#I had an axe too. In case he were to awake and kill me. It's remarkably easy to get an axe in London. Supplemental ends.“

[some-pers0n]

there is a 95% chance that there is someone genuinely stealing the identity of Sasha and a 5% chance that Jon is acting out in a paranoid rage. I don’t think that’s the case but I also wouldn’t put it past him

It would be veerrry spooky if that were the case, but there is some plausible deniability to be had with Jon simply being several layers deep in the paranoia spiral. We have yet to see!

[fever-project]

Hi :D

I was wondering if you could maybe possibly perhaps do a little dabbled where the Chain is in a big battle and Wind just goes "let me cook" and absolutely DESTROYS the enemys

Uh yeah anyway I hope you have a great day/night BYE 🍪

ooo I think I can do that! Have 513 words :)

Things were not looking good for the Chain. They were ambushed in the middle of the night, the sleeping Links being abruptly awoken by the shouts of Legend telling them to get up now.

One would think that being shoved into a tense battle would wake someone all the way up, but that was not the case for a good portion of the Chain. Legend was already fully awake, Four and Wild seemed perfectly fine, but everyone else was either in a sort of frenzied daze, or were groggily trying their best.

Wind was groggily trying his best.

Sure, he was more awake than he normally would be, but he was still very tired. His movements and general thought process had slowed, but he was still going.

“We’re being surrounded!” Warriors shouted out. The Chain all bumped into each other, in a little circle.

Wait, surrounded? Circle? Ooo, that gave Wind a great idea.

“Ima do the greatest Spin Attack to ever Spin Attack!” Wind shouted, reading his sword above his head for dramatic effect.

“Please do not Spin Attack while we’re this close together,” Time wearily said.

“Do a Hurricane Spin Attack,” Four suggested, jokingly.

Wind could not process that was a joke in his current state. And even if he was aware it was a joke, he still wouldn’t have cared.

“HURRICANE TIME!!!” Wind shouted as he rushed towards the monster hoard, the worried shouts of his brothers fading behind him.

There were two ways to do a Hurricane Spin, Wind had come to find out. One was to charge up his sword with magic, of do a regular Spin Attack three times in a row. Both of which sent himself hurtling about until he either got too dizzy, or until he hit a wall. Thankfully, they, and the monsters were in a clearing, a good distance away from any trees. And the choice of which technique to use was obvious…since he had exactly zero magic.

Wind spun around once, cutting into a few monsters. Then, he spun around again, cutting into a few more. A few monsters cut into him, shallow cuts, but they definitely stung. Now, the final spin-at the complete arc of it, an orange hue started to follow his sword, and it felt as if it was the sword that was spinning him.

For a few seconds, Wind felt invincible. He basically was invincible, as the hoard that was surrounding him fell faster than a tree to a well-swung axe. These monsters weren’t black-bloods, but maybe this technique would’ve still worked with them as well. Maybe on that shapeshifting black-blood as well.

Those thoughts were all Wind could think about as he was wobbling about. He killed…almost all of the monsters, he could tell. So he was perfectly safe to wobble. And try not to throw up.

…

He threw up.

But hey, at least his brothers were here to help him. And also tell him how cool that Hurricane Spin was. And how reckless that was, but Wind mainly focused on how cool it was.

[lucid-dreams-turned-storys]

Rootbound

Chapter 2: Into the Thicket

“What the hell—?”

The thing was short. Real short. A kobold? No—some kind of hybrid. Fur and mismatched brownish scales, soaking wet and grinning like he’d just won a game of dice.

Brax tightened his grip on his axe and stepped instinctively between the newcomer and the Dragonborn, just in case. His muscles were already tired, but this new presence sharpened his instincts like a whetstone on steel.

The kobold raised both hands high in the universal language of don’t kill me. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not here for a fight! Unless you’re fighting those bastards—then I’m very much here for a fight. But not with you.”

His voice had the charm of a rusty hinge—raspy, quick, layered with nervous energy and a bit too much enthusiasm for Brax’s comfort. He didn’t relax.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Same thing as you, probably. Tracking those smugglers. Bandits. Whatever you call them. You’re not exactly subtle, you know—left a trail even a blind troll could follow. So... I figured I'd gamble.”

Brax squinted at him. He couldn’t tell if this creature was clever or just completely out of his mind. Maybe both.

“You always talk this much?”

“Only when I’m awake.”

Gods help me, Brax thought.

The Dragonborn hadn’t moved. Still watching. Still as calm and unreadable as ever. Brax shot him a glance.

“You know this guy?”

“No.”

“Great,” Brax muttered.

The kobold bounced lightly on his toes, despite the mud. “Name’s Zex, by the way. And you two are clearly on some kind of doomed quest to find very bad people in a very bad place during a very bad storm. Which means I’d like to tag along. You know—safety in numbers. Maybe I can help. Or at least distract something long enough for you to run away.”

Brax crossed his arms, annoyance creeping into his voice. “Why should—” he glanced at the Dragonborn, unsure whether or not to lump them together—“we trust you?”

Zex shrugged, stepping toward a tree to lean on—only to immediately slip and flail to regain balance. “You shouldn’t. Trust is for warm fires and good food. But the way I see it, three cold bodies are harder to rob than one. That’s just math.”

Brax exhaled through his nose and looked at the Dragonborn, eyebrows raised. “You gonna say anything helpful?”

The Dragonborn’s eyes narrowed slightly, like he was weighing the moment with all the seriousness of a judge. Finally, he spoke. “The trail is fresh. If you intend to find them, I can lead you. Otherwise, you will be lost by nightfall.”

That caught Brax off guard more than he cared to admit. He blinked. “You’re... helping us?”

“I am helping the forest.”

Zex leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “That’s a yes.”

Brax shook his head. This was already turning into a weird day. He wasn’t even sure if it still counted as today. Morning felt like yesterday. Maybe it was or maybe it only felt that way because of the awful company he found himself with.

“Fine,” he said with a sigh. “But if either of you slow me down, I’m leaving you behind.”

Without another word, the Dragonborn turned and started walking, silent as shadow, deeper into the woods. The forest seemed to open for him, just slightly, as though recognizing something in his presence.

Zex jogged to catch up, practically skipping through the muck. “You know, you two make a great first impression. I think this is going to be the start of something wonderful.”

Brax rolled his eyes and followed, muttering under his breath, “Should’ve stayed in the damn tavern.”

And so, beneath the endless rain, with steam rising from their breath and mud caked to their legs, the unlikely trio moved into the heart of the forest. The trees seemed to close behind them, swallowing their trail.

Brax still didn’t trust them. Probably never would.

But he had a feeling the forest didn’t care.

[fandomlit]

neutral, chap. 4 (dream smp x reader)

series summary (in game!au) when an exiled tommy finally rebels against a manipulative dream, he finds safety in neutral territory, a place owned and guarded by you. staying in your safe haven opens up the younger one’s eyes to your way of life, while also revealing your deeper past before neutral; a past that involved a war for your love.

chapter summary after waking from a taunting nightmare, tommy expels some late night energy on some wandering mobs. you give him another lesson about taking care of himself, even when working hard, and tommy asks if you’ll teach him archery, which, of course, doesn’t go without entertainment.

warnings nightmares, mob killing

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gif cred belongs to @halcyoncraft

he was running again. he didn’t know where or from what, but his legs carried him far and strongly, weaving him through trees and grass and other obstacles along the way. he didn’t know how in danger he was, but he wasn’t going to stop and find out.

then he tripped.

when he flipped onto his back, it was that goddamn mask staring down at him, the lips just under it laughing, “you’re so weak, tommy! did you do anything while you were in neutral?” then his axe came down and tommy braced himself for the pain and release of death.

he woke up instead.

sweating under his covers, tommy sucked in a harsh breath as he sat up. he threw the soft cotton off of him, running a warm hand down his face. it was just a dream; he was safe in neutral.

looking out of the window next to him, he saw the moon still high in the sky, casting a cool light into his bedroom. dream’s words rang through his head like a bell, and he rubbed at his temples with a sigh. was he actually getting weak? was relaxing such a bad thing? at the very least, some part of him must have thought so to conjure a nightmare like that..

with another sigh, tommy lifted himself out of bed and flipped open the ender chest. he drew out his sword before heading to the main floor of the house.

when he reached the bottom of the stairs, a voice called out to him, “tommy?” his heart nearly stopped for a moment, before peeking into the kitchen and realizing it was just y/n. she sat in candlelight, writing in a small journal with a slice of half-eaten pumpkin pie next to her. “are you alright?”

“yeah,” he breathed, his voice still heavy with sleep. “just gonna go kill some mobs.”

she nodded. she looked tired, and a part of tommy felt bad knowing that she was most definitely going to wait for him to return. “okay. have at it, kid.”

he nodded, turning to leave the kitchen. before he did so, he pursed his lips and looked over his shoulder to y/n. “you should go to bed.”

she gave him a smile, scribbling something down in the small journal. “i will, tommy. just gotta finish this up..” his natural curiosity was drawn to the small book, and he almost asked y/n what she was writing. but then dream’s voice rang through his mind again, and tommy silently headed for the doors of the house.

the night air was refreshing on his warm skin, cool and still as the moon illuminated the frontal beauty of neutral territory. he took a deep, calming breath of that crisp air before focusing on the task at hand: proving to himself that dream was wrong. that dream is always wrong.

after about twenty zombies, ten spiders, countless creepers, and a few endermen, tommy finally felt the burn in his arms become nearly too much to bear. he panted as he struck down one last spider, turning and finally deciding to return back to the comfort of y/n’s home.

he sheathed his sword when he finally entered the house, going straight to the kitchen to see that y/n was still awake and writing in her small journal.

“ready to go to bed?” he asked gruffly.

she looked up slowly before nodding, placing her quill down and capping her ink. “any trouble out there?”

“no,” he spoke, shaking his head. “wrote everything you needed to?” y/n blew out her candle and went to join the boy in the doorway to the kitchen.

“as much as i could, anyway,” she shrugged, smiling lazily as they began to walk toward the stairs. “what was your nightmare about?”

tommy was slightly startled, but a little too tired to react drastically to y/n’s deduction. “how’d you know i had a nightmare?”

“i’ve had them before,” she said simply. “and it seemed natural that you’d expel some energy onto mobs after such a thing.”

“you’re smart,” tommy credited.

“thank you,” y/n yawned.

they continued to climb the stairs in silence as tommy considered his words. “i was being hunted by dream again, but this time you weren’t there to save me. he called me weak and killed me.”

“so you wanted to prove to yourself that despite allowing yourself peace, you didn’t have to sacrifice your strength to get there,” y/n summed.

the boy half-smiled. she was spot on, as always. “exactly,” tommy breathed. 

y/n was silent for a moment as she thought. they stopped at the hallway to tommy’s room and it then occurred to tommy’s tired mind that her room was downstairs; she was walking with him because she cared about him. 

“honestly, tommy, if this is a real concern for you, then there is no harm in taking time out of your day to work out and train,” y/n spoke. “but the most important thing is to recognize when enough is enough, and when enough becomes too much. you’ve allowed yourself peace and care for the last two weeks, and achieving such a state doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice fighting or training; it just means that you need to be more aware and in tune with yourself as you’re doing it.” tommy nodded.

“don’t overwork yourself, is the summary here,” she said, picking a cobweb off of his shirt. “let yourself do the things you want, but make sure it’s not wearing you down. that’s taking care of yourself.”

“alright,” tommy spoke quietly. “thank you, y/n.”

“of course, kid,” she smiled. “get some sleep, alright? if you have another nightmare you’re free to bother me.” tommy nodded again. “good night, tommy.”

“good night, y/n,” he yawned as she turned to head down to her room. he made sure he heard her door shut before finally heading to his own room.

...

“can you teach me archery?” tommy questioned the next morning at breakfast. it was a question that had bugged him since y/n had first revealed her skills just a few days prior, and since he was going to start training, he figured that might be a good place to start.

“sure,” she chuckled as she scooped some more fruit onto his nearly half-eaten plate of french toast.

“why the laugh?” he questioned through a mouthful of berries.

she shrugged to herself. “your curiosity is showing.”

“i’ve been wondering about it since you took out the mob,” tommy admitted. “if i want to get stronger.. i think this is a good way to.”

“perfecting a skill is the perfect way to get stronger,” y/n voiced. “of course i’ll teach you, kid.” she smiled and he turned back to his breakfast with his own grin. “finish up your food and meet me in the basement; we gotta get you a bow first.”

tommy hadn’t been in the basement of the house yet. he opened the heavy, dusty trapdoor and assumed y/n didn’t go down their often either. he slid down the ladder easily and was immediately hit with heat.

y/n had a welding station upstairs in her shop area, but the basement had a more broad and intense version of that area. several anvils, all cracked and rusted and adorned with different materials were scattered in a sort of pattern amongst the space, a fire burning high in a fireplace at the far side of the room. seeing no sign of y/n, tommy moved to the room to his left.

the next room held a large nether portal, as well as a small farm for netherwart. the dark room felt empty to him, and he had to remind himself that he was in fact in y/n’s house still. he remembered she had said that she didn’t like going to the nether.

“i’m in here, tommy!” she called out. he took another left into a small storage room, where y/n was rustling through a chest. “how tall are you, kid?”

“6’1”,” he answered.

y/n smiled. “you’re a lot taller than i’ll ever be.” she took out a pretty oak bow, slightly scratched and obviously old. “you’ll have to use this for now, until i can make you one that’s your size.” he took the bow from her hands, shrugging.

“it’s fine.”

“good,” she hummed, still shuffling through the chest as tommy took the time to look around the small room.

“what’re the dispensers for?” tommy asked, staring at the wall that held the three stone tools.

“im nothing if not prepared, tommy,” y/n spoke as she took out a quiver and began to fill it with arrows for him. “in case of emergency, those dispensers will set off flares to let others know that im in trouble or that neutral is in danger.”

tommy nodded, still looking at the obviously unused dispensers. “smart.”

“i hope so,” she sighed, handing him the quiver of arrows. he strapped it around himself as she continued, “let’s just hope i never have to use them, yeah?”

“yeah,” he chuckled. she gave him a smile, hoisting her bow higher in her grip.

“you ready to shoot some things?”

...

“relax your shoulders,” y/n reminded. tommy did so, his fingers still white with effort against the taut string of the bow. “don’t pull so hard, tommy. you’re shaking.” he sighed as he let the string and arrow go limp, lowering his bow as y/n approached him closer.

it was his second day of archery training, and he was still missing nearly every target. y/n was a calm and collected teacher, offering him advice that was pointed directly for him and reassured him that there was no rush in the learning process. but after missing fifteen or so shots in a row, tommy was getting frustrated.

and it didn’t help with sapnap and george staring at him through the kitchen windows.

“doin’ great, kid,” sapnap encouraged weakly, taking a drink of the lemonade y/n had lovingly prepared for the boys. just watching the older man sip made tommy’s mouth dry, but he was determined to make five shots in a row before taking a break.

tommy glared at the man before turning his gaze back to his mentor. “ignore him, tommy,” y/n spoke gently. “nick couldn’t hit a target if it was three paces away.”

“that’s a lie!”

“im kidding,” y/n laughed, placing a hand on tommy’s shoulder and turning him away from the distraction that was sapnap. “but seriously, there’s almost always going to be someone watching when you shoot. the more you can tune them out, the better. just focus on your aim--and make sure your grip is looser. you’re gonna snap that string in no time otherwise.”

“loose grip, focus on aim,” tommy breathed and she patted his shoulder as he turned back to the target ahead of him. he hoisted the bow up slowly and pulled the string back just enough that it wasn’t fully taut. he made sure his aim was a little higher than his target, and released the whizzing arrow. the arrow pierced just outside of the center ring.

“perfect,” y/n smiled. “now, do it again.” and he did, taking another deep breath and allowing himself to focus in on the feel of the rough wood on his fingertips, and the tight string he was pulling. the arrow hit just beside his last. she nodded encouragingly. “keep going.”

tommy could feel his heart start to thump in his chest from the excitement of his accurate aim. he took another calming breath and watched as the arrow lodged closer to the center.

“great aim,” she complimented and he grinned as he pulled another one back, trying to contain his shaking as he aimed. the arrow shot lower than his previous, but on the target nonetheless. “still a good shot. one more?”

“yeah,” tommy nodded, licking his dry lips as he retrieved another arrow from his quiver. heart still thumping with utter excitement and pride at y/n complimentary words, he quickly released the arrow and his smile dropped as the arrow lodged into the ground before the target.

“hey, that’s fine!” y/n assured as tommy groaned and dropped his head. “four in a row is an amazing improvement, tommy. you should take a break and reward yourself.”

tommy sighed, looking to the shameful arrow. “yeah. alright.” he dropped the bow to the ground along with his quiver. he looked to his slightly splintered fingers. “im gonna go.. wash up.”

“alright,” y/n smiled as tommy scampered away. she entered into the open kitchen, smiling at her guests. “you boys doing alright?”

they nodded. “when did you take up parenting, y/n?” george giggled. she rolled her eyes as she went to pour her and tommy their own glasses of lemonade. “no, seriously! you care for that kid a lot, it-it’s not a bad thing!”

she sighed, leaning against her counter as she sipped at her lemonade. “i know you two haven’t always agreed with him in the past, but i think tommy’s a good kid. i like his ethic, and i think he has a lot of potential. but that being said..” she shook her head. “he’s so young.” the boys nodded. “he’s been thrown into such a life of chaos and destruction, and im not saying he’s at all innocent, but.. i think it’s good for him to learn that there’s more to this world than just war and enemies. there’s...”

“neutral,” sapnap finished for her. she let out a laugh.

“yeah, neutral,” she agreed, tapping her fingers against her cold glass. “but, yeah, if teaching him peace and self care is motherly of me..” she shrugged. “then i guess im alright with being a parent.”

“that’s sweet,” sapnap nodded. “i hate it.” the three of them laughed, y/n laying a light slap on the man’s arm before tommy’s voice called out to her.

“y/n! can i have some help?”

“im coming!” she called back, setting down her glass of lemonade.

“go help your poor son,” george teased, resting his head in his hand as he gazed at y/n amusedly. she rolled her eyes.

“behave, you two,” she laughed before leaving the kitchen.

there was a moment of silence before george spoke, “i do think it’s quite sweet how y/n’s taken tommy in. i think it’s good for both of them.”

“you say that now,” sapnap sighed, leaning back in his chair. “but just wait until tommy’s back to feeling 100% and y/n’s going around saying “pog” all the time.”

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[shini--chan]

I have an idea! What would Allies do after finding out that their s/o have (another) stalker? It can be another yandere, a creep, ex, jealous coworker with bad intentions or even a serial killer.

