Where are you?” 

“I’m here.” Peter hurried towards the front door and pushed boxes out of the way to let the Alpha through. “Sorry, I got busy and all my reading sort of expanded--” he gestured to the entire living room. “--everywhere. Did you bring me the movies?” 

“I brought movies and I brought food.” Harry held up a to go box and then a stack of movies. “But I think you owe me for all the weird looks I got picking out all these titles.” 

“Why were people looking at you weird?” Peter was starving, and he snatched at the food before Harry had even made it to the kitchen, throwing back the lid and exclaiming in delight over the chimichanga inside. “That video store is known for having obscure movies and random documentaries, I feel like these ones aren’t half as crazy as most of the stuff on the shelves.” 

“The Rise of the Squatch.” Harry read out loud. “The Girl from Lava Island. The Creature from the Mines. This one is called ‘What Lurks Within’ and I dunno what that could possibly be about. What’s with all the cheesy monster movies and faux documentaries?” 

“Every crazy story as a little bit of truth somewhere along the way.” the Omega mumbled through a big bite. “The stories that get told over and over had to be true at some point, right?” 

“Uh huh.” Harry said skeptically. “Which is why you had me rent ‘It Came From the Manhole’, right? Because ‘It Came in the Manhole’ was right next to this one and that’s just straight up porn, Pete. It was just porn and I’ll give you a guess which movie case I grabbed for the first time around.” 

“...well was it interesting porn?” 

“It had MANHOLE on the cover, Peter!” 

Peter almost choked when he tried to laugh around a too big mouthful of tortilla and Harry threw his hands in the air in frustration. “I didn’t even realize I grabbed the wrong one until I got to the front and the kid behind the desk asked to see my ID! He wanted to know if I’d need the coordinating magazine!” 

“There’s a manhole magazine?” the Omega asked innocently, and Harry huffed, “If I wasn’t so happy to see you smiling again I’d bite you for that. I had to stand there while some high school senior asked if I wanted to rent a nudie mag to go with my manhole porn. It was the worst three minutes of my life.” 

“But--” 

“Quickly superseded by the look I got from the same kid when I handed him--” Harry checked another title. “--Bagging Your BigFoot: How to Catch the Monster of Your Dreams. Cos that doesn’t make me sound horny for Sasquatch at all.”

“It’s not my fault monster documentaries are always titled to sound vaguely pornographic.” Peter offered his friend a conciliatory piece of chimichanga and smiled when Harry grumbled through the entire bite. “And thank you for getting them all for me. I’ve been so busy lately I’ve hardly left the house at all.” 

“M’just glad you called me, Pete.” Harry leaned in to wipe at the side of Peter’s mouth, and when the Omega didn’t move away, he leaned in closer and placed a very soft, very chaste kiss on Peter’s cheek. “We’ve all been real worried about you lately. I mean we’ve been worried about you anyway but after the other night--” 

“I called you guys to tell you I was okay.” Peter went back to eating so the Alpha wouldn’t see him frown. “You didn’t believe me?” 

“You got so sad so quick Johnny actually threw up.” Harry pointed out and Peter grimaced apologetically. “Calling us two days later to say you’re fine and busy and not to worry wasn’t very reassuring.” 

“Harry--” 

“You’ve said you’re fine every day since you got home from the hospital.” the Alpha continued stubbornly. “And every single time you’ve been lying, Pete. You’re my best friend, we’ve been through everything together. Heats and ruts, AP Chemistry and physics, you were there when my Dad went off his medication for a while and I had to call the cops. What makes you think I can’t tell when you’re lying?” 

“...right.” 

“And what makes you think I can’t handle you telling me what's going on?” Harry pressed. “I know Mary Jane is an Omega so you guys do that crazy intimate Omega bonding thing. And Gwen believes in forced cuddles and being there whether you want it or not, and I’m glad you and Johnny figured out what’s going on but Pete-- this is me.” 

The Alpha put a hand to his chest and held the other out to Peter. “This is me and you don’t gotta lie to me anymore. Tell me what happened or-- or tell me why you can’t tell me what happened. Where did you go the other day? What’s with all these monster hunting books and movies? Talk to me, I’m here for you honey. I am.” 

Peter tried to smile and Harry cajoled, “At least tell me why I had to go to the super creepy video store and convince an eighteen year old I grabbed the porn by accident. At least tell me that, I think I deserve to know.” 

“You do deserve to know.” Tears pinpricked behind the Omega’s eyes, and Harry rumbled at him comfortingly. “And I’m sorry I’ve been lying to you lately. And keeping you out of things. I’m sorry.”

“No one’s mad about it.” Harry pulled him in for a hug, holding Peter steady with a hand at the base of his neck and another low on the Omega’s hips. “We aren’t mad, Pete. But we’re worried. And May is worried. And I dunno what to do about it, but I think I’d figure a few things out if you’d just talk to me.” 

Peter was quiet and Harry added, “At least about the Bigfoot thing. Minimum.” 

“Okay.” he nodded into Harry’s shoulder. “Okay I’ll - I’ll tell you.” 

“I’m listening.” 

“...what do you know about mutants?” 

*************

*************

The boxes had arrived the morning after Peter’s heat, appearing in his living room with the same abruptness that Cable used to bump in and out of his life. The Omega had tripped right over the first one on his way out of his bedroom, banged his knee on a second one and by the time the third caught him in the shins, Peter forced himself to stop walking, wake up all the way, and actually look to see what the hell was happening. 

Boxes. Everywhere. Stuffed full to the brim and straining their seams with stacks and stack of paperwork, folders worth of redacted information, books about mythology and epic beasts and folk tales about shape shifters and early gods. 

On top of an an ancient German book of fairy tales was a note:

Find your answers but keep them to yourself. -- C

And then scribbled along the bottom: This should free me from having to answer any questions. I don't give a damn about your curiosity, don't bother me anymore. 

Peter laughed softly and carried the book with him to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Of course the cranky Alpha didn’t want to stick around and answer questions, and while it was thoughtful to the point of being caring that Cable had taken the time to gather this information and apparently drop it through a wormhole into Peter’s apartment, the Omega was more excited by the prospect of reading through files that had so obviously been taken from somewhere secret. . 

The amount of redaction in the few papers he’d glimpsed in a box on his kitchen table was exhilarating, and the publication dates on some of the books meant the stories and legends inside had been accepted as truth for hundreds of years, perhaps even told as fact for thousands of years before that. Cable would have had to snatch the files from secure storage facilities, maybe the mutant had even gone back in time to find the correct information before it had been incinerated like most sensitive documents were. 

The idea of boxes and boxes of dated and perhaps even classified information just piling up in his living room waiting to be read through-- well there was a reason Peter had become a journalist, and it had less to do with working to better humanity and more to do with everything he absolutely had to know. 

And he absolutely had to know all of this, so Peter had brewed another pot of coffee and went right to work. 

It was some point near the end of the first day when the Omega dragged himself away from a file about the LA riots and into a shower. He’d gone to push his hair out of his face and ew his fingers had snagged and pulled hard enough to hurt, the sudden pain made Peter jerk and then oh no he’d gotten a whiff of himself and immediately went to wash. 

The perfunctory post heat shower hadn’t been enough to wash away months of depression, so Peter stayed beneath the water until it ran cold, soaping and resoaping his hair, scrubbing the lather down his body until his skin was pink from the loofah. Then it was his fingernails that needed clipped and filed down a little bit since anxiety had led the Omega to bite them too raged and pick his cuticles to bleeding and if he was going to do that, he supposed he should maybe comb his hair extra well and maybe shave the little bit of scruff he’d managed to grow in the last few months. 

Showered and scenting clean again, Peter went right back to the couch to cross reference some of the information with what he could find online but then fuck he was suddenly starving, when was the last time he’d eaten at all?

Food was ordered and inhaled while the Omega kept one eye on the computer screen and the other flipping through page after page in the file and jotting down every note that came to mind--

--and somewhere along the way, clean and comfortable in his favorite pajamas and stuffed full on delicious food, his mind running a thousand miles a minute on something other than heartbreak--

--Peter fell right the hell asleep, no medication needed, and didn’t wake up again until morning. 

And maybe he wasn’t better but for the first time since waking up in Haven Mercy Hospital, Peter felt like himself. He felt real and he felt normal so he got a cup of coffee and settled back in with a new notebook and pen, opened up a new file and got right back to work. 

That had been five whole days ago, and the Omega had escalated from just reading files and comparing them to online articles to requesting books from the Central library and having them delivered, downloading full texts and printing out hundreds of pages so he could light up the words with neon highlighters so he wouldn’t lose a single bit of information. 

