#anyway you have to fully kill Kit to

[bitegore]

if your ocs were bosses in a video game, what do you think their boss fight would be like?

[satellite-evans]

clumsy

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Your clumsiness is going to be the death of Lando.

Word count: 2k+

Warnings: injuries, fluff, worried Lando

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The first time Lando saw you trip over nothing, he thought it was a one-time thing. Maybe you were just tired, maybe the floor was uneven, maybe it was just bad luck. But after months of dating, he realized it was just... you.

You were a walking hazard. A human magnet for misfortune. A professional at collecting bruises, scrapes, and band-aids like they were limited-edition collectibles.

And, unfortunately for Lando, that meant he was constantly on high alert.

“Babe!” His panicked voice rang out as he watched you stumble over absolutely nothing on the kitchen floor. In one fluid motion, he darted forward, catching you before you could face-plant into the counter. His arms wrapped securely around your waist, keeping you from further self-destruction.

You blinked up at him, sheepish. “Oops.”

Lando let out a dramatic sigh, holding you steady. “How does this keep happening?”

“I have my theories.” You shrugged, playfully tapping your temple. “Faulty wiring.”

He shook his head, scanning you for any new injuries with the practiced precision of someone who had done this far too many times. “You need bubble wrap. No, actually, I’m getting you a helmet.”

You giggled, resting your hands on his chest. “A helmet for walking?��

“Yes. And knee pads. And elbow pads. And maybe a full-body suit.” He crouched slightly, running his fingers over a fresh bruise forming on your knee. His lips pressed together in frustration. “When did this happen?”

You followed his gaze, only now noticing the purple splotch decorating your skin. “Uh… I have no idea actually.”

Lando groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Love, you’re killing me.”

You grinned, cupping his face between your hands. “But you love me anyway.”

“Unfortunately.” He sighed dramatically, but the fond smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “I swear, one of these days, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“I’ll try not to,” you teased, pecking his lips. “No promises, though.”

Despite his exaggerated complaints, he was always there to patch you up. He had a first-aid kit permanently stocked—no, actually, he had multiple, one in the car, one in the bathroom, and a travel-sized version in his bag. He had mastered the art of wrapping bandages, applying ointments, and kissing away the pain (even if you insisted that last part was unnecessary).

At this point, he was convinced he could get a medical degree solely from the amount of practice he had.

And yet, no matter how many times he swore he’d wrap you in protective gear, he never failed to hold onto you just a little tighter, watching out for stray corners, slippery floors, and rogue table edges like they were mortal enemies.

Because, as exhausting as it was, he wouldn’t trade you—or your inexplicable ability to defy gravity—for anything.

Even if it meant keeping an ice pack ready at all times.

As if on cue, you turned to walk away and immediately stubbed your toe on the kitchen island.

“Ow! Shit!”

Lando just groaned, rubbing his temples. “That’s it. I’m putting you in a bubble.”

“That seems excessive.”

“You just injured yourself standing still!”

You grinned sheepishly. “Okay, fair point.”

Shaking his head, he pulled you into a hug, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re a menace.”

“Your menace,” you corrected, snuggling into him.

He sighed, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah. My menace.”

You were chopping vegetables, fully focused—well, as focused as you ever were when handling sharp objects—when you somehow managed to cut yourself with the knife.

The sharp sting made you gasp, and almost instantly, blood welled up from the deeper cut. Before you could even fully process what had happened, Lando was already at your side. He had been watching you closely (as he often did whenever you were near anything remotely dangerous), and the moment he saw the slip, he sprang into action.

“Shit,” he muttered, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly. “Alright, that’s enough knife duty for you.”

His voice was laced with worry, though he tried to mask it with his usual teasing tone. His eyes darted to your finger, the cut deeper than the usual minor scrapes you tended to collect. Without hesitation, he led you to the sink, turning on the tap and holding your hand under the cool water.

“You know, normal people don’t injure themselves every day,” he tried to joke, though his brows were furrowed as he watched the water run red.

You hissed at the sting but still managed a lopsided grin. “I like to keep life exciting.”

Lando huffed a laugh, though there was a tightness in his jaw. “Yeah, well, I’d prefer if you found a less hazardous way to do that.”