And a good idea it is, my dear anon.

Yandere Allies – Feindling America

You were already fast asleep, snoozing away under the covers in your shared bedroom. He, on the other hand, was still wide awake and had decided to settle down in the living room to do some light reading. His insomnia was due to the usual reasons – too much caffeine, too much stress, too much curiosity to just let the day finish.

And because he was worried, intently, about you. There was somebody else trying to stick their grubby fingers in your shared life, and pry you apart. That was something he was absolutely sure off. After living so long, and becoming paranoid due to his position on the global stage, he knew very well when he was being watched.

There was something after you in particular, he didn’t like it.

Out of his peripheral vision, he caught sight of somebody moving in the bushes. A spike of adrenaline shot through his body, and for a moment he was tempted to storm about side and give that creep a hook. Yet a better idea came to mind – first to fire a warning shot.

He net his book aside and sauntered to one of the glass door to the balcony and gave the pane a few sharp knocks. It was enough to catch their attention. It was almost comical how the figure froze, and the hood swivelled in his direction. Alfred couldn’t identify them in any capacity – they wore non-script jeans and a grey hoodie along with a pair of gloves. But this was about digging up the war axe.

Grinning, he flipped the bird at them, and then proceeded to draw a thin line across his throat in an unmistakable message.

Alfred would see this as a chance to play hero. He would finally be able to prove to you how capable he is at protecting you, how attentive he would be when it would water down to your safety. Of course, he would make sure there would be a lot he wouldn’t catch wind off – it would be the instances where he would come off as an evil master mind or as a control freak that he would skilfully hide from you.

He might or might not elect to torture the fool that would be stalking you. For him, waterboarding that creep would be a method of stress relief. It would also drive home the point that nobody should dare try to get between him and his sweetie.

Canada

Besides you, your phone beeped for what must have been the twelfth time in the span of one minute. You sobbed harder and buried your face in his chest. Matthew calmly stroked your back, making quiet soothing noises as he held you close.

“(Ex) will have to leave you be someday. This can’t go on forever. One day that jerk will have to accept that you’re gone for good”, he told quietly, while cautiously shifting his position to a more comfortable one.

You were both on the backseat of his car, having sought sanctuary there after you started panicking upon seeing the messages. All the memories had started to overwhelm you, and you had gripped his arm as if it was the only thing that was preventing you from drowning.

“No, that won’t be the case. Before I met you, I tried to leave so often only to be lured back into it. It was only because I met you that I haven’t gone back”, you cried, gazing up at him with a tear-stricken face.

“Shh, I will think of something. There shall be hell to pay.”

Matthew would be concerned about your wellbeing first and foremost. He would cater to you, cuddle with you, sooth you. But don’t think that would mean he would go easy on you should you step out of line and try to flee from him. When he would say he would never let your ex take you back, he would be indirectly saying he would never allow you to leave him.

Naturally, he would be careful and avoid any explicit rhetoric stating that your place in the world is at his side, but the message would be there, hidden between the lines.

With the legal sway he would hold, he would easily have your ex punished in some capacity. This could range from a fine to a restrain order to spending some time in jail.

China

A scream pierced the silence of the night, followed by a yell as the attacker was swept off his feet. Yao didn’t hesitate to continue beating the culprit up, even though he was on the ground.

After all, this was a man that had just been a few milliseconds away from dragging you away and murdering you, after doing unspeakable things to you, things that couldn’t be lightly talked about in any context.

“So, you’re the vermin that has been butchering people left and right for the past four months. You’re just as disgusting as I expected”, Yao commented as he brought his foot down on his back in a harsh stamp.

You had taken seat on a tree stump that was standing by. The near death experience and the fight going on in front of you had utterly rattled you. You were numbly staring at the scene playing out, heads in your hands, whole body trembling and eyes wide blown.

He kicked the killer in the side and was rewarded was a grunt and a hiss: “And I’ll fucking kill you too.”

“Sure you will”, Yao drawled sarcastically and pressed the criminals head into the dirt. “Get used to the taste of it.”

Contrary to expectations, Yao would approach the situation of serial killer being after you calmy. Not because he wouldn’t care about you, but rather because he would be far to old to be surprised by such a – in his eyes – trivial thing. And because he would know that letting himself drown in anger or panic would just result in him making grave mistakes – ie. losing you.

Nevertheless, he would never be far off, lurking behind corners, just out of sight of you and the murderer. He would also scoure your online activity, searching for any suspicious doings from other users. Furthermore he would use the opportunity to learn more about you and your strengths and weaknesses.

England

“Ah, ah, ah. Keep your dirty paws off that”, Arthur chided Jane and firmly grabbed Jane by the ear, harshly tugging there. It wasn’t the most humane treatment of a mortal, that England knew very well. However, he was in a sour mood, your infuriating co-worker being one of the contributing factors to it. Besides, he hadn’t made it one of his life maximas to be nice.

“You dare”, she hissed. When he gave another sharp tug, she yelped and dropped your phone, showing one of your social media profiles. Jane Smithers was persistent, he would have to give her that. Yet that would just be her downfall because she had decided to use that trait to try to ruin your life.

“Oh yes I dare. I dare to not tolerate your disgusting behaviour. Between you and me, we’re going to have a very long talk about your morals.”

She snorted and grabbed his hand.

“I could sue you for sexual harassment. We’ll see if you’ll still be laughing then.”

Oh, he had expected such a threat to come from such a vile person as her. He chuckled lowly – did she really think she could best him when it came to anything.

“And then spend some time in the nick for lying to judge and jury. Don’t think you’d be able to weasel your way out of this. I’m the one here that can have your framed and believe me, I could get you a bloody life sentence.”

She stared at him, uncomprehending, before realisation dawned and she let out a harsh laugh.

“So that is how (l/n) did it. Slept the way to the top.”

“No. (Y/n) has talent, impeccable talent. So unlike you, my dearest never had to resort to the methods you were so kind to mentioned.”

Arthur would see it as his duty to protect you – your physical & mental wellbeing as well as your reputation. So of course he would go after any jealous co-worker that would try to ruin you to any extent. And as mentioned in the snippet above, he wouldn’t be exactly nice about it. Any means would do for him, as long as the risk of his machinations backfiring on him and you would be relatively low.

During the whole process, he would letting you know about everything. It would be his point of proving that the world is a horrible place and that you can only find solace in his company and attention.

France

Francis was in the kitchen when you came stumbling in, frazzled and panting as If you had just run a marathon. By the way your extremities were trembling and sweat dotted your forehead, he wouldn’t be surprised. The only question was why.

Aside from that, fear danced in your eyes, and that was the only further information he needed to know that something was wrong. Rushing forward, he scooped you in his arms, ignoring the coffee that he had been preparing, and asked you:

“What happened, ma cherie?”

Instead of answering, you leaned your head against his shoulder and wrapped your arms around his torso, taking heavy, laboured breaths, as if you were crying. That was when he realised that you were. It worried him.

Was this something that he had done? What had caused you to become so distressed? Was it something he could fix.

“You don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to”, he offered shakily, unsure about what he should do to cheer you up. How could he, when he didn’t know why you were in such a state?

Thankfully, you supplied him with an explanation, one that caused his concern to freeze to ice cold anger: “There is some creep following me. He grabbed my butt when I got off the bus.”

Whoever that devil was, he was going to have hell to pay,

Francis would be enraged that somebody would be so disrespectful of your boundaries and of the fact that you’re already taken. In the brief moments of his more intense bouts of fury, he might do something as rash as to track the creep down and bludgeon him with something, probably a newspaper.

However, his preferred method would be character assassination (this would work especially well if the culprit in question would have a high social status) and verbal abuse. In this case, his revenge could be long-winded and very elaborate.

Russia

The temperature of the corridor had dropped since the last time he had visited – a testimony to the bad insulation and the approaching winter. Ivan thought it did her justice. After all, she did deserve this after nearly kidnapping you.

Speaking of her, she was sitting near the bars when he approached and when she glimpsed him, she quickly scooted away. Clever; she had learned from what had occurred the last time.

“Come to taunt me again?”, she seethed, curling into a tight, haggard ball of fury. Understandable in her case, however he wouldn’t shed any tears or have any sleepless nights.

“As is customary. I have to elevate your boredom somehow”, he confirmed, grabbing a chair and seating himself opposite her.

She stared at the door at the end of the passage, hungerly tracing it and searching the shadows for any sign of you. Ivan derived pleasure from mocking her: “How foolish are to think I would have brought my lover with me? I didn’t the last few times so why should it any different now?”

“You’re so very attached to (y/n), so I had my hopes.”

“Then I’ll have to forever dash them. That I owe you.”

She snarled at this; face twisted to a nasty frown.

“You know, you and I aren’t so different. So it is even more hypocritical of you to claim the moral high ground. Does (y/n) know even half of the things you’ve done in the name of your love?”

“I detest the comparison. I walk free while you rot in solitude, unloved and unwanted. While you have done everything wrong, I have done what was right where it counted most. You go very far by suggesting anything else.”

Russia would be the one to act the most intense of all the allies. He would have had people that were dear to him ripped away from him in the past, so he invest a lot of energy in insuring that wouldn’t happen to you and him.

That would mean he would go up to 11 in this case. As in, he would either kill this person and dissolve their body in acid or feed it to the pigs. Or he would leave this other yandere to rot somewhere after having dragged them before court for a very showy trail to break their spirit.

[hilarioushilarity]

Quynh and Booker’s Roadtrip AU

They hit a roadbump one day into the trip that would hopefully save Sebastien’s soul. Or at least his liver.

“No,” Sebastien said.

Quynh was unmoved. “You must.”

“Listen,” Sebastien said desperately. “I can’t pretend to be your husband.”

Quynh looked at him sceptically. “I know you’re no actor,” she said, only the slightest bit pointed. “But I do know you can lie.”

Sebastien winced. “Alright, let me rephrase. I won’t pretend to be your husband.”

Quynh snorted. “Am I not beautiful enough to be your beloved?”

“No, you’re Andy’s beloved, and Andy also happens to have a very sharp axe which she likes to stab people with.”

“So you’re scared,” Quynh surmised.

“Yes, I’m scared,” Sebastien said. “I like to keep my guts where they are, thank you very much.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Siblings?” Sebastien tried. “Cousins?”

Quynh rolled her eyes. “If you say we’re related, we’ll be that ‘sweet interracial family’ that stays in people’s memories.”

“Friends on a road trip?”

“That sweet couple who claimed to be ‘just friends’.”

“Hey, a man and a woman can be friends,” Sebastien said.

Quynh sighed. “That is true, but still no. We want to be as unremarkable as possible.”

“But-”

“Now hurry up, I want to sleep,” Quynh said, and promptly shoved him into the hotel foyer.

***

“If Andy hunts us down and kills me,” Sebastien said, when they finally got into their room, “I want you to know that it’s one hundred per cent your fault.”

“Am I meant to feel guilty?” Quynh asked, from where she was already starfished on the one bed she had already called dibs on. “You’ll just come back and continue drinking like a fish.”

“Shut up, no I won’t,” Sebastien grumbled. He fished around the linen cabinet and took out two blankets. “Also, how come you get the bed?”

“Because I’m older and wiser.”

"Does that usually work for you?” Sebastien mused. “Did Joe and Nicky always go ‘Quynh’s like a billion years old, better respect my elders’?”

“Yusuf and Nicolo have manners,” Quynh sniffed. “The same for which can’t be said for you.”

“Hey, I’m French!”

Quynh just looked at him. “Are you attempting to prove my case?”

“Forget I said anything,” Sebastien sighed. He was surrounded by a bunch of smartasses.

“I try to,” Quynh informed him smartly, turning on her side and apparently falling asleep immediately.

“‘Go on a trip’, they said, ‘It’ll be fun’. Yeah, right.” Sebastien gathered up a change of clothes, and he was self-aware enough to admit that the way he thumped down the suitcase was a touch sulky. “Sorry,” he said quietly, a little bit contritely, in Quynh’s direction; it was only half because he didn’t want another knife in his gut.

He went into the bathroom, and when he came out, the shadows had lengthened and the last vestiges of late-evening daylight had fled before the night. Quynh was a dark lump atop the bed covers. Sebastien considered waking her up for her turn in the bathroom, then dismissed it.

He wasn’t a heavy sleeper; quicker to rouse than Joe (but that wasn’t hard), but slower than Andy and Nicky, both of whom went from sleeping to fully alert in the space of a breath, maybe two at most. Even so, when he startled awake barely two hours after falling asleep, it took him a moment to register what had caused it.

“Quynh,” he whispered. The quiet, choked-off cries didn’t stop. “Quynh?”

He rolled off the couch. “Quynh,” Sebastien repeated, a little louder. Nightmares didn’t tend to afflict the others - usually, it was him who had to be roused from dreams of Quynh drowning. He gently reached out and laid a hand on her forearm. “Hey, wake up - it’s -” okay, he wanted to say, but suddenly couldn’t because of the knife in his throat. 

Oh man, we’re gonna lose the deposit on this room, he thought, and then died.

***

When his eyes opened, the lights had been turned to full brightness. He was stretched out on the bed. Quynh, nearby, sat with her head in her hands.

“Um -” Sebastien started, then had to clear his throat because throat wounds always left him with phlegm. “Sorry - I think I startled you.”

Quynh sighed. “I - apologise as well.”

“Well, you know, it’s not like it stuck.”

“It was unnecessary.”

Sebastien reached out a hand, then dropped it. “It’s okay. I’m okay now.” He hesitated. “Did - do you know, what caused it?”

The line of Quynh’s shoulders were a bow string, drawn taught. “The room was too dark,” she said finally.

“Too -” Oh. Oh no. “I - do you - would talking about -” he swallowed, taking in the way her shoulder drew impossibly tighter. “Will it help if we keep the lights at least slightly on?” he said instead. Quynh nodded. “Okay. Then we’ll just make sure we always sleep somewhere with light.”

“Very well.”

“And maybe a shower-” he stopped dead, suddenly impossibly frustrated with his own foolishness. “No.”

Quynh half-smiled; it was a brittle, exhausted thing. “No,” she agreed.

His eyes prickled, and he promptly felt like a heel for crying when he hadn’t even been the one to spend five hundred years at the bottom of the ocean. “I’m sorry,” he said, foolishly, helplessly; he was a coward who had never found the courage to face his own feelings, let alone others’. “I’m sorry. I don’t think there’s anything I can do to be helpful.”

Quynh’s sigh was unfathomably exhausted. She flopped backwards, onto the other pillow. “Sometimes things can’t be solved by trying hard enough. Sometimes, they just are.”

They lay there in silence, until a thought occurred to him.

“Hey,” Sebastien said. “You been to a supermarket yet?”

Part 1, Part 2

[bonniebird]

Leif Ivarson (Part Four)

Ivar x Reader

Requested by Anon

Masterpost

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Part One

Part Two

Part Three

“You cannot take him with you. He is too young!” You insisted.  Floki had given up having you and Ivar leave his cabin and had opted to lean back in his chair until it rested against the wall. His feet were propped up on an old battered chest and he felt himself started to doze off.

“He needs to go.” Ivar insisted. Ivar could argue with you all night. In fact this was the longest that you had spent with him since the night he’d thrown you out of his home and if it kept you with him longer he would swear he was in the right until Odin himself came to your defence.

“He is a child and he does not need to go with you to kill and…” You rolled your eyes when Ivar tutted and tilted his head, looking at you with that sarcastic amusement in his eyes and a coy smile.

“He is already killing. He needs someone to guide him. To show him when it is right to take a life.” Ivar said firmly. You sighed and shook your head, looking over at Floki for help. If the old man was awake he was doing a good job of pretending to be asleep.

“Ubbe was right. You’re going to lead him down a path he can’t come back from. I don’t want him to… to… be like you Ivar.”

Ivar didn’t say anything as you stood and left. Ivar scoffed as the door to the cabin slammed shut. This roused Floki enough to the conversation that he sat up in his chair and gave Ivar a weary look. “Nothing will come from the two of you fighting. This is going to push you further apart and it will not help Leif.” He muttered.

“She demands my help and when I offer it I am wrong for it!” Ivar complained irritably.

“(Y/N) is the boy's mother and wants to be sure that he will be safe. She knows what Leif needs. You’re still getting used to it. You need to talk to her when you’ve thought on it.” Floki said patiently. Ivar rolled his eyes and didn’t say anything else for a long while.

While they had talked you’d paced outside Floki’s cabin for a few moments before storming back home. The cold air made your mood feel worse and by the time you got back you felt furious. Ubbe frowned. It was late and he had expected you back a while ago. He saw how upset you were and hurried up from his bed. You’d sat on your own and fiddled with the hem of your cloak. “(Y/N) what happened?” He asked gently as he sat next to you. Leif was sleeping at the other end of the cabin, tucked up in bed. “He wants to take Leif on a raid. He isn’t old enough but Ivar is convinced that it will help. I do not want him to go. What if he gets hurt or lost or there is a storm and the boat...” You trailed off when Ubbe wrapped his arms around you and hugged you.

“You know what is best for him. Ivar is still new to this he… will realise that eventually.” Ubbe assured you. Your head had been resting on Ubbe’s shoulder but you turned to look up at him. You both leaned in and he kissed you. It was soft and affectionate. As he was trying to prove years of devotion with just one kiss. His breath hitched and he pulled you close, leaning the two of you back against your bed. A noise at the door of the cabin made the two of you jump and pull apart. Ubbe motioned for you to stay where you were while he went to see what it was. He picked up an axe from near the door and headed outside. You waited nervously but he came back after a few agonizing heartbeats and shook his head.

“I couldn’t see anything.” Ubbe said quickly as he set the weapon down on the table and cleared his throat a little. “Maybe I should… stay up and keep an eye out just in case?” 

“Mother!” Leif said. Someone was shaking you and you rolled over, opening your eyes to see Leif frowning down at you.

“Uncle Hvitserk says Ubbe wants you to go and see Floki.” Leif said as if he’d told you several times and you hadn’t listened.

“He did?” You muttered as you sat up. Hvitserk was sitting at your table, helping himself to the basket of fruit that Ubbe must have collected before leaving in the morning.

“Yes. I want to go to see the boats go off. Some of the fishermen are going out today.” Leif added as if he had decided he would go if you said he could or not.

“Alright, just be careful and make sure that you go and fine Ubbe for lunch.” You told him. Leif grinned and climbed off the bed, running out of the cabin. Hvitserk went out to see him off and you could hear him shouting to be careful as you got up and changed.

“Ubbe and Ivar are fighting.” Hvitserk said as he came back inside. You glanced at him and frowned.

“What do you mean? What about?” You asked quickly.