It was hard to sleep with so much to process, but most nights Peter dropped off from sheer exhaustion and slept dreamless for eight merciful hours. His mind came back online razor sharp in the morning, his energy levels rising after a few days of solid sleep and consistent food and even though Peter wouldn’t let himself obsess about the mentions of time travel, he found relief for all his other questions in the hours and hours and hours worth of tracking mutant activity across the last century and a half. 

The Omega was almost positive he’d found evidence of Logan in both World Wars and then shockingly, again in Vietnam. There just couldn’t be too many people with that signature fuck off scowl and the unnerving habit of coming back from seemingly any injury no matter how ruinous. The oldest records were sparse and hard to follow but Peter put the stories together as best he could until he could write the profile of a man-- of a hero-- who seemed to sign up for every fight only to disappear the moment it was over, usually after turning the tide of the battle with some feat that couldn’t possibly be anything other than supernatural. 

There were a few instances that could have been Eddie, could have been the black that existed beneath the mutants skin and dug deep down into his soul. Stories of man eating shadows, of villages terrorized by something that came from the darkest nights, of blood curdling roars and the click clack of too many teeth, of hiss and the sound of liquid as something unknown slinked by filled more than a few books and Peter devoured every word. 

He couldn’t stop himself from looking for signs of Wade, reading and rereading the texts he thought could be about Logan hoping for a peek at a story about someone else immortal, someone scarred, someone they would have thought was a monster with the way his eyes went red and his fangs ran long. 

Not that Wade was a monster, no no no, Peter screwed his eyes shut tight and whimpered into his palm even thinking about people calling his mate a monster but he would read thousands of reports like that if only it meant Wade was still around. 

Five days of intense research had uncovered more information than Peter could have hoped to find in an entire lifetime of searching, but he’d still only barely broke into half the boxes Cable had inexplicably gifted him. The movies were a way to ease the strain on his eyes, to give his brain a break while still staying immersed in the subject of mutants. There were too many parallels between the horrors film makers insisted could be lurking just out of view, and the lists of confirmed mutant powers Peter had either seen firsthand in Haven or found records of in the books and files from the war and the riots. The movies would all be outlandish but they would have a bit of truth somewhere in the hours and minutes of terrible graphics and B-list actors and maybe-- maybe even if there hadn’t been sign of Wade in the files, maybe someone like him would show up in the older films. 

It was worth a try and it was worth the time and when Harry asked Peter to just talk to him, everything Peter had learned in the past several days leapt to the tip of his tongue and damn near spilled out. 

But the information was Peter’s to have, the answers his alone to hoard, so the Omega couldn’t tell Harry everything, he could hardly tell him anything at all, so instead of blurting it all out and waving his hands wildly while spilling his guts, Peter took a deep breath and backed up a step and smiled, “Okay, but this is going to get a little crazy, okay?” 

“I’ve known you forever, Pete.” The Alpha said confidently. “I can handle your crazy.” 

“If you think you’re up for it.” Peter teased gently. “Try and keep up, okay?” 

He couldn’t tell Harry everything, but he told the Alpha enough to explain the piles of books, the reams of paper downloaded and printed off of archives both national and conspiracy theorist-owned, the still growing collection of movies ranging from Men in Black and the Shape of Water clear through to low budget horror films and documentaries lacking any shred of scientific basis. 

Peter showed Harry the wall-size map of the contiguous states he’d pieced together and pointed out the red stars as ‘credible, repeated sites of monsters’ instead of naming them as Havens for the mutant community. He held up vintage comic books about Captain America and the Red Skull and compared it to the very few files he’d managed to dig up on Project Rebirth, showed Harry highly redacted pages and pages of coordinates where Captain Rogers’ plane might have gone down. 

The Omega flipped through no less than a dozen texts that all insisted Van Helsing had been a real life priest turned monster hunter, and another dozen that collectively agreed Big Foot wasn’t actually brown but was somehow bright blue and had definitely been seen wearing glasses on more than one occasion, and one beautifully inscribed religious text that spoke of an African goddess that controlled the weather. 

Peter talked and talked and talked, put in different DVD’s and paused them at specific moments to show Harry where the film makers had seemed to draw their inspiration from these specific stories, and look this one goes back to before white men even came to the continent and don’t you think it could be true if the stories are older than we can document? 

“You’re talking about dragons, Pete.” Harry stared down at a brilliantly colored photo and ran his fingers along the delicate script. “This is-- I mean, no way I speak Chinese but--” 

“It’s Cantonese.” the Omega corrected, hurrying over with another book to show off. “Saying every language that looks like that is Chinese is like saying all the indigenous people are from the same tribe. Different languages, different um-- you know, there’s different tones to the way it’s spoken? And I’m pretty sure I read that they use a different style of characters. More traditional versus a simpler style.” 

“...why would you know that?” the Alpha only blinked at him. “Pete, why do you know that?” 

“Because I need to know.” Peter said quietly, as if that answered any questions at all. “I’ve got to know, Harry. I have so many questions and there’s so much information out there and I have to know.” 

“Alright.” Harry went back to the book again. “So. Cantonese. Why does that matter for dragons?” 

“Because it's older than Mandarin by a couple thousand years, which means this is an older story and I want the oldest ones I can find.” Peter found the page he was looking for and tapped at it triumphantly. “And because it says in your book and again right here, that these-- these monks. Or religious… people. I’m not actually sure if monk is the right word. But right here. A legend about one of them that turned to a dragon to protect the temple and his village. A dragon, Harry. Do you know what that means?” 

“It’s an old story, Pete--” 

“It means that at some point someone saw this guy breathe fire.” Peter stated. “Or call fire. Summon it. Whatever you want to call it. This story is thousands of years old and it’s talking about a mutant.” 

“Okay but--” 

“Right here.” The Omega got another book. “Skinwalkers. Yes, it’s probably some beautiful spiritual bond that we could never hope to understand or whatever, maybe you think it’s hallucinations or whatever But what if it’s a shapeshifter, Harry? What if they are a mutant and there’s been a record of their existence for centuries?” 

“What if they are?” Harry didn’t know if he was intrigued by all the data the Omega was throwing his way, or worried that Peter was so clearly obsessing about something that couldn’t end well. People’s careers had been ruined chasing after mutant-related things, professors barred from universities, law enforcement imprisoned for less-than-responsible actions, chapters about riots and ethnic cleansing pulled from history books. Chasing stories about mutants couldn’t end well, and Harry didn’t know if the trouble it would bring was worth the way Peter’s eyes were lit for the first time months and the way his softly sweet honeysuckle and lavender scent had started to fill the air between them. 

“What if they are mutants, and that kind of--of person has been around for thousands of years?” he asked again. “What does that matter Pete? Why are you so hooked on it right now?” 

“Look at this.” Peter dragged a chart out from beneath an encyclopedia. “Look at this. Back in the forties there was this Project Rebirth and it's rumoured to have created Captain America. Captain America, Harry. And the way they did it was mapping of mutant genes. Tracking people through generations. Hundreds of thousands of hours of work put into this project and after the war ended they just scrapped it, pushed it all away and piled it somewhere in the dark.” 

“Wait so the guy with the shield and the tights from the comic books? He was a real person?” 

The Omega held up a copy the Captain America vs The Red Skull excitedly. “They both were! Captain Rogers and this guy here? The Red Skull? Real people, and they weren’t mutants, they were the product of experimentation with mutants!” 

“The American government doesn’t experiment on people, Pete.” 

“Oh.” Peter’s smile dimmed around the edges. “Of course you still think that.” 

“What?!” 

But Peter was off again, shifting from talking about Project Rebirth to rambling about the riots in the seventies and a lab explosion that hadn’t been an explosion at all and the way storms increased in frequency along the Eastern Seaboard in a schedule that fit oddly in with a traditional school semester and sure, that could be coincidence but what if it was young mutants coming into their weather control powers and they were practicing during school hours and oh Harry! What if--

“Pete. Hey hey hey.” Harry grabbed at Peter when the Omega darted past again, framed Peter’s face with both his hands and looked deep into his eyes. “M’not gonna lecture you about how dangerous it can be to look too deep into what happened to the mutants, and m’not gonna tell you how damn crazy you sound talking about schedules and patterns and conspiracy theories about comic book heroes, alright?” 

“You said you wanted me to tell you--” 

“I did.” the Alpha interrupted. “And I’m glad you’re talking with me Pete, I am. But you gotta tell me, does this have anything to do with what happened to you? Or are you just hyper fixating to keep your mind off everything else, like you did switching from physics to journalism after Ben passed away. Is that what this is? Distraction?” 

