Demon Slayer, Avatar the last Airbender - crossover

Masterpost

Fire (3)

Rengoku Kyôjurô grew up with conflicting feelings about being a Fire Nation citizen. The Nation had a heavy philosophy it impressed upon everybody starting before their first school year. It was about being the greatest Nation on earth and helping others to achieve the same prosperity, the same wealth and the same outlook on life… even if you had to resort to destroying elite institutions and governments that held the regular people back. His mother though, as well as his father, always told him that war was wrong and that it destroyed lives before bettering them in any way.

His mother’s message was toned down while he was younger, of course, your family would pay dearly if your children mindlessly retold anti-war sentiments. But still, they stuck long after her passing even though his father in his current drunken state was anything but an anti-war proponent.

Kyôjurô’s father had given up on his military carrier after his wife dies. He had no will anymore to pursue his “change from the inside” philosophy. The only thing he saw himself able to do to honour his wife was to quit being a soldier altogether but nothing more. So now, he sat at home on his porch and drank all day long. However, Kyôjurô wanted to be different from him, he wanted to do his mother’s wishes justice.

So, after completing his official firebender training with high praises, he visited his father and his younger brother at their home. Senjurô was not gifted with the ability to firebend, which depressed him greatly but Kyôjurô tried to make him change his outlook on life, like their mother would have done, to convince Senjurô that he always has the choice to be whomever he wanted in life. He bid his father goodbye and left them a letter that they should read in three days’ time.

Kyôjurô had made up his mind. Between what the Fire Nation preached and what his mother told him he choose the teachings of his mother before ever setting foot n the Earth Kingdom and looking for himself what the war was really achieving. There was absolutely no reason to distrust her wisdom. She told him to use his strength for the good of the people and to protect the weak and that was what he was going to do. By committing treason against the Fire Nation.

In his letter to his father and brother, he urged them to disown and demonize him after his betrayal, just so they wouldn’t become victims of the military because of his own choices. The Rengoku name, widely known in the capital from even before the war started, should help with this.

Kyôjurô’s own path forward was pretty simple according to him. Too simple even. He was just going to the Earth Kingdom and then he was going to find The Deserter Jeong Jeong and then he would join ranks with him and together they would end the war. Nothing easier than that, really.

Except, Jeong Jeong’s whereabouts were unknown (obviously), the Earth Kingdom was bigger than anticipated (a look at a map would have helped), Kyôjurô was constantly getting lost (owning a map was also crucial) and he was constantly chased by Fire Nation soldiers as well as mercenaries who wanted the bounty on his head. People from the Earth Kingdom also disliked him greatly which he owed to the fact that he answered with nothing but the truth when someone asked him who he was and where he came from. He even showed a little flame to the terrified curious people around him as proof.

He was under the notion that he was the one Fire Nation saviour to liberate the citizens of the Earth and Water Nations. He also imagined that his willingness to say no to the Fire Nation military and the Fire Lord would be met with the cheers and crying faces of the Earth population. Both these things were violently beaten down when he actually met the people he wanted to save. But Kyôjurô learned quickly and changed his attitude.

He met many different people while trying to reach his goal. Even the descendent of the Air Nomads, the murdering terrorist known as the White Death, was among them. The guy tried to decapitate him! Kyôjurô fought back until someone from a secret society stopped their fight. Exciting times!

Just one or two years after his flight from the Fire Nation, strange but prophetic dreams started plaguing him. Agni send him a message as he later found out, and he tried to follow that message. It led him back in the direction of the Fire Nation but to the southern parts of it. He reached an island, the last one that was properly populated this far in the south, at sunrise with the rays of the sun guiding him to where he had to go.

It was an ugly side that greeted him. A family, killed by firebenders. It happened not too long ago, just last night at the look of things. He was too late to save them. Could he have been fast enough if he had still lived in the Fire Nation? Or if he had managed to understand his dreams earlier?

He buried them, at a loss of what else to do. The more south the Nation went the less they cremated their dead. Feeling ashamed about how his (former) fellow comrades killed their own brethren, even small children, he put the utmost care into the process. The villagers should have been informed but Kyôjurô didn’t dare to go down there. He learned his lessons about revealing his true identity, besides, Agni still send him to this island, to this house, even though the residents had already been killed.

He still had work to do for the sun spirit so he arranged the last flowers on the graves and left the island in search for his mission.   

Rutterly Filled (Omega!Wei Wuxian x Alpha!Male!Reader)

Pairing: Omega!Wei Wuxian/Wei Ying (The Untamed ver.) x Alpha!Male Reader (NOT trans-friendly) Rating: Explicit Words: 3416 POV: Second Summary: You have not had a rut ever since you have been captures with the other Wens. Now things are going well on Burial Mounds, your body decides it is time. Unfortunately, your prolonged period of being rutless meant your next one was going to be extreme. Fortunately, the Yiling Patriarch is secretly an omega and you two have been flirting ever since you met. Notes: This is 200% self-indulgent. I saw the twink, I fell in love, I wanted to wreck him. Do I need an excuse?  Tags: Omegaverse, a/b/o dynamics, ruts, idiots in love, being in a relationship without realising it, reader is a himbo, loss of control, magical restraints, breeding, knotting, multiple orgasms, does Wei Ying have a dick and a pussy or a dick and an ass? up to you!, self-lubrication, fingering, blowjobs, facials, handjobs, gēge kink and fuck or die

There was no qi flowing anywhere. The only thing that filled your ‘internal stream’ was utter rage. “I told Wen Qing this would not work without a golden core!” You exclaimed as you got up and started stomping around. The alpha pheromones were rolling off you in waves and you were low key glad you were the only alpha present on Burial Mounds or you would have started a fight the second you caught a whiff of any other alpha.

“It was still worth a try. I do not think there is a way to stop your rut now.” You stomped around Wen Qing. You did not want to lash out at her. Were it not for her concoctions, you would have gone into rut a few days ago without a backup plan at all. Your hands clenched and unclenched at your sides. “There is one thing I have not yet told you.” You let out a grunt, indicating you were listening. “Wei Wuxian is an omega and has offered to help you through your rut.” 

You stilled for a second. The Yiling Patriarch was an omega. It only took a second for you to process. Wei Wuxian was not known to adhere to any stereotype or standard. It was not crazy to think that the Yiling Patriarch, a figure that induced fear and hate in many cultivators, was a fragile omega. He may carry himself around like a big figure, but truth to be told, he was skinny like a twig and if he was not such a good fighter, anyone could snap him in half. It all made sense, it was not a crazy thought.

“Master Wei has saved my life. I am already indebted to him. I will wait out my rut in the tent Wen Ning set up in the woods.” You were already walking to the door of Wen Qing’s humble hut, but she stood in your way. Sometimes you suspected her of being an alpha as well. One never knew, when cultivators could just simply suppress their second gender, making them all appear like betas. 

“You have not had a rut in a long while due to the poor conditions we have been under. Your first rut in a while may be much more intense than you are used to.” You clenched your fist, digging your nails into the palm on your hand. Your eye twitched. “Wei Wuxian can defend himself against you, should there be any need. He is also the only omega on the whole mountain. His only condition is that you do not mark him.” You violently shook your head before you could agree to it. The man was the prettiest boy you had ever laid eyes upon and while you two had been flirting, you had not yet confessed that every flirty word you shot his way was truthful. The thing between you two, unnamed and not yet romantic, was too good to risk. 

You walked away from the door, before you were going to physically lash out at Wen Qing. “I will not take advantage of master Wei. I owe him too much already.” 

“Your excuses are so weak, I’m starting to think that you don’t think I’m attractive.” Your whole body whipped to the door, where the omega in question had appeared with a pout on his face that made you want to kiss him. His lips were pink and glistening. They looked so full and soft. Wen Qing told him to get out, but you already caught a whiff of the omega scent you had never noticed on him before. Before you had any control of your tongue, you had agreed to spending your rut with Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch. Want bubbled up from deep within you. There was no way back now. 

You followed him and his scent like a blind puppy, as he let you between trees to a tent Wen Ning had set up earlier in case you could not suppress your rut. You saw the dark red fabric in the distance, when suddenly you were caged against a tree by Wei Wuxian. “Scent me,” he whispered into your face and he did not need to say it twice. You rubbed your nose all over his neck and down to where it met his shoulder. You took deep breaths, letting your lungs fill with the sweet and spicy scent that you from now on would know as Wei Wuxian. You didn’t know how long you were rubbing yourself on him and smelling him, but after a while, the fog of alpha hormones cleared and you had a bit more grip on what was going on and what was about to happen. “Better?” Wei Wuxian giggled as he rested against you. You held him close and slowly breathed in his scent. 

After a few slow breaths, you nodded and took his hand to drag him to the tent. It was big enough that you two could stand inside and there were supplies inside, mostly food and water, but also extra robes. You didn’t hear the sound of a lake behind the tent, as you dragged Wei Wuxian inside and pushed him down onto the straw mat on the ground. You crawled on top of him, but as your eyes met his, you were awfully aware of how you were acting. “Sorry, maybe we should talk about what I can and cannot do, before I lose all my patience.” Wei Wuxian laughed and shifted so you two were sitting on the straw mat, facing one another. His robes had fallen open a little and the sight of his chest threatened another frenzy to make itself known.

“You can do anything, but try not to claim me. It is a little early in our relationship for that.” You almost choked on your own saliva and started coughing. Wei Wuxian handed you a waterskin, but you needed a solid minute, before you had enough breath to actually attempt drinking anything. 

“I’m sorry, but… relationship?” You watched Wei Wuxian through teary eyes from your coughing fit. He seemed to turn red in an instant, his face now matching the ribbon in his beautiful silk black hair. 

“Yes? I mean I thought… we always flirt? And we drink together and you sometimes feed me at dinner? We also cuddled when we were drunk? I know we never talked about it, but we are in a relationship or something… right?” You stared at him, a little dumbfounded. He did not lie; those things happened. You just took all those things for things Wei Wuxian would do with anyone.

“I didn’t think of it that way,” you immediately regretted your words as you could see Wei Wuxian’s heart breaking all over his face, “but! But! But!” He looked at you, hopeful in a way that seemed plainly desperate. “I want it to be that way! I just didn’t realise what we were, but I want to be…” There was a flare of hormones and you shuffled forward to bury your nose against Wei Wuxian’s scent gland. “I want you, even when my rut is over, but also now. Right now.” A slight shift and you noticed you were hard between your legs. 

Wei Wuxian might have noticed it too through your robes, because he was shoving at your clothes. You stood up, ripping everything off in a hurry and grabbing Wei Wuxian by his ponytail. You pulled at it until his lips were around your hard cock. You let out a moan of relief, as he immediately started sucking on the length. He resisted when you tried to get him to swallow more of you. Wei Wuxian only took the tip, but with the way he was sucking and licking, it was enough for now. You threw your head back, grunting into the air, while Wei Wuxian sucked you off. His tongue cupped the head of your cock and played with the ridge between the head and the rest of your length. The wet sounds of his mouth seemed so loud in the small space. Before he even took more of you in his mouth, you grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. Wei Wuxian took the hint and with a wet pop he pulled his mouth off your cock. You would have protested, were it not for the hand on your hard length. 

The cultivator squeezed the knot at the base of your cock, everytime his hand was at the bottom of your length. You looked down at him, seeing him with his tongue out, a smile hinting behind that lewd expression, cheeks a beautiful rosy colour that matched his spit-glistened lips. You let out a groan and kept a firm grip on his shoulder. Ropes of cum spilled from your cock. Wei Wuxian’s face, hair and robes were painted white with your seed. When he finally let go of your cock, your face heated up at the sight of him. A mixture of embarrassment and arousal swimmed inside your belly. “I’m sorry,” you whispered out of breath, but Wei Wuxian just smiled at you and started taking his soiled robes off, wiping himself off with a sleeve. When he was mostly clean off your cum, he laid himself down on the straw mat, completely naked and stretched out like a meal for you to devour. 

“Don’t apologise, I want this too,” he confessed with flushed skin and a hard omega dick twitching between his legs. You kneeled down and hoisted his legs onto your shoulders. Your tongue automatically fell from your lips at the scent of omega slick filling your nostrils. Lapping up the slick that had escaped his wet hole and trickled down his thighs, drew a gasp from Wei Wuxian’s lips. “Don’t tease me.” 

You huffed out a laugh at the annoyance in his voice. “Or else? Will the Yiling Patriarch haunt me like a ghost and eat me?” You didn’t let Wei Wuxian reply. You held him up with one hand and pushed your tongue inside, the other hand touching his cock. The omega mewled and moaned as if he was putting on a show for you. Maybe he was. When was Wei Wuxian not making a scene? “Wei Wuxian sounds so perfect,” you growled as you licked the slick off your lips. 

“If you are going to knot me until I can’t walk, at least call me Wei Ying,” the demonic cultivator huffed, his eyes ravishing your body. You smiled as you put his legs around your waist and lined your cock up with his wet hole. 

“Wei Ying is perfect.” And with those words, you slid into his heat. Wei Ying gasped as he stretched around your thick alpha cock, the slick making the slide easier, but he was not in heat. You got halfway, before the resistance became too much. “Wei Ying needs to relax,” you grunted as you rutted inside him, micromovements trying to make further entrance possible. 

“You’re too big,” he complained, hands on your arms and squeezing your biceps. You leaned down and caught his lips in a biting kiss. Soft, pink lips turned red under your onslaught. A hand made its way to his throat and he gasped deliciously against your wet lips. Wei Ying squirmed and gasped for breath as you frantically fucked his hole open until you were slipping in deeper. “So big, too big, I’m going to tear in two!” 

You would be more concerned for him, were it nog for the thick cloud of alpha hormones clouding your judgement. Instead of sounding fearful, Wei Ying’s voice fuelled the fantasy of a helpless omega at your mercy. “Pretty omegas like you can handle this,” you growled in a voice no one woud have recognised as your own. Both hands landed on Wei Ying’s hips and you sat up, so you could thrust inside him with vigour. 

Wei Ying’s voice would have been audible from miles away as he screamed mostly in pain. Coherent thoughts had long left your mind and all that was left was ‘mark’, ‘claim’, ‘fuck’, ‘knot’ and ‘breed’. Pleasure was all on your mind as you closed your eyes to fully enjoy the stretch of Wei Ying’s walls around your cock. That was until you found yourself unable to move. “No! No! No!” You growled as Wei Ying slid off your cock. He pushed you onto your knees and sat down across from you. 

“I’m sorry, alpha, but don’t worry I will not leave you like this,” he croaked out as he struggled with sitting down comfortably. His chest rose and fell in deep, but ragged breaths. You now noticed the redness around his eyes and the wetness on his cheeks. Worry paved a little clarity in the lustful fog dominating your head. 

“Cruel bastard,” you found yourself snarling back, in spite of the seed of worry Wei Ying’s image planted deep inside you. Before even the last syllable left your lips, Wei Ying had his hand tight around your cock and stroked, drawing a guttural groan from you. “That’s not enough, I need more,” you breathed out at the torture that was the grip of Wei Ying’s hand. It felt good, but his omega hole had felt so much better.

“And I need more preparation, I am not in heat,” Wei Ying huffed back as he reached behind himself. You could hear the wet squelch of him fingering himself and it drove you into a frenzy. You demanded being released, so you could once more claim your omega, but Wei Ying did not release you. He let you cum with his hand. Once he needed a better angle to shove more fingers inside, he switched his hand for his mouth, so he could support himself with one hand while he tried to shove his whole fist inside. His mouth felt better than his hand, but you already had had a taste of paradise and this was not it. 

“You’re open enough, please, I feel like I’ll die,” you whined, shortly after you covered Wei Ying in your fourth load. No matter how often you came, it would not be enough until you knotted the omega in front of you. Wei Ying seemed to take mercy on you and he turned around. Wei Ying lowered himself onto your cock. The mercy got you moaning. You could see where you entered him as he bounced on your cock, his hole gripping your length visibly. “Yes, you feel so good omega,” you moaned as he rode your fat length. “Release me and I’ll pound you so good. I will knot you and fill you with my cum and then pound you again.” Wei Ying gasped, a hand moving to his cock to stroke it. The smell of his slick as it dripped down your cock was intoxicating. 

“Gēge, you talk so indecently when you’re in a rut.” You wanted to pin him down and fuck him so bad when he called you ‘gēge’ and Wei Ying seemed to know. The glint in his eyes as he shot you a look over his shoulder was quite telling. “But I’m afraid gēge will break me if I release him. Gēge is such a strong alpha and I’m just a frail omega,” he spoke dramatically, knowing fully well he was far from a frail omega. His words would have made you cringe were it not for the fact you were in a full-on rut. The idea, the thought, the image of him being so fragile and breakable and at your mercy suddenly got something flowing in you. The feeling was unfamiliar, as was the strength it brought. 

You had no mind to think about it, but enough instinct to use it. With this new-found energy, you broke yourself free from whatever was holding you in place and grabbed Wei Ying by the back of his neck. A hard shove and Wei Ying was face down, ass up on the ground with your cock plunging into his wet hole. “Maybe they are right, the Yiling Patriarch is cruel,” you drew a loud moan from the man below you with a hard thrust, “and evil.” 

Wei Ying did not move from where you had him. Instead, he took your punishing pace with the prettiest moans you ever had the honour of hearing. His voice filled the tent with a symphony of pleasure, which only grew louder when you pressed inside and your knot slipped in. Wei Ying screamed in pleasure and pain as you slotted the two of you together and filled him up with your hot seed. 

Still, it was not enough. He was beautiful, had the most breedable body you ever laid eyes upon. How could it be enough to only fill his slick hole once?You only stilled for a minute inside of him, before you pulled out until the knot pulled painfully at the inside of his rim. Then, you pushed back inside, as deep as you could go. Wei Ying whined as you fucked him like that, the knot dragging against his walls and drawing out the melody of pain mixed with pleasure. He moaned and screamed about how he was stretched to the limit, but there was no urgency in his voice this time. 

Everything was a blur from there. Somewhere between rutting inside him and fucking him with your knot, Wei Ying had gone near-silent. His ass had become so open that your knot no longer served its purpose of keeping you inside as you spilled your seed. You didn’t know how many rounds you went, how often you filled the Yiling Patriarch with your load or how often the omega came himself. In one final mind-blurring explosion of pleasure, you passed out. Whether it was on top of him or if you managed to fall beside him was out of your control. 

When you woke up, however, you found Wei Ying on top of you. The smell of sex still hung heavy in the air, mixed with pheromones, both alpha and omega. A groan left your dry throat as you lifted your head to take a look at the man to whom you were indebted with your life, twice. He looked like he was not going to wake up for another 100 years. You tried to brush the hair out of his face, but your fingers got tangled in the silk black strands. Guilt filled your heart at the sight of bruises on his hips and sides. A respectful look down revealed there was still cum dripping out of his hole. 

You untangled yourself from him. It took you a good hour to get Wei Ying cleaned up and placed on a clean towel; the straw mat was completely ruined. You had him on his side, still sleeping peacefully, while you tried to comb the tangles carefully out of his hair. You were almost done when you noticed him stir. “Wei Ying?” You called out softly, hand shooting for the waterskin. You held it to his lips. “Don’t move; drink first.” To your surprise, he obeyed. He tried to sit up, but winced. You took the hint and helped him sit on your lap, the gap between your legs perfect for his ass to rest between with no pressure on it. “I’m sorry. I lost control.” 