“According to Ivar, Ubbe seduced you and took advantage of the fact that the two of you are arguing. Ubbe says that Ivar had no right to be spying on you. Also that he sides with you and that Ivar shouldn’t take Leif on a raid until he is older. He said if Leif was old enough and wanted to go, he would go with Leif, to make sure that you knew someone was looking after him. Which is when Ivar got very angry and tried to throw a cup at Ubbe and I left.” Hvitserk explained. He leant against the door as he spoke and you shook your head.

“Nice to have someone agree with me for once.” You muttered as you found your cloak and put it on.

“I always agree with you. You are always right in the end and I get fed.” Hvitserk grinned as the two of you walked towards Floki’s cabin. Floki was outside working on a new boat. He had paused for a moment and shielded his eyes looking over the water. From the way that the land curved you could see docks. Floki was smiling and you realised you could see Leif playing with a few other children in the water.

“Floki?” You called. He turned and waved at you.

“How is everything?” He asked as he climbed off the boat and greeted the two of you.

“Well. Ivar and Ubbe have been arguing all morning. I do not see what is so wrong with waiting for Leif to grow.” Hvitserk complained. He’d been asked to take sides but hadn’t wanted to admit who he sided with and fled to your cabin.

“It will blow over soon enough and once everyone has calmed down, everyone will focus on what is important. Leif.” Floki advised. As if the forest was echoing his name people started to call out for Leif. Floki frowned as you looked around. He climbed back on the boat, scuffing and smudging his work. He grunted when he realised that he couldn’t see him anymore.

“Hvitserk, go into the woods where Leif likes to go. Make sure he isn’t… hadn’t hurt…” You trailed off and Hvitserk nodded, rushing into the woods without needing to be asked again. Floki hurried to retrieve a weapon and a shield and motioned for you to follow him as the two of you rushed back towards Kattegat. People had stopped searching in two and several men, along with Ubbe had swan a fair way out from the dock and had seemed to try to catch several boats that were sailing away. Ubbe swam back and pulled himself out of the water,

“What happened? Ubbe where is Leif? What is happening!” You demanded. He didn't look at you for a moment, watching the boats. Several people had started to call for a fast boat to be prepared.

“He took Leif.” Ubbe said through gritted teeth as water dripped and ran down to the pool at his feet. “He left, I didn’t think he would do anything but no one was at home. I thought you’d be in town with Hvitserk. I saw Ivar grab Leif and pull him on a boat.” There was a slight tone. A way he had said, ‘I saw Ivar grab Leif and pull him on a boat.’ that had sounded like a lie. Because you didn’t want to believe it. You told yourself. But something in your gut said that Ubbe may not have been telling the truth. Ivar had been spending more time with Leif, showing him how Floki had helped him control his temper. Their rage seemed to bone father and son together. If Ivar had told Leif he needed to go. Leif would have gone.

“You did your best. I know that.” You answered. Hvitserk came running up to you all.

“I tried to find him.” He gasped, looking as if he had run through the woods then all the way to the docks.

“Ivar has Leif.” You said to Hvitserk. Hvitserk nodded, giving you a look and then looked to Ubbe.

“I thought no one wanted him to go with Ivar until he was older?” Hvitserk questioned. He seemed worse at hiding your suspicion than you.

“Ivar took him, there was nothing I could do.” Ubbe insisted. Hvitserk narrowed his eyes and glanced at you. Watching you carefully he seemed to come to his decision and nodded.

“You will be going after him of course. You have raised him. I will stay here with (Y/N) and Floki to take care of Kattegat.” Hvitserk said quickly. Ubbe glared at Hvitserk for a few moments before reluctantly saying.

“We do not know where Ivar is taking him.”

“Did Ivar not say yesterday that he planned to take a few small boats to Harald to arrange the next raid?” Hvitserk asked as he stepped closer to Ubbe.

“We have a boat read. Food, supplies. The town has given as much as they can and we will come with you to get the grandson of Ragnar back.” A man said as he hurried up to Ubbe. Ubbe’s face darkened and he let out a long sigh.

“There you are Ubbe. You can go off and be the hero now.” Hvitserk said as Ubbe hugged you and headed with several people towards the boat that had been arranged. “Perhaps if you sail fast enough you will not even make it out to the open sea.”

Ubbe sailed off and you watched him from the docks. “What do you know about Hvitserk Ragnarsson?” Floki asked Hvitserk.

“When (Y/N) first told Ivar what had happened. That she was with child. Ubbe jokes that he would take you as a wife and Ivar could take the child and raise them as his own. Ivar said only if it was a son. That was all. Just a joke.” Hvitserk explained. You glanced at him. Hvitserk looked conflicted as if he really hadn’t known that this could have happened.

“Hvitserk are you telling me that Ubbe let Leif go so that Ivar would…”

“Let him have you? When have you known Ubbe to just let something happen to Leif that Leif doesn’t want to happen?” Hvitserk said calmly. You turned back from Hvitserk to the boat where Ubbe was standing, staring back at the docks as if he was furious he had to leave.

[slasherbastard]

Jason with “I had a dream where I killed myself.”“Life isn’t worth living without you.”

(gif credit: puppetcombo)

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, swearing, angst (obviously), minor character death Word count: 2227 Notes: I wanted to try to write a male presenting reader, so the reader uses he/him pronouns

It’s been who knows how long since Jason saw another person enter Camp Crystal Lake. Not a single counsellor volunteering for yet another reopening - at last, those humans finally found some common sense in those small brains of theirs, but Jason missed it -, not even some random teenagers who are trying to find a private place to get freaky. It made Jason feel as if his life was losing its purpose.

That’s when the dreams started, his mother was disappointed in him because he wasn’t killing anymore and disappointing his mother was one of the worst things he could do. Next, disappointing you, his boyfriend. Although you never committed any murders and were fine with Jason’s lifestyle, it made Jason feel like he was disappointing you by doing nothing all day.

You, his S/O, caught up on this. When the two of you were doing chores, Jason was either messing up more than usual or not focusing at all. “J?”

Jason looked up, not realising he was supposed to be picking up the firewood he had badly chopped up just minutes - probably an hour - before. He shook his head and picked up the wood and took it inside, you watching him with a questioning look but pushing it aside to continue with your own duties.

You really enjoyed the peace and quiet and not having to deal with strangers, it was just you and your boyfriend Jason. You could tell Jason wasn’t enjoying the absence of his future victims, you didn’t know what was going on in that head of his but from what you had just witnessed earlier, it clearly wasn’t good. Jason hated it when you worried about him but sometimes you couldn’t resist it, Jason kept to himself a lot of the time so it was hard to figure out what he was thinking half of the time. You even started learning sign language after realising it was one of the best ways to communicate with him, since he didn’t really know how to write.

“Hey J?” You called out to your lover as he was coming out of the cabin. “I love you.” You said, dragging out that last ‘u’, he gave you a slight nod and went back to cutting up firewood, still not fully paying attention. You let out a quiet sigh and walked past him, entering the cabin to make yourself a snack.

Jason watched you enter the cabin, his mind racing with thoughts of you trying to avoid him. He couldn’t do anything right, he couldn’t even say those 3 special words back to the love of his life. You could leave at any time, what was stopping you? Well, apart from the fact that if you did try to leave, Jason would find you and lock you away but he knew you were too smart for that - were you?

Jason dropped the axe and speed ran into the cabin expecting you to be gone through an open window, maybe a bag packed and sitting on your shared bed, but instead he saw you taking something out of the fridge. “Jason, what’s wrong?” He shook his head as you dropped the contents onto the counter and concernedly approached him. “Are you hurt? Let me check-” You bit your lip and reached for his hands but he took them away.

“I thought you were trying to leave.” He quickly signed.

“Hey, I’m not leaving. I just wanted to make myself something for lunch.” You signed back at him. “Why would I leave?”

Jason let out a sigh and pulled you in for a tight hug, trying to cherish you - even if you do end up leaving, he wanted to remember what your smaller frame felt like against his body. The thought of you leaving hurt him even more than his mothers disappointing words that haunted him while he tried to sleep. You broke away from Jason and stared up at him, holding his hands in yours. “I swear, I’m never leaving you Jason. You mean too much to me.” You let go of his hands and walked back to the kitchen area of the cabin and grabbed a spoon from the drawer and the yoghurt from the counter and began eating it.

---

That night in bed Jason spent the night reliving the same nightmare he’d be experiencing the past couple of nights. It started with his mother sweetly telling him to kill for her but as soon as she realised that there was nobody to kill she’d grow angry. “Kill for me Jason! Kill for mommy!”

Jason tried to tell her but her shrieks just got louder and louder, then you’d appear.

“Jason I never should’ve dated you. You’re just a weak excuse of a man, the Crystal Lake Killer, huh? I should’ve left when I had the chance.” You’d say in disgust before leaving Jason alone in the dark void where he couldn’t breathe. But this time, his nightmare had a new addition - that’s when he’d realise he was underwater and he’d gasp for air before realising he was sinking lower and lower. He’d sink until he stopped breathing, then die then come back to life and the short cycle would repeat of him sinking and gasping for air until he’d eventually wake up hyperventilating. This was it, he was finally going to die.

The voices began to get louder - not just yours and his mothers, but all the past victims, the kids who watched him drown, people he’d never met in his life, everyone was against him. Everyone hates Jason.

Jason woke up and made a noise that sounded like a scream being subdued by water, mixed with the hyperventilating was enough to wake up. You quickly sat up and turned on the lamp beside you and rubbed Jason’s back in an attempt to calm him down, he flinched at your touch but as soon as he realised it was you and you weren’t telling him he was a disappointment, he calmed down. You waited until he was calm enough to be left alone and then got up and went straight to the kitchen to make tea - you weren’t sure whether or not it’d help since this was the first time you witnessed Jason having a night terror, but making tea was the first thing that came to mind.

By the time the tea was ready Jason was sitting on the tearing couch in the cabin’s makeshift living room, just staring into nothing. You grabbed the two teacups and brought them into the living room and set them on the coffee table. “Do you want to talk about it?” Jason looked at you and you could feel him judging your choice of words through the eyeholes of his hockey mask. “I’m sorry.” You sat down opposite Jason and began signing at him. “Do you want to sign about it?”

Jason didn’t do anything, just staring back at you with his lifeless eyes. Usually he loved your jokes but this time he felt nothing. Jason slowly raised his hands. “I had a dream I killed myself.”

You had to do a double table as you watched Jason, asking him to repeat himself. It was a lot for you. “Why?”

“I’m a disappointment to you and mother. You’re going to leave me and life isn’t worth living without you.”

You quickly wiped a few tears that were forming in your eyes and took a sip of your tea. “It’s because this place has been empty, hasn’t it?” Jason nodded. “Jason. You have never disappointed me, ever. Killing or not, I’ll always be proud of you and you’ll always be my favourite person. I can’t speak for your mother but I’m sure she loves you just as much now as she did when you were killing people, why don’t we go talk to her?”

Jason looked at you like you were crazy but he knew that you were right. You needed to talk to your mother about this. Jason got up without another noise and you followed him outside, grabbing your coat on the way out. Jason ended up bringing his mother’s head back to her body in the cemetery sometime before you came around.

When the two of you reached the cemetery you stopped and tried to let Jason go inside by himself since he was the only one who could hear his mother’s voice, but he grabbed your hand and forcefully pulled you in with him. “Jason, don’t be nervous.”

Jason ignored your advice and found his mother’s grave and stopped. You thought he was going to try and leave but then you noticed him staring intensely at the gravestone before nodding and letting go of your hand. You watched Jason for a while until he turned to you for a second, then back to the spot in front of him, then he turned back to you again and signed the words “She doesn’t hate me.”

You smiled and signed “Tell her I said hello.”

“She says hello back, and thanks you for being here with me when she c-couldn’t.”

You smiled and tried not to start bawling on the spot, you cared about Jason too much to even think about leaving and you wished he could see that. You looked up as Jason took a step back and took your hand in his and the two of you walked back to the secluded cabin. As soon as you entered the cabin you took off your coat and threw it over the couch and turned back to Jason. “Is everything going to be okay now?”

He nodded and signed “I’m sorry for doubting your love for me.”

“It’s okay, let's just get some rest now.”

Jason didn’t have any nightmares for the rest of the night. You ended up waking up before Jason and decided to go for a walk, one of the perks of living in the middle of the woods on an abandoned campsite was being able to do anything without worrying about being judged - In this case, going for a walk at 11am in your pajamas was perfect. You quickly grabbed your coat and left, worried about waking up Jason.

Your mind started to wander as you followed the dirt path, letting your mind wander, you usually listened to music or if Jason were awake you’d be talking to him instead. Your brain was just filled with Jason, you couldn’t stop thinking about him and the previous night and how you didn’t realise he was having nightmares. It made you feel bad but you had to remind yourself that you did nothing wrong and Jason did nothing wrong either, you had no reason to feel bad but your guilty conscience was giving in. You turned into the main part of the camp where all the counsellors usually stayed and almost didn’t notice that you weren’t alone until you heard an unfamiliar voice.

“Hey! Are you a counsellor here, too? I think I arrived a little earlier than I was supposed to. I’m Ash.” He stuck his hand out and you shook it.

“Yeah, I got here the night before, explains the pajamas.” You laughed and continued talking to this new face but you couldn’t pay attention to his words, you were too excited to tell Jason although you were 80% sure that he was already aware of this.

“- But yeah that’s my story, how about you?”

“What? Oh, I had to move back in with my parents and they were bothering me about not having a job, so my aunt suggested that I become a counsellor and uh here I am.” You lied, trying to subtly look around to see if Jason had woken up, he had a tendency for watching you, especially if he heard you talking to a complete stranger - and spoiler alert, he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. That’s when you had an idea. “So, nobody else has arrived yet?”

“Nope, just us.” Bingo.

“Cool. Hey, are you aware of the rumours behind this place?”

“What? With the Crystal Lake Killer? Bullshit.”

“Really? Because I was just walking around and I shit you not, I think I saw a body.”

“Show me.” Was this guy really that stupid?

Without another word the two of you went to look for the ‘body’. The whole walk to the cabin Ash asked every question he could think of. “How dead is the body?” “Is it fresh?” “How are you not dead yet?” He was getting on your nerves but you knew that he’d be dead in a few minutes, just hoping that Jason was awake.

You both reached the cabin and something moving around behind one of the broken windows. You tried to hide your smile as you approached the cabin. “It’s just in here.”

“Hey man I don’t think this is a good idea.” You stopped and turned to your new found friend.

“I thought you wanted to see the body.”

“Well yeah but- fine. I’m going in first.” Ash desperately pushed past you and entered the house, you heard a scream before Jason appeared holding a bloody machete.

“Did you enjoy your surprise, J? There are more arriving today. I think it’s a sign.” You got all giddy and ran up to Jason, hugging him. He dropped his machete and hugged you back.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Hejjjjj! 88 for vds 🙏🏻 ! Missing them ;(

I miss them too

88. “I vote today to be a pajama day.”

Jens eyes Lucas still cuddled up in his bed, still sleeping, breathing slow and steady through parted lips. His face is smushed into the pillow, hair a mess, and he keeps twitching and pressing into the mattress, seeking more heat. Jens doesn’t want to disturb him, but he starts to feel weird standing in the doorway and watching him. He crawls carefully back into the bed, giving a shiver of his own as he settles under the blankets.

Lucas makes a pitiful little noise, face scrunching up for a second, but he doesn’t appear to wake. He curls closer, and Jens shifts to meet him, accepting the arm that slings around his waist and the weight that presses to his chest. Jens curves an arm around him and presses a hand to Lucas’s forehead, but it still doesn’t feel warm.

He’d known the night before that Lucas was off the instant he showed up, lethargic and grouchy and barely accepting Jens’s kisses. He’d barely eaten any of the snacks Jens dug up for them, and he’d been half asleep against Jens’s shoulder as they watched TV with Milan. Jens began to worry when Lucas got up to go to the bathroom and stumbled before standing stock-still for a moment. It took Jens standing up after him and cupping his face and a moment of coaxing for Lucas to admit he ‘just felt a little dizzy’.

Milan was the one then to fuss, fretting over Lucas and demanding why he didn’t tell them he was sick, checking for a fever and forcing a glass of water into his hands, going so far as to threaten to break out the thermometer. Lucas had looked pleadingly at Jens, and Jens had hauled him away and tucked him up in bed and spent too much time fretting on his own when Lucas fell asleep almost instantly.

But Lucas had slept as soundly through the night as he is now, so most of Jens’s worry has dissipated. He’s put it down to exhaustion. He just has to wait until Lucas wakes up to find out why.

For now he moves his touch from Lucas’s forehead to stroke over his cheek, then he pushes his hand into Lucas’s hair, letting the curls slide through his fingers. Lucas presses closer in response, tightening his grip, and Jens takes up a slow, soothing motion as he kisses Lucas’s forehead.

He’s content lying in silence when Lucas is next to him, and he falls into a light doze while listening to Lucas breathe, not realising he’s letting them sync up.

Then Lucas shifts again, and lets out another little sleepy noise before mumbling, “Why’d you stop?”

Jens wakes fully again with a huff, his eyes popping open as he resumes his gentle motions through Lucas’s hair. Lucas sighs in response and kisses his neck in gratitude, a lazy brush of lips that still makes Jens’s spine tingle. “Morning,” he murmurs.

Lucas hums and squeezes him. “Morning.”

“You okay?” Jens asks, unable to hold his concern in any longer.

It takes a quiet moment, then Lucas simply hums again. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Jens kisses his hair. “That’s good.”

“I didn’t mean to make you worry,” Lucas murmurs, tiredly. “I’m fine, really.”

“You didn’t seem fine.”

Lucas sighs, tiredly rather than happily this time, and Jens decides he won’t push him anymore if Lucas wants to drop it there. He twirls a lock of Lucas’s hair around his finger instead and waits silently, and then Lucas shifts his head back to lie on the pillow next to him. His eyes are only halfway open, cracked just enough to peer over at Jens. They shut fully for a second when Jens ducks in to kiss an eyelid, then open wider as Lucas finally smiles.

“Mom’s just had a bad week,” he explains finally. “She’s been doing better the past day or so, I guess, but I’m...”

“Tired,” Jens says.

Lucas nods, letting his eyes drift shut again and huffing quietly. “Yeah.”

Jens nods back and bundles Lucas back up in his arms, hugging him close and pushing a hand into his hair again. Lucas makes no protest, sinking against him and adjusting his grip on Jens’s waist. He seems like he could fall asleep again, just like this. Jens wants to let him.

“You could have asked me to give you a hand,” Jens reminds him.

Lucas shrugs, but admits, “I know. I just...never think of that. She won’t let anyone else do anything for her, anyway.”

