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#peeling me like a fucking potato would hurt less at this point
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techno
I'm only really today able to go back and look at a lot of things. It's been 20 days and im honestly still a wreck about it.
In 2020 my friend arcanist was posting about this minecraft guy in the foopets server. I thought that his little pig skin was funny, and it was a few ~30 second clips. sure ill watch these to be polite. But they were all very funny, most of them were potato war clips so I started there.
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and i watched more, and i just was like "wow i like this guy but that's it" and then he joined the dream smp so i caught up on all the lore that had happened up to that point (a much easier task than it is for any newcomers today LMAO). and all those minecraft youtubers were cool too. huh. and as I got further invested in this fandom i discovered more and more people i would stick with, wilbur, phil, and tommy (i was a sucker for sleepy bois as soon as i found out about them. i love them) and ranboo, and tubbo, and ponk and eret and quackity and karl and niki and jack and puffy and all of a sudden i have a gaggle of like 40+ comfort streamers. but techno was always my most favorite. I'm a Techno main to my core.
I would drop anything i was doing to watch every stream of his live. I truly do love him, his humor, his content, his character (in the human sense not dsmp though i will defend c!techno to the death). He was a light. He was good. He cared so much. He was always funny. Even when he announced something so devastating he made sure to drop a plushie ad in the middle, and remind you to buy channel memberships and subscribe. He made channel posts to let u know he was still alive, and look at this cool bird. He made jokes every step of the way. talking about how everyone was weaker than him because they didnt have the same number of bones.
I just felt better knowing somewhere, he was out there. I was never under any illusion we would meet or be friends. I didn't want to be. I'm just a number and thats good. That's all I need. But now I genuinely don't know how to navigate a world that he's not in anymore. The smallest things can still set me off. I was peeling potatoes for dinner and remembered he's dead and started crying. I'm crying writing this. and finally looking at the art and tributes and recollections from his friends. I still panic when i get a youtube notification because I can't ever have any notification hiding his last video. and then i remember thats his last video and im set off even further. The first few days i remember seeing everyone else move on with their lives, talk about the new stranger things, their fourth of july plans. and i was so fucking ANGRY even though I know logically. They weren't aware of him. Of course they were moving on, their whole world hadn't ground to a halt the way mine had.
I loved him, I love him. He meant so much to me, more than I can really express and I'm so glad he was a part of my existence for the time I had with him. Even before he died I had accidentally absorbed some of his speech patterns into my own. I'll always have that with me. They say nobody is truly dead until there's no one left to remember them, and the legacy techno left is so vast and deep. Nobody ever could. And that gives me some peace at least. It hurts less some days than others. And I still cry a fair bit. But I have to try, for him. He'd call me cringe if I gave up now.
Fly high technoblade. I'll miss you. But at least with fellow fans I'm in good company.
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ubemango · 3 years
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delicacies of the season (m)
part 3: days apart
note: hey!! What’s up!! first, I officially have named this series!! it’s right up there for ur viewing glory! ok anyway here’s something before I disappear for the next four weeks because I am drowning in school!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also just a side thingie for this story: I’ve already established that oc isn’t on birth control but here I’m implying that they’re doing natural planning (i.e. fertility awareness where the person who menstruates keeps up with their cycle and thus only has sex when their cycles allows for it). PLEASE DO NOT DO THIS UNLESS YOU KNOW THE RISKS!!!!!!!! Oh Lord putting your impregnation chances up to God?! I couldn’t do it. But also this is fanfiction and nothing bad will happen to this couple so let’s all just... suspend disbelief for a second ok
PAIRING. taehyung/reader GENRE. romance, farmer au RATED. M WORD COUNT. 2.5k WARNINGS. kitchen sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, a good ol’ creampie bc wot is the ubemango experience without one :/ SUMMARY. Taehyung missed you.
Auntie Gaeul comes over when the rooster crows to tell you to check out the passion fruits today. They’re ripe not because she’s seen them but because she just knows. Call it the Elder Instinct for Ripened Foods. You tell her you’ll give her half the harvest, and she swats at you before she leaves.
“Stop being so polite, I’m not that old,” she spits in jest. “And make some of that honey iced tea your grandma makes. If there’s extra, then I’ll have some.”
Taehyung would probably like some, too; he chugs down anything with passion fruit like he’s about to go into hibernation. And when you come back home from the fields with a basket-full perched heavy on your back, you resolve to make some tea right away to bring over to his house to see if he’s there. You haven’t seen him in five days—his cousin had the stomach flu, and his aunt needed the extra help with tending to the livestock. Being the eldest nephew (and the only one who can drive a motorcycle) had him obligated right from the get-go.
“Grandma! Can you show me where you put the honey jars, I can’t remember where they are. And can you help me peel these—um. You’re not Grandma,” you stop.
Taehyung looks up from where he’s perched on the stairs of your awning, flicking bits of strawberries to the ground for Danbi to eat. Your little puppy scrounges it up so fast she nearly falls over on her fluffy bum.
“I told her to go play bingo with the rest of the granny crew, someone’s betting chicken feet,” he says. You smile wide when he trods over to you for a short kiss, slipping the strap of the basket off your shoulder to put on his. The hand he keeps low on your back is as warm as the ten AM sun. “Hi. I missed you.”
“I was just gonna go see if you were home,” you say. He smells like the wind. Something you’d scrunch your nose at but he makes it work. “When d’you come back? How’s Daeshim now?”
“An hour ago. And he’s better. He ate up all your ice cream, only thing he could keep down.”
You frown. “Poor baby.”
“I know. You gonna clean these now?” He nods his head toward the water basin, carved rock he’d installed for you on your third anniversary.
“Yeah. Can you start? I’ll just wash up quick,” you offer. Suddenly you’re aware you’ve got an ugly shirt with oil stains and holes in random places—nothing Taehyung minds, but the occasion probably deserves better.
“Got it, boss,” Taehyung says. He slaps your ass before you run to the bathroom. A familiar signal of his intentions but he’s too polite to bring it up so quickly.
“Hey!”
“Hurry up,” he calls. As if you’re going to take another five days to get back to him but you get it. You missed him, too; a little more than you’d like to let on. Your grandma is great company but she watches her TV too loud and she hates when you’re not there to sit with her because she might need your help switching channels. It’s a miracle you didn’t jump Taehyung the second your eyes landed on him.
You change into whatever shirt you’ve tossed on the floor that looks semi-presentable. It’s too early for your sweat to reek like it does under the afternoon heat, but you spritz some perfume on your neck anyway. Just for upkeep, because you’d be lying if you said you weren’t anticipating sex, a sloppy makeout session at the least. Danbi’s too hyper to be left alone, plus your grandma likes making surprise visits at your house because she’s a forgetful woman.
By the time you’ve come back from scrubbing the dirt and dead ant bits caked under your nails, Taehyung’s a third of the way through the basket, tossing the clean passion fruit into a bucket Danbi is trying so hard to climb into. She yelps when her fat paws slip at the edges.
“Danbi! Mama’s gonna be mad if you get hurt. I’ll give you some later.”
“Go play with your toy,” you call out to her. “Danbi! Go!”
Her ears perk up at your command, and she pants and pants till she decides to go in the complete opposite direction of the ball and into the patch where all the potatoes are. She hasn’t hit her teething phase so you’re safe from her snuffing anything out with her mouth. It’s her fur you worry about. She’s such a nice shade of white amongst the semi-wet dirt, it almost hurts seeing her get soiled.
“Like a little cotton ball,” Taehyung says. He points to the bucket. “This good?”
You nod—it’s enough to have extra for Auntie Gaeul. “Yeah. Wanna carry it to the kitchen like a good man?”
“As if I’m not one already,” he snorts, grabbing the handle. “Danbi, come!”
This is how it always goes. Taehyung ogles from over your shoulder (usually he’s off to the side but he’s a lot clingier, not that you mind) while you do your business because you don’t trust him with a knife. Not since the time you’d tasked him with chopping garlic and he’d nearly sliced his palm open when he tried crushing them first.
And now you’ve got a new addition to the routine: Danbi sniffs around the dried leaves for the fire, sneezing when she breathes the ash in too hard. You hear her collar jiggle as she explores the earthenware stacked on the side. You made sure Taehyung left the door open because she gets antsy fast.
“Can I just say that I have a thing for seeing you use a knife,” Taehyung says, hands stroking your tummy because he’s got nothing better to do.
“You’re really bad at hiding how turned on you are.”
“Who said I was trying to hide?”
You laugh. “What are you trying to get at, mister?”
“I’m saying I missed you,” he says simply.
“So that’s why you kicked Grandma out the house,” you tease. Taehyung splutters in your ear.
“No! They really are betting chicken feet. What do you think I am?”
“Horny.”
“Ugh.”
You turn your focus back to the chopping board. Taehyung lets the sound of the knife smooth down the goop of the insides fill the space.
“...Are you mad if I am?” He whispers tentatively.
“Oh my god. It’s ten in the morning.”
“You think my dick cares?”
“You think I care?” you joke.
Taehyung gasps. Like his heart just shattered from your vitriol, but all you want is to finish cutting up these damn fruits before you’ll allow his hands to touch you. “Wow. You—? Okay, fine.”
“Wha—”
“I appreciate your hard work,” he coos. He wraps himself around you even tighter, traces a slow kiss on your neck. “Really. But don’t pretend you didn’t miss me too.”
“I never said I didn’t.”
“You’ve got a fucking mouth on you.”
And that gets you to shut up. Taehyung only swears when he wants you to stop talking. Not for the sake of real anger but to show you he’s got something brewing, and you’re here to take whatever it is he’s about to give you.
“I just wanted to be a good fiance and visit the one I love the most after five days because I missed them so much.”
His teeth catch the lobe of your ear. Biting down softly because he’s still aware you’ve got the knife in your hand, but you’ve lost all motor skills the second he started his little bit. You drop the handle slowly. At the last second you push all the shit you’ve laid out on the counter to the farthest corner. Something tells you this space is being defiled this morning.
“Good. Are you wet?”
“N-No.”
“Then we’ll have to do something about that, huh.”
You watch his hands glide up, and you’re half-expecting him to fondle you gently, the way he teases you when you think he’s taking it slow. But instead he goes right for the kill: using those long fingers to pinch right at your tits just to get you to gasp into the feeling. You roll your eyes shut, let your head fall back on his shoulder.
“You like that?”
“Mhm,” you whine.
“Take your shirt off for me.”
You’ve never exposed yourself to kitchen utensils and rice wine on the pantry shelves before but Taehyung makes you want it. He shows his appreciation for your compliance with another hard grope of his hands, this time with his mouth sucking on your neck too. Craving your skin like he’s been absolutely deprived. The calluses on his fingertips rub your nipples raw.
“You smell good,” he croons. “Come here.”
You nearly tip over from how fast he spins you around, but he catches you easy, tongue on yours in the next second. The desperate tug of his lips on yours, the smack of your spit when he pulls you in deeper, all the intricacies of needing someone else to save your own sanity—it culminates here, and now your ass is up on the cold of the counter, Taehyung pulling back from one last kiss to drag that same heat down your body.
“Please let me eat you out here, holy shit.” He tugs at your pants, slides your underwear down with it. Mouthing hungry at your mound because you haven’t answered him yet, so you just groan a quick please, yes and he doesn’t even look at you before he presses his tongue inside you.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, the guilt of ruining this space with your (embarrassingly) uncontrolled libido is raging. But you could care less with the way Taehyung swipes his tongue around your clit, gets you clawing at his hair for brief respite. You’ve most definitely exceeded wet boundaries. His chin practically shines.
And he knows it’s because of him. Not just from his mouth but the knowledge that he wants you trembling towards a heady orgasm, the kind that consumes you whole. His laving gets bolder with every stroke, every moan you try to keep stifled but it’s useless. “Taehyung. Oh my g-od, fuck—no d-don’t use your fingers, I’ll come.”
He laughs, adjusts your thighs so you’re not cramping. “Think you’ll tap out?”
“I wanna come on your dick,” you pants.
“Oh my god,” he groans. “You’re perfect. Oh my god. I’m so fucking hard. Can I come inside you?”
“Yes yes yes yes, just get inside me already.”
Taehyung’s foot gets caught on his pants when he shoves them off, nearly crashing face first into your pussy again. And he laughs and you snort and when he’s naked waist-down he kisses you again, a little slower this time, a breather for just a moment.
“I know it’s only been five days but I missed you. A lot.”
You trap his hips with locked ankles on his back. “I know.”
“It’s just—I had to shovel so much horse shit—”
“Oh don’t say that!” You bat at his chest.
Taehyung snickers. “Sorry. Ahh, I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“You can stick your dick inside me and we can go from there,” you suggest.
“I like the way you think, missus.”
It’s almost laughable when he sinks right in. No resistance, just the slick of your arousal and his spit, an unholy mixture for this thick sacrilege. Taehyung’s eyes stay locked on the sight.
“Fuck yeah. Oh baby…”
If it’s got him uttering curses this early in the round then you’re definitely worse off. You’ve got one profanity for every inch he’s claimed inside you, all lined up behind your teeth but you don’t have the brain capacity to get them out. He fucks you straight to incoherence.
Your delirium keeps you mum. Taehyung will make up for it. He slots his hand up the back of your thighs, hits deeper when you arch through the pleasure. “Holy fuck that’s so good,” you whine. “Taehyung—oh god.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just pants hard with every moan you’ll give him, and you watch the sweat glow on his collarbone, the thick of his neck. Places you claim with your mouth when you lean forward because it’s too hard to keep balance without his gravity.
Taehyung breaks when you bite. “Sh-it. Oh fuck you’re so hot. ‘M not gonna last, shit.”
“You’ll fuck me when you come?” you plead, hold his gaze. He’s just as gone as you are. “You’ll fuck your cum inside me?”
“Yeah baby. I’ll give it to you. So fuckin’ good.”
He never lets up. Just keeps that steady fucking, stiff with every drive into your slick till he adjusts your knees with one push. Pussy open to the angle that gets you begging for his thumb on your clit because it’s right there. You fall back on your hands, no steady grip because Taehyung’s faltering too.
“Oh—!” You flutter your eyes shut to pending ecstasy. “Tae—please—harder—right there right there don’t stop!”
“You gonna come for me?”
It’s a rhetorical question. You know he sees the way your chest collapses, the rub of your clit in quick gestures for your high. He’s got you right in his hand.
“Fuck—ohhh yes!”
“Ugh,” he whines. It’s nearly lost to the ringing in your ears, the clench of your pussy from his pounding. You cream him so good when the orgasm’s strong enough, pulsing hot, the rough intensity. And that’s not lost on him when he cries: “God your pussy’s so wet. Holy shit.”
Usually you’re spent by the time your vision’s cleared to the sight of Taehyung fucking you through it. But he’s promised you something, and you’re greedy for it.
“Come inside me,” you urge, guiding a hand through his hair, pulling hard at his nape. He keeps his eyes on his dick priming you for those final strokes.
“I’ll fucking come,” he snaps. “You ready? I’ll come so good for you baby. Come so fucking—good—!”
He stiffens with a shout, grinds his teeth, lets his orgasm splash inside with so much heat you mewl. And he keeps minimal movement, thrust for soft thrust because it’s too much with the squeezing you tease him with.
“I.” Taehyung clears his throat, panting to a stop. “I… wow.”
Your ass is rubbed raw against the counter. But you’ll risk it again to see the glint in his eye when he pulls out and watches his cum drip down your hole, onto the floor for you to clean when your legs aren’t jelly.
“Wow,” you repeat.
“Do… Am I… Am I ovulating?” He looks genuinely confused. “I don’t… I’ve never been that horny before.”
You snort. “Five days felt like forever, huh.”
Taehyung kisses you slow. “If it means we get to fuck like that again then I’m going to the city for a month.”
“Hey!” You pinch his arm, using his bicep to stand up, tiptoeing around the mess on the floor. “God. Help me clean up here, please. And where’s the dog?”
(Danbi sleeps peacefully in the wicker basket, head lolled on one of the passion fruits. You make sure to bring her over to Auntie Gaeul’s for extra snacks.)
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Pragma | Alucard
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Request: Hi, I love your blog. Would you mind writing about what it would be like to for Alucard to fall in love with the reader post season 3? Thank you! Keep up the good work!
Word Count: 1826 words
Page Count: 5.2 pages
A/n: hope you enjoy this!
Tags: @catherinedm​
        All Alucard could do was deny that you held no ill will towards him. He had found you when you were running from a cultist like group, ready to burn you alive just for learning older sciences, he could only laugh at the bitter irony. Your legs were whipped and tired, your chest was bruised and the rest of your body was worse than you could have imagined, and so he took you in when he knew you were not a threat. Or would be conscious for a good while.
        "I seem to only get more and more desperate for heartache, don't I?" He whispered to himself as he looked to you, your body was freshly cared and cleaned for, and yet he found on the other end of the room near the opened door. His fear that gripped his heart made him feel like a child, wanting to be held and cared for by those around him, yet cannot seem to overcome going up to an adult for help.
        When you woke up days later, cleaned and cared for, your body aching like never before- and the man in the room staring at you like you had just killed his mother in front of him, full of shock and fear. Speaking with him in this stage of your relationship was scarce, only what needed to be said was put into the air, either met with silence or acknowledged with muted nods and small hums.
*****
        Alucard was never known for his temper. He was a sweet and gentle boy according to his parents, something he wished to be after seeing his mother be... her, he was never to freak or lash out on those around him. When he realized this, it had been to late, his hands were running through his hair as tears slipped effortlessly from his eyes- curled in his bed with his knees to his scarred chest. He had been helping you walk more, working on your legs and helping them gain muscle, when you had fallen near him while he fell as well.
        You both had slipped due to the old rugs folds getting caught in his foot, making him slam onto his back while you managed to land on your knees, and when you turned to see if Alucard was alright he looked at you in pure fear. He shook as he saw you on your knees, on his right side, like her. Just like she was when they both locked him onto his bed, tied with the burn of silver, looking at him with such hate and disgust.
        Your eyes held worry though. Worry for his well being. Care. Your heart was opening up. But in that moment, he saw back to that night, her. His face contorted into anger, yelling at you while his lungs burned for air, profanities settled into your mind as he was cursing your existence. 
        "I trusted you! Gave you everything! And here you are again, having me on my back, a knife to my fucking heart!" He was leaning upright at this point, while you crawled backwards away from him, the fear evident in your eyes but he didn't see. It wasn't you at that moment. It was the flickering image of Sumi and Taka.
        Once he had caught his breath, he closed his eyes, hands coming to his hair as he shook violently. You realized what was happening, your father was a soldier and suffered from delusions like this, and your mother would come running to anchor him back into the present once his past came to torment him again. 
        "Breathe. Alucard, breathe. Evenly. Exhale longer than when you inhale, please." You coached him gently, your hands in front of you in case he were to look up, you weren't a threat to him- he knew that. You told him when to inhale and hold, before letting out the breath that wavered less and less. You needed to anchor him back to the present, he wasn't seeing you yet, but you would make him to help with his sanity.
        His breathing evened but tears still came, flowing against the flushed pale skin, and you made your way closer to him. You held out two fingers, mimicking your parents, and waited for him. He saw, and pulled out two gloved fingers to wrap around yours, his shaking would start to still after a few moments.
*****
        You hadn't seen Alucard in two days, his mind was taking its toll on him, and you managed to figure out the basics of his situation. His mind was sending him back to the most stressful moments of his life, the wound on his mind hasn't been stitched and is now bleeding into his daily life.
        You wanted to learn how to help people mend their minds, ranging from trauma to genetic ailments, the human mind was so vast and complicated so of course it drew you in. In doing so, you met an old vampire in Athens, she was kind and sweet- teaching philosophy and medicine to those she knew would use them appropriately.
        Alucard was depressing himself further into his mind, and you needed to help him, though helping him would need to be paced. He needs time and luckily you both have plenty of it. You made your way around the castle and found a few empty notebooks (not wrapped in human skin), a few books on meditation and spiritual awareness, and some recipe books next to fictional ones that held important meanings on self worth.
        Should you be looking through his things?
        You didn't care. He needed help.
        You then split the books into two piles, one for Alucard to journal in and write all his thoughts in and the other for you, to write tips and other important information for Alucard to read so he can understand what is going on and how he can help himself cope with his own mind. The books that helped with meditation would help him order his thoughts and understand how to calm himself in case he couldn't find an anchor, (you hoped the spiritual awareness would be a plus? Dracula had lots of books so it wouldn't hurt.), and books of things you thought he'd enjoy in general when he needed an escape.
        Once all was finished, you placed everything into a small net bag, limping your way to the kitchen, you decided the man needed something to eat. After all, food made everyone happy, right? Right. A simple dish of grilled chicken and veggies, with a side of mash potatoes and some water, you slung the bag on your shoulder and made your way to his room.
        You didn't hesitate to knock, but you made sure it was soft and non demanding, before calling his name in the same manner. You heard shuffling, but the door never opened and you never were welcomed in, but you knew you needed to intervene and help boost Alucard onto a support line.
        "I'm coming in, in a few moments, so if you need to ready yourself please do, Alucard." You heard nothing on the other end, and waiting for about two minutes with your head against the door, you pushed it opened slowly to allow yourself into the dhampires room.
*****
        When you had managed to get Alucard fed and on a routine to help himself more and more each day, he had apologized to you for the outburst, and decided that leaving you on your own when you had trouble walking was not the best idea. He was surprised you accepted his apology and brushed his actions off, deciding to help him instead, it was a reaction different than what he had expected.
        Allowing himself to be near you much more often, he opened up a bit after a week of sitting by your side, setting you into the nine circle of his mind. You peeled back the shallower layers at his pace, setting him for a more favorable way of opening his heart and mind up, and seeing how he thought and felt about everything.
        He was intriguing and intelligent, you found yourself tearing through your own heart just to open up and show him the exposed muscle, opening yourself up to him inevitably as he did to you. He felt warmth bloom in his chest that only rose up when he was in your presence, and while you helped him heal the wounds inside him, he continued to help you heal and gain your strength back physically.
        A mutually beneficial relationship is all.
        Yeah, no.
        It was a puppy love shrouded in pain and betrayal that was settled into an old wound, the bleed has now stopped, and the clotting had begun, a deep scab was there before the skin would over take it in a tough light pink blanket. There was healing when there used to be a knife digging itself deeper into the soft flesh.
*****
        "Do you plan on leaving?" His voice was soft and scared, his breath was shaky while pale arms wrapped tightly around your waist, the sheets covering the both of you blanketed the intimate scene of a boy begging for the girl to love him back- to not leave him, though he thought he deserved it, it started to become less of a thought on his mind.
        He accepted himself for what he is and what he has done.
        He knows what he wants and what he needs.
        You were on the top of both lists.
        He was being selfish, but you told him that was good, he was learning how to realize his worth in what he wants. He was still respectful of any decisions you made, but he begged everything in the universe for you to say no, no you wouldn't leave him. You wouldn't abandon him, you'd stay and love him as you do now, and for the rest of your time together.
        "Depends." You chuckled, rubbing his arms that were secured on your waist, your eyes were closed as you felt him curl around you.
        "Depends?" He mumbled into your hair.
        "Do you wish for me to stay?"
        What? Of course, he wanted you to never leave him, and he was sure he never gave the impression of being disinterested. Hell! The position you were in now speaks for itself! He sighed, realizing you were just teasing him, and settling his mind down.
        "Of course. I never want you to leave."
        "Then I never will."
        His heart had burst at the affirmation of love, a tear slipped from his eye as he smiled wide, the supernova in his soul sparked his love for you to become brighter and stronger.
        "Thank you."
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The Flame-Soaked City, Part 5
With CasCu joining them, the master triad and co. head deeper into the heart of the Fuyuki singularity. What will they uncover as they approach the source of the altered history? (I mean if you play FGO you probably know this already, but hush. We’re hyping up the mystery here!)
TW: implied body horror, villain that would hurt a child, Lev Lainur
If it’s between <triangle brackets>, that’s a mental note between masters, and if it’s between {whatever these are} it’s the viewpoint character.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
{Jeanne}
With the arrival of the new caster, we not only gained a powerful ally, but knowledge about this singularity. What started as a Holy Grail War quickly became a fight for survival as the Saber converted the other servants to her side somehow.
Spartacus was very happy to find out there was a "tyrant" taking control of the situation. If it means he will actually help us from here on out we won't fight it. The best news however is that our caster friend knows healing magic! We're so close to being able to see again!
Kat: <Hey Jeanne, why are you saying all that stuff that just happened?>
Jeanne: <Because Cris never pays attention, and we don't need them getting lost next time they front.>
Cris: <Oh come on, I'm not that bad!>
Jeanne: <Really? What is Caster's name?>
Cris: <So you were saying about our eyes getting healed?>
Cu: Alright, we're all set little lady! Let's see what we can do about those eyes of yours.
Romani: Your vitals are good on our end, Hannah. We'll probably have to do this again when you get back, but the less time spent wandering in the dark the better.
Cu: I don't need you to tell me my magic works, mage.
Marie: Go ahead with the procedure, Caster.
The runes surrounding us lit up, infusing with mana as.... nothing happened.
Cris: Oh, you have got to be shitting me.
Cu: It's quite alright, you're not the first maiden to be taken aback by my-
Cris: No jackass, I still can't see anything!
Mash: But the spell worked, senpai! Your eyes look perfectly healthy!
Cu: You wouldn't happen to be cursed, would you?
Romani: It's more likely one of two things. Either we need to heal Hannah in the present, or the problem is psychosomatic. Either way, it's not a problem we can solve now.
Jeanne: That's unfortunate, but at least we're not any worse off for trying. It gave us plenty of time for a break, at least. We should get moving towards- As we stood up to move, our foot caught a rock in the worst way, and we took a spill.
--- {Cris}
Cris: Agh, motherfuck... er...
Holy shit, I can see again! God, blasted hellscape never looked so good. Wow Mash does not look comfortable in that armor. And that old guy in blue must be caster.
Cris: Wait, were you flirting with me? You're like 40, what the hell?
Mash: This is wonderful! Thank goodness!
Marie: We might just have a chance now.
Jeanne: <Maybe switching reset something?>
Kat: <That doesn't make any sense.>
Jeanne: <I know, I am just spitballing here.>
Cu: It's a step in the right direction, but her eyesight is clearly off. I'm still plenty young.
Cris: We can argue on the way. <Jeanne, you remember which way we need to go, right?>
Jeanne: <Leave it to me. We should travel much faster now.>
---- {Jeanne}
And with that switch, we are back in darkness.
Jeanne: That is less than ideal.
Marie: What happened now?
Jeanne: Hold on, I need to test something. <Kat, do you mind?>
--- {Kat}
We can see! Everybody's starting to look a little freaked out.
Kat: <Wow, those hassans really aren't wearing much, huh? They're pretty!>
Cris: <That's enough ogling, I'm turning this body around.>
--- {Cris}
Jesus, why the hell was Spartacus standing right behind us?
Cris: <Jeanne, why are you blushing? ...God, I can't take you two anywhere.> I pull us away from the big lug and back towards the sane part of the party.
Cris: Okay, tests done. The good news is I can see. Mostly. The bad news is that while we mostly have control over when it occurs, we might go blind at random, or if I get like, surprised or highly emotional.
Marie: And how, exactly, did you figure all that out by gawking at your servants?
Kat: Intuition.
Romani: You'll have to deal with it for now. After we get you back here we can work on a more permanent solution.
After we got on the road things went pretty smooth. The skeletons were pretty much a joke now that we could see them coming, and Caster even found time to teach Mash some new tricks. We barely managed to keep Spartacus from picking a fight with that berserker that's running around. Kat chatted with Saber and the assassins (I kinda zoned out for that tbh) and eventually we reached our destination. We hadn't even entered the cave yet, and already we could feel the raw energy pouring out of the thing.
Mash: Senpai, look out!
Mash threw herself in front of us as a sword, twisted, almost to the point of being unrecognizable, embedded itself in Mash's shield.
???: Sorry, but that's as close as you'll be getting to Excalibur.
Cris: What the hell?
Cu: I was wondering when you'd show up, Archer. I see you're still Saber's faithful knight, as always.
Archer: I don't know anything about that. All I'm sure of is there's an old pain showing up again.
Cu: You lot run on ahead. I've got some personal business to take care of.
Spartacus: Let him deal with the gatekeeper, we must strike at the heart of this tyranny!
Cris: Wait wha-
Spartacus grabbed us like a sack of potatos and ran into the cave. As we were getting dragged along, the opening salvos of their duel lit up the entrance behind us.
Jeanne: Assassin! Keep a couple personas near the entrance, and let us know if we'll have to deal with Archer.
Most of the remaining Hassans peeled off from the main group. Mash and the other servants were able to easily keep up with us, though Marie had to be carried on one of the larger hassan's shoulders.
Finally our bumpy ride ended in the opening of a large room. In its center stood a crater, with a massive beam of coalescing energy running from the floor to the ceiling.
Marie: The greater grail... what's that doing in Japan?
Spartacus: Face your end, oppressor! We have come to finish your reign of-
Before he could finish his sentence, a beam of energy burst forth from near the crater. It sucked the light out of whatever it touched, and when the dust settled, less than half of Spartacus' torso fell to the ground. I took a step closer to Mash.
Saber Alter: I have no patience for fools.
A servant clad in black platemail calmly strode forth, her sword still crackling with energy. With the veins on her armor pulsating, the entire thing almost seemed alive.
Saber Alter: You there, girls. You both have an interesting noble phantasm. I would like to test them.
With no other fanfare, she rocketed forwards, and her sword met Mash's shield. Mash and Saber Lily settled into their routine again, but Mash's training was already paying off. The older saber clearly wasn't used to fights against someone who could block her sword, and Mash took advantage of that to force openings for Lily to strike.
Alter was clearly going to lose, so she disengaged and fired off another beam from her noble phantasm. Mash responded in kind, and the black energy dissipated against the shield of light.
However, Alter expected this. and was simply using the beam as cover to get in closer again. Mash never saw the kick to her side coming, and she was easily sent flying, leaving Saber Lily alone with the experienced swordswoman.
It should have been a bloodbath. It was definitely one-sided, but for some reason Alter was holding back. Lily was mercilessly beaten down to the ground, but there was the slightest bit of hesitation that grew with each attack.
Kat: <Hey Jeanne? Do the scanny thing. Trust me.>
--- {Jeanne}
Jeanne: <Okay? I don't know what you- oh.>
We could no longer see the action, but we could still feel their spirit origins. Alter's was twisted by several things, much like the shadow servants we faced up to this point, but at her core, one thing was obvious. The saber lying on the ground and the saber standing over her were the same person.
Kat: <You guys seriously didn't notice they have the same face?>
Alter: It is useless, child. I am inevitable. I am what it means to be king.