Wei Ying blinked at you and then reached for the jar of wine in the corner. You chuckled and handed it to him, still cradling him close. He took a few gulps, before speaking up. “I thought I would die,” he pouted in a somewhat playful way that gave you conflicted emotions about his words. “Gēge, you were such a monster. Next time, I will use a stronger talisman to keep you down.”

You inhaled sharply. ‘Next time’, he had said. You licked your dry lips and nodded, agreeing with him. A signature smile painted the omegas lips, before he snuggled closer to you. “Gege is adorable when he is worried about me. I’ll be fine, I swear. Just don’t make me do anything for a few days.” You let out an empty laugh, relieved and still worried. Another nod as you put a hand on his head, holding it close to your shoulder. You twisted your head, placing a kiss upon Wei Ying’s temple. He hummed happily and closed his eyes. 

“Wei Ying! You need to eat before you go back to sleep!” 

The Scary People Next Door part 2

Summary: Two women move to the neighborhood, it seems like there’s more to them than meets the eye.

Pairing: ? x fem!reader

Warnings: descriptions of violence and death

Word count: 2413

a/n: Thank you so much for 70 followers! If you have a preference whether you’d like this story to be Wandaxreader or Natashaxreader, do tell! Hope you enjoy this, feedback is always appreciated :)

Tags: @madamevirgo @fishlikestuff @hi-i-1 @d14n4ol @simpforwandanat

Y/N opens her eyes slowly, groaning at her pounding head. She looks around the room she’s in, not recognizing it. “Ow.” Trying to rub her painful head, she notices her hands are tied to the chair she is sitting in. “What the fuck.”

“Ah, she’s finally awake.” A man presents himself from the darkness. “Took you long enough.” The man talks with an accent Y/N can’t recognize.

“Where am I?” Y/N looks around the cold and empty room. The walls are grey. Although, they have some spots that look very much like blood, but she tries not to stare at them too much. There is no furniture besides the chair she’s sitting in and a lamp over her head, which is the only source of light. The room looks like a basement.

“Don’t you worry about that.” The man takes out a knife. “All you need to worry about are the women in the picture I showed you. Where are they?”

“I really don’t know who you’re talking about.”

The man gently sets the edge of the knife to Y/N’s neck, holding it there. “They’re very dangerous people, who kill. We need to eliminate them before they do it again. So, we are the good guys. Don’t you want to help the good people?”

Y/N giggles nervously. “I don’t think the good people would kidnap innocent civilians.”

The man grumbles something in another language under his breath. “Very well then, I tried the nice way, now yo-”

“You really didn’t.” Y/N comments, silencing the man. He stares at her, baffled by the audacity to interrupt him while he’s holding a knife to her throat. “You didn’t try the good way, is what I’m saying. In case you didn’t understand...what I was saying.” The more she talks the quieter she gets.

The man presses the knife to her throat even harder, almost breaking the skin. “I understood. You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?” He moves the knife to her cheek, easily making her bleed. Y/N whines, flinching away from the blade. The man laughs. It echoes through the room, jumping from wall to wall. “Now, you better talk. They aren’t coming to save you.”

Oh, she wasn’t counting on it.

Wanda walks back into her and Natasha’s house. She’s holding a full plate of muffins that she made for Y/N.

“She didn’t want your muffins?” Natasha asks, noticing Wanda’s frown.

“She wasn’t home, but her door was open.”

Natasha perks up. She glances out from the window, seeing that Y/N’s door is indeed slightly ajar. “You sure she wasn’t just sleeping somewhere or something?”

“I’m sure.” Wanda sets down the plate. “What if something bad happened?” She sits down next to Natasha, looking at her with a worried look.

“She probably just went to the store and forgot to close the door.”

Wanda hums and nods, but she can’t help worrying for their neighbour.

Y/N groans for the umpteenth time. The man struck her face again. He has been hurting her for hours, trying to get her to talk. She was considering it, telling him they were her neighbours, but she somehow felt like that’d be a bad idea. Plus, she was still partially scared of the two, she didn’t want to get to their bad side.

A second man walks into the room. The two men start talking in what Y/N has finally recognized as Russian. Not knowing any Russian, she starts paying more attention to the pain on her body. It feels like someone drove over her with a train. Her whole body was screaming for the pain to stop.

One of the men takes out a gun, distracting Y/N from the pain. He points it towards her head. “Hey, hey, hey! Can’t we talk about this?” She starts squirming on the chair, trying to free herself.

The man laughs. “Don’t you think it’s a little late for that? We gave you all the time to talk, but you stayed quiet.” He clicks the safety off the gun.

“Because I don’t know.” She starts crying. “I don’t know who they are or what they do.”

“We saw you three talking near a grocery store. How do you explain that?”

Y/N hangs her head down, trying to stop crying. She didn’t want to seem weak in front of her captors, but she couldn’t stop. “I have seen them, but I don’t know anything about them. Please, you have to believe me.”

The men glance at each other. The one further away from her nods, making the one with a gun turn back to her. “Well, if you have nothing else to tell us, you’re useless.”

Two gunshots. Y/N flinches violently, closing her eyes. When she doesn’t feel any new pain going through her body, she opens her eyes carefully. The two men threatening her are laying on the ground, dead.

“You okay?”

She can hear the voice clearly and feel someone untying the ropes holding legs, but all she could focus on was the blood puddles under the men.

“Hey, can you hear us?” The gentle tapping on her cheeks makes her snap her head up. Natasha is in front of her, moving her head around to see the damage. Wanda is behind her, letting her hands free. Y/N nods, unable to say anything. “Good, come on.”

Wanda and Natasha each hold onto Y/N, helping her to stand up. However, it doesn’t go as planned. Y/N whimpers and falls to her knees, right in front of the man.

“I can’t. It hurts. It hurts so much.” She whispers, tears falling freely as she tries not to stare at the body.

Wanda kneels down next to her, putting her hands on Y/N’s cheeks. “I’m gonna lift you up, okay?” When she doesn’t resist, Wanda puts one arm behind Y/N’s knees and the other around her torso, lifting her up from the ground.

She tries to keep her eyes open, only to see more bodies in the other room. Y/N can see Wanda and Natasha talking, but she wasn’t sure if they were talking to her or each other as she couldn’t hear a word. Deciding to give into the tiredness, she leans her head to Wanda’s shoulder and falls asleep.

Y/N winces at the pain on her cheek. “Sorry.” A hushed voice says on top of her. She opens her eyes slowly and sees Wanda tapping a cotton ball to her cheek, making it sting. “Hey.” Wanda smiles, holding onto her hand for some sense of comfort.

Y/N hums, still too tired to speak. She glances around the room. It’s a living room, but not her living room.

“How are you feeling? Do you want water?”

As she nods, Wanda gets up from beside her and leaves to the kitchen. Y/N starts looking around the room more. It has all the basic furniture like a couch, tv and a small table, but otherwise it’s empty. Like no one was actually living there.

“Here you go.” Wanda comes back with a glass of water. After Wanda helps her to sit up, Y/N gulps down most of it quickly. She hadn’t gotten anything to drink or eat for hours. “Better?”

She nods. “How long have I been asleep for?”

“A few hours. I started cleaning your cuts like fifteen minutes ago, I didn't want them to get infected.” Y/N nods again. She was still in the same clothes, but her sleeves were rolled up to see as many of the bruises as possible. “I’m really sorry. This all wouldn’t have happened if we didn’t try to befriend you.”

“It’s fine.” She looks down. She didn’t want to see the look on Wanda’s face. She felt like that’d be the last straw to make her burst out in tears. “Can I go home?”

“Well, I have to clean the rest of your cuts first. Besides, I don’t think it’d be good for you to be alone for a while. Can you ask your friend to stay?”

“I don’t want to tell her.”

“Okay. How about you stay here?”

Y/N shakes her head slowly. “I just want to go home.” She presses her palms to her eyes, desperately trying to stop the tears.

Wanda sets her hand on Y/N’s shoulder, making her flinch. She quickly takes her hand back, not wanting to hurt the girl.

“I’m sorry.” Y/N whispers. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay, I should’ve asked. Can I hug you?” Y/N nods, already leaning towards Wanda, who wraps her arms around her shaking frame. “Everything will be okay.”

They stay at the position for a while. Y/N practically melts into the hug, not having been held like this in a long time. Wanda slowly moves her hand up and down on her back, smiling when she feels Y/N snuggling closer.

A loud banging makes Y/N back away from the hug. Her breathing turns shallow and she starts looking around the room, looking for a way out.

“Shit.” Wanda glances at the door. “Natasha!” She tries to get closer to Y/N, but she’s backing away from her in a state of panic. “It’s okay, no one is going to get you.”

Natasha jogs down the stairs to the door, opening it and slamming it close when she steps outside. “Who the hell are you and why are you banging on my door?”

“What have you done to Y/N?” Angry looking Darcy points her finger towards Natasha. “I’ve been trying to call her for hours with no answer. Then I come here, see her door unlocked and her phone is on the floor, screen broken.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Darcy! Her best friend. Now, where is she?”

“Everything is okay, Natasha is taking care of whoever is behind the door.” Wanda is staring at Y/N helplessly, who is in the middle of a panic attack. “Can I touch you, please? I can help you to calm down.” Y/N shakes her head, scooting even further away from her.

Wanda glances at the door, trying to stay calm while Natasha is outside. Soon she stands up, goes to the kitchen, gets an ice cube from the freezer and walks back to the living room. Kneeling as close as Y/N lets her, she takes hold of her jaw, making her automatically open her mouth. Before she can close it or rip away from her hold, Wanda drops the ice cube into her mouth. She pushes her jaw back up and holds her hand in front of her mouth. Y/N’s eyes widen as she feels the coldness in her tongue.

“Breathe through your nose.”

Slowly she starts breathing in and out through her nose. And breath by breath they get deeper, calming her down.

“Good job.” Wanda smiles. She takes her hand away from her mouth, letting herself calm down as well. Y/N points towards her mouth. “Oh right, you can spit it out.” She puts her hand under Y/N’s mouth, so she can spit it there.

After throwing the now smaller ice cube away, Wanda sits down next to Y/N. ”Who’s at the door?”

“I have no idea, but whoever it is, you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I’m not letting you in!” Natasha sets herself in front of the door, blocking it from Darcy, who is desperately trying to get in.

Darcy groans, she knows she won’t win. Natasha is stronger and much more persistent than her, and she can be very persistent. “I just want to see Y/N. I’m worried.”

“Don’t be.”

“Wow!” Darcy scoffs, shaking her head. “Look at that, all my worries went away. Life is now wonderful.” She glares at Natasha. “Just let me talk to her.”

“Will you leave after that?” Darcy nods rapidly, holding her hands in a prayer. “Fine. Only if she wants to.”

“Of course she’ll want to.”

“We’ll see.” Natasha mumbles. “Wait here.” She goes inside, closing the door right after her so Darcy wouldn’t get a peek inside. “It’s Darcy.”

Y/N head snaps to Natasha. “What is she doing here?”

“You didn’t answer her phone for obvious reasons and she got worried.”

“Shit, uhm...” Y/N stands up. Her hand goes through her hair as she starts pacing around the room. “She can’t see me like this.” She hovers her hand over the cut on her cheek.

“So should I send her away?”

“No, she’d just come back with Monica and ram down the door.” Y/N walks to the door. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” She mumbles as she steps outside, leaving Natasha and Wanda stare at each other with baffled looks.

“Y/N!” Darcy throws herself to her. “I was so worried. What happened to you?” She moves Y/N’s to every direction, inspecting the bruises on her face.

“It’s a long story for another time, I’m really sorry I didn’t answer my phone.”

“Don’t apologize, I’m just glad you’re okay.” Darcy frowns. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Y/N musters up the best smile she can, looking at the street in front of her to avoid Darcy’s eyes. “I’m a little shaken up, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

“If you’re sure...”

She nods. “I actually have to go back in, there’s still some more bruises to clean and then I’ll go home to sleep. Tell Monica I said hi.”

Darcy stares at her best friend. With a worried frown on her face, she tries to analyze her. Sometimes it felt a lot harder to read people than study the universe. She didn’t want to leave Y/N here with the strange ladies she had heard about, but Y/N didn’t fully seem like herself. She looked like she was about to break down. And Darcy wanted to help her, but she knew she’d get nothing out of her if she didn’t want to talk.

“I will. Call me as soon as possible, please.”

“I promise.” Y/N gives her one last smile before heading inside.

Wanda cleans and bandages the rest of her cuts fairly quickly and reluctantly lets Y/N leave back to her own house, where she heads straight up to her room and falls asleep, desperately trying to forget everything that happened.

Trouvaille Short Story

m!Trouvaille

tw: swearing, mild violence

~

This trip started out very simple. Go into the forest, gather spell ingredients, then get out. Getting dragged underwater by a sticky horse was not part of the plan.

While the others were searching for normal herbs like tarragon, nutmeg, or wormwood, you and Antigone waded knee deep in a wide pond. Morning sunlight streamed through the trees, casting an ethereal glow on the water’s surface.

“Remind me again what you need curly pondweed for?” you call out to her.

The witch doesn’t look up from her task when answering, “They promote growth in spells. And encourage perseverance.”

The plant itself was plentiful. Too plentiful, as she told you earlier that it was an invasive species. But every time you thought you found a good stem, Antigone waved you off, stating that your pick was too dark or too old or too tough.

You straighten up and stretch out your aching back. Tedium aside, the forest was beautiful in the morning. Red dragonflies skimmed the surface, creating ripples that jostled the aquatic flora. The natural song of chirping crickets and croaking frogs sounded throughout the clearing. At the water’s edge, a few meters to your right, you can see a dark figure among the cattails. It’s wide, but short, and moving slightly.

When you get closer, you can make out the creature’s long gray mane and thick black body. There are mossy spots and algae strewn across its body. It looks like it lives near the pond, but something about it seemed out of place in the tranquil forest.

“Um, Antigone?” you try to keep your voice down.

“What?”

“Are there supposed to be ponies in the forest?” You take your eyes off the animal to glance at her over your shoulder.

Her head snaps up and she drops the flat woven basket she’d been holding.

“Shit!”

Before either of you can react, the pony whinnies, rears up, and charges you. You’re too slow to dodge and it rams into you. Instead of sending you flying, you find yourself stuck to its flank as it dives deeper into the pond.

The pond is much deeper than expected and every few feet, the water gets colder and darker. Light brown sediment billows up as the probably-not-actually-a-pony settles into the bottom. 

The surprise attack, along with your wildly thumping heart means you’re losing air fast and the creature doesn’t seem like it’ll surface any time soon. Your elbow is fastened tight to the creature’s side. If you can just get to your dagger!

You open your eyes and regret it. The sting of the dirty water only hinders you more. You can’t see anything more than two feet in front of you clearly.

Panic sets in and you thrash and kick, desperately trying to separate from the creature. Its skin’s adhesive surface clings onto you. The harder you thrash, the more you pull at your own skin and clothes.

They say to be completely calm if you’re ever being held underwater, but the proverbial “they” are stupid and clearly have never been drowned before.

Black spots dance across your vision. Your lungs burn and your head starts to ache. Great. The artifact wouldn’t kill you. Nor would vampires or werewolves or any other badass way to die. No, you’re a lucky one. You get to die via drowning, stuck to this thing like gum on the bottom of someone’s shoe.

The pony flinches and so do you. It kicks up sediment in its panic. You get tossed around along with it until you feel a small hand on your shoulder. Sharp claws dig into you as it drags you away from the pony.

You can finally make out Antigone’s silhouette as she pulls you close. She presses her lips to yours. Air fills your lungs. Your vision and headache settle, and the burning sensation in your lungs subsides.

A blast of light breaks through your clenched eyelids. Her mouth is on yours again, breathing life into you. For some reason, though, she doesn’t do anything else. Just sits there and keeps breathing into you whenever your lungs start to burn again.

There’s a heavy splash above you. The cold sediment kicks up again and tiny bubbles pepper your face.

Someone hooks their arms under your armpits and the next thing you know, you’re being dragged up the bank of the pond.

Head spinning, you cough up what feels like gallons of water. In your delirium, you think you hear your name.

“There you are!” a familiar voice cries.

You rub your eyes and look up.

T.V. takes a step towards you, then stops. You want to tell him you’re alright, but Jackie grabs you in a bone-crushing hug.

Her clothes are soaking wet.

“We saw the basket floating in the pond! What the hell happened!?”

You hack more water and algae out of your lungs.

“Water pony,” you wheeze out.

“Huh?”

“Kelpie,” Antigone says through violent coughs. Despite her having been the one to save you, she seems much worse for wear. Dakota white-knuckles her hand.

“Kelpies are shapeshifters.” He pants, also soaking wet. T.V. is the only one bone dry. “They take the form of a pony or horse and drown people for fun,” he explains. “What happened?”

You take a deep breath, “It dragged me down underwater. Antigone came to save me.”

Dakota’s eyes widen as he grabs the witch by the shoulders.

“You did what? Are you high?” he demands.

“Wait, hang on!” Jackie interjects. “What’s the problem here? She kept them both alive until we got there!”

Dakota crosses his arms. “The problem here is that Annie can’t--!”

Antigone cuts him off. “What was I supposed to do? Let the kid drown?” she rasps and shrugs off her knit sweater.

“Of course not! I just--” Groaning, he buries his face into her neck. Antigone allows the touch and strokes his hair gently. Her tired gaze flickers over to you. Jackie’s concerned voice steals your attention.

“Let’s get you back to the shop,” she says, holding a hand out to you.

You clasp her hand and the two of you pull in tandem. The moment you put weight on your feet, searing pain shoots up your leg.

The ground rushes up to meet you, then stops when a pair of strong arms wrap around your middle.

As soon as their fingertips make contact, your head erupts in a pain like someone took an axe to it. There’s a ringing in your ears and you cry out.

Whoever’s holding you lets go and you hit the mud, writhing in agony.

“I— I’m so sorry!” T.V. manages through his groans of pain, hands clenched tightly to the sides of his head.

It feels like your skull is full of liquid metal. The cool water of the pond is tempting all of a sudden, kelpie and all.

Antigone presses a cool hand to your forehead and whispers something in a language you can’t understand.

Your head is still heavy, but the white hot pain ebbs.

She crawls over to Trouvaille to give him the same treatment. His agony seems to decrease faster than yours.

Through your delirium, you hear her snap at him, “That was unbelievably stupid!”

“I know,” he replies, rubbing his temples.

“You know? Mistakes like that can be fatal. Do not let your bleeding heart be the reason you both die.” 

Carefully avoiding her eyes, he says, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t talk to him like that!” you protest through the pain.

“Shut up,” she snaps. “I don’t need one idiot defending another idiot.”

Jackie crosses her arms, “Very original with the insults.”

“I’m just calling them as they are. If they feel insulted, that’s on them.”

You clench your teeth, “He said he was sorry!”

“Sorry won’t bring back the dead,” she says directly at Trouvaille. Rounding on you, she says, “Let me take a look at that ankle.”

Your left ankle is inflamed and is taking on an angry red color. It must have happened when the kelpie hit you. The throbbing pain only grows as the adrenaline flushes from your veins.

She pokes an especially puffy part.

“Ow, fuck!” you cry out, hands grabbing onto your injured leg. “Why would you touch it!?”

“Punishment for being too slow to dodge the thing,” she deadpans.

“You think getting nearly drowned wasn’t enough punishment?”