“Would that be okay?” Peter squeezed at Harry’s wrist and tried not to let the utter dejection show on his face. “Is it okay if I’m obsessing because I need to focus on something besides what happened to me?” 

“It’s totally fine.” Harry left another one of those sweet, chaste kisses on the Omega’s cheek. “However you need to cope, honey. I’ll sit here and watch bad sci fi films and listen to you draw wild conclusions all day. It’s fine. I’m here for you, I’m willing to listen.” 

“You’re a good Alpha.” Peter swallowed back the immediate protests and the always present threat of tears and smiled up at his friend. “Thank you. Sorry I’m all crazy right now, but this is helping me cope. And it’s better than pills and sleeping all the time, right?” 

“So much better than pills.” Harry agreed instantly. “I’ll turn on some music and order in some more food for later and we can spend a few more hours working this out and then I’ll stay over, make sure you sleep instead of writing books full of theories. I know how you get when you’re like this, you’ll go crazy just trying to get all your thoughts out on paper.” 

“You know how I am.” Another smile, and Peter turned around before Harry saw it fall. “This is definitely not-- not anything real. Don’t worry.” 

Don’t worry. 

It wasn’t Harry’s fault he couldn't grasp the enormity of Peter’s project. The Alpha had been subjected to the same history classes they’d all sat through-- ones that talked about uprisings and violence as if a minority demanding rights was something worth deploying the army to crush. Ones that conveniently dialed down the Holocaust to a few paragraphs talking about the religious groups persecuted but not the mutants, never the mutants. Ones that presented Manifest Destiny and ‘made in God’s image’ as a valid reason to exterminate anyone who didn’t fit the mold or stood in your way. 

It wasn’t Harry’s fault he didn’t understand why Peter was so passionate about it all. The Omega was only telling him half truths after all, changing the names of the Havens to make them just be paranormal sightings, downplaying the significance of Project Rebirth and skipping over the experiments and concentration camps and torture the mutants were subjected to just for a few vials of super soldier serum. 

And of course, the Alpha had no way of knowing Peter cared so much because of Wade, because of Haven, because of Cable and time travel and the ring that never left his finger. 

Harry had no idea, no way of knowing and Peter couldn’t possibly hold that over him, couldn’t possibly be irritated his friend assumed this was all coping-by-obsessing and didn’t mean anything solid and real. 

It wasn’t Harry’s fault, so Peter tucked away his disappointment and decided to just try to have a decent night in with the Alpha. He felt better after heat, after talking with Cable and putting some truth to the emotions building painful behind his heart so maybe he could make it through an evening without breaking down or running away and maybe everyone would believe him when he said he was fine. 

It's fine, I’m fine, everything’s fine. 

And tomorrow after Harry left, Peter would gather up some of his notes and go ask for answers from a man whose family name had been all over the Project Rebirth files, scribbled in margins next to blacked out test results, signed on the bottom of medical release forms and typed at the top as letterhead for some of the most horrifying information. 

Stark. 

Cable had made him swear to only use his answers for himself and not to cause a fuss but Tony Stark had to know something about all of this. The richest man in the city and one of the most influential men in the world had to have some answers and Peter could only hope his previous interactions with the powerful Omega would make Tony more receptive to answering a few questions. 

How involved had Howard been with the soldiers and was Captain Rogers really buried above the arctic circle somewhere? 

...and why were there blacked out test results and bloodwork from May of 1970 stuck between the pages of Howard Stark’s notes?

****************

****************

“Peter Parker.” Tony Stark was the sort of Omega that commanded the attention of every person in any every he entered. It might have his perfectly styled hair and shockingly expensive suits, it might have been the mega watt smile and boisterous laugh, it might have been the weight of money and power around his shoulders or the intrigue of mystery and addiction that scented stronger at the hollow of his throat and curve of his neck. 

Either way, Tony Stark walked into a room and every head turned and Peter was no exception, scrambling to his feet and awkwardly smoothing his clothes down when the intimidating Omega came towards him. 

“Peter, how are you? Heard these last few months have been rough.” Tony clasped both his hands over Peter’s and squeezed lightly. “I’m glad to see you up and around again, ready to write another world changing article? I have all sorts of dirt on Justin Hammer just waiting to be printed.”

“All sorts of dirt, huh?” Tony had the unnerving habit of wearing sunglasses everywhere, even inside, even in more intimate settings and one on one meetings and today was no exception. Peter blinked a few times trying to see past the blue tinted glass to the other Omega’s eyes but was given only the sight of raised eyebrows and a half expectant smile. “Oh uh, well maybe we can print scandalous exposes later. I’m actually here to ask a favor.” 

“Well, I’m still going to hold you to the scandalous exposes.” Tony motioned Peter towards a chair and sat down opposite him. “What else can I do for--” his voice trailed off when he caught sight of Peter’s notebook and the hastily scribbled questions, and when the other Omega leaned in closer to scent Peter, the mood in the room shifted abruptly. 

“What can I do for you, Mr. Parker?” Tony asked again, cooler this time. “And why don’t you tell me why you’ve had a recent run in with Mr. Summers?” 

“Mr. Summers?” Peter ducked his head to discreetly sniff at his shirt. “It’s been most of a week, I didn’t realize I still smell burnt. Is it really obvious?”

“It is more obvious to people who don't realize what they are smelling.” The other Omega pulled off his sunglasses and tilted his head, looking Peter over closely. “You aren’t surprised I knew about Mr. Summers.” 

“No I’m-- I’m surprised.” Peter admitted self consciously, “I was more worried about smelling gross in front of Tony Stark. Um. Sorry about that. How-- how do you know Mr. Summers?” 

“You could say we run in a few of the same circles.” the air seemed to ripple, and Peter’s gaze darted to the left when a stainless steel tumbler rattled at the bar. “You don’t become one of the most influential men in the country without knowing a few key players in the game. Why are you here?” 

“I was hoping to ask you a few questions.” Peter settled a notebook and pen on his lap and hesitated, “About Project Rebirth and the role your father played in the experiments. But now I’d also really like to ask you just how much you know about Mr. Summers.” 

“Project Rebirth.”The metal sculpture on the nearby end table slid a few inches forward and Peter took a deep breath in when the other Omega’s vanilla and clove scent flattened towards disapproving “Why are you asking questions about defunct science attempts from the forties?” 

“Because I know it wasn’t just an attempt?” he said carefully. “I know Captain Rogers wasn’t just a good ol’ boy who joined the army and bulked up and went off to fight before selflessly sacrificing himself to save the world. I know there was a -- a process and that it's been scrubbed from history books because it’s considered a failure. But your father--” 

“--was a bastard and a bully, but even he drew the line at the sort of shit they were doing back then.” The pendulum inside the grandfather clock at the wall snapped forward and cracked the glass casing when Tony gripped at the arms of his chair and Peter had the distinct, sudden notion that he could be in danger. 

“Um, Mr. Stark--” 

“Enough.” The Alpha Pepper Potts was every bit as beautiful as her Omega mate and somehow infinitely terrifying despite her sweet smile and slender frame. Her voice was soft but razor sharp all at the same time, and when she put a hand on Tony’s shoulder the noise in the room stopped immediately, the clock settling and silverware stilling and sculpture returning to its original place. “Darling, that’s quite enough.” 

“Ms. Potts.” Tony tipped his head back and trilled at his mate, and Pepper gave him an indulgent smile in return. “I was only going to scare him a little. Just to be funny.” 

“Well no one other than you thinks that little display is funny.” 

Peter stared between them with wide eyes then gaped over at the broken clock and score marks at the table. “What-- what--? Sorry, was that supposed to be funny?” 

“Tony thinks it's hilarious to mess with people who are aware of his mutation but haven’t quite figured out where his talents lie.” the Alpha said blandly. “Though judging from your expression, I think you haven’t figured out that Tony has abilities and he’s being ridiculous for no reason at all?” 

“Oh my god, that’s why you know Cable.” It all made sense in a matter of seconds, and Peter swung from feeling foolish and maybe even a little afraid to suddenly intrigued, and then slightly hysterical at the thought of Tony Stark being a mutant. Tony Stark of all people. Mutant. “You run in the same circles because you both are mutant.” 

“Can’t see any other reason to spend time with the guy.” Tony grunted. “You still aren’t are surprised as I’d thought you’d be.” 

“No, my brain is--” Peter made a gesture around his temples. “But I’ve read so many things in the last few days this is just another insane truth I’ll have to come to terms with later. So um, it’s metal then? Your ability?” 