After patting your hand dry with a towel, he grabbed the first-aid kit (which, at this point, he always kept within arm’s reach). His movements were careful, almost practiced, as he disinfected the wound. His fingers ghosted over your skin with such tenderness it almost distracted you from the sting of the antiseptic.

“This is deeper than your usual cuts,” he muttered, pressing a sterile gauze pad to your finger before wrapping it securely in a bandage. “It doesn't need stitches thankfully but you really need to be more careful.”

You winced, flexing your fingers slightly. “Well, at least I have you to patch me up.”

He sighed, shaking his head, but the corner of his lips twitched upward. When he was done, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles.

“There. Good as new,” he murmured, but his grip on your hand remained firm, like he was reluctant to let go.

You wiggled your fingers dramatically. “Wow, a miraculous recovery. See? This is why I keep you around.”

Lando scoffed, feigning offense. “Oh, so I’m just your personal medic now?”

“Pretty much.” You shot him a cheeky wink before immediately reaching for the knife again.

Before you could even graze the handle, Lando snatched it away with lightning-fast reflexes. “Absolutely not.”

You pouted, eyes wide with faux innocence. “I was just gonna—”

“Nope.” He held the knife out of your reach, shooting you a pointed look. “I’m officially banning you from sharp objects.”

You crossed your arms, watching as he took over the cutting board and started chopping with ease. “So, what, I just sit here and do nothing?”

Lando smirked. “Exactly. Just sit there and be adorable.”

Your lips curled into a slow grin. “You think I’m adorable?”

His chopping faltered for a split second, and you caught the way his ears tinged pink. He rolled his eyes, refusing to meet your gaze. “Shut up.”

But when you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, you felt him smile against your touch.

A few days later, the two of you were strolling through the paddock, the soft air filled with chatter. It was the usual pre-race chaos—engineers darting between garages, reporters setting up for interviews, and fans cheering from the barriers.

Lando had a firm grip on your hand, partly because he liked holding it, but mostly because he had learned that letting go of you for even a second increased the chances of you tripping over something by approximately 100%.

Still, despite his best efforts, it happened.

One second, you were walking beside him, mid-sentence about what snacks they had in hospitality. The next, you were suddenly pitching forward with a startled yelp, your foot catching on a stray cable snaking across the ground.

Lando reacted instantly. With reflexes honed by years of racing at breakneck speeds, he lunged forward, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist just before you could crash onto the hard concrete.

“Alright, that’s it,” he huffed, keeping you firmly against him as you steadied yourself. “I’m officially holding onto you for the rest of the day.”

You barely even fought it, leaning into him with an amused grin. “I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather you not break an ankle before my race,” he muttered, shooting a glance down at your shin. His jaw clenched at the sight of fresh bruises already forming. “How do you even manage this?”

You shrugged as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Raw talent.”

Lando scoffed, shaking his head, though the corners of his lips twitched. He tugged you even closer, keeping a protective arm around your waist as the two of you continued walking. From then on, any time there was so much as a crack in the pavement, he subtly steered you around it, refusing to take any more chances.

Lando’s race had gone well. Not a win, but a solid finish—good points, a few impressive overtakes, and, most importantly, no major mistakes. After the usual post-race interviews and debrief, all he wanted was to find you, wrap you up in a hug, and maybe gloat a little about how well he managed his tires.

But when he finally spotted you in the motorhome, his relief was short-lived.

You were sitting on one of the couches, clutching your ankle with an ice pack balanced precariously over what looked like a nasty bruise. Your expression was sheepish, but there was a telltale wince every time you shifted.

Lando’s stomach dropped.

“What the hell happened?” His voice was sharp with concern as he strode over, kneeling beside you in an instant. His eyes scanned over you, heart pounding at the thought of what he might find.

You attempted a grin, lifting the ice pack slightly to show off the deepening purple splotch spreading over your skin. “Well, you told me not to break anything before your race… so I did it during your race instead.”

You let out a small, nervous chuckle, expecting him to roll his eyes or make some sarcastic comment.

But Lando didn’t laugh.

His jaw clenched, his usual lighthearted expression darkened with something much more serious. “That’s not funny.” His voice was quieter now, more strained.

You swallowed, the weight of his worry sinking in. “Lando, it’s just a bruise. I didn’t actually break anything.”

He exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his damp curls. “What happened?”