“No.”

Thankfully, the poking ceases. A purple light emits from her clawed hand. She hovers over your ankle.

“Well, that is going to need a splint.” She retracts her hand.

“You can mend ribs but you can’t unsprain an ankle?” Jackie demands.

“For one thing, ‘unsprain’ is not a word. Second, normal treatment would take weeks. I can make it a few days. Any other grievances, hotshot?”

“Maybe if you were paying attention, oh powerful witch, you could have done something before it got this bad!” she shoots back.

The witch’s mercury eyes narrow. “You want to blame me for this?”

“I do. What are you gonna do about it?” Jackie takes a step forward.

“Don’t pick fights you can’t win, you little--” Antigone begins.

Dakota nudges her.

“We should head back.” They share a tense look, but she ultimately backs down. Then he turns to you, “Can I carry you?”

You nod in agreement. He places his hands under your knees and behind your back, careful not to jostle your ankle too much.

As he stands up, he takes on a comically cheerful tone. “Thank you flying Dakota Airlines! Please fasten your seatbelts and keep all electronics stored away until we reach cruising altitude.”

“Does this flight have snacks?” you jokingly ask.

“Check my pocket!”

You reach down into his kangaroo pouch and pull out a waterlogged 4 pak of Nutter Butters.

You raise an eyebrow. “You just carry these around?”

He shrugs. “I’m a growing boy.”

“You’re 25.”

“Okay? And?”

You chuckle. On the trek back to the car, you look over his shoulder to see sunlight glimmering off of caramel hair. Trouvaille strolls several feet behind you. He gives you a weak smile but makes no attempt to get any closer.

Reaching out for him, you beckon him closer. Not to touch, but you don’t like the wide berth he gives you.

He shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mouths.

‘Don’t be.’

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead of coming to you, he speeds up to catch up to Jackie.

The few seconds that he’s near when he passes by makes your hair stand on end. You almost reach out to stop him. You don’t. You can’t. Dakota readjusts you in his arms. After making sure everyone’s out of earshot he finds your gaze.

“Try not to be too mad at Annie. She just wants to keep all of us safe,” he says.

You briefly wondered if he swallowed too much pond water.

“You make it sound like she cares,” you grumble.

“She does. She really does. You know how if you don’t socialize dogs at a young age, they have trouble with other dogs later on? She’s like that.”

Raising an eyebrow, you reply, “Would she be mad at you comparing her to a dog?”

“Not if you don’t tell her.”

You chuckle and look ahead to see the three of them walking side by side. Trouvaille turn his head slightly. For a moment, you lock eyes before he pointedly turns back around. Your heart reaches out for someone who won’t reach back.

“Hey,” Dakota recaptures your attention. “Sometimes the people we care about decide for themselves that we’re better off without them. Those people are amazingly stubborn, but we love them anyway. Probably because we like pain, but whatever.” Up ahead, Jackie jokes around with T.V. while Antigone keeps her distance off to the side. “I just...” you sigh. “I don’t know what I think. I tell him I’m fine and I’m not afraid to get hurt, but he still pushes me away.” “I think that half of it is protecting himself. You may not be afraid of getting hurt, but he might be. Give him space, but let him know he can come to you.” “Easier said than done.”

Dakota shrugs. “Just know that these things take time. And patience. So much patience.” You glance back and forth between him and the group ahead. 

“Why do you sound like you speak from experience?”

He grimaces, “If I said I don’t know what you’re taking about, would you believe me?”

“No.”

“Fair enough.”

Your gaze drifts between the trio in front of you.

“You can’t possibly--”

He cuts you off, “Wow, wouldya look at that! We’re at the car! Everyone please place your tray tables in the up position while we begin our descent!”

Trouvaille and Antigone are locked in a tense conversation. They stop to watch your approach until the witch mutters something and relinquishes her claim to the passenger seat. T.V. slides into the car without sparing you a glance.

“I wanna kiss your lips”

songfic ft. katsuki bakugou because I can’t stop playing i wanna be your girlfriend by girl in red 

pairing: katsuki bakugou x reader ( tried to make it gn T~T ) wc: 2.7k 

you wanted to punch him in the face more than anything.

seriously. how clueless could he be?

for someone who flaunted his brains so much, katsuki bakugou could be pretty damn clueless sometimes. well, not just sometimes. all the time. at least when it came to your feelings.

it’s true, the blonde could care less about other people’s feelings, but how could he not notice when absolutely everyone else around him did?

the way you twirled your hair around your finger out of habit every time he talked to you, or the intense pink tint your cheeks would acquire. the way your witty comebacks and sharp tongue went out of service whenever he teased you, as if he just made your brain cells shut off. 

still, despite all these short-circuit effects he had on you, you still felt comfortable around him. like you could be yourself.

you had first realized this a few months back, when, while chatting with a certain pink girl, you found yourself navigating your way to the blonde and the rest of his friends.

ashido sat with them, looking at you expectantly as she pat the empty space next to her, and you took a seat next to her.

you sat stiffly next to your friend, feeling awkward as the light-hearted conversation flowed between the group of friends while you just listened and stared at your hands, firmly placed on your lap. 

it’s not like you were a quiet or shy person, quite the contrary, but jumping into a conversation you hadn’t been explicitly invited to just wasn’t something proper of you. you were a loudmouth, but only if you felt comfortable enough to be one. 

“oi, you,” the blonde said without bothering to look up from his meal, and you raised your gaze to search for him with your eyes, figuring he was talking to you, since all his other friends had a designated nickname. 

the group fell quiet and you quirked a brow and looked at him, “me?” you asked lowly, gaze fixed in his crimson orbs, which he rolled in annoyance. 

“who else would i be talking to, dumbass?” he questioned in return, turning to look at you. you shot an unamused look at him, raising both brows now and letting out a soft chuckle.

“oh, i don’t know, maybe one of the other four people sitting with us? and you call me a dumbass.” you replied with a smug grin, muttering that last part, but still enough for him to hear.

“you wanna fucking go?” he groaned and stood up from his seat, tiny sparks erupting from his fingertips. 

“i don’t partake in animal abuse, sorry,” you responded with a shrug, smug grin only widening, your response earning a few giggles from the rest of the squad.

“shut it, you fucking extras!” bakugou roared, clearly about to lose it, until the bell rang, indicating the end of your lunch break. 

a long silence followed, just you and him staring directly into each other’s eyes as the rest backed away carefully, as if standing on thin ice that could crack any second now.

“saved by the fucking bell, but this isn’t over, you hear me?” he warned, and you shrugged dismissively and started walking away.

and so, after that day, your invitations to spend lunch break with them only kept coming, and soon, it became an everyday thing until you found yourself spending as much of your free time as you possibly could with them. 

tension between bakugou and you lessened, and you found yourselves actually enjoying each other’s company, though neither of you would ever admit that. 

“oi, idiot, where’s your food?” the familiar raspy voice asked, making you pause your intense conversation with hanta to turn to look at him.

“huh? oh, i didn’t even realize.. i must’ve forgotten to bring it again.” you admitted, scratching the back of your head sheepishly. 

“again?” he asked, slightly cocking his head to the side as he shot a confused look your way.

“yeah, i can be quite forgetful sometimes..” you said with an embarrassed chuckle, but quickly going back to your usual intense self. “but it’s okay cause i had a shitload of food before coming here!” you said with a grin, a hand on your hip, the other one showing him a thumbs up. 

katsuki frowned and smacked the back of your head, before poking aggressively at a piece of meat in his lunch box. 

“ow, shit! what the hell was that fo-” you were about to complain about the smack before you were interrupted by a fork being shoved into your mouth. 

“we’re going to train today and i’m finally gonna get my chance to beat your ass, so i can’t have your weak ass fainting on me today.” he said, pushing your chin up and making your lips wrap around the fork, sliding it out carefully when your lips sealed against it, pulling the food off of it.

your friends stared in astonishment, and as your brain processed what had just happened, your face turned a dark shade of red. you turned away, chewing aggressively on the food and swallowing it harshly. 

of course, bakugou failed to register the effect of his actions until ashido and hanta turned to look at him with huge, teasing grins on their faces and wiggling eyebrows, which caused his face to match the color of yours. 

“fuck! wait! it’s not like that, you bunch of idiots!” he defended, still the intense blush on his face and the shakiness of his voice betrayed him, and the pair began to giggle.

before that, never once had you thought of katsuki bakugou as more than a mere friend, but now, sitting next to him made something in your insides stir, and your stomach felt an overwhelming amount of different sensations at the same time, from butterflies, to a rollercoaster, to what could be compared to the violent churning of an old washing machine as you internally screamed.

“i can’t believe the exams are coming up, i’m gonna be so drained from all that studying.. it’s probably gonna fry my brain..” ashido whined, and bakugou chuckled.

“you can’t fry what you don’t have, pinky.” the blonde said, and mina turned to glare at him. 

“if i were you, i’d shut up, explodo. may i remind you, i’ve been informed of your huge crush on--” bakugou eyes widened and he slapped a hand over ashido’s mouth, to which she let out a muffled giggle.

“shut the hell up, dumbass! are you trying to get on my bad side or something?” 

mina shook her head and pulled away from his hand, showing him a teasing grin.

“i’d only use that as a last option, you should know that. I’d much rather see you confess to them.” she stated.

“katsuki has a crush?” you asked with a raising a brow, your gaze shifting between bakugou’s flustered face and ashido’s clearly satisfied expression. 

“yeah, but it doesn’t surprise me you didn’t know about it,” she said, and you looked at bakugou.

him? with a crush?

for some reason, your chest ached at the thought.

“yeah, well, good luck with that, boom boy,” you shrugged and looked away from him, directing your attention at your empty lunch box.

“the hell is that supposed to mean?” he snapped, and you just replied with another shrug, the intrusive thoughts of bakugou with someone else killing your mood in seconds.

the group fell silent, until ashido spoke up.

“erm, anyways, as i was saying! i figured since we’re going to be spending so much time studying before exams, we’re hardly going to spend any time together aside from lunch breaks… so, i thought we could go out tonight!” she suggested, and the grim mood seemed to vanish as you started agreeing with her one by one, each in their own way, some excitedly, and another certain blonde clicking his tongue and shrugging.

eventually, you settled for a karaoke night.

you were all supposed to meet there around 7 pm, giving you just enough time to have a quick shower, a meal, and get ready. 

picking your best outfit, fixing your hair, and spraying on some perfume, you added the finishing touches and stared at your reflection, smiling slightly before heading out.

at the karaoke were kirishima and ashido, sitting on a table in the corner, chatting lively, and kaminari and hanta seemingly playing video games on their phones, while bakugou stared at his phone screen with a straight face, dragging his thumb across the screen every so often.

you approached your friends with a smile, waving at them with a smile and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“(y/n)! you made it!” ashido beamed at you and rose from her seat, wrapping her arms around you.

you took a seat in the corner of the table, which you found a lot more comfortable, in case your friends resumed their conversation from before and brought up bakugou’s crush, and you decided you wanted to get the hell out of there.

sure, it might be an immature reaction, and you should be happy for your friend possibly finding happiness, but damn, even the thought of you facing that as a reality hurt worse than a punch to your gut.

time flew by, conversation quickly initiating with your friends, with topics that were all over the place, but thankfully, none of those were bakugou’s crush. 

soon, you found yourself giggling uncontrollably as your friends, who mind you, were drunk off their asses, invaded the karaoke’s stage, singing cheesy romance pop songs, apparently entirely tone deaf.

you and bakugou were the only ones who had remained seated in all that time, despite the numerous times your friends pointed at you and gestured for you guys to join them, to which you replied with a small smile and shaking your head, while bakugou flipped them off, still apparently unamused by their over the top behavior.  

ashido soon came to squeeze your hand, teary-eyed, cheeks flushed, and wobbling, begging for you to join her on the stage. 

“oh, no, i don’t know those songs,” you lied, trying to get her to stop insisting, but to no avail, as she kept whining and poking your sides and your face.

“c’mon, don’t be like that, we came here to have fun and both of you are being some major party poopers!” she scolded, pointing at you and bakugou.

“leave her alone, pinky, she’s probably just too scared to do anything,” bakugou said, expecting you to go all out on her, but instead, it hit you like a slap across the face.

‘too scared to do anything’ you thought, his words repeating themselves in your head over and over again, until you stood up and took the microphone from ashido’s hand, determinedly stomping your way to the stage.

you finally understood.

you understood why you were so pissed.

why even the slightest mention of that made you want to run away.

even bakugou katsuki could come to terms with his feelings. with having a crush. and what did you do about it?

nothing.

you were too afraid of doing anything about it that you forced yourself to be oblivious to your own feelings, burying them deep within you.

you forced yourself to ignore why you felt like this.

you had the biggest crush on bakugou fucking katsuki.

and so, as you stood on the stage and the music began playing, you could only stare at him.

I wanna feel you close

Come lie with my bones

you closed your eyes as you sang, silently praying that, even if you weren’t looking directly at him, he’d still get it.

‘too scared to do anything’ you heard him say again in your head, and you shot your eyes open, pointing at him as the chorus began.

“i don’t wanna be your friend, i wanna kiss your lips!” you sang loudly, passionately, pouring all those emotions you had been bottling up for so long into the lyrics, cheeks burning up as you confessed to him. 

the hand pointing at him suddenly made its way to your chest, grabbing a fistful of your shirt as your brows furrowed and the look in your eyes intensified.

“i wanna kiss you until i lose my breath!” you nearly screamed, cheeks getting hotter and redder by the second, your knees close to giving up on you as you looked into his eyes, shock written all over his face as realization slowly hit him and his cheeks gained a pink tint. 

it was as if, in that very moment, the rest of the world had vanished, and it was only you and him in that karaoke, in the middle of a confession you desperately wished he’d accept. 

the blonde rose from his seat and looked at his friends for a moment, all of them giving them reassuring nods, and his gaze fell back on you, still looking intensely at him. 

subconsciously, he mimicked your actions from that first time you two interacted, slowly raising an index finger to point at himself, mouthing “me?”.

you giggled and nodded, “who else would i be talking to, dumbass?” you answered, earning a chuckle from him as he slowly approached the stage.

you stared into each other’s eyes as he made his way to you, the song long forgotten, now only playing in the background, contributing to the situation and making this much more movie-like.

tell me something nice

like flowers and blue skies

he got up on the stage with you, and for some reason, having him right in front of you, towering over your figure, with an expression that you couldn’t quite figure out, made things much more intimidating now, and you could swear you’d die right then and there.

i will follow you home

although my lips are blue and i’m cold

“well then, what are you waiting for?” he asked with a smirk and you cocked your head in confusion.

i don’t wanna be your friend, i wanna kiss your lips

i wanna kiss you until i lose my breath

the chorus sang, reminding you of your initial bold confession, and you blushed.

“you better not be playing,” you warned him, and he just rolled his eyes, swiftly sliding his hand to the back of your head and leaning forward, crashing his lips against yours.

your eyes widened, and you could feel the way the people around you stared, but holy shit, this was just too good. his intoxicating scent, of delicious caramel, acted like sleeping gas, and you found yourself closing your eyes and melting into the kiss, pressing your body against his as your arms wrapped around his neck, tugging softly at his spiky hair.

you pulled back, barely able to breathe, not from the kiss, but from the way your heart threatened to pound its way out of your chest, and you looked up at those crimson eyes.

“i don’t wanna be your friend, i wanna be your bitch,” you sang against his lips and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him in for another kiss, which he gladly gave in to.

lifting your leg to wrap it around his waist, bakugou smirked against your lips and firmly grabbed your thighs, lifting you off the ground and walking off the stage with you.

letting out a gasp, you pulled away and looked at him.

the look in your eyes

my hand between your thighs

“fuck...” you blurted out, still holding tightly onto his hair. your eyes scanned his face. You’d never seen him so attentively before, and so close, too. he was far too beautiful, even with that seemingly permanent scowl painted on his perfect features.

oh this can’t be real

it’s all just a dream

“you jealous little asshole. you couldn’t handle the thought of me having a crush on someone else, isn’t that right?” he teased, smirk drawn on his swollen lips.

“i’m starting to think i might’ve been jealous of myself all along,” you teased back, poking his cheek with your index finger.

i don’t wanna be your friend, i wanna kiss your lips

i wanna kiss you until i lose my breath

katsuki shrugged and pecked your lips one last time.

“yeah, maybe,”

one step back, two steps forward (pt.4)

masterlist

Not all heroes wear capes

Kaylan stood tall on the roof of the building. The spotted heroin was having trouble keeping herself safe.

 For the love of God please work!

 Closing her eye she took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, her yellow green eyes glowed and she swung her rope lasso and threw it towards ladybug. The loop secured at ladybug’s waist that made the said hero startle. With a strong tug Kaylan pulled the hero upward before she started falling down right in her arms. (here)

**************************************************************************************

Her mind was exploding with worst case scenarios like a bullet train. The feeling of rope and the strong pull made her believe that she was going to be out of commotion just like that. But the moment she landed in someone’s arms, she was startled to see her savior.

 For as long as Marinette can remember, she never got fascinated by some glowing eyes. And she never voiced that. Not once in the future.

*******************************************************************************************

The beeping from the earrings startled them both. Ladybug looked around.

Thank you for your help but I need to recharge.

 Ladybug kept looking for any place to hide. With a wave Kaylan made a blue colored cube. The shocked face didn’t go unnoticed by her but she ignored it.

 It’s my magic. I made sure no one can’t either see or hear you.

Huh?

 The spotted heroin who looked baffled at the sudden reveal couldn’t process what was actually happening. Rolling her eyes Kaylan pushed the other girl to the cube.

 Tsk! get inside.

 Once she was safe inside, Kaylan turned to observe the situation. From what she gathered from Marinette’s general information and her own research she just needed to find the thing that has the magical butterfly in it.

While the whole situation looked abstruse, she knew as a magic user herself, it was possible to defy logic rather easily and the living proof was rather in front of her.

 Since I saw many victim with the mind control ability the minions are nothing but an obstacle. Considering that they can turn the other like themselves it would be best if they could be separated from the main boss.

 Miss?

With the speed of lightening, the knife was at speaker’s neck. Ladybug looked frightened for a moment but it was gone. With a sigh she put the knife away.

 I believe that you are Ladybug.

 And you are new in Paris.

 And how do you know that?

Considering I know almost everyone in the city and I don’t think that there would be someone with such abilities here. It kind of give away.

 Kaylan looked away from the heroin and looked at the crowd that gathered at the base of the building trying to climb up.

 Your partner is incompetent.

 *sigh* I know.

 I have a few plans that can help you but it involved me in a dangerous situation.

 A surprise gasp left her lips as ladybug looked at the other girl astonished.

  I can’t put the life of a civilian in danger.

 Well too late for now.

 Huh?

Looking at what she was pointing at, ladybug felt a little nauseous. There wasn’t a single civilian in sight that was not affected by the akuma.

 Give me a few sample plans and I will tell you your role.

 The words forced themselves out of her mouth but she didn’t seem to care. There was a hint of frustration and helplessness hidden by the sheer determination in her eyes. A smirk made its way towards her face making the spotted heroin regret her words by a long shot.

Sure!

*******************************************************************************************

This is so nauseating. Do they eat brain? Do you think they die if we crush their heads?

 A high pitched excited voice pierce through the crowd and every minion looked at the general direction. The shadow of two people behind a wall could be seen.

 Would you shut up? Your glass shattering voice is making me deaf.