Lily: Even if that's true... even if I'll be like you one day... I'm not you now, and I won't stop fighting you here!
Lily struggled to her feet, and focused all she had left into one final attack.
Lily: Sword of Selection, grant me your power!
Alter: Vortigern, Hammer of the Vile King reverse the rising sun.
Lily: Cleave the wicked! Caliburn!
Alter: Swallow the light, Excalibur Morgan!
The energy of their swords clashed, light and dark twisting around each other before it was all unleashed in an explosion that shook the cave.
--- {Cris}
Both sabers landed heavily. Alter lands in a heap near Spartacus' body, armor cracked from the impact. On the opposite side, Lily lays still, her spirit origin already starting to come apart. Alter pulls herself to her feet.
Alter: I will make this quick.
Before she can take a step, however, a large hand grabs her foot. Spartacus' body hasn't reformed enough to move yet, but he's alive, and that's enough.
Spartacus: HAHAHAHA! Come oppressor! Break your sword against my love!
Cris: Fuck yeah! I totally knew he was okay.
Jeanne: <Are any of us good at lying?>
To her credit, she damn near tried to do exactly what he said. Saber Alter launched blow after blow into the arm hold her in place. Each swing of her sword pulling energy from the greater grail and forcing it directly into Spartacus. We took this chance to run over to Lily. Mash had finally pulled herself from the wall she got launched into and was already there.
Mash: Senpai, your orders!
Cris: Just get your shield up and be ready!
Finally, Spartacus' body had enough. The energy stored within it writhed and began to break through, covering the cave in a bright purple light. Spartacus himself never stopped laughing the entire time.
Alter, and everything else that wasn't behind Mash's shield, was devastated by the explosion. When the dust settled, Spartacus was alone, collapsed on the ground, still smiling. ---- {Kat}
Kat: Lily? Lily it's over, you did it!
Lily barely stirred, her spirit origin was falling apart.
Lily: You were right, Master... Our journey was a lot shorter than I thought.
Kat: No! No, no, just hang in there. We can go get Cu, and he can... do something, I don't know!
Lily: I know this wasn't the best place to meet, but it was fun, right?
And then she turned to dust in our hands.
----- {Cris}
Kat was completely inconsolable, so I had to take over to keep things stable.
Marie: That was unorthodox, but well done. I guess even a third-rate mage can produce first rate work when pushed. Several points are still unclear, but we can call this mission a success.
Marie: If it is any consolation, now that Saber Lily has been recorded by Chaldeas, you should have an easier time resummoning her. She won't have any memory of this place, but that'll be true of any servant you summon in Chaldea.
???: Well, well, well. I did not expect you to get this far, Master of Chaldea. You've performed well beyond our expectations. And survived beyond the limits of my patience.
The voice came from everywhere at once, a cacophony that could barely be called speaking.
Cris: <Jeanne?>
Jeanne: <I'm on it!>
--- {Jeanne}
Suddenly, it appeared, standing over the remnants Alter left behind.
Jeanne: <what is that. what is that. what is that what is that>
Kat: <Jeanne?>
Jeanne: <what is that what the fuck is that What The Fuck Is That What. Is. That.>
---- {Kat}
It was Lev. We couldn't hear what he was saying over Jeanne's... whatever was happening to her. Mash put herself between us. Marie ran straight for him. Then hellfire opened beneath her feet. Olga's voice cut through.
Marie: No! Stop! I haven't even accomplished anything yet! From the moment I was born, I've never been accepted by anyone!
And she was gone. Jeanne finally calmed down.
Lev: You fool, Romani! You haven't figured it out yet? The future isn't "missing". It's been incinerated. It, and everything else outside of Chaldeas' protection. You lost the grace of our king, and this is the natural result.
The ground beneath us began to rumble.
Lev: Ah, the singularity is collapsing already. Farewell, Romani, Mash, Candidate #48. I have many places to be.
He was gone.
Mash: Doctor, perform an emergency rayshift, now!
Romani: This will be close, I might only be able to pull one of you out.
Mash: Senpai!
Jeanne: Mash!
Romani: You're not helping!
Mash and I joined hands. The world fell apart, and everything went black.
{Cris} We came to with a start, on the floor of the command center. Already some of the hassans were leading a cleanup effort to make the place more presentable. Mash is still alive, thank God, and Romani's also here.
Romani: Good, you're awake. I'm sorry to dump so much on you already, but time is of the essence. Are you alright with a briefing right now?
Cris: I mean it's not like I'm going to feel better any time soon, let's rip the bandaid off.
Romani: The main topic: Lev was right. Human history has been incinerated. Almost no space nor time on earth has been spared, culminating in the end of time at the end of 2018. The few points that still exist are these:
With that, Chaldeas lit up with seven bright points, each one with data pouring out of it.
Romani: These seven singularities are turning points in history that have been altered to change humanity's present. Chaldea is protected from this effect for now, but that protection won't last forever. Here's what we need to do: We need to fix these singularities if we're to have any hope of saving humanity. You are our only master, and the servants you've summoned are our best bet. I know you don't have much of a choice here, but I have to ask: are you willing to do this?
Cris: Of course.
Kat: <We will.>
Jeanne: <For Marie.>
Romani: Excellent. Well then! Our object is to protect and recover human history. Our opponent is history itself. To challenge our fate is an act of blasphemy against the past itself, but this is our only chance of survival. This is now the highest and only priority of humanity: a Grand Order.
Cris: Well, Spartacus? How's that sound? A rebellion against fate itself? Spartacus simply grinned, but for the first time it seemed almost genuine.
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silver-embersss · 3 years
Text
Broken Horns and Broken Hearts Chapter 8
Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10
Tubbo had collapsed into bed only a few moments before, but the next the boy knew, he was sitting in yet another meeting, with the rest of the cabinet casting him slightly strange looks as they argued.
He internally panicked, scouring his brain for any memories of getting up, or even walking to the meeting - but there was nothing. A quick check of his timetable confirmed that he’d only lost a few hours this time, instead of two whole days, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying. Where were these sudden gaps in his memory coming from? And why was Quackity staring at him like he’d grown a second head? He shook it off as nothing, perhaps their confrontation last night.
The meeting was followed by another speech, where Schlatt announced a festival to be held in a week, the organising of which was probably going to be delegated to Tubbo on top of the rest. The teen scanned the cityline in boredom, and he was pleasantly surprised to see Wilbur duck behind a parapet. Thankfully, the ex-president couldn’t see him - specifically his horns - from where he stood next to Quackity, but he took a small step back anyway to make sure. Remembering the conversation he had with Tommy yesterday, Tubbo made a mental note to write down the ambush plans they’d discussed earlier and deliver it to the hidden chest.
The gaps in his memory became more frequent as the festival drew near, but Tubbo somehow managed to keep his act together, ignoring the strange looks he got as his horns grew and his patience diminished. The teen also ignored the way his friends talked about him behind his back, denouncing him just because of Schlatt. He simply pretended not to hear the hurt remarks about his grumpiness.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tommy slashed wildly with a stone blade, shards of granite screeching off the wall, and he heard Techno chuckle condescendingly from behind. The teen spun around in irritated tiredness to snap at his older brother.
“At least I’m preparing and not just farming fuckin’ potatoes for three hours straight, dipshit!”
The mocking smile on Techno’s face widened.
“The thing is, Tommy, I don’t need the training - you clearly do.”
“Oh, shut up. Stupid pig bastard.”
Tommy glanced worriedly upwards towards the ravine entrance, where Wilbur stood, currently fucking up his sleep schedule even more. The pig followed his gaze and raised an eyebrow, silently judging his hypocrisy, but Tommy ignored the hint and went back to attempting to massacre the granite wall. L’Mandog could look after Wilbur. They had a war to fight, and if The Blade was going to slack off, well. Then it was down to Tommy to carry their rebellion, wasn’t it?
3 bites of a baked potato later, Techno was back in his farm, both him and Tommy trying their best to pretend each other didn’t exist.
Strangely, it didn’t work.
Eventually, Tommy gave the wall a break and swapped his stone sword out for iron, strapping the bare blade to his hip.
“I’m gonna go check the notebook chest!”
The teen called to Techno, trying not to disturb Wilbur in his moonstruck reverie as he left. Despite his efforts, Tommy felt his brother’s eyes on his back as he crept through the undergrowth.
A few hasty ducks and desperate, pleading headshakes at Niki later, the teen made it to the hillside underneath the prime path that hid the chest. For a split second, he thought he saw a flash of black - Tubbo, maybe? - dash around the corner, but it was gone before he could call out to whoever it was.
A quick glance in ‘the mailbox’ (as Techno called it) revealed the notebook they'd been writing correspondences in, but thrown hastily down on its front, bending the spine. The messy placement was at odds with how it normally lay when it was Tubbo’s turn, but the teen didn’t think much of it other than a muttered curse at the dictator who was keeping his best friend busy doing everything that Schlatt should have been doing.
Tommy skimmed through the rushed explanation of the festival’s weaknesses and snapped a picture of the map Tubbo had painstakingly sketched of the proposed layout. They’d agreed not to use names in the book in case one of them was caught with it, so Tommy just scribbled ‘Thx bitch, hang in there’ on the next page and replaced the book.
For a moment, he entertained the crazy idea of abducting Tubbo so he wouldn’t have to deal with the drunken tyrant, but the thought was soon brushed off due to its impossible nature. Plus, who would be their spy then? Will tried to get in contact with Fundy, but was left on read - the fox was still seemingly bitter about losing the election, even if he did cheat.
After a wistful glance at the half-broken walls, Tommy shoved his communicator back in his pocket, took a step back and fell into a creeper hole.
“Fuck!”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
It wasn’t long until Tommy came back from the mailbox, but it was 11:30 at night, so Techno once again tried to convince Wilbur to come into the relatively warmer Pogtopia. The ex-president was mumbling a steady stream of nonsense (which was slightly concerning, to say the least) but it wasn’t exactly a strange occurrence.
“Wilbur? Will?”
No response.
“I’ll make you stew if you come in.”
Food usually got the attention of his siblings, especially Tommy, but still Wilbur ignored him. With a sigh, Techno gave up and went back to his farm, giving L’Mandog a pat on the head as he turned away. It wasn’t the best result, but at least he tried, right?
Casting his memory back, the piglin couldn’t remember Tommy eating that day either, so he pulled a cauldron on top of the campfire anyway, letting the water boil while he rummaged in the chests for some steak. Cutting the meat into small cubes, he threw it into the pot alongside some salt and half a clove of chopped garlic. While the pot simmered, Techno sat cross-legged on the ground next to it and got to peeling and chopping some of the potatoes he’d farmed, throwing the peel in a nearby bucket. It didn’t take long for Tommy to come barreling down the narrow stairs, an ecstatic look on his face as he sniffed the air.
“It’ll be ready in a bit.” Techno grunted at him, ignoring his excited yell.
“Do me a favour and get Wilbur.”
The teen raised an eyebrow at him.
“Bet you already tried.”
The piglin glared at him, and Tommy raised his hands in surrender.
“Okay okay, I’m going!”
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The festival date was set. Planning was under way. All the information had been leaked to the rebels - and yet Tubbo couldn’t help but feel he was missing something important. The feeling was so urgent, he’d checked off lists a million times and gone over everything with Quackity a million-and-one, and it still hadn’t gone away. That, combined with the memory gaps, bleeding horns, and the alcoholic president, weighed on him more heavily than he’d admit. Sleep was a rare luxury, not a necessity. Fundy took every opportunity he had to glare menacingly at him, and even the recently-released Niki kept her distance. It hurt, to be so isolated from these people he’d fought beside for months, but there was no time for moping. There was barely even time for breathing.
“Tubbo! Get me a coffee!”
“Yes, Mr. Schlatt!”
As he sped down the hall, clipboard and a stack of papers in hand, Quackity called him from outside. He set the papers down on the hallway table and stuck his head out the door.
“What?!”
Big Q motioned towards the square, where a large hole sat in the centre of the seating.
“A creeper blew up the square, can you fix it?”
“Yeah, just-” “TUBBO! COFFEE!”
The teen bit his lip and gestured awkwardly over his shoulder.
“I gotta go-”
Without waiting for a response, he dashed back to the small break area where the coffee maker was kept. He set it going before rushing to collect the stack of forms left on the table. While the coffee brewed, he read through as many as he could. This was the usual routine - multitasking, never taking more than a second’s break, trying to stay on Schlatt’s good side - and he’d gotten used to it. As Tubbo grabbed a stack of cobble from his chest, a message buzzed through his communicator. Cobble in one hand, communicator in the other, he typed a reply in snatches, mostly looking forward as he hurried towards the creeper hole.
TommyInnit whispered to you: Tubso
You whispered to TommyInnit: What?
TommyInnit whispered to you: I need you
He sighed angrily.
You whispered to TommyInnit: tf do you want???? m busy!!!!!
TommyInnit whispered to you: is schlatt being a dick again? We need more info on the festical
You whispered to TommyInnit: well im actually doing stuf unlike some ppl!!!!! TommyInnit whispered to you: ???? u good?
You whispered to TommyInnit: lok i dont have the time!! get yor own fuckin informton!
Another message pinged through but Tubbo ignored it, shoving the little black box back in his pocket and continuing with his tasks. The next thing he knew, it was the middle of the night, moonlight streaming through the window of his room. A slight jolt of nausea accompanied the sudden change in his surroundings, but the teen shrugged it off. It was routine, after all. It was a struggle to pull his pyjama top over his head, as his horns grew bigger every day. Surely they’ll stop growing at some point. The sharp points protruded about a centimetre past his chin, and were a lot thicker than before. Succumbing to his exhaustion, Tubbo let out an ear-shattering yawn and fell into bed, digging his nails into the itchy skin around the base of the horns. A jolt of pain made him yelp, and something warm trickled down his hand.
Blood.
Note to self: Invest in bandages for these things!
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crowsent · 3 years
Text
AUgust 2020: Angels & Demons
Challenge given by @augustwritingchallenge
Summary: Goro won’t ever get justice. Vengeance, though... Vengeance Goro could get.
“Don’t you want vengeance, Goro Akechi?” A hand shot out from the darkness. "I can offer you vengeance. All I ask is possession of your immortal soul."
Pairing: N/A can be interpreted as ShuAke
Characters: Goro Akechi, Joker (Akira Kurusu/Ren Amamiya)
Word Count: 2305
CW: N/A
Notes: the tumblr version is unformatted. for that reason, i highly recommend you to read the ao3 version instead so yall get that sweet sweet tone difference.
i didnt include the “angel” part of the angels & demons but you know. potato potahto. also, big thanks to @yusuke-of-valla​ for giving me an AMAZING prompt. hope i did it justice
AO3 Link: HERE
=
She was buried quietly, without fanfare and without mourners. Goro remembered staying at her grave hours after sunset, clutching the single flower he brought for her between his fingers so tightly it had crushed the leaves and petals and stem into a mangled mess.
The sky was a dark inky blot by the time a woman with tightly bunned hair and a blue and white striped uniform came for him and said that since his last living relative was six feet underground, Goro would be put into foster care. Dark clouds swirled over the horizon, flanking the boom of oncoming thunder. Goro wanted to tell her that he had a living relative still, a piece of trash masquerading as a man. Shido. Masayoshi Shido.
But who’d believe a dirty bastard child over the nation’s darling upstanding politician? The son of a whore with not a single yen to his name against a “respectable” and reliable Masayoshi fucking Shido. Even as a child, Goro understood that he won’t get his justice. This biased, pathetic excuse of a system won’t ever give him his justice. He followed that woman into an orphanage and let the years pass being shuffled from place to place. No roots. No friends. No bonds. Just a pebble thrown into sea, meant to be swallowed and spat back out again.
Goro won’t get justice. Justice for the years he suffered unwanted, unneeded, and unloved. He won’t get justice for his mother whose only mistake was being too kind and loving something that deserved no love at all. Justice for the society that looked at his face and deemed him unworthy to be saved and left him to drown.
Goro won’t ever get justice.
“But I can give you vengeance.”
Vengeance.
That word, over and over again in his dreams, a promise, a vow, an offer and an absolution. Goro didn’t know when it started, exactly. All he knew is that at some point in the blur of his adolescence, a voice started calling out to him in his dreams. Hands with black-painted nails, perfectly manicured, beckoning him into the depth of an endless void. Pointed horns and red eyes. A smile and the glint of shiny teeth. And in his mind, the voice would ring out, “Vengeance. Vengeance. Vengeance.”
Justice is for children. Wide-eyed children with petty idealism and a gross misunderstanding of how the world works, of how cruel the world is, of how unwanted and unneeded and un-special they were. Vengeance, though… Vengeance for his mother’s life ruined by the selfish ego of one man undeserving of every breath he deigned to steal, his cruelty, his blatant disregard for the one thing that Goro had in this sham of a life. Vengeance for Goro. Vengeance to quell the pit of hatred and despair and the thrashing of wild listlessness and chaos.
Vengeance, Goro could get.
“Don’t you want Vengeance, Goro Akechi?” asked the voice in his dreams. “Son of a whore and a bastard child. You are playing an unjust game in a world that will never deliver justice.” A hand shot out from the darkness. Pale skin. Dark nails. And past that, further in, gleaming eyes. Blood red. Inhuman. “I can offer you vengeance. I can offer you Masayoshi Shido’s head on a pike, his legacy tarnished, the vision of Japan he was willing to burn the world down for handed to you on a silver platter.”
And in his dreams, Goro always refused. Denied and rejected and lashed out with violent words and the hurl of his fists that only ever seemed to pass through smoke. Even in his dreams, he was taunted. Taunted with something he can never truly have.
That time though, that night, on the eighth anniversary of the day of his mother’s death, on the day Goro stood alone over her grave crushing a delicate flower in his murderous, loveless hands, the creature lurking in Goro’s head won.
In that dream, Goro had reached out back into the darkness, hands shaking as he hesitated mere inches from the flawless hand beckoning him into a mad abyss. “And you’d want something in return, I presume?”
There was almost a chuckle in response to that. “But of course,” said the creature. Horns flashed for a brief moment, sharp and black and angled forward. Flames seemed to lick up the creature’s smile. “All I ask is possession of your immortal soul, Goro Akechi. Give that to me upon your death, and you will have all that you want and more.”
A soul. A soul to finally see Shido fall. To see his pathetic excuse for a father finally get his just desserts. A soul to get the justice -the vengeance- for his mother, for himself. Goro leaned forward, let his bony half-starved hand grasp the one shrouded in darkness, and spoke:
“You have yourself a deal.”
Because really. His soul was dirty, broken, and worth less than the mud on his shirt.
If that’s what he had to give, then he’d give it. Gladly. A hundred, a thousand, a million times over.
The figure in the darkness of his dreams grasped his hand, grasped it tightly, too tightly, until it began to hurt but Goro held on. Then the hand shaked his, slowly, deliberately, and a burning searing pain followed. Not in Goro’s hand but further in, his chest, his head, his heart. His soul. It burned and burned and burned a searing pain, like something was peeling his skin away bit by agonising bit. Still Goro held on.
“Stubborn,” chuckled the voice in Goro’s dream. The hand receded, the pain faded, until all that Goro was left with was darkness and the piercing red eyes. “We will get along well, Goro Akechi.”
The eyes vanished and left behind an echo.
“You may call me Joker.”
Goro woke up.
He was not a child, not a teenager fraught with dreams of deals and vengeance and darkness. He was Goro Akechi, a respected detective fresh out of the academy, praise and accolades and connections to his name. Loved by the common folk for his humble beginnings, an orphan who had to work and bleed and sweat to claw his way into the upper echelons of society, a beacon of hope that maybe they too can make their way up the ladder. Loved by the elite for his charm and wit and charisma, his flawless manners, his cadence, his posture, his mask. One of his masks.
It took years. Years longer than what Goro would have wanted, years longer than what Goro could have been patient with, but at last, he could begin the endeavor that kept him going through years. Bring down Shido. More than a quick death. More than humiliation. More than anything Goro himself could have thought of.
The thing that Masayoshi Shido valued most. Himself. His reputation. His power. His legacy. His control. Brick by fucking brick, Goro would tear it all down. Watch the ruins burn in ashes. Have Shido’s name cursed for years, for generations, for future historians to come. Have the entirety of this nation sneer at the mere mention of his name.
All it took was a soul.
The best damn thing Goro’s soul could ever be worth, honestly.
“I can do many things, Goro, but even I can’t delay a dedicated media crew,” came a voice in his head. Familiar, after years of hearing it. Joker stood at the doorway, insouciant, relaxed, leaning against the frame of Goro’s bedroom door with that irritating nigh-permanent smirk on his face.
He looked human now, which was probably the most unsettling thing about him. No horns. No face wreathed in fire. No clawed hands, no tail, no wings. Joker’s red eyes were a very human black, framed with glasses that made him look innocent and harmless when he was anything but. “Out of bed Goro.” Really, the only thing that belied Joker’s true nature was his smile. The glint of canines just a bit too sharp to be human, visible for only a breath before vanishing once again into this perfect veneer. A mask. “The new Detective Prince can’t be late for his own interview, Goro. Out of bed.”
The pillows were soft, the mattress inviting, the window positioned just so to let the right amount of sunlight in. Ultimately simple, so that when reporters and paparazzi invaded what little semblance of privacy he had left, all they’d see was a humble man living a humble life. The image Goro wanted to cultivate, that Joker advised him to cultivate. The perfect mask.
With a heavy sigh, Goro dragged himself back to the realm of the conscious with a false smile, practised so often it reached his eyes, crinkled them at the edges and lit them up how a real smile would. It was terrifying how he didn’t even have to think about it, how it was as easy as breathing. “My interview isn’t until after noon.” Goro can’t quite remember the last time he smiled genuinely. It was terrifying that Goro didn’t care. And though sleep clung to him still, Goro sat straight-backed, knees slung over his bed and crossed at the ankle. An image. A mask.
Joker gave him a smile. Well, it wasn’t entirely a smile. There was joy in it, sure, and more than a little excitement, but Goro had never quite seen another human being give that look. One of hedonistic greed not for power or wealth but for thrill, chasing something that can’t be caught and loving every second anyway. A dangerous thing, an incorporeal thing, an emotion or an experience or just the mere imaginings of something too alien for Goro to grasp.
“It isn’t. But wouldn’t you want to witness the death of the IT President that eats from Shido’s hand like a loyal dog?”
But then again, Joker wasn’t human.
For all Goro knew, this look was how creatures like Joker smiled. If they could even smile. If Goro could even smile. His camera-ready expression slipped into something other at the news. Lips stretched wide, teeth bared. It might have been a smile. It might have been him imitating the expression Joker’s face. It might have been simply Goro, delighted to know that the crumbling of Shido’s empire had already begun. Sadistic and feral and removed.
“I thought you said that Shido shouldn’t die,” said Goro conversationally, in the same tone one might discuss the weather. Despite how still and steady his voice was, he could not hide the excited tremor that ran through his body, the thrill of seeing his dream finally begin to take root and bloom into an ugly thorny rose.
If Joker noticed, he did not say. “True. I said Shido shouldn’t die. But I said nothing of the men working under him.” Goro was on his feet. Wordlessly, Joker handed him a simple summer outfit, a coat, his gloves. “The ultimate suffering for Shido is a life without power, without influence. A long life of being less than nothing. His subordinates though?”
“Weapons,” said Goro as he dressed himself. To be used against Shido. To have their lives be the sword and the bullets and the gun. To have their deaths be a wound.
For a split second, Goro could have sworn that flames erupted in Joker’s eyes. But when he blinked, it was gone, and Joker was laughing.“Right you are, Goro. They’re casualties in the war. Trash. Tools that have outlived their usefulness.” Joker led Goro out the bedroom, into the hall. Handed him a cup of coffee and a sandwich. “A threat to Shido perhaps?” Joker paused his stride just long enough to look into Goro’s eyes. “Maybe our IT President found something about Shido that he shouldn’t have.” They did not stop in the dining room for Goro’s breakfast.
“Did he?”
“Does it matter?” Joker asked.
“It doesn’t.”
Joker chuckled. The hallway light flickered with each breath and the shadows curled at his ankle. “We’ll create a story, Goro. The president dies from some… unseen force and you’re simply the good samaritan who wanted to help. You’ll get closer to the public, you get an in with Shido, and you get to watch the fall from inside the ivory tower.”
Goro took a sip of his coffee. Roasted to perfection. “And you will get my soul.”
They passed by the floor mirror in the living room. Joker’s reflection was not that of a man with fluffy black hair and a dark button-up. It was shadow and flame and a creature with horns and black-clawed hands. “And I will get your soul. But only after you watch Shido get dragged through something worse than hell. Such is the terms of our deal.”
All for the price of Goro’s soul.
“Well,” Goro smiled, sharp and fake and utterly convincing, “I suppose I’ll take my morning walk. I have an interview coming up, after all. I should clear my head.”
Joker laughed. Deep, hungry, triumphant. He vanished into black smoke and receded into the dark corners of the house just as Goro opened the door. He wasn’t gone though, not really. There was a fire in Goro’s chest, painful and freeing and damning all at once. A brand of malediction and a stain on the soul he already sold.
And when Goro saw a brown-haired man in nice clothes with a laptop bag slung over his shoulder suddenly collapse in the middle of the street, grasping his throat for invisible hands that slowly strangled life out, he heard Joker’s voice in his head again. Loud, clear, and malicious.
Vengeance.
Vengeance.
Vengeance.
Goro dropped his coffee and his breakfast and rushed forward, putting on a mask that fit far too well on his face. “Are you alright sir!?”
Vengeance.
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duckachu · 3 years
Text
Quackity trembles when he uses the shears.
warnings: general dark themes and content, graphic depictions of violence, torture, manipulation, toxic relationships, abuse, starvation, mental illness/deterioration, gore, (not permanent) death, trauma, blood
Quackity trembles when he uses the shears, even more when he hefts up the axe in his hands to bring it down on Dream’s leg. He’s not a warrior, never has been, but this is different, he thinks as he carves lines down Dream’s arm. This is nothing like war, like Pogtopia tearing through the land or L’Manburg burning into the ground. This is Schlatt, staring at him with a dark gleam in his eye and his words slurring together like honey. This is Wilbur Soot, stepping down from presidency with gunpowder clinging to his fingertips. This is him, gesturing Technoblade to his non-demise, anvil anchored over his head as they read out his charges, guilty until proven innocent. 
Dream screams, and the blood splatters across Quackity’s once-pristine white shirt, and Quackity’s scar aches.
There’s a pause, no sound in the jail cell besides both of their pants, Dream’s of pain, Quackity’s of something he doesn’t dare examine.
Dream is the first to break his silence. “This,” he says, and his voice cracks before he clears it with a painful cough, “this means nothing, you know. You have no leverage on me, and you don’t have the guts to kill me.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Quackity says. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m not stupid, Dream. Not like you.”
Dream coughs again. “You won’t break me,” he says. “I’ve had worse.”
Quackity stares down at him, at the single eye peeking through Dream’s mask, glaring and tired and pained at once. Resolute. “No,” he says, holding up the shears again. “You haven’t.”
-
The axe has always been Dream’s weapon, always carried by his side. Nightmare, he had called it, and they had laughed and said that nothing was more nightmarish than Dream himself. 
There’s blood pouring from Dream’s shoulder where Quackity had sawed at it with the axe’s sharp end painstakingly. It would’ve been faster to use the sword, but that wasn’t the point, was it? Dream had screamed the whole way through, as the axe swung over and over. Quackity holds it in his hands, his knuckles pale where he grips it. When he had walked in that day, Dream was ready for him, a taunt on his tongue, the word “Schlatt” slipping off his tongue like oil before Quackity had hefted the axe and brought it down to silence him. There was little silence, after. 
“I didn’t think you were the type to resort to this,” Dream had said during a lull, his voice muffled by the blood that had bubbled up in his throat. 
“You don’t know me,” Quackity had replied, taken a deep breath, and lifted the axe again.
“Tell me,” Quackity says now, the sound of the elder guardians ringing in his ears. “Tell me what’s in that book.” 
Dream’s eye peers from the crack in his mask, bright and shining. Quackity wants to smack the mask off his face, but he likes to tell himself he still has an ounce of dignity, even if that dignity is rotting and broken and shredded to pieces. 
“You’re playing a losing game,” Dream rasps, voice hoarse from screaming. “This is a gamble you can’t win, Quackity.” 
“Shut the fuck up,” Quackity says. “You lost your gamble, and that’s why you’re in here. Because you failed.” His arm twinges a little from the strain of holding up the weapon for so long. He wasn’t made for this. He doesn’t care.
“I’m still alive,” Dream says, a little desperate and a lot vindictive. “I didn’t fail. In fact - in fact I have more power now than I ever did, Quackity. I control life - life and death itself.” His words grow more frantic as he speaks, like water boiling over, and he coughs again before he grins, teeth stained and lips cracking. “I’m a god.”  
“You did fail,” Quackity says. “You did and you’re too much of a coward to admit it. Look at you, Dream. You’re not a god, and you know why?”
Dream’s throat crunches underneath the weight of the axe, red spilling out over the glassy obsidian. He doesn’t scream this time as Quackity leans in close, scarred eye staring at scarred eye. 
“Gods don’t bleed.”
-
Quackity stops bringing things to clean the sword’s edge off in between sessions, because he’s found that it’s rustier when the metal is stained, it hurts more, and there’s a sickening sense of satisfaction as he watches blood splatter on blood splatter on blood. If he peeled back the layers he could find a memory of every visit. 
Dream doesn’t do much anymore when Quackity walks in. At first, he had been ready with a taunt or a jab, designed to hurt, mentions of Sapnap and George and Karl and Schlatt and Wilbur and - Once, and only once, had Dream greeted Quackity with a plea for mercy. That was the time Quackity had brought cobwebs with him, catching Dream and watching him squirm, unable to move as Quackity cut deeper. 
Now, he just stares when the lava falls behind Quackity again, the heat searing at his back. Silent, glaring. Ever the monster that he is. 
He’s even stopped screaming as much, though Quackity doesn’t know if that’s the countless times that Quackity has cut his throat, leaving it to heal only by respawn. Even then, respawn doesn’t stitch up all wounds. Quackity’s missing teeth and aching eye is testament to that. 
The only time that he talks is after, while Quackity catches his breath and waits for Sam to bring him back out and Dream, bloodied and broken, often fresh off another respawn, lays in the corner of his prison cell, too tired and too weak to even get up. 
“Schlatt was right,” Dream says, biting and bitter, voice like ragged sandpaper. “You deserve everything he ever did to you, and worse. Not even Schlatt resorted this low.” 
“Shut up,” Quackity says through gritted teeth. He can hear Schlatt’s voice in his ear every time he starts the slots up again, can smell his alcohol rotten breath when he wakes up in the middle of the night in a desperate sweat. “Shut up,” he says again. “You don’t get to say that to me. How long did you play with Tommy again? Or, sorry, is the past tense too strong?” 