You shifted slightly, the movement making you wince again. “I was walking back from the paddock, and some guy wasn’t looking where he was going—ran right into me. I tripped over a barrier and, well… gravity did its thing.”

Lando closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if trying to contain his frustration. “Jesus, Y/N.” His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure where he could touch without hurting you.

You sighed, placing your hand over his. “Hey, it’s okay. It just looks worse than it is.”

He gave you a look—one of those signature Lando Norris you’re full of shit expressions. “Yeah? So if I press here, it won’t hurt?” He gently placed his hand near the worst of the bruise.

You immediately flinched. “Ow, okay! Point made.”

Lando groaned, rubbing his face. “I leave you alone for one race.”

You pouted. “To be fair, I survived the whole weekend without getting injured until the race. I think that’s progress.”

Lando wasn’t amused. Instead, he carefully lifted your injured leg, maneuvering it so it was resting on his lap as he adjusted the ice pack. His touch was gentle, but his brows remained furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

After a long moment of silence, he finally spoke, his voice softer now. “I just… hate seeing you get hurt.”

Your chest tightened at the genuine concern laced in his words. You reached up, cupping his face with your free hand. “I know.”

His blue eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching. “Promise me you’ll at least try to be more careful?”

You smiled, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I promise to try.”

Lando huffed, clearly not satisfied, but he let it go—mostly. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before shifting to kiss the top of your knee, just above the bruise.

“You’re still getting the bubble wrap,” he mumbled against your skin.

You giggled. “And a helmet?”

“And a helmet.”

[revelboo]

I’ve commented once i believe on your account (unless I’m just forgetting I honestly have no idea or not) about Roddy and his stupid arm joints (in which I’m still mad about) but you’ve inspired me to finish sentinel prime! You’ve also inspired me more into model kits! Anyways love your stories, you have been feeding my “wanting to be cradled by giant robots” mindset. Anyways I’m not the best with the “ask me anything” ask box (letter box?) hope ur day is or has gone well! 

He looks awesome! Even if he’s just awful

The comments y’all left on the last chapter are killing me 🤣

Everything Is Alright Pt 111

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• “Here,” he growls, finding a cleaning cloth and draping it over you in addition to the blanket you already were curled in. Normally he’d take some satisfaction in the fact that it scents of him and it’s going to make Starscream furious, but it’s hard to find any pleasure right now. You’re still leaking and making little hitching, sniffling sounds and he doesn’t know what to do about it. How does your idiot mate normally comfort you? Watching you huddle into the blankets, he awkwardly reaches out to pat the top of your head. “Bonds can be reestablished and full bonds can’t be severed,” he says, hinting. Because Soundwave cares for you enough to try to bond you, but you hadn’t accepted him fully. Wants to ask about that, but resists when you turn those teary eyes on him.

• Watching Megatron reach and carefully pinch a packet of food between two servos to offer you, he vents when you take it even though you have no appetite. “I just hate that they don’t talk to me. They just decide everything for me like it doesn’t matter what I want,” you mutter, shoulders hunching as he sits on the berth beside you, massive and not as intimidating as he’d first been. Maybe your self preservation instincts have given up at this point, but seeing him so uncomfortable by your tears has killed any lingering fear you’d had of him. “Like I don’t really matter.” Beyond a warm body in their berths and you hate that thought even as you have it, because it’s unfair. You know they care about you, they’re just, well-

• “They’re both idiots.” Swallowing a growl, he awkwardly reaches and cups his palm against your back when you look up at him. Starscream’s behavior doesn’t really surprise him, but he’d thought Soundwave would have been more levelheaded. He’s the calmest mech he knows, but then what does he know about bonded mechs? Using a servo to nudge your hands and the packet you’re still holding, he frowns until you obediently tear it open and pick at the food. “Eat something,” he prompts, rumbling when you take a tiny bite.

• Snarling when someone seizes him from behind and hauls him off his peds, Soundwave glares up at Bonecrusher. Struggling against those big hands as Scrapper and Hook haul up Starscream. The other three Constructicons clearly annoyed and ready to help. Servos shaking he’s so furious, he glares at the bleeding Seeker. Can taste energon where he’d bitten himself at some point, every ache and pain making itself known without the blind rage keeping him going. Optics narrowing behind his visor when the Seeker struggles free. “Stop wrecking scrap we’ll have to fix,” Scrapper growls, sweeping a hand at the damage they’d done. “Take it outside.”

