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sugar-petals · 3 years

Text

#Scream For Me (m)

↳ PAIRING. sub!hyunjin x domme!reader

↳ SUMMARY. It’s his first time. You’re in charge. He lets loose.

↳ WORDS. 3k

warnings ⚠️ spit play, fingering, blindfolds, ribbon bondage, handjobs, casual domination, oral (f receives), slow dick riding, as you can tell by the title he’s very loud, sloppy sex, choking, aftercare

♡ NOTE ➝ surprise surprise, writing for stray kids today! vocal hyunjin is domme candy👌

“I’ll be very gentle,” you hook two fingers down the hem of his jeans. Hyunjin quickly nods: Both your attention lies on just how much his pants are bulging out already. As long as you stay focussed, surely this will be a calm first time for him— Well, we’ll see about that. In fact, if you already knew what is slumbering inside of him? You’d get fucking ready.

“Can I please touch you as well?”

He’s fumbling at your thighs, your dress, and you can feel his nervousness in the fingertips already.

“You can. But first— Mommy unwraps her present. You know how it goes.“

And it’s a big present, I’m telling you. So big, you have a hard time smoothly unzipping him in one go. And since his hips won’t hold still — God is he sensitive to touching, but hey, what’s not to like — undressing him takes some real maneuvering. It’s not easy to whip a 300 feet yacht out of some average harbor.

“Do you like it?”

“Uh-huh. Something I can work with right there.”

A bit of lube distributed in both hands, a deep breath, now you’re good to go. You give it a few pumps to accommodate Hyunjin to your touch. As expected: He’s not very stoic about it. Even though he’s fully reclined on your bed, and it couldn’t be any cozier, he bucks up.

“Ah!“

“Don’t worry. Just teasin’. Here,” you give him access to your dress by lifting it past your hip. His left hand finds its way past your underwear pretty fast. Guess who’s relieved by a distraction from his spike in arousal. Now that you think about it, he might like some casual handjobs in the daytime or while driving. During cuddles, maybe.

How not to touch him all day. He’s all big and girthy, he reacts well. Your fingers fits perfectly around him, too. Hyunjin’s nice as fuck to hold and stroke. Not to mention lightning fast when it comes to reciprocating. He’s shy about a lot of things, and that’s because of having few experience, but not about being mutual. Green flag.

“So wet...”

“Just for you. Go ahead, take a dip.“

Hyunjin definitely looks like he’s having the time of his life just fingering you. Freestyle, no rules, no strategies. He delights in just pleasing you at every angle. Fuck, his hands are so nice. At one point, you resort to ripping off your panties altogether. Easier access. He gets even harder in your palm.

“Is that good?”

“That’s good, babe. Keep on circling.”

Those lips probably make for an even more unruly type of stimulation between your legs. If they’re only half as lawless, Jesus you’ll be spiralling already. They’re so nice and plump. Big cock, big lips, is there some sort of correlation? Anyway. Hyunjin feels like the type to eat pussy obsessively, so. But you think you have to be careful introducing him to it. Knowing him, he’d straight up suffocate himself on first try. Hwang Hyunjin, death by pussy.

“Can I try it with my lips as well, please?“

Fate has its way of doing things, huh. And he knows you’ve been looking at his lips, doesn’t he.

“I’ll only let you kiss and suck until I count to thirty. Wait, let me get on my back.”

“Okay!”

Switching spots lets you feel the warmth where Hyunjin just led his back. He doesn’t waste much time. One blink and he props up his lips at your entrance, waiting for instructions. Well shit.

“Keep it shallow,” you get a fistful of his hair. “Kiss, kiss. Like that. Move it just an inch upward. Don’t touch your cock, I still wanna ride it later. Lay flat on the bed. Put your hands around my thighs. 29, 28...“

At that prospect, he becomes even more obedient. His tongue doesn’t do a bad job at all. Oh wonder, he breathes just fine. First time eating you out: You get the impression that this guy has some serious talent there.

“Tastes really good. It’s all bubbly,“ Hyunjin smiles bright from ear to ear. You’ve just stopped counting by now.

“Ugh, fuck it. Just eat, eat.”

That goes on for almost five minutes, in fact. He licks and services you perfectly. That his lips feel ten times more sensual than they already look has your breath going much shorter and your grip in his hair much tighter. So much about making assumptions. And it makes sense, not having his cock stimulated has Hyunjin cooling down a little. Suspiciously so.

When you were stroking him off, he’d go wild right along. Conclusion: Handjobs and Hyunjin are like pressing a red button. Eating pussy: Chill area. Noted. Complete slobbery wetness: Also noted. You wonder what that’s good for.

“Hyunjin, should we go for it now? I want you inside me. You’ll slip right in so nicely. I’ll take good care of you, you don’t have to be nervous.“

“Can we kiss while we do it?”

Nothing you’d love more. You lay Hyunjin just where he started out, get a soft black ribbon from the nightstand. As promised, you tie his arms above his head, not too tightly or anything. A simple bow tie keeps the whole thing together, making it easy to open. The loose ends dangle at the sides of his wrists, teasing his skin. Goosebumps. It all makes for a nice view of his arms, and his head is brought a little forward, it’s perfect to kiss. He’s practically on the verge of kissing without you moving your lips close to his.

Starting with a little peck on the forehead and nose, you make sure he feels well in his position and get a second black ribbon to tie his eyes. A bit tighter, just so it won’t come off when his head moves. The knot you place on the right side rather than the back of the head, it’d be uncomfortable against the pillow he’s rested on. Hyunjin gets more and more excited.

“I want you to just feel. Do you want me to start?”

“Yes—,” he says. “And, do it slowly. I don’t want you to hurt yourself also.“

He’s so sweet. And he knows his dick is kinda massive. Too many first times ruined because of that.

“Extra slow, Hyunjin. I’ll make this feel really great for us. Come, kiss me.”

Your tongues connect just when you get hold of him with your right hand. The touch has Hyunjin groaning into the kiss—

Pretty fucking strongly.

There he goes again. Your fingers, red button, the whole shebang. Little did you know he’d start whining even more the second you line him up between your pussy lips, and move his tip around a bit. Just to say hi to your clit, and to give yourself a good feel of what’s going in first. Hyunjin is literally falling apart below you already. He can barely keep it in.

And you can’t keep it out: Finally, you point his cock tip between your labia, and his saliva is just perfect to help you glide it past the entrance. Hyunjin’s kisses are getting hungry and desperate, and even louder, with heavy breaths along the way.

“Jesus Christ,” he’ll catch you mumbling, and you can feel his dick throbbing. “Let me hear you!”

“You’re squeezing me! Oh shit, shit!”

Looks like someone’s very passionate to say the least. It didn’t stop with the handjob, then. Any kind of contact with his dick is having Hyunjin’s voice do somersaults. Guess why he’s walking around so noisily all day when he’s just walking and his pants do their thing like, giving him a good rub even if it’s just lightly on the surface.

With reactions like that, Hyunjin’s dick is well inside of you without any further ado. Boyfriend moaning, pussy open. While you’re enjoying the feel of being completely full with him, and imagine how deep his spit is being thrust inside you — oh god, yes — Hyunjin seems to have his own imaginations. The blindfold was both a good and a bad idea. He can’t anticipate your next move, but he also seems to feel you sliding him in twice as much.

“Are you thinking I’m some kind of succubus, huh.”

You tease, wiggle your hips. Causing one loud fucking moan.

“It feels that way, ah!”

“Are you gonna scream your lungs out when I start moving, hm?“

“I can’t control it!”

“Let’s see then.”

You lean back into the kiss, bent forward just enough to change the way his dick is aligned inside of you all over again. A little bounce and the position is perfect.

“Wow, look. This is a good angle. It just goes right in.”

“Hn—!”

It’s amazing how he reacts at your mercy. Your kisses stifle the moans, but they also make him more on edge because he wants to let it out. Congrats, you’ve found the officially best way to torture him.

“So. How about doing this.”

You raise your hips. It takes quite some effort to pull him out that far because he’s so girthy. It’s literally pulling at your walls as if they don’t wanna let him go. You do it slowly, terribly slow, every millimeter has your pussy lips deliciously tracing another facet of him. Moving up means cleaning some more saliva off his shaft. It all goes inside you. God bless his runny mouth while he was eating you out.

Only Hyunjin’s tip remains inside of you. The air hitting what was previously buried inside you makes for a surefire way to make him break the kiss and bite his lips.

“My cock! My, ah, my!”

His hands are all wobbly above his head. As are his legs behind you.

“How are we taking it down there.”

“If you do that hip thing again, I can’t guarantee anything!“

So that’s what makes his heart beat faster.

“I’d be damn cruel making you cum so early, darling. Sooner or later I’ll milk all your semen anyway.“

Well, succubus indeed.

“I’ll just blow up, I can’t!“

“You’re lucky I won’t be riding you full-speed or something. You’re just too big for that. But what if I do the hip thing and you can’t cum?”

“Oh fuck!“

For good measure, you nuzzle him generously, and yes, do the thing. The agony in his expression is not even the full effect of what you’ve done. Hyunjin is screaming out loud.

“And that was with a warning. I’ll do it again and if you can stand it, you get some pussy in your face. Wanna get treated?”

“Please, please treat me!”

“But first...”

To add some extra spice, you push down to his base all over again. Hyunjin arches, his teeth are almost sewn shut from the pressure of his tight jaw. Once he’s balls deep, you flick your hip just a little. A loud moan simmers into a little mewl, the jaw unclenches, his tongue starts lapping out. You’ve truly shut off his brain right now.

“Very well done.”

Pulling out works faster now, but you notice how it’s not as slippery anymore. A lot of Hyunjin’s spit has gathered around the lower third of his dick. It’s a nice sight to have it drip on his terribly swollen balls that are probably going through a whole bunch of things right now.

“Good thing you get something to slurp on. We need more spit. Use your mouth!”

Hyunjin’s cock being untouched right now seems to take the edge off, but his mouth, holy shit. His mouth is on an eager spree to wet you up all over. On top of your own lubrication, Hyunjin provides another ridiculous amount of leakage all over your clit and folds. It’s running all over his face.

The blindfold gets soaked as does his nose. A frantically moaning Hyunjin doesn’t seem to stop slurping and pushing out spit, you swear he’s gonna fucking drown. That method. It’s completely chaotic just like his fingering. You weren’t wrong, then. He might die then, but at least you’re able to remove the blindfold, wearing that is too gross. Hyunjin is excitedly blinking at you through his own spit like the sun is blinding him but he doesn’t mind.

“Mnm—nh!”

“I love you. Amazing. Look at this. You’re so nasty. Come, let’s do this again. Hope that cock can push all that into me. It’s too good to waste.“

You get back to squatting on his dick, admittedly a little wobbly on the mattress now. Hyunjin’s satanic ritual tongue does not go without a notice. Nor does the way you slide back down on him, and back up.

“Oh woah!”

A clean thrust. Your pussy is dripping so much on him, a little stream glosses over the thread of veins on the underside. Before it reaches down and disappears between his thighs, you make sure to collect it with another thrust. Hyunjin stares just right at his cock disappearing in you, framed by your labia stretching out. His jaw is completely dropped.

“Yes, that’s how we’re looking like. You have a great cock. Listen to that sound.”

Smooth gliding and a wet little smack when you touch down.

“It’s, it’s amazing... It feels so warm and creamy.”

“Watch. I’ll be stirring your spit all inside me.“

Slowly, carefully, you ride him again, this time connecting several thrusts. Hyunjin looks adorable with his wide eyes and sweaty face.

“Yes! Oh yes, oh.... That feels so good.”

“Nothing wasted. You’re doing really well. You’re good at this.“

You lean in for a deep kiss. Only after you tongue him down do you realize just how much he’s ruined his mouth. It’s so sticky and wet, and his lips are so exhausted. They’ve been swelling up more than you thought they would, he’s really put them to the test like a champ. Well, they’ve lost their virginity, too. The kiss ends with two wet mouths parting by a thread.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes. I really love it. Thank you, Hyunjin. Can I finish off first? I wanna use my hands to make you cum.“

“You’re the best,“ he becomes flustered, and watches in awe just how you reposition yourself all over again, pointing his cock at his belly flat this time. It’s perfect to just grind right above it. A bit of fluid leaking from your pussy mixed with lube and spit makes for the best slippery help to get your clit some intense stimulation from gliding squarely across Hyunjin’s bit vein.

“Fucking hell, babe. That’s a wonder dick.”

How he throbs and pulsates is the last push it needs to get close. You loosen the tie of Hyunjin’s ribbon and his hands dart around you, hold you, and he winds his hips to give you more of the friction.

But this time, he’s moving faster, and your orgasm arrives quicker than you count from 30, not even that. You get messy on his balls and base, and Hyunjin almost loses it from having you grind on him. That he’s been holding it in until now is a miracle. His hair is nothing but sweaty streaks right now.

As soon as the waves of pleasure become smaller and you can think again, both your and his hand come wrapping around his shaft. No problem moving your palms around, he’s covered in all that honey. Plus there’s more space, he could fit three palms. It feels so intimate doing it together and being in sync. Hyunjin’s broken moans and whines are well accompanied by more hip bucks and a quicker pace. Your two hands squeezing up and down makes Hyunjin start to beg to you.

“Please use the other hand, please, please choke me through this!“

You go for a lighter grip, hell, he hasn’t done this before, but Hyunjin isn’t having it. The protest is all loud and clear.

“Squeeze my throat! Please, harder, do it hard, please!”

You press down at either side of his neck, and make sure to translate that onto his cock as well, still jerking him off. You don’t let go until he’s cumming.

A thick white spurt empties between the intertwine of your fingers. Hyunjin squeals out loud, catching air, almost crying. Another load has him all shaky, growling, and rubbing his own hand around yours to push out even the last bits of sperm. Surprise, there’s more cum leaking out.

“Oh, what to do with all that big dick.”

“It’s, it’s so much!“

“Come here with that milk.“

You lower your face on him and let the last clear bits come up against your puckered lips. They spread his cum all over the tip, kiss it, catch new threads, swirl them around while your hands are pumping the lower half, all the meaty girth. Never missing an opportunity for torture. Hyunjin is screaming and suffering all over again. His semen has been oozing all over your hands.

“Clean it, babe. We’ll lay down in a minute. That’s an amazing icing.”

Hyunjin’s tongue has a last job and it does it well. Your fingers are super clean and well-kissed, his lips are so glorious. You’re both dizzy, but you at least manage to towel down. Because his face is a mess, your lips are dripping, your pussy is a swimming pool of spit, and that ruined dick has seen some things today, oh yeah it did. What better way to leave its virginity inside of you all slicked up and sloppy.

Hyunjin starts freezing very fast by now, and you get a weighted blanket, with you on top of him, in a sweater, just because. Sharing heat is caring heat. You love cuddles after sex.

“Say something cute and nasty,” he pouts, and you think of a good way to summarize the evening.

“I mean look at you. You’re officially a slut now. My slut,” you pinch his nose. “If you want. Let’s have some fun like that tomorrow again. I can’t wait, you know. That’s a really loud boy I got myself.“

“Oh yes, tomorrow!”

“I might be blowing you for more of that icing. It was really nice and sugary.“

“I eat lots of fruit!”

Now that’s a keeper.

“And I gotta say, shit...“

“You came really hard on my dick, right.”

Hyunjin makes an innocent face saying that, but you know very well how he’s been taking you in, he’s learning.

“Yeah.“

“That was that sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He smiles a little, exhausted, but flustered.

“Lot more to come. That’s only the first time for you.”

“I’ve been thinking that as well. Say it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen until tomorrow.“

“Exactly right. That’s the idea,” you kiss his neck now, breathing in the afterglow. “And, by the way. Um. I hope I removed the ribbons at the right timing.“

“It was in the right moment!“

“Should we try more like that next time?”

“I like it.“

“Me too. You look perfect tied up.”

The blindfold did the trick, you know it. Hyunjin has hardly reacted to your touch like that when cuddling. Although, that’s hard to compare, is it.

“And... You really could have choked me a little harder by the way.“

Hyunjin knows just how to mimic you. Another nose pinch for you, young man.

“We didn’t plan it so I thought I’d go easy on you. But if you like it. You want it rougher, don’t ya. You just wanna fucking scream.“

“I’ll admit it,” he nuzzles his face into your sweater. “I’m just very loud...”

“We’ll see what kind of ideas I’ll come up with to get you even louder. Deal?”

“Favorite deal.“

FINAL NOTE. thank you for reading - caro 🐅

#hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #scream for me #skz #hwang hyunjin #sub!hyunjin #sub!skz #sub!stray kids #dom!reader #dom!reader x hyunjin

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softscummymammon · 3 years

Text

€Unexpected Acquaintance€

Assisted by:: @jinjinjinjin

❃.✮:▹»»——⍟——««◃:✮.❃

Sukuna just wanted this day to end. He was already in a bad mood from the storm last night, where he got little of his much needed sleep, and his mood had only gotten worse when he was faced with a bunch of "nature friendly" bastards protesting near the docks where his boat was tied down.

Now, he just wanted to get his daily load of fish for the market, and have a nap without dealing with any other goody two shoe hypocrites. He could already feel the headache building up behind his eyes.

Though the gentle rocking of the boat over the surface of the water did ease him slightly. People besides other fishermen were always so confused when he actually said something about himself and it happened to his be career in fishing. They were always so astounded when he said he could stay on a boat for a whole day. Weaklings, all of them.

Rubbing at his sore eyes, Sukuna glared at the surface of the horizon and took a sip of the alcohol in his canteen. Tucking the tin back into his wader's pocket, he patted the pocket for safe keeping.

Walking to the front of the boat, he checked his net markers he left a few days ago. Sukuna gasped when he saw his marker bobbing up and down frantically. Getting his equipment ready, he tugged on some gloves and grabbed at the net right under the marker.

Taking a breath, Sukuna started tugged on the net. Grabbing every piece of net coming from the water, Sukuna huffs as he pulls the net further and further from the water. The sound of splashing water reached his ears and he smirked in victory.

Putting all the access netting into one hand, Sukuna quickly reaches behind him for the mechanical hook. The machinery on his boat was built and bought by him only, so only he knew how it worked. By reaching for the net first, he can easily tie the access onto the hook and pull up the rest of it out of the water.

Doing exactly what was needed, he tied the net to the hook and grabbed onto the leaver and started cranking the leaver clockwise. The machinery raised the net out of the water better than he ever could. The load he hauled onto his deck made him smile and rub his hands together gleefully.

" This shipment is definitely worth a pretty penny. Now, all I gotta do it sort you out, fish sticks. "

*Slap* "Who you callin' fish sticks, blubber mouth?! "

Sukuna froze. Looking up, he raised his hand to his face and wiped away some water the fish that had been thrown at him left on his cheek. Peering down at the fish now flopping on his deck, he gave the thing a death glare; as if that would give him any answers. He must really be going crazy-

"Up here, blubber-for-brains. "

His eyes snapped up towards the voice. But the air in his lungs escaped as if they were punched out of him. A human(?)'s upper torso was visible at the top of the net. It was leaning against the hook of the machinery and was throwing and catching a fish in its hand.

Sukuna raised a brow, " What the fuck? "

The thing raised one of its brows back, " Nice use of language, Oh Smart One. I thought you humans were supposed to be intelligent. Though, every one of your kind I've encountered uses fowl language, so smarts must just be a myth. "

Sukuna growled at the things snarky commentary, " Oh yeah? And what kind of intelligent creature like you gets stuck in a fishing net, huh? So much for being smart. "

The thing snarled, showing off rust colored stained teeth dyed by no doubt blood as sharp as many of Sukuna's own fileting knives. It held tightly onto the fish in its hand, " Watch your mouth, human, I still got a whole lotta of ammo here, and your face is lookin' like a big ol' target from where I'm sittin'. "

Sukuna rose an unimpressed eyebrow and pulled out a harpoon gun he kept in the captain's quarters, " Mine hurts worse. "

The thing flinched back and hissed at the gun, but slowly set down the poor he probably squeezed to death in his panic. The thing made a whiny sound in the back of its throat, " I didn't choose to get stuck here. I was getting chased by some shark mers. Those nasty ones only know the smell of blood and the next potential meal. I'd choose to be anywhere else right now, trust me. "

Sukuna huffed, " Yeah, sure. " Putting away the gun, Sukuna sighed and looked back up to the sulking thing. Looking closer, he was the slightest shine of scales decorating the cheeks, neck, and forearms of the thing. Its eyes were steely and sunken in, as if it's seen things beyond it's life time.