“But I could’ve been looking after you while you were looking after her,” Jens says. “As you clearly seemed to forget to do that on your own.” Lucas makes a small sound, and Jens sighs. “Sorry. I’m not trying to call you out. Just, next time...”

“Yeah,” Lucas promises, squeezing Jens’s side for good measure.

“Do you have to get back to her?”

Lucas shakes his head no. “She’ll kill me if I go back to check on her, I think. Kicked me out right away last night when I told her I had plans with you.”

Thank you, Mrs Van der Heijden, Jens silently praises.

“Okay then,” Jens grins. “I vote today to be a pajama day.”

Lucas huffs, peeking up at him again with a confused smile. “What?”

“You’re not leaving this bed. We are going to chill. All day.”

He squeezes Lucas for emphasis, and Lucas laughs. He wiggles around in Jens’s grip until he can bring them onto the same pillow again, nose to nose. He looks more like himself now, smug and cheeky as he smirks and raises his brows. “There’s usually not much need for pajamas in those cases.”

Jens snorts, but quickly smothers it in favour of a stern look. “We’re going to chill.”

“Netflix and chill,” Lucas nods solemnly.

“You need to rest. Rel-ah-ax.”

The second half of the word comes out breathy as Lucas grazes his teeth along Jens’s jaw, suddenly very awake as he smirks up at Jens under hooded eyes. “I’m sure you can help me with that,” he agrees.

“This was all a ploy,” Jens says, though there’s no protest in his voice as Lucas trails a path of kisses down his neck.

“If it is, what are you going to do about it?”

Jens catches the hand Lucas raises to his neck, using the leverage of the grip to push Lucas onto his back and roll over him, easily slotting between the boy’s legs as Lucas wraps his legs around his waist. Jens nips at his bottom lip, teasing just long enough that Lucas protests before swallowing the sound with a kiss.

Lucas hums, hands gripping at Jens’s shoulders and attempting to pull him down closer, and Jens bites at his nose in a quiet reprimand.

“I’m going to make sure you behave,” Jens says easily, “and remind you exactly how helpful I can be.”

Dialogue Prompts

[arcturusreads]

I Don't Think I Would Mind That At All - MerHayes

Meredith wakes up from her coma and Cormac decides to pay her a little visit

He wasn't entirely sure what was happening to him. It must have been the exhaustion from the shifts. Covid-19 was kicking the hospital's arse and whenever the paeds ward was quiet, Cormac tried to ease the load in the other departments. The staff all looked dead on their feet but somehow, they managed to pull through each day.

He missed his boys, not seeing them face-to-face for weeks on end was not something that was helping the situation but at least Abigail's sister was with them. At least they had someone that could keep an eye on them. Sighing, Cormac knocked on the hospital room door before peeking his head in.

"Alright if I come in, Grey?"

Meredith looked up from her tablet. She had forgone the hospital gown for an old Dartmouth top and grey sweats. Whilst she still looked exhausted, this was a definite improvement from seeing her in a coma. Cormac hadn't expected the relief that flooded through his body when he heard that she was awake.

He had waited for her family to go and see her first, knowing that they would be ramming down the door to talk to her. But that had taken longer than expected since the entire bloody hospital considered her family. He'd lost track of the number of times he had walked past her room in the hopes that no one else would be in there. But at last, at 7 pm, ten hours after she had woken up there was not another person on sight, she didn't seem to be talking to anyone on her tablet and no doctors were checking her stats.

"I mean, you're already halfway in this room, you may as well." She had that mischievous glint her eyes that Cormac had come to realise were almost a permanent fixture. One that he had missed seeing. Her voice still had a croak to it, a reminder that she had just battled a virus that could have killed her.

Cormac fully entered the room and stood by the foot of her bed before flicking through her chart. Meredith raised a brow at him which he ignored, much to her annoyance. The last thing she needed was someone else hovering over her. Maggie and Amelia were doing a grand job of that.

"Your stats are looking good today, Grey." He continued looking through her chart.

"They better since I'm not in a coma anymore," she muttered, annoyed that he was still looking at them. She wanted company, not another doctor.

Cormac barked out a laugh and put her chart back. His eyes softened as she looked at her and that weird feeling came over him again. His heart started to race; his stomach felt like a million butterflies had been let out of a cage. God, he really needed to get some rest. Maybe he needed to get a test, just in case.

"Told you that you would beat this damn virus, look at you now."

Meredith groaned as she adjusted herself to sit up straighter. It was still exhausting for her to move. "Oh yeah, I'm just the picture of health."

Her sarcasm made him knew that she was on the road to recovery. It hadn't been long ago that she had admitted to him that she was scared of dying. That moment of vulnerability was something that was shared between just the two of them. He had never seen Meredith Grey like that. From the moment he had met her, Meredith had been a battle-axe of a woman. She showed no fear and took no prisoners. Cormac had definitely not been expecting her to open up to him that much.

"Compared to just last night, I would say so."

"Sorry. I am thankful, you know, not to be dying but Bailey isn't letting me work until I do physio and respiratory therapy" Meredith groaned, completely unimpressed with the rules she had been given. She was needed here at the hospital, as a doctor. Not a patient. She knew that this place needed all the staff that it could get so what was the point in sending her home for 14 days.

"Grey, you've just battled a virus that has put the world on its knees. A few weeks away from work is the least you deserve"

Meredith rolled her eyes at him and Hayes couldn't help the upturning on his lips at her little action. She was a firecracker.

"Deserve? I've literally been lying in a bed for weeks! It's you guys that deserve two weeks off."

"You were ill, you were in a coma and you still need to rest. Grey, take the time off. Go home and spend time with your kids, hold them close. They would have missed their mother. And you know as well as I do that when you come back, you aren't going to be able to see them as much."

That had silenced Meredith completely. If she didn't take those two weeks for herself, then she would definitely do it for her kids. They hadn't known the full extent of what had happened to her, though she guessed that her Zo-Zo had probably managed to figure it out by now. She could have a few weeks of holding her babies close and getting to spend some time with her new nephew. It wasn't a bad deal.

"Fine," she grumbled.

"Sorry, Grey, couldn't hear you there."

"I said, fine!" She yelled at him.

Cormac threw his head back and laughed, "You know, you're far too stubborn for your own good." That weird feeling had intensified even more. Now he was worried.

"So, I've been told. Anyway, why have you decided to grace me with your presence?"

Cormac clutched his chest over his heart, "You wound me, Grey. Can't a man just care about his co-worker?"

But you don't just care about her as a co-worker, a small voice in his head said and he tried to push it away.

"Mhm," she murmured. "Of course, but I'm pretty sure you told me that you couldn't care less about me or my kids," Meredith teased him with a cheeky smile on her face.

"Well, that might have been a small lie," his voice had dipped to a whisper. "I've missed you while you've been out, Grey." That admission had shocked him, he hadn't even realised the words that had come out of his mouth.

Meredith shared at him in shock, "Oh." She stumbled over her words; she had not been expecting him to say that.

Before she had caught the virus the two of them had been spending more time together. Whiskey in his office, tequila in hers, although he always complained about her choice of drink. They had shared more about their lives during between the drinks and had gotten to know each other better.

Meredith had felt that attraction to him, felt herself wanting to spend more time with him but she hadn't said anything. She knew that Cormac hadn't been with anyone with Abigail had passed away and moving on was something that he had to do in his own time and that was if he even wanted to move on. So, she had decided to stay quiet. The last thing she had expected was to wake up from a coma and have Hayes tell her that he missed her.

"I've missed you too," she admitted to him in a voice just as quiet. "it's nice to be back in the land of the living and see you again."

The butterflies flooded his stomach all over again and Cormac finally realised that this was the way he had felt when he had first spoken to Abigail. In the back of his mind, he had known for quite a while that his feelings for Meredith Grey were no longer platonic but had tried not to think about it too much. But upon hearing that Meredith was awake and had finally tested negative for Covid-19, his feeling no longer wanted to stay locked away and he was struggling to keep them at bay.

"Maybe you wouldn't mind joining me for a drink and some food when you're finally allowed back. We could do lunch, in my office?"

This wasn't his ideal first date but given the state of the world and their jobs, it was the best that he could do. He just hoped she wouldn't laugh at his lame attempt.

"I don't think I would mind that at all."

[babeyvenus]

The Wolf Among Us

Bigby x OC

Summary: Sonya Blaze, A.K.A. Hell Rider, is a half fable, half mundy girl who comes to Fabletown to learn more about her side of the folktales. She works alongside Sheriff Bigby Wolf's as his newest partner and together they strive to find out who's behind the unexpected murders in Fabletown.

TW: Mentions of death, gore/blood, alcohol, smoking, drugs, sex implications, suicide, guns and ofc language.

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Chapter 13: These Lips...

Bigby’s eyes opened to the sound of loud thunder shaking his apartment as he looked around. His eyes widened at the sight of large amounts of blood leading up to his chair. He looks up in shock to see Bloody Mary’s smirk as she held the Woodsman’s axe. She lifted it to swing at him. “See you around.”

Bigby wakes up in a small jolt, wincing in pain to see blood covered Snow, an unconscious Sonya, and Colin who avoids Bigby’s blood and paces around the room. He looks down to see Dr. Swineheart focused intently and trying to get pieces of a silver bullet lodged into his skin from earlier.

“Hollow-point bullets are a nasty business. The silver slug deformed and shredded on impact.” Swineheart informed Snow.

“He’ll be okay, though?”, Snow asked. “Hmm?” Swineheart said, too concentrated on Bigby. “He’ll be okay?”, Snow asked. "His internal organs are positively riddled. If I don’t extract every single scrap of silver, he’s liable to suffer some long term toxicosis.“, Swineheart says.

Bigby groaned as he looked around again. Swineheart noticed his awakened form. "Easy there. Try not to move.”

Bigby mumbled and gargled on blood until he turned his head and spit out blood on the floor. “Oh, Bigby…”, Snow gasped, covering her mouth. Bigby looks down at his left arm, which still has his bone sticking out of his skin.

“We can’t keep meeting like this, old boy….”, Swineheart says, looking up at him. “I figure I’d be done with you before you were conscious. But there’s little I can do for the pain.”

“My arm…”, Bigby mumbled, weakly.

“Yes, very ugly. But not life-threatening. I can’t say the same for these bullets peppered throughout your vital organs.”, Swineheart pulls out a few pieces of silver and places them in a glass cup.

Bigby groans in pain, slightly moving his hand. “Please, Bigby, don’t move it!” Snow pleaded and looked at Swineheart. “Doctor…”

"Look, I’m a bit engaged in saving his life at the moment, but if the fractured extremity concerns him that much, he can set it himself.“, Swineheart said. Bigby looks down at his arm and uses his right hand to grab his left hand and pull it, he groans, letting it go for a moment as his left arm flops to the side of the chair.

Snow gasps, as Bigby tries again and sets the bone back in his arm. His eyes turn yellow as he yells out in pain and slumps forward. His yell makes Sonya stir awake, groaning at the bright luminescent lights.

"Hm. Not bad. That’ll do, I suppose.”, she hears Swineheart say. “He’s lucky to be alive. And he won’t be next time if he keeps going like this. He didn’t listen to me before.” Then Swineheart turned his head to Snow. “Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

“He hasn’t exactly been doing that lately.” Snow said. "Well, he should.“ Swineheart said, firmly. "There are limits to even what I can do.”

“This…is the….job….” Bigby said, weakly. “Quiet. Just relax.” Swineheart reassured as he pulled out more silver shrapnel.

Colin notices Sonya and walks over to her. “You awake, toots?” Sonya looks at the talking pig, realizing that he had to have been from the Three Little Pigs.

She lifted her head up to look at Snow. The woman wasn’t paying attention. Sonya rolled her eyes and looked at Bigby. “You’re alive. Good.”, she says, giving him a smile in relief.

Bigby looked over at her, slightly relieved. “You’re more worried about me… you should take a look at yourself.”, he says, giving her a pained smile.

“You both look like broken dolls.”, Colin says, making Bigby frown. Sonya looked down at her broken arm. “Oh...right.”, she mumbled. She lifted her good arm to wipe her mouth, disgusted at the metallic flavor.

Snow finally turns to her. “What even happened out there?” Sonya frowned. “We got into a little predicament and almost died. What do you think?”

Snow didn’t like her answer. Swineheart finished up with Bigby and walked over to Sonya. “I thought you said you wouldn’t become a frequent patient, Miss Blaze.”, he said, lightly. “I know. I’ll try my best not to be like Bigby.”, she joked, nasally as he fixed her nose, placing a cold bandage on top. “I’m right over here.”, Bigby grumbled.

Swineheart stitched her side, much to her discomfort and had to pull out the bullet lodged into her thigh. Now the hardest part was getting her to be still so he could set her arm. It wasn’t nearly as broken as Bigby’s but it still hurt like hell.

“Miss Blaze, if you won’t let me help, it’ll get worse and the worst case scenario will be that you’ll have to amputate it.”, Swineheart informed, making Sonya even more wary. Bigby got up and walked to his kitchen and came back out with a wooden spatula.

She looked up at him with a pained smile. “You cook?” Bigby rolled his eyes at her joke. “Just bite the damn thing.”

She sighed and took it, placing the spatula in her mouth and bit hard. “Alright. Get ready.”, Swineheart prepared, making Sonya bite harder and scream in pain as he snapped her arm back into place before wrapping it up.

Sonya slumped back, letting go of the spatula and closed her eyes. “That...sucked.”, she says, weakly and slightly hoarse. Swineheart packed his things. “I dunno about that. I’d say you did better than Bigby.”, Colin says, teasingly.

“Cause I once watched a vet sew up a turtle together in ten minutes flat.” Colin sneered at Swineheart.

The doctor turned to Bigby. “Eat as many metal shillings as you see fit, but just take one more silver round near your heart again….and the only place I’ll be visiting you is the morgue.” Swineheart said, making everyone look at him in shock. “He’ll be fine for light duty….IF he can figure out what that means.”

“He knows what it means. It’s just been….an unusual couple of days.”, Sonya said. “I know, but please, don’t give him an excuse.”, Swineheart said. “His body will eventually give out. Take care of him. Please.” Sonya nodded. “We got him.”

“He’ll need rest, I assume.”, Snow said.

“Sleep, mostly. Just keep watch.”, Swineheart nodded. “And make sure he doesn’t get into further altercations."

"I’m right here, guys.”, Bigby repeats, his words falling on deaf ears.

“Anyway….Guard against as they say. Miss White. Deputy. Sheriff.”, Swineheart says as he nods, then he turns to Colin in annoyance. “Colin.”

“Swiney.” Colin replies back at him as Swineheart leaves the apartment.

Bigby goes to his kitchen, opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of whiskey, and starts to drink from it. Sonya gets up and walks over to the kitchen, leaning in the doorway. “So….how do you, um, feel?”

“It’s Bigby, toots….he’ll be okay. Hell, I’ve seen him take worse.”, Colin said as Bigby shook his head at Colin’s statement and looks at her, stretching his shoulders and arms. Sonya grimaced at the sound of cracks coming from him.

“About as good as could be expected. I think.”, he replies. “So….not well, then.” Colin said, making Bigby roll his eyes. “You just almost died….I’m glad you’re not dead.”, Sonya said.

Bigby smiles as Sonya walks up to him. He leans against the counters and rubs his wrapped arm with his right hand. “After they left...You, uh,” She swallows. “You stopped breathing, you know….when you passed out….or died….I guess. I think I passed out after Nerissa came to me.”

She raised her right hand, and hesitantly placed it gently on his bandaged arm, her eyes targeted his wrapped hand.

He looked at her, trying to catch her eyes. She couldn't look him in the eyes. “When you got shot...you scared the shit out of me. I don’t think I was prepared to see you drop like that.” She chuckled shakily.

“I panicked… I usually stay under control but she went for that axe and I- ….I couldn’t-” She lowered her head, feeling tears collect in her eyes. “I couldn’t let her kill you…”

Bigby frowned, his heart pulling at the sound of her soft, wavering voice. He lifted her head, his hand cupping her chin. “It's gonna take a lot more than that to get rid of me.”, he said, giving her a confident smile. “I wouldn’t let you live in this harsh world without me.”, he quoted.

Her eyes widened a bit as she smiled, recognizing her statement two days ago. “You ass…”, she chuckled, wiping at her eyes.

“Yeah, you were really fucked up, man. You looked like when they take an action figure and bend his limbs the wrong way…” Colin said, making the two jump and turn to look at him.

Bigby rolls his eyes to the sky. “Colin….”, Sonya says, exasperated. “Colin, shut the hell up.”, Bigby said, leaving the kitchen.

Sonya shook her head, exiting the kitchen. Snow stood off to the side, motioning to the door. “Can we talk?” Sonya frowned and nodded, walking out of the apartment. “We’ll be back!”, she announced to the other two and closed the door behind her.

Sonya walks away from the door, far enough where Bigby didn’t have to hear and waited for Snow to stand in front of her. “What happened?”, Snow asked.

“Some woman named Bloody Mary and the Tweedles cornered us. Demanding that we give up Crane and, of course, Bigby wasn’t having it. The twins shot him and transformed into this Lycan and then beat the Tweedles and she shot him. He couldn’t even move and I panicked because she was gonna kill him with the Woodsman’s axe. I don’t even know how she got it in the first place.”, Sonya explained.

“I fought her for a while but she put me down and was about to kill Bigby but I couldn’t let that happen...so I gave up Crane.”, she says, looking down. Snow was speechless but angry. “How- How could you let them even have Crane?”

Sonya looked up in disbelief. “Are you seriously about to give me shit for trying to save the Sheriff?? He was shot with a silver bullet. What the fuck was I supposed to do?”, she whisper-yelled. “If you were strong enough to fight, you could’ve done something better.”, Snow argues.

“First of all, it was raining, second, we were kinda in a cramped area so I couldn’t go all out even if I wanted to. That was my first time having to fight knowing that there was something to lose. I couldn’t concentrate on that. I panicked.”, Sonya fussed.

Snow shook her head. “If that’s what it takes for you to give up so easily, you shouldn’t be working with him.” Sonya’s eyes widened. “Are you serious…?”

“When this case is over, you’ll be on leave until we need you.”, Snow declared. “Uh, you’re not my boss. Bigby is. He gets to decide that.”

Snow shook her head. “With Crane gone, I’m Deputy Mayor, which means I get to decide what you do and where you’ll go.” And with that, she walks back to Bigby’s apartment with a steaming Sonya behind her.

As they walked inside, Sonya changed her expression to a blank one. Bigby looked up. “You guys settle whatever you needed?”, he asked. Sonya gave him a smile, sitting back in the chair she was in. “Yup. Girl talk’s over.”