• One of his wings is hanging at an angle, burning like fire as he scowls at Soundwave. Had never seen the stoic mech so angry before. “Keep your servos off my mate,” he snarls, aware of the optics on him. That he just publicly admitted what you are to him, laying claim to you. Because you are his, you’re everything to him. Striding past Soundwave, or trying to, as the communications officer shoves him back against the wall.

• “My mate,” Soundwave growls, leaning into the Seeker’s face before shoving away when the Constructicons move as if to separate them again. Striding toward Starscream’s quarters and finding you missing. “Where?” He snarls, rounding on the nearest bystander. Long Haul shrugging at him before Vortex gleefully calls out ‘Megatron took your human.’ Venting, he heads for Megatron’s habsuite, aware of Starscream limping after him.

• Cringing deeper into your blankets when someone knocks on Megatron’s door, you turn wide eyes his way. Because you’re not at all ready to deal with an angry Soundwave or Starscream’s betrayal. Head tipping as he stares down at you, his smile is absolutely wicked and shockingly real. “I could send them away for a bit,” he says and it’s almost enough to make you start crying all over again. Feeling bad even as you whisper a tiny ‘please.’ Needing time to think, to untangle all the hurt and confusion.

Previous

Next

[barrenclan]

After looking at the map and reread some of the issues, it reminded how much a bastard Thrasher was. I genuinely thought he would feel some sadness seeing Hush Puppy dead but he looked her in disgust like it her fault at she died. I really shouldn’t have thought he cared considering his past actions.

I always found it weird how she died from starvation considering they lived in a lush forest. Until I thought about the implications.

Cormant mentioned how she died when he was only two months. By then, kittens would have just started to moved on from milk. Before this time, kitten would still need to nurse from their mom. Mother cat need a lot more food durning this time to substain herself and her kid.

Since she had to stay in the nest to take care of Cormant and his sibling and make sure they were nursed, it left her little time to fully hunt herself, leaving Thrasher in charge. Thrasher being a lame excuse of a mate, probably didn’t even bother making sure she had extra food to make sure she would still be healthy,causing her body to become exhausted from nursing her kid. Heck I even bet Thrasher told her she asking for too much, even though she was only asking for the bare minimum. He was more focused on making sure his kits would survive,which was only to make sure they could be trained to kill.

This make his previous statement about getting a mate was only to have kids so much worst. He never saw Hush Puppy as a person but as a way for him to have his kids. He didn’t take care of her when she needed it the most. Once she died, he didn’t feel sad because she was no longer useful to him since she fulfilled her purpose. It was never about love. She give birth to his kit which is all at mattered to him. She wouldn’t be able to prevent him from abusing her kid and shaping them in his images.

Man, I hate this bastard.

Yes, the idea of Hush Puppy's death is that while she may have otherwise survived while nursing three kittens, the stress that Thrasher added to her and the difficulty of not being able to hunt for herself (worried that he might do something to them if she left) caused her to starve so early. At that point the relationship between Hush Puppy and Thrasher had deteriorated, as you can see in Issue 13, and Thrasher was really falling into his 'religious fanaticism'.

Hush Puppy was not a very active person - she was quite passive and pretty easy to dominate, and by the time she and Thrasher were both in Defiance and she'd thought of running away... well, she had kittens. And she was terrified of what he would do to them, or how he would raise them. It's a tragic irony that after he death he ended up abusing and manipulating them anyways.

In fact, the only reason Egrettail stuck around in Defiance after Hush Puppy's death was because Hush Puppy likely begged her to look after the kittens. Egrettail would do anything for Hush Puppy, but she hated Thrasher so much that it was hard for her to spend a lot of time around them. So she couldn't influence them very much in the end.

Just a real, real bad situation all around.

[mourningsbane]

Okay this blog and the story has been circulating slowly in my head for days now and I feel like tossing out a theory because I never theorize but here I am

So. Tanglefern’s greatest mistake. I believe that he may have poisoned Honeyspring in some way. If not a direct poisoning, he was at the very least aware of and partially involved in Honeyspring’s rapid death. But I also think he was not aware she was pregnant. I do not know if the kits were not quite right because they were too early in development, some kind of curse stuff, or because of the poison/illness. Either way, it seems Tanglefern wished them no ill will due to the intense despair he felt when the crude surgery (is it surgery if on a corpse?) failed. Another note; I’m not fully sure Tanglefern meant for/wanted them to die. ‘There’s nothing more I can do for you’. And it seems very heavily implied that Rootstar ordered the c-section, which is where the ‘no respect for the dead!’ Line comes in from Bearface. Along with this, I’m like 99% sure Honeyspring and Flaildrizzle were in a romantic relationship and were planning to raise those kits together. Honeyspring looked so soft in her dream, maybe they were trying to look less spooky as to not scare Flaildrizzle?