 Excuse me?!

Geez you’re scaring the akuma with that voice. I think they are bleeding from their ears. Screechy voice!

 My voice is not screechy! Everyone knows it. Just because they are weak and pathetic and can’t bear a little loud voice doesn’t mean I’m the one to blame. God forbade, that akuma just couldn’t get any other ability from Hawkmoth……….like seriously! Zombies! So third class! And there are so many akumas that had minions. Like no originality! Don’t they have copyrights!

 A tick mark appeared on the akuma’s head.

Get them whoever they are swarm them and break them apart. How dare they say that I’m weak? I’m the strongest akuma yet. Get them! Get them! Get them!

 In no time the minions ran towards the two people leaving the main akuma all alone.

 I can’t believe her plan actually worked.

The spotted heroin called from behind before dodging the beam and knocking the weapon from plague doctor’s hand and tying her from her other yoyo. The main yoyo broke the akuma item and captured and purify the butterfly.

 Bye bye little butterfly.

 After a miraculous ladybug, the spotted heroin comforted the victim. Kaylan jogged towards the pair and extended a card towards the victim.

 My mother is a psychiatrist. You can schedule a time with her and go for a therapy. I’m sure it will do well if you don’t have to bottle up all emotions.

 The nurse gave a strained smile and left promising that she will schedule the session so something like this never happens.

 Milady!

The sing song voice of the leather clad hero made the other one flinch. Chat noir came smiling like a Cheshire cat.

 Chat noir! One again you came late and got hit instead of listening to my plan. You need to take this seriously!

 But I always take you seriously.

 Ladybug felt like giving a hard slap to his face. He didn’t listen to a single word she said and just spoke of his fantasy. It was nice listen to these when he was a good hero. It helps when the stress got into her but now it is just plain irritating.

 Chat noir you need to be a serious hero!

I am a good hero! I always save you like a knight in shiny leather.

 Th-that’s not what I mean!

 The one sided argument was enough to bring a headache. With a big sigh she pushed chat noir away from ladybug making him tumble down on the ground. It was lucky that there weren’t people around yet but the time was limited.

 Ladybug you should leave. You need rest anyway.

 Ladybug sighed in relief and left quickly. Kaylan turned to the cat themed hero with a fierce glare making the said hero flinch. Grabbing him by the collar, she pulled him up to her level.

I’ll say it just once, you better stop making her do all the work you dumb, lazy cat or so god help me I’ll be the one you will have to worry about.

  You can’t say anything to me. You’re just a new girl who came here yesterday. Ladybug and I are destined to be together.

 Chat noir yelled while struggling to get away from her. For a girl she was strong, far stronger than he is and he was the one with the miraculous, he should have more strength than a normal girl.

 If you think that you can get out, well you thought wrong.

She shook him violently before shoving him to the wall, rather violently.

  I hate people who think they are heroes and deserve the best. You are one of those heroes. Acting all high and mighty and calling himself a hero while you do nothing to live up to that claim and ladybug had to do all the work.

  You……… how dare you………….

 The anger didn’t last a second when Kaylan slammed a knife right next to his cheek. Now it was sticking right there on the wall.

How dare I? How. Dare. You? You think that the world revolves around you and they owe you a favor. Or worse. Ladybug owe you something. I might be new to all this but I can assure you a single piece of magical artifact can’t decide your destiny. So ladybug don’t owe you her love. GET. THAT. THROUGH. YOUR. THICK. SKULL.

 Chat noir didn’t move a bit. He had been scolded before but as Adrien not as chat noir. And this girl, she not only dare to scold him but she is also disrupting the peace of his class. She even sits next to Marinette.

 Marinette.

 This girl is dangerous, he need to warn Marinette or Marinette will be trouble.

During his inner turmoil, he didn’t notice her taking out her knife or leaving. When he did came to his senses she was turning a corner. He wanted to follow her but his miraculous started beeping.

 “Guess I’ll have to warn Marinette tomorrow.”

***************************************************************************************

Stepping down to the stairs after classes was dismissed, Kaylan found herself being hugged by her mother. She was asking question at a rapid speed. Some relevant and some irrelevant. Well not like it mattered. Her mother was safe anyway.

  In a distance she saw Marinette looking at her. When their eyes met, she send her an apologetic smile before waving her and leaving towards the bakery.

 Guess I’ll be asking her tomorrow.

   Life was great. Even with hilariously dangerous situation.

previous

next

(Fiction fact: 

Kaylan has magic. 

she can make solid structure. 

she didn’t said any type of incantation like Zatanna or Constantine. it makes her a different type of mage or maybe a superior one. 

Kaylan do not use magic much, instead she uses her knife, especially for threatening. ladybug was an exception.

the two shadows were illusion that she made and manipulated the emotions of the akuma to separate the minions and the main akuma.

 Ladybug is the only one that can be seen in the head to head fight. 

lucky charm of this akuma was yoyo)

The Prisoner - Part 3

Look who finally worked through some writer’s block on this story!

Part 1      Part 2      Part 4

The human that Garn assumed must be Embry hurried in a while after the ship was somewhat stabilized. She froze in place when she entered and saw Garn. He noticed how her grip tightened on the kit she carried, as well as how her eyes darted around the room as if looking for either a weapon or escape route. “It’s okay,” human Kaya had to speak up loudly to be heard over the ship’s straining engines. “He was traveling with Porter.” Embry nodded and approached Porter while still keeping a close eye on Garn. Garn watched her closely as she attended to his human friend. The realization that they had survived the ordeal at the Tupiti Port was starting to rise up inside him, and the excitement of his newfound escape and freedom was starting to return to Garn. Not only was he free of the Syndicate, he was completely off-planet, flying away from Karbrin on a ship that had not one, not two, but THREE humans aboard! Human Embry was working quickly and nearly had finished bandaging up Porter’s leg. As she leaned back to examine her work, Garn noticed she had a small metal device curled around her left ear. He wanted to ask about it, but before he did, Porter groaned and tried to pull himself back up into a sitting position. The human Embry pushed him back down, and to Garn’s shock, slapped him in the face. Garn’s fur prickled in shock and he jumped to his feet to defend his friend. Human Kaya was at his side in an instant, holding an arm out in front of him as if she would stop him should he try anything. Garn stepped forward, ready to push his way through to stop the smaller human female from again striking his friend. He towered a full head and shoulders over the humans after all. He didn’t get another step though. He looked down. The human Kaya had grabbed him and was now holding him back. “Don’t try it, dantum,” the human warned in a voice that sent ice burning through him. He stopped a growl in his throat from building when he looked into her dark brown eyes. He nearly got lost in them. They were the most commanding eyes he had ever seen, even among the Syndicate. Their depth, as well as the worn wrinkles of the skin around her eyes, silenced any protests that had sprung up in him. He stepped back resignedly, noting only now that the arm she had stopped him with was… odd. The dark brown of it did not match the rest of her skin. After focusing on it a little better, he noticed the seams and divots that ran across what was not flesh, but metal and silicone.

As he stepped back, the humans relaxed slightly, except Porter, who had been distracted by nursing his now pink cheek. “Ow, Embry! What in gadring was that for?” “You know exactly what that was for,” the human medic snapped. “You lied to me. You were supposed to be on a simple parts run, and instead, you go off to who knows where and end up entangling us all with the dang Trinn-Har’rup Syndicate because we have to come save your butt! What were you thinking?!” “I didn’t lie. I got the parts,” Porter propped himself up on his arms without completely sitting up. “Or well, most of them. I actually had a few confiscated by the Nebbilins when they caught me. But I found a few goodies at the market on Karbrin!” Porter looked around for a bit before frowning. “Where’s my bag?” “Your bag?” Embry looked around as well. “Yeah, my bag? You know, the one that had all the parts in it? The one I always take with me? That bag!?” He looked to Garn. “Garn, please tell me you saw my bag. I must have dropped it. Did you grab it?” “I didn’t notice you had dropped it,” Garn apologized. “We were kind of running for our lives so I just picked you up and got you on the ship.” “Ugh,” Porter groaned and flopped onto his back. “Noooooo. The parts. My bag. I really liked that bag.” He immediately tried to get up as if to look for it himself, but Embry pushed him back down. “Oh no you don’t. You stay down, doctor’s orders,” Embry scolded. “Since when were you a doctor?” Embry pressed a finger onto the wound on Porter’s leg. “Ah, ah ah ah! Okay, sorry. I’ll stay down!” Garn frowned. The humans did not seem very nice to him at all. Why had Porter called them? Slowly, so as to not alarm the human Kaya again, he inched his way to Porter’s side. What more could he do though? He felt that if he showed too much aggression, he’d do more harm than good and likely get thrown in whatever brig this ship had. And that was likely the best-case scenario. He felt a bit like a prisoner even now though. The ship jerked violently to one side and everyone scrambled to find something to grab on to. Both Garn and Embry reached a hand out to Porter to steady him when he nearly rolled off the bench he was laying on. “Tig!” Kaya shouted, “What’s going on up there?” The only answer was another sharp turn of the ship in the opposite direction. “That kloxan’s gonna get us all killed,” Kaya muttered under her breath as she hauled herself across the room and out the door. “What’s going on?” Garn wasn’t sure if the sound of growling was coming from him or from the ship. This was all a mistake. This whole day was just one life-threatening event after another. All because he decided to open his mouth and get involved with a human prisoner. This is why all those outlandish warning stories about humans are shared late at night in the barracks. Humans are dangerous and their presence alone can bring chaos and peril. They were whispered to be threats that required immediate attention if you hoped to survive their antics. If the Syndicate knew of the stories that circulated and seemed to grow more outlandish among their guards, they didn’t ever see it fit to discredit them. Perhaps it was to make sure they kept a healthy amount of fear and caution when dealing with the deadly aliens. Or perhaps it was some sort of scare tactic, let the guards know the rest of the galaxy was a dangerous place filled with scary humans and the likes. Then they keep their guards from leaving their employment and going rogue. Like he had. Maybe that was it. And maybe they had been right to do so. Garn could hear yelling from where human Kaya had disappeared from. He shared a look with the other two humans with him. “What did she say?” Embry nearly yelled. Garn shook his head. He wasn’t sure. He strained his ears to try to pick out what was actually being said when a loud alarm trumpeted all around them. Embry screamed and covered her ears. Garn nearly jumped out of his fur but crouched low to cover both her and Porter, on the lookout for some sort of unseen attacker. He noticed vaguely when Embry pressed the side of her head into his fur as if trying to help muffle the loud sound while she fiddled with the gray device he had seen her wearing earlier. After a moment, she sighed in relief and seemed to loosen her tense muscles ever so slightly. “Hold on to something tight,” she commanded. “Don’t let Porter slide around either.” Garn obediently followed directions, only questioning why he was doing so after he had braced himself and the two humans. His unasked question was answered quickly as the ship seemed to lurch forward and all of Garn like he’d fallen off a cliff left all his internal organs behind. There was a terrible, almost musical creak or groan from the ship around them and suddenly he felt like a strong weight was pushing against him. It was crushing and for a moment, he had to remind himself to breathe. Thankfully, the sensation lasted only a few moments and with another lurch, it was over. Garn caught himself before he completely fell forward onto Embry. All three of them sat there, breathing heavily as they tried to compose themselves. At least now the ship seemed to have steadied itself again. “What… what was that?” Garn panted. He was only now starting to feel normal again, though a bit jostled. As he relaxed his right arm where he’d been holding on to a bar to steady himself, he realized he had bent the metal to his grip. It was slight enough that he hoped no one would notice. Porter groaned, “Oh frinz, that was a rough jump.” Embry reached for the device around her left ear again. “Say again?” “I just… ugh,” Porter winced as he shifted his leg to a more comfortable position. “I just said that was a rough jump.” “But what was that?” Garn asked again. “Hyperspace jump,” Human Kaya appeared suddenly from the doorway she had left through. “Bit of nasty travel, not great for the ship so we try to avoid it. But with our warp drive down and a couple goons on our tail, it gets the job done.” She smiled as she leaned against the door frame. “We’ve jumped just behind Karbrir’s second moon. We’ll hide out here until the coast is clear.” “You could have warned me before we jumped,” Embry complained, rubbing at her ears again. “You know the alarm hurts when it’s on normal settings.” Kaya frowned and straightened back up. “I yelled back to let you know, did you not hear me?” Embry shook her head. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I… I thought for sure you could hear me. I couldn’t leave the helm, I had to help Tig. I’m sorry that was so loud. Are you okay?” Embry nodded. “It’s fine now. I heard you yell something, but I couldn’t make it out. I think I was more surprised than anything.” Garn watched the two humans. It was clear to him that the older female was in charge on the ship. And yet her care towards her subordinate extended beyond remaining functional and duty-ready. She sounded genuinely concerned. And an apology? That was unheard of to Garn. Or at least, an apology not coming from the subordinate to the squad leader. And even then, back with the Syndicate ranks, apologies were harsh and not always received well. They were an excuse for weaknesses and failings after all. Part of him bristled with disdain and confusion upon hearing the apology, almost as an automatic reflex. But another part of him was rapt with curious confusion and awe as he watched the exchange. This human leader, who had been able to stop him in his tracks earlier with just one arm, was… apologizing? He felt himself a little jealous of Embry and Porter. Was this level of care part of the bonding that humans were so famous for? Behind Kaya, a robotic figure appeared in the doorway. “Captain,” the kloxan’s vocal synthesizers hummed cheerfully, “we’ve stabilized orbit around the moon. I request permission to begin repairs on the warp drive.” Everyone stared at the robot, Garn included. “That would be great, Tig, but we still don’t have the right parts,” Kaya looked back at Porter, though not with as much of an accusatory glare as Garn would have expected from his own supervisors if he’d been in a similar situation back home. “It appears we left Porter’s bag behind at the Tupiti spaceport.” “Yes,” replied Tig with an amused current in his tone as he held up a familiar-looking bag. “I thought it looked familiar. I believe I have what I need to fix the warp drive and replace at least a few hose casings in the cooling system.” “My bag!” Porter yelled happily and jumped to his feet as if he was going to go hug Tig. He made it almost two steps until he stepped on his bad leg and nearly collapsed. Garn caught him and helped him sit back down on the bench. Embry tutted and shook her head as she double-checked his bandages to make sure he hadn’t messed up her handiwork. Tig continued after a pause, “I do regret to inform you that I appear to be missing a few springs and the new navigation chip I had requested. If you had managed to procure them, Porter, it may be possible that they fell out and were lost during the confrontation on the planet.” “Yeah, it’s okay. The springs are probably the easiest to find,” Porter sighed, but his smile grew back bright as ever, “I’m just glad you saw it! I thought I’d lost it forever! It took a lot of work to break that bag in the way I like it, you know!” Kaya interjected with a nod. “Tig, go ahead and get the warp drive fixed. Though, it won’t be overly helpful until we’ve got the nav computer fixed. We’ll just have to continue with our workaround until we can get it updated. Will that be alright?” “Of course, Captain,” Tig nodded and turned to get started on the repairs. As he did so, Garn noticed the weapon slung over the robot’s shoulders. His heart froze. “Hey, Tig!” Porter called out from his bench, “Nice gun! Is it new?” Tig paused and looked back and held the gun in question carefully out in display. “I found this on the ground not too far from your bag. I have never seen one like it and wanted to see if I can reverse-engineer one like it for myself.” “You should have just tossed it,” Garn’s voice was shaky and gruff. Everyone turned to him as he said it. He knew that gun. It was the same one he’d looked down the barrel of back in the Tupiti spaceport. “It’s the Aruptet Cannon. It belongs to the Syndicate’s favorite assassin, Kriym Sarupto Maika. Hunting us was just a job for her then. Now she’ll hunt us because it’s personal. She designed and built that gun herself.” Porter frowned, “Wait, you mean to tell me that was a kriym that I punched back there? I didn’t know they worked with the Trinn-Harrups too.” He paused and gave a small smirk. “I thought they’d be bigger from all the stories about them.” Garn ignored that last part. “They don’t, or at least I don’t think so. They’re not like dantums. I’ve only ever seen or heard of a few being employed while I was there. And let me tell you, those few are enough. And Maika is the most lethal. As I said, she’s the Syndicate’s favorite assassin. She’ll hunt us down and take her gun back, and then kill us all for having the audacity for taking it from her in the first place. And not necessarily in that order.” Kaya studied Garn for a moment, taking in what he’d said. “You’re sure about that?” she finally said. “What if we threw it out the airlock right now? Got rid of it?” “She’d still hunt us. Even if we got rid of it, we’d still have taken it, and honestly, I don’t know if it being in our possession or not would be better or worse for us when she finally tracks us down.” Kaya hummed and nodded. “And you really think she’ll track us down? Tig can get the warp drive fixed in…” she turned to the four-armed robot, “how long until you can get the warp drive fixed?” “I would estimate half a standard cycle, Captain.” She turned back to Garn, “half a standard cycle. We get out of here and out of reach. You really think she can track us down across the galaxy?” “She’s been hired on assignments with less information to go on before,” Garn nodded solemnly. “She has a perfect record.” Porter leaned out and put a hand on Garn’s arm. “Had a perfect record, buddy” he corrected with a smile. “We got away once, we can do it again.” “That’s because she wasn’t expecting you to punch her. Or to get blown up and shot at by reinforcements.” “Well then,” Kaya sighed and smiled crookedly. “Guess we’ll just have to keep doing what she doesn’t expect, and then shoot her again if she shows up.” “If she survived at all,” Porter added. “Tig got her pretty good back there when she was going to kill you, Garn!” Garn still couldn’t bring himself to feel as lightly about their situation as the humans seem to. From across the room, Tig nodded at him reassuringly. “I will move reverse-engineering the weapon to be higher on my to-do list. If she shows up, we will be armed and ready.” “That’s the spirit Tig, shoot her again!” Porter’s laughter was cut short as it broke down into a coughing fit. Garn looked back, alarmed at the strange noise emanating from his friend. He’d sometimes heard prisoners of the Syndicate make sounds like that. As they died. Was Porter dying? Was everything that happened today finally catching up to him? Embry must have had the same line of thinking as she offered a bottle of water for him to drink, a concerned expression on her face. “Okay,” she said as he drank between coughs, “I need to know exactly what happened today. Did I hear you say something earlier about Nebbillins? Did they sting you?” Porter, now with his coughing fit mostly abated, began recounting what happened after he had started looking for parts for the ship. Garn listened and offered input and additional details once he got to the part where they’d met. Tig excused himself to get working on the warp drive and Captain Kaya sat back and listened intently to the story with Embry. As they recounted the day, it hit him again just how much his life had changed in such a short amount of time. The events he was talking about now seemed like they must have been someone else’s story. And yet it was him. It had to be him because it wasn’t anyone else sitting here with three humans on a ship orbiting one of the moons he had looked up at with longing all his life. It was him, not someone else, talking and being listened to by humans who were entranced by what he had to say. He had so many things he wanted to know about them, that he’d always wanted to know and ask, and yet, they wanted to know more about him and what had happened that led him to be here with them now. And not only that, they seemed… they seemed happy with him being there with them. Or at least, Porter did. Embry seemed to be as well, though she was still somewhat wary about him. He wasn’t sure about the Captain. Whenever she looked at him, she seemed to be scanning and analyzing everything there was to know about him, all the while, her expression gave nothing away about what she thought about him. She hadn’t thrown him off the ship though, so that had to mean she liked him well enough, right? He had already made a connection with Porter. That probably helped. Despite the events of the day, he found that he actually felt peaceful. Even if the humans didn’t allow him to travel with them and dropped him off at the next opportunity they got, he was still free. He had accomplished what so few dantums ever had. He’d left. He’d done what he always wished he could. He was free to live his own life. And he was cautiously optimistic and maybe a bit hopeful that he’d made some new friends that could help him figure out what to do next.