“Metal and then some. You don’t think I build all those computers and tech by hand, do you?” ” Tony slipped an arm around Pepper’s tiny waist and tugged the Alpha down onto the edge of his chair, turning his head to push his nose into her shoulder for a moment. Pepper kissed his hair immediately, then his cheek and when Tony looked up, his nose as well.  It was sweet to see such open affection between a mated pair, and Peter’s hand went to his scarred bonding spot unconsciously when Pepper nuzzled into Tony’s ear and murmured something adoring at her mate. 

I miss you, Alpha my Alpha.

“How are you then, little love?” Pepper asked softly, and Peter jumped, snatching his hand back to his lap when he realized the Alpha was watching him again. “You don’t just scent like Cable, you scent mate sick. Are you alright?” 

“I um--”

“Not real often a mutant mates a human.” Tony interrupted, his dark eyes flickering electric blue for a split second. “I can scent that on you too. Where’s your mate, Peter?” 

“Tony.” Pepper murmured. “Easy on the child, look at him, he’s miserable.” 

Miserable? Peter tried to smooth down his hair again, sitting up straighter in the chair. He thought he’d been doing better with everything lately, so being told he stank like Cable and still smelled mate sick and miserable stung a little. 

“I don’t want to talk about my mate.” he said softly. “Could we-- could we not do that, please?”

“Very well, Mr. Parker.” Pepper kept running light fingers through Tony’s hair, but her green gaze never left Peter as she said, “But you know, there are only a handful of reasons why you would be researching Project Rebirth, and within those reasons there is only the slimmest chance you’d come across Howard Stark’s name. You need to tell us immediately what sort of questions you are here to ask, and what sort of answers you are trying to find.” 

“I’m not asking questions with the intention of hurting anyone.” the Omega reached up to press at his bonding spot again. “And the answers are only for myself. I swear it. I just want to know. Just want to understand.” 

“Because of your mate.” Tony prompted, and Peter nodded slowly. “What does your mate have to do with Project Rebirth?” 

“Nothing, I don’t think, but I don’t want to talk about it.” the Omega couldn’t seem to stop staring between the pair, taking in Tony’s startlingly blue eyes and the way every bit of metal in the room seemed to tilt to face him. Pepper didn’t seem perturbed by the show at all, and Peter put his questions about Rebirth aside to ask, “Mutants don’t usually mate humans?” 

“Hardly ever.” Tony confirmed with a slight smile. “In fact, I don’t know a mixed mated pair at all, do you, my love?” 

“Not at all.” Pepper’s skin shimmered and shifted across her face and down her neck, along her arms to her fingertips. Scaled pieces clicked together lightly, shining iridescent in the warm lights before melding back to perfectly smooth, there and gone before Peter even had the time to properly gauge. “Peter, you might be the first human I’ve ever met with a mutant Alpha.” 

Peter couldn’t have formed a proper response if his life depended on it, struck silent by the display from the formidable pair, stunned speechless by the way Pepper’s gaze swirled fiery orange before settling back to green. 

“See there, now he’s broken.” Tony scolded his mate teasingly. “All I did was rattle a few silverware, you’ve got him worrying you’ll get scaly and burn him to a crisp!” 

“Hush you.” Pepper warned playfully just as Peter managed a squeaky, “You’re a dragon!?!” 

“Most people assume I’m a snake.” the Alpha’s eyes flickered orange again. “Thank you for choosing something much more beautiful to compare me to.” 

“That-- that wasn’t a yes?” 

“Well it wasn’t a no either.” Tony waved his hand as if dismissing the topic entirely-- as if the topic of dragon mutants could be dismissed-- and leaned forward in his chair to pin Peter with a measuring look. “Now listen, kid. I’m going to be upfront and honest with you, only because you scent like Cable and have an entire notebook full of questions which means you probably know most of the answers I’m going to give you, and simply want confirmation.” 

“Uh, yes sir?” 

“Smart Omega.” Pepper said approvingly, and bent to give her mate one last kiss. “Be nice to him, Tony. He might be brilliant but he is still mate sick, do you understand? Gentle with your words.” 

“You say that as if I am ever anything but thoroughly patient and whole heartedly kind.” The Omega made an affronted sort of noise and Pepper only laughed at him, waved at Peter over her shoulder, and closed the door to the living room as she went. 

“Alright then.” the moment his Alpha had gone Tony straightened in his chair and squared his shoulders, commanding the room again with barely any effort. “Project Rebirth. You know about our frosty friend lost somewhere beneath the ice?” 

“Yes.” Peter checked his notes. “Yes, Captain Rogers. His plane was put down over the Arctic circle.” 

“Mmm-hmm.” Tony pursed his lips in thought and Peter waited only somewhat impatiently for the other Omega to choose his words. “Alright listen. Project Rebirth wasn’t the patriotic endeavor they tried to make it out to be, do you understand? They took in poor kids from the street, mostly mutants but some just human and turned them into lab rats. Took what they needed from one boy, pumped it into another and more often than not, killed both when nothing worked the way it was supposed to. Mixing DNA isn’t a real thing we can do now, there was no way a bunch of hack-job scientists working out of a basement could do it without mass casualties.” 

“...Captain Rogers?” 

“He was the first attempt that worked.” A glimmer of regret sliced through Tony’s vanilla clove scent. “My Dad used to say Steve never would’a signed up for that project if he’d known what was really in the so called super soldier serum. But he didn’t know because no one would ever say and he went from a sickly kid who could barely climb stairs to someone who could lift cars over his head within an hour. An hour. Even by today’s standards those sort of results are amazing, back then it was a goddamn miracle. Steve Rogers was a walking miracle, bought and paid for with the blood of a hundred different innocents and when they realized they’d created a literal god among men--” 

“--they put him in the ice.” 

“Dad stormed off the project when they realized they planned to crash the Valkyrie.” Tony said quietly. “Then he spent the next forty odd years searching for the crash site to try and rescue Rogers. Didn’t ever find him, so he spent any extra time he had searching for the cyborg they’d created after losing Rogers. Not as much is known about that one, but rumours are it was another kid from Steve’s neighborhood. Bright eyed and gung ho about serving and got himself turned into a monster.”

Peter grimaced as he circled the word ‘cyborg’ in his notes and Tony clicked his tongue sympathetically. “They tried it all over again in the seventies, even came to my Dad to help with it but he had his hands full with me so he turned them down. Some bloodthirsty bastard named Striker kidnapped and tortured and killed dozens of mutants trying to find the right amount of powers that could co exist in a body without self destructing. He wanted another Captain America but less along the lines of national hero and more along the lines of personal assassin. He was shut down after a few years, but by that time the damage had been done and all the mutants pretty much went underground. It was easier to hide than it was to stay public and go through all that in another twenty or thirty years.” 

“I found mostly redacted paperwork from May of 1970.” Peter held up a copy of the page. “Is that-- is this you?” 

“It’s probably me.” Tony started forward like he wanted to take the page, but then shook his head and sat back again. “My Dad had my blood tested when I was kid to try and confirm a theory.” 

“What was the theory?” 

The other Omega watched Peter for a long minute before finally saying, “That it skips a generation in males, but the Omegas are always carriers whether the family has a history of mutation or not.”

“Wait. What?” 

“The mutant gene.” The corner of Tony’s mouth lifted in a half smile when Peter started scribbling notes just as fast as he could. “When present in a bloodline, it skips generations between presenting in males, but not females. Pepper’s mom was a mutant along the same talents, so was her grandma and so was Great Granny Potts. My dad wasn’t a mutant, and as far as we know, neither was Grandapa Stark. But male Omegas carry the gene no matter what so--” 

He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers and Peter jumped when the metal sculpture closest to him abruptly melted, liquefying into a shiny puddle of silver right there in the center of the table. 

Oh holy shit.

“So I carry the gene.” Peter pointed at himself, swallowing around a little burble of hysteria. “I carry the gene?” 

“Whether you have anyone in your family mutant or not.” Tony confirmed. “You’re not mutant but you’ll still pass it on to any kids you have.” 

Oh ho ho holy shit. 

“My mate and I won’t ever have kids.” Tony said then, and he sounded sad about it. “We always want to think the world has changed and attitudes towards mutants has changed but the fact is, it will never be safe to be us. Pepper and I are on the cover of every magazine, on television for interviews and always at one social event or another. Our kids would be so widely watched that they’d never have a chance to be normal anyway, and when you add in the absolute guarantee of mutant abilities--”  he shrugged. “--it's not an option. We won’t do it to them.” 

Peter tapped his pen on the paper a few times then asked quietly, “Could I ask you what happened when you-- when you came into your powers? Is that alright?” 