I do not believe Honeyspring is ‘evil’. She is scared and oh so alone, and is lashing out because of it. She just wants help, as I believe that is what the messed up mouse is huffing at Tanglefern, and potentially Sweetkit too. Tanglefern even wonders why StarClan won’t take them, implying that in life she never did anything evil enough to warrant going to kitty cat hell. At least, not that Tanglefern would know. And, seeing how their mere presence is warping the prey, I think she could have killed Sweetkit if she wanted, but they didn’t.

A very out-there theory is that Honeyspring may have been kept from StarClan because of the rage fuelling the end of her life (towards Tanglefern?). In my opinion, she seems aware that her death wasn’t natural. Their first headshot reference says ‘I will never forgive you’ which I believe is specifically aimed at whoever orchestrated or at least played a part in her death. Her second reference says kind with a question mark in brackets, which means they were at the very least kind in life. Not being able to communicate with anyone, those who see her being terrified, not being allowed into StarClan, they must all tear at their mind and likely their overall stability. I honestly don’t think she’s as malicious as we seem to be getting led to believe.

This may also be me grasping at straws but with the ‘there’s something underneath the ground’ and the description of her disease-reeking blood seeping into the dirt floor I wonder if that’s something. Definitely not I’m reaching but meh it’s fun.

Finally, I’m not fully sure that, whatever Tanglefern’s involvement was, he intended for them to die. ‘Distantly, some raw part of him, carbed open like the body before him, realized it was all for nothing’ now while it’s likely this is just in reference to the c-section, I feel this could also be the fact Honeyspring died and may not have been meant to. There was some kind of plan, I’m just not sure what it was’

Basically a summary I believe Tanglefern had an influence in Honeyspring’s sudden demise but was not aware of the kits, Bearface was NOT happy about the c-section, Flaildrizzle and Honeyspring were a couple and going to raise those kits, Honeyspring wasn’t evil in life but is now losing stability due to being so isolated, and Tanglefern may not have intended Honeyspring to die. I may be super off I am not good at theories and it is very late. But hey. All in good fun.

Anyways giving Honeyspring a big hug I love them and she is spinning around in my brain like a rotisserie chicken 24/7

also omg sorry this got so long i got lowkey rambly here but my brain is going whir because oh my god this is so cool-

Worry not, I do not mind receiving long post! I, too, tend to get rambly when talking about things, so I certainly don't blame you. Plus, I love reading theories! It gives me insight into what people think, and I don't want any lore elements to feel like they came out of nowhere! <3

As for your theories, you are very close! Tanglefern gave Honeyspring Mourningsbane instead of Clottingroot when treating the injury on her hind leg.

Honeyspring and Flaildrizzle were mates, and you're right that Honeyspring tried to look "softer". The time is soon, and Honeyspring didn't want to startle her. Honeyspring is weak and intangible at the moment, but not for long. And you're on the right track with her "disease-reeking blood seeping into the dirt floor"; her rotting body taints the very soil.

I agree that Honeyspring is not a villain in the stereotypical sense! She was very well-liked in life, and had a lot going for her! I would say that she's both a victim and a perpetrator.

[egrets-not-regrets]

Dandelions and Yarrow (5)

Yarrow, like the dandelion, is a tough hardy weed that can survive and grow in harsh conditions. 

Amelia goes to Steelix Fortress and finally sees Alcyon’s condition in person. She agrees to watch over her bonded Astartes as he recovers. Alcyon eventually wakes up and he is so normal about it.