Dream smiles under his mask, the first time since Quackity’s started visiting. It feels vile, looks vile, and somewhere in the back of Quackity’s mind, in a place he hasn’t managed to stomp out no matter how hard he’s tried, he wonders if this is how Tommy felt.
“You’re playing now too,” Dream points out. “What is this, another game to get Schlatt back? Spin the wheel, putting all your chips in on torture until the dice rolls in your favor?” The eye that Quackity can see burns bright, and even with his arm shattered from one rough blow and his leg a mangled mess of blood and bone, his words slip out like toxins, like poison sinking under Quackity’s skin. 
Quackity doesn’t have the strength to lift his sword again. He’s not Dream, not Technoblade, not born and raised a warrior since birth. He’s only ever held a weapon if he had to. All he has now are his own words, and those he knows have little power. The only universal language is violence. Violence, and blood, and subjugation. 
He tucks his sword away, not minding it flicking blood over his face as he does so, walks closer to Dream.
Dream doesn’t react, doesn’t even flinch, only shuts his eyes as Quackity, always shorter and weaker but now far more powerful, closes his hands around Dream’s throat. Digs his thumbs in deeper.
-
In a twist of inspiration, Quackity brings a bow and arrows. Sam gives him a questioning look when Quackity hands them over, but doesn’t say anything, only lets him through as he always does, resigned and exhausted and guilty. Quackity pins Dream to the wall like a butterfly, watches as he tries to move but can’t, slumping instead, quiet. Quackity had put an arrow through his throat sometime during the beginning.
Quackity tires out faster, somehow, his shoulder twinging at the strain, and he wonders what would happen if he left Dream right now. Would he still be there when Quackity came back tomorrow, spared from the relief of respawn? 
Quackity sighs and goes to retrieve the arrows. Wouldn’t do to have Dream have them, even if he wouldn’t be able to do much with them. 
Dream crumbles to the floor in a heap of bone and skin. He’s thin from starvation, the potatoes that Quackity knows Sam has been dropping in through a machine left untouched. Even if he did manage to escape now, Quackity isn’t sure how far he would manage to get before he was brought back or killed a final time. Hell, a random zombie could probably take him out now. 
Quackity wrenches the arrow out from Dream’s throat. “Tell me what the book says,” he demands, and the thought strikes him that he hasn’t asked for that in a long time. Weeks, maybe. He brushes the thought aside to lift Dream’s head up by his hair, watches achingly as his throat slowly stitches back together. 
It’s like a shadow is talking when Dream speaks. A shadow of a shadow. Even less, but his voice rings out in Quackity’s head loud and clear as the gongs of the elder guardians: “Whatever the monster I am, you’re one and the same.” 
Quackity lets go of Dream’s hair and backs away. “You -” he says. “You’re a coward. Even here, with nothing in your possession and the entire fucking world against you, all you can do is lie and lie and hope that one of your lies is pretty enough to people to take pity on you.” 
“Maybe,” Dream says, voice muffled. “But you’re here too.” 
Quackity’s arm shakes. The left side of his face feels numb. He can feel the pickaxe tearing through his face like it was nothing. 
“Sam,” Quackity says, then repeats, louder, “Sam!”
The lava wall comes down a moment later, and Quackity retreats back onto the platform. 
“Fuck you,” Quackity says. “Fuck you and I’d say go to hell if that weren’t too good for you.” 
Dream says nothing more. 
-
Quackity brings the shears again. He hasn’t since the first time, because Dream had tried to wrestle it away from him before he’d found the extent of his dwindling strength, but now Quackity knows that Dream knows better than to try.
For this, he has to be close to Dream. Nothing like the impersonality of the sword or axe or bow or crossbow or kicking Dream into the lava to watch him burn. The shears are precise, and require a delicate hand. 
“The book,” Quackity says, and the words feel somehow foreign on his tongue. 
Dream stays silent. 
“The book,” Quackity repeats. 
There’s no delight in this. At the beginning, Quackity would relish every scream of pain, every shudder and biting comment, but now it’s as much a chore as another. Quackity’s Sisyphus, and Dream is his boulder, a burden that he pushes and shoves all the way up the mountain each day only for his strength to give out at the end and the rock to roll back down to the bottom, doomed to start again each day. 
Violence begets violence begets violence, Quackity thinks in a moment of clarity, and thinks of Dream at the beginning, in his netherite armor, following George around like a puppy, Dream watching as explosions filled the sky and a country burned to ash. Thinks of himself, in a clean pressed suit, waiting for the election results to come in, himself hunting down Technoblade for execution. Blood on his tongue, blood on his hands. 
Quackity’s hand is steady as he slices, and he doesn’t tremble.
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rebelredeyes · 4 years
Text
Doc and Lion: I was wrong about you.
Heads up before we begin. There is a lot of dark themes (Suicidal thoughts, bullying) in here so read at your own risk. Also this is sort of unedited and written in one sitting. Please enjoy.
Lion had been injured in the last terrorist attack as he favored one side of him. It wasn't life threatening though as he passed the medical bay despite every step feeling like hell. He got dirty looks from most people as he moved on by. His team had nearly failed as the hostage had been shot and he got the blame by default. That's when Thatcher showed up. 
"Heard you fucked up yet another operation. Sometimes I wonder why Six keeps you around. Probably for entertainment, that or you look so good on your knees" he jeered as Lion snarled. He wasn't in the mood for this as he tried to move forward but Thatcher stopped him. 
"Oi mate, I am not done talking to you." he began as Lion hissed back. 
"Fuck off" 
"What did you say to me?" Thatcher said as his hand hung near his knife when Lion snatched it up and slammed into the next to Thatcher's head. 
"I said fuck off or are you going deaf. Might want to see Doc over that. Good day." Lion growled out not caring who saw this as he stormed off. No one stopping him as he entered his room to see graffiti pver the walls again. He just turned to the bathroom to see the mirror shattered on the floor and his medication poured out in the toilet.
Lion fought back tears as he entered the mess to fix his side. He had trouble without the full mirror as he used a shard to see. His hands trembling from the pain as he bite back his cries. He then settled down for the evening after discarding his blood clothing and wrapping his horrible stitching job with an old sheet. He then laid down as he tried to get some rest without his medication. He barely got any. 
The following morning, he was hoping for some time off to let his side heal like his other wounds had in the past, but soon he saw that he was scheduled for a bunch of mock up hostage rescues. He hid his displeasure along with the sharp pain of moving till that afternoon when Caveria kicked his stitches. 
Lion crumbled like a sack of potatoes as she backed off. Him soon seeing why as his side grew red. Caveria instant calling a pause as Lion forced himself up. The PA system ordering his to the medical bay as Lion swore under his breath. All eyes staring at him as he stalked off as he heard whispering after him for being stupid or not speaking up. 
He then slammed the door open to the medical bay as Doc waited looking disapproving at him. Lion biting back a scowl as he removed his gear loudly as Doc clenched his clipboard. Him pissed about dealing with Lion after yesterday's news of him getting the hostage hurt. 
"Could you please be more considerate to other patients please." Doc finally snapped as Lion finished. 
"Too late. Already done." he snapped back as he turned to see Doc's eyes flash with rage. 
Doc could see the horrible stitches from where he stood, but came closer as he couldn't believe Lion did that horrible of a job. He was surprised none of the stitches had popped or torn as he assessed the extent of damage. A moderate flesh wound, which he should of seen. Doc growing more enraged as he knew Lion knew this too. 
"You are fucken stupid as I thought. You should have came here for me to do this. I have seen 6 year olds do better than this" Doc lectured as Lion clenched his fists tight. He knew Doc was baiting him, but he responded regardless. 
"Funny. Last time I tried, you threw a bedpan at me and said do it myself."Lion shot back, grumbling in" Kind of hard to do it yourself without a good mirror or anything to keep the pain down too. "
"Suck it up. I had bigger things to worry about that day." Doc snapped "And what about a mirror. You have one is your fucken bathroom" 
Lion jerked away from Doc fully as he felt his anger grow along with his anxiety. His back knocking over a tray of tools onto the floor as Doc yelled at him for it. Lion snarled something back before Doc straight up punched him. 
Lion's eyes water as his nose hurt as blood  ran down his face onto the floor. He heard Doc's heavy breathing  as the man seemed to realize what he had done. His fist still raised and ready for another blow as blood laid spackled on the latex glove while his other hand held Lion's shirt.
Lion then roughly pushed Doc away from him as he began to swiftly walk to the door. That's when he heard Doc stammer for a moment before getting out, 
"Lion, wait. I'm…" Lion cut him off. 
"What you're sorry. Go fuck yourself with your apologies. The damages are already done, besides.. . I quit." Lion spat out as he shook. 
" Lion you don't mean.. " Doc began as Lion roared out 
"You don't know that. You don't even fucken notice what the others are doing or saying. Ever since you showed signs you didn't like me and then told them why you didn't, they have treated me like shit. Just go in my fucken room for proof if you don't believe me. Heh. " Lion took a breath before looking at Doc with tear filled eyes as uttered "And you call me a real piece of work" 
Lion then stormed out as he grabbed a resignation form. He just wrote in blood: I QUIT! - LION. before slamming it into a recruits chest as he exited the building. Him not stopping for anyone as he shook worse. Lion then broke into a sprint, ignoring the pain in his side as he ran from the military base to the city streets. No one followed. 
Doc was left shaken after what Lion had said to him. He was still in shock he had even punched the man. It didn't even feel like what he had expected it to be. It felt wrong as he stared at the blood. He quickly peeled them off and threw them away before storming out towards Lion's room. The base is slight commotion it seemed as he got to the door. 
Doc drew in a deep breath and pushed the door open to see the graffiti over the walls, even the ceiling. All things he had muttered under his breath at Lion when Lion had erked him. He then took a step inside, flicking the lights on but only one bulb came on. It's light was dim as Doc made his way to the bathroom, seeing the bloody clothing on the floor. 
He then saw the broken mirror glass on the ground and empty pill bottles near the toilet. Peering in he saw the remains of dissolved pills. Him instantly checking the labels which left him breathless in tears. Antidepressants and anxiety pills of different doses for good and bad days. Plus one was a sleep aid. 
Doc then stood up and stumbled from the bathroom to the main room as he saw a picture torn up on the ground. It was of Lion's son. He was appalled that anyone could have done that. Even he knew that Lion thought the world of his son. Doc quickly grabbed up the pieces and rushed back to the medical bay. Also ignoring everyone else. 
Meanwhile, Lion had holed himself up in a hotel room with a couple of old friends. Whiskey and moonshine. Two sins he never thought would kiss his lips again, but before that; Lion called his ex. 
She sounded concerned as Lion told her that he'll be fine and asked for his son. He talked a bit and mostly listened to his kid's school day. Savoring it as much as he could before the kid had to go to dinner. Lion then told his son goodbye and to give his ex a hug for him before the receiver clicked. Lion then broke open the whiskey bottle and drank greedy. Doc had finished piecing the photo together seeing it was a family picture that included Lion with his son’s mother and stepfather. They all were smiling together as Doc realized ever since Lion arrived to Rainbow Six, he hadn’t smiled once. Especially after meeting Doc and himself jerking his hand away from Lion. He then realized how many times Lion had tried to mend the bridge between them and as Doc shoved him farther away, so did everyone else. That’s when the door opened to IQ who seemed nervous.
“IQ? What is it?” Doc asked half concerned as she looked away nervously. Doc got up, pocketing the picture, and came closer asking the same question. This time, IQ answered.
“We are holding a party in the rec. Room. Thought you would like to join.” She said as Tachanka staggered over, clearly drunk, adding.
“It’s for you. Finally getting rid of the yellow problem.” “What?” Doc inquired, holding that didn’t hold what was implied as IQ responded with,
“He’s talking about Lion resigning from Rainbow Six. He quit in quite a fashion.” “Wrote: I Quit, on a resignation form in blood then bolted from site. Must of wounded his pride finally Doc?” Tachanka slurred out, hugging IQ close to him in joy.
“No.” Doc breathed out in disbelief. He had caused this and to see his teammates partying at someone’s departure. It felt as if that one white mask had stabbed him again. Him remembered Lion screaming to stay with him, holding him, apologizing for not being quick enough again like with… with…. A hand on his shoulder suddenly pulled him from his thoughts as IQ looked worried.
“Doc, What’s the matter? We thought you would be happy? He’s been a pain in your ass since he arrived. Always pestering you. Bringing up sore subjects. Sulking like a child when you point out his stupid mistakes over and over again.” IQ stated as Tachanka praised a here, here which Smoke responded too further down the hall. Doc just shook his head, angry at himself. For all his smarts, skill and compassion; he was a blind fool to think Lion was ever trying to provoke him. He then remembered Lion throwing it in his face that this wasn’t the first time he had stitched himself up, alone, in a trashed room. Doc should've noticed the man’s unhappiness growing. He had noted less of Lion’s presence in high traffic area and only located him in more hidden areas of the base. Lion had started eating less, seemed less rested and began tripping up more on missions; if that was even the case. Doc remembered his medical file mention depression,but never confirmed it. He then realized the more he pushed Lion away, the more loner Lion got. Doc then felt hot tears running down his face.
IQ looked confused as Tachanka tried to grab him, but Doc quickly bolted away and out a side door. Him running through the halls, into the outside world as he quickly left site. He didn’t know where he was running to, but all he knew was that he had to find Lion. His mind scrambling to think like Lion might as he ran into the city street, nearly getting hit by a car before he made it to the next sidewalk.
Lion now sat on the bathtub ledge, looking at his side. He couldn’t feel it anymore as his mind swam. Doc’s words over the stitch job echoing in his head. They stung the worst as Lion knew Doc to be the most compassionate man he ever met. Willing to do whatever it took to save everyone, even at the cost of himself. A humanitarian or so he believed. Yet when it came to him, all Doc ever seemed to do was tear him down over one stupid event. Even he hated himself for it, because if he had just been quick enough; it never would of happened.
Doc would have never had to see his best friend shoot herself to escape a long and agonizing death. If he had gotten to the containment room in time, but he was so worried about keeping quarantine from a survivable virus; he let 16 other people died from an incurable one. He could recall all their names by heart. All those years, he wished he go back in time and change it or at least make the only causality himself. Lion then torn out the stitches, not wanting to feel this pain anymore. His screams echoing the building.
Doc was growing desperate, knowing Lion couldn’t have made it far as he saw an ambulance rush by and turn quickly into a hotel parking lot. Doc then booked it, running inside, hearing the room numbers he needed and rushed up the flight of stairs to a hallway filled with people. They all were looking at a single door almost in fear as Doc rushed to it and broke it down within a minute. Him ordering people to stay out of the room.
Lion just laid on the floor, bleeding as he shook from adrenaline. The bottle clinking against his teeth as he gulped down the clear liquid. The liquid burned his mouth as he hiccuped a bit. He then heard the door break down and swear he heard Doc yelling before a blurred figure rushed in, yelling his actual name. Lion hiccuped again, as the figure appeared in the doorway of the bathroom looking like he had just been in a hurricane.
“Doc?” Lion slurred out in disbelief before laughing which turned to soft sobs, “I must of died and gone to hell if you’re here… Of course the devil would make himself look like you. Make my hell look like the place where I killed myself. To remind me of my failure as a believer. Well what are you waiting for Satan, just get on with it already. Not like you could top what I been through already.” Doc felt his heart drop at the sight of Lion and just hearing the man say that hurt so much as he stepped into the bathroom. Doc carefully lowered himself down and saw the pool of blood on the floor as he heard the EMTS arrive. He hollered for them ashe grabbed up a towel and began to apply pressure to Lion’s side. The no response causing Doc to freeze for the first time in a while as an EMT took over what he was doing. Him only moving away to not hinder their job as he silently panicked to the side.
Lion was hospitalized as Doc stayed with him. He knew part of this was his fault, as Six came in to talk to him in private. Doc explaining everything as Six chewed his ass from the high heaven to the depths of Hell. Many operators if not all, recieved the same treatment as Lion was spared it. Six still scoulding him harshly, and telling him if he really wanted to quit; sign the forms properly. Doc’s chest tightening when he saw Lion doing just that as he rushed in, snathcing the papers away.
“The hell Doc? Hand me those back. I said I quit.” Lion snarled reaching for them  as he shift to get up.
“No, and stay in bed. You need to rest.” Doc said as pushed Lion firmly back down as Lion just curled over on his side, refusing to look at Doc.
“Fine, I will just ask Six for another one.” Lion said, rather tired as Doc felt his anger swell up again, but instead of going off; Doc muttered out.
“I’m sorry Lion, I was wrong about you. You came to Rainbow Six, knowing I was here and hoping to mend our past. All I ever did was shut you out and mark you as a target for the others to pick on. I was so stupid and blinded by my own rage and hatried, that I forgot you were a human being too. I even ignored the signs that something was wrong, knowing you wouldn’t say a word about it… I…” Doc didn’t know what else to say as he read Lion’s reason for resigning I’m just a burden to the team. You’re better off without me. Doc then just placed the papers back on Lion’s bed as he began to walk out. He only stopped when he heard Lion’s voice call his name.
“Hey Doc, want to know the worst thing in all of this. Heh. I still forgive you. I still forgive you despite you making me not want to exist.” Lion said as his voice cracked with soft sobs and off laughter. Doc took a step to leave, but stopped and returned to Lion’s bed side. Doc sitting down in a chair next to the bed as he stared at the wall while the heart monitor beeped steadily.
“I know this is a long stretch Lion, but could we start over. Please. I know I fucked up and blamed you for shit that makes perfect sense. That I have been hypocritical with you and frankly unfair in treatment, but I just want a chance to make things right. Like you did.” Doc pleaded “I understand if you..”
“Okay… Just give me a few days? I need some space to think and regroup myself, because of…. Well, you know.” Lion said trying to stop crying as Doc nodded.
“I”ll take care of them for you. Just let me know who and… heh.” Doc replied as Lion chuckled before gasping in pain. Him waving Doc off as he moved back to his side.
“Not very humanitarian of you.” Lion teased softly as he tried to focus on breath as Doc chuckled.
“I learned that sometimes you need a firm hand to deal with certain dilemmas” Doc hissed back as Lion asked playfully
“Who taught you that?” “The very best.” Doc said, adding in “You” Lion suddenly smiled as Doc rumbled with laughter as he got up and said goodbye. Lion handing him the resignation forms to be burnt as Doc nodded and left. Lion then sighed, knowing it was going to be hard to come back after this but hoped Doc meant what he had said. Lion soon drifted back off as Doc returned to a quiet base as he checked the medical bay for anyone in need. Since no one was there, Doc headed down to Lion’s room to see it had been repainted, cleaned and re-organized. Doc then pulled out the photo he had saved and pinned it to the new corkboard. Hoping Lion would see it as his promise.
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winryofresembool · 5 years
Text
Edwin week, day 7: Promise
Summary: Ed brings Winry a special gift from Creta (and may also attempt to ask a question). (Part 2/2)
A/N: here is the second part to the fic I started yesterday! <- Go read it first if you haven’t, as this will make more sense after that. This is my last post for the Edwin week (;_____;) this year so I’d like to thank the mods for organizing this event, and everyone for the amazing contributions! ♥ It’s been a real blast, and I hope to see you guys again next year! But now, enjoy this, and don’t forget to review! 
@503week
AO3
Words: 1900+
Genre: floof
Warnings: Ed’s language
The day of Winry’s homecoming started surprisingly smoothly. When she exited the train, Ed was at the platform waiting for her, with a small bouquet of flowers he had picked on his way to the station in his hands. Al had once again insisted that’s what he should do, especially after what had happened to his automail. That way he could most likely protect himself from Winry’s wrath for a moment longer.
Winry was all smiles when she spotted her fiancé’s (she wasn’t sure what name to use) golden hair among the crowd. As she got closer, she noticed he had flowers in his hands, and her happiness changed into confusion. Since when was Ed so considerate that he’d even bring flowers? She got a strong suspicion that Ed had some ulterior motive, because the Ed she knew wasn’t usually that thoughtful. Of course it was possible, she thought, that Al was behind it… She decided to not question it as she finally reached her destination and gave Ed a warm hug.
“Hi! I wasn’t expecting to see you here!” she greeted him when they separated, Ed offering to carry her bag.
“Of course I came! You’re… I mean, that old hag would have made me wash two months’ worth of laundry if I had stayed in the house,” Ed claimed. “She’s still doting on Al; he only has to peel a couple of potatoes for the stew…”
“Right,” Winry snickered, seeing right through him. The blush on his face told her that was actually not the reason why he was there.
“Uh, these are for you,” he pushed the bouquet in Winry’s hands awkwardly.
“Aw, thank you, Ed! They look nice.” She buried her face into them for a moment, taking in their nice scent.
“That was nothing… So, how was your trip?” he asked quickly before Winry could think of some other way to make him blush.
“It was good! I am so close to getting my official automail mechanic license now! Mr. Garfiel still wants me to write a final analysis on the use of different metals in automail limbs, but that’s easy for me, I have years of practice on… why are you looking at me like that?” Winry asked when she saw Ed stare at him weirdly.
“No reason… I had just forgotten how passionate you get about mechanical limbs,” Ed grinned, making Winry glare at him angrily. “Sorry, sorry. Please, go on! You were about to say something about that analysis…” Ed had realized that the longer he let her rant, the less likely she was to pay attention to his slight limping, but there was something else too; he actually found himself interested in what she had to say.
“You were actually listening?” Winry asked with surprise.
“Why do you sound so surprised, I always listen…” Ed retorted.
“Yeah, right. Well, anyway… As you know, some metals are lighter and thus more comfortable for the user to wear, while…”
Winry continued her ranting happily all the way to the Rockbell house, while Ed made an occasional short comment. He sighed of relief when they made it inside the house without her noticing his issue at all.
Later that afternoon, it seemed it would start raining soon, and a neighbor of the Rockbells came to ask if someone would be willing to fix a hole on the roof of his sheep barn before that. He would have done it himself, but his back had been acting up a lot recently, and he didn’t think he’d be able to climb on the roof in that condition. Ed volunteered, happy about an excuse to get away from Winry’s knowing look for a moment.
In about 15 minutes, Ed managed to get the roof fixed with no problems. However, things took a turn for worse when he was trying to come down the ladder. It had gotten slippery in the rain, and unfortunately for Ed, he was wearing a shoe only on his real leg because he hadn’t bothered to put the other one on for such a short period of time. The combination of smooth, wet wood and a metal leg turned out to be dangerous for Ed, who could only scream when he slipped on the ladder and fell several meters before hitting the ground. Thankfully, there was nothing sharp under him, so his real limbs got off with relatively little damage… but he wasn’t so lucky with his automail. It got big dents on the surface, and based on the weird feeling on his leg, Ed was worried the wiring had gotten damaged too. Winry would definitely kill him now…
“Are you alright?” the neighbor asked him worriedly when he saw Ed lying on the ground helplessly.
“I… think so,” Ed lied, cringing as he tried to put on some weight on his automail leg.
“You don’t look OK… Let me take you home with my horse,” the man offered. “You are lucky that you have two medical experts living under the same roof with you… They will surely be able to check you up.”
“Lucky… or doomed.” Ed mumbled under his breath as he sat down on the carriage that took him back home.
“What happened?” Al yelped immediately when he saw Ed’s condition.
“I just fell from the ladder a couple of meters… The damn automail made me slip. But don’t worry about it… I have been in much…”
“Brother!” Al stopped him angrily. “I don’t care if you have fought Homunculi and gotten me back from the gate! You should be more careful. That could have ended badly.”
“Al, relax… I swear I’m OK, I just…”
Ed didn’t get to finish his sentence because a young woman’s voice said quietly:
“Edward…”
The blood seemed to escape Ed’s brain when he saw the sadness in Winry’s eyes. She had of course seen that the automail she had built with love was hanging from its port in an awkward position, and the skin of his arms was scraped badly.
“Win, please, let me explain…”
“What is there to explain? That you are the most reckless, irresponsible…” At that point Winry’s voice got so high pitched that Ed couldn’t figure out what else she said. She swept the corners of her eyes with her hands and ran back inside without looking back again. To Ed, that reaction was far worse than if she just started yelling at him.
“What the fuck was that about? Shouldn’t she be happy that I didn’t break my neck or something? Does she only care about her automail?!” Ed asked, kicking the ground with frustration.
“Brother…” Al said calmly. “I really don’t think she was upset about the automail this time, no matter what she says. She must have heard what happened to you and she simply freaked out.”
“Yeah but why?”
“Edward,” Al said seriously (Ed noticed that he used his full first name instead of the usual ‘brother), “you asked her to become your wife, and you still don’t understand how she’s feeling? Imagine how you’d react if Winry fell the same way you did and hurt herself in the process? Possibly because of your automail?”
“Oh,” Ed finally understood Al’s point. “I guess I really messed up. Again…”
“But it was an accident!” Al reminded him. “Just go tell her you are alright. I’m sure she will want to fix that automail of yours.”
“Fine.” Ed gritted his teeth. “Uh, can you help me out a bit? It’s a bit hard to walk with this…” He pointed at his automail.
Al helped Ed inside and upstairs where Winry’s room was but left him alone as Ed braced himself to knock on her door.
“Winry…” Ed said tentatively.
No response.
“Winry, I’m coming in.”
When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Winry working on a blueprint at her desk.
“What are you doing?” he asked, just to say something. He had never been good at this kind of stuff.
“Drawing an automail leg blueprint for an idiot who can’t take care of it,” she said without lifting her gaze from her paper once.
“About what you may have heard outside…” Ed said hesitantly, “I never meant it was your automail’s fault I fell. In fact, it has saved me from more accidents that you know…”
“I know, Ed,” Winry sighed. Her voice had already lost most of its earlier edge. “I just… freaked out.” Just like Al had suspected, Ed thought.
“But I’m OK, I swear. Aside from a couple of scratches…” Ed showed her his arms.
“I know,” Winry repeated. “It’s just, worrying is in my nature; I spent years worrying about you guys, and when you came back, I thought you guys were finally safe… and then incidents like this happen… And I feel it’s my fault…”
“Okay, first of all, it’s definitely not your fault. I was being clumsy, OK? Second of all, I’m sorry. I really should take better care of my automail.” He tried to lighten the mood a bit by saying: “If this is how you react to a little scratch, it’s a good thing you don’t know about my shark fight…” “Your what?” Anger flashed in Winry’s eyes again, and Ed realized he had made a mistake again.
“Eh…” he rubbed his neck. “We just did a little fishing, that’s all…”
“Let’s get back to that topic later,” Winry decided to give up on trying to understand Ed. “Now, let me see your automail.”
Ed sat down on Winry’s bed and Winry lifted his automail leg on her lap. She removed some of the metal plates to see if the wiring was damaged, and that’s when her mouth went into a widest ‘O’ Ed had ever seen on her face. He had forgotten what was inside the leg.
The ring.
“Ed… what is this?” She took the necklace with the ring out of there and dangled it in her hand.
“Oh fuck, I forgot…” Ed cursed, slamming a hand against his face. “This is not how I was supposed to give it to you…” “Could you please explain a bit further?” Winry asked, even though she had an idea about what he meant. Her face turned a shade redder.
“I was…” Damn it, why did he always have to get so flustered in her company, Ed cursed in his head, “… Well, remember when I was leaving to Creta a year ago and we were at the railway station?”
“How could I forget that?” Winry asked. They had… they had promised each other to spend the rest of their lives together, after all…
“Yeah, well, anyway…” Ed stuttered. “I realized I never gave you a ring… uh, as a proof of my promise… So… this is kinda it… Winry… are you still willing to give those 85%... or how much you want… of your life to me?”
There was a long silence.
“Of course I am, you silly!” she finally exclaimed and forgot all about the automail when she threw herself at him, making him fall on the bed. The hug lasted pretty long, and when they finally pulled apart, Ed offered to put the necklace on her.
“I think it suits you,” he said, admiring the smooth surface of the golden ring.
“Thank you,” Winry beamed, and leaned to kiss him on the lips. “It’s beautiful. Now, how about we take care of your bruises?” She pulled some disinfectant and bandages from her drawer and started cleaning Ed’s wounds.
“So, I’m more important than that automail, after all?” Ed asked smugly.
“Of course you are, you dumbo. One question, though: was it already broken when I came here?”
“Let’s... talk about that some other time,” Ed said and pulled her for another kiss. She didn’t complain.
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lupizora · 5 years
Text
Shattered Reflection
Since the leftover sales for @bnhavillainauzine are on, I can finally post my fic for it here. It was a Villain Bakugou origin story, or more precisely, how imagined it would go down without anyone having to die for it.
Please consider helping bring this project to a satisfying conclusion by snatching our last copies!! Bonus, you’d get to enjoy the badass content from our contributors in all of its glory~ ♥
Genre: Angst/Drama
Pairing: None/Gen
Rating: T
Word Count: 4684
Summary: After a chance meeting with a rising Hero, the ghosts of the past return to remind Katsuki of the dream he left behind.
Explodo never thought he would hit the ground, more so roll on it until he had to stretch a hand to stop. The lower layer of his gloves shredded like paper from the friction, and hot air rushed through the crack in his gas mask. Street lights illuminated the secluded parking lot around him, the sickly orange color bouncing off the cars. Footsteps echoed like sledgehammers in the silence as the Hero materialized from the shadows of the alley. The same alley Explodo shot out from like a bullet when the asshole had punched him out of nowhere.
He got up on one knee, pieces of his mask fluttering like leaves to the ground. "What's your fucking problem?"
The Hero's metallic headpiece glistened as he stopped at a safe distance. "You're under arrest."  
"And what are my so-called crimes?"
"Isn't burning someone's small-time business enough?"
"His tempura was horrible. I was doing the world a favor."
"It's not up to you to decide that. Now stop resisting."
"I was peacefully getting away until you attacked me, dipshit." Explodo sneered. "This is me resisting."
He closed the distance between them with a double explosion, aiming for a right hook. The Hero avoided it. Grabbing his arm and the front of his turtleneck, the Hero slammed him over his shoulder on the concrete. Explodo's teeth clattered. He jumped to his feet, delivering an uppercut square on the Hero's jaw. It felt like hitting a wall even if his gloves absorbed part of the impact.
The fight continued with a barrage of fists and explosions. Explodo returned with double ferocity every heavy punch the Hero struck, like they were locked in some sort of odd dance. Explodo would press forward. The Hero would step back. Adrenaline rushed through Explodo’s veins. His heart pounded like a wild horse and sweat gathered underneath his face mask. This was a pointless fight. He knew it. Still, the thrill of it kept him going until a curious question popped up in his mind.
How is this guy still standing? He thought. His burns should be second-degree by now.