Sukuna chuckled upon realization, " You're a mermaid, aren't you? "

The mer scoffed, " Merman, thank. But 'mer' is just fine. I still don't get why ya humans always gotta gender code things. Damn, just call us what we are? "

Sukuna chuckled again, " What? Nuisances? "

The mer hissed again, " We wouldn't be if ya humans knew to keep to yerselves. Ain't this section of the coast off limits to fishers like yerself? "

Sukuna shrugged, not giving an answer. The mer scoffed and crossed it's arms over it's chest. Sukuna looked at it up and down, taking in everything he could. He hummed delightfully.

The mer must have caught on, " What'cha lookin at me fer? Think I'm some sorta snack for yer to eat? "

Sukuna shook his head no, " Nah, I was just rememberin how much one of your kind goes to sell on the blackmarket. You gotta be worth something. No rich bastard would give up the opportunity to call a thing like you pet. "

The mer's eyes went thin, but already creamy skin paled considerably, " You wouldn't... "

Sukuna rose a brow, " Oh, and why wouldn't I? I could definitely use the money. "

The thing stayed quiet, before it soon started to shake. Sukuna was about to sneer and comment about it being weak, but paused when a face formed from agony and rage shot up to glare at him. Sukuna had to keep himself from tensing and tried to look as calm as he could be.

The mer growled, " That's all that ya humans are. Selfish and greedy monsters only willing to do something if you get money in return. Do you know how many of our kind is sacrificed, hunted, and killed just so the others can live? Just so you humans can play god and reap what we mer's sew. "

Sukuna gulped, remembering the auction show he was emailed an invite to since he contributed a large amount of fish to the CEO of the company. It was a disgusting show of wealth. How millionaires and billionaires fought over a small little thing that held a resemblance to the one right in front of him.

The mer wasn't done, but tears of grief started to roll down it's eyes, " How many of our guppies, our children, are pulled from our arms to be sold like live stock?! You are no better! "

Sukuna had enough of this tantrum, " Do not bundle me with those people! I'd never harm a child, even if I am considered a monster by other people. I will not allow it to be done by a fish like you! "

The mer shrunk back, breathing irregular and struggling, like a faint wheeze. It swallowed roughly and looked away. Sukuna rumbled, now over flowing with guilt he felt he should not harbor. Looking back up, he became slightly alarmed at the shallow and wheezy breaths the mer was taking.

Mer's need water, his mind supplied. Sukuna growled, and hackles raising when he caught the mer flinching again. Walking away from the net, he went down below deck on got out a giant glass tank he kept in case he needed to keep a fish alive for more profit.

Taking it up the stairs and on to the deck, he set it down on some secure boxes and grabbed a bucket to start filling it with water. He had to make haste though, or the mer would die from drownin? Suffocation? And all of this work would be for waste.

Once the tank was full and covered from the beating ray of the sun, Sukuna walked over to the leaver controlling the hook and rotated it counter clockwise. He watched as the machine lowered the net onto the deck and he let go of the leaver. Once the machine stopped, he stepped up to the net and untied it.

Being this up close and personal to the mer, he watched as the sun made the scales look iridescent. Slipping his arms underneath the torso of the fish being, he pulled it out of the other fish and dragged it towards the tank. The mer roused slightly, trying to fruitlessly push Sukuna away. The bigger man scoffed and dropped the mer into the tank.

The reaction was instant, the mer took a deep breath through the large gills covering it's side and it slumped against the rim of the glass tank. Sukuna watched, looking at the mer's tail that could he classified as art in itself. It was beautiful, though he would never admit it. The thin tarp Sukuna draped over some boxes didn't stop the light from the sun bouncing off the glittering scales.

Sukuna's gaze went back up to the mer's face, startling to see the mer was also looking at him. It's hair fell in it's face, blocking out most of it. It puffed, blowing some of the strands out of it's eyes to get a better look.

Sukuna hated the way his chest constricted at the show. The mer raised a webbed hand, and Sukuna slowly took it and shook it. He made a face when he pulled it back and fake gagged at the slimy feeling left on his skin. The thing laughed at his disgust and shook it's head, getting water everywhere.

It smirked, " The name's _____ _____. What's yours, blubber man? "

Sukuna sneered at the nickname, " That's not my name. It'd Sukuna Ryoumen, nothing else. "

The mer smirked, " Well now I gotta call you that every time I address ya. "

Sukuna growled, " Don't you dare. " The glint in the fish's eyes didn't quell any of the building dread that sat in the bottom of his stomach. He really debated on if he should sell the fish or not.

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#anime headcanons #jjk x male reader #ryōmen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #x male reader #male character #mermaid male reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna x male reader #tw blood #tw gore #tw fishing #tw harmful endangerment #alternate universe

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the-last-kenobi · 3 years

Note

I know I have already requested a fic based on one of the dialogue prompts, so you don't have to answer to this ask if you don't want to. It's just that I would love another angsty story with Qui-Gon and padawan Obi (the way you portray their father-son relationship just melts my heart and breaks it simultaneously). I don't have a preference for any specific dialogue to be included. You as the writer can choose anything from the prompt list. Whatever you think would suit your story best. Thanks again!

Thank you!! <3 Always happy to get requests from you! Oh, author’s choice. Now I gotta make a decision... hm.

I decided to go with prompt #1!

From this various prompts list.

Requests are currently closed.

From the very first moment, Qui-Gon had looked at him and seen Xanatos instead.

From the dueling mats in the Temple, to the rundown transport ship, to the wastes of Bandomeer, Obi-Wan had never really been Obi-Wan to him — just another phantom of his former, cherished apprentice, another reminder of his failings as a teacher.

Obi-Wan knew there had been times when it had been different.

In the mines — his small, trembling fingers sore from slave work pressed against the collar fitted around his throat, his breaths coming shallow but steady as he prepared to press it, to erupt, to shatter himself into billions of fragments just to open a door for Qui-Gon Jinn — there, then, it had been different.

Qui-Gon had seen him, and apologized to him, and praised him.

Offered to be his Master.

Yes, of course, yes.

But despite their bond being sealed and the training begun, after that it felt like two steps forward, five steps back, one step forward, standstill.

Qui-Gon could not seem to comprehend that Obi-Wan was not Xanatos.

He was surprised in his habits, that he hated waking early but enjoyed it once he was up. That he ate light, small meals often throughout the day instead of three large ones, and wouldn’t touch a heaping plateful no matter how hungry he was. That he was tidy in his clothing and writing but usually forgot to make his bed until the end of the day, when he wanted to climb into smooth, tidy sheets instead of a mess.

And he seemed ready, at all times, for Obi-Wan to do something… evil.

Not just wrong, or reckless, or crazy.

But as if he expected his thirteen-year-old Padawan to dramatically drop a facade of innocence like a masked villain dropping his disguise, and prove to the Order that he was capable of incredible harm.

It was worse after Telos.

One might have thought Qui-Gon expected Obi-Wan to announce himself Xanatos’ heir after the older man had flung himself into a pit of acid rather than face justice.

If Xanatos had lurked between them before, he positively pushed them apart after his death.

And then…

And then Tahl died.

And it was Obi-Wan’s fault, his stupid broken bone and his stupid inability to take care of himself or be left alone in a war zone, and she was dead. There would be no more hastily made dinners shared with laughter and teasing and her telling stories from her childhood with Qui-Gon while Qui-Gon cringed and shook his head and looked at her as if she were his favorite star, and no more basking in the light she seemed to share.

And when Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan, sometimes it was clear that he could only see the love he had lost, and her lying dead before him.

And wishing it had been Obi-Wan who had died instead.

Obi-Wan could never decide which was worse.

When his Master looked at him and saw Xanatos instead, missing Obi-Wan entirely and both loving and loathing the face he saw instead —

— or when he looked at him and saw him, saw Tahl and the role Obi-Wan had played in her death, and wished to the gods that Obi-Wan had simply never been.

To not be seen at all?

Or to be seen and to be despised?

You look right at me, Obi-Wan wanted to say. You look at me but you’re always seeing someone else.

But Obi-Wan loved his Master. Loved him like a son loves a father, like a good student loves a great teacher, and he could not stop loving him and wanting to be loved in return.

He could not even bring himself to try stopping.

And Qui-Gon, it seemed, could not bring himself to see Obi-Wan differently than he did. Maybe there was simply nothing more to see.

After awhile, Obi-Wan stopped hoping, and simply pushed himself to keep going, regardless of what he received in return. It was enough to be his Master’s Padawan, to have those rare moments of perfect harmony.

He stopped checking to see if his Master was pleased with him. Stopped looking for signs.

Qui-Gon Jinn would never need him, but he needed his teacher, and so he would not complain.

And this state of being went on for years.

And years.

The first thing Obi-Wan registered was the sound of beeping. The whirring of machinery, the quiet hum of droids working nearby.

There was something foreign, uncomfortable and plastic, in his nose and his mouth.

His whole body ached, but at the same time he was so comfortable and so very very tired that it felt as if the bed he was lying on had half swallowed him. He couldn’t so much as lift a finger if he tried.

That’s odd, he thought hazily. I’ve never had a bed try to eat me before.

And that is when he heard it.

Qui-Gon, muffled by a closed door or even two, his voice raised as Obi-Wan had never heard it.

“—you insisted on speaking to me about this right here and now, then the burden is on you! I won’t lower my voice just to appease you, Mace!”

That’s not good, Obi-Wan thought sluggishly. Master is going to get himself in deeper trouble with the Council again, and I can’t help him if a bed eats me.

A pause, and then Qui-Gon shouted, “I don’t give a damn!”

Obi-Wan smiled inwardly. You never do, you rule-flouter.

Another voice rose sharply through the haze, but Obi-Wan could not make it out. Qui-Gon spoke again, anger bleeding into borderline rage. “Look where your priorities got us! I warned you, I told you not to send him in there alone, and did you listen?” The voices drew much nearer as Qui-Gon continued to yell, and he was getting nearer, too.

Obi-Wan frowned. That sounded bad. Who was it that Qui-Gon did not trust to go alone, and what had they done wrong?

“You sent him when I was away and couldn’t do anything to prevent you! You went behind my back! Obi-Wan could have died!” Qui-Gon roared, very close by.

A strange stillness fell, a quiet, like the sudden disorientation after turning off music or a bright screen and blinking in the darkness.

Me.

“He could still die,” said Qui-Gon, much softer, and his voice broke. “My Padawan could die in that bed and you want to talk to me about mission parameters now?”

I went alone somewhere and he did not want me to go. I did something wrong.

“Qui-Gon,” sighed Mace Windu. “No. We just wanted to—”

“I know what you wanted,” snapped Qui-Gon. “I’m not leaving his side, and I’m not discussing anything not related to his health, do you understand?”

A familiar voice that Obi-Wan could not place a name to spoke up just then, mediating. “Peace. Your volume and aggravation are disturbing other patients. Master Jinn, go sit with your apprentice and be still.”

“Thank you, Healer Che,” Qui-Gon murmured.

A door opened. Very close by.

Footsteps approached Obi-Wan where he lay motionless, sunken into the bed and burning with dull physical pain and a much sharper pain called shame.

Qui-Gon sighed somewhere nearby.

And then, to Obi-Wan’s astonishment, he felt warm breath ghosting the top of his head and then a dry-lipped kiss was planted on his forehead, paternal and solemn, a benediction.

“Foolish boy,” Qui-Gon murmured, and the bed shifted as he sat on its edge, one arm coming to curl around Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “Rushing off on perilous solo missions as if I wouldn’t notice.”

Obi-Wan waited, a strange breathless hope inside him, like small child expecting a gift, a silly and wondrous feeling.

“Sometimes I think you don’t know that I love you,” Qui-Gon said. “Go easy on your old Master, Obi-Wan, he’s a very foolish man and you’re going to give me heart problems before my time.”

A sturdy, rough-fingered hand began rubbing absently up and down Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“You are remarkable, Padawan mine. Don’t forget that.” Qui-Gon’s voice broke again.

With an almighty effort, Obi-Wan struggled within himself, searching for strength. When he found it, he seized upon it, and with all he had he reached out along his decade-old training bond, trying to connect with his Master.

A flash of surprise, recognition, relief, joy.

Qui-Gon actually let out a strangled sob; the arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders tightened fiercely.

“You’re going to be all right,” he said aloud. “In fact, I expect you’re going to be incredible, one day, my Padawan.”

Obi-Wan could not muster the energy for a smile, but he tried; and perhaps Qui-Gon understood, because the last thing Obi-Wan felt before darkness pulled him back under to the impenetrable sleep of drug-induced relief was the warmth of laughter against the top of his brow, and another paternal kiss.

#obi wan is an unreliable narrator #qui gon shaped up while he wasn’t looking #and qui gon didn’t realize #I was gonna end this in tragedy but I’m tired of tragedy so I wrote some #found family!!!!#star wars #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #qui gon and obi wan #my writing #writing prompts #someone hug obi wan

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geminil0vr · 3 years

Text

without me? | ron b. weasley (request)

summary; you and ron say goodbye.

tagged; @partr1dge <3

word count; 1.6k

content; this is really fucking sad, arguing, angst galore, making out, mention of horcruxes, no foreplay y'all i'm sorry, unprotected sex (let’s say she’s on birth control), sad sex (smut), riding, fluff/angst.

a/n; i know this is serious but now i can't stop thinking about all those fuckboy memes like "a haha..... fuck, without me?" also this physically hurt me to write !! i'm sorry anon, this is way too sad, and i know you mentioned them having their first time, but i hope you don't mind that i changed the story a little so they were together for the ‘last time’ !!

you and ron had been arguing, and yelling, and crying, for hours now. it wasn't intense, nor heated. it was cold, it was brash, it was heartbreaking and earth-shattering. you could feel a harsh weight in your chest much akin to a gaping hole that made your limbs feel heavy, and your head hot. that made you feel utterly weak. your face felt warm and swollen from all the tears that had run down it, and his cheeks were flushed pink, face blotchy.

you think, now, that you weren't really that angry, just desperate. you just wanted an excuse, to create an argument, an argument that could very well have been your last. and you wanted to make him feel the way that you did, being left here while he went off to get himself killed, at least a little bit. but not too much. merlin, you wouldn't have wished this feeling of hopelessness on anyone else.

ron weasley had a strong heart, so strong that it chipped away at himself with every person he loved. his friends, his family, you.

and he had a strong head on his shoulders, determined, courageous, yet burdened by endless insecurity.

and you loved him.

your voice cracked for what felt like the millionth time, as the argument reached its shallow peak, where you two were just silent, before finding another reason to argue again, "why can't i just go with you, please, ron?"

"you wouldn't be safe! i've told you this, it's bloody dangerous!"

"you say that as if i haven't always gotten you out of something dangerous! i was there when you got those stupid scars up your arms, i was there for you —"

"i know, i know —"

"merlin, ron, i'm always there! i've always been there when you do stupid shit with harry and hermione!" you pointed to your side, as if an invisible audience were observing you, "why on earth is it — is it up to you to decide now that you want to protect me?"

"because i don't want you to get hurt, not because of me!"

"well, you're doing a pretty fucked up job of that."

you both swallowed, then sighed heavily, sitting down on his bed. he sat, hands clasped in his lap, body tensed. you pressed your hands into the mattress, leaning over it and letting your hair fall down into your face. this was so messed up. reaching over silently, without looking up, you took his hand in yours.

"don't go," you croaked, "i love you."

"i love you too." he whispered, not trusting his voice not to crack if he spoke any louder. but he didn't give you an answer. he didn't need to. you both knew there was no turning back on his decision, that it was something he had to do, that it was something you'd have to accept.

sniffling, you finally lifted your head, looking over at him with tears blurring your vision. you picked up his hand in yours, brushing your lips over it, and shutting your eyes.

he took you in his arms, gently grasping your jaw and kissing you softly. when he pulled away, you carefully pushed him back to you, fingers ghosting the nape of his neck as you both tilted your heads, breathing ragged, cheeks wet. you could taste the salt in your mouth as your tongue swiped over his, not in a battle for dominance, but a cautious waltz of need.

you climbed into his lap, bending down to meet his lips, arms wrapped tightly around the nape of his neck, desperate to just be close. he clutched your waist, kissing down your jaw to your neck, not feverishly, tenderly — he wanted to memorise every piece of you, and guard it with his life. for you, he would. for you, it was worth it. it was worth everything.

sliding down your tank top to your hips, he placed more wet kisses to your exposed breasts, paying attention to the way your chest rose and fell, licking over your nipples and suckling gently on the buds as you slowly rolled your hips into his.

you didn't want to think of it as a goodbye. but he'd left you no choice, informing you just a day before his departure that he'd be going to hunt for horcruxes to help his friends. and it was such a selfless thing to do, and it was so ron, running into a battle with no armour on. it was an act of wavering courage. yet you couldn't help but feel fury burst through you, entangling with your worst fears, your pity, your desperation, your sadness.

you wanted to keep ron weasley protected, away from everyone else, away from hurt, away from the trials of life and death. it was unrealistic, but you craved it nonetheless, and you let that want course through your veins, blood burning. you could feel it in your wrists, at your pulse, at your throat, in your stomach, simmering. these were shallow, scalding waters that you waded through, knees giving in, heart giving out.

he moved you to the centre of the bed, taking off his shirt and letting it fall to the ground; you studied him for a moment, broad shoulders, freckled skin — you thought he was beautiful. then you eyed his arms as he leaned over you, covered in deep, white scarring, circling up to his bicep, the cause of the scars even having lashed out at his waist, licks of ivory decorating the sides of his torso. and, pulling your tank top and shorts down, his eyes devoured all the newly exposed skin too.

you didn't speak — you couldn't speak. your hearts were still aching and this was merely a distraction, a last dance.

he trailed desperate kisses down to your waistline, then hooked your panties down, kissing over your inner thighs, making you squirm. then to your hips, and your waist, lengthening the distance between you and what you wanted most.

not wasting another second, he kicked off his own pants and underwear, and slowly dragged the head of his cock over your slit.

he found his voice somewhere, buried in the pit of his stomach.

"are you ready?" he rasped, swallowing.

"mhmm." you nodded, and wrapped your legs around him, hands grasping his shoulders as he eased himself in, just like he'd done many times before.

you groaned quietly together, closing your eyes and savouring the feeling one last time. you clenched tight around him as he set a slow pace, hips gently thrusting against you, both letting little moans slip from your mouths, throats dry from all the shouting and crying. the feeling of fullness enveloped you as he thrust in as deep as he could go, making you gasp and wrap your arms around him tighter.

“so good for me, love. feels so good.” he muttered between pants, the words only making you pulse around him tighter. you had a bizarre urge to both cum and hold off as long as you could so this would go on as long as possible, as long as you needed him on you, inside you.

the sex was soft, bittersweet, filled with random kisses, both rolling your hips against each other. sometimes with ron, it was urgent, needy, desperate, brutal. and despite feeling all of those things at once, you grasped onto each other and never picked up the pace, clammy hands and warm skin, quiet groans and pounding hearts.

“ronnie, i wanna ride you.” you mumbled against his lips, as he allowed you to ease off him, finally straddling his hips once he was slouched against the headboard. you lazily rocked your hips against his, dragging your soaked folds over his shaft, finally letting up and sliding onto his cock once he pinched at your hips and gave you a desperate look.

“fuck, y/n. so tight around me, riding me like that.” he groaned, warm breath fanning over the shell of your ear as you wrapped your arms around his neck for support, head buried in the crook of it, bouncing steadily and moaning every time the new position made the thick head of his cock hit your g-spot.

“i love you.” you groaned, hips meeting his and no longer bouncing, just rocking back and forth, rolling your hips against his slowly.

“i love you too. so fucking much. never wanna leave you.”

“don’t.” you sniffled again, eyes filling with tears once more.

“i don’t want to.” you began riding him properly again, slowly, as he met your thrusts, rutting up into you. the crack in his voice was evident, and you avoided sobbing again by pressing your head even further into his neck, kissing the pale skin softly.

moaning, you bit your bottom lip, “i’m gonna cum, baby.”

“cum for me.” he breathed as you obliged (without much choice), body twitching as your orgasm washed over you powerfully, eyes screwed shut, thighs squeezing against his.

sensitive, he kept rocking up into you slowly, shallow moans building up from the back of his throat, voice raspy, “gonna cum, shit.”

you felt the sudden warmth as he pumped load after load of cum into you, and you kept your eyes closed, holding onto ron tighter than you thought possible as his trembling hands caressed your waist.