**Dialogue in Gothic language is bolded and italicized. **

Previous Chapter <<< Chapter Five >>> Next Chapter

Author's Notes: Alcyon is so so normal. TW: Masturbation

Tagged: @shadowfirecat , @kit-williams , @bleedingichorhearts , @barn-anon , @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@sleepyfan-blog , @bispecsual , @c-u-c-koo-4-40k , @ms--lobotomy , @legionsofthehungry

@gra93fruit-blog , @i-am-a-dragon34 , @felinisnoctis, @thevoidscreams, @yurihasurunbara

“Alcyon’s in a coma and not responding.” Eric’s words played repeatedly in her head after their conversation. She stared at her phone gripped tightly in her hand. He said something about their bond breaking which caused this. Regret and shame plagued Amelia’s mind. Why did she lose her temper at him like that? She shouldn’t have said all those things to him. Now look at what happened. 

Amelia made her decision. She had to go back to Steelix River. She couldn’t lose Alcyon. Despite what happened between them, he was still her bonded… and… she… she still loved him. If there was some way to save him, she had to at least try. 

She turned to Mara, “Mom, I’m sorry to cut my visit short. I need to go back to Steelix River. Something’s wrong with Alcyon.”

“Oh dear! That’s too bad, but don’t let me stop you. Just remember to call me when you get home. Are you going to be alright?”

“I…” Amelia hesitated for a moment before breathing out, her tone resolute, “I will be, Mom. Thanks.” I have to be. She thinks to herself.

She was about to go upstairs to use the computer, Mara’s hand on her arm stopped her. Her mother looked at her worriedly, “If you ever feel like you need help, or you need to come home, just call… ok?”

Amelia hugged her mom reassuringly, “I will. I promise.”

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

After she got home, Amelia went straight to Steelix Fortress to meet Osteron.

“Alcyon’s dying. He’s in an induced coma right now to slow the effects.” Osteron didn’t mince his words. 

Her breath caught in her throat. Alcyon was dying. Even though Eric told her about Alcyon’s condition, he didn’t mention that it was this bad. A spike of regret and fear stabbed through her heart. No. No. Not Alcyon… she might lose him too. What had she done?

The pair nodded to the Iron Warrior standing guard outside the room as they made their way to the bed where Alcyon laid. 

She had never seen him in such rough condition. Or this vulnerable, she thought uneasily. The chaos Iron Warrior laid on the bed, unconscious, connected to a machine that measured his vitals. His skin was cold to the touch, much to her worry. Alcyonr was usually very warm to the touch, like a furnace, like most space marines. This wasn’t right. His skin shouldn’t be feeling like this. 

Answering Amelia’s confused and worried look, Osteron explained, “The sorcerer said his bond with you is almost completely severed and is only hanging on by a few threads. Since he is intensely bonded to you, a fully broken bond is typically fatal.” 

Amelia’s fists tightened, “We had a terrible argument before I left to go home, but I didn’t know it could break a bond like this.” she replied softly. 

Picking up on the issue, Osteron inquired, “You said you went home. How far did you travel?” 

She mentally calculated, “My hometown is a three hour flight away, so about 2700 kms?”

“There are different ways to break a bond, distance is one of them. It makes sense why he fell ill like this, but it takes about two to three weeks for Astartes to end up in this state, for most cases anyways.” The apothecary hummed thoughtfully. 

“I didn’t know.”

She nearly killed Alcyon by being so far away. Amelia covered her mouth, feeling sick to her stomach. Yes, she was undoubtedly scared, angry and heartbroken from what he did and said, but she didn’t want to kill him! Her heart sank, her own ignorance hurt him so badly. 

Osteron eyed the scars on Amelia’s neck, “Outside of the argument, did he hurt you physically?” 

Ashamed, she looked away, her hand covering the marks Alcyon left. It would do her no good to try to hide it from Osteron, he could easily see through her lies. 

“Yes.” She reluctantly confirmed his observation, her voice small and quiet. 

Alcyon, you fool. Osteron cursed under his breath. It would explain why their bond was so severely frayed and how he deteriorated to his current state so rapidly. Alcyon was lucky that they had intervened as quickly as they did. Even more so that Amelia was willing to return after whatever harm he did to her. Though to be honest, he didn’t know why. Osteron supposed that strong emotions make baselines make strange decisions, but this will work to his advantage. There weren’t many Astartes around, so collaboratively, the decision was made to preserve as many of their fellow space marines as they could or those worth keeping alive, be they chaos or loyalist. 