Part 4

What did you think about Rize’s journey from Tokyo Ghoul?

She doesn’t really have one? Rize is a character who doesn’t change from start to finish, and she’s never really written from her own perspective. She never really gets to be the protagonist of her own tragedy, or have her circumstances explored, she dies at the end a sacrifice to Kaneki’s story. There is a personality in Rize buried deep down. You can see her as yet another of the broken children produced by the garden each of them unfixable in their own little ways. She parallels characters like Furuta, Arima, and Hairu. 

The common thread she has with all three of them is that each of them are trying to cope with a trauma that really can’t be coped with. There was no good or healthy way to adjust to the trauma of the garden. Instead of coping, Hairu, Furuta and Arima just don’t. 

The amount of trauma from the garden would break them if they ever truly tried to process it all. They just can’t. A child should never be expected to cope with those circumstances. The result is all of the garden kids are permanently warped and violent in their dysfunction. They are in a state of permanent lashing out. 

This is something everybody from the garden does. To run away from their tragedy they indulge themselves in violence. Hairu lives for the sake of getting praised, so she slaughters ghouls en masse. She pretends she is loved by Arima and that her life has a purpose in killing ghouls rather than face the reality she is a child soldider to be used and disposed of. 

The thought of getting a chance to exterminate everything brings a smile to Hairu’s face. It’s tragic that she thinks this is the only way she can ever truly be loved, but it’s also a learned sociopathy. She doesn’t care about the lives of others. 

Almost every garden child does this. They trample over the lives of others recklessly, because they know their own lives do not have any value. Even Arima who wants to value life and thinks that murder is an absolute evil, still... murders a whole bunch of people because he doesn’t see any alternative to himself. 

The crux of the garden children is that they all become what they were raised to function as a little too well. Furuta is far better at being the heir to the Washuu household than Matsuri, and runs the CCG way better than any of the previous Washuu did and ramps up the killing, and the iron fisted control because those are the circumstances he grew up under his whole life. Arima was raised as a tool, so everything he does he acts like he’s merely a passive, helpess tool who can only obey orders. Even in his rebellion he just changes who’s orders he’s obeying and becomes Eto’s tool instead. Hairu was raised to believe she had to kill in order to survive, and receive any kind of love and security, so she does that. 

We finally reach Rize. Rize is not a person. Rize has like, personality traits, and ideas that float around her, however they never really connect into a whole person. Rize was meant to be a womb to carry children and nothing else, and when she escaped she just became a ghoul that eats in order to live. On the inside of the garden, and on the outside of the garden, Rize was never a person so as a result she embraces her ghoulness as a substitute to any real identity. The same way Arima is a tool, Hairu is a child soldier, Furuta is a Washuu, Rize embraces her role as a monster. 

She is who she is in rebellion of who she was raised to be. She is also permanently broken because of who she was raised to be. These ideas exist in a crazy tension within her character that Rize never really reconciled which made her act even more inconsistently. 

You could even make it a foiling point between Rize and Kaneki. They both relate to the story of the black Goat, whereas Kaneki is the protagonist terrified of inheriting the violent instincts of his mother, Rize sees herself as the Black Goat. It’s just easier for her to be a remorseless murderer, because she doesn’t ever have to see herself as a victim that way. 

Rize rejects everything. Both her victimhood and her personhood. She just doesn’t want to deal when she can keep running away. 

Nobody around Rize really views her as a person, but Rize is actually more comfortable this way. She even plays it up a little bit. She’s observant enough to notice the expectations of others and plays to those in order to manipulate them. Rize knew that Kaneki was looking for a girl who understood him, so she pretended like they had so much in common and that she was intrigued in him. 

I’d say this behavior is much more than simple revenge against people’s expectations and perceptions of hers. I’d say that Rize by playing up this femme fatalle image denies her own personhood. Everything about her is a performance in order to lure people into her traps and eat them, therefore there’s no real Rize. There’s no girl. There’s only a spider trying to lure in flies. Rize cannot see herself as a person because that involves dealing with a lot of trauma so she just doesn’t. 

Rize doesn’t change over the course of the story, because she can’t change. Not really. She’s too busy running away from herself, and her past. However, we do at least see different perspectives of her filtered through several different people. The first one is obviously the shallow ones that Kaneki perceives as her. He sees her as a mother figure, incredibly interested in his development and journey as a ghoul, a symbol of his own strength. Kaneki’s perceptions of Rize are twofold, one that she’s some untouchable goddess and symbol of strength, and two that she’s really, really interested in his development. 

Banjou sees her as a free spirit, because Banjou himself is someone who has little control over her own life. He focuses on her fickleness and indecisiveness and the fact that she doesn’t care about others feelings at all as something to be admired because it’s total freedom that he can never have due to the fact that he is so weak and constantly living with his head down. 

However, none of those traits Rize has are good ones. She’s just a selfish little child coping poorly. There are reasons for her selfishness yes, and it’s sort of impossible to survive the garden without being seriously stunted as I elaborated above but that doesn’t change the fact that there’s no freedom in what Rize’s doing. She’s just lashing out wildly. She is as caught in the cycle of violence as everybody else. 

Renji sees her as a pure victim, and she’s reduced to this state by Kanou. Agencyless, and starving. Rize also becomes her most childish when perceived this way. She begs for her father to come save her, and is terrified of the dark. 

Furuta is someone who knew Rize before the trauma set in. Not only does he know exactly what happened to Rize, but also he’s the closest to knowing the child she used to be. That is also the problem however. Rize and Furuta suffer from the exact same trauma, and they both spend their lives avoiding their trauma. 

Literally no matter what, neither of them were ever going to be able to face each other as people. They both remind the other too strongly of the worst period of their lives. 

Furuta murders Rize, because she reminds him of the youngest and most vulnerable time in his life. Rize is also a mass murderer who kills people in order to avoid feeling her trauma because she would rather feel like a powerful ghoul than a vulnerable little girl. Furuta’s actions are inexcusable. Rize’s actions are inexcusable. Both are informed by trauma. It’s not even gray really, it’s black, on black. 

Furuta can’t recall a perfect image of Rize from his childhood, because she represents everything good about the kid he used to be, and also everything terrible about the environment he grew up in. It’s likely the same for Rize as well. She can’t face Furuta because that means facing the garden. No she doesn’t owe Furuta anything for saving her. What I mean is, Rize can’t like. Remember. Any of her memories from the garden. Good or bad. It’s not just Furuta, Rize also can’t have friends, or positive relationships in general. The two people who have helped Rize in some way in life, Furuta who freed her, and Shachi who raised her as a father she basically doesn’t care about either of them.  Because she is too busy running away from all of them. That’s why I say Rize is unfixable, even when people show her love, or selflessness she’s just incapable of receiving it. Rize associates Furuta with the garden. Furuta associates Rize with the garden. Rize’s spent her whole life trying to run away from the garden, so she just feels nothing about Furuta either way. Furuta has spent his whole life trying to destroy both the garden and himself, so he desotrys Rize. It’s kind of impossible not too because they were both raised so close in such equally horrible circumstances. 

Shachi sees Rize as a daughter figure but once again, Rize played the role of daughter for awhile and then got bored of it and left. It’s impossible for Rize to feel truly content, or even accept love because she’s always presenting a fake version of herself to avoid any and all actual emotional vulnerability. Rize basically sees herself in every interaction as a monster pretending to be human, and she does her very best to keep acting that way, but because of that she can never know closeness, and is always disatisfied. She’s incapable of relating to anyone. And this is once again, a foiling thing with Furuta. They are two people who are both constantly wearing masks and pretending to be monsters because they can never return to being the vulnerable children they once were. 

Furuta’s last memory of Rize is when they’re both children again, and the firendship between them was genuine. While yes Furuta projects a lot on Rize, there’s also something genuine about his reassurance to her here. 

What they both wanted was to be able to grow up and get older. However, growing up for Rize meant horrible things would be done to her by the Washuu. Growing up for Furuta meant he would become just like the Washuu that hurt Rize. 

Neither of them ever had a future to begin with. Neither of them were ever going to grow up. The tragedy of the manga belongs to Furuta and Rize because they were both children born in this world only to die. Rize never grows up, not really, but also she wasn’t ever meant to grow up. 

If I succeed - 11

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x fem!Reader Content: Nothing bad, actually. A/N: I may have to slow my postings down the coming weeks as I’m picking up extra shifts at the ER to assist on the COVID-19 diagnosis and care. I’ll do my best to update on the WiP/master list as well as posting. Want a tag? Send an ask or reblog! I’d love comments and feedback – even if it’s corrections on language or whatever. I’m not picky as long as I know my work brings joy too.

11 – Between you and me

...   Years ago, in Beauclair   ...

As the right hand of the vassal, the young seigneur and his lady lacked nothing. Enjoying the easy life at the vassal’s court in Beauclair kept them away from the intrigues (including the harm thereof) while still granting influence and luxury. As such, it seemed their happiness was guaranteed when the lady became with child.

Though the laws required the monarch of Nilfheim to be of the male sex, there were no such restrictions for the heirs of the lesser lords, meaning that the birth of a healthy girl was as much cause for celebration as a boy would have been. Yes, the seigneur and his wife were truly blessed by the Prophet.

Or so it seemed.

As the little girl grew, so did the numbers of strange incidents in the household. Lamps flickered and flared, the hearths would roar as by a sudden gust of wind. For a while, the parents would amuse themselves by imagining the flames danced according to their precious daughter’s mood...but the laughter was lessened when a servant got severely burned after angering the child and later there were no smiles left as a wave of her hand caused the fire to leap towards a guest.

Money and favours owed bought the silence of the witnesses, but everyone knew it would only be a matter of time: the sorceresses of Aretuza would come for the child if she survived past the first ten years – a prospect that scared the parents. The mother was distraught, remembering the loss of a childhood friend who was taken to train with magic yet never seen again; the father became grim and silent, growing more secluded as time passed. Neither, however, stopped loving the girl or were willing to give up on her.

When the child was six years of age, a Witcher happened to visit the court of Beauclair and though his quest was another, he agreed to listen to the seigneur after promising not to tell a soul. Curious, he went to see the child. Vesemir, the Witcher, witnessed how the girl played with the flames effortlessly.

“Yes,” he confided to the parents, “Aretuza will come for the girl...but not to train her. To kill her.” He explained of the balance of nature and how the use of magic had a cost to maintain that order. “[Y/N] does not appear to pay the due. Magic without a price’s unthinkable and the very existence’s the greatest threat to the world of the sorceresses and mages.”

“But what can we do?”

Vesemir took pity on the little family, quietly thinking to himself that he had been going soft ever since he took in his charge. Working ardently, the Witcher found a way to cloak the girl, obscure the mark of magic with a sign from those who would seek it, before helping the family leave the city under disguise.

...   Present day, Reader   ...

“You saw him again?”

A short nod. “Yeah. He...visited the summer after they passed.” Pointing to the knife, you add: “Wanted t’make sure I knew ‘bout that.”

It is tangible, the path of Geralt’s gaze as it reevaluates everything he has learned about your body to remember seeing a mark. You lift and part your hair after turning the back to him because there, at the base of the skull, is a finely lined symbol. You do not recall ever seeing it with your own eyes though the memory of getting it done is clear.

“Hm.” The Witcher sounds surprised. “Here I thought he only cared ‘bout swords.”

Jaskier has also been leaning in to get a good look at the small tattoo, clearly less impressed despite undoubtedly having understood the implications. “I once new this fellow who OUCH!”

The scowl you send the silver-haired man is only enough to make him shrug. Clearly, remorse is still not one of his traits – at least not when it comes to slapping the bard in the back of the head. Witchers. He is the second one you have met and while he is the only you have gotten to know this well, it seems there may be a pattern in their personalities: few of words, practical, confident. Consuming. Passionate. The memories of both night and day mingle, interchanging what the bright sun had shown you with the shadows of the past night. Still a bit sore, your core reawakens, stirred by echoes from the lovemaking Geralt had worshipped you by.

“Fire...” you sigh, “I can’t create it out of nothing.”

“No one can do anything unless they’ve been taught,” he challenges with an arched brow.

Of course, you take the bait. Maybe to ensure some things remain unchanged? “S’pose you’re gonna teach me, huh?”

“Hmm.” His smile broadens to reveal teeth and his eyes gleam like gold in the sun. “I’ll teach you a lot more...but not that.”

Shy a response, you are saved by Jaskier finally losing his patience and demanding to know the relevance and how any attempts to kill the vampires are going to result in anything but certain death...especially if the wyverns have indeed been domesticated. Truth be told, the bard is being reasonable. We only need evidence, a desperate thought shouts in your mind, enough to convince the villagers to flee and the vassal to send the soldiers.

Beauclair is hundreds of miles from the last village at the foot of the mountains and the vassal and his court will be safe for a long time while the rest of Toussaint suffers – it has always been that way whether through harsh winters or violent attacks. Those with power do not lower themselves to bother with the problems of the common folk. Your parents had always known this and tried to help in what ways they could without catching the suspicions of their fellows in the court because Toussaint, well, all of Nilfheim, follows a simple rule: kill or be killed. If someone shows signs of weakness, they are certain to be ousted. If lucky. No, the only reason for any ruler, local or not, to lift a finger would be if they were the targets.

“Domesticated wyverns...” you ponder, unknowingly out loud, “domest-...dom-...vampires are intelligent?”

Under your fixed stare, Geralt nods. “Some.”

“Then maybe...no...” Intelligent or not, they’re still monsters.

“What? What is it?” There is desperation in Jaskier’s voice. “Any idea’s gotta be better than hack ‘n slash.”

Suddenly, your throat is dry and the hem of the tunic is fascinating, captivating your attention and preventing a good argument from rolling off your tongue. “Well...if they’re smart enough to get t’gether and tame the wyvers...they’ve got some sorta plan. Right? Would they be willing to listen to logic?” A dark eyebrow rises, underlining the contrast against the silvered hair of the owner. “I mean...can they be...argued with or-or swayed to...y’know...”

Stammering and hesitant, you explain a fool’s hope of convincing the enemy to head directly for the king and his many advisors and admirals rather than preying on the innocents.

“Your idea was to walk up there, waltz into their midst and beg them not to kill the common folk?”

“Well...yeah?”