“can we stay like this, a sec’?”

his cock began to soften inside you, and he mumbled against your shoulder after a moment, “yeah.”

so you just held each other, breathing and hearts slowing down.

you mumbled into his neck. "promise you'll be safe?"

you could feel him smile softly against your shoulder.

“if it means coming back to you? i promise."

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meimae · 2 years

Text

4/3/22

Been a little busy, but here's my February Immersion Overview!

You'd think I'd immerse less this month given that there was only 28 days, but this is probably the best I've done especially in terms of reading, and I'm still giving myself a bit of a pat on the back for it.

Let's get into the details, shall we?

ANIME

Me? Watch anime? Never!

Oh, wait. I watched Angel Beats! this month. I had always planned to watch it after I finished the VN (the same goes for every anime or drama that originated from some form of reading content really), and I'm glad that I finally did because the pacing felt way better. Shows like this shines in its comedic timing, and while I am getting a bit faster at reading, the pacing still felt really slow compared to just watching the anime. It also concludes the show properly; we get to see the true end pan out, something the VN didn't cover because it delves into each character's backstory more. Glad I finally get to graduate from this story as well. For now. Angel Beats! Next, Next Beat when?

DRAMA

I watched one drama again this month. An anime and only one drama? Seriously, what is going on?

やめるときも、すこやかなるときも was pretty short, and semi melodramatic, but it wasn't as bad as how its currently rated in MDL. It tried its best to showcase how two individuals dealt with their trauma and how they ended up facing it together in the end. It was sweet actually.

GAMING

To add more to my weird immersion choices, I decided to delve into and start playing the Japanese localized version of Stardew Valley after watching hundreds of Youtube videos on it. I can't say that its the best way to spend reading time, but it is a good way to relax without thinking that I'm wasting my time gaming. It's pretty comfortable to read now (although sometimes the font throws me off lol), and knowing where everything is, just in case I'm too lazy to look up words, is comforting.

GRAMMAR

Remember when I said last month that I wanted to concentrate and study grammar more? Yeah.....no. At the beginning of the month, I spent a lot of time dawdling, thinking about how to go about it. I figured I could just continue making Anki cards for them, but realized that I keep quitting my reps for them midway anyway. So, I started reading them instead, even computing how many days it would take to read all of them without feeling like death. Then I stopped....oops. I swear I'm trying really hard, but forcing study time makes me not want to immerse too which is very counterproductive. It's not as if I hadn't read up on all of this before anyway. This is literally a refresher course to nail everything down...if I can just stay motivated enough for it.

LIGHT NOVEL

So while I was having a pretty shallow dilemma, I started reading a bit of 無職転生 again. I figured I don't like 異世界 plotlines that much, but I'm curious why people praise this as the one 異世界 you can't skip out on.

PODCASTS

Still very much into podcasts, since I can actually follow them now. Read to listen, fellas.

I need to find more podcasts to mix it up, so if you have any suggestions, please feel free to leave a comment.

YOUTUBE

I rarely talk about my quest for good Youtube 実況s, and キヨ。is definitely someone I can recommend. This is probably the most chaotic let's play of Undertale I've ever seen, definitely a must watch. Again, if you have Youtube channels you use for immersion, especially female gamers, do drop a comment.

VISUAL NOVELS

Excerpt from my post on The Moe Way Discord server: "Roughly 380 days later and after 760 hours of reading everyday, I managed to hit 10 million characters read from visual novels...I saw a significant comprehension increase in both my reading and listening skills, and overall less time spent doing anki reps due to seeing them often when I read."

So yes, the visual novels are truly the backbone of my immersion these days. Who knew that it would mean so much to me now, even though I've never read one before I used them for language learning. Don't shun it til you try it, I guess.

I also did a personal reading challenge with them early this month: read 100k characters everyday for 10 days. Took that goal, smashed it, and read 1,411,512 in 11 days and finished both White Album 2 and 君と彼女と彼女の恋。in the process. As a length comparison, that's like reading around 13 or 14 short light novels. In total, I read 1.75 million characters this month, a new personal best. ʕ•̀ω•́ʔ✧

I have to say that it required me to read something I really enjoyed (White Album 2, easiest 10/10 I'll ever give), and something really easy (Totono) for me to complete the challenge, which just proves that a combination of comprehensible input and genuine interest in the media is the way to huge language gains in a short period of time.

Might have given myself major White Album 2 withdrawals though, because oh boy, everything feels inferior to it now, and I kept switching VNs just to rid myself of the feeling.

That said, I think the rest of my picks have all been interesting: finally feel comfortable enough with my level to start Fate/Stay night although I will be continuing it in April instead for The Moe Way's quarterly reading challenge. Also, picked up and shuffle reading literally every monthly VN challenge in the club namely サマーポケッツ, サクラノ詩－櫻の森の上を舞う－, シュタインズ・ゲート, because they are all interesting in different ways and are quite big VN fan favorites.

The one I dropped almost immediately though was something I thought I'd like because it was the same developer as 剣が君, ブラックウルヴスサーガ -ブラッディーナイトメア- because it freaked me out somehow faster than オメガヴァンパイア (although I did give OV more of a fighting chance at redemption before giving up and dropping the last two routes.)

I once thought that I'd be a bigger, general fan of joseimuke content, but it seems that I only like romantic and fluffy 乙女ゲーム or 女性漫画, because they likely won't include really disturbing and triggering content (...I say as I read Taishou Alice), and I read to de-stress and not to get stressed. My comfort levels are being tested and I don't like it.ヾ(｡>﹏<｡)ﾉﾞ

I guess nothing still beats the impact 剣が君 had on me, the way White Album 2 does for me now in なきげ.

-☆-

That's it for this month! I'm nearing two years of immersion so stick around for my post for that. I'll probably also drop my review for White Album 2, because I already wrote and posted a good part of it in the club. Although I enjoyed a lot of what I've read the past couple of months, nothing has hit me like White Album 2 has, that it actually inspired me to write about it in the club as soon as I finished it.

Truthfully, writing in depth reviews all the time when I finish so many very quickly is quite difficult for me, and I've managed to hit quite the writers block, but I'll still try my best to get them out as soon as I can.

Thanks for reading, and I'll catch up with you all again soon! ʕ•̀ω•́ʔ

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fanmoose12 · 3 years

Text

Partners

Characters: Petra Ral, Levi, Hanji Zoe x Levi

Genre: Action / Mystery / Romance

Rating: T

Detective!au

Summary: when Petra was promoted to a detective and partnered up with legendary Levi Ackerman, she felt like the happiest person in the world.

But, as she soon found out, detective Ackerman she used to admire so much was actually a far cry from the ideal policeman Petra thought he was. He was rude, harsh and easily annoyed. And, in addition, he still hadn’t moved on from the death of his previous partner - detective Hange Zoe.

Chapter 12/14

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Сhapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Сhapter 7

Сhapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

All his accounts went into trash. His books, phone and laptop soon followed.

His weapons – his trusty knife and favorite pistol – laid discarded on a floor. Next he happened upon an old, beaten toy – a monkey with its head almost torn off. It was the only thing that was left from his father, and, just for a moment he hesitated, debating if he really should throw it away.

Zeke looked at it, the edge of his vision swimming, and sighed, letting it join the pile of trash beside him.

In the end, parting with that toy was just as easy as parting with his father.

It was harder to discard another treasure of his – baseball glove, still white and soft even after all these years. If the monkey was a gift from his father, the glove was given to him by a man who had actually raised him.

Mister Xaver… I really fucked this all up, didn’t I?

He cradled the glove to his chest, taking some comfort in the feeling of its familiar texture beneath his fingers. As he held it close to his heart, Zeke knew that he couldn’t get rid of it. He wasn’t a sentimental man but that glove – it was the only thing in this world that he treasured.

Running his fingers all over it, he put it down on a floor and resumed his task.

The pile of trash grew, filling with papers, plans, blueprints. He threw it all away, a sort of satisfaction washing over him as he got rid of everything.

Maybe, it was his start of a new life. Prison was meant to change people, wasn’t it?

A dry, mirthless chuckle made its way past his lips, as he continued shifting through various, now meaningless documents, before a sudden bang that came from the first floor made him pause.

Zeke looked up, straining his hearing. The loud steps sounded on a stairwell. They kept approaching the room he was in, and their heaviness was worrying.

Whoever was looking for him, they were awfully angry.

The door to his office was thrown open, and Zeke turned around, catching the whirlwind of motion from the corner of his eyes. That was all the warning he got before he was roughly yanked up and his back met the hard surface of a concrete wall. His glasses tattered to the floor, the back of his head erupted in sharp pain and Zeke groaned, struggling to focus his eyes on the offender.

He didn’t need his vision to recognize him, though. The low, shiver-inducing voice of detective Ackerman was very hard to forget.

“Where is she?”

Despite the burning fire in his narrow grey eyes, despite his trembling fingers that gripped Zeke’s shirt so tightly that it was starting to tear at the seams, Levi’s voice was calm. And despite the burning fire in his narrow grey eyes, despite his trembling fingers that gripped Zeke’s shirt so tightly that it was starting to tear at the seams Zeke felt like it was simply calm before the storm.

The intensity of Levi’s gaze was making his stomach turn unpleasantly. Zeke tried to get out of the chokehold Levi had him in, but Levi merely grunted and further tightened his grasp.

“Where is she?” he repeated, shaking Zeke’s body like it weighted nothing.

What was the meaning of this, Zeke couldn’t even begin to fathom. Hange already asked him the same thing, what was the point of Levi repeating the question? Did he not trust her? Why did he come, and why he did it alone? Were they not in a hurry? Why were they wasting their time like this?

Zeke wanted to joke, wanted to smirk and rile Levi up a little more, but considering the state Levi was in… Perhaps, further riling it up would not end too well.

“I told your partner already, detective. I don’t know where your Petra is.”

For a second, Levi seemed surprised. His eyes widened and his hold on Zeke lessened. But it lasted for no more than a moment. Then his anger returned, more vicious than it was before.

“Don’t try to fuck with me,” he growled, absolutely wild. “Where is Hange? She came to see you, but didn’t come back. If you have done something to her…”

Zeke didn’t need to hear the end of that sentence. He was close to hyperventilating as it was.

“Hange left,” he said simply, hoping that Levi would believe him. If he wouldn’t… Zeke was afraid to think what Levi would do. He knew just how much Hange meant to him. He didn’t wish to know what Levi would do if any harm came her way again. “I don’t know what happened next, but she left this place unharmed. She was hurrying to meet with you.”

Levi let him go, as abruptly as he had grabbed.

“She didn’t come back…” he spoke feverishly, fingers clawing at his nape. “She promised but she didn’t, and if she isn’t with you…”

Zeke’s mouth fell open, as he stared at Levi. The detective he once perceived as cold and uncaring was now breaking in front of his eyes, his desperation so strong and urgent that he let even Zeke see this side of him.

His fingers twitched, the need to placate his enemy almost impossible to ignore. He thought if he should lay a hand on his shoulder, give him at least some semblance of comfort, but would Levi welcome it? Or would he slap his hand away and mock him for his sudden burst of empathy?

The latter was more probable, so Zeke stayed put, watching the unravelling scene with a sense of weak helplessness.

“Petra is missing too,” Levi continued, pacing around. “And it’s my fault, I was supposed to protect her, I have to get her back, but Hange… I can’t—” he took a shuddering breath, his voice wavering. “I can’t—”

“You can’t lose her for the second time,” Zeke finished, his soft tone surprising them both. “I can’t pretend to know how you feel,” he lost people before – first his mother, then his father, although that had been a result of his own choice and mistake, then Mister Xaver... But it didn't happen like this. There was no uncertainty, no what-ifs possible. Only crushing, overwhelming pain. But to have hope and then watch it get destroyed... Zeke could only imagine the agony it brought along. “Detective, I think I can help you in searching for her.”

Zeke didn’t quite know what had possessed him, what had made him say these words and look at Levi with a rare sincerity in his eyes.

Perhaps, he was tired – of always being the bad guy, of causing others pain and misery, of caring for only himself.

For the first time in his life, he longed to do good. To help and be kind to someone, even if that someone was his rival.

“I’ll help you, detective,” Zeke said, more sure this time. He picked up his glasses, put them on, and smirked, reveling in the dumbfounded look that had taken over Levi’s features. “We’ll get your partner back. I promise you.”

***

Petra naively thought that it couldn’t get any worse. She so foolishly thought that getting kidnapped, dragged and then tied up to a chair in some dark, smelly room was the worst of her nightmares.

But it wasn’t.

She realized the horror of it all only now, when she saw the body of unconscious Hange Zoe pushed down on a chair beside her.

If Hange was there, if she was injured and taken, then what had happened to Levi? What had they done to him if he had allowed them to take Hange away?

Just thinking about it made Petra tremble.

She was alone now, the two men had left, but the silence and the horrible, viscous feeling of not knowing what was going to happen next were slowly suffocating her.

Petra didn’t know how much time had passed, but Hange wasn’t waking up. The blood kept flowing down her face and her breathing kept growing more shallow, and Petra kept trying to stop her tears.

She didn’t want to cry, she wanted to be brave and strong, wanted to meet her end with her head held high, but damn it, she didn’t want to die. Not like this, not when— not when everything just started to come together. She had friends, a good job, someone who loved her… She didn’t want to lose it all now.

But she most probably would have to, and the realization finally broke her. Petra sniffled, a quick sob falling from her lips.

“I’m so sorry…” she whispered, not quite knowing what she was apologizing for or whose forgiveness she wanted to have.

She was sorry, though. For everything she was going to lose, for all things she didn’t get to experience. For…

“Oi, Petra…” the deep, husky voice made her jump. Petra turned her head to the side and nearly squealed, when she met the deep brown of Hange’s iris. “Cheer up, we aren’t done yet.”

“Hange!” Petra cried out, relief spilling even more of her tears. If she could, she’d run into Hange’s arms. Then again, if she could move, they wouldn’t be here at all.

“Are you alright?” Hange squinted, failing to take a good look at Petra without her glasses.

“Good, I’m good. And you?”

“Had been worse,” the grin was probably meant to make Petra feel better. But when Hange curled her lips up, she exposed her bloodied teeth, and the sight forced Petra to let out another sob. “Sorry,” Hange winced. “Can you move?”

Petra stared at her, confused. Didn’t Hange see that she was tied up?

“Your chair, can move it closer to mine?” Hange clarified. “Just an inch would be enough.”

Petra braced herself, curling her hands around the back of the chair. She bent her legs as much as she could, and then stretched them out, slightly lifting the chair and bringing it closer to Hange.

“Just a little more,” Hange asked, and Petra nodded, repeating the action.

“Excellent,” Hange praised, her voice kind. “Can you do another thing for me? Try to untie the knot on my hands. I think you’re close enough to do it.”

Again, Petra nodded, and set out to work. Unwrapping the rope proved to be a much harder task than jumping up on a chair, and on top of it all she couldn’t even see what she was doing, but Hange’s soft cheering encouraged her to continue.

She dug her fingers into the rough material, picking apart every thread with her nails. It took more time than Petra expected, but finally the rope fell onto the ground, and Hange chuckled, raising her now free hand to ruffle Petra’s hair.

“Good job,” she smiled so brightly Petra just had to smile back. “Now let me free you, and we can get out of here.”

“Okay.”

Hange’s fingers touched her bound hands, and Petra laughed, feeling incredibly giddy. Here she was crying because she thought that was the end, but Hange helped her, Hange saved her and now they were going to—

Her happy thoughts were interrupted by a sudden appear of loud footsteps. They sounded close, just behind the door.

Hange froze, murmuring a quiet, but vicious curse.

“Sorry,” she whispered to Petra, and then bolted up, returning to her previous position on a chair. She moved her hands behind her, making it look like they were still bound.

The door opened a second later, revealing the red-headed scary man.

“I see you’re awake now, Hange,” Floch smiled, swimming up closer. “I must say I quite enjoy seeing you like this.”

Hange said nothing, just grunted, as she watched the man move, approaching closer and closer. Her gaze grew more intense with every step Floch made, and when he was close, when he stood just beside Hange, looming over her, Hange let her lips pull into a smile. She sent Petra a quick, wicked look, and then launched forward, her fist raised up and ready. It connected with the Floch’s nose with a loud sound that made Petra smile too.

“I must say,” Hange said, holding Floch by his shoulders. “I quite enjoy seeing you like this.”

She didn’t give him the time to recover and dealt another blow, this one aimed at his abdomen. Floch bent over, curling onto himself. Hange raised her leg this time and kicked his knee, forcing him to fall over.

Floch hollered in pain and Hange hit him again, just to make sure he wouldn’t try to get up.

“Now where have we left off?” she turned to Petra with a smile that looked just a little too feral.

Hange crouched down next to her once more, returning to her bindings. Petra wasn’t the one, who was fighting just now, but the speed of her breathing increased, and she couldn’t quite tear her eyes away from Floch, who was still curled up on a floor.

She prayed that Hange would get her out soon, but didn’t dare to actually urge her on. She didn’t wish for Hange to lose her focus, so Petra sat and she watched, picking up the smallest movements from Floch.

But, as it turned out, it wasn’t Floch she had to be afraid of. It was the other man, the one who wasn’t even in the same room with them.

Yet.

***

Oluo fixed the bulletproof vest for the tenth time in the last minute. It was squeezing his chest in an uncomfortable, suffocating manner. And the place, where the gun was resting inside a holster on his hip, burned him even through layers of clothes. The gun was still hidden, unused. For how long would it last?

Oluo cursed and looked up ahead, focusing on a wide back of Captain Erwin Smith.

“Sir?” Oluo approached him. “Should we start the mission?”

They had located the house, they had checked every entrance and exit and circled the whole perimeter. But Erwin still didn’t give an order to start.

“Five minutes,” he said, and Oluo couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. Five minutes were dragging on for almost half an hour now.

“Sir…” he cautiously began. At any other day, he would never dare to argue with Captain. He wouldn’t even think about starting a conversation with him, but Petra was in danger, and fear and worry for her was making his head spin.

“I know,” Erwin cut him off. Despite his hard, determined face, his voice was quiet. Unsure. It made Oluo lower his eyes in shame. He was worried about Petra, but Captain didn’t feel much better. His two friends were missing too – detective Hange was first to disappear, and now Levi wasn’t answering his calls as well. “I know, we need to get going,” Erwin said. He glanced at his phone, sighing when he saw no missing calls or texts. “Five minutes,” he declared. “Five minutes and we’re going in. I promise.”

***

All of it was her fault.

If Petra was smart like Hange, if she was experienced like Levi, she would know that watching injured Floch was pointless. It was another man, the one she couldn’t yet see, that was an enemy she had to be wary of.

But she wasn’t wary, she was excited, filled with joy and relief.

And Hange was the one who paid for her mistake.

The man returned, but they didn’t saw him at first. Instead, they heard him.

The thundering gunshot shook the whole room, the bullet flying so close to Hange that only her quick reflexes had saved her.

The man raised his gun then, aiming it at her head. “You won’t get so lucky next time,” he spoke. His voice was deep, but not low, betraying just how young he actually was. “Sit down,” he ordered Hange.

Hange hesitated to comply, determination and anger making her face flush. And in that split second that she was able to observe that subtle change in Hange, Petra remembered what Sannes had once told her.

“She was hot-headed and reckless, and in the end, that’s what had gotten her killed.”

She didn’t believe it before, thought it was bitter words from bitter man, but she could see it now – he wasn’t wrong. After all, Hange really did die once.

She braced herself, moving her leg behind her. Preparing to attack, Petra realized suddenly, a helpless whimper escaping her lips. She wanted to stop her, wanted to beg her to follow the man’s order—

The second gunshot did it for her.

Hange grunted, bent over, pressing a hand to a growing blotch of red on her side, but didn’t scream. She swayed but didn’t fall, grabbing the back of a chair for support.

“I won’t repeat myself,” the man said and pointed his gun at the vacant chair.

Hange threw him a long, sizzling look. She straightened out and walked over to the chair, her steps slow, pained, but steady.

“Floch,” the man turned to his accomplice. “Tie her up again. And make sure you do a thorough job this time.”

Floch eagerly nodded, groaning as he pushed himself upwards. He roughly seized Hange’s hands, eliciting another pained grunt out of her, and pulled them behind her back, tying them up with a discarded rope.

“Seems like your luck has died out,” he mocked with a wide smile.

“We’ll see about that,” Hange spit the blood out of her mouth, just barely missing the tip of Floch’s shoe. She raised her head then, meeting Petra’s eyes. Her lips curled in a reassuring smile. “The help is on their way.”