In that moment of lost concentration, the Hero found an opening and grabbed the muzzle of Explodo's gas mask. Rough fingers scraped against his cheek and his stomach did an unpleasant somersault. Pressing both palms on the Hero's bare chest, he released the most powerful explosion so far and the shockwave pushed them apart. Explodo managed to stay upright. His fingers were numb, pain running along the length of his forearms.
He stood, breathing hard, but the Hero didn’t reappear. As the smoke cleared and his ears stopped ringing, Explodo followed the cracked path of the concrete to find the Hero spread-eagled against a car. He had dented the vehicle inwards, but he himself appeared unharmed.
Seriously, what is this fucker made off? Explodo thought. He looks too normal to be a Mutant-type.
Something wet stained his cheekbones, and part of his face ached from where the straps of his mask had rubbed against his skin when they snapped. He ran his tongue along the length of his lower lip and felt the sharp tang of blood.
The piercing cry of a police siren shrilled through the night air. This was his cue to get the hell out of there. As he stepped forward, the Hero took a harsh breath.
"Why…" he whispered. "Such a powerful Quirk and you ended up like this?"
Explodo stared wide-eyed at him. "Huh?"
Grabbing the hood of the car like it was made of butter, the Hero heaved himself to his feet again. His eyes were set on the villain like his life depended on it. "Of all things you could do, why did you become a petty arsonist?"
Sparks of irritation ran along Explodo’s spine like firecrackers. "Who are you calling petty, asshole? You don’t know a damn thing about me!”
"But you could’ve become anything you wanted!" The Hero took a step forward, grunting from the effort. His body crackled like he was a walking stone statue and that didn’t seem too far from the truth.
Explodo snorted. "Get off your high horse. Only Heroes get to use their Quirks in public. That's what their licenses are for." He glared at him from under his hood, the words dripping like poison from his mouth. "Everyone else has to lower their heads and pretend they don't have one—like they are Quirkless."
His animosity stunned the Hero, who lowered his head. "But did you try?" he asked. The earlier accusatory tone melted into an almost innocent curiosity as if he wanted—no needed—to understand but couldn’t wrap his head around it.
Explodo would have preferred if the Hero had yelled this question. Then maybe he wouldn’t have remembered his fourteen-year-old self, when he was still named Bakugou Katsuki, brimming with confidence as he shouted from the top of his desk that one day he would surpass All Might and become the number one Hero; a memory Explodo had buried so deep and for so long, it could belong to someone else.
Something moved on his right. Explodo jumped backward as a set of tentacles crashed into the pavement where he’d been standing. They appeared to be the fingers of another Hero entering the scene. He wore a cape with a hood in bright colors and his mask was covering half of his face.
"Are you alright, Red Riot?" he asked with a quick turn of the head to the other Hero.
"I've been through worse."
The easy-going tone in his voice, like this fight had been a walk in the park, irked Explodo but he suppressed his anger. These were unfamiliar waters. He hadn't been against two trained Heroes before and this second guy seemed like he was hiding more tricks up his sleeves. It was time to make his exit.
"As much as I'd love to kick both your asses, my job here is done." He propelled himself into the air, landing with a backflip on a street light. "Three is a crowd anyway."
"Wait!" Red Riot called. "You never answered me."
Explodo glanced over his shoulder. "Being this soft gets you killed in the real world," he said and jumped to avoid another tentacle coming after him. "Better remember that, Hero."
These were his final words as he propelled himself onto another street light, keeping this pace until he left the parking lot and the Heroes behind.
A few days later and Katsuki was staring at the ceiling fan with the intensity of a million suns. Good thing he couldn't set things on fire with his eyes too or the poor plastic thing would have been incinerated into a pile of ashes. He kept replaying the recent disgraceful encounter like a broken record. So far he had gotten by with hit-and-run attacks. In the past, whenever a Hero had intercepted him they hadn't been a serious threat. This had been the first real fight since meeting the Villain Alliance two years before. Katsuki had managed to escape by the skin of his teeth back then too; the same anger rumbling inside his chest as Shigaraki had more or less allowed him to live.
Sparks crackled like fireworks in his palms, but it did little to ease the prickles crawling underneath his skin. Katsuki scratched the flesh between his fingers. Of course, who would have thought such an up-and-coming sidekick like Red Riot would show up in this degraded shit-hole of a district. He was a U.A. graduate who made his debut during an internship by apprehending a crook that had taken a Quirk-boosting drug. Through watching videos and reading articles of his deeds, even Katsuki could admit the guy was promising. That didn't stop him from wishing revenge though. The bruises and his damaged pride hurt like hell.
The fan did another lazy turn and dust glinted in the few light rays the blinds let through. If he paid attention long enough, Katsuki could hear the plumbing rattling through the walls. Whenever water rushed a little stronger than usual, chips of paint would rain from the ceiling and cover everything like sugar powder.
"Kiddo! Come here for a sec," Jin called.
With an annoyed huff, Katsuki hopped over the couch's back and walked to the kitchen. It was a narrow room with a low counter on the left and a kitchen table almost making contact with the right wall, but it was decent compared to the previous dump they’d called home.
He leaned on the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Will you cut that shit out already? I'm of age." His birthday was three months ago and he had been a few centimeters taller for a while, but Jin hadn't stopped dropping some variation of "kid" when he addressed him.
"I will when you start acting like it." Jin pointed at the table. "There's some cash. Take it and go to the convenience store."
"Why?"
"You have the itch-look on your face, and you're supposed to lay low so you can't go around burning things. We are out of milk anyway."
Katsuki's expression changed from mildly annoyed to grumpy, and then to super pissed in the span of the entire sentence. He smacked his hand on the counter. "I haven't burned anything in this fucking house for months!"
Jin stopped peeling the potato and used the handle of the knife to raise his palm from the counter. There was a faint scorched imprint from where his skin had come in contact with the steel.
"For fuck's sake." Katsuki snapped his hand away. "Can't you just clone me or something?"
"Doubling you will only double my problems." He allowed himself a small smile before his expression turned serious again. "No matter how interested I am in seeing you having a showdown with yourself, I don't want to replace furniture so soon. Don't be such a brat and go already. The fresh air may cool your head a little."
"Fine, you prissy old man."
His keys jingled as Katsuki unlocked the door, but he stopped with his hand on the handle. "If your Quirk works with you having a clear image, can't just clone yourself as you were before?" he said, tapping the center of his forehead. "At least that way we'll know who's the real one."
The knife stabbed the doorframe a few centimeters above his shoulder. Jin was panting with a strained expression, sweat already dripping from his chin. He covered his face with his hands.
"Get out."
The convenience store was packed for such a warm afternoon. Old ladies, students, and mothers with their children walked around, not seeming to mind the malfunctioning AC. Their chatter was like radio static to Katsuki, bits and pieces of a peaceful world he wasn't part of anymore. It baffled him how folks could go on with their mundane everyday lives while knowing of the terror lurking out there. Or maybe they didn't know. Not fully at least. After all, not everyone got their life turned upside down by a Villain; one that slid out of an ordinary soda bottle no less.
Katsuki had just begun his last year of middle school back then. After the incident, he couldn't stop wondering that if he had reacted faster, if he hadn't stood frozen like a fucking idiot, he could have prevented it. But while drowning under the sludge he had none of those thoughts. All his energy was focused on clawing his way out of it.
"C'mon! Stop struggling," the Villain said. His slime had covered Katsuki almost entirely by then, like a heavy blanket he couldn't shake off. "It'd be easier for you too."
As if I'd let an asshole like you win! He thought, frustrated. I'm stronger than this! His palms ignited explosions of their own volition, shattering the road around them.
The Villain's whistle rang inside Katsuki's head as if he had done it.  "What a jackpot! Why have you been hiding such a Quirk, huh?"
It had been a ridiculous remark. One Katsuki shouldn't have paid attention to considering who it came from, but it stuck even after All Might had saved both him and Deku. In the following days, it had evolved into the same question buzzing at the back of his mind.
Why hadn’t his strong Quirk helped him in the first place?
His goons provided the answer. They had been avoiding him like the plague after the incident, so one day Katsuki hunted them down at their hidden smoking spot. Long Fingers attempted to greet him casually, but Katsuki grabbed him by the lapel of his school uniform and demanded an explanation for their behavior.
"It's nothing personal," Long Fingers said. "Just uh…"
"It was the first time you went all out like that," Undercut said. "Like we knew your Quirk is top notch, but this…" He fiddled with his unlit cigar. "This was freaky."
Katsuki let Long Fingers go. "And what about that? You dolts think no Hero ever went that far to beat a Villain?"
"If the Villain wasn't there…" Undercut looked up. "I'd say you were enjoying the destruction."
"You think I did it on purpose?" He said as an itch gnawed at the flesh inside his palms. "I'm gonna be a Hero! Collateral damage is in the goddamn job description."
"Then tell me, is beating the bad guys the only reason you wanna be a Hero?"
The irritation spread to the rest of his hands and Katsuki clenched them into fists.  "Cut the crap. Who do you think you are to question me? You lot of ambitionless extras will never understand what it takes to make it into U.A.! If I have to destroy public property to practice, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do!"
"But it'll get on your record," Long Fingers said. "You wouldn't dare."
It had been as if someone flipped a switch inside his head. Katsuki pretended the topic was over in front of them, but he pondered it in the privacy of his room. He had been using his Quirk within regulations his whole life. He needed a clean record to even think of enrolling in the most popular school of the country. After all, there were things that even he wouldn't be able to get away with doing.
Without Katsuki realizing it, the earlier itch had returned. He scratched absentmindedly at the spot below his fingers and followed the calluses all the way to the heel of his hand. His palms had always had a rough texture to them, like a countermeasure against burning his skin with his Quirk. Due to that, irritations were rare. He stared at his hand. Any more scratching and he would bleed. His Quirk ignited, sparks flying along his fingers like mini-firecrackers. For a moment he hadn't noticed something was missing until the heat from his explosions receded.
The itch was back.
Grabbing the nearest hoodie, he left the house. The sun was a single brushstroke of red on the horizon. No one had paid him much attention, and the crowd thinned significantly closer to the beach park until Katsuki stood alone at the entrance.
Behind the protective railing, trash piles spread like hills among the sand. It was common for the locals to dump their garbage there, despite the glaring warning sign. Of course, the chances of bumping into someone were low, given how sneaky people were being about it. Still, Katsuki didn't stop looking behind his back as he navigated through the trash. Several steps later he stumbled into a clearing. Microwaves, television sets, and other electrical appliances were scattered all around him. A large fridge got his attention as the last sun rays were reflected in its mirrored surface. The door of the refrigerator was missing, the ice long since evaporated. With a deep breath, he pressed both hands on the fridge. The cold metal bent under the growing heat and at its peak, he released the explosion.
The fridge split in two, scorched parts and cables spilling to the ground like intestines. Katsuki skidded backward but managed to stay upright. Birds flew off from the ruckus. Worry plagued him for a moment, but soon euphoria replaced the weight in his chest. His smoking hands weren't itching anymore. He closed them into fists, allowing a feral grin to spread across his face.
It was intoxicating; like a forbidden early taste of the freedom awaiting him.
The whole situation turned into a game in his head. Passing under the radar of his parents and crossing paths with unsuspecting pedestrians amused him. No one had considered for a moment that an honor student like him would be breaking the law. Lowering the strength of his explosions had helped avoid arousing suspicion from the locals. Everyone pretended the trash weren’t their problem, but loud noises in the middle of the night would had eventually gathered some complaints. His grades were unaffected too, because he made sure to finish his homework before sneaking out. By the time he decided to go there during the day, Katsuki was sure he had won.
His footsteps were light against the pavement that summer day. It took all his concentration to not propel himself a little faster with the help of his explosions.
I could try that today, he thought with a smile as he neared the beach park.
There was a man standing at the entrance.
As if lightning struck him, Katsuki stopped in his tracks.
Super tall and criminally thin, the man leaned against an old pickup truck. His back was still turned as he observed the piles of trash, so Katsuki fled. After at least a block away, he ducked behind a wall to hide. His heart hammered in his chest like a caged bird. Blood pounded in his temples and he was sweating all over. Reality dawned on him like someone had doused him with cold water.
Game over.
Of course, the man had worn only a regular t-shirt and pants. He couldn’t have been an officer. Rumours spread fast though and Katsuki had been doing this for months. Witnesses were bound to show up, no matter how careful he had been. One-time offenders were forgiven with barely a slap on the wrist but given the level of his offence, this would go on his record for sure. So from that day on, Katsuki stopped going to the beach and used his Quirk only when it was allowed.
He could endure this. The exams were only nine months away.
This was his mantra when pens started melting in his hands, and he left hand imprints on his chair. Everyone was willing to sweep these accidents under the rug with only a minor scolding. Being nervous was to be expected. He aimed for the top after all. But the itch kept him awake even the night before the exam. Katsuki stared at the ceiling, battling the thought of sneaking out for one last time until the sun rose on the horizon.
Endure it…
His mother caught him in the hall with his bag already on his shoulder. She tightened the scarf around his neck, raving about how proud they were. His dad managed to sneak a photo at that moment with a fond smile. Katsuki still remembered vividly their confident faces as they sent him off.
Endure it.
The train ride was a blur of faceless people and bleak scenery. It didn't help him forget the itch crawling inch by inch along his forearm. Katsuki kept his hands strictly in the pockets of his coat all the way to the main entrance of U.A. Passing under the gateways was like a dream come true. Then his gaze landed on the mustard yellow backpack in front of him, and the boy with the mess of green hair wearing it.
Endure it!
Anger flared in his chest like a grenade. That bastard Deku still aimed to take the spotlight from him. What right did that Quirkless nobody have to try and play the hero? The stench of burned fabric reached him, and Katsuki stared at his smoking palms, terrified. He was amongst a mass of examinees and probably members of the staff. He wasn't allowed to make a scene.
In his hurry to leave, Katsuki bumped onto someone. He only registered the other person wearing a black uniform too. With clenched fists, he tried to move past him, but the guy stood in his way again.
"The exams are the other way," he said.
"Dropped my ID," Katsuki mumbled.
"Ouch. I can help you lo-"
"No fucking need. Move."
"O-okay…" The guy flashed him an uneasy shark-toothed smile and stepped aside. "Uh, good luck!" he shouted at Katsuki's disappearing back.  
"Whatever."
Reaching the foliage-less trees was a race against his raging emotions. The moment Katsuki passed the brow of the forest, he broke into a sprint. It was after several meters that he stopped and leaned wheezing against a tree trunk. He pulled at the scarf.
This is ridiculous. I have to go back, he thought. I won't lose this chance because of the damn nerd.
But that's not it, isn't it? The voice, that wasn't quite his, whispered in his ears. What if you can't contain yourself during the exam?
Something heavy settled on his shoulders. Phantom tentacles started coiling around his arms as if the Mudman from a year ago was back.
I'm gonna have to use my Quirk to fight anyway.
What if they see me?
His reflection stared back from the fridge he had destroyed in the beach park. It grinned like a wild animal ready for the kill. The imaginary slime covered him whole. He was suffocating again. Katsuki ignited his Quirk. The wind scattered the scorched remains of his scarf away.
No, he couldn't do this. Not in this state. What Hero can't control his Quirk?
Katsuki fled like hell was chasing him, and didn't stop boarding trains until he had left behind all familiar places.
For a society boasting about low crime rates, the outskirts were brimming with people illegally using their Quirks. So Katsuki just followed their example to stay alive in these streets. Falling under the radar took some time to get used to, especially when all sorts of oddballs—Vigilantes, Villain-wannabes, the random police patrol—tried to get ahold of him at any given opportunity. It turned into another game of hide-and-seek, his loathing growing with each encounter. Their Quirks were extensions of their bodies. Why should Katsuki repress his? They’d lived in a superhuman society for decades. Normal and ordinary were supposed to be out of the dictionary.
They weren't, though, because Quirkless people still existed. Those echoes of an era long gone didn't want to feel left out and had to drag everyone else into this farce of appearing as equals. Things had changed, the world had changed, and someone had to show them the truth. So Katsuki did. Maybe Jin was right calling him a kid. His resolution hadn't changed from back then. It wasn't about controlling his Quirk anymore. He only wanted to see the world burn beneath his fingertips.
Sometimes Katsuki wondered if the other kid, the one dreaming of heroics, still existed underneath the mask. He couldn't recognize anymore where Explodo ended and his civilian persona began because his reflection had the same intensity either way.
Intensity he currently directed at the misplaced shelves in front of him. He knew this convenience store like the back of his hand as it was the closest to their apartment. The fruit and vegetable stalls should have been there. Katsuki sighed, frustrated. He had plowed through the shopping list he’d been given with the money easily, but decided to get some watermelon slices too—watermelon was Jin’s go-to desert during summer. Katsuki hadn't tried to be a total dick to the older Villain; he’d only wanted to release some of his annoyance in less destructive ways. But he had pushed the wrong buttons on someone that was more mentally unstable than him. If he didn't want this to end badly, he had better patch things up.
While turning around the corner of the particular corridor though, he crashed into someone. Both their baskets fell to the floor. Katsuki attempted to steady himself on the shelves but his hand missed. The other person grabbed it instead and straightened him. The muscle-toned and caked-with-scars arm belonged to a guy around his height and probably his age, although some remains of his teen softness still clung to his face. His hair, tied into a loose short ponytail, was as red as his eyes when they locked gazes. Of course, Katsuki knew that pulling his hand away as fast as he did was rude, but the goddamn contact made his skin crawl. He didn't fancy people touching him in costume; he sure as hell didn't like it out of it either.
"Watch where you're going, Shitty Hair."
"Hey!" he said with a hidden laugh in his voice. "Have you seen your own hair, Explosion Boy?"
Katsuki froze. "What?"
"I mean the way it sticks out in all directions like that reminds me of a static explosion." He flashed an awkward sharp-toothed smile. "So I went along with the joke."
As the little scar running on his eyelid was revealed, Katsuki realized he had just rubbed shoulders with Red Riot again. If he allowed him to continue this thought it would mean the worst scenario was around the corner. After all, the scratches on Katsuki’s face were still fresh and visible.
An attack was the best defense.
"You look familiar," Katsuki said skeptically, crossing his arms.
Red Riot mirrored him. "I don't think we've met."
Katsuki cocked his head like a curious cat and forced his eyes to widen in fake surprise. "Could it be…? You're Red Riot, the Vigorous Hero, right?"
Total bliss washed over the Hero's features to the point of almost glowing. It only lasted for a brief moment before he tried to suppress it.
"You got me," he said. "And I'm really sorry for the mess." He gestured at the scattered groceries at their feet.
"Nah, I kinda overreacted. It's wasn't that big of a deal."
"Let me help then."
They gathered their stuff in silence with Katsuki stealing glances in Red Riot's direction. He appeared calm, but couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom off his shoulders. Had he dodged this or not?
Everything was back in place before he could come to a satisfying conclusion. But the Hero didn't make a move to leave. Instead, he scratched the back of his neck with a puzzled expression.
"Uh… Would you like me to treat you to some coffee? For the trouble and all?"
"Really it wasn't-"
"I insist."
He had such an honest look on his face, like he had done some great offense to him and wanted to repay it. Katsuki bit the inside of his cheek to keep the feral grin from spreading across his face. This guy was indeed too soft for this job.
"Alright," he said defeated. "I know a place nearby if you want."  
"You're a lifesaver, man! This is my first time in this neighborhood."
"And you still offered? Are you an idiot?"
Red Riot actually laughed at that. "You're pretty weird yourself," he said and gestured at him from top to bottom.
"Katsuki."
"Eijirou. Nice to meet you."
"Same."
And he wasn't lying. Opportunities like this were considered miracles. It was like the star guiding the wicked finally smiled at him. If he played his cards right not only revenge, but valuable info too would be within his grasp. It didn’t matter that Red Riot resembled the guy Katsuki bumped into the day of U.A.’s entrance exam. Idiots with that considerate attitude were those aiming to be Heroes the most. The bravery of sticking to their dreams didn’t matter either. It was Villain policy to give them a reality check.
After all, Heroes don’t always win in the end.
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House of the Rising Sun {Pt.???} [Ep. 10 fix]
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!!!!SPOILER WARNING FOR EPISODE 10!!!!
Yea. I'm spoiling my own fic's ending, but in this time of distress I feel it's necessary
Also: I'm not gonna write the entirety of episode 10 coz the first part of it was flawless and I to save some for the rest of the fic, so it's only gonna be back in time.
~~~
I walked into the house, my hair falling around my face in a messy bun. Constance was sitting in the living room, chain-smoking. I smiled as I went to the kitchen and set down the groceries. I noticed a few religious artifacts sprawled across the counter and I peeked in at Constance “Who's here?” I asked, walking in.
She took a drag of her cigarette and looked up at me with her signature side eye. “A man of divine status has come to check up on your boyfriend.” She said, disdain in her voice. She hated that Michael idolized me, but there was nothing I could do about it. It was harmless.
I rolled my eyes and returned to the kitchen. About 30 minutes later, as I peeled the potatoes for dinner, I heard a crash and yelling from upstairs. I quickly grabbed a kitchen knife and slowly made my way upstairs.
“I see his eyes in yours, and I hear remnants of his sweet voice in yours, but YOU ARE NOT MY GRANDSON!” Came Constance's screeching voice. I opened the door and everything that was going on registered in my mind quickly. A dead priest, a video game on the tv, and Constance's hand wrapped around Michael's neck.
I ran in and pushed her off of him “What the fuck, Constance?! What are you doing?!” I screamed, causing Michael to grab my sleeve in comfort.
Constance had been knocked into the wall, so she had to correct her stance before pointing her finger in my face and screeching “and YOU! You are a perversion in this house! A sick whore! An intruder of the highest degree! YOU stand here and defend him when he just killed a man! A man of GOD no less!” she put her hand down and continued “I want you both out! NOW! I don't care if you sleep on a park bench or under an overpass! Just GET. OUT.”
Michael stood and pushed her against the wall, wrapping his hand around her neck “You. Don't. Talk. To. Her. Like. That!” He growled.
I touched his shoulder “Michael, stop.” I said. He still held her by the throat as he looked at me. He dropped her and walked over, putting his head in my neck “I'm sorry, Amy…” he said as I stroked his hair.
Constance gave a strained laugh “I knew he couldn't do it. He's a coward.” she hissed.
How dare she. This boy needed help and she would just give up on him? Maybe I was crazy. Maybe my Dad's problems had passed on to me… but all I know is that I would protect Michael if she wouldn’t.
I looked at her, remembering the knife in my hand. I let go of Michael and walked over, getting almost nose to nose with her. She stared me down until I drove the knife through her chest. She gasped, coughed up a bit of blood, and fell to the floor. I looked at her before I looked back at Michael, who was a bit frightened. I walked over, touching his face and kissing his head gently. “Go back to playing your game, honey. Dinner will be done in an hour”
He smiled and nodded as I wiped his tears. He looked at the bodies “W-what about them?” He asked. I looked at them and sighed.
I slowly dragged both of the bodies to an empty room and shut the door. I heard the doorbell ring and I cursed under my breath. I looked in the mirror and sighed again. I was covered in blood. My face, my clothes, my hair. I was a mess.
I took off my sweater and wiped my face with it, making it look like I had just been painting. I stuck the knife in my back pocket and walked to the door and opened it.
There was a brunette girl in a black dress at the door. I looked her up and down “Can I help you?” I asked, wiping off my hands. She seemed to be looking around me. “Is Michael Langdon here?” She asked.
I closed the door a little and my gaze turned to a glare “Who's asking?” I asked. She became nervous and tried to push past me. I quickly grabbed my knife and stabbed her directly in the forehead. She froze and collapsed. I stood over her body and ripped out the knife. I kicked the door closed and stabbed her over and over…. And over.
No one can hurt him. Never. He was my Mikey. And I'd stay by his side and protect him from anyone who wants to hurt him.
I kicked her body to the side and went to finish dinner. I made a plate for Michael and myself and called him down. He came down, still, a bit shaken, but calmer. He saw the new body and looked at me. I was still covered in her blood as I sat down and waved him over. He looked at me “What did she do?” He asked.
I smiled at him and wiped my face with a napkin “She was going to hurt you. So I stopped her.” I said, beginning to eat.
He looked up at me “Are you going to protect me forever, Amy?” He asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
I looked up at him with a serious expression. I stood and walked around the table, taking his hands in mine and I kissed them as I looked into his eyes.
“As long as my little human heart is beating, I'll protect my Mikey.”
~~~
I am now at peace
~TAGLIST~
@vespertxne @buckynatlarry @the-captain-kidd @ohiamzoe @hecatemacbeth7 @queenylime @colorful48 @a-court-of-reds-and-silvers @saddbxtchh @quione3 @michaels-slut @meeeeeeeeeps @frozenhuntress67 @bookwormstrawberry @thelangdoncooperative @nolixxx @madhatterweasley
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theotakulifechoseme · 6 years
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Be Somebody -Levi x Underground City!Fem!Reader One Shot-
This is something I wrote forever ago and posted on my Deviantart and Fanfiction.net accounts, haha. I just thought I’d share some of my old work. >_> I think this was 11 pages? idk. Enjoy.
-Mama Nidiot
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   The place was just covered in filth and grime. But that is to be expected in a place like the Underground. A place where humans are trash and it was kill or be killed; not exactly the nicest place in the world for children. Her tiny arms and legs were wrapped securely around my neck and torso as I passed by overhead, while the heavy knapsack slapped against my back as I used the 3DMG to bypass the other crooks that littered this damned place, the straps biting into my skin through my dusty clothes as I scanned the ground. A silent curse slipped past my chapped lips at the sight of them. The damned Scouting Corps. were here once again.
   “Hold on tight, Cameron.” I told the 9 year old girl, feeling her grip tighten even more, as I used the 3DMG that I modified to suit me better, as we flew above their heads, before dropping to the floor and blending in with our fellow sewer rats. Holding Cameron tightly to my front, I pushed a rickety wooden door open with my hip, before closing and locking it up. “I’m back!” I shouted into the seemingly empty underground house, and pulled down the bandana I wore around the lower half of my face.
   “Mom!” a large group of four boys and one other girl shouted, running down the old wooden steps.
   “Derek, Morgan, Jon, Zack, and Lacy! What have I told you about shouting?!” I scolded them all, watching as they hung their heads in shame. I simply sighed. “Get cleaned up. Once you’re done, Zack and Morgan are on peeling duty. Jon, you, Lacy, and Derek set the table. And you,” I crouched down and pressed my lips against Cameron’s dust coated forehead, “get cleaned and some rest. I’ll get you when dinner is ready.”
   “Okay mommy.” With a quick hug, Cameron left and went upstairs towards the bedroom she shared with me and Lacy. Standing up, I cleaned my hands and face in the kitchen, scrubbing away the underground filth that clung to me like a second skin, before pulling out the second knife I kept on my person and began dicing up the bit of meat we had.
   Lacy came in and started throwing what was chopped up into a large pot, after she washed her hands again, and proceed to stir it and everything else that got tossed in. “Do you guys know why the Scouts are filling this place?” Morgan asked, throwing a peel at Zack’s face.
   “Hey, stop that, you ass!” whined the eldest boy, flicking the potato’s skin from his cheek. The room went quiet shortly after as all their gazes lingered on my back, silently willing me to answer the question.
   “The answer is obvious, isn’t it? After all, this is not the first time they looked for one of us to join their ranks.” I spoke softly, remembering when I was just nine-years-old and watched when they took them into their ranks. “Curfew is still set for you, so if I catch any of you sneaking out, Jon, you’ll be without supper for a few days.” My [color] eyes cut over to the nervous 12 year old. Derek and Morgan, the twins, were both thirteen, Lacy ten, while Zack was the oldest at fourteen, just two years younger than myself.
   After a while I walked up the steps and knelt down by Cameron’s sleeping form and shook her awake. She groggily got up and took my hand, following after like a baby duckling as I sat her down at the kitchen table, filled my tanks, and made for the door while pulling my bandana back over my nose and mouth. “You not gonna eat with us mommy?” Cameron asked, blinking her large doe eyes owlishly at my retreating back.
   “Not tonight, sweetie. Zack’s in charge until I return.” I unlocked the front door and closed it behind me, easily blending in with the group of people that surrounded me, and made my way to the main tunnel of the Underground. The closer I got did the stench of stale sweat, vomit, alcohol, sex, and death start to assault one’s nose. If it was not for the black cloth wrapped around my face, the stench would have been ten times worse than whatever I currently smelled.
   A few men I passed nodded their heads in greeting, while others moved out of my way as the heavy heels of my boots thudded against the stone floor. “Don’t do anything stupid, Widow… Ever since Kenny left, you’ve been the only form of law for us.” A beefy man stated as he grabbed my left arm, just as I was passing his hole in the wall.
   “Did you not know that black widows are venomous?” without any hesitation, I broke the larger brute’s wrist. “May that be a painful reminder to keep your hands to yourself.” The last thing he saw was the scarred palm of my left hand… In the shape of a female black widow spider.
[-][-][-]
   “What does the Scouting Corps. want with street rats?” I asked, perching myself on top of a rock that jutted out from the dirt walls, allowing one of my legs to hang off the side as I stared them down. A tall man with blond hair, ridiculously bushy brows, and sharp icy eyes looked up at me; his gaze lingering on the handles to my blades as an obvious sign that I was ready to flee at a moments notice.
   “You would be this ‘Widow’ we’ve been hearing about, correct.” I pushed back a strand of my greasy [lengtblackolor] hair, not wanting to answer the man in the bolo tie. The man took my silence as confirmation. “You and your subordinates have been causing quite an uproar in the Capital.”
   My eyes hardened at the term ‘subordinates’. “And your point being? Is this not a matter for the King’s personal collection of rats to deal with?” I growled, fingers digging into the grips of my 3DMG handles. “You should know that you are in our city. The King’s roots do not extend down to the waste that the Capital has created. Anyways, with all that glitter you carry on your person, you sure are going to attract a few weasels~” at that moment, the more ruthless thugs that littered the area that the Scouts were stationed started wandering in, causing me to take my leave.
[-][-][-]
   “Mommy!” my head snapped down from my spot above, only to spot Cameron’s dusty blonde head struggling to get out of the arms of a person with wild russet hair. Swinging back around, I planted my feet solidly in their back while taking Cam out of their arms, feeling her cling desperately to my thin person. “Mommy!” she sobbed, soaking the shoulder of my [color] button-down.
   The person groaned under my feet, and started shifting enough that forced me to get off their back, leaving two boot marks on their jacket… on the Wings of Freedom. “Tch. Of course…” I gently rocked Cameron, making her cries slow down to a soft whimper and occasional hiccough. The person with wild russet hair got to their knees, rubbed their head, before looking around.
   “Where’d the kid go?! I had so many questions to ask her! ARGH!” without a single care about the dirt and other filth that littered the Underground, the person – woman – flopped back down and started dramatically sobbing, not caring the least bit about her cracked glasses.