42 catradora

42. I'm going to save you from the terrible date you're having

B: “So tell me about yourself.” His words appear in bold white text across the phone screen set in front of him. There are a few errors, but the live transcribe app he’s downloaded manages a better job than many others she’s had to experience. (A: This isn’t a date.) She texts rapidly, because she is not giving him a modicum of hope in that department. She hits send and looks up at him expectantly. There’s a sort of deer in the headlights expression on his face for a few moments before his phone catches his attention. He reads over her message before turning back to her and smiling. B: “I know.” The words appear in a scroll, sometimes scrubbing back to self correct. “I want to get to know you better." (A: What do you want to know?) B: “Were you born deaf? Do you have any siblings? How long were you a police officer?” (A: No, I could hear until I was 13. That's why I can speak and still mostly be understood. I remember what the sounds are like. I still remember how I sound.) She reaches for her coffee mug and takes a sip. It's delightfully hot. That's about all she can say though; Barre put in too much milk and sugar. She wonders if Catra would make it the same way. B: “Do you miss it?” (A: Miss what? ) B: “Hearing.” She thinks of Catra throwing her head back and laughing. (A: Sometimes.) (A: What is your first name, anyway?) She's only a little embarrassed that she hasn't asked sooner. B: “Rock no. Rock Oh. R O C C O, Rocco. Rock O. Barre. R O C C O Barre.” A waitress stops by to ask if everything is to their liking (at least Adora assumes so; it's hard to read her lips in the dim light of the cafe), and then moves on. At least it's nice and warm inside. A sudden storm has washed over the city and the windows of the shop weep with rain. B: “So, do you have a boyfriend?” A: (No. I’m gay.) Hasn’t she told him this before? B: “Girlfriend, then?” She almost says yes, if only to get him to stop asking. Instead, she takes a sip of her sickeningly sweet coffee. (A: Were you born in the city?) She asks him, because she feels like she should at least put in some kind of effort. B: “No, just outside of it. Most of my family is still out there, though. Are you deaf? Because of the white fever?” (A: Yeah.) B: “How did your parents take that?” (A: I never knew my parents.) B: “That’s unusual or maybe not that unusual--I mean what do I know really. Were you in a foster home or something?” (A:I was adopted by this older woman named Razz. She took care of me.) B: “Did she already know ESL? Or did she learn when you lost your hearing?” (A: We learned together.) Adora bites the inside of her cheek. It’s been too long since she went to visit Razz’s grave. B: “That’s great, though, I mean, that you had someone to do that with--hey! Teach me how to sign my name?” “B-A-R-R-E.” She signs. B: “Wait, I missed it--again?” And because it seems like he is genuinely interested and not simply trying to be polite, she walks him through each of the letters. It takes him a few tries, and he’s painfully slow, but no more than any other person first learning their signs, and the way he grins with pride at the end makes it worth it. (A: You’ll be fluent in no time.) She texts. B: “It’s great to learn new languages. I mean I only know the one really but I have this one uncle who knows like 10. He is a doctor. He didn’t used to know as many but when the White Fever happened there were a lot of patients who didn’t speak the same language because I guess some of the hybrids have a language entirely of their own or something? So he decided to learn some. Did you know that they were the primary like uh what’s the word uh carriers for the first wave? If it weren't for them. We could have contained it so much faster more them died, right. A friend of mine told me it’s beat they're not clean.” The way it was taught to her in school, the hybrids were largely responsible for the initial spread of the Fever. Some scientists posited that it was because most hybrids don’t take showers or bathe in the same way that humans do, but there’s never been any real substantial evidence one way or another. Nevertheless, the rumor started that hybrids are inherently dirty, and it’s been a reputation they haven’t been able to shake. They are filthy. They’re flea-bitten. They carry diseases. But. Adora remembers watching the painstaking hours Catra spent brushing through her fur. She remembers Catra, back split open, trying to peel off the dirty sheets of her bed. She remembers her trying to wash the dishes with her knuckles cracked. (A: Not all hybrids are dirty.) Adora texts. It feels weak. B: “Uh I’m sure they’re not, not all of them, but still enough. And I mean they’re behind this gang war, too, right I mean they’re very violent. My uncle he. My other uncle I mean not the same one who was a doctor. This uncle was carjacked a few weeks ago by some hybrids can you believe that? I mean I don’t blame the cops I know you guys are doing the best you can, right, with the resources that you do have after all but it’s hard because there sure are a lot of them they kinda breed like rabbits don’t they? My dad’s friend told me that for every human baby born there are two hybrid babies born.” It’s at that moment that Catra walks through the door. She’s wearing a heavy jacket with the hood up and Adora does not think she has ever been more beautiful. Adora waves frantically, ignoring the way that Barre turns his head. “Fancy meeting you here.” Catra signs from across the room.Catra removes her coat and shakes rain water out of her shaggy mane. She’s wearing fishnets beneath her ripped jeans and her hands are adorned with fingerless gloves. Her yellow-blue gaze flickers to Barre and back. “In need of some rescuing, princess?” B: “Oh, uh hi uh are you a friend of Adora’s?” He’s turned in his chair and is holding out his hand in greeting. Somehow it still feels like he’s looking down his nose. Catra stands across from where Adora’s seated and for a moment there’s this open, unguarded expression of longing. Adora’s still trying to determine if she’s actually seeing it or if she’s projecting when Catra blinks and the shutters come down once more. Her face is a mask. She sits down on the arm of a plush red chair immediately adjacent to Barre. B: “Hey...is everything alright?” He asks, brows knitting together. “What are you doing with this joker?” Catra signs, expression completely impassive. “I owed him a favor.” She admits. “Is this a date?” Catra raises her eyebrows. Something like a smirk curls her lips. Oh no. “This is not a date.” She cannot have Catra thinking she’s on a date with someone. “Does HE know that?” She asks, eyes firmly on Adora even as she jabs a clawed thumb in Barre’s direction. B: “Adora is she bothering you?” (A: Barre, this is my friend—) but before she manages to hit send she sees new text has appeared in white on Barre’s phone. “I’m her girlfriend.” Catra sits on the arm of the chair, calm as can be, like she hasn’t just dropped this bomb in the middle of the cafe. B: “Oh.” Barre says. Then, “OH,” his eyes go wide. B: “I’m--I’m Rocco Barre, from work, with Adora, I mean I work with Adora, this is just coffee between friends--but I’m sure you know that, because you’re dating and you probably talk about all that sort of stuff,” he rambles. He at least has the decency to look embarrassed. He holds out his hand again, as well. B: “I am sure you are perfectly clean and very hygienic. I mean you came in out of the rain so you know, you had a shower already today!” “Has this guy lost his fucking mind?” A smile curls at the edge of Catra’s lips. There’s something less...sour, about it this time. “I wouldn’t say he’s crazy, but he’s definitely an idiot.” “I hate him.” “Okay he’s not THAT bad. Be nice.” “He called me dirty.” “Like I said. He’s an idiot. Hang on—” Adora starts to type up a message on her phone, because she knows what it’s like for people to make false assumptions about you. A: “Some hybrids use combs and brushes for their fur instead of taking showers, because they don’t sweat the same way that we do.” She looks up from the message she’s typing to see that Barre is trying to talk to Catra. Keyword, trying. She looks to be completely ignoring him, apart from the occasional reflexive ear twitch. He turns his attention when his phone (presumably) pings, notifying him of the message she sent. B: “Oh! I mean wait really is that really. Some of them clean themselves like. Wait. So they don’t sweat spike we do?” “Would it be easier if I translated?” Catra wonders out loud, signing as she speaks. “Your device is...a little inaccurate.” She reaches forward with a claw and taps at the screen of Barre’s phone. He frowns for a moment, then looks to Adora. B: “I mean I guess so what harm could do right Adora?” From the look on Catra’s face, quite a bit. But how can she say no? She shrugs. B: “Sorry you are the first deaf person hive really talk to to so this is very new to me” “You’re the first deaf person I’ve met so this is new to me.” Catra translates. Adora admits it’s much easier to look at her than squint at the text on Barre’s phone. “A lot about this whole experience is new to me, actually. The two of you make for an unusual couple.” Barre states and Catra signs. He keeps looking at her while he’s speaking. It’s awkward because Catra’s sitting immediately next to him so he’s constantly craning his neck. “How long have you known each other?” “We met yesterday. We’re getting married tomorrow.” Catra responds curtly and Adora kicks her shin. “I asked you to be nice!” “How can I be nice to someone who looks like what this guy looks like?” Which isn’t an answer at all really and yet somehow exactly what Adora expected. Barre speaks up again. “I am sure that the wedding will be very beautiful.” Catra translates.. Adora can’t tell if he is joking or not. “We’re not actually getting married.” “Ohhh.” His left leg bounces up and down and he considers this new information. Two seconds of this and Catra apparently loses interest, reaching over to Adora’s coffee. She cradles it in her palms for a moment before taking a sip. “This isn’t how you take your coffee.” She scowls. B: “What are you smiling at?” Barre asks, and Adora blinks a few times to shake away the feeling of warmth in her chest. (A: “Something silly Catra said.) “How do you know that’s not how I take my coffee?” She asks Catra, who is still holding her mug. “Well for starters, it’s consumable.” “Why did you drink it if you know you hate how I take my coffee?” Catra just shrugs, and Adora rolls her eyes. “Also are you going to translate or not?” “You are such a needy girlfriend.” Catra rolls her eyes. Adora tries her best to push back the feelings of warmth and affection that swell in her chest. “What were you two talking about?” Barre asks through Catra. “How she needs to get her hands off of my coffee.” Adora answers. B: “Those are the consequences of being in a relationship though haha you share your coffee!” Even though Catra is translating, Barre’s phone is still out. Which is good because what Catra says next has nothing to do with coffee. “He says that you should give me whatever I want and that also I’m going to take you home and push you against a stall and kiss the fuck out of you.” Heat immediately rushes to her face. “I--I’m—” she stutters out loud. C: “Oh would you look at the time! I just realized that there’s somewhere we need to be. Thanks so much for this--whatever your name is. Bye!” Catra’s words appear on Barre’s phone in time with the grin on her face. B: “Aw this too bad. Thanks for coming! We have to do this again sometime. Catch Ah can come too. Have a good—” day! At least that’s what she assumes he says. Catra grabs Adora’s shirt collar and tugs her away before she can finish reading. “Bye! Thanks!” She squeaks, helpless to do anything but follow Catra . She’s never been happier to step out into a rainstorm.

Chapter 13: Settled Scores

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration & Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge. Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities.

As soon as he got back to Brooklyn, Bucky put everyone to work.

The Families were stronger together, and their combination of intelligence and brute force had never failed them before. The business may have been nearly destroyed, but it wasn’t irreparable, and they were nothing if not resilient.

Everyone had expected the fight to come to them. They’d planned for it and were ready for it, but nothing could have prepared them for what actually happened.

The first indicator that something wasn’t right was the sudden, unexpected lift on an offshore account they’d frozen months ago. When Bruce and Wanda dug into it, they discovered the money taken had belonged to Steve, but neither of them could figure out who had gotten their hands on it, let alone where the money had gone.  

Then, a few days later, Natasha found an article in the newspaper. Page six, below the fold, buried beneath the rest of the international news – an abandoned warehouse in Barbados had been blown sky-high. The local authorities suspected foul play, but other than the remnants of what appeared to be shell casings, cages, and camera equipment, they had nothing to go on.

Things went quiet for about a week, but eventually, another bombshell dropped. Barton had been overseeing a product shipment when Sam Wilson was found passed out in the back of a cargo container. Though the man hadn’t eaten, bathed, or slept in days, the first thing he asked for was a meet with the Boss.

At three o’clock in the morning, in the back seat of an Escalade parked by the docks – that’s when Bucky learned Steve had uncovered the truth and discovered who had sold him out. Sam wasn’t able to tell them where Fury and Steve had gone, or give them any names, but he insisted the only reason he was alive was because of Steve.

In the month that followed, there were a lot of whispers, but no actual confirmed sightings. Cuba, Haiti, Dominica, Grenada, Venezuela – it appeared they were hopping all over the West Indies, but nobody could be sure whether they were in pursuit of the betrayer or if they themselves were being chased.

It all eventually came to a head when Bruce uncovered suspicious movement in Tobago. Apparently, several plane tickets to New York had been purchased all at the same time. Since they’d been bought with cash, Bruce hadn’t been able to trace the buyer, but in the end, he hadn’t needed to.

Of all the people he could’ve called, Steve reached out to Thor; he said to expect them in five hours, and asked him to send Sam and Natasha to retrieve them at the airport. Their imminent arrival meant Bucky would get the answers he was owed and get his revenge, but first, he needed to prepare.  

Another day, another grave, and this time, there would be no mourners.

Wanda and Thor had provided the supplies. Tony made sure the police steered clear. Clint ensured those who worked the territory were given the night off and compensated for their troubles. After the four of them made their contributions, they let him alone to handle the rest.

Bucky could’ve easily paid someone to do the digging for him, but this particular hole in the ground was special, and he wanted it done right. The land was hard, nearly frozen solid, but that didn’t stop him; he forced the soil to give way and steadily worked toward making a six-by-six-foot chasm.

The blisters on his palms, the sweat on his brow, the ache in his back, the burn in his lungs and arms – it was cathartic. As the shovel moved and the dirt pile grew, he was also taken down into that silent, dark space inside himself, and he admittedly enjoyed the slow crawl into it.

Part of being Boss was ensuring that what occurred back stage stayed backstage. They always put on a show to distract the public, because what happened behind the curtain was bloody and violent, and those with delicate sensibilities couldn’t be permitted to know or see how shit really went down.

Things had gotten out of hand, and unfortunately, the masks had slipped, and they’d exposed themselves a bit too much. Outsiders had been allowed to infiltrate and rewrite the script, but he would no longer tolerate it. Steve may have selected the time for the song-and-dance, but Bucky had chosen the venue, and he was for damn sure running the show now.

This was his fucking city. These were his fucking people. And he was done fucking around.

When Bucky was satisfied, he tossed up the shovel, and used the small step ladder to climb out. The old paper mill he’d chosen for the meet was vacant and tucked out of the way, which meant there was nobody around to see him ready the center of the factory floor with thick, plastic sheeting. He’d just finished laying it and taping it down when the front doors opened and Natasha stepped over the threshold.

It only took a minute for everyone else to make their way inside, and those sixty seconds were very telling. The dead Senator’s wife and Sam’s little helper had huddled up close, and their expressions conveyed they’d chosen to cling to each other for safety, not warmth. Fury and his crew entered next, and their stoicism suggested they knew what was coming. Bucky fully expected Sam and Steve to bring up the rear, but when only Sam appeared, he looked to Natasha for an explanation.  

“He’s not here, but asked me to give you this,” she murmured. “Said it’s his payment in full.”  

A small tablet in a protective, leather case. Innocuous in and of itself, but once turned on and perused, the contents shook the very foundation of the business. There were dossiers on all of the heaviest hitters in both Brooklyn and the West Indies, and the material had the potential to completely shift the balance of power. On top of it, there were other records, which included detailed profiles on Fury’s crew, along with evidence that proved who was responsible for the debacle that had been his life for months.

Bucky lifted his gaze from the tablet and locked eyes with Fury. He didn’t have to ask if the man knew everything, nor did he have to wonder if the rest of his crew knew they had a traitor in their midst. One look at Sam and Natasha was all it took for Bucky to know they were also well aware of what had to happen.

Perhaps if it had been any other time, in any other place, Bucky would’ve shown mercy, but he’d run out of compassion long ago. He had zero sympathy for the so-called innocent and absolutely no desire to show a single ounce of leniency toward the guilty. The only recompense for treason was blood, and as Bosses, he and Nick were responsible for putting their perspective conspirators down.

“You know what you need to do,” Bucky stated calmly.

Fury said Maria’s name and both Natasha and Sam sprang into action. The rest of the crew gave them a wide berth, and while the other two women had to be forced onto their knees, Maria knelt willingly, and she was the only one who didn’t scream and beg for her life.

Bucky retrieved his gun from the base of his spine and disengaged the safety. He didn’t torture them or allow them any last words, and the only small courtesy he offered was a quick, clean death via a well-aimed bullet to each in turn.

Sam gave Fury his weapon, and though he’d accepted it without reluctance, he didn’t immediately pull the trigger. It could’ve been because they’d known each other a long time, or maybe it was because he just needed closure – whatever the reason, he hesitated, and asked her why she did it.

The litany of excuses was as predictable as it was pathetic. Maria accused Fury of replacing with her with an amateur; said it was her plan that got them into the United States; insisted Nick was the one who screwed it up because he was weak, old, and allowed sentiment to get in the way.

Fury reminded her Steve only got caught because she’d set him up; told her the man didn’t deserve to die because of her greed and jealousy; explained he did what he did in order to save Steve’s life and avoid a war. Maria retorted that Fury was going to retire and leave everything to Steve, and she did what she had to do to protect the mantle that was rightfully hers.

The back and forth went on for some time, and Bucky managed to tune most of it out, but when she said Steve was feeble, treacherous, and pitiful, he couldn’t help but be drawn back in.

“Unlike your precious, golden boy, my loyalties have never been divided,” she spat. “And you’re an idiot if you think Steve’s so-called respect for you will ever outweigh his obsession with Barnes.”

Fury shook his head, but before he could say anything more, Maria shifted her ire, and focused it on Bucky. She sneered that Steve was a chatty drunk, and all it took was a few drinks for him to get sloppy and start blubbering on and on about how James Barnes was, “the one who got away.”

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” she jeered. “You pity-fucked him once, and he still cried out for you like that in his sleep. And I knew – I knew when he caught up with us that he’d crawled back into bed with you. He sold us all out! He’s nothing more than an unworthy, ungrateful, deceitful whore!”

Rage, threadbare patience, and itchy trigger fingers – it was a bad, bad, bad combination, but it wasn’t Bucky or even Fury who decided to finally shut her up.

Natasha tersely muttered, ‘that’s quite enough,’ aimed, sent a knife flying.

Whatever else may have spewed out of Maria’s mouth was cut off, and the next sound she made was little more than a wet gurgle. Blood dribbled down her chin before it bloomed across her chest.

Then, she was gone. Chapter 14: Vortex

Everything: @jennmurawski13​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth​ The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @captain-rogers-beard

a story about blood

a small piece about xy and wwx’s relationship in an au in which xy met yunmeng jiang sect quite earlier in his story. written for @baebeyza for the yiling wei server exchange. 

“Get lost, you damn brat!” 

The child scrambles off the road just in time not to get crushed by the next cart, cradling his wounded hand. Whatever reply he had dies in his throat, replaced with white-hot hatred almost too violent for his body to contain. 

When he makes to stand, a purple-clad arm grabs him and pulls him upright. “Hey, you alright?” 

Xue Yang almost spits in the stranger’s face. Who is he, to offer his pity? He didn’t stop Chang Ci’An, or shove his words back down his slimy throat. Everything else is secondary.

The boy in the purple robes doesn’t seem to share his thoughts. Either he’s oblivious to the daggers Xue Yang glares at him, or he simply doesn’t care. When he drags Xue Yang along, he has no choice but to follow. The teenager is bigger and stronger than he is ⎯ though it’s not saying much, given an underfed street rat must weight about as much as a drenched kitten. 

Before he can say anything, he’s sat down at an innkeeper’s table, facing another uniformed boy with a furrow between his brows, and the one who pulled him from the street has taken his maimed hand in his, pulling various bottles of salve from his sleeves.

Xue Yang snatches it back with a hiss. The nails of his good fingers rake across the back of the boy’s hand when he reaches for him, making him recoil in return. “Ow, what the hell?”

“That’ll teach you to pick up strays, Wei Ying,” the other grumbles. Xue Yang dislikes him on sight, with his lordling airs and the haughty purse of his lips. 

His friend - Wei Ying - has already recovered, rubbing at his grazed skin. “Shut up, Jiang Cheng,” he snaps back, though not unkindly. His eyes - gray as storm clouds - drift over to Xue Yang again. “I’m just trying to help, you know? Stop the bleeding.” 

“You’re a cultivator,” is all Xue Yang says. “Like the man in the cart.”

Wei Ying’s face falls. “Oh. Oh, no, I’m not like that.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Listen, if you don’t want me to touch you, it’s fine, I’ll just hand you the bandages, okay?” 

Xue Yang eyes him warily, then nods toward the steaming bowls set on the table before him. “And I want the soup too.”

Wei Ying throws his head back and laughs. “Okay, okay! Anyone ever told you you drive a hard bargain?” He slides a set of clean linen strips across the table at Xue Yang, who pounces upon them and stuffs most of them into his pockets before setting to wrapping up his still-bleeding hand. It’s a clumsy job, but better that than let some stranger move him around like a straw doll. 

When he’s done, he unceremoniously grabs one of the bowls and all but dumps the contents down his throat. The soup burns his palate, but when the hunger that’s been hounding him around starts to wane, it’s more than worth it. 

Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng watch him eat, one with bright-eyed fondness and the other with mild indifference. 

“What do you want?” he asks when he’s done eating. It’s simple enough : in his life, no one has ever given something without asking for a favor in return. Though he fails to see what he could give some pampered young masters in exchange for his care, he has no doubt they have some ideas.

“Your name, first.”

“Xue Yang.” So he thinks, anyway. Whoever his mother was barely lived long enough for him to remember the sound of his own name in her voice. 

Here comes the real demand, then. He tenses, bracing himself for some other thankless task, maybe even money.

Instead, Wei Ying leans forward, drumming his fingers on the table. Jiang Cheng opens his mouth as if to try and stop him, then seems to think better of it and closes it, staring off to the side with a sullen look. “We saw you fight earlier. You don’t have technique, but you’re pretty fast on your feet, right? Xue Yang, have you ever been to Yunmeng?” 

-

Yunmeng is unlike anything Xue Yang has ever seen. The people there never sneer at him or kick him around, though that might be due to the new set of purple robes Wei Ying clumsily ties him into upon arrival. 

They're the nicest clothes Xue Yang has ever owned, though he gets blood on them less than a week later, viciously knocking the teeth of a too-touchy disciple with his wooden sword during training. Wei Ying has to wrestle him away by the neck of his clothes, loudly apologizing all the while. 

After, as he sullenly nurses the bruised cheek his opponent left him right after he got his hit in, Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng's shijie ( she's your shijie, too, Wei Ying told him solemnly, so you take care of her ) sits him down and serves him freshly steamed buns and a bowl of pork ribs and lotus soup.

Xue Yang doesn't dislike Jiang Yanli. She doesn't look like much, but he can tell being mean to her is not a wise choice – not only because he's been here long enough for him to notice her brothers glaring daggers at anyone foolish enough to be even mildly rude to her, but also because he might actually feel bad if she gets that disappointed look about her again. 

“You've got to get a hold of yourself, A-Yang,” she chides gently as she ladles another serving into his bowl. “One day, it'll have worse consequences than a bruised ego.”

“So what do I do?” He peers at her defiantly from behind his mop of dark hair. “Let people...do whatever they want? Like I'm small and–” Weak. Too weak to afford not being the first one to strike.

Jiang Yanli smiles a small, sad smile, and reaches to pat his head. She stops just short of touching his hair, her gaze interrogative. 

Xue Yang huffs and doesn't duck away. 

“It's alright, A-Yang.” Her voice is so soft, full of pity. Her hand is warm where it lays on top of his head. “You don't need to be strong all the time anymore. We'll be here to protect you.” 

He wants her to shut up. He wants her to never stop talking again. 

-

Jiang Yanli is a liar, Xue Yang thinks, as the Lotus Pier comes crashing down around him. Her words ring in his ears as he crawls through the smoke, close to coughing his lungs out, the only thing holding him back the looming presence of Wen troops among the ruins. 

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that she isn't here, or that Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng's fates are uncertain, or that the people he reluctantly started calling his martial brothers and sisters lay in pools of their own blood around him. The other shoe had to drop eventually. 

Not all of the cultivators involved in the massacre of the Lotus Pier die at the Yiling Patriarch's hands. Some breathe their last in the dark, as a sword called Jiangzai carves their flesh off their bones, piece by piece.