“We won’t be here when they come,” Floch’s friend said. “And you,” he walked further inside the room, stepping into a light of a single lightbulb that now cast a long, flitting shadow. “You won’t be here either.”

The threat made Petra’s blood turn cold, but Hange didn’t seem just as affected. She tilted her head to the side, curiously studying a man in front of her.

“And who are you?” she asked. “I knew Floch was involved, but what’s your deal? What did Zeke do to you?”

“He ruined my life,” he spoke gravelly. “And now I’m going to ruin his.”

“Ruin your life?” in spite of his dark words and solemn mood, Hange scoffed. “You’ve got to be a little more specific, buddy. You’re not the only member of this club.”

The man came closer, pressing his fist to the fresh wound on Hange’s side. She choked and doubled over. The man grimaced and turned his head to look at Floch. “I thought you were exaggerating when you mentioned just how annoying she was,” he said, before returning his attention back to Hange. His green eyes darkened. “Zeke murdered my family. That’s all you need to know.”

Hange gasped, her remaining eye widening. “Murdered your family?” she stuttered, the gears in her head turning rapidly. “It can’t be… I thought it was but a rumor. But if it’s true… does it mean you’re Eren? Zeke’s little brother?”

“Eren Yeager…” Petra murmured, shocked to remember an old case file Oluo had shown to her. “The boy whose family was murdered. But… I thought that killer’s identity remained unknown?”

“You’re smarter than you look,” Eren hummed. “Yes, you’re right, Zeke wasn’t the one who killed them. But he was the one who gave the order to. And I’ll make him pay for that. I’ll make him suffer. Just as I did with the actual murderers.”

“Why not simply kill him then?” Hange questioned. “What’s the point of this whole mess?”

“Zeke didn’t kill me,” Eren’s curled fists trembled, as his eyes filled with righteous fire. “He simply ruined my whole life. I’m going to give him the same curtesy.”

“Zeke is going to end up in prison anyway,” Hange argued, her lips pursed. “Pinning another crime on him is pointless.”

“You were hunting him down for years, Zoe,” Floch spoke up. “You didn’t have much luck in catching him. Besides…”

“Besides, I want him to know it was me,” Eren said. “I want him to know that it was me who got him in prison.”

Hange’s lips curled up, as she lowly chuckled. “No one is going to believe you. Cops aren’t that dumb, you know.”

“Maybe, they aren’t,” Eren agreed easily. “But after they find two murdered detectives, they’ll be out for blood and they won’t really care who to pin this all on.”

“And Zeke will be their only suspect,” Floch smirked. “He has the motive, he has the means… Even the scene of a crime belongs to him. Or do you still not get it, Zoe? Just look around...”

Hange did, her jaw tensing, as the realization slowly kicked in.

“That’s right,” Floch nodded. “You’ve lost an eye here. Now you’re going to lose your life here too.”

His voice, so falsely sweet and friendly, sent shivers down Petra’s spine. She prayed once more, hoping that someone would listen. Hoping that they would be saved.

“Finish them, Floch,” Eren lazily waved his hand. “I’ll be waiting in a car.”

“With pleasure,” Floch purred, taking out his knife. The edge of it glinted caught the light, showing a brief reflection of Petra’s terrified face. That was the last thing she saw, before promptly shutting her eyes in fear.

***

Erwin stared right ahead, as time continued to mercilessly move on.

One minute passed, then two, three… Soon he’d have to give an order to move out, he couldn’t possibly waste any more time, yet still… Still he hesitated. He kept waiting for Hange and Levi to return, thinking that any moment now he would see Levi appear from out of the corner, a furious scowl on his face, as he dragged Hange along, complaining that she had made him make a detour and get her a cup of coffee.

But there was no sign of his friends, and the point on his wrist watch kept moving, and that meant he couldn’t wait any longer.

Just one minute of the five minutes he had promised to Oluo left, when they heard a loud sound, coming from a safe house.

With a shudder, Erwin recognized the sound of a gunshot.

“Sir?” Oluo looked up at him, his face turning even paler. “Should we—”

Oluo didn’t get to finish. Another gunshot sounded.

“We’re starting,” Erwin announced, his jaw set. “Spread the word, Oluo, and get ready.”

Oluo nodded, saluted and rushed to fulfill the order.

Erwin breathed in deeply, taking out his gun. He hoped he wouldn’t need to use it tonight, but if something went wrong, if someone hurt Petra… he’d have no other choice.

“We are ready, sir!” Oluo came back, panting. “Just say the word.”

“Let’s begin then.”

Another deep breath, and Erwin’s fingers tightened around the gun, as he took his first step forward.

Just as expected, the door to the safe house was locked, so he braced himself, angling his shoulder towards the wooden surface. Next to him, Oluo did the same.

“On a count of three,” Erwin warned. “One… Two…”

He never got to three.

“Wait!”

In the exact second that Erwin meant to finish the count, he heard a familiar voice. Not believing he was really there, Erwin turned around. And saw Levi running up to him.

As he had thought, Levi wasn’t alone, someone following right behind him. However, it wasn’t Hange.

It was Zeke Yeager.

***

The headlights turned on, the engine roared, and the car smoothly drove onto the road.

"So what do you think we should do?" Levi asked, keeping his eyes firmly on a road ahead.

What do you think, not what should we do... Interesting.

It was almost cute how much detective Levi tried to be in control now after he had lost it right in front of Zeke. A lesser person would have mocked him for that, Zeke certainly wanted to... But today he felt gracious enough and so decided to gift Levi with an illusion that his authority and dignity was still intact.

“The girl that went missing first - do you know when she was taken?"

"Her name is Petra,” Levi grunted, shooting him a disgruntled look. “And she went missing last night. It's been almost a day since we lost contact with her."

Zeke nodded, his hand moving to cup his chin. "Then we must hurry.”

“We found a place where they’re holding her,” Levi said. “Let’s head there first. Save Petra and then…” he trailed off, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. “And then we’ll take care of everything else.”

There it was again, Zeke realized with confusion. That same irritating feeling, the same urge to give Levi some reassurance.

“Maybe, we’ll find Hange there,” he said. “And even if we won’t, she is smart. Strong too. She can take care of herself.”

Levi didn’t answer him, but his shoulders tensed and his jaw clenched.

“There is no need to worry,” he took another attempt, this time meaning to lighten the mood. “She survived even me after all.”

The chuckle died out somewhere in his throat, when he glanced and Levi, and saw him looking back at him with murderous rage.

“Her eye,” he growled. “You will pay for that, Zeke. After this mess is over,” another furious glare, this time it was dark enough to frighten Zeke. He nervously shifted his eyes to the side, focusing on a sight of bright-lit streets passing by. “I’ll make sure you do pay for that.”

“I believe you,” Zeke murmured hoarsely.

“And I believe you,” Levi blurted out suddenly. “Open the glove compartment.”

Zeke did, albeit carefully. The anger disappeared from Levi’s voice. So did hostility. Now he sounded strangely amicable.

Inside the glove compartment was a gun. Zeke stared at it curiously, not quite knowing what to make of it.

“It’s Hange’s,” Levi mumbled like it explained anything.

“And?”

Levi huffed. “And you should take it. I don’t know what’s waiting for us, and I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to protect you.”

Well, that was certainly… a surprising turn of event.

“You trust me that much?”

Zeke honestly wasn’t sure if he would have trusted himself that much. And yet Levi…

“Hange trusts you,” Levi simply said.

Zeke gawked at him. Was it actually that simple to him? Did he have so much trust and faith in Hange that he was ready to put his own beliefs aside?

Something painful bloomed in his chest as Zeke pondered on it. He wondered what it would feel like – to have someone you could trust as easily as yourself, what it would feel like to know that there was someone you could share your everything with. Must be a truly elating feeling.

“We’re almost there,” Levi announced, taking a turn to the left. “Get ready.”

Zeke nodded and took out the gun, getting familiar with its weight.

“It’s Hange’s,” Levi reminded. “So take care of it.”

He honestly hadn’t expected anything else from Levi, so with a low chuckle Zeke replied, “Will protect it with my life, detective.”

Levi’s answer was a short, but unexpectedly soft grunt that made Zeke let out another laugh.

A horrifying in its simplicity thought came right after. Were the two of them bonding?

It should have disgusted him, but it didn’t. It was actually nice in its own, weird way.

However, Levi took another turn, and Zeke’s joyful feelings disappeared. He knew where they were heading now. His old safe house.

So they really were targeting him? But who these they were? And what exactly did they want?

Either way, he’d be able to unravel this mystery in a matter of minutes. For now, Zeke hoped that he’d stuck for the winning team.

Even if he hadn’t, though, it was good that Levi found him before the police had found the bodies of Hange and that Petra. He could only imagine what cops would do to him if they thought that Zeke killed two of their own.

Levi parked the car next to an old abandoned building. He opened the door, putting one foot on a ground. Before he got out, he turned back and fixed his hard eyes Zeke.

“I trust you,” he said. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Zeke could only nod in reply. He wanted to say something else, but by the time he found his words, Levi was already out of the car.

Zeke took his first step towards Levi, when a loud sound – the unmistakable bang of a shotgun – carried around the empty neighborhood.

Levi froze, tensed and then started running. Zeke cursed and followed after him. To his shame, despite his long legs, he could barely keep up.

The entrance to the safe house was already within their eyesight. The building was surrounded by police from all sides. The best of the best, Zeke had no doubt about it.

The second gunshot rang not long after the first one, forcing Levi to run even faster. Zeke rushed after him, sweating and already out of breath.

When they finally got there, the police was ready to attack, their guns drawn and expressions determined.

“Wait!” Levi shouted as they approached.

As on cue, everyone turned their heads to them.

The blonde man on the front stepped forward, his features simultaneously showing relief and confusion.

“Levi,” he shifted his eyes from Levi to Zeke. “Where is—”

“I don’t know.”

“And him?” the man gestured to Zeke. “Can we—”

“Don’t really have a choice. He promised to help for what it’s worth.”

“Alright. Then let’s go. Ready, Levi?”

“Of course, Erwin.”

Oh, that was Erwin Smith? The myth, the legend of the city’s police? Zeke had to admit he was just as impressive in person as the rumors about him promised he would be. He would have loved to observe more of him, to see for himself if he was truly that charismatic.

Although, if he had people like Levi and Hange following him, then there was no doubt that Erwin too was an exceptional person.

Right now, however, Zeke had no time to dwell on it.

“Follow me,” Levi ordered, dragging Zeke behind him. They entered the building together, but when Levi headed to the first turn on the left, Zeke pulled him away.

“No,” he took his gun out and nodded to the long hallway. “You follow me, Levi.”

For a second, Levi hesitated, his eyes flashing. But then studied Zeke’s face, and whatever he had seen there, it had eased his distrust.

“Then lead the way,” he agreed.

The hallways of safe house were dark and quiet, but not for long. As soon as Erwin and his team had entered, the chaos filled every corner.

Zeke rolled his eyes, why did he even expect anything else from that bunch. Still, he would have preferred to approach it with as much stealth as it was possible. Who knew what their enemies would do if they find out that they’re done for.

If it was Floch who was involved in kidnapping, and he must have, since not many people knew about this place, then Zeke knew the room he would choose to stay. The same room where he had lost his calm and detective Hange had lost an eye. He led Levi there, but as they neared their destination, Zeke saw a shadow that ran to the back door.

He caught just a glimpse of the shadow’s face, but that was enough.

He looked just like his father. His baby brother… Was it really him who was out for his blood?

“Go,” he told Levi, already moving in the direction Eren had disappeared. “If there is someone in this house, they’re right behind next door.”

“And you?” Levi didn’t stop him, but he made him pause. However, his eyes showed no distrust this time. Only concern.

“I need to take care of something first,” Zeke said resolutely. “But I’ll be back.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Levi reminded him, and then let Zeke go.

Zeke watched Levi move forward, and then turned around, heading to the back door.

It was time he had a talk with his brother.

***

Levi didn’t know what he had expected to see behind the door Zeke had pointed him to.

He hoped to see Petra, preferably along with Hange, well and unharmed with their enemies trembling in a corner.

He was afraid to enter and come face to face with Petra, who was bleeding and injured.

He absolutely refused to think about finding Petra and Hange, but realizing that he was already too late.

What he didn’t expect after opening that door was to see Petra trembling and crying. He didn’t expect to see a man standing just a little to her left with a knife raised up in the air. He didn’t expect to see that knife be so close to Hange’s throat.

He didn’t really think before acting, his heart was beating a little too loudly for that.

“Police!” he shouted, raising his gun. “Drop your weapon!”

The man didn’t listen.

Levi’s first shot flew just an inch over the criminal’s head, getting stuck in a wall behind him. The man didn’t even flinch, he turned around just for a moment, long enough to show Levi his bloodthirsty smile.

Levi’s hands trembled, but years of training allowed him to claim a clear shot to the man’s knee all the same.

He yelped and fell down, but Levi wasn’t looking at him anymore. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Erwin and Oluo enter the room. Oluo rushed right to Petra, Erwin met Levi’s eyes and nodded, crouching beside the man Levi just shot.

With everything else taken care of, Levi ran up to Hange. Her face was covered in blood, her shirt too and she was missing her glasses, but when he kneeled down next to her, when their eyes met, she smiled and Levi could finally breathe again.

“You saved me…” her eye was shining so brightly, the edge of it brimming with tears. “I knew you would, Levi.”

The lump in Levi’s throat grew large, too large to swallow, so he simply nodded and went to undo the bindings behind her back, but his fingers kept shaking and the rope refused to give in. He cursed and tried again and again, until Erwin appeared beside him and gently pushed him away.

“Just make sure our Hange is alright,” he whispered with a gentle smile.

He did just as Erwin had told him, but when he looked at Hange again, saw all her injuries and wounds, he was overwhelmed once more. He felt so many things at once – relief, happiness, anger, fear, love. It all swirled around his head, making him dizzy.

What if he wasn’t fast enough? What if he didn’t listen when Zeke told him not to take the first turn or what if he didn’t trust him to go on his own and followed him outside? Just a second more and there would be no Hange. He’d be left alone, without her once again. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive it for the second time.

“I’m fine, Levi,” Erwin must have already dealt with the rope, because Hange’s hands were now free and she outstretched them towards him, grasping at his shoulders to pull him closer. “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t, Levi could feel the blood sipping through her shirt and onto his jacket. Hange wasn’t fine, but she was here, with him, still breathing, still warm in his arms. He pressed her to him – desperate, but careful, and took a deep breath, filling himself with her scent. There was almost too much blood and sweat on her, and it was almost enough to mask her true smell, but Levi had still felt it.

He allowed himself another moment to get immersed in it.

“Don’t leave,” he said, not caring that he sounded like he was begging. “Please, don’t leave me again, Hange.”

“I won’t,” there were gentle fingers in hair, then soft lips on his temple. If he wasn’t so out of it, Levi would have been embarrassed. He was the one who was supposed to give Hange comfort right now. She was kidnapped and almost murdered. And yet… the one trembling and panting was him. “And even if I do, I trust you to always get me back home.”

A strong hand on his shoulder forced Levi to look up and pull himself away from Hange.

“We should take her to the hospital,” Erwin said, his face showing the same worry Levi was feeling. “I already called an ambulance. Would you like me to—”

“No,” Levi declined. “I’ll do it myself. C’mon, four-eyes,” he threw her arm around his shoulders and hooked his hand beneath her knees. “Let’s get going.”

Before he lifted Hange up in the air, he glanced back, searching for Petra. She was on the floor with Oluo clinging onto her. The poor sod seemed to be crying, and Petra curled around him, whispering soothing words.

God, and Levi thought he was pathetic.

Tightening his hold on Hange, he gathered her in his arms and slowly stood up.

“Oh no, have I died and gone to heaven?” Hange cackled, throwing her head back. “The great Levi Ackerman is carrying me in his arms…”

Levi rolled his eyes, hiding a smile. Seemed like Hange wasn’t that injured if she was already back to her insufferable self.

“Shut up or I’ll throw you to the ground.”

“Nah,” Hange claimed confidently, ruffling his hair as though to prove her point. “You won’t do that.”

“Absolutely insufferable,” he murmured, shooting Hange a dark look. It was ruined by a smile that he was fruitlessly trying to fight.

Hange smiled back and that’s how Levi knew – they’d be alright.

#look! we're (almost) done!#just two more short chapters and that's it!#levihan

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mono-dot-jpeg · 3 years

Text

only a knight - aether

summary; you should've seen this coming... you're always being used by everyone. you're merely a knight to him, nothing more, nothing less.

genre; angst, modern royalty au, visions still exist, prince! aether, knight! reader, hurt/no comfort, reader gets close to death but not yet

[cw/tw: mentions of death, violence, blood, insecure thoughts]

[lowercase intended] [gender neutral reader!]

word count; 1.03k

a/n; another vent one shot, pogchamp :D anyways, aether is gonna be like the prince of mondstat pretty much and more will be said in the story

all the archons are essentially kings/queens in this

if this pops off or if someone requests something like this with another character, I'll probably do it

ngl tho this isn't really my best work, im not totally satisfied with this but whatever posting it anyways pog

OH YEAH AND I GOT ALBEDO, I GOT MY ELEVATOR BOY IDC WHAT SLANDER IS SAID ABT HIM I LOVE HIM AND IM GONNA WRITE A ONE SHOT ABT HIM SOON

you were only a knight.

it was something you told yourself the moment you were chosen to work under king venti as a knight. you were not meant to have much of an outside life. your only duty was to protect the high class.

you didn't expect to get close to the prince. you thought he would merely walk past you like it was nothing. but he talked to you. albeit it was about showing you around the royal grounds and having you introduce yourself to him. but he talked to you.

you both were young when you met, you both were bound to bond together quickly. jean and many other royals/knights saw it coming. you two were like best friends.

but you were only a knight.

aether stood in the backlines, safe and away from danger while you risked your life daily to protect him. you do not regret your job, but it was hard to keep yourself at a distance with your friend.

neither of you were meant to be seen in public together then neighboring kingdoms would see it as a weakness, you would be leverage for a deal.

you couldn't help the flutter in your chest every time aether smiled your way, or when he greeted you happily. there were rising feelings and you hated it. this was not supposed to happen.

you knew enemies would use it to their advantage if they found out about your liking to the prince. so, you trapped yourself in your own web. you were merely a pawn to keep the kingdom safe, you were only a death fodder to keep enemies away from aether, you were gonna die, you didn't need feelings.

you're a knight. not a lover.

you had death written on your hands in red blood. you were a murderer. you did not deserve love. feelings were irrelevant when your time ticks faster than the rest. you were only to be used and never kept for long. you were a ticking time bomb, ready to lose yourself at any given moment.

you cannot fall in love with someone you can't even get.

sometimes you wished that you were a royal in another life. maybe then you would have a chance but you knew this would be the best chance, even if you were to sacrifice your life for his.

time continues to tick and you're often someone the other knights go to for help but you never seem to get at least a thanks out of them. this pattern seems to go on, you get them what you need and then they leave.

you start to wonder, is this how maid noelle feels? but they thank her... why don't they thank you? are you not worth a thank you at least? you shake off the thoughts, refocusing on your training. but unluckily, the knights are called for a meeting.

you arrive and it seems like everyone is going miles a minute with how much buzz there is in the room. eventually, kaeya, the captain, quiets the room down and informs everyone that there's a kingdom that has called war on the kingdom of anemo. this was your time.

you're a knight, a pawn ready to be thrown away after its use.

the sounds of screams and crackling fire echoes in your ears as you slash your sword in a quick manner, finishing off an enemy. there's a slight ringing in your ear as you weren't prepared to experience any explosions. it's mind numbingly horrifying to see the amounts of lives that were stolen from this war. traces of elemental visions lined the fields and yet you still stood your ground against the enemies.

but of course, you had injuries littered all over your body. you lacked a vision which made you an easy target but your years of training never went to waste.

you were truly a self sacrificial person. maybe too much self sacrificial. you learned that you would put your life on the line even if it was just a thin thread you couldn't see. you would rather see the prince alive and healthy than you alive and healthy. you figured that certainly wasn't a healthy mindset and yet you were too blinded by your buried emotions to even stop the cycle.

thoughts were running at top speed as you continued to fight. you could feel your stamina drain with every enemy you finish off. you don't know how much longer you can continue. your vision is spotted with darkness before you have time to realize...you're gonna die. your breathing is shallow and shaky, your body feels numb. you can't see or feel anything, your body is done and yet your mind still runs. if this is how you die, you would not mind.

you're only a knight and nothing more.

you're awake...?

but how? your thoughts gather slowly as you attempt to move your body. everything is still numb. you manage to open your eyes, the lights in the room were dim which helped you adjust quicker.

just out of your peripheral vision, you can see a small tuft of blonde hair. your heart just beats a little faster, was it aether? did he wait for you?