   “Oi! Stupid glasses! Shut the hell up!” her cries were getting on my nerves, withering them away to nothing, as I stepped on her head in hopes of using the cold ground to muffle the damn sound. I had zero tolerance for others whining about shit.
   “Mmph! Mmph, mmph, mmmm!” they flailed again, pushing my foot off her head as she turned to face me. Cameron nuzzled herself closer to my side and proceeded to suck on her thumb, a bad habit that she has yet to break, as the woman adjusted her cracked glasses. “Whoa! You’re the bandit that danchou wants to meet! Widow, isn’t it?!”
   Grabbing her head, I slammed my forehead against hers. “Oi, stupid glasses, keep your damn voice down! You’re not Above, so don’t act like you are!” Even with our heads pressed so close together, she proceeded to nod happily like an excited puppy. “Tch, you are a pain. You’re probably the type that’d still follow even if I used my Gear, huh?” again, she nodded.
   “I’m Hanji Zoe! Squad leader and person in charge of Titan research!” I simply scoffed and turned around. Hanji proceeded to follow me like the excited puppy she seemed to be.
[-][-][-]
   “I’m home…” I called out flatly, my [color] gaze cutting over to Zack when he and the others made an appearance. Setting the dusty blonde child down, I closed the gap between me and the teenage boy, pulled him down to my short height, and proceeded to headbutt him right between the eyes. “Idiot! I cannot leave you in charge for less than two hours without you fucking up! Cameron could have been hurt, or worse, she could have been killed!” with each word, I kicked him hard in the side, causing the others to wince at his punishment.
   “We had our hands full with Jon! He kept trying to get out so he could start going to those Fight Clubs again in the Lower District, mom!” Derek and Morgan pipped up, pointing at the guilty boy. I simply punched him in the back of the head.
   “OW! That hurt ma!”
   “That’s the point, brat! Use your brain next time, not your damn fists!” Jon pouted, rubbing at the forming lump on his skull. “Lacy, take Cam upstairs and get ready for bed. Both of you.” She nodded, her short ginger hair sticking up every which way, and grabbed Cameron’s free hand as the both ventured upstairs. With that done, I plopped down at the kitchen table, throwing my legs over the corner and crossing them, as I gestured to an empty spot for Hanji. She sat down, her wide eyes flittering around the room, trying to take in everything at once. “What exactly do the Scouting Corps. want with me?”
   Her eyes zoned in on me once I started speaking. “Danchou wanted to talk to you about joining us. Seems you and your family have made quite a name for yourselves, however it seems that you have his interest out of all of you.” She pointed at me. I appreciate Hanji’s use of ‘family’ over ‘subordinates.’
   I sighed, pulling my bandana down. “If he is only looking to recruit me, then he best leave. I have my family to take care of…”
   “Mom, think this through…” Zack spoke softly into my ear. “Just play that game with them. If you win, you stay, if they win, you go.” Waving him off, I allowed my feet to fall loudly back onto the wooden floor.
   “How about we place a wager. Us of the Underground like a good bet. If I can escape and/or evade all the Scouts that are currently here, you will all go away and I shall stay here. However if I am caught and cannot escape in the time limit, I will keep my word and join you. Take it or leave it.”
   “What kind of time limit are we talking about?” she inquired, leaning her elbows on the creaky wooden table top.
   “Does two hours sound good to you?”
   Hanji stood, her palms flat against the top, as she nodded. “I’ll have to confirm with danchou, but you have a deal, Widow.”
   “[full name].”
   “What?”
   “My name. It is [full name].”
   With a small smile, she nodded and left.
   Sighing heavily, I casted Zack a side long glance. “Let us just hope that your damn plan works, idiot…”
[-][-][-]
   I stood in front of the whole Scouting Corps. waiting, my bandana pulled over my face while my oily [color] hair was pulled back and tied with a string. ‘It’s starting to feel really nasty…’ I inwardly cringed at remembering that I haven’t bathed in a few days to save water for cooking and the others, as disgusting as that might be, it was one of the major problems most had to deal with while living in the Underground.
   Hanji happily bounce before me, a large grin spread across her sun kissed face. “Widow! You came!”
   Scoffing, I crossed my arms over my small chest. “I gave my word, didn’t I? What kind of example would I be to my family if I broke a vow?” I stressed the word ‘family’ once I caught sight of Mr. Forehead-mustache.
   She nodded in understanding. “Anyways, about your offer… Danchou agreed to it~”
   “Ah…” I gestured to the others to come over. “Derek, you and Morgan go to the Lower District and tell the dumb-fucks down there that if they so much as think of causing trouble, that they’ll be getting a ‘Lacy Surprise’.” I tossed a hooked blade towards them both, which they caught and grinned devilishly at what they could possibly do, and nodded before running off. “Jon, you’re in charge of Lacy and Cam… Zack…”
   “Yeah?” the tall auburn haired teen asked, coming forward.
   “Still have that watch your daddy gave you?” he nodded, pulling out the silver pocketwatch. “You’ll be time-keeper. Understood?” he popped open the cover, signaling that he was ready. “On your signal… danchou…” I purred sarcastically, pulling out the handles for my 3DMG. At the slightest twitch of his dominant hand did I react, shooting the cables and fleeing from the Scouts that chased me through the chaos of the Underground.
[-][-][-]
   Nearly two hours have passed, as it started getting down to the last ten minutes, and I stood in a dark alleyway, trying to catch my breath. Ejecting one of my tanks, I shook it a bit, hearing the gas inside, alerting me to the fact I only had ¼th of a tank left. “Fuck.” My head snapped up, seeing a figure wearing Maneuver Gear at the mouth of the alley. I stepped back as they stepped forward, my eyes darting around for any form of escape.
   Locating one, I shot one of my cables off, hearing the Scout do the same just a hair trigger second after I did. Mere seconds later I felt someone tackle me out of the air, forcing our cables to release as we tumbled to the hard ground. I groaned, head throbbing from where it made contact with the solid floor – of fucking course it is solid [Name]! – as something cold brushed against my collarbone. My left hand shot to my hip, retracting a flick blade, and pressing the sharp point against their right femoral artery.
   Seems they had the same thought in mind as they pressed their own knife against my carotid artery. [color] clashed against stormy gray orbs as I stared at the person above me. ‘Of fucking course it would be him of all people…’ Resigning myself to my fate, I placed my weapon away, and just laid there under his person. His heavy lidded eyes read his confusion, causing me to smirk, as I looked away, and caught sight of Zack. My heart started hurting, as I saw the tears he shed drip off the point of his chin, before he scrubbed them away with his sleeve.
   “T-Time!” he shouted, alerting others of the Corps. that it was all over…
[-][-][-]
   Ten years had passed since then, and not a day goes by that I do not miss my family. “Bun-taichou [Name]!” I turned, seeing one of the rookies – Jean, I think his name was – call out to me while struggling to maintain his balance under the large stack of documents he held in his arms.
   I quickly grabbed the top half, lessening his load, and quirked an eyebrow at him. “Yes?” his cheeks flushed a dusty pink as I continued to stare up at him. Due to crappy genetics and being malnourished most of my life, I was the shortest person in the Scouting Corps. at the shitty height of four foot-nine inches. However, unlike before where I was mistaken for a little boy, in my time as a Scout I had… filled out… a lot.
   Because of this, most rookies seem to developed this odd crush on me, until training comes around; earning me the nickname of “Satan’s Mother” by nearly everyone. “Err… Heichou wants to speak with you.”
   “Ah…” I gave him back the documents and straightened my uniform a bit, fixing the leather gloves I wore along with the black bandana I wore around my neck, before turning on my heels, heading towards Levi’s office.
   Knocking, I waited politely for an answer. “Name and business…” his deep voice commanded.
   “[Name] and you asked for me, stupid.” Rolling my [color] eyes, I pushed open the door and promptly entered, taking a seat directly across from his desk, and crossed my legs.
   He shuffled and straightened a few documents after shooting me a look, before resting his chin on his laced fingers. “I’ve noticed how distracted you have been lately, [Name]. That is unlike you, and we cannot afford any type of distractions…”
   This was Levi’s own way of asking what was wrong. I sighed, turning to stare out his open window. “I miss them. That’s all…” he quirked an eyebrow at me. “Also, an anniversary is coming up. After 10 years, it seems everything is starting to overflow.”
   “What… kind of anniversary?” Levi hesitantly asked, possibly feeling a bit out of place.
   I attempted a sardonic smile. “Forgive me. I tend to forget that no one here knows everything about me. It is my actual daughter’s death anniversary.” I looked down at my leather-clad hands. “You, of all people, know how bad it can get there. Children are the main targets for anything, and I just happen to be one of those targets. One of the King’s prized rats decided to… well…” he understood what I meant. “I was probably 9 or 10. I don’t know, the years blend together anymore that keeping track is troublesome. Its a painful process, giving birth, but knowing that there will be someone to love you unconditionally makes all the pain worth it. However, Allison died five months after she was born. She got sick, and there was nothing I nor anyone else could do for her.”
   I wrung my hands. “It was around that time that I met Zack and his father. I struck a deal with them. I would take Zack and raise him like my son, and in return his father would kill one person for me. I accepted and he took care of my personal monster. After that, I started taking in kids that had trouble adjusting to the Underground, and all that jazz. I became their mother, they became my kids, and we made a living for ourselves… I have not seen my family in ten years, and I miss them dearly…”
   I tensed, feeling Levi roughly grab my wrist and hauled me up to my feet. His steely, near silver, gray hooded gaze stared down into my own [color] bewildered ones. “We have a few days off, [Name]. You should use them to see your family again.”
   Levi released my wrist and turned on his heel, keeping his back facing towards me. “Heichou, would… would you like to visit them with me?” His gunmetal gray eyes pierced me as he cast a simple look back at me from over his shoulder, silently questioning my reason for my request. “The reason should be obvious… Mainly to someone like you, Levi.” Crossing my arms over my midsection, I smirked softly. “I know a few routes to get there that you would never believe, too.”
[-][-][-]
   I pulled my old bandana up, over the lower half of my face, as we descended the steps of a bakery’s cellar, only gaining access after showing the aging owner the brand of a female Black Widow on my left palm, before finding a trapdoor. Grabbing the rusted handle, I started pulling it up, making it kick up dust as it revealed another set of handmade dirt steps. “Tsk, disgusting…” the Corporal grunted, waving a hand in front of his face to clear the air of the dust particles.
   “It’s the Underground, heichou. Nothing is clean down there.” I stated, lighting a lantern and went down the stairs first, listening as the dirt crunched under the souls of our boots as the stale smell of vomit, urine, alcohol, and garbage started to surround us both. “Ugh… I do not miss this stench in the least bit!” I exclaimed loudly as I pinched my nose closed.
   It took us probably ten, fifteen, minutes to reach the main area of the Underground, causing both of us to stare at the changes that have been made since either of us last step foot in this place. As we wandered through the grimy streets, our cloaks drawn tight around us to obscure our Maneuver Gear, did a filthy hand shot out, tightly grasping my right wrist as the person held me above, causing me to drop the lantern.
   “Why ain’t ya a purdy thin’…” the disgusting fat slob crooned darkly, eyeing me up and down. “Ya seem to have somethin’ shiny attached t’ ya, too…”
   I narrowed my [color] gaze in annoyance as I dangled from my arm. “Know your place, dipshit!” I shouted, biting the hem of my leather glove that covered my left hand and removed it, before ramming my palm against his jaw. The idiot let me go as he staggered back, rubbing at his jaw. Stepping forward, I jammed my heel against his manly-bits, and proceeded to show him the brand on my palm. “Fuck off before I show you why Black Widows are venomous.” The man quickly scampered off as I pulled my glove back on.
   “Even after ten years, your scar still seems to scare people.” Levi commented, having watched the whole thing instead of helping.
   “Yeah, well, when you have to clean up the messes of Derek and Morgan, the Sadistic Pair, you happen to become well known for having two kids that’ll do anything when bored.” I shrugged, continuing on my way. “Then there was Jon. He and Cameron were the runts, but he had a fighter’s spirit, that kid does. If someone wasn’t watching him constantly, he’d make his way towards the Lower District for Fight Clubs. I honestly do not remember a time of Jon coming back empty handed, either.”
   I chuckled. “Then there’s Lacy, the second youngest. As tricky as a fox and just as pretty, but if you so much as try to touch her in a way she does not like, consider your balls forfeited.” The stoic Lance Corporal winced at the thought. “She keeps a hooked blade strapped to her thigh, just for cases like those. We’ve all come to call it the ‘Lacy Surprise.’” Smiling, I remembered when the boys came up with that one. “Zack was my protégé, as he was with me the longest, while Cameron was our lookout. She has unnaturally sharp eyes. Her eyes are probably as sharp as Mike’s nose.”
   With all this talking I was doing, I nearly bypassed my old home. Taking a deep breath through my nose, I slowly opened the door, fearing of what I would see on the other side. Probably seeing how hesitant I was, Levi set an encouraging hand on my shoulder, I nodded back gratefully and pushed open the old wooden door. “I’m home!” I called out, just waiting for any signs of life.
   Footsteps could be heard running down the stairs as a tall man with an auburn colored sea-urchin on his head appeared, blinking his green eyes in confusion at us both, while a set of identical sandy blond haired men stood on either side of him with light Jade green eyes. A stocky, well built, young man with a wild mane of mahogany that fell down his neck, and slightly in his rust brown eyes, stood on the stairs. Peaking over his shoulder was a girl with bright blue eyes and choppy ginger hair, a white cloth mask obscuring her lower face, but I could still see how pale she was. “M-mom?” the identical young men were the first to speak.
   Awkwardly, I spread my arms open. “Do I really look that bad?” they both ran over and squished me between them both in a tight hug, causing two others to join in. Out of the corner of my eyes, I noticed the only one that hadn’t joined in was Jon.
   “What are you waiting for, dumb-fuck? A written invitation? Come and join the group hug!” Lacy scolded, casting a glare at the only one that had not greeted me yet.
   He shuffled down the steps before meeting up with me. His thin lips pressed into an even thinner line before he wrapped me up in his arms, easily picking me up off my feet.
[-][-][-]
   To say the least, it was nerve wrecking as we all sat around the tiny table that we seem to have outgrown, to the point I actually had to sit on Levi’s lap just to make room for everyone. However, my mind did not linger on that fact at all. I noticed that someone was missing from our family reunion. I was afraid to ask, but I did so anyways. I asked the one question I ever regret asking… “where’s Cameron?”
   The air grew tense as everyone stopped talking. Lacy started looking at her lap, while the twins fidgeted in their seats. Jon looked neutral, while Zack’s face contorted into one of pain. “Sh-she died… four years ago…” the young man muttered lowly.
   I felt like like I just got the air knocked out of me as I cupped my mouth, feeling my tears drip onto my wrist. “Oh… so now you care?” my head snapped up, [color] meeting rust brown in a startled clash.
   Morgan quickly got to his feet first and grabbed Jon by the front of his shirt. “You little shit! That’s no way to talk to mom! Of course she cares! Why wouldn’t she care that one of her kids died?!”
   “She left us, you piss ant! Tell me, how is that carrying for us?! She isn’t even our real mother!”
   I knew it… I should not have came back…
   “Jon—”
   “Don’t fucking ‘Jon’ me, Zack! Or are you just that damn blind to overlook the fact that she replaced us! [Name] doesn’t give a damn about us. Simple as that.”
   … … …
   “Oi, shit stain…” I hiccoughed softly, hearing the Lance Corporal speak for the first time since entering my old home. “How the fuck would you know if [Name] replaced you?” his voice was calm and even as he spoke to the younger man. “You are full of shit, you know. That’s probably why you have such shitty eyes, too. Your mother, here, has been worrying about you fuckers for the last ten years—”
   “Yet she never made an effort to see—”
   “Don’t fucking interrupt me, shit stain.” Levi’s voice took on a darker tone to it. “[Name] nearly got herself killed because she worried more about a worthless asshole like you than herself.” His fingers curled into my hip, making me remember my own carelessness that costed me a dislocation. “In my opinion, she should not waste anything for a little shit like you. Boohoo, the person who took you in had left, because she honored an agreement she made. You know what would have happened instead? The MP’s would have gotten her instead, and she would be rotting away in a cell somewhere like an animal. You honestly think those bastards would give a shit about someone from here? A female from the Underground no less?” the man sneered at Jon as my tears ran down face face quickly.
   “What’s with all this noise? I tryin’ ta take a nape…” a soft voice spoke from behind the two – previously – fighting men. “Some’mun has a bad potty mouth, too.”
   A child, a little girl to be exact, with thin dirty blonde hair stood there, wiping the sleepy dust from her hazel eyes. “Good going, ya dingus.” Zack smacked Jon upside the head before picking up the small child.
   Zack muttered something that only the child could hear, as I watched on, feeling myself stiffen once her eyes landed on me. A chill ran down my spine, taking in the familiarity of them. “Grammy?” her sleepy voice muffled by the thumb she sucked on.
   The auburn haired man handed the tiny child to me, giving me the chance to cradle her in my arms as she rested her head against my shoulder, facing towards the Lance Corporal. “Before some gobshite interrupted me, earlier, I was gonna tell you the reason why Cameron passed away.” Zack casted a scathing glare at Jon, causing the younger man to cringe, appearing smaller than he really was, before redirecting his gaze back to me. “That little girl is why Cam’s not with us. She gave up her life to bring her into the world… However, before she passed, Cam mentioned that it was something you would have done. That you would give your life for your kids… And that’s why this gobshite is pissed.” To make a point, the auburn haired man slapped Jon upside his head.
   “Grumpy looks grumpy…” the tiny child mumbled around her thumb, looking directly at Levi. “Grumpy needs a bananer… they make you happy.”
   My [color] eyes widen as I turned, facing the dead-panned Lance Corporal who seemed to be having a staring contest with the little four year old. The child was not going to back down and pointedly kept staring back. “Grumpy?” I inquired.
   “Grammy,” she pointed up at me, “Grumpy,” her finger now pointed directly at Levi’s face. It finally clicked as to what she was talking about, causing my whole face to redden at the thought.
   “N-No, no, no, no! That’s Levi-heichou, not Grandpa! Heichou!”
   “Grumpy.”
   “You are an embarrassment, child!” I covered my face with my hands, groaning in frustration over how adamant she was.
   “Pfftt…” the twins started snickering, looking at our odd threesome mischievously. “Allison’s deadset on mom’s superior being grandpa… Is that what they teach you in the military?”
   “What… was that?” I asked ominously, slowly turning to look at them both as I cracked my knuckles. “Excuse me.” I sat the girl on Levi’s lap in my place as I stood, making my way around the table towards the two idiots. “Mind repeating that you little fuckers?!” before they had a chance to respond did I grab them both by their collars, dragging them out of the house. “You two talk big, but can you back your shit up?” they lay on their backs, staring up at me, before scrambling to their feet. “Show me what you’ve learned in the last ten years, kids…”
[-][-][-]
   Derek and Morgan groaned as forming bruises littered their forms, and I dusted off my clothes while licking the split lip they gave me. “Still have a long ways to go, children.” They said nothing, just narrowing their Jade colored eyes at me from their spots on the ground.
   “Are you—”
   “— thinking what—”
   “— I’m thinking?” they finished together, quickly catching their breaths as coy grins curled their lips. “Of course you are, brother!” the twins got to their feet, ignoring whatever bit of grime or blood that clung to them, as they each threw an arm over my shoulders. “We have decided, mother!”
   “And what have you two spawns of Satan decided?”
   “Well…”
   “… You might not like it…”
   “But we have decided that—”
   “— we’ll join the military with you!”
   “What?!”
   “Told you that you wouldn’t like it.” Derek and Morgan dead panned, running their free hands through their sandy blond waves.
   “Of course I don’t, you idiots!”
   “Think of it logically, mom! We’re the perfect, and we do mean perfect, team. We don’t need to talk to inform the other what is going on, and our attacks are in perfect sync. Throw in the fact that we love to fight dirty if it means us winning the fight, then you got a good set of soldiers.”
   Turning, I stared at the others that clogged up the door. “Any of you share this fucked up idea?” without any hesitation, Lacy’s hand shot up in the air before smacking Jon, who proceeded to slowly raise his own hand. Zack just rubbed the back of his neck as he shook his head in the negative.
   “One of us would have to look after Ally, as well as look after any other kids of the Underground, so it’d be best if it was me.”
   “Oh, is that so?” the auburn haired man flinched, noticing the glint my eyes took. “So the rest of you think you have what it takes to make it as a Scout, hm?” Lacy and the twins nodded furiously. “Heichou, do you think my brats have a chance in the Corps.?”
   The vertically challenged man scuffed, carrying the toddler under his arm as if she was nothing more than documents. “I doubt they’d be able to take down Springer or Blouse.” I chuckled in agreement with his statement.
   “Mother! How cruel of you to doubt your own children!” whined the twins, grabbing my legs.
   “Get the hell off me. You aren’t 13 anymore!”
   “Brother! Mom’s sexually frustrated!” they cried as one, clinging to each other as my face heated up.
   “Why you—!”
   “Instead of killing them, [Name], wouldn’t it be best to make them eat their words?”
   I looked back at my Corporal. “You honestly think Erwin would accept?”
   “Tch. I do not give a shit if Eyebrows accepts or not. Your brats would provide some entertainment back at HQ.”
   “Grumpy’s mouth is full of poo…” chimed Allison cheerfully. A tiny grin curled the man’s thin lips as his gun metal gay eyes slid down to her.
[-][-][-]
   Erwin was no where in sight when we returned, mainly with the six extra bodies that we had following behind us. The young cadets seem to take notice first, as they all came scurrying over to look at the unknown faces. “Let’s see…” I sat Allison down as I strolled up and down the line. “You,” I pushed Jean forward, “you,” Eren, “you,” Mikasa, “you,” Connie, “and you.” I finished while pushing Ymir forward. “Jean paired with Lacy, Mikasa with Jon, Derek and Connie, while Ymir with Morgan.”
   “Er… what about me, Bun-taichou?” inquired Eren, pointing up at himself.
   “You, my dear cadet, will be paired with my protégé Zack.” I gestured, watching as the teen’s sea-green eyes trailed up, widening at how tall the younger man was. Zack was pushing closer to Mike’s height, though he was still a bit shorter than the man with the habit to sniff people. “The rest of you will be watching, got that? As for you that’ll be sparring… Word of warning, my kids won’t go easy on you and will use any underhanded tactic they can. First up is Lacy and Jean.”
   I picked up Allison again and leaned back against the wall next to Levi, grinning ever so slightly as Lacy pulled off her face mask, tucking it away in her coat pocket before tossing it away. Jean watched her, looking wary as she slowly walked around him, a coy grin curling her pearl colored lips as her skirt fluttered around her legs. ‘The fox is coming out to play.’ I thought, just as Lacy slowly glided the tip of her tongue over her upper lip, drawing Jean’s eyes there.
   “Bad move.” Allison commented, watching Lacy zip forward, driving her knee into his stomach before flipping back, lightly bouncing on the balls of her feet as she shook out her arms. Jean looked back up at her, yet his gaze dragged back down to her slender legs. “Stupid!” the ginger haired woman’s grin slipped, showing her annoyance as she stomped over and grabbed the sandy-brown haired teen by the collar of his uniform, bringing them face to face.
   “Oi, horse-face! Take me seriously, dammit!”
   “She said the magic word…” I chuckled, watching as Jean smacked her hands away and took a fighting stance, looking a bit more serious than he did before. Lacy nodded in approval, holding a loose fist out in front of her at shoulder level, while her other hand was left open at hip level.
   Punches were thrown and blocked, some hitting while others missed their marks, before Lacy fisted his uniform collar, planting her left foot into his stomach, and throwing him over her head. Without waiting, she flipped herself over and straddled his chest, placing the hooked blade that was hidden under her short skirt against the underside of his jaw. “Hm… Now that I got a better look at ya… yer pretty cute… For a guy with a horse face, that is.” Getting up, Lacy dusted off her legs and skirt, leaving Jean on the dirt ground, and smiled at me. “So… How was I, mom?”
   “Heichou?”
   “She’s adequate… for a shitty brat, that is.”
   Lacy puffed out her cheeks and walked off. “Morgan, Ymir, up front!”
   Morgan whistled lowly. “Hello Miss Leggy~” he smirked, standing across from her. “What do you think, Brother?”
   “Eh… I’d give her a 6/10. Not our type, though.” Morgan nodded in agreement.
   Ymir and Morgan’s fight ended in a draw, much to the twins’ amusement, as I gestured towards Derek and Connie. “Try and keep the trash talk to a minimum, okay?”
   “Like the bald look, but personally it’s not my style.” Derek remarked, pulling his sandy blond hair back into a half ponytail, allowing a few strands frame his charming face, as he cracked his knuckles. “After all, the ladies love having something to hold on to.” He chuckled suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows a bit to help get his point across.
   Even after the beating I gave him, Derek was able to go easy on the shorter teen. In a matter of minutes, after the older man stopped playing around, did he get behind Connie a pulled him into a wrenching full Nelson, nearly making the younger teen pass out from the lack of blood circulating to his brain. Before Connie passed out from the hold, Derek released him and easily picked him up and carried him over to a tree by the other cadets. Not waiting for my signal, Jon strode forward just before Mikasa.
   “You know, right now would be a great time to lay down bets.” I muttered, looking at Levi from the corner of my eyes.
   Ally watched us both intently, seeing as the two have yet to start their spar, and waited for the man’s answer. “Twenty coin, and a week of cleaning duty, says your shit stain son and the brat tie.”
   I hummed in response. “Okay. Twenty coin, and you actually sleeping, says that Jon’ll come out on top.” We shook on it to seal the deal. The twenty-two year old man stood his ground, waiting as a gentle breeze blew through, ruffling his mahogany mane. Adjusting her stance just a bit, Mikasa launched herself into action, aiming a swift kick to Jon’s side. He took the kick, and all of her punches, while blocking his head, his rust-brown orbs following every movement the oriental girl made like a hawk.
   Mikasa swung, aiming to break through his defenses to hit him in the face, only to end up with her arm trapped by his own and pinning it to the side; thus bringing her closer for a headbutt to the bridge of her nose. Jon moved, sliding his hip behind her, using her trapped arm as leverage, and threw Mikasa down. The other cadets gasped in surprise at the take-down, however the red scarf-wearing girl did not stay down for long, as she quickly got back to her feet and charged at Jon. The mahogany haired man blocked her punches, grabbed her scarf, and tossed her back.
   If looks could kill, the young male would have been six feet under. From where I stood, I could easily see the young female’s jaw locking up, her piercing gaze locked on Jon’s challenging one. She came after him again, aiming to swipe his feet from under his stocky form, which worked, making the man fall on his ass. “Tsk.” Jon flipped back, barely dodging an axe kick to the top of his head, and got to his knees. Tensing up, he launched himself forward, digging his shoulder right under her breasts, and tackled her to the ground.
   The two rolled around, trying to one up the other and pin them, but it didn’t last long when Jon got his knee between her legs. “Jon don’t—!” without listening to my warning, he kneed Mikasa hard between the legs as he grabbed hold of the lapels of her coat, and headbutted her once more, allowing him to come out on top. Mikasa gasped loudly, curling into the fetal position with her hands between her legs. Setting Allison down, I stormed over to the man who sat on his knees, heavily panting, as he wiped away sweat from his brow. “You idiot!” he flinched, just as my boot made contact with the side of his head. Grabbing a handful of his sweat-drenched hair, I pulled him up and kneed him in the jaw, sending Jon backwards.
   “What the hell, mom! You didn’t set any rules, meaning it was fair game!” he shouted, wiping away the blood that trailed from his nose.
   “When have I ever allowed Fight Club moves, though, Jon?!” Jon bit his tongue but scowled at me in return. “Now you’re gonna get off your sorry ass, pick up Mikasa – gently might I add – and take her to the infirmary like the gentlemen that you should be, or so help me I’ll kill you myself! Do I make myself clear young man?”
   “Y-Yes mother!” he stammered, scrambling to his feet and gently picked up Mikasa bridal style, his ears turning a bright pink, as he lowly asked for directions. Allison, seeing this as a perfect chance to explore, chased after them both and seem to be trying to bombard the Asian girl with questions.
   “A-Are you okay, Squad Leader [Name]?” Eren asked, coming to my side.
   “I’m fine, I’m fine. Though I won’t say the same for you…” the tanned boy gulped in response, turning to face the ever intimidating Zack. “Seeing as I have to set some ground rules here… No hits below the belt, as in no intentional nut-shots,” I casted both boys a look, “and no bladed weapons of any kind.” I held a hand out towards Zack, who simply shrugged, and removed a knife from his right boot and a dagger from the left, and placed them in my hand. Seeing my knowing look, Zack took off the one strapped to his right hip, handing it over, followed by the one strapped to his back, before pushing up both of his sleeves to show two combat knives strapped to both of his inner forearms.
   Eren’s sea-green eyes widen in silent awe at all the blades, while I gestured to the older of the two’s boots again. Zack snorted and kicked the heel of his right boot, forcing the hidden blade to pop out, and gave it to me. “That’s all of them, I promise.”
   “Oh, I know. Seven has always been your lucky number.” I returned back to my spot next to the Lance Corporal, and proceed to cross my arms. Without saying anything, Levi placed the gold coins he owed in my waiting hand. Eren did not look too sure as he took his fighting stance, his sea-green eyes focused on Zack warily. “Begin whenever you’re ready!”
   Zack’s large size was an advantage, but also a disadvantage, and against someone like Jaeger, his size was a huge handicap. Eren happened to be light on his feet, unlike the auburn haired man, and used that to aid him as they sparred. Very rarely did Zack land a solid punch or kick on the younger male, while said male was able to finally knee him in the mid-thigh, bringing the giant down into a panting mess. “Okay… OW! What the hell is your knee made of, kid? Rocks?”
   I whistled lowly, patting Eren on the back as I passed (though I was tempted to pat him on the ass just to see how he’d react, however I will leave that up to Hanji to do), and toed the area on Zack’s thigh. He winced in pain as I stared. “The little shit dead-legged you! Of all the damn moves you let him do, you let him fucking dead-leg you! Haha, and was a Grade 2 dead-leg!” I teased, watching as his face heated up into a bright red. “Oi, help your moronic brother up!” I pointed at the twins, who nodded and helped Zack to his feet while sickeningly sweet smiles, “show these idiots the infirmary.” The German boy saluted and escorted all three into HQ. Lacy, on the other hand, was too busy talking up a storm with a slightly flustered Jean.
   “Was that enough entertainment for you, Heichou?”
   “Tch. Your shitty brats might have what it takes to be apart of the Scouting Corps… If they can use 3DMG as well as they can brawl.”
   I hummed lowly with a soft smile. “What is going on here?” turning around, I spotted Erwin walking over to us.