Wei Ying finds him again, a handful of months later. There is little left of Yunmeng in him, save for the silver bell he tied to Jiangzai's hilt in a fit of sentimentality. 

“You’ve been busy,” his shixiong remarks. When his eyes sweep over the scene - gore strewn across the floor, the white of Wen robes almost entirely overtaken by grime -, his eyes glow red as coals.

Xue Yang shrugs. “No more than you have, apparently.” His sleeves are meticulously clean, though his boots have been steeped in blood for longer than he cares to count. Jiang Yanli would point out the change in him, the cruel edge he always carried with him sharpened to a fine point.  

Then again, Wei Ying - Wei Wuxian, really, as few dare call him by his birth name now - is not the way he used to be either. Something about him reminds Xue Yang of a corpse risen from the grave, no longer afraid to die, inevitable.

He doesn't flinch when he looks down at the corpse Xue Yang made. It barely resembles a man anymore : lingchi has made a puddle of flesh out of him, white bones peeking out of the crimson wreck. 

“I’m surprised no one’s come after you yet. Does everyone approve of your methods?” Even as Wei Wuxian speaks, he sounds like he already knows what answer to expect.

“Am I supposed to care whether they do?” Their home didn’t burn, as far as Xue Yang’s concerned. Well, the Cloud Recesses did, but he’s never known the Lans to be the vengeful type.

Wei Wuxian breaks into a grin. It should have been familiar, as the same lopsided smile he sported whenever his kite flew higher than any of the other disciples or when he pulled one of them into the lake by their ankles, but it is frightening now.

At least, Xue Yang imagines it should be. In it, he can only find a mirror of his own. 

“Anyway,” Wei Wuxian continues with a tilt of his head towards the corpses at their feet, “I came to take care of these, but it looks like you’ve got everything handled.”

“I want to come with you.” The words slip past his lips before he can think them through. “That’s not all of them. Wen Chao’s not dead yet.” 

Hatred stays with you, he realizes. After so many years without truly feeling it, Xue Yang finds that he hasn’t forgotten its taste.

For the first time since the beginning of their talk, Wei Wuxian seems to waver. “Are you sure?” His gaze takes on a wistful tinge, like the words in his mouth aren’t his own. “Whatever happens, no one will ever look at you the same. You’ll be walking the single-plank bridge with me.” 

The implication hangs in the air between them : one stumble, and he will fall. And, of course, there will be no turning back from this.

“You think I don’t know that?” Xue Yang crosses his arms, chin raised, defiant. “I’ve already gone this far anyway. If you can do it, I can do it.” 

Something tugs at the corners of Wei Wuxian’s lips, almost like a smile. 

-

“Eat or I’ll pour it down your throat myself.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Wen Qing.” Still, Wei Wuxian reaches for the bowl. Up close, Xue Yang can see what the man himself is refusing to admit : that he’s grown thinner and gaunter with every passing day, crumbling into a shell of himself. 

Taking advantage of Wei Wuxian’s distraction, Xue Yang skirts around him and snatches up a page of his notes. It’s covered in scrambly handwriting, as if jotted down in a hurry, but he’s had enough practice by now to decipher the bare bones of it. 

“What’s a…” He squints. “...Stygian Tiger Seal?”

Weu Wuxian whirls towards him, wild-eyed. “Put it back!” 

Xue Yang raises his hands, cocking an eyebrow at the other. “Not until you tell me what it does.”

For a moment, he thinks Wei Wuxian might actually strike him. He draws himself up to his full height, resentful energy gathering around him quiet as thunder ⎯ and then the fight goes out of him, and he slumps onto the slab of stone he calls a chair again. “It’s supposed to help me,” he explains, running a hand through his soot-stained hair. “It should control the corpses better than I do on my own, like a catalyst.” 

Xue Yang considers the notes with newfound interest. “It could change everything.”

“If I manage to do it,” Wei Wuxian points out. “And if I do, you’ll have to keep it to yourself.” At the lack of change in Xue Yang’s expression, he adds, “I mean it. In the wrong hands, it’ll be carnage.”

And what do you plan to bring with it, if not carnage? 

He can see, though, that Wei Wuxian will not answer him. The Yiling Patriarch is already lost in thoughts again, half-emptied bowl abandoned on the side as he grabs a stick of charcoal and starts to sketch, muttering something about swords and giant tortoises.

For lack of something better to do, Xue Yang gathers a few more scrolls from under his nose, settles into one of of cave’s corners and starts to read.

-

For better or for worse, Wei Wuxian’s prediction comes true. When, under the cover of night, Xue Yang comes to see the remnants of Nightless City, he can find no other word to describe the scene but carnage. 

-

On the last day of autumn, a young man boldly strolls into the Unclean Realm. The cultivators who first run into him will remember him grinning even as his throat bobbed against a saber’s blade, upper lip pulling up over little sharp teeth, until the Sect Leader steps in to break off the fight and announce - to everybody's surprise - he will receive his honored guest in his own desk.

“That artefact you mentioned...” Nie Huaisang starts, snapping his fan shut once the door closes behind them. For a moment, two beasts seize each other up, black against gold. “Do you have it?” 

“I thought your being daft was only a facade, Headshaker,” the other snaps back. Still, he reaches into his sleeve. Nie Huaisang’s gaze follows his hand as it draws out a slab of stone shaped like a tiger’s head, crude in design yet unmistakable. 

Half of the Stygian Tiger Seal dangles from the young man’s hand. Nie Huaisang has had the occasion to see the original once - granted, from a distance, and not for very long -, but he can tell that though this is a an attempt to recreate Wei Wuxian’s invention, it’s a skilled one. “It’s rather pretty, but does it work?”

His interlocutor shrugs. “You don’t have the other half, do you? I thought you’d have it ready, since you were only in the market for half of it.”

“I will procure it,” he says, perhaps a little more forcefully than he meant to. “In the meantime…”

Nie Huaisang considers the missing half, his eyes heavy-lidded. When he looks up, his gaze has taken on a sharper glint. “It seems we’ve got ourselves a deal, young master Xue.”

‘Saviour in the Snow’ 

Chapter 2

The Doctor doesn't return from a mission on an alien world. Donna has to take matters into her own hands. Some Whump and general Ten/Donna foolery.

Chapter 3 will be following soon!

AO3 Link - Chapter 2

- 

Gelta’Divians were known for their ignorant, selfish behaviour. Their attitude to life wasn’t exactly rainbows and sunshine, nor was their hospitality. It would be the last time he ever offered his help to species this side of the Adrota Galaxy.

“N-noted for n-next time…”

The Doctor never liked to admit when he was cold. A Time Lord’s body temperature was easily adjustable and controlled – better central heating, is what he said to Donna once and she had laughed and commented on his ignorant cockiness over his superior biology.

But even Time Lord’s had their limits and the temperature wasn't going to stop falling.

He was shivering and that, in his mind, was a bad sign. A terrible sign. A dangerous sign, even.

He'd tried countless times to pull himself out but being unable to turn to reach the rocks, or use his sonic screwdriver in any sense or fashion, it all proved useless. The throbbing of his ankle caused the occasional wince and groan, only furthering the problem of his situation. It even crossed his mind to use the sonic to try and shift the rock using setting 82, but even then, the chances of causing another collapse in the cave would be high. It was better to be a trapped Time Lord than a squashed Time Lord.

So, after 1 hour, 3 minutes and 19 seconds, he was still firmly trapped.

“S-should have brought the coat…” the Doctor stated through lightly chattering teeth to nobody but himself. The dimming light through the very few cracks along with his very good sense of time told him the night was drawing close, and there was still no solid plan on how he was going to free himself. The Time Lord was used to making plans up as he went along but he couldn’t move – how could he move along? There was no way of contacting Donna to tell her where he was, nor what he could do to fix the situation. He wanted her there... he missed her.

“In here – the collapse must be further in.”

“With two of our buildings gone it has to be an extensive collapse. The northern forces will pay for the damage caused!”

Deep, booming voices suddenly echoed through the cave and the Doctor steadily glanced up from where he lay. He considered shouting in reply but the unfriendly tone made him second guess his thought. The blue light from the sonic screwdriver was illuminating his position so he reached over with his cold fingers and fiddled with the device, trying to dim the light. However, it was inevitable they would come across him if they were heading this way. There seemed no point in attempting to dim the only light.

"If anyone is in here, present yourself!"

As the Time Lord tried to shift his cold arms into a more comfortable position, the sudden tremor from the loud voice caused one of the rocks in the large pile to slip. It shifted the entire bulk of stone, increasing the pressure on his trapped foot. The Doctor was unable to keep a yell of pain restrained.

That was one way to present himself.

"Who's in here?!" one voice called in response to the pained yell, now much closer. "This is the chief from the southern camp, make yourself known!"

No point in keeping quiet now. The Doctor, now aware it was another group of Gelta'Divians, decided asking for help wasn't the worst thing he could do. Perhaps this was his chance for aid. He would more than likely have to work some charm on the group - at least he knew not to use any of his Judoon jokes.

"Any of you fella's ever s-shifted heavy rocks before?"

Even to him, his own voice sounded weak and feeble and he waited anxiously for a reply, trying to control his quivering jaw and the shivering from his skinny frame.

This was a different group of the native species, not the ones he had helped, so they would owe him nothing. He needed to be on his guard.

"I'm n-not a threat, I'm actually in a rather crushed-s-spot," he added, the footsteps growing ever closer until the large, bulky aliens finally appeared in the blue light of the sonic screwdriver. All five had sleek, golden spears drawn and were kitted in full armor. They must have been expecting a fight, but with what, the Doctor didn't know. They all looked similar to the group he had aided but the colouring of their armour was different - dark brown leather pads instead of overpowering grey.

"Hello, gents - am I g-glad to see some friendly faces around here! Just between us, these cave walls aren't much for conversa-"

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" The leader of the group bellowed, stepping forwards with the sharp end of his weapon only inches away from the Time Lord's face. The Doctor, unable to protect himself, tried to keep his brown eyes locked onto the blue orbs that were staring down at him. His friendly approach usually always calmed tensions but it couldn't work all the time, he thought.

"Well, if I told you that the northern camp asked for my h-help to track down an alien ball of energy that, upon exploding, caused a cave-in which now has me trapped since all the strapping big fellas I came with ran off without helping me... would you b-believe me?"

The alien cheif and the rest of the threatening group looked between one another, almost debating whether they should believe the thin man lying on the ground.

"Honestly, it's the truth... I was just here t-to help. Now, if you wouldn't mind helping moving these rocks I need to get back to my frie-"

"Silence!" the leader bellowed. To the Doctor's utter dismay, another creak from the rock pile echoed through the chasm and a boulder slipped from the very top. It crashed down near the leader, causing the group to jump back while also narrowly missing the Doctor's side. The Time Lord sighed in relief - or was he relieved? A simple cry for help seemed to be getting him nowhere and, at this rate, he would be crushed if he tried to reason with them any longer.

"P-please," he pleaded, now in a much softer tone, "I just need one of you to move a few rocks and I-I'll leave immediately. If this is your turf then take it up with the leader of the northern camp."

"This cave-in caused a tremor," the leader growled, restraining himself from interrupting the chatty, shivering man again, "it destroyed two of our buildings and nearly killed several of our warriors. We came in search of any culprits and we found you, an outsider. If you're partly responsible for this, then the punishment of our people is death.Your crime is certain and we will not take into account your off-world plea."

Right. Of course it would be death. No rainbows and sunshine present. Straight to the point.

"What?" the Doctor stated, "N-now hold on a second, I never intended for the cave to collapse, I w-was only trying to h-"

A firm kick to the face stopped his plea. The large, armour-clad foot smacked violently into what felt like the entirety of his face, throwing it back and causing horrible vibrations from the impact. Within seconds, droplets of blood escaped from the Doctor's nose and, with no strength to keep his posture defensive, let his whole upper body collapse from the impact of the kick, his face buried in rubble and his breathing raw.

Selfish, ignorant - now he could add violent to his ever-growing negative list.

"You have no say in this!" the leader declared. None of them took pity on the trapped man, nor had they listened to any of his pleas. The Doctor managed to keep one eye feebly looking up, the figures now blurred in the blue light as he tried to retain some of his dwindling focus.

"You... you c-cant do this," the Time Lord wheezed, unable to keep his jaw tremors at bay from the cold and pain, "I h-have r-rights, under the juri... jurisdiction of the Shadow Procla-AH!"

Another kick. This time, his ear caught the brunt force.

"What should we do with him? A quick death would perhaps be more efficient... it would shut him up quicker," one of the group suggested while another shook his head, ignoring the Time Lords wheezes and groans of discomfort.

"Maybe we should leave him to starve... he already appears to be near it."

"Silence - you all know the law. We came here to find the one guilty of the collapse and we found him. I carried out the sentence, it is I who follows through with it," the leader confided, "if the northern clan finds him, they will heed our warning. If what he says is even true."

For the second time that day, the Doctor had no plan. He couldn't run or even move. He couldn't plea for his life. He couldn't even use his most entrusted tool.

He couldn't save himself. And his hearts were now pumping with fear. Not just for himself.

But for Donna.

-

Read the rest over on AO3!

Defending Christine Daae

I never thought I'd have to write a post with that title, let me tell you.

Because when I first heard of Phantom of the Opera, I was under the impression that everybody loved Christine just as much as I did. I mean, how could you help it? Well, I was wrong. It would seem that there are, in fact, people out there who don't share my exact opinion (shock of shocks) and who dislike Christine for various stupid reasons.

Now, I'm not here to point fingers at anyone or to belittle anyone's opinions in anyway, and blah-de-blah [fill in the rest of long boring disclaimer any way you wish]. But I AM here to defend one of my favourite female protagonists in a work of fiction! And defend her I WILL! IN THE NAME OF THE MOON!

Um, pardon me. Don't know how that last sentence got in there.

Now, on the internet, I've heard some flak about Christine, and though I'm not here to make anyone feel bad (see above) I do want to refute those points about her, point-by-point. (Hmm. Redundancy.) One of the biggest points against Christine is her choice to be with Raoul instead of the Phantom, who *ahem* TOTALLY needed her because he had a bad life and he taught her to sing! My opinion?

I don't think that means Christine owes him love. Appreciation and thanks, yes. But not love. The only thing he ever did that was worth any kind of love was letting Christine go. And she isn't some sort of consolation prize! It's NOT her job to fix the Phantom, only he could fix himself!

C'mon people! The two pretty much fit the qualities of an abusive relationship (emotional manipulation, throwing her around, restricting her from seeing other people etc.) And it’s kinda disturbing. “BUT!” You cry, “CHRISTINE REJECTED THE PHANTOM FOR A SHALLOW REASON! HE WAS UGLY!”

While I do understand what you’re coming from, I would like to inform you that it was actually his toxic behaviour towards her and murderous qualities that drove her away from him and made her choose Raoul. In “Final Lair”, she said one of the biggest burns in Gothic thriller history “It’s in your SOUL where the TRUE distortion lies...”  The Phantom's problem isn't with his disfigurement. No, the problem is with what he's allowed his disfigurement to make him. He's become so obsessed with the idea that no one loves him and no one will ever really care for him that he believes anyone who stands remotely in his way is just out to get him. So what does he do? He murders people whom he gets annoyed with. First Buquet, then Piangi, and finally (almost) Raoul. And that is DEFINITELY not okay! 

I think Christine saw him as more of a teacher, or a friend, or a... father figure, in a messed up way... which is more evident in the book on how she is both afraid and sympathetic for the Phantom. 

While not condoning his actions,  I do wish the Phantom could have found someone to love him. Good gracious, his final lines “IT’S OVER NOW THE MUSIC OF THE NIIIIIIIIIIGGGGGHHHHHHTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” makes me tear up every time.  Gah. I'm in danger of sobbing, too, but I really want to get this post done, so I will conquer myself and think of something Funny instead. *thinks* I know! Gerard Butler’s version of the “All I Ask Of You (Reprise)”. That’ll cheer me up and make me laugh XD!

In all seriousness, I know that Erik is unstable and violent. But I also know that he really IS a gentle, misunderstood soul. You can be both, you know. The unstable and violent side of him, unfortunately, triumphed- and his dreams, his desires for love, his castle on a cloud came tumbling down because of it.

And so... onto the next point, another common argument used to bash Christine is that she’s considered to be flat, boring and goes through ZERO development! But in actual fact, there’s so much going on in her head and goes through quite an emotional travesty that it’s almost impossible to call her bland!

She is deeply wounded by the loss of her father, and has this incredible musical talent which stayed in a state of diamond in the rough before being discovered by her “Angel of Music”. He trains her, not realizing that she is becoming the center of an unhealthy obsession, genuinely believing in her naivety that he is some benevolent spirit sent by her father, therefore bringing her a sense of comfort. She is a pious girl, after all, and being religious myself, well, such a reaction from someone who believes like her is believable though naive. Can we blame Christine for that? NO. How is she supposed to guess?

And now, let's talk about "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again", aka. The Christine Empowerment™ song! I feel like the difference between a good portrayal of Christine and a great portrayal of Christine, is based on how good their rendition of this song is. It is a crucial part of the plot. One of the reason The Phantom and Raoul appeal to Christine is because of the connection they represent to her dead father. Of course, Raoul actually knew her father and the Phantom uses his memory to manipulate her. At this point in the show, Christine has become disillusioned with Raoul and is afraid of the Phantom. She realizes through the song that the only way she can’t move forward is through letting go of the past, and getting over the death of her father. This fuels her actions through the rest of the show as it makes her realize that if she wants her happy ending, she must take charge of her destiny and earn her own agency! And the Phantom, trying to use her in the moment where she was probably at her most vulnerable since she is questioning herself about her entire life, only catalyses her decision. She performs in Don Juan Triumphant, because she knows that everything is up to her, and that she cannot let the Phantom keep on destroying her life.

As for her unmasking the Phantom in "Point of No Return", Christine did this in a way to show him that she refused to be controlled by him any longer. It is certainly not the most intelligent thing to do, nor the nicest, but again, her behaviour is explainable. But as said above for Erik, it doesn’t excuse her. And it shows how she was beginning to be able to resist his pull/spell/enchantment/whatever you like to call it on her!

I adore and admire Christine Daae as a character so much, and it was her actions and story arc that really started my love for this story. Christine's ability to love unconditionally and selflessly is so profound. Even though the Phantom put her and everyone else through lots of horrors, she still doesn't hesitate to show kindness towards him but makes sure that her abuser NEVER hurts anyone EVER again. She loves Raoul so much that she's pretty much willing to sacrifice her freedom and happiness so Raoul could be free. No matter what circumstances she is given, she will still put the ones she loves before herself no matter what, even if it means giving up a chance to save herself. I know most of us won’t ever be put in such an extreme scenario but Christine is such an inspiration of how to love others and believe in them despite flaws and bad sides. She inspires me to see the good in people. It’s so easy to be cynical and hardened in this world, and I think that Phantom of the Opera reminds us to have kindness and light in our hearts, even in challenging circumstances.

I would also like to add another moment of character. Think what it must have taken to prepare for the female lead role in a 3-act opera. Christine wasn’t even an understudy. In a matter of minutes, she went from member of the ballet corps to the lead role, and she had to rehearse and remember new music, character, blocking, and vocals. Not only did she prepare in time, she performed so well that she became a hit. This reveals, not only the skill and beauty of her voice, but also her concentration, diligence, and acting capability. Everyone hails the Phantom as the ultimate musical genius—and he is—but they overlook the implied extent of Christine’s skill.