“I was fourteen.” Tony launched right into the story, visibly relieved to be talking about something other than all the horrors his kind had been subject to for decades. “I had just gotten accepted to MIT and met my roommate, James Rhodes. The first night I had a nightmare about being trapped and overwhelmed and nervous about starting college and my powers surged while I was asleep. I ended up warping the bunk beds, twisting the metal into pretzels and trapping myself and Rhodey inside the mess.” 

“I woke up screaming.” The Omega’s scent swelled with fondness. “And Rhodey talked me right out of the panic, right through undoing it all, then climbed up into my bed and hugged me tight. I could have killed him when my abilities spiked like that, and by all accounts he should have ran for his life, but he took the time to comfort me instead. He’s an actual saint. A literal angel for putting up with my shit all these years.” 

“James Rhodes.” Peter thought back to the ceremony several months ago when he’d received the grant money from Stark Industries, to the Alpha in full military dress that had been standing next to Tony. “Colonel James Rhodes?” 

“One and the same.” 

“Is he--!” 

“No.” Tony shook his head, adoration coloring his scent warm. “James is wholly human, which is why I’m sure he’s a saint. No one else could possibly put up with me.” 

Peter was quiet, thoughtful as he wrote down a few more things, careful to leave names out of his notes in case anyone came across them later. 

“Your mate is mutant and you smell like Cable.” Tony broke the silence again. “Is there a reason for that?” 

“Yes.” Peter said shortly. “But uh-- it’s not the one you’re thinking.” 

“You have no idea what I’m thinking.” 

“Okay but I promise?” he laughed a little. “I promise that whatever you are thinking about me and Cable, the truth is even stranger. He is not my mate, no way.” 

“Well thank god for small mercies.” Tony nodded. “Be careful down this path, Peter. Not everyone will be willing to talk like I am and most will be angry you’re asking questions at all.” 

“I just want the answers for myself.” Peter repeated softly. “I just need to know, I have to know. I can’t explain it but--” 

“--Do you believe in soulmates, Pete?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, since you’re the first person I’ve ever known who was human and had a mutant mate.” The Omega shrugged, but his eyes were kind. “Maybe soulmates is the only explanation you need for why you need to know everything about your Alpha’s people. Hm?” 

Peter left a few minutes later, stepping out the door with a firm handshake and a smile and the reassurance that he could come back any time, and so long as he was keeping the answers for himself Tony would be happy to talk with him some more.

“He’s so sad.” Pepper curled close into Tony’s arms and kissed her mate on the cheek. “It breaks my heart to see anyone sad from mate sickness, but it’s worse when they are so young. Mid twenties is too early to know that sort of grief.” 

“Mmm.” Tony hummed in agreement and soaked in his Alpha’s scent for a minute. “I know someone who might know what happened to Peter, or at least why he’s been around Cable of all people.” 

“Who’s that?” 

“Well.” The Omega pulled out his phone and scrolled through contacts until he found a number he only called on the rarest occasions. “There’s only one person Cable trusts with his business in this particular timeline, even though I’ll never figure out why. The guy is a literal quack.” 

Pepper chuckled under her breath when Tony dialed the number labelled “Neighborhood Quack” and then laughed louder when the phone answered on the first ring and the initial outburst from the other line was all swearing and various threats about what would happen the next time a Stark called his phone. 

“Always good to hear from you, pal.” Tony said blandly, and on the other line Hank Pym screeched, “Don’t you call me pal, kid. I was teaching doctorate level university classes while you were still shittin’ in your diapers. What in the hell do you want?” 

“Been spending much time with Cable lately?” It took a considerable amount of self control for Tony to not insist he could have taught Hank’s doctorate level classes while in diapers, and his moment of maturity was rewarded by a sweet kiss from his Alpha. 

“I hardly think that’s any of your business!” 

“No?” Tony challenged. “Cos I’ve got an Omega in here stinking like Cable and mate sickness while asking me about mutants and Project Rebirth. You’re the only one that grouch talks to in these parts, so I figured you’d know something!” 

“Well if I knew something I wouldn’t tell a Stark. You’d sell the secrets for petty cash!” 

“Old man, your secrets aren’t even worth the pettiest of cash--” 

“Alright.” Pepper snatched the phone away. “Doctor Pym, this is Pepper Potts.” 

“...oh hell.” 

“Yes, that’s right. I understand you and my mate have some history, but I’d very much appreciate it if you helped me, do you understand?” 

“...yes Ms. Potts.” 

“Thank you very much, Doctor Pym. I’m looking forward to talking with you again later this evening.” 

“...yes Ms. Potts.” 

Pepper hung up and her mate whistled appreciatively. “How on earth did you manage that, my love?” 

“I’m fairly certain my mother breathed fire on him at one point or another.” the pretty redhead said demurely, far too innocent for the way her eyes were sparkling. “Turns out you only have to do that once to put the fear of God into a man.” 

“I love you.” Tony said seriously and the Alpha patted at his cheek and crooned, “I know you do, darling. I know.” 

*****************

*****************

“Harry says you’ve got a thousand books in your apartment.” Gwen shoved a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, then offered Peter a bite as well. “Oh, and he was bitching about you making him rent porn? What’s that about?” 

“For the last time.” Peter took a tiny bite of the heart attack Gwen called dessert and shook his head. “It’s not my fault the video store rents sketchy documentaries right next to the porn. Also not my fault that Harry grabbed the wrong one.” 

“I’m just saying, if there was an Alpha you wanted to pick out porn with, I’m definitely the better option.” 

“GWEN!” 

“I’M JUST SAYING!” The Alpha darted close for a kiss and then held up another bite for Peter. “Eat, pretty Omega. You’re practically skin and bones these days and I miss your butt. Fatten them cheeks up again, kiddo.” 

“You’re being terrible tonight.” Peter informed her. “Honestly just terrible. What’s going on?” 

“Seriously, I’m just happy you called me for ice cream.” Gwen admitted. “Just glad you’re out and around and being yourself again. Sorry if I’m being terrible but I’ve got three months worth of shenanigans to get up to with you, you ready for all this?” 

“Yeah Gwen.” Peter squeezed at the blonds hand affectionately. “I am ready for some shenanigans with--” 

--he stopped mid step, froze halfway between one stair and the next, skin crawling with goosebumps and hair standing on end, breath constricting in his chest and throat closing up until he was seeing spots in front of his eyes. 

“Oh woof.” Gwen inhaled and made a face. “What smells like over ripe Alpha? One of your neighbors in rut, Pete? Or newly mated? No one stays off suppressants long enough to scent that strong unless they are honeymooning. Don’t they know there’s hotels for that? Wow.” 

The Omega didn’t answer, and Gwen snapped her fingers in front of Peter’s face to try and get him to blink. “Pete? Hey, what’s wrong? Alpha scent bugging you? You okay?” 

“I--I--” Peter peeled his tongue off the roof of his mouth and tried again. “I um-- Gwen, you need to go.” 

“I need to go?” she asked in confusion. “You aren’t gonna invite me in? We’re like three feet from your apartment and--” 

“You need to go.” Nothing more than a whisper, but Peter’s dark eyes flashed in determination even as he shoved the Alpha away. “Leave me alone. Please. I’ll call you but you need to go now.” 

“Pete--” 

“I’m fine.” he pushed harder, forcing her down the hall. “Gwen, I’m fine I promise but I need you to leave right now. I’ll call you, I promise. I’ll call you but you have to leave. Leave!” 

Gwen grumbled all the way back down the stairs but Peter tuned it all out. His fingers were shaking as he tried to get the door unlocked, his keys failing once and then twice before sticking into the slot and turning the knob to open. 

His apartment was dark, every light off and every curtain drawn and that wasn’t how he had left it, but Peter didn’t care about that right now, he didn’t care about anything right now. 

He shut the door behind him and then leaned back against the wood, shut his eyes tight and opened his mouth to inhale a scent so potent he could nearly taste it on his tongue, feel it rushing in his veins and settling low into his soul. 

My mate. 

“....Al-- Alpha?” 

And a hoarse voice from across the room, deep and smooth and so so beautiful the Omega’s knees nearly gave out right there-- 

“I’m here, Pete.”

*************

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER! (and thank you for all the great comments last chapter! They were all so good and I loved them!) 