   “Whoops. What now?”
   “Levi, [Name], what is going on here?” Erwin demanded, standing in front of us.
   “A friendly bet?” I offered, making Levi snort.
   “Calm the hell down, Erwin. You look like you’re ready to take a huge shit.” Commented Levi, looking as stoic as ever.
   “I would like some answers, Levi. Just who are these people?”
   Humanity’s Strongest pointed a thumb at me. “Why don’t you ask her. They are her brats after all.”
   Mr. Forehead-mustache quirked one of the majestic sides of said mustache as he turned an icy gaze towards me, silently waiting for my answer. Shooting a quick glare at the shorter man, to which he replied with a smug smirk, I gave the Commander an awkward smile. “You remember the kids I used to look after, right?” he nodded, “you see, it started like this…” I began, telling Erwin what happened, leaving out the embarrassing bit of being forced to sit on Levi’s lap, and that my granddaughter thinks that he’s her grandpa… “which leads us to this moment in time. Moreover, no matter how much I do not like the idea, they are all grown up and can make their own choices. In addition, from what they’ve show us, they’d make great soldiers.”
   “We would have to test them out on the 3D Maneuver Gear, but from what you have just told me, I do not see any reason to not permit them to join our ranks. I trust yours and Levi’s judgment, [Name]…” Erwin told us both, just as a teasing grin curled his lips. “However, about this bet you two made… How do you honestly plan on getting Levi to sleep more than 3 hours, [Name]?”
   “Well, since I joined, I sorta have filled out. Women are known as walking pillows… I am a woman, he’s a man… Simple math, isn’t it?” I replied innocently, watching as heichou’s ears turned a bright red as he scoffed softly at my words. This display caused Erwin to chuckle as he left us alone. Sliding my [color] gaze over, I smiled softly at the flustered man. “You do know I willingly gave up that day, right?”
   “Why did you?”
   Giggling, I shrugged my shoulders. “Who knows? Maybe it was because this guy I happened to look up to – no matter how short he is compared to other men – and is pretty handsome, was straddling my thighs at the time…” his stormy gray orbs widened a fraction, “maybe it also had something to do with the fact that we street rats, the ones casted out like garbage originally, can actually make a name for ourselves. To actually be somebody… Both of those reasons are why I willingly gave up.” Chuckling, I noticed how bright Levi’s ears were. “I guess what I’m trying to also say is that… I really fucking love you, too, you neurotic clean freak dumbass.”
   “Where the—!”
   “Oh please! You awkward fucker! No one, not even Hanji or Mike, noticed that I was missing my family. In addition, you giving me advice to see them, and agreeing to come with me on top of that? You must either really like and/or love them, or you finally gone batshit crazy. The Levi Ackerman that I know doesn’t do shit for nobody unless they are important to him.” I stood on the tips of my toes as my fingers wrapped around his white cravat. “Just admit you are an awkward shit when it comes to expressing yourself, and that you love me, even if I’m filthy.”
   “You are not filthy…” he commented harshly.
   “Are you sure about that, heichou? I can be a real filthy woman when it calls for it~”
   In mere seconds I found myself slung over his broad shoulder, looking directly at his nice ass, as he carried me into HQ. “Oh? Then I must clean you thoroughly, then, to rid you of such filth [Name].”
   “Is that a threat, Levi-heichou?” I asked, pushing my [color] strands out of my face.
   “No. It’s a damn promise.”
[-][-][-]
   Next morning, when Eren walked into the dining hall, he stared curiously at the Lance Corporal, who, dare the Titan shifter say it, looked normal… Well, as normal as a vertically challenged clean freak could, while everyone else looked miserable. “Why do you all look half dead?” the German teen asked, questioning the newest ‘members’ of the Scouts and the other cadets, taking note that the little girl was over with Squad Leader [Name] and Corporal. He thought he heard the child call the stoic man “grumpy”.
   Jean groaned, glaring at the other teen. “You sure are fucking lucky, Jaeger, being able to sleep in the basement.”
   “How the hell is that ‘lucky’, horse-face?”
   “You didn’t have to hear them,” the long-faced teen pointed at the two formally mentioned adults, “going at it like rabbits all night! It is probably worse than hearing your own parents having sex!”
   “Squad Leader [Name] just so happens to be a screamer…” Connie added, shuddering at the thought.
   The twins giggled to themselves, while the rest of [Name]’s family looked ill. “When you put it that way, I’m glad I do sleep in the basement.”
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esteicy-blog · 5 years
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The price of War
A/N: I’m sorry! I know this chapter took forever, but my inspiration didn’t want to cooperate for months and then there was the fact that I’m lazy and only wrote like 0 to 300 words every day, I promise I will try to not take so long next time.
Okay for give you an idea of what to expect at first this was meant to be a chapter purely about Pietro learning to be a lady, but at the middle I changed and decide to concentrate on his dynamic with Maximus, honestly it doesn’t give much to the plot so I’m sorry if that’s disappointing for you, my dear readers.
Anyway I hope you will enjoy and thank you for your patience.
Tagging; @imperiuswrecked @allwillbeone @teal-bandit
Pietro woke up with the sunlight coming in from the window, he closed his eye for a moment again since this whole mess started he didn’t have energy to do anything actually. At least he didn’t have to wake up with Maximus by his side every morning, during these two weeks he could notice the inhuman was usually an early riser, always getting up before the sun and way before his wife.
But eventually Pietro had to open his eyes and leave his bed, he had duties and lessons he couldn’t just ignore. Maximus had been pretty clear after the first night, Pietro wasn’t just his toy to torture, he was his wife and the house’s lady and had to act like such…or make an effort to learn how.
He wasn’t glad with such an order, being forced into this situation was humiliating enough and honestly didn’t give a fuck about his husband’s reasons.
“Well, my little bird, even if I’m a private person someday I will have to show myself in public again and that include my wife” Maximus said in that condescending tone he always used when he had to explain something to Pietro “And contrary to what you must believe, we aren’t stupid Pietro, right now no matter how beautiful and delicate you may look you would never fool anyone with your manners, the way you walk, stand, talk, everything about you is masculine! It’s so evident you are a man in a costume instead of a woman that was properly educated to be a lady”
“Because that’s what I am, Maximus!” Pietro exclaimed irritated
“That’s what you’re for now! But you will learn to be a lady, my little bird” Maximus smiled at him while petting his head.
“Why would I do such a thing?” he asked sharply while slapping his hand away.
“Because if they discover our lie we will be in problems and I don’t want that” he says tiredly.
“Oh so I must humiliate myself so you won’t be bothered, sure! I don’t think so” the younger man crossed his arms.
Maximus looked at him for a long time before smiling, again that disturbing and lifeless smile, it was the calm before a storm...a really dangerous calm.
“Well Pietro…if you don’t want to cooperate I have other ways to make you more feminine” the man came closer and touched his hips “What gives a man his sense of masculinity? What is the first sign of our virility we give to the world? What makes a man a real man?”
The wicked man started moving forward until he pressed Pietro against the wall, grabbing his skirt and pulling it up, revealing his legs.
“What the hell are you talking about? Let me go!” Pietro pushed him away but Max slapped him violently.
“What I’m talking about? I wonder if you are really that stupid or if your little mind try to protect you” he grabbed his hair “If you won’t be good an cooperate in your transformation into a good woman, maybe I should accelerate the process and just cut what makes you a man!” with a big smile that showed his teeth he grabbed his cock painfully.
Pietro screamed for the sudden and horrible pain, tears coming to his eyes, but then he understood his twisted intentions and fought trying to get away from him, even if his body was hurting.
“No! You wouldn’t…” he was terrified.
“Don’t try to guess what I wouldn’t do, whore!” Maximus pulled harder and then threw him to the floor “If castrating you I get you to behave, so be it! I’m sure it would be something interesting to see!” his laugh invaded the room, maniacal and sadistic.
Pietro moved back to a corner in the room, cold sweat bathing him while he tried to ignore how much his crotch was hurting. He looked at Maximus and knew this son of a bitch would be capable of that and more, why would he doubt his cruelty at this point? Shaking he hugged himself, even if obeying his order was denigrating…it was the less bad option, he couldn’t endure being mutilated like that.
“Please no…I will do what you want….I will learn to be a good lady” he promised looking at the floor.
“That’s a good little bird” Max said satisfied.
So after leaving the bed he called for Jeanne and washed his face, the girl arrived and helped him to get dressed, the process was so irritating, why would a dress need so many ribbons? And he wasn’t a fan of that useless long skirt, what was the purpose? Limiting women’s mobility? Stupid.
“I can brush my hair myself, Jeanne” he said looking at her in the mirror.
“It’s not a problem for me, my lord” she replied not stopping her task “You have a hair easy to brush and it still being short so it’s even easier”
“Yeah it can’t grow that much in…how much time we have been in this damn hell?” he asked confused.
“Two weeks.”
“Oh…it felt like more” he sighed and when he was ready the girl sit in front of him, applying some makeup to his cheeks and lips “Why do I have to wear makeup? It’s really dumb.”
“Boltagon said he wanted your face with some more…life” she shrugged.
“I would have way more life if he fucking died and stopped bothering me” Pietro said growling, making her laugh even if it wasn’t really a joke.
Then they both went to the kitchen to have breakfast. The reason Pietro had his breakfast in the kitchen and no the dining room was really simple in the kitchen he felt safe, Maximus and his men mostly avoided it since they didn’t really have anything to do there. So Pietro and his servants stayed there every time they could, talking and helping a little even if Pietro was quite useless when it was about cooking.
“Pietro I already told you to not sit like that” Bova scolded him while drinking her tea.
Pietro rolled his eyes and apologized, crossing his ankles and straightening his back, both hands on his lap when he wasn’t using them.
“So what will you teach me today?” he asked tilting his head.
“What about some etiquette? How to act in society, since your husband said you would have to do it eventually” she offered smiling kindly.
“What exactly should I learn? I mean it can’t be that different from being a guy, right?”
“It is quite different, my lord!” Georgia exclaimed.
“A lady must know how to greet, how to sit, what words use, how to act in front of different figures and situations, at the table, in a dance, with her family and with a stranger, if you will have to pretend in front of the Inhumans you will have to do it well and make as few mistakes as possible” Bova talked solemnly, leaving her empty cup in a table and taking his hand.
Pietro nodded and followed to their “study room”, Jeanne came too. It was morning when they started and midday when one of the servants came to tell Pietro the lunch was already served, his husband was waiting for him.
The young lord was exhausted, he couldn’t believe they spent fifteen minutes trying to learn how to properly bow in front of someone? This was really ridiculous, he really had a lot to learn.
At the dining room he found Maximus sitting and waiting for him, he sit by his side and looked at him with a total lack of sympathy while the inhuman smiled at him like if he was so glad to see him
“Hello my beautiful wife! I’m sorry I couldn’t see you during the morning, I was really busy, and also was informed you were taking your lessons? I’m glad you are taking this so seriously”
Pietro hated how he could talk to him so calmly, playing this disturbing game of a happy couple when he actually despised him.
“Do I have other option more than take it seriously my dear husband?” he asked bitterly and with a fake smile “You threatened me! Remember?”
“Oh I do remember, I adore how beautiful you look when you are scared” Max laughed pitching his cheek, Pietro slapped his hand away.
They ate their lunch just like this, Maximus saying things to annoy Pietro and getting exactly what he wanted.
“Tell me, do you know how to cook Pietro?” he asked once they had finished.
“Why should I? I don’t need to know” he shrugged disinterested.
“Really?  You can’t be serious, you don’t know how to prepare anything?” he stopped smiling, now he was genuinely surprised.
“Anything that you would want to eat, at least.”
“Right…well you will change that, I want you cooking the dinner for today” he ordered crossing his arms.
“Excuse me? Why? I’m a lord I don’t need to know how to cook!” he discussed offended.
“You are a lady! And in my culture women and men can’t be that useless, we are a nomad people, it’s necessary to always be ready for traveling, and having someone that won’t even know how to peel a potato would be a problem.”
“But-!” Pietro tried to say something more but Maximus already was standing and leaving.
“I’m not asking you, is an order and you know it’s not a smart idea to disobey my orders, little bird…oh and just for make it more interesting you aren’t allowed to have help” he turned to him smirking “Good luck.”
The white haired man had to breathe and resist the impulse to throw his knife between his eyes, this damn gobbling! How the hell would he cook something alone? This would be a disaster…but well, he asked for it.
So when the dinner was served Pietro put in front of Maximus a bowl of soup, it was difficult to tell what exactly it contained but it didn’t look that bad.
“Bon appetite” he said crossing his arms and sighing.
Maximus moved his plate to Pietro’s direction and offered him the spoon.
“You try it first” he said serious.
“What? Do you think I could be trying to poison you?” he raised an eyebrow, taking the spoon.
“Oh my dear bird, I know you want me dead so badly, you can’t never be too cautious now eat!”
“Let me tell you I would gladly drink poison if I know you will take it next” he said smiling with hatred before taking a spoonful, it took him a moment but he swallowed it “Ah…satisfied?”
Maximus smiled nodding and tried the soup his lovely wife prepared for him…only to regret it immediately because it tasted horrible, he spited it all and drank his water desperately. Pietro had to bite his lip to not laugh on his face.
“What the hell did you do to this soup? It taste awful!”
“Me? I burned the meat, not cooked the vegetables enough and put sugar instead of salt” he answered with a big smile, oh his face was priceless.
“You did this on purpose?!” Maximus was pressing his fists and teeth.
“No, I meant it when I said I couldn’t cook! With that being said I didn’t really care if it was terrible” then he couldn’t contain his laugh anymore.
Max grabbed his pot growling and threw the soup to Pietro’s face, messing his hair and dress too.
“Hey! What the fuck is wrong with you?! It’s hot!”
“Not enough to ruin your face, you useless bitch!” the inhuman lord slapped Pietro hard, mad for his insolence.
“You knew I would mess it!” Pietro exclaimed touching his reddened cheek “You just wanted an excuse to humiliate me!”
“Like if I needed an excuse for that, I knew it wouldn’t be good but this was ridiculous” Maximus stood up and grabbed his jaw sharply “Now listen here whore, tomorrow you will be doing this again and if you don’t want me to force you to eat with the pigs of the farm, you better take it seriously!”
Pietro felt his blood boiling, he was so angry and the only thing he wanted to do was to stab his mouth with his knife until he couldn’t talk anymore. But he had to control himself, breathing slowly and digging his nails in the wood of the table.
“Was I clear?” he grabbed harder making him whine.
“Am I allowed to ask for help now?” he asked looking at him with disgust.
“Fine…only because I want to be able to eat tomorrow” then he let him go, his face going back to his relaxed and playful smile “Better luck then, my wife.”
Pietro left the table and went to his room shutting the door hard, going to sleep early so he didn’t have to see Maximus again during the rest of the night, he couldn’t stand his presence another second.
The boy cried himself to sleep and in the next morning his husband lightly slapping his face woke him up.
“Good mornings, sleeping beauty” Maximus said smiling at him “You have work to do today, remember? You better start your busy day early, I hope you won’t mess it or I will get really mean to you” he booped his nose playfully.
Pietro hit his hand away and looked at him irritated, he really hated to wake up with Maximus near it was an effective way to ruin his day.
“Fine, leave me alone” he growled getting up and going to call Jeanne.
“Don’t worry, I already have your warm water ready” Max pointed to the table and Pietro sighed and went to wash his face “You know? The girl is barely getting up now…to save time I will help you with your clothes today” he said smirking.
“N-not necessary! I can do it myself” Pietro turned to see him and walked back some steps.
“Oh little bird it wasn’t a question” he came closer and started taking off his night clothes, unbuttoning the nightgown and slipping it down, exposing his shoulders “And you don’t have to be so shy, I already know all your beautiful body, my wife” he whispered on his ear before kissing his neck.
“Ma-Maximus, stop” he said trying to push him away, but he grabbed his hand and put his arm around his waist.
“Behave, Pietro…don’t make me be less kind” now his mouth went to bite his shoulder trying to make his point clearer.
“You…you said I would have a busy day!” he was disgusted.
“Yeah I did, I suppose I can wait for another moment” he chuckled and took off his clothes, still taking his time to admire him even when Pietro tried so much to hide himself from his look, then helped him to put on his ‘unnecessarily complicated’ attire “You look perfect as always, good luck with your cooking my little bird” he smiled and kissed his face, making Pietro roll his eyes and wipes his cheek annoyed.
When Jeanne finally came in she helped him with what was left and then came with him to the kitchen where his servants were waiting for him with a light breakfast, and ready to teach him how to prepare something that wouldn’t be completely horrible.
It wasn’t easy, now Pietro was taking it seriously and that meant too many accidents; He cut himself many times trying to peel the potatoes, burned his hands with the pots, cried horribly while chopping the onions, broke a dozen of eggs by accident, burned the meat the first time…but at the end he managed to cook a good looking stew for the lunchtime. He prepared the dining room for them and waited until Maximus came back, Pietro looked tired for all the work.
“Hello my lovely wife!” Max greeted siting in his place “Well this definitely looks better than your last try, at least I can tell what you put on it” he said looking at his plate “You know what I require” he pushed it to him.
Pietro rolled his eyes and gave the first try without saying a word, maybe the next time he should put poison and just die with him.
“There…now please enjoy beloved husband” he said ironically.
“I hope I will…or you know what will happen” he took his spoon and tried the stew, taking his time to taste it carefully, he drank some water and smiled at Pietro “It’s okay but too much salt, better luck for the next try” then he stood and went to the door.
Pietro blinked confused at first and mad at second, standing and going to grab his sleeve.
“What? Where are you going? I worked the whole morning on this!” he exclaimed.
“I know but I’m not really hungry, I ate a good breakfast…I love you! See you in the dinner” laughing he left the room and a Pietro shaking of rage.
“That…son of a bitch!” the young man grabbed the plate and threw it against the wall.
“Hey, that’s not how a lady should act” one of the guards joked and the next he felt was Pietro punching his face.
“I’m not a lady yet” he clarified going outside.
After a tense and horrible dinner the Lord and his lady went back to their room, where Maximus scolded his wife for the behavior he had after he left.
“I admit hitting my servants is something I also do sometimes, but a beautiful and delicate bird like you shouldn’t do such a thing” he said taking his hand and kissing it, going then to take his lips softly.
“Leave me alone!” Pietro moved away and turned “Listen, this was a terrible day and it was your fault, can we just go to sleep?” he asked irritated.
“Oh you are so cruel! I wanted to continue what we were doing this morning” he said in a childish tone and pouting, he was in a good mood tonight “But okay…I think I can settle for a kiss, a good kiss of course.”
Pietro looked at him and frowned, crossing his arms and refusing to please him in any way.
“Do you prefer to be drugged and taken, my bird?” he pressed him against a wall “I would be glad to comply.”
“No! I just want to sleep…”
“Then kiss me!” he grabbed his hair making him close his eyes.
Pietro sighed and came closer, pressing their lip together, opening his mouth and allowing his tongue to invade and play with his as he pleased. The kiss was obscene and way too long, making him moan until Maximus broke it.
“See? Much better, a lovely good night kiss” the cynical man said with that damned smile before moving away “For this time that will be enough…only for this one” he booped his nose and laughed going to change his clothes and to the bed.
Pietro pressed his teeth and his hands, that day was…just a normal day living with Maximus…bullshit.
It would only get worse.
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secret-rendezvous1d · 6 years
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what if anne walked in on h and the missus about to fuck backstage
I feel like Anne would be completely immune to it. She knows they’re a loved up couple who like being intimate with each other so she’d expect nothing less from them. :’)
“Your mum could walk in at any minute, H.”
She tries her hardest to resist the continuous kisses that he was pressing against her mouth, soft and spongey against her baby-pink lipstick-painted lips, but he was becoming almost completely impossible to ignore. Seemingly not giving up until he got what he wanted. And, even though his kisses were her favourite kisses and she loved the cease every opportunity she could - she loved kisses that caught him off-guard but she also loved the kisses that he initiated because they were also so passionate yet so feather-light and gentle - his kisses, in that moment, were filled with a little something more than sweet and innocent passion. His lips were captivating, and they always had been, and his hands were soft as they cupped her face, the pads of his thumbs rubbing over the supple and smooth curves of her cheekbones. Eyes so deliciously green as he maintained eye contact and looked at her like she was the centre of his universe; she was, of course, and she knew that. Always shied away when he turned on that charm though.
Her hands rest upon his shoulders as her legs dangle from over the edge of the vanity table beneath her, trapping him between her legs as she crosses her ankles and lets the heels of his dirty-white trainers rest at the small of his back (because her feet had become swollen throughout the show and her loafers were hurting and his trainers were big enough to home the aching soles and swelling flesh of her feet), curling her fingers into the cotton material of his black shirt when he kissed her with force and absentmindedly dragging her nails up and over the curve of his shoulders as they spoke. Keeping him at a safe distance because they didn’t need someone walking in and getting the wrong idea to tease them about in the immediate future.
If anyone in the band were to have walked in on them then they’d never let them live it down and jokes would be made - Mitch found innocent humour at their unfortunate moments and it was something they could avoid by being careful with their actions. If Jeffrey was to have walked in on them then Harry would have been scolded for being so impolite to those in the stadium - it wasn’t that Jeffrey hated how intimate they were after shows… it was more saving the humiliation of being interrupted by a stranger and then having things spread online. If it was his mother who was to have walked in on them then it would have been a challenge to look her in the eye for the duration of her trip on tour with him - because, even though she’s walked in on him jerking off more than he could count on one hand and even though she’d seen them in rather intimate positions, it was still awkward to deal with the aftermath.
“S’not like she’s never walked in on us before, is it? She’s seen you with my cock in your mouth. She’s seen me hitting home-base before. She’s probably heard us go all the way, too, so what have we got to worry about?” He hums softly, swiping a thumb over her bottom lip and peeling it from her teeth, “s’not like she’s never seen me naked from the waist down before. Used to clean m’bits all the time as a baby.”
YN snorts; as serious as she was about not having a quickie in his dressing room, and as serious as he knew the situation was, witty comments were still part of his vocabulary. She drops her forehead to his chest, deeply inhaling the scent that clung to his body, arms winding around his neck as she hugs him and uses her feet to pull him a closer to her. The white Adidas shoes completely swallowing her feet and leaving her more than enough room to wiggle her toes, feeling them slide around, before fighting against the knot she had tied the laces in. His chin resting against the top of her scalp so her braids felt a little bumpy under his jawbone.
“And I’m traumatised about all of that, Harry. We don’t need to add to that list, do we?” She feels his shake his head from side to side, pulling away abruptly and sighing, “we’ll be back at the hotel come midnight. M’not sleepy. You’re not sleepy. We can squeeze in some alone time.”
He pauses and, for a moment, she’s confused as to why he needed to think it through. Alone. Just the two of them. With no risks of being caught. No possible interruptions. In a room that was comfier than a dressing room and happening in a place that was comfier than the vanity table. What on earth did he need to think about?
Of course, when she sees his head tilt to the side and a toying smirk play with the corner of his lips, she knows he wasn’t thinking about where the best place to be intimate was - no, he was thinking about how to sway her into agreeing with him.
“I mean, I think she knows were pretty sexually active, don’t you? You’re not exactly hiding the consequences of one of our unprotected rounds, are yeh?” He rests a palm on to top side of her curved belly and taps his fingers against the jumper that stretched across the swell, “babies are made with love. Made by sex, mainly, but they come from love.”
“Do you want to be put on a sex ban until Squish is old enough for university?”
“Just, stick your hands in my pretty pants and wank me off, please?” He laughs softly, ducking his head down to take a look into her eyes. Her cheeks a flush of dark pink as loose strands of hair tickle her forehead. “C’mon. I’ll be quiet so yeh can hear anyone walking down the corridor? I’ll give you the best sex of your life when we get back to the hotel room? I’ll take you out for breakfast tomorrow morning?”
“McDonalds breakfast?”
He rolls his eyes rather, and playfully, dramatically and smiles; her own lips quirking into a grin as she lets out a shaky sigh and rolls her head back, pouting towards the ceiling… only for him to take the chance at pressing a kiss to her lips.
“Fine. I’ll get you close but,” she points a finger at him and pokes his chest, right between his nipples, “I am not being taken responsible for spunk on your trousers. Lambert with throttle me for ruining some lovely Gucci clothes so you can do the rest yourself. Spunk into a tissue or something.”
“M’not sixteen and wanking to a porn magazine,” he scoffs, taking a glance over his shoulder to double-check that the door was closed, “m’a twenty-four year old man who just wants to cum in his wife’s hand. S’that too much to ask for?”
“If you waited until we got to the hotel room, you could have spunked down my throat but,” she shrugs and raises her eyebrows, “not happening now because you’re such an impatient prick.”
“You’ll let me fuck your throat,” he states, nodding to himself as he fiddles with the zip of his trousers and unbuttons the waist from around his hips, loosening the material and shimmying until the fell to his knees. Thumbs hooked into his boxers as he pushes them down his thighs. She cocks an eyebrow and stares at him. “You will. You’ll take one look at my penis-”
“- penis,” she cackles, mocking his accent as he scrunches his face in annoyance, rolling her head back as she giggles and letting her legs fall relaxed at either side of his body, feet swinging beneath her, “penis.”
“Stop it,” he warns her, “you’ll take one look at it after I get out the shower, and that’ll be it. Craving it like Mum’s Sunday dinners. ‘member how your mouth waters at the sight of crispy potatoes and gravy? You’ll be drooling, just like that,” he snickers, hiding his face in her neck as he presses a litter of pecks against the space just below her ear, “c’mon now. S’not gon’a wank itself off, is it?”
Her hand wraps around his hard girth, feeling the warm and tight skin underneath her gentle hold, and he winces as she begins to move her wrist with soft and drawn out flicks and jerks, swiping his tip with her thumb with much apprehension that had him groaning. Groaning because it had been a while since he’d had a proper handjob that was given by a hand that wasn’t his. That belonged to the only hand he would ever allow, that he would ever want, to touch him. It stung and it tingled, in a good way, and he wanted more of it. Bucking his hips forward, feeling weak on his boot-clad feet as he felt his thighs tremble.
Post-show quickies were his favourite kind of quickies.
Sure, they’ve had bathroom quickies at friend’s parties and hot-tub quickies in Jeffrey’s hot-tub and bedroom quickies in a room he grew up in, and car-park quickies when they were on their way to restaurants and she looked too good and happened to show more cleavage than she’d ever done before, but they never amounted to the thrill he felt when he was hyped up on adrenaline and euphoria and struggled to contain his whines and whimpers.
They’re distant and in a world of their own - he’s can feel his orgasm building up by the second and she can tell he’s getting antsy and wants to cum - when Anne knocks on the oak, poking her head around the door and taking one glance in their direction, receiving an eyeful of her son’s bare bum and an earful of profanities that strung from his mouth as he cried out in relief.
“Oh, my goodness!”
YN’s eyes snap open at the sudden exclamation, to see her mother-in-law standing in the doorway with her hands covering her eyes and her mouth gaped open, bouquet of flowers now down by her feet after having dropped them at the sight, and she feels her face change from relaxed and showing enjoying to tense and showing embarrassment. Her hand releasing Harry’s cock as he groaned against her neck and straight away from her.
“M’not spunking in a tissue, baby,” he croaks, looking over his shoulder to see his mother, “fuck.”
“I just came to tell you that I’m heading back to the hotel, if you wanted to join me in a taxi back, but I can see you’re a little busy so-”
“Mum,” he bends over and pulls up his boxers, gulping thickly as he stands back up, ignoring the fact that he had a tent bulging in his underwear and trying to busy himself with finding the clothes he wore before changing into his Gucci suit, “we thought you were having a coffee with the ladies from Sarah’s Kitchen.”
As soon as she’d given him a big hug and pressed a little congratulatory kiss to his cheek, after he’d stepped off stage, she was whisked away by the ladies who were catering for the entirety of his US leg. Shooting him a promise that she’d find him, if he didn’t find her, at the time of their departure from the venue.
“I was but I’m getting a bit sleepy and we’re up early again tomorrow and I thought I’d spare you the worry of heading back without telling anyone and come tell you myself,” she starts, crouching down to pick up the flowers as she ignores the scene of her son waddling around with his trousers down by his ankles, “I’ll just grab a taxi back and then I’ll see you in the morning.”
“No, wait. We’ll just come with you,” he looks over at his wife as she looks everywhere but Anne’s direction, “won’t we, love? Said you were getting a bit tired, didn’t yeh?” YN nods and agrees with the little white lie and looks down at her lap, picking at the rips in her jeans before hopping off the tabletop and scuffing across the carpet, passed Anne who watched her with an amused look on her face, “we might as well head back now. I was getting myself changed and ready to go but-”
“You got sidetracked,” Anne smiles, “I get it. Just,” she steps into the room and closes it behind her. Squeezing YN’s hand as she looked at her for the first time since her appearance into the room. “Next time you get a little cheeky, make sure you’re somewhere that you won’t get seen or interrupted. Someone else could’ve seen the both of you like that and who knows what would have happened. You’re lucky it was me. Seen it all before, haven’t I?” xx
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savinscripts · 5 years
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CHAPTER 6:
❝ I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. ❞
While Faye and Fane had been shopping, Carrington had found the - somehow mostly unrusted axe - in the work shed. He’d managed a decent pile of firewood after also finding a sharpening blade in the dust and decay. A few turns over the edges had improved the blade’s cut. It would still need cleaning and another good sharpening after, but for the moment it served it’s purpose. He’d hauled the wood inside, putting a decent amount in both fireplaces in his and Faye’s rooms. He’d left a pile for Fane’s room by the back door, not wanting to trespass where he wasn’t invited. Yet.
He stripped the bed linens from both rooms (opting again to wait until the others returned to do Fane’s) and made a pile in the washroom.The heat seemed to be creeping it’s way through the house. The clunk of the furnace could be heard every now and then. But it was still frigid. A small part of Carrington hoped they could all bunk down in one room tonight. To conserve heat, of course. As appealing and welcome as a bed to himself and a bit of real privacy was, he had grown accustomed to the presence of the others. Even Faye. Who’s presence never failed to irk him. For reasons he kept to himself.
He busied himself in the kitchen after, cleaning the stove and making sure the gas worked. Going through cabinets that had been bare for decades. By the time the sound of the other’s return could be heard, Carrington was in great need of a shower. Dirt and cobwebs and dust covered his clothes. He was sweaty despite the cold air as he moved through the front door to help unload.
“You wanted to cook tonight, so long as it tastes good I couldn’t care less,” Fane said as they turned onto the road that led up to the estate. “Though maybe deep fried chicken would be good,” honestly the thought of decent food already had Fane starving for dinner. “I say surprise us. Also, do you want me to talk to Carrington and see what his issue is? I want to help if I can….” He wouldn’t presume, but he wanted to try and help ease things between them all. Pulling up outside, it was then a matter of unloading the several bags they’d picked up and Carrington’s arrival at the door was a welcome appearance. Though by the state of him he’d been damn well busy in the mean time, “someone’s been busy,” Fane grinned at the other man his eyes crinkling with just a touch of affection as he looked at Carrington.