"you're awake." his voice was firm and almost blunt. was this really the aether you grew up with? "i don't know if you can hear me well but you're lucky that someone else had came to save you. we couldn't let one of our stronger knights die like that. i'll be going now." and just like that he left. why did you expect him to say something else?

you were only a knight. nothing more, nothing less.

he's not supposed to care for you. he doesn't need to care for you. you had that sliver of hope that maybe...just maybe, his heart would beat for you just like how yours beats for him. but now you remember,

you're only a knight. you're only a pawn. you're below him. you're not worthy of a prince's love.

tears well up in your eyes as the thoughts begin to settle and ruminate in your mind. why did you fight so hard for someone who never loved you back?

#anime #anime x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin aether #genshin impact aether #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact oneshot #aether #aether genshin impact #aether x reader #genshin impact aether x reader #genshin aether x reader

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wallgirl · 3 years

Text

The Little Nereid Part 16

Record of Ragnarok fanfiction

Poseidon x OC

Word count: 2,800

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful. Loving someone like Poseidon is not easy period, let alone as your first love. But Dynamene is young and naïve, and all she wants is a chance to be at the sea god’s side.

Categories and warnings: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending, slow-burn (ish); no sexual content. Graphic violence parts 15 and 16.

Updated regularly; will have about 20 parts total.

Edit AGAIN 9/16: Changed and added some text at the end, particularly with Poseidon. Didn’t save first time.

Violence and body horror throughout this chapter, largely unavoidable. It's too relevant to the plot. Not terribly graphic - more PG-13 than R - but it is disturbing, so be warned.

—

The prongs had completely passed through her body to the other end. Dynamene staggered backwards, her legs giving out. She opened her mouth to scream, to gasp, to make any sound, but was unable to. She brought her shaking hands up to her chest and stared as her lifewater began to drip from the punctures.

Poseidon's face turned to one of disbelief, then horror. The magic that had transformed her appearance melted away as her body began to weaken, revealing the petite girl's real form. He swallowed, pale hand clenching the trident, as he watched her stare at her chest in disoriented confusion. The silvery water that flowed was the blood of a Nereid, magic water in essence; something that could not be replicated.

"Dynamene," he whispered. "Dynamene." No. This can't be.

She looked up at him in a daze, eyes glazing over. The look of horror on his face seemed to register in her mind, and for a moment, she lifted one arm in his direction. Then her legs buckled and her eyes closed.

He removed the trident slowly, his knuckles white from the death grip. He dropped to one knee to catch her with his free arm as the prongs came loose. One hand went to her injuries, feeling the lifewater that seeped between his fingers. "Dynamene," he repeated hoarsely, commanding her to awaken. Her eyelids didn't even flutter.

It was then that the situation hit him entirely, and he grit his teeth. He tore part of the fabric off of his waist wrap and wrapped it about her chest deftly. She was still breathing, although each breathe was shallow and ragged. Time was of the essence, and he had to think fast.

Humans would not have survived such a blow, but Nereids were effectively shapeshifting ocean spirits that took a human form. Their bodies were made up of living water instead of flesh and organs, which rendered them impervious to most injuries. However, Poseidon's trident was able to harm any being regardless of body material, and Dynamene's body would begin to disintegrate from the trauma.

Lifting her up into his arms, he turned towards the doorway. There was no time to waste.

With improbable timing, he heard dozens of footsteps clamoring up the stairs, followed by worried shouts. "What's happened? What was that clamor? Lord Poseidon, are you okay?"

The other Nereids came bursting in with Actaea at the head. There was a moment of terrible silence as they took in the scene before them, then cries of disbelief.

"What... What have you DONE?!" Actaea screamed, lunging at Poseidon. Three other sisters quickly grabbed her by the arms, struggling to hold her back. "What did you do to her?!"

"There's no time to explain," Poseidon said coldly. "Don't give me a reason to hurt any of the rest of you."

"You monster! I'll kill you myself!" Actaea shrieked, yanking to get out of her sisters' grasp. Her pupils were full-blown in her rage, her steaming hair swirling angrily about her face. "How dare you hurt her! How could you?!"

Poseidon didn't let her words' effect on him show through in his expression as he looked coolly at the others. "Dynamene had magic used on her. It wasn't any power of the gods. Where might she have had access to this magic?"

The other Nereids backed away from him reproachfully, looking less and less human as their fury consumed them. One finally spoke up in a trembling voice. "Is... Is there not a witch that took up residence a few centuries ago not far from here?"

"How do you know that?" Another sister snapped back.

"A mermaid acquaintance of mine went to see her some time ago for help... She made a deal with her to solve a relationship matter. The deal wasn't much in her favor, unfortunately."

Poseidon's face darkened further. Would Dynamene really have made a deal with a witch?

Of course she would've... If it had meant being by my side. Foolish, silly, stupid-

He couldn't allow his thoughts to go any further, not when the subject of his berating was curled up limp in his arms. "Where is this witch?"

"Um... She lives in one of the deepest trenches, but I know little else..."

"Useless," Poseidon huffed. "Get out of my way." He stepped in front of the Nereids that continued to block the doorway.

There was a tense moment of defiance as the Nereids continued to stand in his way, unwilling to let him depart with their wounded youngest sister. His lip curled in outrage, and he began to raise his hand towards his discarded trident. Actaea, her expression now somber, spoke again in a defeated voice. "Let him pass... There's nothing we can do for Dynamene in this state. I don't want anyone else getting harmed." Her sisters listened, and reluctantly parted to allow him through. As he strode past, they got a closer look at their mortally wounded sister. Several of them broke out into wails and sobs.

Poseidon clenched his jaw and held the still Nereid closer to his chest. Save your mourning. She's not dead. Not yet.

Dynamene's body was beginning to dissolve. Drops of shimmering water began to fall from her fingertips and toes. She'd be dead before dawn if Poseidon didn't find a solution soon. But he was inexperienced with the concept of healing anything other than sea life; he pressed his hand against her torso, willing the bleeding to stop in vain. The liquid continued to flow.

It really had been her that sat across from him and confessed her love for him in tears. And what was his response? Gutting her like the monster everyone had warned her he was. He had messed up. It wasn't my fault, he told himself. She has no pulse. Her appearance was different. I could feel foreign magic about her. But then that led to the conclusion that he was able to be tricked by the power of lesser beings, and he found himself back at square one.

Enough. She will not die. She belongs to me. Her love for me is unconditional.

And when she wakes again, I will put an end to this chaos.

The wet sand crunched under his heavy boots. The dim starlight illuminated the surface of the ocean faintly before them. He would be able to seek the witch out with his abilities, but that would take time. He wasn't even sure what to look for, asides from a power with the same characteristics as the enchantment that Dynamene had. Time was fighting against him; a precious resource dripping through his grip like her blood onto the sand.

Without prelude, a sudden burst of light the size of a woman appeared in the shallow waves before Poseidon. The light dispersed gently in twinkles and stars, revealing the form of a woman. A faint heavenly glow emanated from her pale skin.

Aphrodite stared at him, her flawless face unusually somber. "Poseidon."

He narrowed his eyes. This was an unexpected development, and not a welcome one. "What the hell do you want? I'm short on time, if you haven't noticed."

She tilted her head, gaze flickering towards the still girl in his hold. "I know where you may find the witch you seek. If I have your guarantee that you won't harm me, I'll tell you."

Poseidon hissed, his clasp on Dynamene tightening. "Of course you would've had a hand in this. Meddling shrew. I should have known. Can none of you Olympian cretins keep to your own business?" So you were the one to guide Dynamene to that witch. Selfish, narcissistic bitch. How else would you know where to find her?

"Your guarantee, Poseidon," Aphrodite pressed.

He grit his teeth. As much as he longed to rip her head from her body and watch her golden locks stream through the air, he needed her knowledge. "Fine."

Aphrodite stepped closer.

---

Miles away, deep in her underground lair, the witch sat at her table alone. She was aware of her impending fate. Her actions could only lead to this outcome. But she'd accomplished what she'd set out to do, so she was content.

Before her, pulsing gently with a sea-blue light, was a floating orb of liquid. The Nereid's heart. She was the only person to ever see one; perhaps it would remain that way even long after her death. It was a fascinating sight. The mass continued to live in its own way, even apart from its owner. Nereids truly were interesting creatures. She might've studied it, but there was no point now. Her journey was coming to an end.

She had no regrets. Her revenge was now sealed. Hera or Poseidon, it hadn't really mattered which. Fate had truly smiled on her the day before when that little nymph had appeared at her doorstep. So unexpected, but so welcome. She had waited centuries, honing her gifts in the dark, practicing them on others, so that she would be ready for this moment. The witch was not foolish enough to think she would be able to pull one over on both of the gods. Hera would've been best, but Poseidon would do just as well. He was partially to blame for her misfortune too. Now he would suffer, and she could die content.

It was a shame about the Nereid, though. Just a silly child chasing an impossible dream. The witch clicked her tongue sympathetically. Weren't we all, once?

A shudder echoed through the cave, and she heard the water at the entrance slosh with an unseen force. He was nearly here, and she stood patiently next to the table, awaiting his arrival.

Without any further warning, the water erupted upwards like a geyser. The sound was deafening, but the witch didn't even blink. Poseidon emerged from the upsurge, water dripping from his bangs before his enraged eyes. In his arms was the nymph; poor young Dynamene. She was deathly pale and had a ragged bandage wrapped about her chest. The witch tutted.

"Witch. You have something that belongs to me." Poseidon's eyes gleamed like a laser in the dim cavern, his chest heaving with barely-restrained wrath.

"It's here, Poseidon." The witch set her hand next to the shimmering orb. "The Nereid's heart. You won't have much use for it, though. I see she's already on death's door. Returning her heart will do no good. Replacing an organ is no help when the body is already shutting down."

"You will return it immediately. I will not repeat myself." Poseidon's trident materialized in his free hand as he shifted Dynamene into the opposite arm.

"Oh? Is there finally something the mighty sea tyrant cannot do?" The witch asked, feigning surprise. "Pathetic." Her tone flattened.

"Your enchantment," Poseidon stormed on. "What did you do to her?"

"I gave her what she desired. A chance to be with you. Oh, she just adores you. I'm sure that will have changed, though. Those wounds bleeding through the wrap look an awful lot like trident punctures to me. Weren't able to tell she was the real thing without that heartbeat to listen to, were you?"

Poseidon's eyes grew even wider as he realized the witch's plot. "You planned this."

"I did." The witch shuffled back around the table, gently taking Dynamene's heart into her hands. "Do you remember when we met, Poseidon? It was at some gathering of the gods, say, three or four hundred years ago."

Poseidon's face clenched further with anger at her idling, losing his patience rapidly. "I've never met a hag like you in my life."

"I wasn't like this when we met." The witch brought her hand to her white cheek with a wistful look. "I was beautiful. I came from a wealthy and powerful family with demigod blood. Hera made a deal with me, you see. If I successfully seduced you, she would shower me with blessings and gifts on our wedding day. She told me everything about you to give me a leg up. Even about your ability to hear certain heartbeats." Her hand dropped away. "But I failed, as I was guaranteed to, and she was thoroughly upset. I was turned into this. So here I've lived, all these years, cast away from society into these deep trenches, waiting.... for her." The witch smiled at Dynamene. "The perfect opportunity. Heaven sent, even." She sighed. "It's a shame. She's still so young, but..." The witch shrugged. "Cracking an egg, omelets, all that. Just someone caught in the peripheral."

"Enough with your monologuing, you insolent bitch!" The muscles on Poseidon's arm grew more defined and taut as he aimed his trident at her. His face was contorted with murderous intent. "Heal Dynamene, now!"

"I can't. What reason did I ever have to learn healing magic?" There was no regret in her milky eyes as she shrugged once more. "And even if I was knowledgeable in medicine, it would be no use. Nereids are so rare. Only fifty, as you know. Their anatomy is a mystery."

Poseidon's gaze sank down to Dynamene. Her breathes were many seconds apart now. There was no more time to waste. He held her more firmly against him and lowered his stance to steady his aim at the witch. "Then die now."

"Gladly. I knew this would be the price to pay for my revenge. For breaking the sea god's nonexistent heart. And to think that it was as easy as this." The witch broke into a laugh that grew until it boomed off the cavern's walls.

Without further ado, Poseidon rushed her.

And with a single swing, the witch's head left her body. The pale thing rolled until it hit up against the wall, still laughing. Her eyes rotated to look back at him with their blank gaze. "Don't worry, my lord. There's still forty-nine left, after all."

Without another word, the witch's voice died off and her face stilled.

Poseidon strode over to it and brought his boot down violently. The witch's skull shattered under his heel. He resisted the urge to continue stomping until nothing solid remained. Dynamene needed his focus now; he could vent his rage later. He wiped the sole of his boot off on the rug and carried her back to the entrance of the cavern.

Lying her next to the rippling pool, he retrieved her heart from where it continued to glow, unbothered, upon the table. It felt like cool gel in his hands with a definite pulse, one that was all too familiar to him. He returned to kneel beside her and, propping her back up with one arm, he undid the makeshift bandage.

Her body was nearly hollow where he had gored her. His lips parted in disbelief. Before his eyes, her flesh was turning to liquid that ran onto the cavern's rocky floor. Poseidon quickly pressed her heart into the hollow. It shimmered for a moment, the liquid solidifying and connecting with the open edges of her body, before its light sputtered out and the pulse stopped. Just like the rest of her, it started to melt away.

Poseidon swallowed hard now, his face stiff. It was time to face the gravity of the situation. Dynamene would not be waking up.

He turned his face away for a moment, unable to look at the wounds he had made on her slight body. She had trusted him. She had clung to his side despite the warnings of everyone else. And like a sick joke, their predictions had come true. Gutted just like Adamas, a voice whispered in the back of his head. He bit his lower lip until it bled. How was it that the mighty sea god, capable of stopping tsunamis and commanding schools of fish, was unable to save one girl?

This shouldn't be happening, his mind spun. This isn't happening. She can't die. I can save her.

No, I can't. I'm the one who killed her.

His throat was growing tight, an alien sensation. She can't die. She belongs with me. A thousand years spent living in the same palace flickered through his mind. From a shy little girl to a headstrong, passionate young woman, he had watched her life; he had watched as her world began to revolve around him without his meaning for it to. And without his permission, his world began to be colored by her as well. Perhaps it had been inevitable. She belongs with me. I don't want her to leave.

He held her closer to him, caressing her damp cheek with careful fingers. The silence that rung from her body made the stillness around them all the heavier. Her face was growing sunken, her cheeks almost gaunt. He wanted to see her eyes just one more time; wide pools of steel gray that reflected him amongst the stars in their depths, as if he was the only thing that mattered. Stay with me.

And as her body released its final breath, he slowly leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

---

Author’s Notes: Sergei Prokofiev's Romeo Bids Juliet Farewell piece is so beautifully done. The first half sounds so remorseful.

I realized that, writing this chapter in particular, Poseidon seems less like canon RoR Poseidon. I was irritated about that at first, but then I realized that he's different because this story requires him to go through character development. That's important for a love interest. I'm not as frustrated anymore lol

#record of ragnarok #poseidon #record of ragnarok poseidon #poseidon x oc #fanfiction

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

Text

Villian-Sicle | Part 3

I didn’t expect to continue this beyond part 2, but I’ve come to love these characters. I hope you guys enjoy! Heed the warnings, this one contains a lot of medical stuff.

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, hypothermia, hospital setting, cardiac arrest, blood, dialysis, talk of death, talk of “pulling the plug”

Taglist:

@whatwhumpcomments

@sola-whumping

@professional-idiocy

The machine was too loud.

Talking over it made Leader feel that they were tearing apart their vocal chords. Then again, the stress of the situation wasn’t exactly aiding in that respect-- they could practically feel their tense muscles tightening around their windpipe.

“They’re going to be okay, then?” Their tone was rushed and pressing.

“I don’t want to guarantee anything.” The Head Doctor bit their lip. “Really, I can’t guarantee anything. By all accounts, the patient should already be dead. Human body temperatures shouldn’t be able to get that low...”

“Humans shouldn’t be able to fly, either.” Medic shook their head, gesturing at Leader, who tucked in their wings, not even realizing that they had unfolded. “But here we are.”

“There’s nothing particularly unusual about their physical anatomy, though?” Head Doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Enhanced people have different anatomy by default. Higher heart rate, for one thing.” Medic provided, glancing towards the heart monitor sitting next to the hospital bed. The spikes were shallow, and abnormally close together, but none the less steady.

“Yes.” Head Doctor dipped their head. “Well, then, that would explain how our patient is still breathing.”

“They should remain that way, then, right?” Leader fretted.

“I have high hopes. We’re doing everything we can. It’s up to them, now. If their body temperature can raise before it’s too late.”

The conversation ended on the same worried note as it had began, and the groups’ gazes seemed to unanimously drift downwards, as if they had simply forgot that they were standing over a body halfway between humanity and corpsehood.

Villain’s skin was horribly pale, translucent, even, as if it were on the verge of melting away. The restraints on their wrists and ankles-- Leader had insisted as to their presence-- seemed far too loose around their captive’s thin structure, but they simply couldn’t be tightened any further.

The only patch of Villain’s body that did not lack color was their chest, in which a catheter of at least an inch in diameter had been inserted. The skin around was red with irritation, resisting feebly against the roaring machine drinking blood from the line, only to return it at the same access point.

The whole spectacle was horribly grisly, with tubes filled with scarlet draped over Villain’s chest in a gruesome web. The machine itself, sat off to the side, seemed to whine and groan with every feeble heartbeat its victim managed to make.

Hemodialysis, the doctor had called the process. Manually warming the blood in an attempt to warm the body. Despite its vampiric appearance, somehow, the process was keeping Villain alive.

A chill ran through Leader’s body at the very thought. Villain was a stubborn asshole, one they’d been pursuing doggedly for months. Somehow, regardless of what trap they placed or what situation they were thrown into, Villain made it out.

Now...

The machine was plugged into the wall with a single cord. Just a wire, just some electrons passing through metal. Something that could so easily be severed. A single tug, a clumsily placed foot. The fight would be over. Would it be so wrong? Villain had done such wrong... and they wouldn’t feel a thing. They’d part in an unconscious pool of their own delusion.

Leader bit their tongue.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You okay?”

Hero watched the small flame of force flicker between their fingertips, their eyes nearly crossed with focus. They had hardly realized that somehow had spoken to them, and it took several awkwardly long seconds for them to look up.

“Hm?”

“Are you okay? You looked distracted.” Counselor furrowed their brow.

“I think I’m... always distracted.”

“I know. Just... that was a lot, back there. And you looked stressed.”

“Just worried, I guess.”

“About Villain?”

“There’s not much else to be worried about.”

“I’m worrying about you, right now.”

“I think... Villain is the one that we need to worry about, right now.” Hero chewed their cheek. “You were in there, right?”

“For a minute, yeah.”

“Are they okay?”

“Alive. They were alive. But with Medic there-- well, I don’t think there’s a better authority on Enhanced biology on the seven continents. I think it’ll turn out okay.”

Hero chuckled humorlessly.

“That’s another thing I’m worried about.”

“What? Medic?”

“Yeah. Medic kind of. More Leader. Medic is... I mean, I love ‘em, and they’re the biggest hardass out there, but they’re a doctor more than anything else. Hippocratic oath and all that. But Leader...”

“You’re worried because Leader... isn’t a doctor?”

“No, no, it’s not that. Leader just seems so much more worried about the fight, and the mission, and the good of humanity, than, well, than anything that’s right in front of them. I’m just worried that...”

“That Leader’s going to make a bad choice?”

“Something like that.”

“I agree that they can be... a hardass. But they’re not a bad person. I don’t think they’d execute someone. Not like this. Not after everything.”

Hero’s gaze turned to Counselor. They hadn’t expected their friend to come to the base of their concerns with such speed.

Counselor gave a small smile in return.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━��━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Head Doctor left the room.

They had made their leave hurriedly, ensuring that they would be back in just a few minutes, to press the Code Blue button if anything happened. Leader had nodded along, hardly processing any of it.

They were focused on the person before them.