************** 

@ships-galore @ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @lookuplaughing @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @water-colouredmemories @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb @ricecakeandhoney @ardatlily @fawnandgays @bluedreamdino @bibbarnes @blackstar1602 @hi-inevitable-im-deadpool @scientifically-lesbian-jesus @the-pagely-gun-slinger @oshuncheyenne @the-dragonwolf-den @pumpkin-spidey @sozvuchiy @cappunico @tired-dragons01 @chiby-chan @ahumoki0 @kanizsacollage @tulipsnbigcats @hiddenaurora @notchronicle24 @marvels-gurl @iridescent-idiot @badndbourgeoisie @eversomniator @local1dreamer @loveisblindwade  @ssssssssssssssssssssslytherin @theunwantedomega @littlepolypan

#ncts fics #spideypool #peter parker #wade wilson #time travel au #soulmate au #abo dynamics #tony stark #pepper potts #nathan summers

[beauregardlionett]

maybe i, maybe i don’t

AO3 Link

Ever since she had broken Obann's charm over her mind with that peaceful scene on the beach of Nicodranas, Beau had felt an inexplicable pull towards the water, the warm sand, and the calming wash of waves against the surf. Finally being there, with easy access and two days to burn, Beau didn't think twice before packing up a bag and disappearing from the Chateau. Briefly, the monk had considered asking if anyone wanted to tag along, but she knew that this was rare – this downtime. Everyone would spend it how they wished, and Beau felt she had no right to infringe upon their time with a request so selfish.

She figured it was good practice for later – for when they all inevitably split ways and she was left alone again. It was going to be a hard transition; she wouldn't kid herself with that. Almost a year together, and potentially more spread out before them, abruptly being left behind would be massively disorienting. Beau had gotten used to falling asleep squished in between bodies in the hut, or at the very least with Jester sprawled beside her, and waking up to quiet chatter and the smell of whatever Caduceus was whipping up.

Sitting on the beach, perched on her bedroll and staring out over the cresting and dipping whitecaps, entirely alone, Beau kind of hated it all. She hated the silence broken by the sound of waves, hated the chill on either side of her, and hated most of all how her chest ached with loneliness despite the fact that she could easily head back to the group and rectify that hollowness.

But she convinced herself that would be selfish, that she needed the practice in being alone.

The sound of Yasha's harp cut through the raucous silence.

Soothing, fumbling, and familiar, Beau didn't realize her eyes had started to water until she turned her head to look in the direction of the noise. She blinked against the dampness building against her lower lids and pretended it wasn't there. For a brief moment, she considered getting up and following the sound, but then remembered why she was out here, remembered that would be selfish of her to infringe upon Yasha's time alone when they had it so rarely these days.

Forcing her gaze away from the direction of Yasha's playing, Beau instead cast her eyes out across the sea again and made herself be content with letting the sound surround her and took comfort in what she could.

Really, what was she going to do after the Mighty Nein inevitably split up – assuming she survived to see it? She knew that the Cobalt Soul would always be open to her, and there was no way in hell Beau would find her way back to her parents' house, not after everything. She could always just be like Dairon and throw herself into her work, fade into obscurity so deeply that her friends would never hear from her again unless she wanted them to. That...that didn't sound so bad, because she doubted they would actually want anything to do with her once they left her behind. Because when they left, that meant they were done tolerating her bullshit.

It would be selfish to pull them back.

Beau was always selfish – so selfish. Maybe it was time to start fixing that. Maybe they wouldn't leave her behind so abruptly if she did.

"Beau?"

Too late, the monk realized that the sound of the harp had ceased and she hadn't heard the soft hush of sand giving way under Yasha's approach, so lost in her deprecating thoughts. Her head jerked up and around to look at the Aasimar in response, forgetting to dry her eyes and hide the evidence of her tears before she did.

Yasha’s brow furrowed and Beau cursed at herself quietly, moving to wipe her cheeks dry and forced out the fakest sounding laugh she had ever heard. But she tried to forge on anyway, not wanting to confront this right now.

“Sorry…I didn’t hear you coming. I got some salt in my eyes from the spray, y’know?” Maybe Yasha would be gracious enough to accept that bullshit excuse, because honestly if she had fed that to anyone else in the Nein, they would see right through her.

Yasha stayed standing for a few quiet heartbeats before she decidedly sat on the sand next to Beau's bedroll and tugged her harp free from her belt again. Without saying anything, the Aasimar started quietly strumming an aimless tune, her mismatched eyes staring out over the lazy waves ahead of them. This tune was a little less fumbling than the one Beau had borne witness to earlier, a little quieter, but no less soothing. Not entirely sure what to make of this, she turned her gaze back towards the water and shut her eyes, let the sound of the harp interwoven with the crash of waves against the surf completely ensconce her. Beau found it a little easier to breathe after that, a little easier to stop her tears and push away the thoughts that held an iron grip on her chest.

They stayed like that for a while longer, Yasha's aimless tune eventually tapering off to leave them sitting in companionable, easy silence. At some point, Beau opened her eyes and found herself content to just watch the water with Yasha, a silent sentinel at her side. Eventually, though, Beau turned to look at the Aasimar and gave her a quiet, "thank you."

Yasha glanced her way, mismatched eyes soft and understanding – not a hint of judgment to be found.

Thank you for not judging me.

Oh, have you seen me? Who am I to fucking judge?

"Of course, Beau," Yasha all but whispered. "Are you feeling any better?"

Huffing softly at the unintentionally loaded question, Beau glanced away again towards the surf and offered a noncommittal, one-shoulder shrug. Her chest felt a little less tight, but the underlying crux of the problem was still there: her friends would one day leave her and there was nothing she could do to stop them.

"Yeah," Beau lied. Yasha gave her a quiet, significant look, and Beau knew that she would not get away with her lying this time. She offered that same shrug again and sat quietly, feeling the heavy weight of Yasha's eyes on her profile. Deflating under the weight of it after a quiet minute, Beau caved and started talking.

"It's really nothing, Yash. I just keep thinking about what to do when all of this is over, y'know? I guess I'm just stuck on this thought of what do I do after we all part ways. It’s gonna be really lonely, and it’s just something I’m having a hard time rectifying."

"You sound so certain that we won't stick together, or at least keep in touch." Beau looked at Yasha with open surprise and confusion warring in her expression. Did Yasha really think they would stick together in the end? Or was it just wishful thinking?

"I mean, Veth has got her family, and she's always talking about going home to them. Jester misses her mom literally all the time and Caduceus will probably go home eventually – I mean you heard him the other day. He said all that stuff about how he hoped we would all come to him to be put in the ground. He's expecting to go home at some point."

"What about Fjord? Caleb? Me? We don't have homes to go to."

For some reason, that comment made Beau feel like shit. She was here bemoaning and fretting about her future when she did have somewhere to go – and three of her friends had no home at all.

"I uh...shit. I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"No, that's not what I meant," Yasha cut her off, expression pinching in the way it usually did when she knew she had been misunderstood. "I just meant that not all of us are trying to leave – because we have no where to go."

That was...not something Beau had thought about before. Blinking quietly for a moment, she then turned bodily towards Yasha and asked, "what would you do – where would you go – if this group dissolved in the next few weeks?"

Seemingly caught off guard by the questions being turned her way, Yasha looked away and seemed to ponder over her answer for a few minutes, quiet and still. Beau took the chance to eagerly soak in Yasha's profile, studying the sharp curve of the Aasimar's nose, the slope of her chin, the way her matted, dreaded hair fell around her shoulders. She was a study in silence and stoicism with a surprisingly soft center that Beau knew she was privileged to bear witness to.

Beau was staring – and she knew she was – but Yasha was beautiful and she couldn't help it.

"I suppose," Yasha started, and Beau twitched out of her reverie at the sudden sound. "I would stay with whoever would have me. Or if no one would, I'd follow the Stormlord's direction."

She turned her gaze back toward Beau and asked, "what about you?"

"Ha...who knows, honestly. The Soul could probably always use me somewhere, and I wouldn't go back to Kamordah even if someone paid me. Honestly, I wouldn't settle down. Not yet."

Yasha nodded, looking contemplative. Beau wondered what was going through her head, but refrained from asking. The pair ended up sitting silently in this way for a while longer, the droning wash of crashing waves to keep their quiet company. Beau could feel the tension near consistently wound into the muscles of her shoulders start to ease and fade. Yasha's companionable quiet, her easy understanding of silence between people being okay, left no room for Beau to worry about saying the wrong thing or not saying the right thing. All she had to do was sit and be, and it was easier than any meditation she had ever attempted.

"You know," Beau started after a long while, the moons hanging in the sky above them now. Her voice sounded so loud after so little words exchanged. "You'd be more than welcome to come with me wherever I ended up."

Yasha took a pause of a moment to look sideways at the monk as a tiny smile crept cautiously at the edges of her lips. Her mismatched eyes were glowing tentatively with fondness tinged in hope. Beau tried to recall if her chest always fluttered like this when Yasha looked at her.