“There are not many of us here on Ancient Terra and it would be ideal if we could save as many of our brothers as we could.” he explained to Amelia, “I would ask that you assist in Alcyon’s recovery as proximity to their bonded humans helps the Astartes recover at a faster rate in cases like this. if we can pull him out of this at all.”

Without giving time for her to answer, Osteron pulled up a nearby chair and gestured for Amelia to sit, “You need to spend the next two hours here with him so we can monitor his vitals for change. You don’t have to interact with him if you don’t wish to, I suspect your presence and proximity will be enough. We’ll be monitoring you both. If something happens or you don’t want to stay, Brother Erriox is here to pull you out. Once time is up, come see me and I will take a look at your injuries.” 

“I… I can do it.” Amelia replied nervously as she settled in the chair next to the unconscious Astartes. Satisfied, the apothecary left the couple to their privacy. 

She wasn’t sure what she was more hesitant about, Alcyon potentially waking up while she was there or that Osteron would be seeing the wounds and marks Alcyon left on her. She wasn’t sure how to face Alcyon if he woke up, or if she even wanted to. She wasn’t ready to confront all the things that happened between them. It was tempting to say “no” in all honesty, but guilt kept tugging at her heart to stay. And it was her fault that he ended up like this; it…was the least she could do. 

Plus Alcyon was chained to his bed, Erriox was just outside, and she could leave whenever she wanted to. That… gave her some peace of mind. 

Amelia stewed in her own anxiety, concluding that she would have to face both options eventually. She just hoped that Osteron wouldn't ask too many questions.  

A long while after Osteron left the room, Amelia got up to examine the chaos Iron Warrior for herself. For once, Alcyon looked like he had let his guard down, even though it was forced. His brows were less furrowed, his facial scars and muscles were relaxed. He looked softer, slightly younger, more at ease. She caressed his face, her hand tenderly tracing over the scars around his optics before running her fingers through his cropped grey hair. Amelia brushed over the base of what once was a horn that had grown out of his head like she had done before, feeling the hard texture, wondering what it would have looked like. 

She kissed his brow and then pressed her forehead gently against his, “I’m sorry Alcyon. I didn’t know that being so far away from you would hurt you like this…” she whispered. 

Her eyes roved over the familiar scars on Alcyon’s body. She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the slow beating of his two hearts, frowning at the rhythm lacking its usual strength. 

Amelia sat back down, watching the clock and the displays on the machines, noting how his vital signs seemed a little stronger compared to when she first saw him. She waited as time wound down, every now and then getting up to checking on the unconscious Astartes.

Alcyon dreamt that Amelia was there with him. He didn’t know what she said, all he could focus on was her presence: her scent, her gentle touch, her kiss, her murmuring voice. His bonded was still here. It may be in his dreams, but she was still here. She hasn’t left him yet despite it all… their broken bond crooned out to him to reconnect as strands slowly started to grow. The soreness and pain in his body eased the more he dwelled on Amelia’s presence. It felt like it had been so long since he’s been in the presence of his bonded, that even this dream version of her was a comfort to his soul. Alcyon slept on, relaxed and unaware.  

Amelia felt so exhausted by the time she arrived at Alcyon’s room. She was glad that Osteron didn’t ask too many questions outside of the basic when and how, it was already embarrassing enough to show him the injuries that Alcyon left on her body. He checked her wounds, once satisfied, he suggested staying the next several nights at the base before returning home. It made sense, with Alcyon still in such critical condition. The door opened when she punched in the familiar code to Alcyon’s room, thankful that Osteron helped confirm that his code still worked. Amelia wandered in, took a shower, and curled into Alcyon’s bed, quickly falling asleep. 

The next day, Amelia went home after work and packed some clothes and toiletries before returning to the base to stay near Alcyon as Osteron requested. Despite Alcyon's state of unconsciousness, she was glad to see that his vital signs had improved somewhat from the day before. Osteron was right, her proximity might be helping in his recovery. Which was a good thing… but she was still apprehensive of Alcyon waking up while she’s there. 

The Iron Warrior was still unconscious when Amelia arrived. Her hand rested on his forehead. She breathed a sigh of relief; although Alcyon’s body was still cold, the death-like chill she felt yesterday seemed to have dissipated. Amelia tenderly caressed his face, then moved down to his torso, tracing over the familiar scars on Alcyon’s chest. 