Over the last few minutes, by some miracle or curse, Villain’s heart rate had begun to stabilize. Though the beats came just as quickly, they were stronger than they had been. Not quite normal, but on their way.

Medic seemed fixed on the monitor, eyes narrowed as though they watched prey. The screen had more than just a heartrate reading. Alongside that, it showed a series of other graphs-- breathing rate, oxygen levels, among some that Leader was clueless as to the meaning of.

They glanced to the door. It was firmly closed. Certainly, the rest of the hospital would be too busy with the recent break-in to intrude.

“Medic?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, but continued their fixation on the readings.

“Yes?”

“What would you say is the... the percentage we’re working with here.”

“The percentage?”

“Of survival.”

“Well... I suppose I can’t make an exact predication, but it’s climbing every minute. 80 percent? 85? They’re not completely out of the woods, yet, but their temperature is raising steadily. The dialysis is working.

“80 percent.” Leader hummed. “So... 20 percent chance that they don’t make it?”

“That is how math works, yes.”

“That’s not an insignificant percentage.”

“We’re doing everything we can. As I said, it’s rising, and quickly. If we can get their temperature back up into the 90s, I would say that continued survival is almost guaranteed.”

“Is that so?”

“What’s got you acting so weird, all of a sudden?” Medic finally turned from the screen, glancing to Leader.

Leader gulped.

“Do you remember when we were in Denver?”

“At the telecommunications hub? Yeah.”

“And in Vancouver?”

“Yes?”

“And at the bank, in Phoenix?”

“Leader, I assure you, my memory is fine.”

“No, no, I mean, Villain did all those things, right?”

“They had help.”

“But they led the charge?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“They’ve hurt a lot of people. Destroyed a lot of places... brought them to the ground. Leveled a city block, once.”

“Seriously, what is this about?”

Leader’s gaze glanced down to the Villain, pale, restrained, with a tube skewering their flesh, then back at Medic.

“No.”

“What?”

“No. No, no, no. I let you restrain them like some kind of beast, which, for your information, is completely against medical protocol. I’m not letting you kill Villain.”

“And why not?”

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Outside the hospital room, in a pair of plastic chairs, Hero and Counselor sat with far more relaxation between them. They watched passively as Head Doctor left the room, hurrying off to another room.

Hero took a fidget rope from a coat pocket and began twisting it between their hands.

“What do you think they’re going to do with Villain, then?” Counselor’s voice was considerably quieter, as if they were telling a secret. They stared off, down the hallway, instead of meeting Hero’s eyes.

“I just hope they let us have some input in this whole thing.”

“Me too. But... what would you prefer? If you had the choice?”

“I mean...” Hero sighed. “They haven’t been the best person, I think we can all agree on that. They’re dangerous. But I also think that... they’re scared. They’re scared, Counselor, really scared.

If it was up to me, I think we should help them. While in our custody, but, I think they need help. And maybe then, they can help us? I mean, they must know something about Supervillain. It’d be nice to have an informant.

Really, I just want to see them okay again. Even if it does mean that they go back to being an asshole.”

“That’d be nice.”

Hero nodded.

“I think Medic mentioned that, once Villain’s stable, we’re gonna move them back to base. Where we have the special medical equipment, the Enhanced care stuff.”

“Yeah. I think Leader is definently going to want to keep them in custody.”

“If they try to hurt them, though... I’m not gonna let that happen. If we have to keep them prisoner, we can at least be humane about it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“I just hope Leader agrees.”

“Me too.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“It’d be a waste.”

The answer was too analytical. Leader had expected to be yelled at, to get an earful about morality and ethics and other crap. Not something so simple, so factual.

“What do you mean?” Leader’s tone wasn’t accusing, at least they didn’t intend for it to be. It was far more dumbfounded in nature.

“Everything in this world runs on technology. Those lights, that door, this machine, everything. Everyone has a phone. Every building has a network, of both electricity and information. Villain can patch into all of that. You said it yourself, they leveled a whole city block. What else can they do?”

“What are you... what are you implying?”

“We keep them, and we use them.”

A garbled voice resounded throughout the room. Leader whirled around, half expecting Supervillain to be right behind them, before turning back.

“Was that y-” They began to ask, but didn’t quite get the chance.

“Code Blue! Code Blue!” Medic snapped. “Don’t be useless, press the damn button!”

It took Leader’s confused mind a moment to note the emergency that Medic was responding to-- that of a horrible, electric screech. The heart monitor was no longer showing a steady pulse.

At the sight, Leader’s own heart rate sped up. They nearly tripped over their own feet as they rushed to the blue button on the wall, jabbing it with their finger multiple times in a frenzied panic. Once they were satisfied that they spiraling terror had been registered properly, they returned to Medic’s side.

The doctor had their hands positioned on Villain’s chest, one over the other, slamming downwards repeatedly. In between, Leader could see a sharp rise in the chest-- they were still breathing. But for how much longer?

Dammit, dammit, don’t think like that, it’s someone’s life!

A resounding crash burst through the room as the door was slammed open. They rushed to the bedside, seemingly ready to continue CPR, before Medic raised an arm, preventing them.

“No, no, they’re okay.” Medic panted breathlessly. Leader raised their eyes to the heart monitor-- sure enough, a slow, steady rhythm was returning.

They’d made it.

“Mmm..”

Leader panted for breath, trying in vain to calm their racing heartrate.

“Mmm... whaaa...”

Leader’s shaking gaze shifted to the source of the noises--only to find their eyes locked with the wide ones of Villain.

#whump #whump prompt #whump community #villain whump #oc whump #villain whumpee #blood tw

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liliaeth · 3 years

Text

Fix it’s for Teen Wolf

I can think of a few things that would have made Teen Wolf better.

1. I wanted more focus on Scott’s emotional response to what happened to him. I don’t mind that Scott isn’t the type who complains about getting hurt. The problem for me was that the show rarely dealt with the consequences of Scott’s pain, and thus to the casual viewer often made it look like he simply didn’t mind, that being hurt didn’t bother him at all. Or worse, that nothing all that bad had happened in the first place.

Doing this undermined many of the hallucination scenes. For example, in Season 2’s Party Guessed, we get hallucinations for Stiles, Jackson, and Allison which give us a view into psychology, letting us know their issues without spelling them out. For Scott, we got Allison making out with kanima Jackson. Compared to the others, it felt shallow and confusing. The writers couldn’t even bother to give us dialog. He received the same treatment in Season 5, when they read the book designed to trigger their memories about the Dread Doctors. Stiles gets yet another scene about his dead mother who has been crucial to his story since Season 1. Lydia sees her grandmother and her connection to both Lydia’s powers and Eichen House, as well as foreshadowing her treatment at the hands of Valack. Malia about her Mom and sister’s death at the hands of the Desert Wolf, which is her entire arc. And Scott? He gets a nightmare about a dog that was never mentioned before and would not be mentioned after.

2. I wanted more focus on Scott’s trauma in general. In Season 1, Scott was repeatedly mentally and physically violated by Peter, terrorized and abused by Derek, and hunted by the Argents, and it was taken as a given. Even the recaps at the beginning episodes in other seasons barely show any of that. For example, Gerard attacking Scott in clear view at the hospital, stabbing him, and threatening his mother, never appeared in any of the recaps, even in episodes where it would have been important to remind the viewers about it.

While the show had no issue showing us over and over again how Stiles or Derek or Isaac or Allison or any white character really was hurt, they did not focus on the pain Scott was put through, and thus let the viewers conclude that those events didn’t matter.

The show literally had Scott try and kill himself, twice in less than two days, first in Frayed, by refusing to let himself heal, and then again in Motel California, yet neither of those suicide attempts are mentioned even once afterwards. And this while it would have been a good call back in s5b, when Scott is once again not letting himself heal after Theo killed him. and yet again, no mention whatsoever.

3. I wanted more consequences for certain characters. I liked that Scott and to a lesser extent Derek were confronted with the consequences of their actions. When they screwed up, they got called out on it. When they did something wrong, it wasn’t excused. Then they made up for it.

In contrast, certain characters, especially Stiles, got to do whatever they wanted and it was either dismissed as funny or used to make them look sympathetic. Stiles got to be mean and cruel, and the narrative still treated him as if he were the best friend ever. He got to assault people, hurt them, and it was treated as if somehow he was the victim.

For example, I would have liked Stiles a lot better, if when he tortured Scott with lacrosse balls, punishing him for who-knows-what, if someone else had called him out on it or if Scott had got to defend himself, instead of just taking it because Stiles was angry. Scott allowing Stiles to hurt him to maintain their friendship was a pattern between them, just as much as Scott taking responsibility for things that aren’t his fault. He keeps on doing it over the course of the show, but it would have been nice if the show at the very least had made it clear that that didn’t make Stiles behavior acceptable.

Just like I wish that Peter had actually faced consequences for his actions – and/or shown some kind of true remorse for his misdeeds--instead of the others just letting him hang around after all the horrible things he’d done or reduce it pettiness.

4. I would have liked more time spent on Melissa and the McCall family in general, especially on Melissa’s initial reaction to Scott being a werewolf. In the show, they barely spent two minutes total on Melissa’s reaction to finding out her son has been turned into a werewolf. By the end of s6b, she was barely even behaving like a mother anymore. Even to the point where we don’t even get a conversation between her and Chris about his attacks on her son before the two of them start dating. Now don’t get me wrong, I liked Chris and Melissa in a relationship, but it was missed opportunity to humanize both her and Scott that they didn’t bother to show her finding out about that and her reaction to it.

Instead we got the whole horror reaction, of her being horrified at seeing her son’s other face, the reaction that any LGBT kid fears when they come out to their parent. Which could have been a great metaphor, especially if they had then made it clear that Scott was bisexual.

5. I would have liked more focus on Boyd. The production time spent on Isaac and Erica, while Boyd’s arc was treated as almost an afterthought. We barely even got any hint on his past, in the episode before they killed him off. They started out with Boyd as the one who wanted to be like Scott, and then never explained it. Why not focus more on that, and their relationship?

(similar complaints go about Mason, and how little we knew about Mason, outside of him being Liam’s friend. Like... what was his relationship like with his parents? What is Mason interested in, what does he want to do with his life... how did he deal with the after effects of the Beast...

6. I would have liked more focus on Alan Deaton. The show had such huge potential with this character’s backstory, not just with the Hales but as an emissary in general. There was this whole mythology about druids that they barely even delved into.

To not even start on how little we knew about his personal life? Why did he and his sister have different last names? What was their relationship like?

Does he have any romantic relationships? Friendships, relationships in general?

Or how about more time spent on his role as a father figure to Scott, we got so few crumbs of their relationship when we should have gotten so much more

7. I would have liked more focus on Scott and Theo’s interaction in Season 6. I get that in 6a, they had Scott primarily focused on getting Stiles back, but I’ll never understand why they then didn’t use 6b, to deal with the fact that Theo had tried to murder Scott and was trying to make it up to him and the pack for what he’d done to Scott and the others.

I don’t mind Theo interacting with Liam. Those scenes were great, but they should have at least one scene with Scott and Theo dealing with the issues between them. For Theo’s sake, as much as Scott’s.

8. I would have liked a complete rework of Season 6A in its entirety. If you’re going to focus a season on an actor who isn’t available, then you have to make it about his impact on the others. Show us what difference this character made, by showing us the effects of his absence, rather than just try and make it about a romantic ship. (I’ve written a post about this already in greater detail, so limiting it to that, but seriously, that season was such a huge wasted opportunity.)

9. Actual character growth for Stiles. For a character who had as much screentime as Stiles did, it’s shocking just how little character growth Stiles had over the course of the entire show. This contrasts in a really bad way, when you look at how much every single other character grew and changed over the course of the show.

Just look at the last four episodes of 5b, to give an example. After almost an entire season of watching Stiles at his worst, focusing on emotional scene after emotional scene with him, he suddenly got relegated to comic relief. Why? Because they didn’t want Stiles to grow, because unless he grew, there was no way for him to go but down. If Stiles had taken responsibility for his actions, then they’d have had to admit that he did wrong in the first place. And they couldn’t have that happen.

10. And last but not least. More moments of the kids being kids. Even if it’s just proms and beach parties. Moments where we see the characters spend time together, when they aren’t trying to stop some bad guy. Where we can see them be friends, hang out with kids their own age. Even just to remind the audience just how young these children are. And where the viewers along with the characters can rest in between the horror, because doing so makes the horror hit far more strongly in contrast to the light.

11. Also, a better lighting budget, pretty please Davies, were a few more light bulbs that much to ask for?

#teen wolf #scott mccall #anti stiles #teen wolf fandom problems #alan deaton #vernon boyd #mason hewitt #theo raeken #melissa mccall #anti peter hale

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malkumtend · 3 years

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I Like Your Laugh (A SquirrelCrow AU) - Chapter 20.

For the first time in moons, Crowpaw was hungry.

Hunting had been as pointless as Tallstar had claimed. With the roar of monsters, as well as the lingering stink of Twolegs, prey was impossible to find. Worse than that, Crowpaw had seen those pale fleshed creatures skulking around the ruins of his home, carrying their storm of destruction with them.

They would mark the few trees left with a haze of red mist, and then bite into the thick bark with long silver claws. The crash of the wood as it slammed into the torn ground sent a tremble over Windclan. Every collision caused Crowpaw’s heart to tremble.

At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before the whole forest fell.

Hunting had been a fruitless effort. Crowpaw was the only one who had caught anything, but two withered shrew was not going to help the clans. Onewhisker had looked relieved at the mere sight of prey, and the way he praised Crowpaw was like he had caught a dozen hares.

“Well done, Crowpaw.” Onewhisker purred weakly as the hunting patrol made their way back. “That catch will help feed the kits another night.”

Nightcloud had mewed in agreement, her own face brightened at the stale scent of the shrews. Crowpaw had expected Webfoot to snarl the group back to reality, but the tom didn’t have a word to say, just a small grave nod.

Crowpaw attempted a small meow of thanks, but his throat instantly felt dry. The shrews hardly made up enough space to fill his mouth. Was this really all they could rely on to feed the starving kits and elders? He tried to not let this realisation mark his face with horror. It would do no good for anyone. Despite everything, the group was trying to keep some kind of determination; Crowpaw couldn’t kill that.

“Looks like all that travelling did some good for you, hey?” Nightcloud meowed, tapping his side with her tail. Under the darkening sky, her eyes lit up like pink embers. “You almost look like a natural hunter.”

Crowpaw nodded mildly, hoping the sound his throat made sounded more like a laugh than a groan.

“Don’t tease him, Nightcloud.” Onewhisker sighed tiredly, “We need all the prey we can find.”

“I was being serious.” The black molly insisted. “I wasn’t making fun of him.”

Onewhisker muttered something incoherent. Just looking at his back, it was clear that the tom had been discouraged by the hunt. As thankful as he was that some prey was caught for the kits that needed it so desperately, it was clear it would be a while before the thinning bodies of the Warriors got any end to their slow suffering.

Looking back at his still firm body, Crowpaw felt his growing hunger twist into guilt. He was nowhere near in the right to complain about prey.

Even standing besides the group, Crowpaw felt like he didn’t belong, didn’t deserve, to be there. By all means, he was able enough to get through the night without prey. Just how many queens, kits and elders had been forced to resign themselves to that fate.

The night air refused to respond to his question, it just scratched him with its freezing claws.

Once he’d taken the prey back, he’d have to find Tallstar. The time was approaching. Soon he would have to stand beside his…acquaintances from the other clans, hoping that they would receive a sign that told them where to go from here.

Crowpaw had never been so desperate to know an answer in all his life.

If any of the clans waited any longer, Crowpaw was certain that Windclan wouldn’t survive the next moon. Hunger, dehydration, and destruction was all that they would find here. Tallstar understood that, thankfully; Crowpaw could only hope the other clans would as well.

Unfortunately, the apprentice didn’t know whether they would share his clan’s sentiments.

He thought about what Tawnypelt and Stormfur would have to deal with when it came to their leaders. It didn’t matter how much they screamed the truth to their clans, ultimately it was up to Blackstar and Leopardstar if their clans moved or not. The Shadowclan leader would not be swayed easily. His pride was significantly excruciating from what Crowpaw remembered from previous gatherings.

And Leopardstar. At the thought of her, Crowpaw couldn’t help but feel fury prickle over his pelt. Tallstar had openly pleaded, putting all of his pride aside for his clan, the Riverclan leader to let them use the lake to drink. They hadn’t done that for nothing! Cats had needed that water then, it was essential now! Crowpaw thought the clans had reached an understanding.

Apparently not.

Leopardstar, based on the word of some no-clan stray who had sauntered his way into Riverclan, had pretty much left Windclan for dead. She had left every one of them to suffer on their own. Crowpaw knew that Windclan had taken some prey every now and then, but it certainly wasn’t enough that Riverclan would notice it was gone! Windclan needed to survive too!

But no. Whoever this Hawkfrost was, he had convinced Leopardstar that Windclan had earnt such a punishment! Did they not have cats of their own that were feeling the strains of these horrors? Could they really look at those cats and feed them, knowing that they had refused another clan such a necessity?! Crowpaw knew that Leopardstar was a cat who was frosty on her best days, but could she really be that cruel? If she trusted Windclan so little, who was to say she wouldn’t refuse to follow them to a new home?

Could Stormfur even convince her? He hadn’t even been the one who was…

Oh.

Oh Stars… no.

Crowpaw almost paused where he stood. Only walking on when he saw a concerned glint in Nightcloud’s eyes as he wobbled forward.

“Are you okay?”

Well, let’s see. He had left his clan to suffer, including his mother, while the home their entire clan had been rooted in for eons was being torn apart like it was nothing but sand, he had disgraced his father’s trust and was reminded of that with every disapproving flare of the stars above, and he might have ruined the clans hopes of getting Riverclan to follow them on their journey, destroying the history of the four clans themselves with a single paw, all because he hadn’t been the one who had rightfully died on that journey.

Did he mention it was his fault that an innocent cat, one of his best friends, had died to save his worthless pelt?

Crowpaw dipped his head at Nightcloud and she took that as a yes.

“Of course he’s okay.” Webfoot muttered, an audible curl on his lip. “He’s gotten everything he wanted.”

Crowpaw’s eyes snapped open.

“Webfoot!” Onewhisker turned his head to the tom with a warning growl. “Don’t you start any trouble.”

Webfoot grunted, “Why? He’s allowed to because he’s an apprentice.”

Crowpaw spat the shrews out of mouth, erupting with a snarl. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He demanded. There was a monster at the back of his head screaming at him to get into the tom’s face. “Gotten what I wanted? Are you trying to say that I wanted two-legs to come here?”

Nightcloud ran her tail over Crowpaw’s back. “Calm down.” Crowpaw ignored her, his eyes caught in a glare with the tom ahead of him.

Webfoot ignored the death stare that Onewhisker sent him. His eyes slid away from Crowpaw, disgusted. “No. But you got Tallstar to believe your stories. I bet you’re really proud to have that kind of influence.” He sounded like he was spitting out muck as he spoke.

Now, the demands to cause harm raced into a roar. Crowpaw couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Did Webfoot really think he was that shallow? “This isn’t about that at all, you piece of fox-dung!” Crowpaw’s shouting echoed over the hills. “It’s about-”

“Enough!” Onewhisker got between the two toms, hissing. “Both of you!”

Crowpaw was affronted, “He’s the one who-”

“I know that!” Onewhisker snapped, his stern snarl made Crowpaw cower away. “But Windclan doesn’t need the two of you fighting! If we have any hope of getting through this, we need to work together as a clan!” He turned back to Webfoot, his backfur prickling. “And we certainly don’t need any cats questioning the decisions of their leader!”

Webfoot frowned, one fang slipping over his lip. “That’s not what I was-”

“Quiet!” Onewhisker ordered. “Listen to me, Webfoot! I don’t care if you, or any cat for that matter, doesn’t believe in Crowpaw’s sign! If Tallstar decides that Windclan needs to move, that is what we will be doing!” The skinny tom took a pounding step towards Webfoot. “If you have an issue with that, then I’d be happy to take you to discuss it with Tallstar.” He dared with a snap of his teeth. It sounded like breaking a rabbit’s neck.

The panic Webfoot displayed was brief, but it was telling. His tail sank to the floor like a bird falling out of its nest. To his, limited, credit he kept his face straight. That was just all the more infuriating for Crowpaw.

“There’s no need for that.” Webfoot drawled. He lashed a look at Crowpaw. “And please don’t misunderstand, I hope that Crowpaw is right in what he says.” His eyes narrowed snakily. “If he’s wrong, who knows what would happen to Windclan.”