Colin turned to Bigby. “You still look like crap.” Sonya gaped at Colin. “Colin, really?”

“I’m just sayin’, I was worried about him, is all. The guy hasn’t had a night’s rest in days…”, Colin said as Bigby walks towards the dressed to get dressed in new clothes. “We’ll all get some rest when this whole thing is done.”, Snow said.

“What whole thing? What’s even happenin' out there?”, Colin asked. “I mean, do you guys even have a plan or somethin’? And who should I be asking? Should I be worried about the Crooked Man taking over? Or is Crane still a thing?”

“The Crooked Man, Bloody Mary, the Tweedles…..this is bigger than what I thought it was.”, Bigby said, facing the other three. “Its even worse if he showed up instead of hanging back in his lair.”, Sonya said.

“The Crooked Man stepped out of the shadows for a reason….for him to attack you two so blatantly like that….he either feels invincible or desperate.”, Snow said.

“Well, if those are my two options….I don’t think I’d pick desperate.”, Colin said.

“What do you mean?”, Sonya asked.

“You traded Crane. To save Bigby. I’m just sayin’….that’s not exactly somethin’ you do when you’re playin’ with house money…”, Colin replied.

“Crane traded Lily’s life for sex and called it a little thing to lose just because he lost “so much more”. If it came down to a second chance,” She grit her teeth, glaring at every one of them. “I’d do it again.”

"About that...Thanks for all that.”, Bigby said, smiling. “Thanks? You’re not pissed that Crane’s flown the cope? Or that the Crooked Man thinks he’s got you guys under his thumb?”, Colin asked Bigby in disbelief.

“What else could she have done? If she didn’t hand him over, my ass would be down the Witching Well and Crane still would have been taken.”, Bigby said.

“Okay, okay, I’ll take your word for it.” Colin said, in surrender.

“All I care about right now is….just what does the Crooked Man want out of this?”, Snow asked. “I thought he was just a….loan shark. But clearly, he’s operating in other circles. It can’t just be about Crane, right? Getting him out of town? Is this all about the murders?"

"Crane was a puppet, and the Crooked Man worked the strings. This is all about control of Fabletown.”, Bigby said to her. “But then what do prostitutes have to do with it? Lily….and Faith?” Snow asked.

“I don’t know how it all works out yet, but I know it does….somehow.”, Bigby shrugged.

“The Crooked Man…declared war against us last night. I now see this war has been going on for years. We haven’t noticed it, because our way of doing things is broken. We need to do things the right way.”, Snow said.

“What does that mean? The right way?”, Colin asked.

“What do you think I mean?” Snow asked him, now irritated with him.

“I don’t know, but it suspiciously sounds like your way. Bigby and Sonya are the only ones on the front lines. You can’t give them a leash. Especially Bigby. We need him more than ever.”, Colin said.

“A little restraint and thought behind things will never hurt anyone, Colin.”, Snow said.

“Okay, but what is this right way?”, Sonya asked.

“We haven’t been doing a good job. You, Bigby and I. So, starting now….we do everything cut and dried, by the book, straight as an arrow.” Snow said, making Sonya roll her eyes and look out the nearby window. “Pure as driven snow…”, Colin mutters.

“I’m not saying I’m the arbiter of–”

“Sure you’re not.”, Colin huffs.

“This town has enough monsters.”, Snow says, making Sonya’s attention snap toward her. “Are you serious-”

Snow turned to Bigby. “What happened last night….what you turned into, Bigby….it can’t happen again.”, Snow said. “We need monsters to fight monsters.”, Colin remarks.

“Colin, if I really believed that we needed him to lose his flippin’ mind at a moment’s notice….then that would mean I’d lost all faith in our ability to help this town.” Snow said then she turned back to Bigby and said. “Just let that side of you be done, okay?”

“What the hell is wrong with you two?? He’s not a fuckin’ monster!!”, Sonya yelled, getting up. “What the hell would you’ve done if you got shot with buckshots!? Die, right!? Bigby had every right to retaliate the way he did."

She shoved a finger at Snow. "You told us to bring Crane back and that’s what we were trying to do. It's not like anyone from the opposing side got killed. We were the ones that almost died and the thing you point out is whether or not Bigby’s a monster!? You have got to be out of your mind!”

“There are degrees-”, Snow argues. “Degrees?? I only ever do what’s necessary.”, Bigby said. “Really?”, Snow asked in disbelief. She turned to Colin and Sonya. “Do you believe him?”

Sonya and Colin looked at each other before looking at her. “Uh, yeah.”

“Look, you two. I care about how this is done just as much as I care about it getting done.”, Snow said.

“So for that you wanna give them a handicap? Like the bad guys will worry if shit gets sloppy. Everybody wants Bigby to smile and shave and take a shower now and then. Hell, I’m practically the President of the "Bigby, Don’t Be Such A Dick Club", but this is the wrong fucking time to put shackles on him.”, Colin said.

“Thank you.”, Sonya says. “Yeah…thanks, Colin.”, Bigby said, smiling at the pig. Colin gives him a nod before he turns back to Snow. “He and Sonya will get the job done. Just let them do it.”, he said.

“I’m going to– I’m going to let you do it, okay? It’s just that…now that I’m Deputy Mayor, I need your respect from both of you.”, Snow said, turning to Sonya and Bigby. Sonya rolls her eyes, propping her chin in her hand. Snow looks down at Colin and points at him. “And this situation….has to end.”

“What situation?”, Colin asked in irritation.

“All unglamoured Fables, starting today, have to go and stay at The Farm.”, Snow declared. “Oh, give me a fuckin’ break!”, Colin shouts. He turns to Bigby. “Are you gonna let her talk to me like that?”

“No one’s gonna notice a pig walking around. Well-”, Sonya started and shook her head.

“And what if a mundy does see me, huh? I’m a pig, not a mouse with a hat and a cane! They know what a pig is! It’s not the end of the world!”, Colin shouted, angry with Snow.

"Well...they are crazy about animal control...but as long as you're in Fabletown, it shouldn't be a problem.", Sonya says.

“Look, everyone just calm down, alright?”, Bigby said. “I’m perfectly calm.”, Snow said, brushing herself off.

Suddenly, Bigby’s phone rings. “I’m not! Tell me right now, what’s it gonna be, Bigby?”, Colin asked him. Snow goes to answer the phone. "Wolf’s residence.“, Snow said, snarky. "Rude.”, Sonya muttered, making Colin smile.

“Oh, Bufkin, what is it?” Snow asked, catching everyone’s attention. She’s quiet for a moment before she nods again. “Okay, I’ll let him know. Thanks.” She hangs up the phone and turns to face them. “Guess who’s waiting in your office right now?”, she said to Bigby. He shrugs at her.

“Nerissa.”, Snow says. “Nerissa? That broad from the Pudding n’ Pie?”, Colin asked. “Yes. Apparently she told Bufkin that she has something she needs to talk to you about…but she’ll only tell you.”, Snow said. “What do you think that could be?”

“Awww, Bigby’s got an admirer. You always do well with the, uh, disenfranchised. Something about your prickly demeanor attracts them like a moth to a flame.”, Colin said, nodding his head over at Sonya. Bigby rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“She knows something…she’s helped me a little with the case, maybe she has something else.”, Bigby says.

“We gotta go talk to her then.”, Sonya said, getting up. “I should get back to the Business Office, I’ve left Bufkin alone for too long taking calls.”, Snow said, walking towards the door.

She then turns around to face Sonya. “You might want to look a little more presentable than you look right now.", she says, making Sonya glare at her.

“Ditto.”, Sonya says in irritation. Snow looks between her, Bigby, and Colin. “Consider this discussion tabled, but not over. Let me know when you’re done with Nerissa.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”, Colin rolls his eyes. Snow leaves, leaving the other three annoyed. Sonya growled, her blood boiling as her hair lights up for a moment before she calms down. “I’m gonna go get cleaned up.”

Bigby nods. “Come by my office later then.”

“Yeah, I actually like Nerissa so she’ll be a sight to see.”, Sonya smiles, before waving at the two and heads out.

Bigby smiles and sighs softly. “Hey, you’re not really gonna send me to The Farm, are ya?”, Colin asked him. “I mean…Snow seemed real serious about it. But I can still hang out here…Right?”

“Look, uh, maybe a few will get sent up, but you’re my friend, Colin. I wouldn’t do that to you.”, Bigby said. Colin smiled at him. “Thanks, Bigby.”, Colin said.

Bigby walks out of his apartment and towards his office. Before he could, he held it with his arm and paused to relax a bit. He takes a deep breath before turning to his door and opens it to see Nerissa standing inside of his office.

“Hi, Sheriff.”, Nerissa said, smiling. “Hi, Nerissa.”, Bigby greeted, walking in his office and shuts the door. “Have a seat.” He walks over to his desk and sits in his chair, sighing softly. Nerissa sits in a chair across from him, watching Bigby rub his face in exhaustion.

“I, um….are you okay?”, Nerissa asked nervously. “You didn’t look good last night. I wasn’t sure you’d be….you know, around…if I came by.”

“Let’s just say I’ve been better.”, He says, then coughs. He picks up a pack of his cigarettes and pulls one out with his mouth afterwards and offers his pack to Nerissa. “Huff n’ Puffs?”, she asked, amused. “Not many people smoke those.”

She pulls out her own pack of cigarettes and puts one in her mouth. Bigby lights his cigarette and offers his lighter to light hers. Once he did, she sat back down and took a drag out of her cigarette. “Thanks.” A soft knock raps on the office door, making Nerissa clutch her purse in fear.

“That’s probably Sonya. I forgot to let you know she was coming.”, he says, seeing her visibly relax. He took it as an okay and opened the door to see Sonya rubbing her shoulder. She was dressed in a black, long sleeve turtleneck shirt with red jeans and combat boots.

She smiled at him, sleepily rubbing her eye, “Hey. I’m not late, am I?” He shook his head and let her in. She smiles at Nerissa. “Hey, how’re you feeling?” Nerissa gives her a soft smile. “I’m okay.”

Sonya nods and sits on Bigby’s desk, ignoring his annoyed glare. “So what was that back there with Crane? He wanted you to tell us something. You know it’s not too late to talk.”, Bigby sitting back in his seat. “There’s not a lot I can talk about.”, Nerissa replied.

“So that spell Crane was trying to break….it’s not just while you’re at work, huh?”, Sonya asks, crossing her arms as Nerissa takes a long drag of the cigarette and taps the ashes into the ashtray.

“What I mean is…I don’t want to waste your time. But I don’t want either of you wasting your own time, either.” Nerissa said.

“Back at the dressing room, at the Pudding n’ Pie, I told you what I was looking for. And you found a way to tell me. You sent me to The Open Arms. Maybe that will work again?”, Bigby asked her.

Nerissa looks down then back at both of them. “You can try. I just….go ahead. It…might work.”

“You’re here because the Crooked Man sent Crane to the bottom of our list of worries. And you have something you want to say about that, right?”, Bigby asked.

Nerissa closes her eyes, sighing. “These lips are sealed.” She opened her eyes. “If I could answer you just like that…I wouldn’t have had to make that appointment with you.”

“I guess that makes sense...”, Sonya said, frowning. “Sometimes….we have to find our way through life on our own. Grasping and fumbling in the dark. I…I used to have friends. To help me find my way. But now…they’re gone. And I don’t know what to do.”, Nerissa said, her voice wavering as she smokes her cigarette again.

“Are you trying to say something about Faith and Lily?”, Bigby asked her. “What I’m saying is friends matter. And I…I don’t have any left. So I hope you’re looking after yours.”, Nerissa corrects him as she looks directly at Sonya and Bigby.

“Who are you talking about?”, Bigby asked but she didn't say anything. “Are our friends in danger?”, Sonya asked.

She looks down in sadness. “I’m sorry. I thought I could do this.” She shakes her head. “I need you to know….I want to help, but….but…”

“But your lips are sealed.”, Sonya says, looking down. Nerissa smokes once more. “I’m…sorry if I’m wasting your time. I thought I knew how to say it….”

“Ribbons…”, Bigby said, catching Sonya’s attention. She looked over at Nerissa’s. “Faith wore one, too.”

“Do you like it?”, Nerissa asked as she points at it. “How can I? It’s a tool to keep you stuck in that life. Subservient…”, Bigby says, frowning sadly.

“The ribbons…. That’s why you can’t tell us anything…it’s the ribbon, isn’t it?”, Sonya asks, frowning at it. Bigby puts his cigarette out and walks over to Nerissa.

He raised his hand, making Sonya’s eyes widen at his actions. “You mind if I just…”

Sonya slaps his hand, making him retract it. “The hell was that for!?”, he growled, shaking his hand. Sonya glared at him before glancing at Nerissa’s terrified look and looked back at him.

She pulled his ear, whispering in it. “If you even think about touching it, you’ll lose a hand.” He pulled away, his mouth gaping at her.

She shook her head and looked back at Nerissa. “You don’t have to answer me but I think I understand now. Based off of what we’ve seen...if you take it off…”, Sonya slid finger across her neck.

Nerissa looked down in sadness, giving Sonya a confirmation. Sonya glared at Bigby as he avoided her eyes.

"We’ll fix this.”, he says. Nerissa looks up and smiles at them. They gave her a smile in return and turned their attention to the door, hearing a knock. Nerissa turns, clutching her purse in fear. “If anyone finds out I came here…”

“That’s probably Snow.”, Bigby said, making Sonya roll her eyes. He goes to the door. “Listen…Sheriff…Deputy.” Nerissa said, making them turn to face her. “Can you two keep this conversation between us? I could be in a lot of trouble. I shouldn’t even be talking to you guys.”, she said. “We won’t tell anyone, don’t worry.”, Bigby says. “Thank you.” Nerissa said, smiling.

“Sorry, I just need to talk to the Sheriff and Deputy for a moment. Please excuse us.”, Snow said as Nerissa nods. Sonya sighed, rolling her eyes and getting off the desk.

Sonya and Bigby turn to Snow. “I might have a new lead for you, but I don’t know how solid it is. Beauty and Beast called the office just now. They said they wanted to talk to you about something. I wonder if they’ve heard about Crane….”, Snow informs.

“Thank you for listening, Sheriff and Deputy. You two should go on to your next business. I don’t think you’ll be wasting your time.”, Nerissa suddenly says and rushes out. “Uh, wait, you don’t have to go…” Snow said, but Nerissa ignored her, walking away.

“Welp,” Sonya says, popping the p. “There goes that.”

“That was….abrupt.”, Snow said, confused. “It’s…one way to send a message.”, Bigby mutters as he goes over to his desk. Sonya leaned on the wall. “What did she tell you?” Snow asked you and Bigby. “I didn’t mean to rush her out.”

“We handled it.”, Sonya says, “We came to an understanding.” Snow frowned at her. Bigby rubs his temples with one hand. “We got it, Snow. I think she knows we’re on the right path.”

“Okay, then. Good work.” Snow said, pulling at her shirt. Bigby picks up his pack of cigarettes out of his desk, pulls another one cigarette out and lights it.

“So, about Beauty and Beast. Do you think there’s something to it? Is this the right place to look? What could they know about the Crooked Man?”, Snow asked. “That’s what Nerissa was doing. Telling us to go there. I think she made it as clear as she could have.”, Bigby said and Snow nods.

The three of them walk out of his office as Snow speaks up. “You know, Beauty came to me a while back….she was looking for…financial assistance. I told her there was nothing I could do, and…and she said that meant she’d have to go somewhere else.”

The three walk over to the elevator. “Guys, you don’t think she meant that she was going to go to the Crooked Man, do you?”, Snow asked nervously. “Its a possibility.”, Sonya says.

“Well, at the Tweedles, I did find a file with her name on it, along with a list of how much money she owes him.”, Bigby informed.

Snow’s eyes widened. “We need to solve this before something else happens. Who knows what….” The elevator doors open, letting Bigby and Sonya enter as Snow stays out. “I have….other matters to attend to.”

The doors closed leaving Bigby and Sonya in silence. For a moment, Sonya closes her eyes as she leaned on the elevator walls.

"Tired?", Bigby asked, making her open her eyes. "A little...", she says, as the doors open. They walk out, heading to the apartment.

"Y'know...when I passed out, I think that was the most peaceful sleep I've gotten in a while.", she chuckles. Bigby makes a small grunt. "You do know you can take a break right?"

Sonya frowned and pointed at him in warning. "Don't start." He held his hands up in mock surrender.

[useless-catalanfacts]

Why is Pablo Hasel justifying and praising terrosist groups??

I’m not sure if you’re asking why Pablo Hasél is accused of praising terrorist groups or why he said what he said. So I’ll answer both things lol.

He got sentenced to jail because of different verses from his rap songs and some tweets. To be precise, the judges have considered that he published 64 tweets that were either against the Spanish monarchy (yes, “offense against the Crown” is a crime in Spain) or praising the armed organisations GRAPO and ETA. These are the tweets that caused more scandal:

“Los parásitos de los Borbones siguen de trapis con los decapitadores de los homosexuales”: “the Bourbon parasites are still doing business with the ones who decapitate homosexuals”

This is a reference to the fact that the Bourbon family (the dynasty of the Spanish monarchy) are, in fact, doing business and being friends with the monarchy of Saudi Arabia, where human rights are not respected at all.

It is a fact that Saudi Arabia condemns homosexuality as a crime: gay people caught for the first time are flogged or jailed and if the “offense” is repeated they are sentenced to death penalty (source). It’s also a fact that King Juan Carlos I has had a long friendship and business relation with the Al Saud dynasty. In 1979, the Saudi monarchy gave Juan Carlos I a yacht as a gift (which he accepted and used for his holidays for years), when the king Fahd of Saudi Arabia died in 2005 the president of Spain José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero (from the PSOE party) declared a national day of mourning for the Saudi king as was suggested to him by the Spanish monarchy, in 2008 king Juan Carlos I received 100 million euros from Saudi Arabia, in 2007 Juan Carlos gave Abdullah bin Abdulaziz Al Saud (brother of the current king of Saudi Arabia) the collar of the Order of the Golden Fleece (the highest chivalry honour that the King of Spain can give), in 2011 Juan Carlos intervened to the king of Saudi Arabia to get the contract of the high velocity train to Mecca (which is valued in 7,000 million dollars) assigned to a Spanish business, in 2019 the Panama papers revealed an offshore foundation that the Saudi monarchy had used to give the Spanish monarchy 100 million euros... Just a few examples that prove this relation. (Source). And now Juan Carlos I is living in the United Arab Emirates, another country with harsh punishments for homosexuality (among other human rights violations).

So Pablo Hasél was just stating the facts in that sentence.