Carrington ignored him, though it might’ve been said a touch of red appeared in his features that was clearly, clearly down to the cold air outside. “Bedding’s in the washroom, gas is working and I’ve cut down some wood for the fireplaces. Seems like the heating is kicking in so… I guess the pipes aren’t broken.”
Fane eyed him for a moment before nodding, “alright that’s good, help us take this inside-- we’ll unpack while you go and get washed down. ‘Cause frankly, you look like you’ve just climbed out of a tomb and then been dragged backwards through a hedge” he was teasing of course, but he figured that Carrington wouldn’t mind the chance to freshen up. “We also got you some clothes,” but they could sort all that out once they were inside.
“Chicken it is then. With a few surprises thrown in.” They’d stocked up on the usual spices and oils and things they would need for baking and such, so Faye was already mentally going through what she’d need for dinner. They’d gotten a few fresh things too, but those would have to be eaten within the week. Depending on how long they were here, Faye would love to start a garden for fresh vegetables. Maybe there were some wild berry bushes around that could be cultivated. Strawberries, blueberries, etc. She knew how to make preserves and jams.
But she was getting ahead of herself there. It had barely been half a day. Who knew what would happen in the coming weeks. They would have to see. For now though, they were almost back to the house. Faye felt a bit of trepidation as she saw Carrington standing on the front steps. She wondered if everything Fane had told her was true. She wondered how she felt about it if it was.
“Yeah. Sure.” That was all she said about it as they pulled to a stop. She got out and grabbed an armful of bags from the back, walking past Carrington as he came down the steps after his short conversation with Fane. He didn’t offer to take the bags from her, and Faye didn’t ask him for help.
Carrington watched her pass by with a slightly irritated expression. He grabbed his own armful of bags and headed inside. It didn’t take long to unload between the three of them. Once everything was in the kitchen, Faye set to unpacking - setting aside what she would need for dinner - while Carrington thanked Fane for the clothes that had been purchased for him and went upstairs to clean up.
Faye set the items out with a bit more force than necessary, feeling every bit the odd one out now that they were back. Despite Fane’s assurances to the contrary. She snagged a bag of potatoes and dumped a few into the sink for peeling before setting a pan of oil warming on the stove. Her movements were short and precise, and she didn’t talk at all while she worked. If Carrington wanted to continue to be an ass, so be it. Maybe he wouldn’t choke on dinner.
You would have had to have been an idiot to not notice the shift in atmosphere as soon as they had gotten out of the car, and Fane hung back a little as he observed the silent charade playing out in front of him. He could see what Faye meant now that it had been pointed out to him, and where he lingered by the car ended up scratching his chin wondering how the best way to go about everything was. Talking to Carrington first probably, getting him to talk to Faye.... A plan of action was coming to mind as he watched Faye disappear with a bag of food inside followed by Carrington.
It took a few trips back and forth to unload everything, locking the car and heading into the slowly warming house Fane glanced after Carrington as he made his exit to go and wash up. He was dragged out of his thoughts by the staccato clanking of tins and items Faye was putting out, too loudly and forcefully for something not to be wrong. He sighed through his nose at the display, childish really, and he couldn’t help a small flare of frustration over why it seemed so hard for them to get along.
After a few moments of watching, Fane walked over moving to catch her hand mid-air and slow her fast and sharp movements. Their hands rested on the can now that it was set on the countertop and Fane stayed there for a few seconds waiting for Faye to either acknowledge him or say something. “Let me go and talk to him… You said you trusted me earlier… Trust me to try and find a way to make this easier for us all.” Fane fell quiet then, hoping he could reassure her enough to settle her nerves “I was serious about what I said earlier… I want to make this work between us all.”
It was either take it out on the cans, or go upstairs and have a good cry. And Faye wasn’t about to cry over being treated like she didn’t exist. Or that her presence was a nuisance. Faye didn’t cry. Ever. So it turned to anger and frustration instead. She wanted to believe there was a larger issue there. That whatever reason Carrington had to despise her so much - or seem to - it was rooted in something Faye was unaware of. It seemed she was unaware of a lot these days, considering the things she’d learned in the car.
She could feel Fane’s eyes on her, but it wasn’t enough to stop her from mistreatment of the tins and jars. When his hand caught hers, effectively forcing her to acknowledge him, she simply stared down at the countertop. What could she say that hadn’t already been discussed? ‘I told you so’? Hardly.
Her fingers flexed over the jar, but his hand over hers held her fast. Her expression flickered, and she opened her mouth to say something scathing about the third member of their little group. But she shut it before anything petty could come out. She wouldn’t lower herself to his level. “I need a canopener,” she said. But she glanced at him from under the fall ofher hair. There was anger there, but also hurt. Confusion.Talk to him if you want, the expression said. I trust you. But I’m not expecting any miracles.’
Upstairs, Carrington had wasted no time in finding the hottest shower setting he could stand and stepping beneath it. He’d methodically washed himself, a process that took less than five minutes, and now stood beneath the spray. His hands were braced against the shower wall, and his head hung down as the water beat down over his neck. The hiss of the spray blocked out everything else, and the resulting cocoon of warm white noise was a blessed relief to Carrington. He had a habit of going until he couldn’t anymore. Running, running, running, and then falling down from sheer exhaustion. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d simply… let himself be. The plane ride over perhaps. But Faye had ruined that with her moaning.
That woman…
She drove him mad. The way she managed to get under his fucking skin by just being in the same room. When he shouldn’t have given two shits about her. Or Fane for that matter. He didn’t… care about people. Not anymore. Not for a long time. Though it seemed as if once again he had no say in the matter. As much as he tried to deny it, to push it all off on being situational, he was starting to care. And it was nobody’s fault but his own. So he let the water drown it all out, if only for a bit. And wished, not for the first time, that everything he felt, everything he was starting to feel, would just wash away down the drain with everything else.
With the silent affirmation to let him go given, Fane gave her hand a soft squeeze and lightly touched her waist. A small but genuinely affectionate and caring gesture, her well-being mattered to him and he wanted her to know that fact. “Alright, I’ll grab one for you,” with that he withdrew and went to rummage through the drawers until he came upon one “hopefully it still works, otherwise you might have to use a knife.” He slid it across the countertop and with a small dip of his head he headed back down the hall towards the stairway.
Fane heard the sound of running water from the hallway outside, and with next to no preamble made his way through the doors of Carrington’s bedroom and made a direct line for the bathroom. Next to no consideration given to whether or not Carrington would be bothered by his intrusion, in fact, Fane didn’t care about that right now needing to get to the bottom of all of this. And if that meant making Carrington uncomfortable, well, then so be it. Plus, it was hardly as if it would be the first time Fane had seen the other man naked; he’d gotten him that way several times over since their first encounter and while it was a sight to behold Fane also knew well enough how to keep his mind schooled enough to deal with the shit that mattered.
Apparently, Carrington hadn’t heard his entrance and Fane took a few moments to admire the lean line of the man’s back and the round curve of his ass with a small tip of one eyebrow. Could he be blamed for admiring the view? He didn’t think so, but eventually he knew that he couldn’t just stand here forever. “So,” he spoke up watching the other man tense just a fraction in surprise at the sudden intrusion “you going to explain what the hell your attitude and beef with Faye is all about? Because, I distinctly remember telling you to get it together.” Folding his arms, Fane leaned back against the counter waiting to see what response, if any, he received.
Faye stayed silent as Fane squeezed her hand and moved off. She caught the can opener as it was eventually slid her way, giving him a tight smile to let him know she heard him. He moved off then, and Faye threw herself into the task of making dinner.
Upstairs, Carrington was so lulled by the water and the warmth that he didn’t notice the shift in the air as someone entered. Though when Fane spoke up, his eyes flew open and he tensed slightly. Not enough for most to recognize, but Fane wasn’t most. Though what followed only served to make the tension worse. Fucking Faye. Of course. It had only been a matter of time, he supposed, until she’d pouted enough that Fane took notice. And of course, he was the bad guy. As always.
True to his stubborn, defiant nature, Carrington didn’t answer. He stayed where he was under the hot spray, back to Fane, and seriously debated telling him to fuck off. That it was none of his concern. It lasted a few moments, then something in Carrington said ‘try.’ It was a small voice. But Carrington knew who’s it was. Goddamn her.
He shut off the water and turned to look at Fane through the fogged up glass. Raking a hand through his hair, he stepped out, not bothering to cover up as he snagged one of the new towels from the shelf. “She send you up here?” he asked as he dried himself and wrapped the towel around his waist. The words were short and tightly said. Carrington moved off the sink where he’d sat his razor and shave soap. He wiped the fog off the glass and stared at himself for a moment before leaning heavily on the ceramic basin.
“Well?”
Fane wasn’t an idiot, he was observant, so of course it was only a matter of time before he noticed and either said or did something about it. Explaining his presence now, waiting patiently on Carrington to give some sort of answer to whatever he’d seen going on downstairs. Fane’s fingers lightly tapped on his arm, the mist fogging up his glasses to the point he pulled them off and set them aside on the counter.
“Please, I’d love to know why… Any time… You know, before the hot water runs out” Fane prompted his words a little clipped and shorter than usual. He didn’t think of Carrington as a bad person, or the bad one in this situation. But he also wanted to try and understand why he was behaving like this. He got no answer, save for the creak of the tap as the water cut off and Fane shifted over to make room for the other man as he dried himself off.
“No,” the word was spoken softly and Fane reached out to gently stroke up the damp curve of his spine, slow and affectionate. “I offered to come up here and try to understand why you seem so intent on being an asshole towards her.” Fane debated on telling him the whole truth, and since it seemed to be a day for them he exhaled through his nose “she thinks you hate her, thinks you want her to leave… And, I think she’s been considering it ‘cause she doesn’t feel like she belongs here with how you treat her.” Fane’s fingers curled a little against Carrington’s skin, his voice remained quiet and lacked judgement “and honestly, I can’t say I blame her in all honesty.”
Carrington knew Faye was watchful. And he had cut down on actually saying anything to Faye when she crawled his last nerve. When he did speak, at least if Fane was around, he made a point to be neutral with his words. But he had a harder time schooling his expressions. Or his avoidance. His mother would have boxed his ears if she’d witnessed him passing by without at least offering to help Faye with her bags.
Too bad she was dead.
Like everyone else he’d ever cared about.
Carrington gripped the countertop a bit harder than he had to. His hands flexed and released as Fane answered his question. The only indication that he’d heard a word of it was the slight jump of the muscles in his jaw. But when Fane touched his back, a soft breath of air found it’s way out. Carrington’s eyes fluttered closed. They even tightened a bit as Fane went on. Telling him in no uncertain terms that if he was trying to drive Faye away, it was working. And that Fane didn’t blame her for wanting to go.
His fingers flexed again, and he stiffened as his eyes opened again. “What would you have you have me do then? Apologize? Beg forgiveness? Tell her she should stay?” Carrington stood brusquely, walking away from Fane’s touch and out into the bedroom. Partly because he couldn’t stand the way Fane was looking at him - softly, and without judgement - or the way his touch made Carrington want to give him anything he asked for. Anything at all. Even his stubborn, traitorous heart.
Because that just wouldn’t do, would it?
Would it?
“If she wants to go…” Carrington rummaged through his new clothes, discarding the towel on the bed and replacing it with a pair of cotton joggers. He very pointedly didn’t look back at Fane. “Probably for the best.” It was a good lie, he thought. And six months ago he would’ve been impressed with himself for maintaining such good composure. Under the circumstances. But he wasn’t impressed. Not one bit.
Because he was a coward.
And it was written all over his face. In his actions. His pacing. His busying himself with putting things away that could wait until later. But most wouldn’t see it. Most wouldn’t care enough to look that far. But Fane wasn’t most. And it was that reason that kept Carrington moving, kept him from having to meet the other man’s gaze. Kept him from having to admit his failings.
For a brief moment Fane thought that maybe he was getting through to the stubborn ass man infront of him. That maybe, just maybe he was making some headway with him. Fane knew his words wouldn’t be well received, how could they? But he’d grown rather well-versed in Carrington’s silent reactions and the twitching muscle in his jaw was a sign that he was getting agitated. Which, Fane knew would mean it would shortly be followed by some sort of outburst or reaction. Because Carrington was probably feeling defensive over the insecurity that Fane guessed fuelled his behaviour towards Faye. Of course, the man was a soldier, trained to display nothing but confidence and certainty. There was no place in his head for being insecure or unsure and to mask that Carrington acted out, or more commonly, spoke out.
To keep people at a distance. And most people likely would have folded under Carrington’s attitude and brusqueness. Unfortunately for Carrington, Fane was certainly not most people. Fane was stubborn perhaps even moreso than Carrington presently.
As expected, Carrington retreated, putting distance between them and Fane gave a small roll of his yes before following through and leaning a shoulder on the doorframe. Fane clicked his tongue, “you know… maybe you’re right...” Fane’s head tilted back his eyes never leaving Carrington as he changed, or kept busying himself. “Maybe she should go,” he paused knowing his agreement likely would have caught the soldier off guard “and while we’re at it how about me after? You’re so much better alone aren’t you? Pushing anyone that might stand a chance of caring about you away, because that’s scary, and big tough soldier boys aren’t allowed to be scared. Are they?” Fane’s words were a little sharper now. “So if you really think that, you come to attention right here in front of me and you damn well look me in the eye and mean it when you say it and stop being a pansy” to emphasise the point Fane jabbed towards the spot in front of him.
“And if not, well, how about you consider doing something truly brave and being at least a little bit honest with me and more importantly honest with yourself. Are you really willing to toss everything away just because you’re scared? Time to decide Carrington,” it was the first time Fane had ever said his name aloud to him and in all honesty, it felt nice rolling off his tongue. But he supposed it was a mute point if calling Carrington’s bluff led to him leaving.
If Carrington had had any clue how well Fane actually had him pegged, he would have been much more careful with his behavior. He was aware that Fane knew him fairly well. Hence his current behavior and lack of eye contact. His unwillingness to speak about things any deeper than surface level.
There was a minute pause in his actions as Fane spoke again. A hesitance that could’ve been imagined but wasn’t. Again, he didn’t look up. Simply kept at it, snapping tags off jumpers with a bit more force than necessary before folding them and putting them away. Fane’s words struck a nerve. A deep-seated one that flared bright and hot at the base of Carrington’s spine. Because truth always cut much deeper than lies. And this one cut all the way to the bone.
So, when he fired back, it was without thinking. It was pain manifesting itself as anger. Fear and uncertainty and insecurity being thrown back as a defense mechanism. “And how long did you serve, to know so much about what soldiers are allowed to do? Oh wait… you didn’t.” It was sharp and cutting, emphasized by the slamming of the drawer he’d been mindlessly filling. His fingers gripped the edge of the dresser, knuckles white against the wood. Only when Fane called him weak did Carrington finally turned towards him.
His eyes were tight, and they gleamed feverishly. His features were contorted in his misplaced anger. It took less than six paces before Carrington was exactly where Fane had pointed. And his fist was connecting with the wood paneling right next Fane’s head. There was a resounding crack, but whether it was wood or bone was hard to tell. Carrington got right in Fane’s face, so close that his labored pants could be felt across the other man’s cheek.
“I am not scared,” Carrington growled. His voice was as furious as it had ever been. Low and tight, there was so much vitriol behind it that it trembled slightly. Every muscle in his body was tense as he looked Fane straight in the eye. His own were a dark blue, like stormclouds. They were always darker when he was angry. And right now Carrington was very, very angry.
He hit the wall again. “Understand me, Savin? I am not scared.” Another long, searching look, a flicker of something shifting, breaking loose. Something old and jagged and held tight with the rust of years ofneglect. “I’m…” The muscles in his jaw flexed and trembled. “I’m fucking terrified.”
Even if he had been consciously trying to control his movements, Fane would have still more or less come to the same conclusion. Of course, they all had trauma, and Carrington’s behaviour was a grade A example of something that came from the product of something horrible. Fane didn’t know what, hadn’t wanted to push Carrington to tell him figuring that if it would come up eventually it would when the other man was ready for it to. But Fane wasn’t willing to put his cautiousness about Carrington’s past over the risk of Faye’s very imminent departure. He simply couldn’t do the math for that outcome.
Perhaps he should have been offended by Carrington’s words, but Carrington apparently still didn’t realise how pegged Fane had him. The outlash was expected, anticipated and patiently waited for because after the storm came the calm. Or, slightly less calm but better than raging. “You’re right, I didn’t, but don’t you dare think that just because you’ve suffered… You’ve endured the pits of hell that you’re the only one who knows what pain feels like.” Fane could have gotten angry, could have raised his voice and spat vitriol back at the other man but Fane chose for the calm approach and his voice never shifted in pitch or tone, remaining quiet and calm regardless of what he felt. But Carrington’s words hardly cut deep.
Unfortunately, it seemed to be the case that something he’d said had struck a deep-rooted nerve if the sudden tension across his body was anything to go by. Before he could backtrack to figure out what part had done it, there was a splintering crack an inch or so beside his head and even he didn’t have the nerves not to flinch a little. But to his credit he didn’t back down, didn’t shove Carrington away.
“Then what are you?” Fane prompted not caring how close Carrington had gotten to him. Though he got his answer after another rattle of Carrington’s fist against wood. And the look on the other man’s features, the true and raw abject pain that shone through those eyes he’d spent weeks watching and learning, it broke his heart. Fane felt a deep-seated pain in his chest as he reached up fingers splaying over either side of Carrington’s face and pulling him forwards to press their foreheadstogether. “Then let me help you. Talk to me. Let me in… Please.” Because Fane so desperately wanted to help Carrington. “You don’t have to tell me everything but… don’t push me away, not when I want to help, when I want to understand” he shifted then, moving to slot his mouth a tad desperately over Carrington’s moving to grip his ribcageconsidering he hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on before murmuring “ please don’t ever do that.”
Carrington saw Fane’s flinch, and a tiny part of him felt a flare of satisfaction. Not because he wanted to harm Fane, never that, but because he’d managed to affect him slightly. Even if it was petty to think that. But Fane held his ground. Carrington expected a pushback of some sort. A knee-jerk reaction to yell, or push, or force him back in some way.
But it never came.
Instead, Fane reached for him. To pull him closer. And this time it was Carrington that flinched. Though what did that say about him, that violence and anger was expected, but gentleness surprised him? That kindness in the face of pain and agony confused him? That despite all his attempts to push Fane away, here he was, pulling Carrington in. Making him believe that it was okay. That it would be okay. Keeping him on the edge of either running away or falling apart completely.
His eyes closed as Fane spoke. The warm grip of his hands splayed over Carrington’s face, holding him so tightly against him… his own hand slipped from the shattered panelling, knuckles bloody and bruised, and dropped heavily to curl around Fane’s nape, into his hair. His breath came in great gasping heaves, his chest rising and falling as he tried desperately to control the emotions that were fast breaking loose inside his chest. Rising higher, pressing against his sternum, his throat, until it was finally too much. A small sound melted away into the warmth of Fane’s mouth.
Carrington kissed him back just as desperately, hands now raking up Fane’s neck to grip his face. They shook slightly, and another small sound rumbled in his throat as he pressed Fane back against the doorjamb. “Don’t go… please… don’t go…” His hands dropped down and rucked Fane’s shirt up as he panted against the other man’s mouth. “Either of you…”
What other reaction was there? Running away had never been a strong suit of Fane’s, and he’d always been the bleeding heart to care when he saw people suffering. So, to see Carrington struggling so evidently, how could Fane do anything but want to try and help. He sensed the struggle the other man had, the expectation of violence raised in answer to violence but Fane could only hope he might show him another way.
He was just glad that it seemed enough to convince Carrington not to keep trying to push him away, and Fane’s fingers splayed wide over his ribcage, fingertips digging in and grasping tightly to keep him close and anchored here. Because he’d be damned if he was going to let Carrington run. His own chest rose and fell, breath coming in shallow huffs as Carrington’s desperate hands slid over his neck, into his hair pulling him in, their kiss a clash of teeth and tongues and desperation.
Fane didn’t even care when his back struck the corner of the door, it didn’t matter, because Carrington was still here and the pressure of his body meant he was choosing to stay. Fane prayed that was what it meant. His head fell back against the wood with a thud, eyes dark and intense under the press of Carrington’s palms seeking skin that only served to make his belly flex and tighten “then-- then you’re going to have to talk to Faye.” He raised his hand raking his fingers through Carrington’s hair andgripping it as he spoke again voice shaking a little himself “ please, promise me now, promise me you’ll talk to her tonight. I want you both. I need you both… I need you.”
Violence met with violence was the way Carrington had lived most of his adult life. As a young boy, even kindness had been met with violence. Thanks to his stepfather. When his mother died, taking away the last kind person in his life at the time, Carrington just… shut down. Any part of him that had ever been soft or kind or weak was put away. Behind a mask of apathy fuelled by duty. The army was the best place for him at the time. Go here. Do this. Sleep now. Eat. Run. Piss. Sleep. Kill them before they kill you.
Violence met with violence. Because kindness got you killed. A soft heart got you killed. Weakness was a liability. Caring was a liability. And from the kindest heart came the cruellest people. Or so he’d always heard. So why should Fane have been any different? Why should Faye? And why should Carrington have cared?
But he did. Despite his best efforts, he fucking did.
He devoured Fane’s mouth until he couldn’t breathe and had to come up for air. The tight grip of the other man’s hands in his hair held Carrington’s focus and kept him from losing himself completely to the feel of his body against Fane’s. He nodded, blinking as he came back to himself just a bit. “I will…” Another soft kiss, still desperate, but with slightly more control than before. “I promise.” His eyes searched Fane’s as he pulled back. Christ, he wanted him. It was more than evident. And not just with how close they were pressed. His thumb brushed Fane’s bottom lip, fingers splayed over his cheek. “So do I…”
Fane knew he didn’t know the full story, but he hoped that Carrington staying, wanting them to stay would mean that eventually he would be trusted enough to be told. To learn the deeper intimacies and pains that had been buried away where they wouldn’t see the light of day. He just hoped that one day he would be able to offer some modicum of relief from whatever torment, pain and guilt Carrington carried with him. Perhaps not tonight, but one day. Just as Fane would one day trust them both with the truth of this place, but Fane had yet to come to terms with it himself let alone explaining that to others.
He understood that with such things time was required and time he would give. So long as Carrington made good on his promise. To try and speak to Faye, to explain things and make an effort because Fane didn’t want to lose either of them.
Fane’s fingers softened then, no longer so tight in their hold on the rear of Cari’s head and Fane smoothed his hair repeatedly, moving to brush his temple and face with sincere affection. The next kiss was softer, and Fane stretched into it, pressing forwards into Carrington and swallowing thickly at how it seemed the tables had turned tonight. He hadn’t come here with this ending in mind but he just hoped it was a step towards something better for all three of them. Rubbing his free hand over Carrington’s ribs and hooking his fingers around his waist he sighed against Carrington’s mouth, they should go and talk to Faye. But Fane also knew that he presently wasn’t in a state to go anywhere until things were entirely settled here. “Then show me,” he whispered stroking Carrington’s face and moving to hook the waistband of his joggers “show me you care.”
Tonight, had been a huge step forwards for Carrington. A giant leap that he hadn’t known he was capable of making. Six months ago, he would’ve laughed at anyone who told him where he would be now. Or worse. But life had never treated Carrington Bishop like he expected. Other than when he expected the worst. So, while tonight would likely bring no more milestones, no more huge leaps of faith, a gap had been bridged between who Carrington had been, and who he wanted to be. Or who he thought he wanted to be. All he knew for certain was that Fane was on the other side, waiting patiently for him to cross over.
And it would take time. Secrets like the ones Carrington held inside him weren’t easily talked about. They were painful. Some even made Carrington feel ashamed. For who he had been, and for who he hadn’t been able to be. And Fane had been right when he told Carrington he didn’t hold the ledger of pain and heartache. On trauma. He knew they others had their share. This house for one. There was a secret here, buried deep in Fane’s past. A secret that kept him tense and wary at times, and kept a single door locked in a house full of open rooms.
And then there was Faye. Who he’d frightened to the point of nearly making her leave. What secrets lay in her past that had caused her to fear being cast out so much? Perhaps one day she’d share as well. But first Carrington owed her an explanation. And an apology.
But that would have to wait just a bit. He also owed Fane an apology. And while this wasn’t the preferred way, it was something Carrington knew he did well. A hiss of air passed through his lips as Fane pulled him closer, Carrington’s desperation for the other man making itself known. He reached for Fane’s face again, pulling him into a soft searching kiss. A hand to his nape pulled him away from the wall and towards the bed. Carrington pushed Fane gently onto his back and climbed in beside him, barely losing contact with the other man’s mouth as he rid Fane of his shirt. They had been together a few times, but it was always Fane taking the lead. And Carrington needed that. Needed that firm hand to slow him down and make him take a breather.
His fingers danced along Fane’s ribs, up over his chest, feathering over his pulse point - a small smile gracing Carrington’s mouth at how it raced - and back down. When he finally pulled back from the kiss, his eyes were dark and soft, a startling contrast to how they’d looked only a few minutes before. “I’ve never met anyone like you in my whole life…” Carrington said with a quiet hesitance as his hand spread gently over the flat planes of Fane’s belly. “I’ve never met anyone like either of you…”
Fane was proud of the progress he’d seen Carrington make in the time they had known one another, it wasn’t an easy thing to be willing to do. To try and break or change old habits, and Fane wondered what Carrington would be if they had never ended up being forced to stay together as a group like they had. Would he have ever found out or taken the chance to explore this side of himself? Probably not, and the thought caused Fane to clutch at him tightly and steal another ghost of a kiss from his lips thankful that this was the reality they were living in.
Things that had been broken and damaged could be fixed, with the right time and effort. Fane wasn’t truly hurt by Carrington’s words earlier so he demanded or required no apology. Not on his behalf. But when it came to Faye? Well, Carrington deserved to grovel for that one considering how he’d acted towards her. It was only fair really. Not that Fane would take pleasure in the sight, but it was a stepping stone. A way forwards for them from here to perhaps live together in a less turbulent environment.
Fane knew what he was asking of Carrington, knew that more often than not he’d been the one to guide things and let Carrington get lost and be taken along for the ride. Fane was always willing to oblige, but this was different, this wasn’t Fane having to make Carrington give himself over. To steady those demons and terrors that haunted him, this was Carrington willingly choosing to show Fane exactly what he’d asked for. The kiss was met warmly, and when Fane felt the bed he crawled back onto it pulling Carrington back with him stealing as many kisses as he could get and though there was a touch of desperation there it was underscored by a trust more meaningful.
He let Carrington explore and touch, his body arching and breath stuttering quietly and when Carrington looked at him Fane was sure he could get lost in his eyes. Dark and fathomless like the ocean, but also so wildly bright and intelligent. And what he said, it brought a genuine smile to Fane’s lips before he teased gently “you mean geniusly intellectual and handsome as hell? Well… you know, I do try.” Of course, Fane knew what he meant, but considering the seriousness of everything else that had happened Fane was content to get swept up in the maelstrom of Carrington Bishop. “Then cherish us for what we are and we’ll do the same to you,” it was a promise and an assurance more quietly spoken than his previous comment. Fane’s abs tightened and jumped a little under the splay of the other man’s warm fingers his head falling back onto the mattress as he stared up at him moving to slip his hands down and grip his ass “no teasing tonight, I want you to show me how much you care... Please.” Fane was usually all for the foreplay but all he wanted right now was to feel the raw and overwhelming sensation of truly being wanted by another. In this case, the man on top of him who Fane stole another lingering kiss from while gripping the material of Cari’s joggers and giving them a short sharp yank knowing full well, he hadn’t got anything under them considering Fane had watched him dress earlier.
If Carrington had never met Fane and Faye, who’s to say where he would be right now. Drunk in a bar. Fucking a whore. Taking the next job that paid well enough, no matter how dangerous it was, simply because it kept him from thinking about other things. About all he’d lost. All he’d never have. Or he might be dead. Shot down by Monarch once he had the relic in hand.
But he wasn’t. He was here. In this beautiful old house in the middle of the Scottish wild. He had warm, clean clothes, fresh food, the smell of which was starting to drift upstairs, reminding him that Faye waited downstairs for them; and a warm bed. But most of all he had someone - two someone’s apparently - who wanted him here. For nothing more than his presence. Not for what he could gain them. Not for what he could do. But simply for who he was. Him. Carrington Bishop.
It wouldn’t always be like this he knew. There would be dark days for him. Days when he was right back to his old self. Harsh and stubborn. His words cutting and edging towards cruel. Nights when he was kept awake by things that he’d never told anyone. Nightmares. Of the things he’d done. The things he’d seen. And he was certain the same could be said for them all. It was a process. And as much as Carrington still feared it - and he did, though the edge had been taken off tonight by Fane’s persistence - he felt that maybe, just maybe, there was a way through. That there was more than just the life he’d been leading for the last twenty years.
A soft laugh echoed in the small space between them, and Carrington traced Fane’s jaw with the tip of his finger. His expression grew more sombre, his eyes hinting once again at the storm clouds that held his fears and insecurities, as Fane asked him to simply cherish what they had and who they were. “I’m not sure I know how. But I’ll try.” He kissed Fane again, his smile returning briefly before falling into an open-mouth gasp at the sharp tug on his joggers. “As you wish…” It was easy to slip free of his joggers, and as soon as Fane was free of his jeans, Carrington rose up and over him, kissing him reverently. One hand supported his weight while the other stroked along Fane’s thigh, encouraging him to spread them wider. When he did, Carrington hummed in pleasure against Fane’s lips. He took him in hand then, stroking Fane’s cock a few times before turning to his own. He was panting against Fane’s mouth by now, needing him desperately but forcing himself to go slow. To make sure Fane knew exactly how he felt.
Still holding himself in check, Carrington pressed against Fane. It didn’t take much to slick the way, and a few gentle cants of his hips had him pressing home. Carrington groaned at the tight grip of Fane’s body around his cock. “Christ…” he moaned, releasing himself to return the hand to Fane’s hair. “Tell me… if I’m hurting you…” he said through stuttered breath. “Tell me what you want…” He moved with purpose already, taking his cues from Fane’s expression, from the movement of his hands, from the way his head fell back onto the pillows.
Carrington buried his face in Fane’s neck, hooking a hand under his thigh and pulling it around his waist. “Gods… I could… I could do this forever…” Hot, open-mouthed kisses slipped across Fane’s neck, spaced between the nip of Carrington’s teeth. But still he paced himself, going slow and making sure Fane knew just how much this meant. Just how much Carrington cared. “Just to see… your face… like this…” He rose up and kissed Fane again. “Just to see you happy….”