"I'd like that," Yasha agreed softly, her fingers running absently over the taught strings of the harp – not making music but just feeling the length of the strings. "It sounds nice."

Beau grinned – not her usual sharp, dangerous one, but gentle and easy and agreeable. It felt like a promise, sounded like hope for a future she had previously been terrified of. It wouldn't be the Nein, but it would be Yasha, and assuming they both survived long enough to see it, that was a future Beau quite liked the sound of.

With a nod, Beau leaned a little more into where she propped her hands on her bedroll behind her and stared out at the moons hanging over the ocean. The sounds of Nicodranas' night fare were distant and significantly less than the sounds of the day market, but a pleasant hum to their sentry. They lingered for a while longer before Yasha eventually moved, pushing to her feet and tucking her harp away as she dusted the loose sand from her seat. Beau – who had had every intention of spending her two full days alone out on the shores of the city – remained where she was. She knew that it would ache something fierce, but she was ready to watch Yasha walk away. Despite their promise, Beau knew that it was for the future, not for right now.

But the pale woman turned to look down at the monk and raised an eyebrow at her in question, gesturing to Beau's set up.

"Are you coming?" Yasha asked, voice unassuming, leaving it up to Beau to either rise and join her or stay put. It was clear though that there would be no judgment in whatever she decided to do.

Beau thought of the Chateau, of Jester spending the evening tucked into her mother's room, of Veth's sturdy arms encircling her son and husband with brightness to her eyes that Beau rarely saw when they travelled. But she also thought of Caleb's nose tucked into a book, present in the downstairs tavern despite his lack of attention, just for the presence of company. Of Fjord and Caduceus and their excited, idle chatter as they nursed food and drink and knew not to include Caleb in conversation, but kept him company regardless. She thought of Yasha, standing over her now with a cautious expectation, an almost always-willing drinking buddy, a companion who was stalwart and sturdy and consistent even if she wasn't always heard. Beau thought of a quiet promise of a quiet future and made her choice.

"The beach isn't going anywhere." Beau stood and packed up her bedroll and her bag and followed Yasha back towards the winding streets of Nicodranas to the Chateau.

#cr #critical role #beauregard #beauregard lionett #yasha #beauyasha #writing #my writing #I SAID I WOULD WRITE MY OWN BEAUYASHA CONTENT FOR THAT SCENE SO HERE IT IS FOLKS #THESE USELESS LESBIANS JUST NEED TO HAVE A DECENT CONVERSATION FOR FUCKS SAKE #ENJOY

[aydriis]

Mortala

'It didn’t have to be this way, you know.’

.

The stagnant darkness, always muddling visions and caressing ears with thoughtless whispers was a familiar sight. Despite having none to look into endless depths that swirled and convulsed mindlessly.

.

There was no solidity to brace on, yet she found herself standing all the same in what felt to be the center in the shadowscape that her body currently resided in. Dim eyes flickered against the darkness in a knowing manner; she had to endure. She always did.

.

 ‘Why do you not return?’ 

.

 An almost mournful whisper hissed against the lobe of Aydri’s ear, curling around in a leeching way. There was no physical presence other than her apparent body, but she knew better. It could still feel. It could still cause damage if it desired. Her hand moved to brush it away like a fly, swatting aimlessly towards her shoulder with a disgusted curl of her lips. 

.

“Don’t ask questions that you know the answers of, Kaz’fi.” 

.

The words echoed throughout the endless chamber, spite resonating in each word that passed through her lips as her legs willed themselves to move forward. There was no destination, there never was here, but still she moved. Restlessness began to creep along her spine and give way to the paranoia that was valiantly fought against. It seemed the Kaz’fi was almost bemused, a feeling giving way to a more sinister hiss of laughter. 

.

‘Always so turbulent, yet never welcoming. You wound me.’

.

Dark teal tresses almost floated in the action of Aydri’s head twisting around, glaring at nothing in particular but with intent. “If I could inflict the fantasies of ending your pathetic existence, maybe I’d finally have a good fucking night of sleep.” Teeth ground out the words, non-existent patience giving way as her footsteps echoed heavier, thudding against the murkiness that surrounded.

.

Suddenly, everything froze. 

.

An all too familiar cold shiver ran through her core, and it took everything to keep a straight glower into the mirror image of herself that appeared, keeping her in place and curling maliciously with a few clicks and jolts of its wispy form. Eyes that belonged to her peered at Aydri unnervingly and too wide to be natural, jaw almost unhinging with how dislocated it became as the Kaz’fi wheezed out. 

.

‘You worked so hard to receive your blessings, and yet you threw them away. How can you hold a candle to me when you refuse to even see into the depths of your soul?’ 

.

Still held in place, she stayed. Unrelenting and determined with a glint in her eyes. They always played this game when she faltered, let herself truly rest. It was the way the Kaz’fi worked, and it surely lived up to its masters wishes. A deep exhale was almost snorted through her nostrils, focusing on breaking the invisible bonds that held her in place. This caused the mirror of herself to completely unhinge its jaw, a shrieking and hair standing cackle resonating around the chamber that held them. A finger rose in a chastising manner towards Aydri, tutting. 

.

‘I always have to remind you, don’t I? Even the most devoted shall be executed through His will. It is the way.’ 

.

The words had a cold simplicity, as if merely whispering facts that a child would know. Words that made her want to shut her eyes and block it all out, yet wide open they stayed. The Kaz’fi shifted, the form of Aydri no longer in front of her, but rather a large reflective pool of water suspended above. Tendrils of dark liquid crept towards the ground and around her body, wrapping with frost biting touches that burned her skin. Small wisps circled around her head and struck themselves into the temples, leeching on as a soundless cry emitted from her throat against closed lips. 

.

A plethora of images and sensations came rushing through, overstimulating even the strongest of minds.

(TW: blood, violence)

.

.

...Cries of anguish as the wet slaps of spiked whips flayed the skins of the tributes; men, women, and children dressed in the purity of white that was stained with the devotion to the gods they were meant for. Scales of cobras wrapped around the necks with a hiss, glowing eyes peering right at her. 

.

‘You did this to them.’ 

.

....The taste of blood poured out from her lips to let past devotions flow down her chin and onto her chest, coughing and choking as the imagery of a Darkspear woman began to carve and stab into her skin. Mutterings of Zandali echoed throughout, reverbing and shaking the darkness into a cacophony of suffering--of power to be obtained. 

.

‘You achieved this through them.’ 

.

...Ceremonial robes with chiming footsteps passed on either side, gliding along to meet at an altar. Carved masks of bone and sinew let no expressions be known as heads all tilted to stare. A large basilisk slowly rose from the shadows, scales glimmering with wisps of shadows that curled around the apostles that knelt before its form. Sharp eyes seemed to stab her, her own beginning to bleed and create markings on her cheeks that flowed over her scar. 

.

‘You were blessed by them.’ 

.

...The tendrils moved about, destroying the shapes created and slowly forming into something more. From the depths rose a tall figure of authority. One of charm and promised wishes, lips curled into a deceitful smirk that accented the glow of eyes underneath the skull mask that shrouded his face from obscurity. 

.

‘You betrayed them.’ 

.

...His hand reached out to cusp her cheek, caressing before it plunged into her chest and gripped her heart with the burn of retribution. A choked gasp sounded from the cavity of her chest, unable to sound out past blocked lips of blood that accompanied the rigor mortis running through her limbs slowly. The hand was retracted, bloodied and holding the visceral organ that it had sought to claim. With a dark chuckle, the shadows consumed it. Aydri’s body then convulsed and shook, twisting this way and that with unnatural jerks that made her grit her teeth and groan. Eyes stayed trained on the figure, contempt of the purest nature running deep in her hues. 

.

‘You will face consequences.’ 

.

...The figure waved his arm, revealing a scenery of utter destruction and death. Buildings were torn down and bodies littered the streets, ships were sunk and many familiar faces were twisted in the cold grips of death. A trail of blood led to a large gathering of ceremonial robes and the devoted with flames licking along the outskirts of a ritualistic circle, multiple bodies crucified against stone pillars and mutilated. 

.

‘You will be found.’ 

.

...They made her hurt to look at, and all made tears glimmer against the corners of her eyes. Dreadful feelings of failure and guilt came in waves, threatening to drown her very being as her lips so desperately wanted to part in protest. 

.

...Then, he was there. Strapped upon a table and struggling to break free. Her eyes met that gaze, one that was usually so full of life now shrouded in fear and pain made her want to collapse. The familiar glint of a dagger was all that was given before the screams of agony rang through her ears. Fury and affliction ran through her body, willing herself to bite her lip and twist herself forward from the tortuous noise. 

.