“El mafioso de mierda del Rey dando lecciones desde un palacio”: “the fucking mafioso King giving lessons from a palace”

Given the many cases of corruption that the king has been involved in, as well as his intervention in the economy (such as profiting from big businesses that had profited from Franco’s dictatorship) and pressure in politics, it’s not so crazy to call him (and his family clan) a mafioso. In fact, the French TV news literally called Juan Carlos I a “gangster” once.

As for the “giving lessons from a palace”, that’s what he does in his Christmas speech or any other time he addresses the citizens, as if we all had it so easy as living and owning multiple palaces with hundreds of maids and not having to work while getting all kinds of luxuries payed for with public money. Not just Juan Carlos, Felipe VI is the same (remember when he went to Cuba to give them lessons on democracy, but then pretended everything was perfect in the visit to Saudi Arabia?).

Once again, Pablo Hasél was not being far from the truth.

“Guardia Civil torturando o disparando a emigrantes”: “the Civil Guard [Spanish military police force] torturing or shooting migrants”

The Civil Guard literally shoots rubber bullets at migrants who are trying to get on Spanish soil in Ceuta (source). By shooting them rubber bullets, the migrant people fall back on the water, and many drown. The Civil Guard murders and tortures migrants. And everything that takes place inside CIEs (migrant detention centers) can also be called torture with no doubt.

Again, these are facts.

Those were posts on social media, he has also been sentenced because of the lyrics of his songs. Here are some sentences from his song “Juan Carlos el Bobón” (the title is a pun with the words "Borbón”-Bourbon- and “bobo”-stupid-).

“Me cago en la marca España explotadora y casposa”: “the exploiter and braggart brand Spain can go fuck itself”

That’s self-explanatory. A personal opinion you can agree or disagree with, but given the things we’ve mentioned in this post and so many more, it’s perfectly understandable that he would feel like this. And he should be free to say it.

“Si Froilán se disparó en el pie siendo menor de edad igual ahora que es mayor de edad va a disparar a toda la Familia Real”: “if Froilán shot himself in the foot when he was underage, maybe now that he’s an adult he’ll shoot the whole Royal Family”

For those who don’t know, Froilán is the son of Infanta Elena, and so the nephew of the current king Philip VI. This line is a reference to 2012, when he was shooting in one of his parents’ possessions and he accidentally shot himself in the foot. It was illegal for him to be shooting in the first place, because Spanish law prohibits kids under 14 years of age to hold firearms, but of course nothing happened to his parents for doing illegal things because they’re the royal family.

Unsurprisingly, this line is considered “offense to the Crown”. It’s not a threat from Hasél, it’s just wishful thinking that I’m sure many people share.

And lines from other songs by Pablo Hasél:

“Siempre hay algún indigente despierto con quien comentar que se debe matar a Aznar”: “there’s always some homeless person awake with whom to talk about the need to kill Aznar”

José María Aznar was president of Spain between 1996 and 2004 with the right-wing party Partido Popular (PP). He was a shit president, during his presidency the labour rights decreased and left thousands of workers with way less protection than before, he focused a lot of his work as president on making the economy more neoliberal and left thousands of workers with unfair salaries and harsh working conditions by allowing the owners to fire and decrease pay at will. He also gave support to the USA in the occupation of Iraq, even when the population had been protesting against it (I was only 4 or 5 years old at the time and even I remember one of the general strikes against it).

“¡Merece que explote el coche de Patxi López!”: “Patxi López’s car deserves to explode”

“¡Que alguien clave un piolet en la cabeza a José Bono!”: “Someone stab an axe on José Bono’s head!”

“No me da pena tu tiro en la nuca, 'pepero'. Me da pena el que muere en una patera. No me da pena tu tiro en la nuca, 'socialisto'. Me da pena el que muere en un andamio”: “I’m not feeling sorry for the shot in the back of your neck, pepero [member of the PP party]. I feel sorry for the ones who die in dinghy boats. I don’t feel sorry for the shot in the back of your neck, socialisto [member of the PSOE party]. I feel sorry for the ones who die in a scaffold”.

“Prefiero grapos que guapos”: “I prefer GRAPOs to handsomes” (a pun). GRAPO was a communist and anti-imperialism armed organisation.

“Mi hermano entra en la sede del PP gritando ¡Gora ETA! A mí no me venden el cuento de quiénes son los malos, sólo pienso en matarlos”: “My brother goes in the PP’s headquarters shouting ‘Gora ETA!’. They won’t sell me the tale of who are the bad guys, I’m only thinking of killing them”

“Es un error no escuchar lo que canto, como Terra Lliure dejando vivo a Losantos”: “It’s a mistake to not listen to what I sing, like when Terra Lliure left Losantos alive”. Terra Lliure was a short-lived communist organisation that wanted to fight for the independence of the Catalan Countries through armed struggle. Jiménez Losantos is a fascist radio host who tells all kinds of lies and manipulates information to spread right-wingism, hatred towards national minorities, homophobia, etc.

“Los Grapo eran defensa propia ante el imperialismo y su crimen”: “GRAPO were self-defense against imperialism and its crime”.

“Quienes manejan los hilos merecen mil kilos de amonal”: “those who pull the strings deserve 1000 kg of ammonal”

“Pienso en balas que nucas de jueces nazis alcancen”: “I think of the bullets that would reach the nazi judges’ back of the necks”

None of these sentences are serious threats / plans at the moment. On the contrary, when the politicians he mentions make policies that directly cause deaths (of migrant people at the borders, suicides in migrant detention centers, of workers in their workplace, of people whose heat and gas is cut off or who are evicted, of women murdered by their husbands because they didn’t have anywhere to go for help, etc), now those are real crimes, aren’t they?

Pablo Hasél has been very vocal about being a communist. So I’ll copy-paste Friedrich Engels’ definition of “social murder”. I don’t know what Pablo had in mind when writing those lyrics but I think this fragments helps understand where he’s coming from.

When one individual inflicts bodily injury upon another such that death results, we call the deed manslaughter; when the assailant knew in advance that the injury would be fatal, we call his deed murder. But when society places hundreds of proletarians in such a position that they inevitably meet a too early and an unnatural death, one which is quite as much a death by violence as that by the sword or bullet; when it deprives thousands of the necessaries of life, places them under conditions in which they cannot live — forces them, through the strong arm of the law, to remain in such conditions until that death ensues which is the inevitable consequence — knows that these thousands of victims must perish, and yet permits these conditions to remain, its deed is murder just as surely as the deed of the single individual; disguised, malicious murder, murder against which none can defend himself, which does not seem what it is, because no man sees the murderer, because the death of the victim seems a natural one, since the offence is more one of omission than of commission. But murder it remains. (Engels, The Condition of the Working-Class in England, 1845)

So we can agree or disagree with Pablo Hasél and what he says or his way of saying it, but that doesn’t mean he should be jailed because of it. And it’s incredibly hypocritical to consider saying (not doing, just saying!) that “there’s always some homeless person to talk about the need to kill Aznar with” is violence, but to ignore that Aznar’s involvement in the Iraq helped kill thousands of civilians (for a lie, because Iraq did NOT have weapons of mass destruction!) and caused the misery and indirectly the death of so many workers.

If your question was why did Pablo Hasél say these things, I think two of the sentences we said sum it up:

“I’m not feeling sorry for the shot in the back of your neck, pepero [member of the PP party]. I feel sorry for the ones who die in dinghy boats. I don’t feel sorry for the shot in the back of your neck, socialisto [member of the PSOE party]. I feel sorry for the ones who die in a scaffold” and “GRAPO were self-defense against imperialism and its crime”. Pablo Hasél was highlighting how the current situation we live in is already violence. Violence inflicted by capitalism, imperialism and hatred, so he would consider his words self-defense.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Geralt and the Minotaur p5

Y’all can thank @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher for how fast this came out. Brain Cell Bae, feast on the serotonin my dear 💖

Pairing: Geraskier

Warnings: canon consistent violence, blood, gore, fight scene, talk of human sacrifice, talk of child sacrifice, talk of animal sacrifice, reference to bestiality, talk of dismembering monsters, beheading monsters 

some background for y’all that don’t know: King Minos had a deal with Poseidon that he would sacrifice his prize bull to the god every year but one year Minos couldn’t do it. He was way obsessed with this fine ass bull and sacrificed the second best and Poseidon got PISSED. So, like the little shit he is, he made Minos’ wife get hot for the bull and hence we have the Minotaur. This is an extra big no no in ancient Greece bc bulls were practically worshiped and seen as holy. There’s some other fucked up shit to do with bull sex but like I’ll let you live on in blissful ignorance like I wish I could. 

also just in case y’all didn’t know the Greeks used to collect and sell gladiators sweat as perfume. Idk how that smelled good but like, as a thirsty hoe, I kinda get it. 

heres part 4!

__________

Geralt woke to screams. 

It took him a moment to realize what was happening, let alone where he was. Jaskier was curled in his arms, still sound asleep as the screams made way to sobs and the singing of a sword being pulled from its scabbard. It was time, but Geralt felt nothing.

He shook Jaskier awake and snatched the ball of twine and sword, tucking the blade into his belt and praying to Athena, Poseidon, any god that would listen that the guards wouldn’t shove it loose. Jaskier snatched the twine from his hand and stowed it in his own clothes just in time for the soldiers to reach their cell. 

They were ushered at sword point up a path to the back of the palace where dingy stone steps lead down to a massive stone door, underground by a dozen feet at least. Jaskier clung to Geralt’s hand, clenching his jaw tight and looking forward as they were lead to the doors. It took three men to open them and Geralt heard someone in their party mumble about how well and truly fucked they were. He couldn’t blame them. 

They were shoved through the arch, surprisingly without ceremony, and the doors were heaved closed behind them.

When the rumble of stone on stone finally ceased and they were left with near darkness Geralt finally felt the panic. Everyone was looking at him, he could barely make out their features, but he knew, and all he could do was stare at the door. 

Jaskier gave his hand a gentle squeeze, offering him the now glowing gold ball of twine, “Geralt?”

Something snapped into place deep in Geralt’s gut and the panic vanished. He took the twine and tied it to the door before removing the sword from his clothes and handing the dagger to Jaskier.

“Do not stray from the twine. Stay with the group.” He growled, now better able to see from the light of the yarn. Everyone was terrified, but they were his responsibility now, and if he had to scare them further to keep them safe he would. 

“What if it sneaks up on us?!” A young girl squeaked, she couldn’t have been more than fifteen.

“We’ll hear it. Now, follow me.”

“Do you know where you’re going?” 

Geralt frowned, ready to admit like before that he hadn’t a clue, but then he heard it. It was faint, and he could only hear inhales, but there was snarling breathing that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a monster.

“I do.” He turned to go before anyone asked any more questions. 

Jaskier was at his heels, one hand gripping the dagger and the other clutching at Geralt’s belt to stay close, “Geralt, do you really know where we’re going?” he whispered.

“I can hear him.” Geralt muttered. Every muscle in his body was tensed and ready to strike as he lead the way down the arched corridor, unraveling the twine as they went. 

They walked on for what felt like forever, the hall twisted and turned, even went up a flight of stairs, but nothing about it seemed very maze-like. Jaskier kept quiet, but Geralt could feel his hand at his back trembling. Others in the group were whispering, They say it has a battle ax and Maybe it'll kill us quickly. 

Geralt held a hand up upon coming to their first T, “Everyone hush.” He closed his eyes, doing his best to listen past the panicked panting of the group. It was there, just barely, but the deep breathing of something much bigger than him was coming from the left. 

This continued for hours, or maybe it was only minutes, Geralt couldn’t tell,  until everyone could hear the beast’s steady breath and see a faint orange glow around a corner. 

Geralt stopped, turning to face the terrified group of teenagers, “Stay here and stay quiet.” he instructed. Then, handing off the glowing twine and whispering to Jaskier, “If I die you have to run. Sprint back to the doors, all of you should be able to open them. I’d tell you to go now if I weren’t afraid of waking it.” 

Jaskier had the gal to look offended, “If you think for one second I’m letting you go in there alone-”

“You will. The ship we came in on will be leaving in the morning with or without us. Be on it.” Geralt was getting jumpy, being a little more aggressive than he needed to, but the thought of Jaskier being left to die in this labyrinth without him was overwhelming and he’d never had more adrenaline coursing through him before. 

Jaskier held Geralt’s face between his hands and drew him in for a lip bruising kiss. Geralt’s unoccupied arm looped around his waist and pulled him close as his whole body screamed at him to run away with him. Nothing sounded better right then than sneaking out of the labyrinth and sailing off to some other island where they could live their lives in peace. No responsibility, no destiny, no monsters. 

Someone cleared their throat and Geralt pulled back, blushing furiously as he switched his sword back and forth between his hands, “That was one hell of a goodbye kiss.” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes, “Good luck, not goodbye. You’ll be fine.”

Geralt nodded and peeked around the corner, catching a glimpse of a large open hall with a fire burning at its center and what one might have mistaken for a pile of furs and pillows laying in front of it. He ducked back into the corridor, pressing his back against the wall and doing his best to take a deep breath that wasn’t a panicked gasp. His limbs felt like goatskins full of water and his palms were already starting to sweat. He barely kept his face under control as he tried to work up the nerve to move. 

Jaskier held his free hand, gently massaging at the tendons, “You’ve done this before, you can do it again.”

“It’s huge, Jask,” Geralt whispered, mortified that he’d made it all this way, and now when it mattered he couldn’t stifle the panic. 

“You threw a man twice my size halfway across the deck on our way here. You are strong and brave and deceptively intelligent.” Geralt raised an eyebrow at his words but let him continue, needed him to continue, “The blood of the gods runs through your veins and you’ve been blessed by the goddess of strategy and wit herself. You can do this.”

“Athena sending my mother to the sea is hardly a blessing.” Geralt argued, pushing off the wall and squeezing Jaskier’s hand before letting go. 

Jaskier pursed his lips, eyes somber despite his annoyed expression, “I’ll be waiting for you.” 

Geralt nodded and, though his limbs were still shaking, he stepped out into the hall of the Minotaur. 

He ran over all the advice he could remember from every soldier he’d spoken with as he crept toward the sleeping beast. As he got closer to the fire he saw the bones of previous sacrifices, some no bigger than a child’s, and the remnants of animal carcasses that were far fresher. The stench was getting progressively worse as he approached, so much so that he wondered if he might vomit before he could attack. He wanted to look back, he wanted to run back, but he kept his eyes trained on the beast before him. It was at least twice his size, covered in a strange coat of hair with a tail to match. Horns protruded from it’s forehead, long and sweeping forward in dramatic curves. He couldn’t see it’s face and prayed he wouldn’t have to while it was still alive.

When he was within feet of the Minotaur he raised his sword, gripping it in both hands and set his feet, readying to stab it in the neck. It was laying on its side, half curled into a fetal position as it slept. He felt a pang of sympathy for the creature. It wasn’t given a chance, wasn't guilty of the sin its mother committed or the offence her husband had committed against Poseidon. With it sleeping so still and so vulnerable he almost forgot the horror stories he’d heard from before they caged it here. He paused a moment too long.

As he brought down the blade the creature shifted and his sword cut deep across its back rather than a fatal blow at the neck. 

The roaring scream it let loose was disorienting, it rattled Geralt’s bones and had him shuffling backwards. It rolled to its hands and knees, or what functioned as knees, and Geralt slashed at it’s arm, slicing through thick ropy muscle as if it weren’t there. He thanked the gods the sword Triss had given him was sharp as he jumped out of the way of the Minotaur’s other arm swinging at him. He brought his sword down where he had just been standing, barely missing the monster’s forearm, but exposing his side, just like Eskel had warned not to. The Minotaur, now standing upright and towering over Geralt, kicked him in the ribs, sending him tumbling across the floor. He barely kept hold of his sword as he rolled to a stop, gasping for breath. 

It snarled at him, stomping closer on cloven hooves but holding one arm close to its middle. Geralt waited, kept gasping for breath long after he’d regained the ability to breathe properly and let the thing get closer. When it was within reach, raising it’s good arm in preparation to pummel Geralt into the stone, he lashed out again with his sword. This time the metal swiped clean through the canon of its left leg, severing the hoof from the leg completely. The Minotaur fell forward, nearly pinning Geralt to the ground as he scrambled out of the way. It struggled to push itself up on its one good arm but Geralt kneeled on its back, knee digging into the wound across it’s shoulders. He barely registered the screams of pain and outrage over the thrumming of his own pulse as he grabbed one of its horns with one hand and dragged his sword across its throat with the other. 

The screaming stopped, replaced by a stomach churning gurgle and trickle of blood. A deep, nearly black red liquid oozed out in every direction from the beast’s wounds as it struggled and twitched. Geralt didn’t want to take any chances. Cursed beasts had magical properties and he’d be damned if he left the thing alive enough to heal. Before the corpse began to cool he hacked and slashed until the head was completely severed from the body. 

Only then did he feel the pain radiating from his side all the way down his leg and into his toes. He threw the Minotaur’s head toward the corridor he’d entered from and collapsed on this good side, barely missing the rapidly expanding pool of blood. He grunted out a labored “Fuck.” before he heard shuffling feet and felt hands under his arms.  

Jaskier and the girl with all the questions were hauling him toward the fire. 

When they set him down Jaskier’s hands were flitting over his body searching for injuries, “I told you you’d be fine.” he teased, an undercurrent of fear cutting through his tone.

“Not fine,” Geralt huffed as Jaskier prodded his side and he tried to sit up, “Alive.”

“You probably broke a rib, go slowly.” Jaskier warned, helping Geralt up.

“You’re a doctor now?” Geralt teased, wincing as he straightened to full height.

Jaskier patted Geralt’s chest, “I’ve been kicked by a cow or two.”

He pulled Geralt close and kissed him softly, sighing like the world had been lifted from his shoulders. 

When he released the prince he rearranged the soft grey fabric and whispered so only Geralt could hear, “I could sell your sweat for a fortune right now.”

Geralt laughed and rolled his eyes, beginning to limp back to the other Athenians and scooping up the Minotaur’s head by the horns, “Lets go, I need a bath.” 

____________________

Next part here!

[umbralsound-xiv]

Pieces.

[Kitten] Previous <<< || >> Next [Bittersweet]

She wakes.

To the dark. To the silence. To the cold.

How long had it been since she’d last opened her eyes? Suns ago? The unpleasant taste of alchemy sits on her lips, bitter and nauseating. But she was beginning to learn it well. Sleeping potion? She prays it was only that they had fed her in her lapse of conciousness.

Her skin sings with pain both sharp and numb, no longer able to fill her lungs without a sharp reminder of her wounds. She reaches to touch them.

And she can’t.

Manacles fastened a little too tightly around her wrists bite into her flesh as she struggles, tethered to a wall by metal chains much too short to stand or lay comfortably.