Fane wasn’t naive enough to think that there wouldn’t be dark days ahead, but that was why you had other people in your life wasn’t it? To help you find a way through them. To make your way through them and come out the other side successfully and on the dark days he would be there, and so would Faye (he hoped). Between them they would find a way through to the far side of everything and Fane couldn’t wait to get there. If it wasn’t for the threat on their lives Fane would’ve suggested giving up the relic and stashing it somewhere that none of them would ever have to think on it again other than as a fond memory of how they had all come to be where they were.
“We’ll get you there,” Fane responded softly carding his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck slender digits dragging over the ridges of vertebrae there and savouring the warmth of skin under his touch. “Give it time, I know we will” his fingers moved to stroke Carrington’s cheek affectionately drawing him down into the kiss his hips rolling a little in encouragement themselves. He grinned, eyes glinting appreciatively as the joggers were discarded and he helped arch his hips as his jeans were dragged down his legs and tossed off to who knows where. Soon enough they were tangled up once more and Fane slid his arms around Carrington’s torso, bracketing him close and melting entirely under him his body entirely responsive to every touch or affection he was given.
A soft lusty noise worked its way free of his throat when Carrington encouraged him to spread his legs, which he did with next to no real request. He groaned when Carrington then took the time to stroke him, eyes fixed on the man above him in an almost adoring fashion as he gave himself over entirely. A small unintended whimper escaped him as his cock was left hard and slowly leaking pre-come over his abs. He sunk into the mattress licking his lips letting himself be distracted by the sight of Carrington’s own impressive length, it had been a while since he’d been on the receiving end but he didn’t really care. He could handle it. He trusted Carrington. So as Carrington continued to stroke himself Fane dragged his fingers down over the man’s back, “you’re going to feel so good, I know you are.”
His body was tense and taut by the time Carrington returned his attention back to him, and he groaned shamelessly as Carrington’s full weight descended on him the soft skin of Carrington’s cock causing him to feel like he was being doused in gasoline and primed to be set alight. Fane bit on his lip, sure he’d die of anticipation. And being set alight was exactly what it felt like when he finally sank home, Fane did wince a little at the burning stretch before they rolled shut a whimper of bliss leaving him as he settled more comfortably, his body adjusting while his fingertips dug divots as he clung onto Carrington for dear life. Certainly, if death came like this he would go happily indeed. “You aren’t,” Fane gasped lowly “just, just fuck me---” the request was cut off in another groan, head falling back exposing the line of his neck and shoulders as he grew used to the roll of Carrington’s hips eventually starting to push back as best he could.
Fane let himself be manhandled, bent and spread entirely to Carrington’s whims the act caused him to clench as the new angle caused him to almost blackout “oh god, right there… right ahhhh… fuck, right there.” It took several strokes each causing Fane to feel like his brain was being short-circuited over and over before he could utter anything slightly coherent “I’d… let you,” Fane mumbled tightening his hold on Cari’s back as he pulled him flush rolling his hips a little more firmly into each slow stroke and using the muscles in his legs to keep Cari as close as he could. He was strong, a lifetime of sports and activity not to mention their job left him in rather prime physique so it wasn’t hard to keep Carrington where he wanted him even if the other man had all the control. The hard and steady roll of their bodies was heaven, and Fane was lost in the grasping of hungry hands and when Carrington kissed him again, he pressed up licking into his mouth with a groan of pleasure his cock slapping wetly against his stomach aching for attention. He could’ve reached down and taken himself in hand but Fane was enjoying the abundant flow of pleasure he was experiencing too much to do anything other than hold onto and keep kissing Carrington between panted breaths.
The weight of Fane’s arms around him was worth more to Carrington than his weight in gold. They held him tight, even as Carrington was the one to lead. A security that promised so many things he used to wish for. So many things he used to want. But had given up on years ago. And until he’d met Fane and Faye, Carrington had thought they didn’t exist anymore. But then they came along, Fane with his soft encouragements and Faye with her bright laughter. Gods above but he’d been cruel to her. If she never forgave him he would deserve nothing less. But Fane was confident it would work out. And that gave Carrington confidence too. A little bit at least. Over the thick layer of heartache and disappointment that life had saddled him with.
Fane’s body was pliant beneath his. Warm and wanting and nearly begging for him. Carrington had never been here before, like this, with another man beneath him. It was always the reverse. But this time… this time it was Fane that needed to be taken apart. Fane that needed the assurance that someone was there to catch him if he fell. Or at least that someone was willing to try.
Their bodies melded, and where Fane let out what was almost a whimper, Carrington let out a sound that was nothing short of lewd. “Fuck... “ he moaned, arching his back under the crawl of Fane’s hands and fucking deeper into him. It would be so easy to lose control, to fuck the man beneath him raw and breathless. But only if that was what he wanted. When Carrington braced, checking that he was hurting Fane, and Fane said very clearly that he wasn’t, Carrington felt his cock throb with want.
He crashed his mouth against Fane’s, pulling his leg more tightly around his waist. Carrington’s fingers dug bruises into the firm muscles of Fane’s thigh as snapped his hips a bit harder and faster. The friction felt so fucking good. Fane’s words ran like honey, warm and wet and thick as the precum slicking his belly, his cock trapped between him and Carrington. The grip of Fane’s legs was tight, and once Carrington trusted they weren’t going anywhere, he released his hold and wrapped his hand around the swollen length that practically begged for his attention. “You’re going to hold on, aren’t you?” Carrington panted against Fane’s mouth. “You’re going to hold on… and not cum until I tell you?” He grunted and titled his hips a bit faster. Still not too fast, but a steady pace that was building Carrington towards where he wanted to be.
He stroked Fane’s cock in time with the slap of their hips, the effort making him sweat despite the cool air of the room. “Look at you… leaking all over…” He slicked his hand over the weeping head, squeezing a bit before releasing him. Another searing kiss before Carrington buried his face in Fane’s neck again. “Hold onto me…” he said, voice raspy and thick as he pulled Fane close. “Hold onto me when you come…” The pace of his hips started to become erratic, even as he tried to make sure Fane was still enjoying it. His hands tightened in Fane’s hair, his breath hot and frantic in his ear. He fumbled a bit in his rising pleasure, and reached for Fane’s cock. “You’re going to come before I do, under…. Understand? AHhh fuck… christ… almost…. God you feel… like heaven…”
Carrington’s words trailed off, his panting breathes rising to a higher, faster pitch as he fucked Fane for all he was worth. “Go on… let me see you… fuck you’re beautiful when I’m fucking you... ” Carrington purred into Fane’s ear as drew closer. He was right there, right on the edge, but he wanted Fane to come first. When he did, that would be all Carrington needed to follow.
Fane was more than willing to give himself over entirely to this, he’d asked for it after all and it felt good to give up that control to another. To trust someone enough to let them treat you like this and while it wasn’t the roughest anyone had been with him, sometimes something slower and gentler was just as good. Plus, this wasn’t about the hard and fast desperation that ebbed and flowed between them this was about showing Carrington he wanted him for who he was, just as he hoped the same went for himself. Fane wanted to know him, wanted to be graced with his trust because Fane would never betray that. Giving himself over to Carrington, asking for him in contrast to telling him how it was going to go down, seeing him take that control and wield it albeit with a few fumbles here and there it made a warm heat stir in his body. Because this was progress, and it was sweet bliss that he was fully enjoying.
Carrington spread him wide, yanking his leg higher on his back and Fane moaned again knowing he was going to have bruises later, good, let him bruise and let it be known that he’d been well and truly fucked. Fane didn’t care what might be thought of it, lost under the pleasure filled haze of being adored by another, his body naturally responsive but still a little defensive against the intrusion that he clenched tight his abs flexing and banding taut. But none of it stopped Carrington from squeezing that extra distance out of him and working with a steady rolling and unrelenting force. His legs occasionally slipped against the slick sweat of Carrington’s spine but he never left the position he’d been put in his mouth hanging open as he savoured every push and drag of each plunging thrust, his straining muscles starting to tremble underneath the barrage.
And then he was being kissed by a mouth that Fane was sure he’d be happy to get lost in as the pace just grew a little harder and faster making Fane clench again. He groaned as he felt Carrington’s fingers slide over the sticky shaft of his cock, the attention causing him to jerk and gasp a little at the stimulation. He blinked feeling adrift and dazed but so very present at the same time, his breath stuttered before he held it his body hanging as Carrington spoke and he wondered how he’d ever manage with how good it felt. Wanting to please him. He gritted his teeth, swallowing thickly “yes aaaah-- yessir, god, yes” the words were hissed around a particularly deep thrust that left him clutching tighter at Carrington’s back he wasn’t sure why he said it but it felt right because now Fane was thinking about whether this was what he’d been like as a soldier. Commanding and authoritative, no nonsense, and his cock pulsed at the thought knowing he was already a mess of precum where it was smeared over his stomach and Carrington’s hand.
Fane didn’t need to be told to hold on, he was, his nails digging in and dragging red welts over Carrington’s back and ribs where his hands occasionally slipped as his whole body jerked with each plunge of Carrington’s cock. He whimpered audibly at the pressure around the head of his own before it was released and the other man’s focus went entirely onto the activity of fucking him thoroughly. Carrington’s weight pressed him into the bed, each thrust long and deliberate and Fane was grinning around open-mouthed pants as he sought Carrington’s hand and pressed it to his stomach. “Can you feel yourself? God-- you fill me up so good” Fane didn’t care how debauched it sounded, it was true and he couldn’t help how his eyes fluttered shut every drag of the other man’s cock flooded him with sensation until his nerves felt fried and raw. His cock and balls ached desperately, and Fane wasn’t about to say anything more as he felt himself building, building, building to that crest.
But he held off, waiting for that order and when it came, gritted and gasped out in warm huffs of that sinful British accent that did unspeakable things it made Fane’s already stuttery and erratic breath catch. Fane’s nails dug in deeper, breaking skin as his thighs squeezed vice-like the pressure in him pulsing with every stroke and roll of Carrington’s hips everything urging him to show him how much he wanted this while basking in how much he felt wanted. His vision whited out, head thrown back as he came with a loud cry of ecstasy that shuddered through his body in such a wonderfully devastating way that left him spasming as his aching cock aided by the wrap and tug of Carrington’s hand shot thick jets of cum that splattered over his chest and stomach.
And then he went limp, struggling to haul in any air to fill his lungs but doing his best to rock back as he scrambled to try and hold on. “Come on,” he gasped in Carrington’s ear “fill me up, please, you know you want to.”
Once upon a time, Carrington’s job had been to tell others what to do. He had always been a good strategist. His mind working in a way that could see almost every possible outcome, good or bad. People had trusted him with their lives. He would point and say ‘go there, do this.’ And men would just nod, salute, and go. Because he was their commander. He was responsible for them. For their safety and well being. They trusted him. And Carrington… he had trusted himself. To make the right choice. To make judgement calls that were hard, that might get men killed (and had), but that were the best option under the circumstances.
He had never lied to one of his soldiers. They asked the odds. They asked the plan. And he would tell them. Because out there, he might outrank them, but they were all the same. All there for the same purpose. All wanting to go home to their families and their loved ones. All but Carrington. Because he had no family. No one to go home to. This was his family. His men. His job. And part of him knew that’s what gave him an edge. That he wasn’t worried about anyone grieving over him if he didn’t come back. He was there, in the moment, always.
Like now. With Fane pliant and breathless and flushed beneath him. He’d never done this before, not really. So seeing the effect he was having on the other man left Carrington a bit breathless himself. For reasons other than it felt like he could die right now and be happy for it. He was soaked in sweat. It dripped from the ends of his overlong hair, falling in clear droplets on to Fane’s neck and chest.
The stuttered words of agreement as Carrington’s hand wrapped around Fane’s length stirred something low in the man’s belly. Beneath the already flaming desire and tight coil of impending release. The feeling of being needed. Of being wanted. Of being trusted with another person’s well-being. It caused a stuttered pause in the movement of his hips, but he righted himself soon enough and his focus returned.
He moved his hand as Fane uttered filthy words into his ear, pressing down hard enough to feel the movement of his cock deep inside him. Carrington’s mouth formed a knowing grin as it slotted over Fane’s again. “You were made for this… weren’t you? Made for getting fucked…” The words fell away in a groan of pleasure that vibrated against Fane’s cheek. Carrington’s hand slid back to Fane’s cock, knowing he wouldn’t last much longer and wanting Fane to find release before him. Each hard cant of his hips tried to go deeper, to find that sweet spot that would push him over the edge. Every few strokes, Carrington fingers moved to the soft tightness of Fane’s balls. Squeezing gently, giving them the attention they needed, before moving back to pump his slick cock in long, dragging strokes. He was close. Carrington could tell by the stuttered breath and the crushing grip of his hands. God he would leave marks but Carrington would wear them like a badge of honor. Like a sign that said: I belong to him, and him to me. Marks of battle. Hard fought and won.
And when Fane obeyed Carrington’s order and let go, the hot wave of his release spattering his belly, it was one of the most beautiful things the soldier had ever seen. “Fucking Christ look at you…” he breathed into Fane’s ear as the man shuddered around him. His body clenching tight as he cried out. It was all Carrington could do not to lose it right then and there. But not yet. Not yet.
There was an almost painful relief as Fane sagged back onto the bed. The tightness that had wrapped Carrington so fiercely was still there, and he could tell Fane was holding on for him. His muscles trembled, and when he told Carrington to come, he didn’t hesitate. His forehead pressed flush with Fane’s as he hooked his thigh again, lifting it around his waist. His movements were fast and hard and desperate, as was the grip on Fane’s leg and the other around his shoulders, Carrington’s fingers digging in tightly.
Sounds that could have been perceived as pain trembled from his throat as he chased down that bright precipice. He hammered into Fane’s body, uncaring now if it hurt the other man. He’d given his permission, and by God Carrington was taking it.
He came with a stuttered cry, hands and body tightening to cords of steel as he spilled himself inside Fane’s body. His mouth slid over Fane’s neck, and Carrington buried his face there as his back arched, long and sinewy, milking every last drop from his climax. One or two more thrusts, deep and slow and shuddering, and he finally fell lax across Fane’s chest. His heart raced, his head felt dizzy, his hearing was nothing but white noise. But everything else was warmth and scent and the feel of Fane’s sticky, sweaty skin beneath his own.
A hand found it’s way to Fane’s neck, stroking lightly, reverently even. “Are you alright?”
Idly Fane thought that Carrington could probably do with a haircut, though it was nice to have something to grip onto Fane was of the opinion he would look better with it cut shorter. Perhaps sometime he’d mention it, while he wasn’t particularly skilled himself perhaps if things with Faye resolved themselves she might be able to do something. God knows what his own looked like. But he also thought that in this moment Carrington looked godlike, his slender supple body arching and curving while his muscles fired off in such a way that Fane was practically drooling to take a very literal bite out of him. Could he be blamed with a man that looked like that?
“Shame it--- shame it doesn’t happen more often,” was all that was mumbled in response though the words were spaced out by pants of air that he was desperately trying to suck down into his lungs. Fane was spent, and he knew it wouldn’t be much longer before Carrington was also done even if he rather desperately wanted to stretch this moment out into infinity. He was still cresting the high of his own release that he barely registered the movement of his thigh being yanked up again and Fane could only groan into Carrington’s open mouth as he drove his cock home with rather little resistance now. It stung and Fane’s breath hitched as he struggled to keep up with the frantic pace but he clung on, mumbling encouragements until finally he felt the heat of the other man’s release filling him up, felt the pulsing swell of Carrington’s cock deep inside of him as he pumped every last drop out and Fane deliberately tensed wanting to hold onto this for as long as he could.
As Carrington fell lax, his weight a comforting presence that Fane held tight as his breathing finally started to even out as he petted Carrington’s head letting him shudder through the aftermath of the violent crest. Letting him know that he wasn’t alone, that Fane was here with him as Fane’s legs could no longer stay wrapped around him and fell heavily onto the bed. His eyes were closed when Carrington stroked his neck and he stirred, “mm,” he sounded feeling deliciously used and he stretched a little under the other man’s body carding his fingers through his hair as he sought out Carrington’s mouth for a slow and deep kiss, “so much for that shower hm?”
Carrington’s mouth split into a lazy smile - something that changed his entire face - and he actually laughed. It was a singular sound, more a grunt of air than anything. But it was definitely a laugh. “Care to join me for another one? I did save some hot water.” He hummed against Fane’s mouth, losing himself in the hazy aftermath for a few moments. The card of his fingers through Carrington’s hair was something the ex-soldier had come to relish. Just like the brushing touches in passing. The soft, encouraging words whispered here and there.
Finally, he pulled away, adjusting himself alongside Fane as he slipped free of his body. He propped his head on his hand, eyes going unfocused for a moment. It was clear he was thinking. But his free hand stayed against Fane, his fingers moving idly.
When he finally spoke, it was if he was testing out his words. Unsure how they might sound. “My mother died when I was sixteen. Cancer. By the time they found it, she was already too sick.” The words were softly spoken, and Carrington continued to stare off into the room. “She was too busy taking care of me - keeping me safe from my stepfather, keeping me in school - to take care of herself.” His head tilted marginally towards Fane, but his eyes cast downwards. “The only woman in this world that ever cared for me - the only woman I ever cared for in return - died. Because of me.” There was a pause, and the telltale shift of muscles in his jaw returned. A frown moved over his face, and while he didn’t move away quickly, he did push up to reach for his clothes. “Because I was weak.”
He huffed slightly before standing and pulling on his joggers. Turning to look at Fane still lying on the bed, Carrington raked a hand back through his still damp hair, fingers flexing over his scalp. “So you see the dilemma? I don’t…” He hesitated, which was very unlike him when he spoke. Finally he sighed, raising his arms and letting them drop back a bit helplessly. “I don’t know what the fuck to say to her, Fane.”
Fane groaned as Carrington finally rolled off from ontop of him, missing the familiar weight and fullness of him but eventually relented letting him settle down to one side while Fane stayed on his back. Arm falling out to the side and letting his legs stretch indolently not particularly caring if he made a mess of the sheets. “Sure, save water and all that,” bending an arm behind his head Fane let out a shallow breath his eyes closing as he rested there his free hand seeking out Carrington’s to take his hand twining their fingers together lazily.
Though as Carrington began to speak, Fane’s eyes drifted open not looking at him directly but certainly listening to everything he said. He gave the hand he was holding an affectionate squeeze sad to hear of the life Carrington had come from. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Fane said softly, his voice full of sincerity as he tightened his grasp on Carrington’s fingers. “But she didn’t die because of you, she didn’t get the cancer because of you and there’s no guarantee that even if it had been found earlier…. That she would have lived. It’s horrible… But,” Fane rolled over following as Carrington began to move away to the edge of the bed.
Reaching an arm out to touch his back much as he had done earlier, “you aren’t weak… You are not. You are brave and strong and you’ve survived that, you’ve survived so much… And it’s okay to sometimes not have an answer for something… No one’s perfect even if you expect it of yourself...” He propped himself up sliding a hand over the hard bone of Cari’s scapula, pulling him back just a fraction so Fane could duck and kiss his shoulder. “Do you want her to stay?” the words were asked quietly, Fane’s mouth still pressed against Carrington’s back “would you care if she left because of what you’ve said and how you’ve treated her?” Fane knew the answer, and so did Carrington, and that was what he had to say to Faye.
It was hard to change a mindset one had lived with for twenty years. That the death of a beloved mother, the only person that had ever loved or cared about a scrawny, scared little boy, wasn’t his fault? Just like Fane and Faye both had their own personal demons, and it would take time to sort through the mire and make them realize the truth, this was Carrington’s. Among other things. Fane’s grasp on his hand was appreciated, and Carrington squeezed back briefly in acknowledgement of his words before turning to sit up.
“She was the same age I am now. Never went to the doctor. I carried her there myself when she started to cough up blood.” The touch was once again appreciated, though only a slight settling of his shoulders let Fane know that. “Bravery means nothing if you make the wrong choice. If you wait too long. And not having answers? That gets people killed.”
The question should have been a simple one. Yes or no. But it wasn’t. There were so many variables. So many different answers that Carrington could give. Different paths to take. Different outcomes. In the end, Carrington could only sigh and push gently off the bed, away from Fane’s touch. “I want-” He ducked his head and frowned. “In a perfect world… yes. I want her to stay.” The implication was that this was far from the perfect world. And that what Carrington might want didn’t truly matter in the end. “And yes. Of course I would.” The words were a bit shorter than he intended, but they weren’t cruel. He moved to find a shirt for after he cleaned himself off again. “But I would also rather keep her alive and hating me, than put in harm’s way because she thinks she cares about me.”
He fiddled with the shirt in his hands. “Though I also suppose that should be her choice.” He turned his head to look at Fane again, and anyone who knew him could tell he was torn. Between making a choice for someone, or letting them have free will. “Shouldn’t it?”
Fane knew it wasn’t going to be a one-night thing to change Carrington’s mind, but the insight certainly explained a lot about him. Context was key when it came to people and Fane was glad to be trusted with this. He wouldn’t betray that trust, but he also knew that certain things were hard to convince yourself away from. He had his own demons, he understood to a point and would do his best to try and understand.
“You’re not a god, no one can know everything or know what is and isn’t the right choice, you can’t see into the future any more than I can… And I know it’s not something I can change your thoughts on, but there’s no way you can be prepared for every eventuality…” He sighed quietly, sitting up more now “but having people there to help you can even out the odds when things seem impossible. You’ve let me in, chosen to trust me and I appreciate that… I can tell it isn’t easy, but I need you to try and do the same for Faye.” Fane’s arm outstretched a little, until Carrington pulled from his touch and only then did his fingers curl and flex feeling rather cold all of a sudden.
“I was going to say, a very short someone is going to have a lot to say about you making decisions on her behalf… She’s not a child Carrington, she’s an adult and she has a right to make the choice on whether she stays or not herself.” He wrapped his arms around his body, words final, it wasn’t up for debate. Faye got her choice just as he had made his own. “Mull on it, and once I’m done you are going to talk to her.” Not having anything really to cover up the chill of the house was still present, and Fane grabbed his clothes heading for the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He needed a little space to think, and under the spray of water he did just that. Some fresh clothes would have been nice but he’d left his things downstairs in the kitchen and so Fane redressed in his other clothes once he was done.
Stepping out and scrubbing his fingers through his hair he retrieved his glasses and nodded towards the door “come on.”
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worldwalkernovel · 5 years
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The dynamic duo: What is their favorite book/poem/song of earth? Of Alleirat? Can they sing? What are some instruments of Alleirat? What are they made of? How are they made? Are they widely available? Of earth's instruments, what is their sound similar to? Are there major festivals/holidays? Any strange ones (like the city in Spain that has an annual tomato fight)? What are Alleirai beds like (raised on four legs/futons/hammocks)? Are there sleeping bags or does everyone just suffer on the road?
Hey, y’all, sorry I just...fucking vanished there!  Real life obligations caught up with me.  Ironically this is a long term positive--I’m much more productive in writing when I have a job, because it leaves me less time to second guess myself.  Point is, I’m going to try and actually Do Things on this blog again.  Also the last one about holidays got pretty long so I put it under a cut.
What is their favorite book/poem/song of Earth?  Of Alleirat?
Oh my God, listen, I’m not gonna get to most of this question because I got overexcited, but let’s talk about these two and Earth poetry, yeah?
Crispin discovers Emily Dickinson in seventh grade English class, and the first poem of hers he ever reads is, of course, Because I could not stop for Death.  He traces his fingers over the words “Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet//Feels shorter than the Day//I first surmised the Horses’ Heads//Were toward Eternity –” and for some reason he can’t quite put his finger on, his throat closes up tight and his voice breaks when he’s asked to read aloud.  Some indiscernable something about her words ring in his head like English hasn’t rung in years, and he checks a collection out of the library the same day.  His favorite poem of hers is--it’s not really his favorite, but the poem of hers he knows by heart and can’t seem to peel out of the beat of his pulse is I measure every Grief I meet.  Some days he loves it, for how cleanly and purely it seems to scribe him into neat four-line stanzas.  Some days he can’t read it without crying, or throwing the book across the room.
The only Dickinson poem Brenneth likes is Tell all the Truth, and sometimes when she looks at Crispin she thinks it was written for him.
Brenneth doesn’t like poetry much, she mostly prefers songs--they’re easier to remember and she knows what to do��with them, she doesn’t really know what to do with poetry (can’t sing it, doesn’t have a narrative, can’t even go see it performed) and she doesn’t like not knowing what to do with a thing.  But once she read Goblin Market, by Christina Rossetti.  She started it by accident, and there was a story, a narrative threading through the ramble, and she kept reading, and--
Brenneth has dreams for a week, dizzy uneasy dreams of Crispin biting into strange foreign fruits and letting juice as thick and red as blood stain his mouth, and of hands--his hands, strong and crackling with lightning--pressing the fruit against her mouth and saying eat, eat, and of a mouth on her jaw and neck and collarbones, drinking the juice from her skin.
What are Alleirai beds/travel beds like?
The basic structure of Alleirai beds is “four legs, some kind of pad, sheets/blanket, maybe a pillow” but there’s a lot of scope there and it’s not unheard of for people to have a different arrangement based on what they’re used to--sailors are used to hammock-style bunks on ships, travelers used to sleeping rough are most familiar with bedrolls that consist of little more than two blankets and possibly a very thin pad.  At the end of the day, though, since a large portion of the continent is arable, elevated beds have the practical advantage of being easier to keep relatively clean of dirt, water, and creepy crawlies.  As such, a cot-style arrangement is considered the bare minimum, with a base of taut cloth and no mattress at all. The rich might have a four-poster bed with a down mattress.  Most people are somewhere in the middle with plain frames and horsehair or straw ticks that get exchanged on a semi-regular basis.
Can they sing?
Yes!  Brenneth has a nice folksy low alto, it’s nothing special but she used to sing shanties and ballads while she worked in her forge, especially while she was hammering or doing anything else that required a rhythm.  Sometimes she gave people a discount on their work if they were willing to teach her a new song instead, and people made jokes about the singing smith.  Crispin has a beautiful mid-range tenor, sweet and clear as glass when he was a child and deepening to something warm and full as he got older.  He has formal voice training, which was part of his education--singing is a good way to learn to project your voice, which is a desirable trait in a hero of legend.  However, he hates to sing alone, which is where all his training lies, so he taught himself to sing harmony to Brenneth’s melodies and that’s the only way he sings anymore.
What are some instruments of Alleirat/what are they like?
They hit a lot of the same major categories as we do--they have necked and non-necked string instruments (things like guitars or fiddles and lyres or harps, respectively), drums and other percussion instruments, wind instruments.  They lack the finesse to make out modern instruments, and most wind instruments are made of wood rather than metals, whereas they have a lot more metal drums than hide-and-wood drums, so playing the drum in Alleirat is equally about knowing how to stop a sound as start it.  You know that dome-shaped hang drum thing?  Something similar to that with only a few tones (like four total) is pretty common on ships and is used to keep time for sea shanties, and more complex versions are popular during festivals, in combination with strings and singing.  Vocalists are prized in Alleirat, so wind instruments are less common than things that allow singing and playing simultaneously.
Are there major holidays/festivals?  Any weird ones?
I’d have sworn on my life I answered this already, but apparently not.  The Alleirai seasons each have a festival at the height and one at the end of the year, four religious festivals and one political.  The political festival is Unification Day, the commemoration of the unification of the continent of Alleirat and the formal truce of the lengthy wars that threatened to kill everyone on it, and takes place in the early days of summer.  How seriously and/or cheerfully people take Unification Day depends on how they’re feeling about the Unified Council at that moment, and whether or not their protectorate state is on the verge of civil war with a neighbor.  
The religious festivals are:
the Feast of the Wanderer, which takes place at midsummer and is a festival of plenty and warmth and alcohol--the Wanderer is the god of life and fire, and the festival is encouraged to embrace and embody joy and revelry.  There are also ritual fights, which are largely in fun and more like friendly bar brawls than formalized gladiator matches, and both participants are usually quite drunk.  Agreeing to be the on-call flesh workers standing ringside on the Feast makes you an obscene amount of money, but you have to be sober.  Gifts are also exchanged at this festival--material gifts, specifically.
the Lady’s Night, or the Night of Stars, which takes place at midwinter and is very much a festival of...keeping out the dark, I suppose, would be the way I’ll put it.  The festival is about remembering that We Are Alive And Life Is Short, as well as remembering the dead, with a lot of candles lit in memorial and just for light--traditionally, you stay up from dusk until dawn, and if your candles and fire go out, you’ll have bad luck all year.  There’s still drinking and feasting and general celebration, but it’s more intimate and less raucous than the Feast.  You exchange stories and sing and hold your breath whenever the flames flicker.  (Cheating with magical glowglasses is considered bad luck as well.)  There are people who learn a single story or song all year in preparation for the Night of Stars, and you display them as a gift for the people you’re celebrating with.
the Landing, the first day of the new year at mid-spring, which marks the day that tradition and lore say the gods first came to Alleirat.  It’s probably not the right day, sort of like Christmas was moved around a bunch, but no one but the very well educated or very pedantic care.  You leave offerings at the temples or shrines at dawn, and then you go out and celebrate.  All day if you can, more often just from “whenever you get off work” to “whenever you collapse.”  The large cities and sometimes smaller towns and villages hold a parade, and crown young people, a boy and a girl in their mid to late teens or early twenties, as the Lady and the Wanderer for the day.  The crowns assigned to each of the two (generally flower crowns, rather than anything valuable) is supposed to be handed around over the course of the day, as a sort of village-wide game of Tag with the crowned people as “it”, and whoever holds the crowns at sundown has the responsibility of leading the town in the service of the Landing, which is a whole thing.  It’s sort of like religious hot potato with drinking.
the Eve of Dead Gods, which is pretty much what it says on the tin.  In terms of the feel of the Eve, it’s sort of somewhere between old celebrations of Halloween and Yom Kippur, with an emphasis on considering your own actions of the past year and serious reflection, as well as a  day when...well, they’re pretty serious about the dead gods.  Gods can’t be ghosts, of course, don’t be foolish, but--but when you worship the last two of a mighty pantheon, it doesn’t hurt to do honor to those who went before.  On the Eve, you lock your doors and windows at dusk and don’t go outside again until the sun is shining, and you remember that everything dies.  Even gods.
Some people--those whose ancestors escaped the sinking of the western continent--hold a quiet holiday for the Chained Lord, the god who didn’t answer when they called for salvation and whose death throes killed thousands.  It’s a small thing of fasting and candles and salt scattered on the floor, observed by most as little more than a cursory tradition and not even a shadow of a shadow of what his festivals must have once been.
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