She went through the loss of both parents, manipulation, being stalked, and knowing that the person she loves most has his life on the line - because of her. And then she literally gets off of her knees and shows her abuser the first form of kindness he has ever known. Not even the Phantom was strong enough for that; he gave up on the world far too early. Christine is the embodiment of courage and kindness; she teaches us to love and forgive those who have been awful to us, and to protect those we love even if it means our own suffering. But she no longer succumbs to the Phantom and makes sure her abuser never hurts anyone EVER again. Seriously, this girl is AWESOME! And this was in the 18th century! It's really sad that such a great character is overlooked by many...

It seems that Leroux really understood women... That we can be emotional, we are vulnerable but not weak... And emotion really helps us when we keep them in control!

Christine, in a nutshell, is a kind, observant, compassionate, trusting young woman–a too trusting at first–but with a spine of steel and determination once she’s drawn the line. She loves people deeply, but she picks up quickly on the realities of the situation. She has the strongest character arc in the story and makes the choices to grow and to move on. Yet she remains gentle and compassionate, uses her love to bless and not manipulate. She’s a layered character who grows. And there’s so much more to her than meets the eye.

Tell me more about Marius and Montparnasse being mirror images of each other :3c

Since you ask, Nonny! But this will be a Long Post:

they really do get the same physical description: 

Marius was, at this epoch, a handsome young man, of medium stature, with thick and intensely black hair, a lofty and intelligent brow, well-opened and passionate nostrils...As his mouth was charming, his lips the reddest, and his teeth the whitest in the world, his smile corrected the severity of his face, as a whole. At certain moments, that pure brow and that voluptuous smile presented a singular contrast. ( 3.6.1, Hapgood translation)

A lugubrious being was Montparnasse. Montparnasse was a child; less than twenty years of age, with a handsome face, lips like cherries, charming black hair, the brilliant light of springtime in his eyes; he had all vices and aspired to all crimes. 3.7.3

--both got that Snow White thing going on:P   Hugo doesn’t bring in physical descriptions a lot in Les Mis; when he does, it’s for reasons beyond just painting a visual--generally to evoke a Type and/or some hefty Symbolism (always Some Symbolism, tbh, it’s Hugo).

More importantly, though, Hugo sets up Marius and Montparnasse as being different sides of the same virtue/vice.  Marius gets chapters talking about Heroic he is and how his poverty actually improves his nature because Marius overcomes it by working . Montparnasse, by contrast, is led into a life of violent crime because he wants to be idle.

There is like... a World of Concepts to delve into there, but in contrast with Montparnasse , it’s clear what specific fate Marius is being saved from by his time of poverty. He is, by choosing to refuse either debt or the safety of his family wealth, essentially refusing to become the kind of wealthy asshole that Bamatabois and Tholomyes are. It’s a life that would be very easy for Marius to have-- a life that Gillenormand is even sort of pushing him towards, though Gillenormand would doubtless find Tholomyes sorts to be impossibly dull and classless. It’s a life Montparnasse is willing to kill for , literally. And it’s a nice damn life! --If you don’t mind being the absolute worst sort of person, a person who cares for nothing but image, and who lives at a self-imposed distance from everyone else; someone who helps no one and wouldn’t know where to start if they wanted to, but hurts a lot of people and never cares, because caring is ever so uncouth.

Hugo really does see idleness as massively dangerous, at best--a soul-destroying thing. It’s portrayed as an injustice that Valjean can’t get work , not just that he just can’t have food because Humans Need Food. Part of the wrong Tholomyes commits against Fantine is taking her away from the habit of work ; it’s an important part of her Hope Spot in M-sur-M that she gets to enjoy Honest Work again, and earning her living by labor. To force Idleness on to another, or lead them into a Lack Of Work, is treated in  Les Mis as a moral wrong. For working people to not have work available is a condemnation of the system!  Again, it’s not about money (though Hugo definitely thinks work should pay enough to live on), the work itself is treated as something essential. For someone to choose idleness for themselves by that logic is...what, practically moral self-harming?,and a kind of deep depravity.

(Hugo does not like this ideal of the dandy. He does like flâneurs, though! That’s definitely something I want to get into more later, given how often the two are conflated....)

Anyway, Montparnasse is damned by the exact vice that Marius saves himself by avoiding--a vice that is, in Hugo’s moral universe, a very  big deal (as I try and fail to reckon with here).  This makes Montparnasse the crucial Example A for Hugo’s insistence on the valorization of Marius’  decision to work through his poverty! Work redeems Marius from the dangers of Idleness--and for Hugo, those are real and desperate dangers, that really do lead to crime.

BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE!

Even before the Gorbeau raid, Marius is always vulnerable to the damnation of Idleness. He’s prone to slip from thinking into daydreaming; he veers away from work when he thinks it might cut into his independence and Reverie Time. The narrative is not entirely negative about this with Marius, but it is  treated as a potential weakness-- something fine while, and only while, it’s kept in check by his habits of work and thought.

Because, post-Gorbeau mansion, Marius  really does  start to fall to the Demon of Idleness!  He stops working altogether; he goes into debt,  Gasp!; he loses the habit of work , he loses focus, he spirals into depressions and goes into pointless, directionless obsession with Cosette and starts spending all his time in The Field of The Lark, a field famous, though Marius doesn’t know it, for being the site of a murder .  Murder most Romantic, yet, committed over a passion. Marius is, at this point, symbolically mixing the role of lover and killer; as Montparnasse also does, rather less symbolically. 

And hey, why is Marius spiraling into The Hell of Idleness? 

Because of A Girl. Or rather, because of the Ideal Future he’s projecting off his interactions with that girl.  What was the Start of Darkness for Montparnasse, again? 

The first grisette who had said to him: “You are handsome!” had cast the stain of darkness into his heart, and had made a Cain of this Abel. (3.7.3, Hapgood)

Now obviously the grisette who complimented Montparnasse isn’t responsible for his murders, any more than Cosette is responsible for Marius pining his life away in The Field of Dramatic Murder Symbolism. I don’t think Hugo means to genuinely blame the women for the men’s behavior at all-- but both Marius and Montparnasse do  start their downward slide in pursuit of the elaborate head-canons about their own futures that a woman’s attention inadvertently sparked.

BUT WAIT !! THERE’S MORE! 

Marius and Montparnasse are both romantic interests for Eponine (and both are dead ends, with Marius representing a healthy future that she can’t have and Montparnasse representing the doomed future she doesn’t want). Both of them try (ineffectually) to act as guides and friends to Gavroche. Both of them do feel a certain duty to Thenardier, not so much for his own sake--neither of them owe him squat-- as because of an existing sense of duty to others. Both of them do  have a sense of loyalty to their friends, -- just as they share a potentially damning vice in Idleness, they both share a real virtue in their sense of loyalty and duty to comrades.  Note that this is a real  sense of duty and loyalty for Montparnasse as well as for Marius--he really does take a risk to free the rest of the Patron Minette!  But Montparnasse has given that loyalty to horrible people for a horrible cause. 

Also-- while they do  both have a  real sense of loyalty to their groups (groups where they are the junior members), they are also both prone to getting distracted from those friends and their goals by romantic interests-- Marius may be far more serious in his love for Cosette than Montparnasse in his flirting with Eponine, but they do both have this tendency to romantic distraction! That Marius, at the barricade, overcomes his to take his post again , while Montparnasse toooootally flubs his role in P-M’s Gorbeau scheme because it’s Flirting Time, is another manifestation of the Curse of Idleness, really. 

So yeah: Two dark-haired fresh-faced young Romantic beauty types, sharing in common a (potentially) Fatal Flaw and a (potentially) saving Core Virtue, sharing similar relationships to their relative social groups and  to specific characters. Both Very Good At Violence; both set into a new course of life by the sudden awareness of their potential future, prompted by a woman’s attention. --And I didn’t even get into the importance they both put on presentation (though in very different ways, again reflecting their crucial divergence)!   

Montparnasse is who Marius might easily have become if he’d been willing to Coast on his money and status-- oh, Marius would have been a murderer in the way Tholomyes and Bamatabois are murderers, then, not likely the hands-on style Montparnasse has (though then again, Marius is  prone to passionate overreaction...) .  But, as the narrative links between Montparnasse and those two emphasize, it’s really not such a great difference.  Montparnasse is the shadow haunting Marius, a reminder of why his dedication to work and independence is so crucial. And the ways Montparnasse and Marius diverge from each other are a constant, complicated combo of choices and circumstances changing very similar people into two utterly different lives. 

Rest In Peace: Chapter One

Title: Rest In Peace

Chapter: 1

Summary: A part of Faithless Fairy Tale, a more in depth look at how they brought Laura back to life. Appearance of old faces, creation of new ones and if you’re looking for canon, it left a long, long time ago. If you squint you might be able to see some pieces from the book.

A/n: This is less a labor of love and more like a violent attempt to get this beast of a story out of my head. I attempted to shave and shape it into something other people might be able to read and enjoy. Did I succeed? I honestly don’t know, this is what happens when I’m left to edit by myself. If it’s trash, I apologize. 

“All you need is someone to believe. Really believe. And maybe a new story, right? A reinvention. A rebirth.”  - Faithless Fairy Tale

+

Laura promises pretty things out of her wicked dead mouth, and to a degree he already believes them. Why wouldn't he, after watching her slay Grimnir with his own blade to save the likes of him?

Make no mistake, he's not deceived by her, he hasn't forgotten who she is. Mad Sweeney knows the mettle of Laura Moon, even minus the stolen war god’s blade and his lucky coin. He is not blinded by her one act of mercy to think she isn’t the same woman who crushed his balls in her palms like fucking walnuts.

Who huffed pesticide under hot tub tarps and crawled out of her own grave. 

He is not stupid.

She is a bitch, she is a crass little thing, but there isn't enough strength in his bones to deny she inspires him. To anger. To stand against the tide. To lower himself right down to her level; to tussle in the mud of blasphemies, insults and filth. Everything about her, pulls and demands something of him. Whether good or bad, whether it is her's by right or not, he hands it over.

(He does it with hard hands, with spite and bitterness. With love.)

The sirens of old could sing their pretty little hearts out, but it's only Laura's voice calling him a pussy that could drive him overboard. The reason unclear; to prove her wrong, to chase her, or just so he could drown himself and be done with her.

Not even he knows.

(So of course he agrees.) 

Mad Sweeney sighs deeply, a man condemned to be saved and hangs his head.

“Yeah, alright you mad bitch. Let's hear your theory.”

+

It takes work. Scratch that. It takes a whole fuck ton of work. Most of which starts with research, that Laura herself demands he be involved in.

The deal is this: She will pray to him, not the old fashion way mind you. With tiny offerings of milk and bread, sweetened by faith. Laura has grand plans, she'll write a book, she'll go on tours reading to kiddies and to anyone who listens.

She promises to sue General Mills for defamation of character if they let her.

She will do it until someone else proves to do it better, and then her part of the deal is done. Problem is she'll only do that if he helps brings her back to life in the first place. Properly this time, in her words. No half-assed plans or maybes.

(His part no surprise, is the difficult part)

Laura of course makes it even more complicated. Refuses to go into this blind, ignoring Mad Sweeney's advice that this will only slow them down. She needs faith, not answers to a bloody pop quiz.

Ostara does the best she can to help, giving them access to her many libraries filled to the brim with books on resurrection, from the gods that bestow it and several ones that involve the opposite. Nestled in many of them are testaments to her growing bitterness. Written in the margins with hot pink ink, little notes of what is a lie, what is a cop out and who took credit where none is due.

She is one of the kinder goddesses, there's more love in her heart than not, but the years of abandonment has made spite grow in her like weeds. Perhaps that's why she takes a liking to Laura's plight, she knows intimately what it's like to be buried and forgotten, to emerge from that grave and still stand. Maybe in the shadows instead of the light, but still there regardless.

Ostara does what many of the patrons of faith have done before, when the faith becomes dry and thin, she makes the best of it. After all, start asking for more than what is owed is what started a war, and she has seen what comes from that.

They all did.

Little Laura Moon, with a stolen blade and a heart made of stone. Who saw new gods and old, strong and weak alike and found them all lacking. It is in her, they have seen the true face of the faithless, the mortals who make or break them, and an end they can not escape.

Whether she knows it or not, Laura has become a judgment no god wishes to cross just yet, and that's perhaps another piece of the puzzle why Ostara gives them so much help. She never says as such, never says a single double-edge word to Laura or Sweeney, but still in rankles on him. The not knowing.

“This is more than what you owe me.” Sweeney tells Ostara, one afternoon when Laura has buried her head in some ancient tome -probably in a language she can't even understand- and isn't paying attention to him. It's not a secret that he's cashing in a favor from the goddess for just being here, but he feels like it's asking a lot. To lean on her good heart, her open doors and know that a storm will hit sooner or later.

(Grimnir might be dead, but the war is far from over. There are still the new gods, the old bitter ones and a whole bunch of fucking traps the old bastard set up in case of his end, that will have to be dealt with.)

“You stopped me from ruining what I loved most.” Ostara tells him, with a soft haunted look, “Too long I've been harboring this...resentment. We all have, but what for? The old days are just that. Old. Maybe I miss the power, but stealing spring is on par with a child throwing a tantrum for attention. That's not me.  So, maybe I'll work a different angle, maybe it won't work.” She shrugs her delicate shoulders. “Either way, I'm going to do it as myself. I'm going to honor all that belief, from the first believers that made me a goddess, who were the first to pray to my name, from those who kept true even when the rest of the world didn't. I can't turn my back on those chapters of my story. Otherwise, who am I?

He doesn't have an answer, it's too soon to be a bastard and remind her of all the fears that drove her to Odin's side in the first place. The weakness, the abandonment and death. Was she ready for that? Were any of them? This isn't a job, there's no step below god, either you are or you aren't, and then you're gone from this world.

Sweeney looks over at Laura Moon, with her moldy flesh, stitched together with cheap glue, bits of metal and string like some sort of bastardized dollar store version of Frankenstein. With all ten of her nails cracked and peeling, the heavy stench of her rot that floats with every breeze; makes even his iron stomach clench and roll, how it lingers as a constant reminder of her late state of decomposition. As if it wasn't obvious when she constantly had to pull maggots out of her ears, mouth and nose.

Maybe Ostara has the right frame of mind.

To keep true to yourself or accept a true end. 

There are worse things than death after all.

+

The weirdest part of all this, you know besides the slaying of Grimnir by a dead girl, of him playing fucking librarian and taking tea with the goddess of Spring while a storm builds; is watching Shadow Fucking Moon blush for Ostara.

It's so fucking weird that he can't even insult the bastard for it.

He'll just sit there silently, watching as the two canoodle -and there is no other words for it, because Shadow will be polite as a nun, and Ostara will just sit as close as she can with a beaming smile. They whisper and giggle like children do when they have a crush and Sweeney doesn't even know where to start with how fucked up any of this is.

It also is fucking awkward as shit for him, because it's not just him in the room when this happens. Laura is there too. Making it a test, a competition of strength of will between him and the bitch dead wife. Whoever had to leave the room first in disgust, lost. 

He lost every god damn time.

Whatever happened to her heart when Shadow failed to believe in her over Grimnir (just for a second, for one painful second, but to the dead that’s forever), has either frozen it or broke it. She doesn't mope or cry, thank Christ above, but she doesn't act jealous either. She is hell bent on other things. Like bringing herself to life.

And testing him with her stupid theories.

He hates it as much as he delights in it.

“Kiss me. Ginger minge.” She demands, hands on rotted hips and dull eyes looking up into his, with absolute venom even as she attempts to flutter her lashes and smile up at him. Shit, she just might actually spit acid at this point if he dared comment about how terrifying she looks.

“Fuck off, no.” He tells her. He doesn't have a point to prove, he just doesn't want to do it.

Not like this.

He drops the book he was not so secretly not reading, and childishly kicks at a pile near her in his attempt to get away. Moving to a different room to keep a stupidly long table between them. Not that it would do much good. She still has his strength, all his luck, and she all she has to do is get one hand on him and he's a dead man. Ha.

“You said you wanted to test my theory!” She screeches like a banshee at his retreating back.

“That was before I knew it was fuckin' batty!” He shouts right back. “That was before you started acting all sweet -horrifying by the way, thought your brain had literally rotted out of your fucking ears! Acting all delicate and soft, telling me to kiss you. Jesus fuckin' Christ, no woman! NO!”

Laura chases him around the awkwardly large dining table, and he won't deny he smiles a bit, when her hip catches a sharp corner and curses at him like it's his fault.  

“Well, excuse me for trying to be nice. I thought it would make this easier!”

“Well, you thought wrong, dead wife.”

It's at this, she snaps. Honest to god, snaps, and flings herself in his direction like a damned hellcat.

Sweeney attempts to run away, but she is small and quick, with hands like a fucking honey badger on crack. Her fingers claw into his shoulder, etching into the jean material like it was nothing but silk. Once she has him there, it's a losing battle, as she clings in with the rest of her body soon after.

They fight all the way down. He attempts to throw her off, but she digs her sharp knees into his ribs. Hard enough to bruise, right until she has him on his back, with her legs clutching down on his sides like steel clamps.

With no tenderness, her clammy hands are gripping his head, all the fingers braced to keep his skull still. Forcing him to look at her as she struggles to plant one on him.

“Let.Me.Kiss.You!” She growls, leaning in only to find him squirming more. She gets his nose, his beard and cheek, ghosting over each but never for long enough. “Are you going to turn into a fucking little toad or something? Christ, I am not asking for your virginity, princess. Just a damn kiss!”

Sweeney tilts his head, strains his neck and wiggles like a dying fish, calling her every name in the book and then some that aren't. He does it in English and Gaelic; all between his gritted teeth but none of it moves her. In the end she claws to keep his face down, digging her razor blade nails into the flesh of his cheeks until he screams.

“Fine! FUCK! I said fine, dead wife! DO IT!”

Laura releases her grip and glares down at him, gets close enough for him to gag slightly on the scent of death and decay that surrounds her -but she doesn't kiss him.

“First tell me why you are acting like such a prude over a single kiss.”

“Oh. Sweet mother of Christ above. Does it matter?”

Laura smirks, and proceeds to squeeze with her thighs around his middle. He screeches something foul, and is seconds away from feeling his guts burst like a fucking water balloon when she eases back. Planting her ass on his hips with no shame.

He will deny it until he is fucking blue in the face, but he likes her weight. Her strength. All wrapped up in a tiny package.

“Tell me or I will literally squeeze it out of you.”

“And they say romance is dead.”

Laura clenches, her face smug when a second later he is screaming once more.

(What he doesn’t know is that she likes when he screams, likes the way he bristles and burns, there is something beautiful in the way he strains so hard against her that the veins in his neck pop and pulse.)

“ALRIGHT YOU FUCKIN' MAD BITCH, I'LL SING. I'LL FUCKIN' SING. NOW STOP BEFORE I PISS MYSELF!”

Laura does, because ew.

Delighted in getting her way once more, she is content to wait for him to catch his breath. Merely tracking the beads of sweat on his brow and the way they trickle into his flaming red hair.

“…ah…fuck…” he pants. Licking his lips while looking away from her. Seemingly shutting his eyes in pain, more pain than he was mere seconds ago in. “I didn't want to kiss you…like this. With you making it all business and shady like, like it's a fuckin' handshake.”

“Oh.”

>