“...Bastard...”

She half whispers. Her hand turns in it’s prison, attempting to dislodge itself. If she can just get a thumb through...

“Not even half a click awake, and you’re already trying my patience.”

Of course he was watching her. Boots propped up on a table, his features were barely lit with a small candle. His eyes stuck out all the same, as he pried the dirt from beneath his fingernails with a dagger.

Bexy just looks at him with all the disdain in the world. She doesn’t bother with words.

“Oh, come off it. You can’t fight. You can’t even sit down if you wanted to. You might as well talk.”

Her icy gaze settles on his, staring. She still keeps her quiet.

“Suit yourself.”

Y’vhala pulls his boots from the desk to meet the floor, and moves to grab something. Large and wooden, the crate makes an unpleasant noise as it scrapes across the floor, and is set in front of her. Bexy regards it with some apprehensive confusion.

“I have ways of making you talk.”

The sigh given from her nose as he approaches with the dagger was almost insulting. She’d had worse than this. He’d done worse than this. She watches, as the tip of the dagger is pressed to her exposed flesh on her stomach.

He looks up, eyes catching the light as they always did, full of malice and ill intentions. And she stares down indifferently.

“Not even a murmur?”

He applies more pressure, for the blade to part flesh, carving a line across her stomach. Red rivulets snake down her pale skin. But no sound. Nothing aside her breath catching in her throat and the gritted tension of her jaw.

That doesn’t satisfy him.

He turns the blade lengthways, then. As though one would peel an apple, and presses against her skin. Her tail writhes in the dirt behind her as she stifles her pain, eyes glassy from the bitter sting of the sensation. Her toes curl in pain, as a sliver of flesh drops to land by her foot, the warmth of her own blood colouring her legs. But still no sound.

“Nothing? My, my. You've grown so hard in the cycles we’ve been apart, Bexy dear. But your flesh is as soft as it always was.”

“---You are a sick, twisted bastard.”

“---I am? And what does that make you?”

His face is so close to hers, the warmth of his breath across her cheeks. Her teeth bare, and his lip curls into a smirk.

“You do the same, to anyone else who finds themselves unfortunate enough to be in your clutches. What makes us so different? Nothing. You’re a monster just like me.”

Her gaze moves away from his as Y’vhala’s words sink in, and he moves a few steps back, taking a rag from his belt to clean his newly sullied blade.

“They’d have found out eventually, Bexy. Who and what you really are. No one wants a monster. But i’d find a use for you in this wretched world.”

Finally, her lungs fill with anger. And her dagger like gaze settles on his.

“Is that what you tell all of your captives? Or are me and G’rallin just special cases?”

Her eyes narrow, and his attention is stolen. She speaks, but it’s not words he wants to hear. Not the pleading and begging and the dissolving of hope he longed for. A scowl contorts his features as he glares back at her.

“We’re not monsters. Perhaps we were, one sun, many moons ago, when we were told by some bastard that we’d never be good enough for the world, but we’re not! We have people who care about us, Y’vhala! People who know who we are, and chose to stand by and love us anyway. So fuck you and who you think we are, you are wrong.”

Y’vhala stares, incredulously. His grip around the dagger tightens, as his mismatched eyes meet Bexy’s, which stare defiantly up to at him.

“I am not the little girl you knew all those cycles ago, Y’vhala.”

A smile slowly creeps over her lips. It is a wide and wicked thing, much as it was learned from the man who stood before her.

“And i’m not a monster. But i can be.”

The silence in the room is palpable. Bexy hadn’t seen any others in the darkness of her prison, but she was certain they were there; Y’vhala likely wouldn’t want to be caught alone with her after her last performance. She hoped they heard it.

“Such heartfelt words. I’d almost think you believed them.”

The blade is turned in his fingers again, and Bexy steels herself for what she suspected was to come. But it is not pointed in her direction. Instead, it is wedged in the lid of the crate.

“People to stand by you, and love you anyway...” A chuckle dances up his throat as he shakes his head, the contents revealed to him. “...That so?”

She gives no response, instead fixated on the crate and it’s contents. He pulls something small from the bottom of it, and walks over to her with a closed fist.

Her head presses backwards against the wall. She expected him to hit her.

But he doesn’t. The hand opens, palm upright, to reveal...

“...Wh...What...”

A bloodied half-ear sits in his palm, autumn red hair in a shade she’d come to know well enough to regard the owner of it as a friend.

“What have you done to her?!”

Bexy calls out, forcing herself to her feet, arms tight against the wall with what little give the chains would give her.

Y’vhala gives no response. Only a plaintive hum, as he reaches for something else.

A katana. A pair of dark, curved horns. A rapier.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THEM?! Y’VHALA, I SWEAR, IF YOU’VE HURT THEM---!”

A pair of hands, severed from their wrists. Pale and scale covered, with cycles of long, hard work etched into their skin.

“Y’VHALA!”

A horn, pale and fan shaped, broken from the side of the head. Blood flecks the otherwise immaculate scales.

“YOU BASTARD, I’LL KILL YOU, I SWEAR IT!”

The air in the room grows deathly cold. Y’vhala knew it well. But he doesn’t stop. With how Bexy seized and twitched against the wall and her restraints, the aetheric inhibitor was no doubt causing her a world of pain.

A cane clatters to the ground in front of her feet, well kept and well used.

An axe, blood smeared and hefty, the leathers at the grip worn from how firmly it was held.

An aetheric focus, the jewel cracked and splintered. She’d know it anywhere.

Her heart tightens in her chest.

“I’LL RIP YOUR FUCKING EYES OUT OF YOUR HEAD, YOU SICK, TWISTED MONSTER!”

Y’vhala had anticipated a reaction. His laughter splits the frigid air, and it’s only as his breath is visible from the chill he has some cause for concern. It did indeed cause Bexy much pain to use her aether to this extent. But it didn’t matter. Not in this moment. The chains that held her begin to warp and buckle.

“I’LL TEAR THAT SMIRK OFF YOUR FUCKING FACE! DEATH IS TOO GOOD FOR YOU, Y’VHALA! I WILL MAKE YOU FUCKING SUFFER!”

The sharp sound of a snapping chain rings loudly in Y’vhala’s ears, as one of Bexy’s hands wrenches free from her bindings. Her wrist is bloodied from where the manacle bit into her flesh, but she cares little for it. She reaches across, to attempt to free her other hand...

But it never makes it.

Y’vhala thrusts his dagger into the palm of her free hand hard enough to pin it into the wall above her head. Her breath stops in her throat, eyes wide as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“You... Are never leaving, Bexy.”

Y’vhala fights for his breath. The cold; the sheer, unassailable cold, was making it difficult to breathe, as ice snaked over the walls and floor, as he backs towards the exit of the room.

“...They are not coming for you. I made sure of that.”

He takes his leave, then, and closes the door.

Silence.

Silence, and a sob. The blood doesn’t run down her wrist as it aught to, instead freezing a mere moment after it left the wound, as her tears stick to her cheeks.

Her chest shudders with grief.

How many had they taken from her? How many people had she failed to protect?

Y’vhala listens from behind the closed door. The cries of agony and suffering as Bexy wailed and sobbed were all he needed to hear. He listens a moment longer, before slinking back off into the darkness.

He would break her.

And now, he knew how.

[handlewcaare]

It was a rarity in on itself.

Often was it reserved for those who had either: a) lost their wealthy homes, b) lost members who were patrons of the Association’s funds or, c) both, so was the lines he read implied.

He being S-Class, Rank-8 Zombieman. A name he wouldn’t have personally chose, but with the hero almanac constantly updating, he supposed he couldn’t blame them for their hasty decision. What he could was their refutation to see past how fat their wallets would get.

On one hand, his agency attracted more than he anticipated. Civilians from the majority of most populated cities frequented his office when they could. Many of them were average people living average lives, none who could really afford being protected by the H.A. On the other, the cases were relatively the same:

“Could you please kill the monster that ruined my Kabu garden?”

“I-I’ve been feeling like someone’s been stalking me, think you can swing that heavy axe of yours and kill them?”

“I need you to handle my ex-boyfriend. Since the breakup, he turned into this... thing and now he keeps destroying the city.”

From humble private investigative work to monster hunting, if someone told him that was where his life had lead to twenty years ago, he would have scoffed and called them crazy.

While his clothes would often be shredded, stained with copper-scented rose petals or mucus, bile—just about whatever the body secreted really—he couldn’t complain that it was good money he made. It certainly extended his arsenal and sharpened his skills. Though, the concept of empathy was often what made his shadow heavy at his heels.

He wasn’t human, in truth he didn’t know what he was, but the monsters he slaughtered—both in his cases and whatever Sitch had in the roster—were once upon a time. Whether they had a bad breakup, they were forced to surrender their dreams, even if they were on the brink of suicide: they all were once.

It was a wonder that left him awake at night. Was the fault their own or was it his for being the guillotine of their inhumane accomplishments? Could there have been a prevention?

Such a question was answered for when he was tasked to partner with another hero to handle a Demon Level Threat in C-City.

“Just lemme fuckin’ handle it!”

Quite the type for first impressions.

“Metal Bat, it’s really not that simple,” Sitch attempted to hastily state past the adolescent’s obstinate declaration, “we don’t know what kind of monster we’re dealing with—“

“Ya just said it’s a demon threat, yeah?” He barked as he tossed his signature instrument atop of his broad shoulder: a declaration of war, “if it’s got a threat level, I’ll bash its head wide fuckin’ open!”

Hasty planning, eager footsteps out the door, and no dedication for patience; the immortal detective raised a brow as he hastily caught up with the vain delinquent, “what are you in a rush for?”

Whether or not it was the absence of Sitch, there was a distinct growl that weighed the teen’s baritone, “my little sister gotta piano recital an’ I feel like ‘m gonna be late for it.”

“Does Sitch know about this?”

That much evoked a dirty look, “of course, he fuckin’ knows. Why do ya think I mention her every time I’m pulled outta school to attend his bullshit meetin’s?”

The private investigator couldn’t help suppress his own distaste in the form of a stiff upper lip. It was one thing to employ a kid genius who essentially taught his own classes, it was another to employ one who wasn’t. To envision how his grades were would have made just about any parent worried.

“How long do you have?”

“Three hours.”

“Let’s make a bet,” if there was one thing that made quick work, it was heavy hands. Given how silent Metal Bat was, it only egged the detective to resume, “whoever delivers the fatal blow in an hour and thirty minutes wins.”

It certainly piqued the disgruntled brother’s interest, what with his lack of hasty intervention; no dismissive ‘yeah, yeah’ or his steps to punctuate his ignorance. “Wins what?”

“Dunno,” at least the detective was honest, “udon?”

“How about I get yer real name?”

That was a new one. Usually with the gamble came a promise of paid ice cream (usually with Dr. Hajime or Pig God), to share a bottle of sake with (Kamikaze) or have their drink paid for at the nearest pub (One-Shotter came into mind). The inquiry of his name managed to certainly stun the detective.

“I didn’t think you’d want to get to know me.”

“Well, considerin’ we’re gonna be workin’ together, it’s the least I can ask for,” Metal Bat quipped, “ ‘sides, I don’t think ya like bein’ called ‘Zombieman’ .”

“How’d you wager that?” For a moment, he assumed he was dealing with a quick study. It wasn’t uncommon for the hardy, brash types to have some light upstairs.

“Iunno anyone who wants to be called a corpse.”

“...Yeah, okay,” he certainly was on the nose about that one.

it was a reasonable price for a hefty, time-constraint mission. It certainly made his wallet breathe a sigh of relief and they might even make it to the piano recital on time. There was a bit of a lilt in the undead detective’s tone, “would you like to know my dog’s name too?”

The delinquent rolled his eyes, “now yer pushin’ it.”

————————————————————

On the transit to C-City, Metal Bat was as restless as the White Rabbit in Wonderland. In the span of twenty minutes, his knee shook and he frantically glanced at whatever face had numbers on it. More importantly, he held a mannerism that was awfully polite in his strange definition.

Anyone who recognized him would never be met with the snarling dog the detective would see during the meetings. Rather, the delinquent would scrawl his signature along baseballs and sheepishly raise a hand in a small wave when someone took a photo of him. Not once did he bark at any of them, though his brow did twitch with each stop that was not for them.

Once they finally stepped off, the detective practically had to keep in tandem to the storm Metal Bat brewed. “You seem to be popular,” calling him a celebrity would have been an insult.

“Nah,” it was a guttural remark, “just friendly.”

It wasn’t exactly the word Zombieman would have used, but it was close enough to bonafide. He wasn’t overtly friendly nor was he chatting up with his fans. It was brisk and it was momentary; as friendly as strangers could get.

Once they reached past the tournament was it completely barren. It wasn’t the same as the alley the private eye peered through with Dr. Hajime, as it felt vacant; the phantoms could only whisper as loud as the billowing wind.

What was beyond the horizon was an oxen-like creature, his maw gaped into a hellish cry as his eight tails swayed and lashed out tirelessly at the tree trunks in the park. The playground beside it was but a debris of twisted metal and splintered wood.

It was strange to say the least. As short as Zombieman’s presence in the H.A. Was, no monster was without bloodshed. Too often would he be welcomed with the pungent odor of sanguine, be it his own or (worst case) another. There was not a semblance of casualties, no grotesque visage that would prompt him to make Metal Bat look away from.

“I think we—!”

Moments before he could provide his analysis, Metal Bat already charged headfirst after the oxen.

“Ay, Nesquick!”

Nesquick was a good name, given how laconic the beast seemed ready to lash its heavy appendage at the delinquent. Though, it wasn’t without reciprocation when his muscles visibly strained to bat the tendril aside.

Seeking opportunity for the opening, both the detective and the delinquent lunged with both bat and axe in hand. While the oxen had little to no trouble catching both instruments, the howl it emitted wrought a singeing sense of combating emotions: dedication to his work and empathy.

Within that same beat of revelation, the oxen hastily tossed the two heroes aside. Lavender sanguine dribbled heavily from its palms. Had he not landed back first into a gazebo’s rooftop, he probably would have noted the dewdrops of tears budding along the monster’s wrathful gaze.

It wasn’t long for Metal Bat to shoot him a whistle from where he landed in the bush. As coordinated as they were, they both seemed to have a mutual understanding that this wasn’t just another monster for the slaughter. That lingering, dreadful sense of empathy weighed heavy at his shadow.

“Cover me.”

The instant that Metal Bat sprung to his feet was where he used the tendril as a launching pad. The oxen could barely muster a decent swing before a bullet ripped through its hand. What grueling ache of a cry had been interjected by the silver bite of a bat down onto it’s maw. The earth nearly caved into the beast’s weight.

It would have been a victory, had the beast not blindly swatted at Metal Bat. Claws easily ripped through the maroon shirt and part of the overcoat he kept draped over his shoulders. However, not once did the delinquent ceased his relentless blows into the beast’s countenance. Not even as sanguine petals stained his uniform.

The hero almanac declared this as a victory, but there was no valor in it. Not if the delinquent would practically kill himself. Once the detective leapt down from the gazebo’s rooftop, he made the mistake in trying to block another thrashing blow. Under the sheer brevity did his tibia and radius shatter to knock his entire forearm out of joint. However, it was enough to alarm the delinquent out of his barrage.

“The hell are ya doin’ ??”

“He’s down,” that was more than enough for Metal Bat’s reluctance to turn into compliance. Just as when the adolescent readied for an diatribe, the detective grunted when he felt a tendril puncture through the entirety of his torso. His ribs were splayed and the flora of intestines managed to inch their way out from the intrusive appendage.

Oh.

He barely could manage to reach for the machete he had tucked under the collar of his shirt before he sliced the tendril. The howl now caressed a painful chirp under the brevity of his swing.

What hampered him, he couldn’t say. However, as the beast writhed in agony, there was a spiteful strike against its horn by his coorespondent.

“Why the hell did ya stop me?!”

As Zombieman’s fatal wound deliberately regenerated by tissue to organ, he was swift enough to keep the tendrils from penetrating the adolescent. Be it that he was subjected to the stabbings himself or he managed to utilize his dual machetes simultaneously. “Thought you were going too far.”

“Too far?!” The delinquent’s incredulity was presented with a harsh swing that evoked the detective to duck under it. Once the tendril was swatted, he was hasty to fire his desert eagle, “it’s a fuckin’ monster! There ain’t nothing that’s ‘too far’ when handlin’ it!”

Not true, would say a poet. As he was going too far for himself.

With their simultaneous efforts, it wasn’t long until the oxen crumpled up into a little ball. What stubs of its appendages attempted to thrash wildly to pry the two of them off.

“Bat!”

The instant the delinquent turned, he fired his final bullet along the edifice of indestructible metal. The chirp of the richochete struck through the detective’s skull and punctured the beast’s last horn.

Just as his limp body collapsed, as did the oxen’s. It was only a matter of time before either of them would come to, though he was surprised to find that the oxen’s physique gradually dispersed into a thick penumbra. Most monsters would have been but a thick trophy for the hero to stand victoriously upon. The crowds of the city would have cried their names and they would have made it to Zenko’s piano recital on time.

Once the detective came to, the uttered curse from his partner evoked a sense of dread. As the monster’s physique was entirely replaced with a sobbing child who kept her bruised knees close to her chest. Her lithe physique quivered, as if recoiling from the suffering she had just regained. She couldn’t have been much older than six.

Empathy was a heavy shadow.

Just as the detective stood to his full height, he huffed, “Why don’t you go to your sister’s—?” It would have been easy to assume that the monster had been vanquished in that moment. A hearty slam of a bat to put the beast out of her misery.

Rather, the detective’s russet gaze only watched when Metal Bat hunkered down to his heels and draped his partially tarnished jacket over her quivering shoulders. His bat and his concept of time neglected to keep the sniveling little girl company. He even opted to scoop her up in his arms and implore where her father was.

At times, the concept of being a hero made the detective ponder. He wondered if the association truly did just hire desperate folks like him or if there truly were genuinely good people affiliated with such a corporation. Everyone, himself included, had their strange definition of good. Even if that meant being a few minutes late for a piano recital.

Once the two of them reunited the girl with her mother, the transit to Zenko’s Elementary school was a long and quiet one. The detective might have even lit up a cigarette, had there not been any signs to prohibit it. Instead, he suggested to help treat the kid’s wound, only for Metal Bat to remark that his ‘fighting spirit’ will keep him conscious.

It was a weird religious remark, but the detective complied.

A few minutes afterward, Metal Bat thumbed the sparse bills of yen in his wallet, though he could barely contain his grimace, “how much is this udon place ya wanna go to anyway?”

“Daichi.”