Crowpaw growled to not show weakness.

Like most things he did these days, it repressed the way his body shook at the words.

“Well then,” Nightcloud stepped forward, her claws unsheathed. “Why don’t you shut up and believe in him like Tallstar does, you waste of fur!”

“Nightcloud!” Onewhisker hissed, “What did I just say about fighting?”

The molly scoffed, muttering a fake apology as she looked away. Webfoot didn’t reply, he had apparently decided he’d said enough.

And it was enough that Crowpaw got the point.

Onewhisker maintained a strained silence between the cats, before he let out a croaky sigh. He sounded like he was releasing the pain from his weakening joints. “Let’s not waste anymore time.” He frowned over at Crowpaw. “Pick up those shrews. There are cats who need them.”

Crowpaw looked down to where he’d spat out the sorry excuses for prey, and his heart dropped with disgrace. Those shrews could be what separated a cat from life and death, and he’d spat them out like some kittypet sulking at a two-leg. A horrible, regretful embarrassment clouded over the cat. He stuttered over his own selfishness.

“I-I’m sorry, Onewhisker.”

Onewhisker gave him a hard look that was hard to describe. It made Crowpaw uneasy. The older cat’s whiskers shook with a grunt. “Sorry doesn’t feed cats. Now pick up that prey and make sure you don’t drop it again until you’re in front of someone who needs it!”

Crowpaw dipped his head. The knowledge that his actions made him a liability sent him cold. “Yes, Onewhisker.” Carefully, he picked the shrews up again. When he looked up, Onewhisker was already strolling off, soon followed by Webfoot. The tom made sure to swipe his tail at Crowpaw before he turned away with a malicious scoff.

Crowpaw stared in their direction, then he began to follow them. What else could he do? He couldn’t blame Onewhisker for his fury, the cat had been struggling to make sure Windclan didn’t fall. If Crowpaw didn’t know any better he could have assumed that the cat was the Deputy.

He couldn’t even blame Webfoot really. Well… no. The cat was a fox-heart who had no right to claim those things about him. Crowpaw would never want any of this. But he could see how it looked. An apprentice that had ran away and come back without a reason he could prove and had convinced their leader to follow his advice. It made sense that Webfoot wouldn’t trust him.

That just worked to make Crowpaw feel worse.

If it made sense, then just how much could his clan trust him? How much could he trust himself to save them from an agonising fate?

Searching for those answers was like swimming through fog and ice.

A sympathetic purr rumbled at his side. Nightcloud was looking at him softly. “Don’t pay any attention to Webfoot. He’s always been a burr-furred mange pelt.”

If Crowpaw could open his mouth, he might have muttered a thanks to her. He kept silent. It didn’t matter really. He still ended up thinking, ‘Just because he’s a mange pelt, it doesn’t mean he’s wrong.’ Webfoot’s intentions, no matter what mouse-bile he spewed, were clear. He didn’t forgive Crowpaw for abandoning Windclan. He wanted to punish the apprentice, however he could.

Crowpaw had done everything he thought was right.

Crowpaw had done everything for the purpose of helping Windclan.

But that didn’t exclude the idea that maybe… he deserved to be punished.

“Hey?” Nightcloud murmured, “Do you want me to carry one of those for you?”

She was offering to help him carry some measly shrews?

Did he actually look that pathetic?

He shook his head. She watched him patiently, as if hopeful he would change his mind, before turning away with a sigh. She didn’t need to help him. Any burden for the clan was one Crowpaw deserved to carry.

The thought didn’t leave Crowpaw even when he returned to the ‘camp’ Windclan had fashioned, not when Nightcloud pointed to him the tattered base of an old rabbit warren where they were sheltering the kits, not when the dark molly gave him a well-natured touch with her muzzle, and not when he slowly walked past his clanmates, all scarred, starving, or both, trying their best to get some rest in this terrible place.

His good intentions did not change everything that had happened because of him. Even as he walked by his clanmates, he could hear the gravelly whispers all around him. They didn’t sound happy. Crowpaw almost looked like he was trying to hide his head between his shoulders, unspeakably afraid to catch any cat’s gaze. If he turned and saw every cat view him with hatred, he didn’t know if he could carry on walking.

He cursed himself for looking so pathetic. He could only imagine what cats were thinking. He didn’t want to picture what they’d think when Tallstar revealed why he’d truly been gone. This shaking, moody apprentice was what their fates rested on.

Perhaps the forest would be the more honourable way to die.

Unlatching himself from these thoughts was like scratching at a rock. The truth came on him, refusing to let him go. He deserved the looks. He deserved the hate. And if he was being honest, he would have deserved Webfoot finishing him off with a bite to his throat. Admitting these things was almost relieving for the cat, like he was finally facing the inevitable.

He had given Windclan the message they needed.

What use – what good - was he to them anymore?

“Where are you going?”

Crowpaw jolted where he stood, his ears drifting back fearfully. He slowly met the eyes of his mentor. Mudclaw was looking down at him irritably, the night made his amber eyes flicker. Crowpaw could barely move as he remembered how the Deputy had been earlier. How he had not believed Crowpaw’s explanation and had looked betrayed when his leader did.

Mudclaw growled into the silence. “You should drop what you have in your mouth if you’re going to answer.”

Crowpaw could barely meet Mudclaw’s gaze as he gently dropped the shrews. “I was… I was going to take these to the Queens. That way the kits can get some milk.”

Mudclaw rolled his eyes, “I’m aware of how feeding kits works, Crowpaw.” He sounded as gruff as he looked. His back wasn’t spiked, but it still looked jagged and rough, like sand under a blistering sun. His face was dull with fatigue. “Good hunting I see?” He said, his voice dreadfully sarcastic.

Crowpaw dropped his head again. Even before leaving for the journey, there was nothing that made him curl up like the disappointment of his mentor. “There wasn’t much to catch.”

“I know that as well.” Mudclaw said, “I suppose that’s another reason we need to leave, hmm?” The sarcasm swiped again.

Crowpaw didn’t say anything. There would be no good response to that.

Mudclaw peered down at the shrews, sitting down and stretching his forelegs with a groan. “Truth be told, it is not easy to find prey around here. I had hoped that after a few days we would know where we could find some again.” His voice dimmed. “Regretfully, there hasn’t been much success.” He sniffed at the shrews and, to Crowpaw’s surprise, his mentor let out a laugh that almost sounded glad. “Not much of a mouthful, but at least they’re fresh.”

Whether it was the bleak praise of his mentor, or the idea that his actions could have been of any good in the first place, a calm purr rumbled in Crowpaw’s throat.

“Luckily,” Mudclaw started again, grooming his shoulder with snappy bites. “You won’t have to choose between a Queen to feed. Only Whitetail hasn’t received prey since yesterday. Thankfully, you’ve changed that.”

Whitetail. Realisation rushed through the apprentice. So that was why Onewhisker looked so happy to see the prey. His own mate could finally get the kill she needed for their kits.

“I’m… I’m glad I could help somehow.”

“Was there really nothing else to find?”

Crowpaw mewed sadly, “Nothing. And we won’t be able to scent anything now. The only smell around here is the stink of those monsters.”

Mudclaw hissed behind his teeth. “Fox-dung to it all.” Crowpaw could have been frightened by how grave his mentor sounded. Defeat was not something he had ever been able to associate with his leader. The older cat grumbled a moment more, before he stumbled over to his apprentice. Crowpaw tried not to flinch as the cat smelt his pelt.

“Well,” Mudclaw’s voice was low, but not hard. “At the very least, you saw more of this territory.” He scoffed humourlessly, “You almost smell like Windclan again.”

Crowpaw knew better than to show how much those words sank into him.

Mudclaw padded back, studying his apprentice with a narrowed expression. “I was thinking about what Webfoot said earlier.” He said slowly, “What did he mean when he mentioned that Thunderclan cat. Owlpaw sought me out to tell me that she…” Mudclaw let his words loosen as his stare hardened. Crowpaw knew what Mudclaw was going to ask about and a sheer sense of fear stalked into his chest. “Embraced you. Is that right?”

The night air was growing too cold for Crowpaw. Why else would his paws shake so much?

It wasn’t fair! He had nothing to feel guilty about! He never asked her to do that! He had tried to say goodbye without igniting any suspicion among the clans, he had been loyal and fair about it! It wasn’t his fault if she couldn’t take that. It wasn’t his paws that had pulled her so close to him! It wasn’t him who had left her scent all over him! He wasn’t to blame! She was!

And yet, despite all these things, he couldn’t find it in his chest to be angry at Squirrelpaw.

He knew he should. He knew that if he allowed the rage of how she had made him look disloyal compel him to just a hiss, it would retain the normalcy that he had to reclaim.

For both their sakes.

Fox-dung! Why were his thoughts on her side? Why was he still brought to concern over her?

“Yes.” Crowpaw said, his voice as strong as a cloud.

Mudclaw eased back slightly, but his gaze still burned. “Why would she do that? Are you two ‘friends’?” Mudclaw’s tail thumped down at the word.

Say no. That’s all he had to do.

“We were allies.” Crowpaw said. The feeling in his chest was softening the race of his brain. Something inside him told him to tell the truth, but to not give too much away. The worry in his heart was not for himself. “We had to be. We travelled together that long, after all.”

Mudclaw did not look satisfied. “That doesn’t answer why she did that once you were on Windclan territory.”

Crowpaw kept fixed on his mentor, but he thought he could see a twitch under the moonlight. Was it the refletion of a claw? Crowpaw breathed in softly. “She was just saying goodbye. She was wishing me luck.” He shrugged innocently, “I guess that’s just her way of doing that.”

Mudclaw sniffed, “Interesting way, if you ask me.” His stare still prickled on Crowpaw’s skin for a long time. Crowpaw held onto the grass under his feet, begging that somehow he wasn’t showing any weakness. If Mudclaw suspected something else, who knew what he would do? Crowpaw didn’t want to know what the cat did with cats he suspected were traitors.

Crowpaw wasn’t a traitor!

But… neither was Squirrelpaw.

Crowpaw knew, he just knew, that Squirrelpaw wouldn’t have done that if she thought she would get Crowpaw in trouble. They had been like that, close, throughout the journey. She wouldn’t have thought she was doing anything wrong by just hugging him one last time.

Suddenly, Crowpaw’s tongue felt dry. Of course, she wouldn’t have thought that. Because she hadn’t done anything wrong. She had just hugged a friend. Besides, Crowpaw, all those moons ago, had been the one to do it first, when the fear of losing her had made his eyes water. It had been him that had told her he wished to keep seeing her once this was all over.

His heart sank again.

Maybe… this was also his fault. If he had given her the idea that it was okay, even when they had returned, then could he blame her. If he’d had any sense, he would have shut the idea down there and then!

The idea of doing that filled his head again. The normal strain resolved. Clan life resumed. The disappointment that would have stung her expression. The way that saying no would make his own heart break.

Crowpaw’s closed his eyes with a quiet hiss. What was wrong with him?!

He swiftly looked up at his mentor again, ignoring the way he had risen a brow. If he wasn’t careful he would have given his friendship with Squirrelpaw away. And that would be a disaster for the both of them.

But didn’t he want to be punished? If he was truthful, and accepted responsibility, then wouldn’t that make him a real Warrior?

It was the idea of having Squirrelpaw punished as well that made him silence that thought.

She didn’t deserve that. Only he did.

“After she’d done that, I got her off me and told her to go back to Thunderclan where she was needed.” Crowpaw explained stonily. “That was it. Or did Owlpaw tell you differently?”

The stink of the monsters wafted over Windclan, as venomous as Mudclaw’s silence. The Deputy drummed his claws into the grass, fire still pure in his stare. “And that was all?” It sounded more like a threat than a question.

“That was all.”

Crowpaw must have sounded convincing, because Mudclaw blinked and he looked satisfied. “I see. And no, that does match what Owlpaw told me.” Crowpaw was kind of thankful that the apprentice had been truthful, at least. “That’s good. I was concerned that you’d forgotten your place.”

Place.

Not Clan.

Crowpaw shook his head, trying to look prideful. “Of course not, Mudclaw. The journey is over now, the only concern I have is for Windclan. The other’s will need to look out for their own clans.”

He hoped they could do that easier than he was finding it.

Mudclaw nodded, “I’m glad you know that, Crowpaw.” He let out a bitter chuckle, “If Thunderclan is lucky, maybe that molly realise the same.”

Crowpaw hoped that she did too. But that didn’t stop his claws from tensing unconsciously. He drew them back in before his mentor noticed, screaming inwardly to follow his own words.

“Hopefully.” Crowpaw managed to say. “If the Clans are to survive the journey, they’ll need to.”

Mudclaw looked irritable again. “Ah yes. You’ll need to find Tallstar soon, won’t you?”

Crowpaw grit his teeth as he realised his stupidity. He’d forgotten Mudclaw’s feelings about their travels. “I-I swear that this is the right decision, Mudclaw.” He meowed. The older cat didn’t look his way, his neck fur swaying in the icy breeze. “Windclan will survive if we do this, I promise.”

Mudclaw shrugged with a scoff, “Well, you’ve convinced Tallstar of that. I suppose that’s all that matters!” Crowpaw tried to be sympathetic to the Deputy as he remembered the way Tallstar had shut Mudclaw’s objections down. Crowpaw believed that Mudclaw’s suspicions were driven by his concern for Windclan, and it wouldn’t be easy for any cat to abandon their home when they didn’t see a need to.

Still, Mudclaw needed to trust in Starclan. Trust in Crow… Trust in Tallstar’s decision.

“I’m not lying to you.” Crowpaw meowed, “There is a better place somewhere.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Crowpaw drew back sharply, taken aback. Mudclaw stared out, as if over the whole of the clan. His jaw was tight as his eyes creased with frustration. “I can see that our home is being destroyed. Of course, there is some place where we can go. Silverpelt does not shine over just the flowers, after all. But it’s whether we can make such a journey that bothers me!”

Crowpaw’s jaw slowly dipped from his mouth. It was rare he heard such apprehension from his mentor. He almost sounded pained.

“Cats haven’t eaten or drank for close to a moon, and when we have it’s just been those kind of catches,” He lashed his tail to the dirty shrews, “Everywhere I look, my clanmates are suffering and I can’t see how telling them to wander through the forest will help them in anyway!”

Crowpaw now saw the real mortification on his mentor’s face. Windclan was the only thing in Mudclaw’s mind. “If we stay here, we’ll all die.” Crowpaw said morosely, “I know it sounds crazy, but there isn’t anything else we can do.”

Mudclaw rolled his eyes. “I think there are many options we have, Crowpaw.” The older cat drawled, “But like I said, it doesn’t matter now. Tallstar agrees with you, and if he decides to go then I will have to follow my leader to the end.”

Crowpaw may have felt hope if not for the grave frown on the Deputy’s face.

“However,” His voice was low, “I fear that Tallstar may be approaching that end already.”

His words were like being torn apart limb from limb. Freezing horror wrapped all over Crowpaw. Surely Mudclaw wasn’t suggesting what he thought he was. “What do you mean?”

Mudclaw narrowed his eyes, but his muzzle creased with upset. “Crowpaw, you’re not a mouse-brain. You have seen Tallstar since you came back here, and you and I both know that he is not… well.”

Truthfully, Crowpaw had noticed it. He was sure any cat would. The way the leader coughed after a mere sentence, the way he had relied on Onewhisker’s side to walk strong, how when he spoke it sounded as if rocks were cutting into his throat. It was true. Tallstar did not look well at all.

“He may keep strong for now, but he is not getting stronger with every moon that passes.” Mudclaw gazed up at the hollow light of the moon above them, his eyes bleak with thought. “If he can’t do that in his own clan, I fail to see how travelling would not make things worse. Additionally, if the other clans saw him in that state they would use it for their own advantage, of that I’m certain.” His teeth grit with the last line.

Crowpaw’s mouth opened but he couldn’t find the correct words. The idea that this journey could cause his leader to… His gaze found the ground again, dilated and afraid. “The…The other clans wouldn’t do that.” He hated how uncertain he sounded. “We have to work together if we…”

“Your logic makes sense, Crowpaw.” Mudclaw cut him off, stepping forward with a sigh. There was such a sense of authority in his step that Crowpaw had to step back. “But you cannot speak for the other clans or how they think. No matter how much you may have trusted those cats on your journey, there will always be those…” A low growl rumbled in his chest, “That will grin at the sight of weakness. Without a strong leader, we are vulnerable, and when that happens we can’t afford to lose our freedom for the sake of some temporary peace!” He stepped beside Crowpaw, pressing his tail hard into his side. “It may be the worst scenario, but it is there nonetheless. Windclan needs its Warriors to remember what side they’re on, they need to be willing to fight for that. Can I trust you to do that if the time comes?”

He spoke of a future that no one could truly understand. No one knew what was on its way.

But, by the Stars, Crowpaw was scared of how convincing Mudclaw sounded.

It made perfect sense after all. The clans had been rivals for generations. Before the journey, if Crowpaw had known that a leader from the enemy was sick, he would have howled with laughter at the idea of that clan becoming weaker. He could expect as much from them. Those feelings surely couldn’t just disappear because they were forced into this terrible partnership.

But when he thought of the journey. When he imagined the faces of his… He couldn’t, didn’t want to, imagine that they would do something like that after everything they’d been through.

But then… maybe that was the problem.

Maybe that showed how backwards Crowpaw had become.

It was time to face facts. There was no hope that anything real could survive with the cats he’d known. Their very nature wouldn’t allow it. Besides, Crowpaw had not been of any real use to them.

Feathertail hadn’t come home because of him.

No, with them… It would be better if they just never saw him again once all this was done.

He’d forgotten his loyalty, the loyalty ingrained in his blood, and he knew Windclan would not hesitate to remind him of that in the future. And that was fine.

He deserved to pay for everything he’d done. To every clan.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to be of use while he awaited that punishment.

Windclan deserved better than him, and they could get better than he ever was, but he still needed to work for them when they needed it. This was his one chance to do some real good in his life.

He needed to make sure Windclan knew he was loyal. He needed to make sure his previous friends knew where his loyalty really was. If they couldn’t grasp that, then he needed to remind them of it. They had all hated him at the start. He needed to make sure it was like that once again.

Even though… he didn’t think he could ever hate them again.

But that was why he needed to keep the line clear. Once they were all back to normal in their clans, it had to get better for them. They deserved that kind of ending.

That was why they couldn’t be friends anymore.

So when he suddenly found himself thinking of Squirrelpaw and her cheeky, amazing smile, he let the guilt and self-revulsion take him over. He accepted the sickness in his stomach and called it disloyalty.

If he wanted her to be safe, he needed to shut her away.

Even when the thought of that made his sickness worse.

“Yes, Mudclaw.” Crowpaw said, his voice hollow and found.

Mudclaw stepped away, his eyes never leaving Crowpaw. His eyes blazed like an owl’s. “Good. It’s important you understand what’s right if we find ourselves in that situation.”

“I understand.” Crowpaw said, dipping his head.

A real sound of contentment left Mudclaw. Crowpaw tried to let it ease him. “Excellent.” There was a long silence after that. Then a heavy exhale exited the Deputy and Crowpaw felt a tail smooth over his back. “I do hope that you’re right about this journey, Crowpaw. There is nothing I want more than for my clan to survive.”

Crowpaw sensed a ‘but’ so he didn’t take that as acceptance.

“But, just remember where your real allies are if the time comes. Understand?”

Crowpaw hated that he was right. He couldn’t speak this time so he just nodded his head.

Mudclaw made a pleased mrrow. “Now, take your prey to Whitetail and then go and find Tallstar. The sooner we have a real plan, the better. No matter what happens.” Something was hidden in how he said that, but he was gone before the chill had found Crowpaw’s tail.

He realised it was stupid to think about that.

Mudclaw was his Deputy. Mudclaw was Windclan. That made him an ally. That was where his trust needed to be.

Crowpaw picked up the prey again and strode quickly to the stinking, damaged warren. Sure enough, Whitetail was there. Her eyes were dark with exhaustion and sorrow as she listened to the three small kits at her belly cry hungrily as they suckled for milk that wasn’t there.

Crowpaw’s heart ached. No wonder Onewhisker accepted his story so easily. Anything was better than this.

Whitetail slowly lifted her head as Crowpaw approached. Suddenly, her eyes flickered open as a high mew of relief escaped her mouth. “Crowpaw!” She cried. “You have prey!”