‘You will be the harbinger of death to them.’ 

.

“NO!” 

. 

. 

. 

Gasps of oxygen starved lungs heaved her chest, hands almost shredding the sheets that were twisted in her grasp as paranoia stricken hues stared open to the ceiling above. They soon darted around the room, muscles tensed and frozen in place as a sense of dread washed through her very core. 

After a few long minutes of heaving breaths and cold sweat running down her spine, the haze lifted. A thick swallow was allowed, and a hand came up to rest against her scalp, running through knotted strands shakily. 

 It was getting more bold, and Aydri couldn’t help but wonder if she was getting more weak. A thought that was quickly pushed down; locked away to prevent the seeds of doubt that threatened to take root. 

 She wouldn’t let it happen. 

 It couldn’t.

#writing #aydri #halloween special #:eyes:

[calamitousrpg]

Take your seats folks for the S H O W is about to begin, let the Circus E N T E R T A I N you one and all...

The lanterns suddenly dim, the inside of the Big Top darkens, the only visible light streams in from the centre and barely allows sight of the person either side of the next; even those with enhanced vision struggle to determine what’s in the D A R K N E S S around them. Only driven to attention by the beams that swarm the middle; music roars to life, a mechanical twist of cogs that scratch together like an out of time clock...

It begins. Comes in gentle flushes as magnificent silks erupt from the back entrance, manipulates the shape of a D R A G O N with such magical realism it could be mistaken for R E A L and it moves with such grace, obscured figures beneath the covers of the excessive false manifestation, travels the length of the small arena, breaks the fourth walls to flurry along the pathway between ringside and the first row grandstands. 

A B A N G erupts, a single figure appears, a striped cane between clasped hands as the man stands in dead silence. Almost statue-like to the audience who watch with curious eyes to what is to come. A top hat, tipped downwards, head bowed under it; face hidden by clothing; a ringmaster that commands the room - despite the way he stands dead still. There’s a hum of voices whispering; wondering aloud if this is the man responsible for it all; Khaos in the F L E S H, but it’s quiet, bar the movements of the silk dancers that distract watchful eyes; strange shocks to peripheries. 

And the figure doesn’t move. 

From the rear of the ringmaster, a stream of bodies emerge, extravagant feathered tails; peacocks waving ribbons; they dance - match the calm pace of the dragon that amounts a growing number of hungry eyes. High above, a clatter of metal snaps every head upwards, trapeze artists thrown from bars as the business of the room intensifies. 

Though nothing B E Y O N D what hasn’t been done before, no?

The show remains like that, hold for a few more beats - present, a lion; a typical act that puts its handler close to headless; it’s truly just that; a  C I R C U S.

And the audience begin to grow restless - the immortals hungry for blood; for the promised performances that dragged them there; it becomes obvious in the room too...

The first person stands to leave - and like a trigger, the voice snaps to attention; comes from the centre of the ring:

K H A O S

Am I not E N T E R T A I N I N G you? Is my Circus not to your liking; too M U N D A N E for you to E N J O Y? Pity. 

You can’t say I really didn’t T R Y to be a good host to you all; that I wasn’t K I N D to provide my services. Let me introduce the T R U E awaited K H A O S shall I? 

Thank me later, 

If you’re still alive, of course...

It’s instant. The snap of broken chains; the S C R E A M that tears through the Big Top like a banshee freshly released from a cage; though this is pained; A G O N I S E D in its manner. Something heavy drops from the roof of the Big Top; a body H A N G S almost still. An unrecognisable face is choking on their own blood, iron clasped around their throat, a wish wash of rusted chains tight on the individual; unbreakable. The sight is ghastly, the body mauled by harsh claws, the only indication that under the mass of dried crimson is something alive is the way the spasms of muscle fight to breathe beneath the weight of chains that bind them there.

And for those with impeccable vision and know their ranks; the vampires K N O W that there hangs their O V E R L O R D; strung up for all to see by the circus as thought that is an event. it’s delayed, the hiss of questioning; the way the body writhes to escape the clutches of metal. Khaos isn’t done:

Still here? Why, thank you - have I finally gained your undivided attention? Does the OVERLORD have such an affect on you; don’t they look pretty now? 

The panic is late, the dragon that’s been dancing circles around the ringside ignites; a demon’s fire sparking it to life, catches those in the first row of Grandstand Two and the Ringside - now it truly looks alive; an impossible beast marked to carry death. There’s more screaming. Where Demon Fire lights up the wooden slats of the seating, the ones scorched by flames shriek and howl; cave under burnt wood. 

There’s a S I C K E N I N G sound of bones crunching from above, the trapeze artists suddenly replaced by grotesque creatures; demons in their true forms and human bound skin sheds and drops down below; heavy thumps of guts splattering to the ground to leave mutilated piles; a stench that’s foul comes with it.

The head of the ringmaster jerks upwards, a mask where features should be; pale like a ghost, holeless and with the impression that KHAOS cannot see; that beneath the darkness of the metal cast face there is no potential to witness his own oncoming K A R N A G E. 

Because that comes in the form of something resembling G U N F I R E, certainly sounds similar, the peacock dancers throwing spherical cannisters into the audience; paired with E X P LO S I O N S that shake the room; small metal shards pepper unsuspecting guests and that panic that’s been withheld..

Kicks in...

Everyone grapples to their feet; a free for all of sirvivors that haven’t been singed, bulleted or reduced to ash... some in pieces; limbless and crawling along grasslands... stepped on by careless immortals; stamped on by even less sympathetic monsters...

F I N A L L Y, Khaos adds, The S H O W has begun; I promised you K H A O S... 

HERE IT IS.

The dragon; now fully resembling a magical entity sits below the strung Overlord, coaxes a real awful scream for their voicebox as flames engulf the body, reduce the choking to a gargle untill nothing but a blackened and withered form remains; a S A C R I F I C E to the Circus...

And everyone in the Ringside seating can’t escape it fast enough; a wave of heat expels from the form with enough force to send all off their feet and stumbling to recompose their senses; those still alive; unharmed fighting to get to the exit. 

But it’s gone; the walls of the tent proven impossible to break - knives, guns evaporating on its touch and where the magic binding everyone in the room distracts them, still dodging Khaos’ showman who have intent to make them the G R A N D  D I S P L A Y, begin to crowd and just as a few guests direct their attention to the ringmaster himself.

He vanishes in smoke; that darkness sweeping the room in a flash and suddenly; the harshness of rough wild magic scratches claws at the skin of all within; and when lights return to the chaotic mass of moving bodies... they are no longer in a recognisable big top...

It’s a M A Z E; tracks underneath them, steel and stone walls haphazard and staggering the mass into smaller, unplanned groups that must dare to E S C A P E the new route they’ve been contained in; or at least, T R A P P E D and forced to navigate a dark pit. Khaos’ voice thrums one final twisted introduction:

Welcome to the G H O S T  M A Z E, last one to the exit is M I N E. 

Run quickly sweet creatures, for I like to keep my promises and I want you to see all the R E A L things within these walls that you’ll never have seen before...

Try not to die now will you...

                                     Easier said than done...

                                                            Because I want to look you in the eyes first...

Within the M A Z E 

it is built from nightmares; pulled from vivid thoughts of those confined within its walls and made  R E A L by imagination. The deepest, darkest monstrosities that creature fear lives inside as G H O S T S of the maze, haunting the thick stone and striking pain into those who manifested them. Accompanied by T R A P S that are designed for the strongest of immortals, there’s a sudden need to work as a team; as a unit with the ones who would deem to be unlikely allies

For if you’re left alone with your fears... driven to insanity by them and S T U C K in a loop that your mind can’t free itself from.. well then you better hope you die before Khaos catches you...

NOTE: This is the main conclusion of the Circus De La Khaos event, the final part of 3.5 comes to close the event done, but until then, your characters must survive their darkest of nightmare; face their demons and stare them in the eye whilst they attempt to navigate through a concrete maze with both allies and foe...

Are you going to try risk it alone, leave old enemies behind? Find an unlikely companion? You choose. This part of the event will conclude Monday 3rd August, Midnight. 

Keep in mind, if your character was seated in a detrimental hit zone; they might be nursing some serious injuries too... that’s without ordinary enemies playing fatal parts...

Good luck Crooked Souls...

                                                  Dare I say...

                                                                                 You might need it...

#crooked.event #circus de la khaos part 3 #supernatural rp #supernatural rpg #mature rp #mature rpg #dark rp #dark rpg #mumu rp #mumu rpg #rp #lsrpg #spn rp #spn rpg #original rp #oc rp #original rpg #oc rpg #pastevent #event: Circus de la Khaos