One could hear a pin drop when the delinquent’s fiery glare flickered in astonishment. His brows raised as he stared owlishly, “ ‘scuse me?”

“I don’t remember my real name,” the detective drawled, “but I remember being called Daichi by some people.”

The delinquent could only offer a little simper, it was a lopsided grin, but it was better than a curled lip of a snarl. “Badd.”

The detective couldn’t help but sigh, “yeah, I guess it is.”

“No, I mean, that’s my name.”

When there was a hint of intrigue, there was a punctual snap of Bad’s wallet when he slumped, “yeah- ya could say my parents hated my fuckin’ guts. Tossed my ass out when I was fourteen and told me to take Zenko with me.”

The detective’s hands drowned within his pockets as he listened to the rest.

“I mean, shit- she’s already doin’ so much better than I could ever do, y’know? I mean, yeah- her piano tutor is expensive, but it makes her happy. Plus, I wanna be there to make sure she grows up right and not a complete fuck-up.”

It was hard to imagine Badd as a bleeding heart, but there was no denying the thick droplets of sanguine that stained the tips of their shoes. Though, he might have gotten a bit sentimental from the scrapes and cuts he sustained prior. It was within that beat that the detective tilted his head back, “want my honest opinion?”

For a moment, Badd sounded like he was prepared for an insult. “Yeah.”

“I don’t think Zenko could ask for a better brother.”

There was a silence that befell them. Whether or not it was Badd actively suppressing the urge to laugh or cry, Daichi couldn’t tell. However, there was a little “thanks” that managed to squeeze out from his throat.

——————————————————

Once the two of them made it to the recital, Zenko had just begun her playing her piano. Her older brother practically destroyed the back of the seat to suppress the urge to openly weep. Had it not been for the quivering, the tucked lip and the profuse reluctance of weeping, Daichi would have been rather intimidated.

“You...uh..—“

“SHH!!” Bat hissed in a whisper, “Zenko’s playin’ !”

In truth, the girl was a formidable pianist. However, unlike her brother, she was not the whole reason as to why Daichi was there. It didn’t take long for him to figure out who her tutor was, considering how she practically meandered toward him and asked if he was their uncle shortly after the recital.

“...yeah,” a good lie wouldn’t have hurt, especially since Badd was too busy gushing about how fantastic Zenko was. Though, her concern of him being a mess seemed to interject. “Say, how much is the tutoring lessons?”

“About ten thousand yen,” she elucidated, “do you have a son or daughter who’d want to perform?”

No wonder Badd couldn’t afford it.

After the moment he spent with the piano tutor, Daichi turned on his heel, “I’ve gotta go do some sleuthing,” the detective proclaimed, “I’ll see you around, Badd.”

“Oh- yeah! See ya.” For the strangest of reasons, Zenko evoked this harmony Badd would never demonstrate in the presence of his co-workers. Even his little simper held a semblance of juvenile naivety at the contours.

After a brief pause, the detective nodded toward the little lady, “keep an eye out on your brother. He’s one of the good ones.”

“I promise!!” Zenko piped up, they were siblings alright.

Even now, Badd could never did figure out who paid for Zenko’s piano lessons. Even after he would manage to scrape up the money, her tutor would always refute the offer.

While a heavy burden, empathy was the most humane thing to carry.

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 15- York

Pairing: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 3422

Warnings: Minor violence

14- Propositions

...

Crete was an island of fame in the Greek world.

It is said that Zeus, king of the gods, was conceived and raised there, on an obscure mountain, in an obscure cave. It is said that the fiercest warriors were bred there, fiercer than any Spartan or Athenian. It is said that Crete was the first Greek island that bore civilization in the Mediterranean. They were proud islanders, and yet, it had produced such a stupid woman.

The islands of gods and heroes, of myths and legends, could not have helped such a sorry soul. Such a pity, to have a woman named after a powerful goddess, only to be caught in the web of a heathen from of the North.

She was sure she'd never see her home again.

There was a strained silence despite all the noise they were surrounded by. When Ivar spares her a glance, she tenses at his expression.

"Surely you have an explanation for your actions, hm?" He grits out through clenched teeth.

"I-"

"I haven't given you permission to speak." He spits. Obviously displeased, his brows twitch in irritation and his pink lips were pulled back into a snarl like an angry dog.

"You gave me your word that you would not do this," His rage continued to build up behind his words, "I've given you privilege above all slaves, yet you attempt to betray me?" Artemis's face collided with the side of the chariot when they pass over a particular stone across the road. She groans, clutching her head to soothe the pain.

"You are foolish." She hears the last part of his mutterings, remaining silent as he kept on with his berating. As he steadly rambled on his grievances, Artemis buries a hand within her wild mane, hissing when she touches the tender spot on her scalp. There were traces of dried blood on her fingertips.

"Bjorn must have fed you such pretty little words, hm?" Ivar barks down at her, "You danced right into his grasp." She goes on staring at her stained fingertips, only coming back to focus when Ivar tugs at a strand of her hair.

"I'm talking to you, Artemis." He seethes.

"He offered to take me home." She says with fluttering eyes. Small dots danced across her vision.

"For a price, I'm sure."

"He needed a translator."

"So he gifts, only to take back." Ivar scoffs, worrying his lip out of habit.

"He said he wanted to right his wrongs." She repeats Bjorn's words sadly.

"You want your freedom. You want to go back to your little island. I understand," Ivar's tone was anything but understanding, yet he continued, "But it will be done when I say." She hears him without processing his words. Instead, she lays her head against the side of the chariot, her knees tucked under her chin. Her eyes began to flutter as sleep tried to claim her. She was far too tired and disoriented to fear whatever consequences she may face.

"Hey!" Ivar yells, pinching her cheek a few times, "Stay awake. You are no use to anyone dead." He jerks the chariot to a stop with a tight pull of the reigns, grabbing at her collar to secure her before she could meet the ground.

"Hvitserk!" Ivar barks, "Help her up. She needs to walk the sleep off, no thanks to you."

"You could not bare to live without her, could you Ivar?" Hvitserk jokes, quickly going over to help her up so that the procession may continue. Ivar doesn't grace his brother with an answer, keeping his eyes focused on the passing meadows and the road ahead.

Artemis stumbled into Hvitserk before catching her own footing.

"I hope I did not hurt you too bad." He tells her, waving his axe about by the blunt end. His lopsided grin sent a fury in her bones, and her hands balled into weak fists.

"You struck me?" It came out so much weaker than she intended it.

"I was only following Ivar's orders." He says with hands up in surrender, his smirk not faltering.

"Since when do you follow orders?" She mutters.

"Since I became the leader of our Great Army." Ivar reeks of confidence, his gloating words reaching Ubbe's ears. The older brother was silent up until that point.

"You mean we are the leaders, little brother. It is not you alone who commands the army." The look on Ubbe's tired face said it all. He was beyond annoyed, exhausted of the bickering between his brothers, and especially tired of Ivar.

"We shall see once we get to York." There was a smug look on Ivar's face that made her want to strike him.

And their journey continued.

They stopped along the way, a chance to relieve themselves and rest their horses. Artemis laid out on a patch of grass, fighting to keep her eyes open. She stares up at the passing clouds, the shy sun finally showing itself. The warmth felt nice, yet had her feeling empty. It wasn't the same heat of the sun that rose in the east.

"Artemis!" Ivar's voice was always so loud, enough to be heard over the wild chatter of the warriors, "I told you not to sleep! Come here!" He commands. She sighs, sitting up slowly before walking over to the chariot. Her eyes were unfocused, but not so much as before.

"If you sleep," He reminds her, "There is a chance you will not wake up." He offers her his waterskin, watching her drink before beckoning her forward.

"Are you not curious to know who disclosed your plan?"

"I have my suspicions."

Ivar chuckles. Whatever ounce of affection she had for the blacksmith was surely gone now.

Artemis searches for Arvid in the crowd of men, easily spotting him. She glares when he brings his eyes to hers and it took all her strength to not run over there and punch him. Ivar grabs her attention by tossing her the cloak again.

"We must keep moving. Hvitserk leads the army. Go walk with Ubbe." Putting on the cloak despite the warm air, she catches up to Ubbe. They walk in comfortable silence for a majority of the way, until he decides to speak.

"Ivar will not let you out of his sight." He comments, looking over his shoulder to see his little brother with his eyes trained on them.

"I am aware."

"I understand your reasons for attempting to flee. I have freed Margrathe so that she may have a better life, but perhaps the timing was not in your favor."

"It was the only chance I had." Ubbe gives her a sad smile.

"I know. But I consider you lucky."

"You would not be the first to say it."

"It seems the gods are having their fun with you."

"If there is any truth to that, then I pray they grow tired of me." He chuckles.

"If only it were that simple." He agrees, pushing the short pieces of his hair away from his face. "As fickle as Ivar is, he has grown a fondness for you. With Sigurd dead and Floki gone, I fear for him."

"I cannot mend his pride, nor his heart."

"And you cannot pretend that you haven't grown a fondness for him either," Ubbe counters with a shrug.

"Why should it matter?"

Ubbe looks up towards skies, watching the sun disappear behind the clouds before meeting the storm in her eyes with the calming waves of his own.

"Perhaps the gods have a plan for you."

...

There was no sun in York. Only gray skies and equally gray clouds, just like the rest of England.

Its walls were tall and its wooden gate massive, but one look at the perimeter as a whole, and one knew it was a city of prominence, but in most cases, good things come to an end, and surely this would be the end of York.

Artemis sits against the wall of the church, her hands pressed over her ears in a weak attempt to drown out the screams. She pants, her heart picking up speed and her eyes watered.

She curls tighter into herself, her cloak a useless barrier between a futile safe haven and the violence surrounding her. The stomping of the warriors grew louder as they pass. The screams were shrill, loud enough to wake the dead, suddenly cut short by a slash to the stomach or a hit to the skull.

Animals ran free, goats, sheep and chickens. Dogs barked in the distance, some searching for their owners, others feasting upon the bodies of the slain left to rot.

"You Christian's are all weak, even if you do not all look the same." Artemis lifts her head from her knees, glaring at the brown haired girl without a name. "You look stupid, cowering the way you do." The young shieldmaiden beside her joked, swinging a small axe in her hand with a taunting smile.

"You look stupid, watching over a slave when the real warriors fight." Artemis snarks back, and the girl immediately growls, lifting her axe as if to swing it.

"I told you to watch her, not kill her," Ivar interrupts, his bloodied hands gripping into the dirt, "But with the way you grip that axe, I doubt you would. Leave." The girl scurries off while Ivar plants himself at a decent distant away from Artemis.

"Do you want to die? Is that it?" He questions, fixing his legs. He rubs the dirt from his hands over the sides of his already dirty trousers, waiting for an answer. She doesn't reply, nor does she look at him.

"Do not mind her," Ivar sighs, "She's decent."

"You had her watching over me."

"As a precaution, you see. You are quite cunning." Whatever he was worried about her doing didn't matter anymore. She had no means of escape.

"Your expression is not at all pleasant." Ivar nudges her shoulder with the flat side of his axe and she flinches, turning to watch him wipe the blood from his face.

"We are not surrounded by pleasant things."

"Veikr," Ivar says with a roll of his eyes, "You cannot handle such things, baby bird." His anger seemed at bay for now. Keeping silent, she leans her head back against the wall, closing her eyes.

"Come now, I hate that look," He tells her, "It almost makes me feel quite terrible." Ivar sighs. He follows her lead, leaning his head against the wall. "You grieve these people." He states, his eyes scanning over the town. His army was still wreaking havoc.

"I do." She answers truthfully.

"Then do what you must and...what is it that you Christian's do? Pray for their souls?" They both turn to look at each other, their eyes intensely fighting a silent war.

"Why did you leave?" He finally whispers. She could have sworn there was a sadness in his tone.

"It was an opportunity I could not refuse." She answers just as quietly, dragging a finger to draw circles into the damp earth.

"That was not your decision to make." Ivar grunts.

"I realize that now." He expected her to sound bitter, but all his ears picked up was exhuastion. They sat in silence after that, comfortably quiet in each other's company.

"I am still angry with you." Ivar begins.

"I know."

"And you do not deserve my forgiveness." He pouts in the most childish way, banishing all seriousness with that one look. "But perhaps you can earn it," She looks at him curiously, waiting for him to continue.

"Get familiar with the forge," He says, "I have a special task I want you to complete."

...

Ivar declared his plan quite vividly: he wanted legs of iron.

He wanted a contraption that would help him navigate on his legs. He was tired of being pathetic, having to drag his legs along with the strength of his arms.

The process began immediately with the measurements of Ivar's frail legs. It was a challenge. He would flinch, getting upset whenever her small hands would graze the fabric of his trousers. She was not inflicting pain, but he was incredibly nervous, as the only outsider that gazed at his malformed limbs was Margrethe. Artemis made him immensely uncomfortable, but she was infuriatingly patient, as if she'd done this many times before.

It was only until Ivar finally loosened his pride and felt comfortable did she take the measuring rod to probe and record the length and width of his thighs and calves. The measurements were quite small.

Having her kneel before him in such a state gave him an odd pleasure. She was in such concentration, so absorbed in her work that he was sure nothing could distract her, not even their close proximity.

He wanted so much to reach out and touch her face, to feel how smooth her skin felt under his calloused fingers. He refrains from doing so, silently cursing his dilemma to the gods if they'd hear him.

He should be furious with her, and he was...at first. He couldn't explain why or how, but he knew he was growing a certain affection for her. It was strange.

And she was just as angry with him as he had been with her. Ivar knew her decision was rational, who wouldn't escape back home if given the chance? Ivar wasn't stupid, but he was selfish, and Artemis was his property by northern law.

He knew Arvid only warned him of her plans for his own selfish desire of her, but Ivar was grateful nonetheless, because he only realised at the point that he wanted her with him, maybe even needed her, and perhaps, in the very back of his mind, that is why he had not considered freeing her. She would leave as soon as she was given chance.

He didn't want that. He was indeed selfish.

So he feigned anger and annoyance with her becuase it was easy for him. The growing affection he felt towards her was foreign, but the anger was familiar, and that was what he reflected.

Her anger would pass with the winds as his anger slowly did, he knew. For now, he would continue on as is and enjoy in the conquering of his new city. Once his iron legs are complete, he would be a man.

...

Fighting was inevitable, as King Ecbert's son, Athelwulf, who was now king, attacked York with his 2 sons and an army. They posed a great threat at first, for they were formidable fighters, but Ivar was always a step ahead of them. The crippled bastard had a natural talent for strategies and seemed to be far more superior in matters of war than Ubbe and Hvitserk. The men began to look at the youngest for direction.

The menial task that she was once spared of were given to her once more, added on top of her forging duties.

It was punishment for her failed escape, but she didn't mind it. It stimulated her mind, and kept her distracted. She occasionally prepared baths for Ivar, a task he never dared to give her until recently.

That is when she would hear him talk.

He would talk of his future plans, often pulling out an image of York's settlement drawn out on old parchment found within the churches archives. There were a system of underground passage ways from the days of Roman occupation, and Ivar intended to use them in case of attack. He was right of course, but he rarely revealed his plans to his brothers, causing much tension them. But as expected, Ivar did not care much for their opinions.

The Saxon's wished to take back their Christian city, but failed in the attempt, ultimately retreating. The rain beat on them fiercely, much like it always did since they arrived to England.

Artemis had never seen the likes of war. In fact, she was innocent towards violence for most of her young life, until she faced Bjorn and his men almost a year prior. She watched from the cracks within the walls of the forgery, men slaughtered on both sides, swords and axes clashing in a dance to the death. Swords and axes she herself had welded and repaired.

Alfhild was with her, as well as other women who did not part take in the battle. Alfhild began to worry, staring through the cracks as best she could while biting her already short nails, pulling at her yellow hair. Arvid was nowhere in sight, lost among the sea of men. He was an excellent warrior as most men of Kattegat were, and Artemis reminded Alfhild of this.

She didn't know why, but she prayed. She prayed for her own safety, and the safety of the women. Despite what he'd done, she prayed for Arvid, wishing him no harm. She even prayed for Ivar, wondering if he was among the dead. She told herself it was more for her own protection than for genuine worry, but that might have been a lie.

Ivar was last seen on his chariot charging through the crowd, but he disappeared after that, and for all she knew, dead.

Hvitserk fought well, talented in the skills of a warrior, cutting down any man that came his way. Ubbe held an air of command, his rope like hair plastering on his face with every swing of his bloody sword. The fighting raged on when suddenly she heard a mighty scream that seemed to stop the world in its track.

"You cannot kill me! I am Ivar the Boneless!"

Well, he was definitely not dead.

...

Artemis knelt over the small stairway that led to the makeshift throne. She was made to wash the steps, suds of soap floating about in the air. Some of the men watched her, causing her great discomfort, but they knew better than to do much more than look. When Ivar appeared, they scattered like rats in daylight.

"Why must you mope about, hmm? You should rejoice in our victory," Ivar calls out to her from the doorway, his voice bouncing off the church walls. The men cheered for their leader, filling him with immense pride for their success against the Saxon's.

Artemis looks to him after realizing he was speaking to her. The darkness in the church made him appear as nothing more than a shadow. A standing shadow.

"I've no reason to celebrate." She responds, dipping the brush into the soapy water, continuing her relentless scrubbing over the stone floor.

"Of course there is! I have defeated the army of Wessex!" The scraping of iron against the stone floor catches her attention.

Ivar was finally wearing his iron braces. He looked so much more confident, the missing piece of himself he'd been wanting his whole life. Being around him now for some time, she recognized the pain he was in, though he did well to mask it. Even with his iron braces he still suffered from aches and pains, even more so now than before, but it wasn't enough to deter him from his new image.

She assumed Ivar would be tall, but he seemed massive, as tall as a tree, walking with the aid of the crutch she made for him. He takes cautious steps, being careful not to make any sudden movements that would imbalance him. He looked so childlike, so proud of himself, and it almost brought a smile to her lips.

She too felt pride. She had never created something of the sort before, and the iron braces were no easy task. She had worked on it for days, and like her other tasks, it helped to alleviate her mind. Hammer against iron was always a welcomed distraction.

There were warriors the trailed behind him, holding onto a rough looking man bound in chains. The man was dirty from battle, covered from head to toe in dirt, blood smeared across his face and over his leather armor. His dark hair was cropped messily, and his eyes were a calculating blue.

Ivar motions for her to stand, snd she complies, wiping her hands down before facing him. He smirks, finally satisfied to be looking down at her instead of the other way around.

"Meet the new prisoner." Ivar says, pointing at the man,"Come now, we do not bite." He beckons the man in the Saxon tongue, laughing when one of his warriors pushes him forward.

"This is Bishop Heahmund."

...

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