Crowpaw dropped the shrews beside the molly, he tried not to look at how her ribs jutted when she moved to grab them. “That’s all we could find. I’m sorry there isn’t more.”

Whitetail shot him a wide-eyed glance, purring happily. “Don’t be mouse-brained! This is wondeful!” She stared down at the shrews like they were a pile of hares, then she nuzzled the kits closer to her belly. “Just wait a little longer, my darlings. I’ll soon have some milk for you.” Her eyes shone with love and when she smiled it looked like something she had almost forgotten how to do. “What do we say to Crowpaw?”

The kits mewed again, huddling to their mother for warmth.

Whitetail let out a soft mutter, laughing was too difficult these days. “They say thank you.”

Crowpaw dipped his head respectfully, “Tell them that they don’t need to. Any Warrior would do the same.” His eyes gently lifted to the white molly’s. “Also, let them know that whatever prey is given to me will be yours.”

An incredible gasp erupted from the Queen. “Don’t be ridiculous! I can’t accept that!”

“Yes you can.” Crowpaw said simply, “They need it more than me.”

“Crowpaw, that’s honourable of you to say so. But you are still an apprentice.” Her face was pure with gratitude. “You need your strength as well.”

“I’m strong enough as I am.” I don’t deserve to eat. “You look like you haven’t eaten for moons. You need to eat, I can survive without food for a few days.”

“Crowpaw, I-”

“With all due respect, Whitetail.” The apprentice said softly, lightly brushing his tail over the kits. “I’ve made up my mind. You won’t change it.”

Whitetail was silent with shock. Her face was a mix of awe and uncertainty. Crowpaw didn’t give her the chance to argue further. “Sleep well.” He said, to her and her kits. Then he rose up and turned away. He needed to find Tallstar now. Moonhigh was not far away.

“Crowpaw!”

Crowpaw sighed, but he kept calm as he turned back to the starving mother.

Her smile was a white as her fur, and notably overcome with joyful appreciation. She took a bite out of her shrew and then ran her tongue slowly over her kit’s small pelts, happier than she had been in moons. “I’m glad you’re back. Windclan missed you.”

That wasn’t true, Crowpaw thought. But he nodded, feeling underserving of such kindness.

“I’ll do anything for Windclan.”

What else could he do?

If he didn’t he might as well not be alive.

#crowfeather #crowpaw #squirrelflight #squirrelpaw #crowsquirrel #squirrelcrow #I like your laugh #Warriors #Warrior Cats #warriors fic #mudclaw #onewhisker #windclan

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pigeontheoneandonly · 3 years

Note

What's it’s not grave robbing about?

Also asked by @awhellstothejoe!

Alright so this is actually related to my Pathfinder RPG fan novel, Shallow Graves. It's a prequel story from before this little found family was shattered.

They are a group of archaeologists down on their luck who are taking a chance on a new and somewhat improbable site-- an underground tomb left behind by a civilization notorious for not interring the dead in an enduring way. The Pathfinder setting is named for Pathfinders, explorers who document their finds in a publication called the Pathfinder Chronicles. This team of Pathfinders desperately needs something worthy of inclusion so their financial patrons won't abandon them. If this site is authentic, it'll more than fit the bill.

Unfortunately for them, there is a reason why this site is so unusual, and they aren't the only ones curious...

Excerpt:

Weeks on the road wrestling with the issue had prepared him for a room full of elven bones. He did not expect beds.

Stone ones, to be precise, carved with yet more ornamentation. Each with its very own bony occupant. Their hands subsided across their spines, where they’d once folded over abdominal flesh. Their feet had collapsed in tidy rows of bones as the softer tissue gave way and failed to hold them upright. Every figure rested in the same precise position, uniform as a phalanx of soldiers, and beside each skull a knapped obsidian dagger sat square to the bed corner. Identical. Eight in all, laid out in two rows marching down each side of the room.

He’d stopped short. Corrin prodded him, and he managed to stumble out of the way, still half-paralyzed in surprise and dread, as she pushed past him.

Kel swallowed, mouth abruptly dry, as Gem entered after Corrin, and the pair of them began discussing their initial observations and how to proceed with documenting the chamber. This was… wrong, viscerally wrong, and everything in him wanted to flee back into the waning sunlight at the top of the ravine.

You are an archaeologist, he told himself, sternly, and forced himself to take a deep breath. Skeletons were nothing new. Neither were ritual knives, or carved stone. Why should this particular arrangement of those elements be terrifying?

Reaching for some of that clinical detachment, he approached the closest bed, and began to catalogue it, dispassionately noting each feature for future reference. Decay robbed elves of their most obvious identifiers, the ears, the iris covering the entirety of the visible eye, the hairless body, but more subtle markers remained. He’d seen more than enough elven bones to know, immediately, that these remains were indeed once elves. He bent over the corpse, making an inspection of the body.

“Perfect health,” pronounced Corrin, who had undertaken her own evaluation across the room. “All near the same age.”

“A mass suicide?” Gem hazarded. “Ahead of Earthfall?”

Lanna made a little sound, from the doorway. Kel’s head jerked up in time to see her twitch, a might have been shudder, quickly quelled. But her voice was steady. “Unlikely. This doesn’t appear… desperate. This is purposeful. This was a… a…”

Kel noticed then a nick on one rib, and his mouth thinned, glancing at the dagger. Eight inches by one, enough to get it done. “A sacrifice.”

Corrin squinted. “Whatever do you mean? What have you found?”

“Look.” He picked up the knife. Gem and Corrin crowded in behind him, Aldran reluctantly joining them, just as creeped out if not as uneasy as Kel. Lanna watched from the door, hugging herself and grimacing faintly. Ani had remained in the outer hall. Smarter than all of them, probably.

Kel aligned the blade with the nick, and slid it up towards the skeleton’s phantom heart. The upward thrust matched the blade’s edge to the groove in the bone exactly.

A long silence followed his demonstration. He set the dagger back where he found it, loathe to disturb it longer than necessary. Really, regretting having touched it.

“That’s insane,” Lanna finally said, leaving the doorway to draw closer. It wasn’t anything they weren’t all thinking. “These eight people were… murdered? Sacrificed?”

“Can’t rule out suicide.” Corrin sniffed. “That motion is readily accessible for an autonomous stabbing.”

Aldran’s brow scrunched up. “Then how did the daggers get to the corners of the beds?”

“That’s not the worst of it.” Ani had been following another line of thought. “There are eight other doors.”

Kel rubbed the bridge of his nose and said a word that caused Corrin to glare at him reproachfully. But Gem focused on the practical. “What is it? The potential for more bodies… victims… like this is disturbing, but hardly concerning.”

He gestured at the scene. “Eight people here. Eight rooms flanking the entrance chamber. Eight by eight is sixty-four. That’s a full phalanx in the ancient empire.” Kel glanced from face to face. “Don’t you see? This is a squad of soldiers.”

They all considered that. Corrin appeared to be thinking furiously, churning over the implications. Gem was a bit more sanguine, but only just. She set her pack on the floor and began to dig through it, crouching, searching for her site log. No doubt trying to correlate something she’d remembered from a previous expedition.

Corrin said something to her in Skald, and Gem just shook her head. Aldran was less taciturn. “They just… ritually executed a bunch of soldiers and left them here? What kind of sense does that make?”

Lanna started, her green eyes going wide. “The locked door. These people… This isn’t a tomb.”

Aldran gestured broadly, with a rising hysteria. “Are you kidding me?”

“This isn’t a tomb,” she repeated steadily. She glanced from Gem and Corrin to Ani to Kel. “It’s a vault.”

“They’re guards,” Kel breathed, staring around at the skeletons.

Ani had perked up at this. Her eyes gleamed with the potential for treasure—that maybe this expedition wouldn’t be such a waste after all. “Guarding what, do you think?”

Corrin spoke dryly. “At a guess, whatever is behind the ninth door. I believe we’ll find it locked as well, and probably even more cleverly.”

“You can’t guard anything if you’re dead.” Aldran had lost all patience. His hand sat on the pommel of his longsword, betraying his growing agitation at this entire situation.

“Perhaps they were not meant to,” Lanna said, slowly. “Think about it. Whatever elves lived here had something they couldn’t take with them to Sovyrian. Something they also couldn’t bear to leave behind. Something that needed to be protected. So this build this place. They lock it and ward it with their best technology, including a lock that can only be opened from the inside.”

“I got it open,” Kel grumbled, mostly to himself.

Gem chewed her lip. “They built this place for eternity. It’s not clear to anyone that the ancient elves ever intended to return from Sovyrian. Or that any of them believed there would be a Golarion to return to.”

“Yes,” Lanna agreed. She moved to the foot of one of the beds, and stared down at its occupant. “And they left behind guardians perhaps also intended—and prepared—to serve forever, in death.”

#ask me anything #pigeon pathfinder #honestly i started this to better understand some of the dynamic between this team and it gained a life of its own

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etjwrites · 3 years

Text

OC Backstory - Emotion Edition | Week 1: FEAR

Week 0: Introduction || Week 2: Joy || Week 3: Disgust || Week 4: Sadness || Week 5: Anger || Week 6: Courage ||

PROMPT - Think about your character’s past. When were they most afraid?

slides this in right at the deadline

@yourocsbackstory

This took me a while because I had to go back and establish a solid timeline for all the characters.😅 As a pantser I've really been winging the general timeframe of events, but before I could go into Brom's past I needed to know everyone's relative ages to each other. Now that that's done, enjoy!

For this prompt, we go back to Brom's childhood, when he was around 9 years old. His brother, Quartus, is about 15.

The sun rose, bright and early, and Brom rose with it, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He was still hungry from the night before, and hopefully his brother had some yummy porridge waiting for him. But when he looked up at the stove, nothing bubbled atop it.

That was alright. He could eat the oats plain. Brom didn't really like porridge that didn't have water or milk to make it tastier, but he'd eaten worse. He pressed a hand to his stomach, trying to get the pinches of hunger to subside, and stumbled over to the pantry.

It was bare.

Brom had known it would be, since Quartus had announced as much at supper when breaking the last of their bread, but he had hoped that maybe Quartus had managed to beg a few coins of his meager apprentice's pay in advance and gone early to the bakery. Maybe he was there even now.

But when Brom looked at the kitchen door, he saw that his brother's boots and cloak were still in their place by the door jamb.

Tears sprang to Brom's eyes. He didn't want to go out begging, not again. But his stomach hurt something fierce, so he mustered up the strength he did have and pushed open the door to Papa's old room. It was freezing, a stark contrast to the warmth of the kitchen, and Brom rubbed his arms and shivered before hurrying over to the bed.

“Quartus. I'm hungry,” he said, reaching out to touch the bundled up lump on the straw mattress. There was no response, and he shook Quartus a little. “C'mon, get up. We have to go to the square.”

Quartus still said nothing, and apprehension twisted Brom's guts. He climbed onto the bed and crawled across his brother, twisting until he could see him properly.

Quartus was awake, eyes open, but staring at nothing.

Brom pressed at his face. “Quartus! Please, I'm hungry.”

His brother just lay there, a whispered, “I can't, Brom,” his only response.

“But my stomach hurts,” Brom pleaded, shaking Quartus. “Please, get up. Please.”

Quartus rolled over the other way, drawing the blankets up to his ears. “Not today. You'll have to go by yourself.”

Panic bloomed in Brom's chest. “You told me I should never go to the square without you. Please, you have to get up. I'm so hungry.” He climbed back over Quartus, and grabbed his face in his hands.

“Get off me, Brom!” Quartus yelled, and pushed him so hard he toppled over, hitting the wooden planks with a sick crack.

Brom looked at Quartus in stunned shock. His brother had never shoved him like that before. He scooted back a few paces, his rough sleeping chemise catching in the splinters. “Why did you do that?” he asked, voice watery with tears.

“Forgive me, little brother,” Quartus said, weariness lacing each word. “But I can't. I can't. I simply can't.”

“But what about your apprenticeship?”

“The apprenticeship can go hang.” Quartus rolled over again, showing his back to Brom.

Thoughts started to spin wildly through Brom's mind. If his brother didn't get up, they couldn't go to the square. They wouldn't have any food. He wouldn't even be able to drink a little water from the fountain.

He was so thirsty.

But if he did go to the square by himself, he could get lost. Someone might accuse him of stealing and throw him in the dungeon. A spy from Hyphantria might grab him and spirit him away to the spidery-filled Shalott caves where he'd be forced to slave away with hundreds of other children until his fingers were worn to the bone.

And the apprenticeship! If Quartus didn't report to his master, they would throw him in the dungeons, and then Brom would truly be alone. They might even take their house, the only thing they had left from Papa.

“Quartus!” Brom gasped, close to hysterics now. “I don't want to live on the streets.” They would surely freeze to death come winter. Even now, as the leaves turned gold, a chill hung in the air, leaving the kitchen the single warm room in the house. “What will we do when there's no more wood?”

What if Quartus never got out of bed again?

The ax was too heavy for Brom to swing more than a few times, and it always took the two of them all day to collect brush from the forest. And that was in the summer time. How was Brom supposed to struggle through waist-high snow with the wood-cart all alone?

Bracing himself to be yelled at again, Brom crept forward and shook Quartus with all his might, before tugging on his arms and legs, trying to drag his brother from the bed, uncontrollable tears running down his face as he did so.

“Leave me alone, Brom,” his brother whispered, curling into a ball and resisting all efforts to rouse him. “I just want to sleep.”

Images flashed into Brom's mind of their Papa, the last time he had ever seen him, white bandages swathing his chest as he struggled to breathe. Papa had said he was tired, and that a little rest would make him right as rain.

But he went to sleep and never woke up again.

Terror struck him.

Brom redoubled his attempts, sobbing until he could barely breathe, at which point he collapsed next to Quartus, face messy with tears, throat burning with each laboured gasp of air.

“Forgive me.” Quartus reached a hand out from under the blankets and grasped Brom's sweaty palm. “That you should be cursed with such a brother as me.” A single tear trickled from his closed eyes. He said no more, his shallow breathing Brom's only indication that he yet lived.

Brom lay there, thoroughly exhausted, holding his brother's hand in the dark and cold. Quartus must be near death indeed to stay so still after everything. The gnawing pit of fear in his stomach dug its tendrils into his heart, and Brom wept until he could weep no longer, convinced they would both waste away, as the dread seeping through his body whispered that neither of them would ever see the daylight again.

Depression will really kick you when you're down, come into your home, steal everything you own and then light it all on fire.

Tag Crew: @adie-dee @writtendevastation @catharticallysarcastic @francestroublr

#writeblr #am writing #yourocsbackstory #emotion edition #writers on tumblr #etjwrites #afallon #brom

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zakomoya · 3 years

Text

C!Dream: Vivid Theatrics, Dull Character

Some Disclaimers:

All of this is good faith criticism. I fucking love the Dream SMP to death, and analyzing shit to death is how I enjoy consuming it.

I am in no way shaming people who like c!Dream. A character can have writing flaws and still be enjoyable in other ways.

With that being said, here we go. Something I’ve worked on for the past couple of days is finally being posted. Special thanks to my IRL friend Ilya (AKA whiteflu or oraclesyndromes) for their massive contributions to the whole thing.

The Intro

In the Dream SMP fandom space, plenty of the characters within the SMP have been analyzed thoroughly, with their motives, actions and behaviour being taken apart and judged. However, c!Dream gets close to none of this treatment, as compared to say, c!Technoblade or c! Tommy, which is quite odd, seeing as he is one of the main driving forces of the story. This is most likely because Dream is not as characterized as the others. His character had lots of potential on paper, but flopped in its execution. He’s not only an evil character, but a flat one. In this post, I will be criticizing c!Dream’s character, as well as suggest possible additions to his lore to flesh him out.

The Flaws

First things first, while Dream is a terrifying villain, he is most definitely not a complex one. Now you might argue that Schlatt wasn’t a complex villain too, but that can be considered excusable as Season 1 was simpler and more lighthearted. At that point in time, the writing was more comedic in tone, with the immoral actions of the characters mostly being played for laughs. While it did have serious moments, especially in the latter half, it mostly retained that tone until the season finale. However, Season 2 onwards was heavier and more complex, with the effects of the characters’ actions in Season 1 on theirs and other people’s psyche being deeply explored. Because of that, it would be ideal for it to have a more complex and emotional villain to give the story its emotional and narrative weight that holds until the end. Otherwise, the villain would seem standoffish compared to the rest of the story at best, or completely damage the tone and meaning of the story at worst. The only depth you could glean from c!Dream right now makes assumptions based on fanon and pre-existing relationships outside of the SMP. C!Dream as a villain is easy to understand, but because there is next to no information on his motivations and mindset, even attempting to understand him is basically pointless.

Second, there was no good reason for c!Dream’s dickery to just be directed towards c!Tommy all, if not most of the time. If c!Dream’s desire for a lack of attachments was that strong, wouldn’t he try to be as rude (or apathetic) as possible towards literally everyone he meets in order to prevent attachments from happening? Shouldn’t there be more evidence pointing to a number of his interactions as an attempt at manipulation? C!Dream’s several instances of talking down on c!Tubbo not have that much impact because it wasn’t at the same scale and/or frequency as c!Dream’s dickery towards c!Tommy.

Lastly, c!Dream being shown as just an unsympathetic villainous character greatly harms his and c!Tommy's narrative because there's no apparent ideological conflict, making it thematically meaningless. Tommy had the belief that attachments were good and that, while they may hurt, they can also help, and completely cutting yourself off from them will do nothing but isolate and hurt you. What reasons/justifications did Dream have to believe that attachments were bad, to the point of him cutting all of his off? This makes the Exile Arc, which was good in terms of acting, meaningless and unsatisfying by proxy. It was torture, but for the sake of what? What was the thematic meaning for its inclusion? It did change Tommy, but for what? What does that change lend to the thematic resolution of this season? And sure! There was a recurring theme of “fighting fire with fire solves nothing”, but this could have been done while still giving it a different core moral. The idea that attachments bring harm to one’s self is actually a really good theme that I would’ve loved to have seen in full play. However, due to the overall writing and pacing of Season 2, this theme was completely shoehorned in at the end, with only meager, satisfying hints to what Dream’s reasoning was. There was also no reason presented for why he started thinking like that, leading to a finale that, while cathartic, was thematically unfulfilling.

The Rewrite

Now that the criticisms are out of the way, here are possible additions/rewrites that could be done to flesh out his character a bit more.

First, have c!Dream genuinely believe that attachments corrupt people, and make that belief strengthen over time. The seeds for this belief would first sow in c!Dream’s mind after seeing post-exile c!Wilbur. He witnessed c!Wilbur’s corruption and how it happened because of his attachments. C!Wilbur experienced the emotional turmoil of losing L’manberg (something he’s worked hard to get independence for) as well as people who he thought were his allies (even though that betrayal/abandonment was part of a double agent scheme). This led him to give up on L’manberg. C!Dream’s belief steadily grows from that point until the belief is solidified when he sees how the discs (directly or indirectly) strained c!Tubbo and c!Tommy’s friendship. This belief can clash with c!Tommy’s (initial) belief that, no matter the pain they cause, attachments are important, as while they make you weak, they also make you strong.

Dream’s belief existing is understandable, given what he’s witnessed, and it's even grounded in some sense of rationality, but he’s still a morally reprehensible character due but how he acts on that belief. The presence of that groundedness can also provide c!Tommy a chance to develop, and take a good portion of c!Dream’s belief, transforming “Attachments are good and the pain is worth it! Completely sacrificing every attachment you have only fucks you up in the long run” to “Attachments are good, and while the pain is worth it, there are times where sacrifices must be done in order to keep the more important attachments safe. Completely sacrificing every attachment you have only fucks you up in the long run.”

Lastly, have Dream be a dick (or at least apathetic) to everyone and/or have his manipulation be apparent, even if it’s not coming from the character’s perspective. This adds even more justification to the Disc War Finale team-up, as most, if not all of the characters there have at least a reason to go against c!Dream. This also makes the prison visits hit even harder, as Dream sees the consequences of his actions. He’s in solitary confinement for God knows how long, his power and control lost, and his friendships strained, with the only one to blame being himself.

The Conclusion

In conclusion, c!Dream is a textbook case of wasted potential. Giving more complexity to his character would make Season 2 onwards hit harder. If he were a Season 1 villain, his shallowness would’ve been more excusable, provided he was also entertaining to watch. However, after Season 1, there was this push to level up one’s theatrics and character. Unfortunately, while c!Dream had the first, he lacked the second.

#dream smp #dream smp analysis #c!dream analysis #c!dream negativity #c!dream critical

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