She loved him… he was her bonded Astartes still, but it was hard to forget his actions that night. Amelia shuddered. Her heart ached at the uncertainty. Would he hurt her in his anger again, like that night of their argument? She withdrew her hand and sat back down in the chair. 

Darkness surrounded him, but he was aware enough to tell that he was not at the base or anywhere he is familiar with. No. This was just his dream state; yet he could not sense an exit. Alcyon tried to get up, but his whole body felt weak and cold, as if something had been draining the energy from him. But now he could feel the warmth of his bond. It wasn’t strong, but it was there, persisting, and he grabbed onto it like a man drowning. 

The next day when Amelia visited again, Alcyon’s vitals looked to have stabilized, but he had yet to wake up. Amelia sighed, tenderly caressing Alcyon’s face, brushing off non-existent pieces of hair from him. Her hand drifted to his chest. His heartbeat was stronger than before. She wanted Alcyon to heal, to get better and wake up, but at the same time, Amelia hoped that he wouldn’t wake up while she was there. She shook her head and frowned. It was selfish of her to think that, but it’s just… she wasn’t ready to face him and everything that happened between them yet. She gently patted his chest, “I’m sorry, Alcyon.”

The warmth of the bond ebbed and flowed, Sometimes he could feel the warmth acutely, curling around him like a strong vine. Other times, the bond thins, like a vine drying out from the lack of water. In those moments, Alcyon wasn’t sure whether or not to hold it more tightly or loosely. What if it disintegrates if he was too rough with it? He was too rough with Amelia and look where that got him. He hurt her so badly, it felt like there was no coming back from that. Alcyon loosened his grip, but continued to follow it.

Amelia fell into a routine over the next few days: wake up, breakfast, work, spend time with Alcyon, have dinner, go back to Alcyon’s room to shower and sleep. There were minor improvements to the chaos Iron Warrior’s condition; he had yet to wake up, but some improvement, however small, was still progress. Despite the improvements, it still worried Amelia. Part of it was her guilt in being the cause of his condition, the other deeply rooted part was that she still loved him. How long would it take for Alcyon to wake up? Osteron only gave a range from a few days to several weeks which didn’t settle her uneasiness. 

She visited Alcyon again. He was still unconscious. She sighed, stroking his face, caressing old scars. Regret bubbled up in her heart, overriding her fear of him waking up when she was by his side. Amelia supposed that she would cross that bridge when that happened. She pressed her forehead against his, feeling his breath brush against her jaw. “I shouldn’t have said all those things to you. I shouldn’t have left to go so far away.” she whispered mournfully.

Alcyon noticed the bond growing brighter and stronger. He could smell Amelia’s familiar scent.  He knew he was close. His steps grew faster until he broke into a run. He yearned to hold her. 

Amelia. Wait for me.

“I’m so sorry, Alcyon. Please wake up.” She pressed her lips to his and murmured, “I still love you.” 

Unaware that one of his optics had its recording feed turned on the entire time. 

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

Alcyon woke up. 

One of his optics was programmed to automatically start recording whatever was happening any time he went to sleep or became unconscious. Though sound wasn’t recorded, visual feed was usually good enough.

Alcyon played the recording. 

He replayed the feed. His hearts nearly stopped. 

Amelia had been there with him. He wasn’t dreaming. Alcyon touched his lips, he could tell from his optic feed that Amelia had kissed him. She returned. His bonded had returned! No wonder he could feel his bond’s warmth once again. Hope sparked within him, but it quickly fizzled out when the Iron Warrior looked around. Where was Amelia now? Why did she not stay?

“Welcome back.” a cheerful deep voice joked over the quiet buzzing in the background.

Alcyon focused on his Death Guard cousin standing beside his bed, “How long was I unconscious?”

Polistes answered, idly letting one of his wasps walk over his fingers, “About a week, give or take several hours…” he paused then added, “You are very lucky that Amelia returned to accompany you. Not many baselines would be willing to do that after what you did.”

“I realize that.” the Iron Warrior mumbled. He winced as he sat up and stretched. His body was strangely weak and stiff from disuse, not to mention his prosthetics were taken away. It’s been a long time since he felt this way. Now more clear-headed, Alcyon was disturbed at how easy it was for an intense bond to incapacitate an Astartes. He knew about it previously, but experiencing bond breakage firsthand brought a heightened awareness of a few things: how much his life was intertwined with the bond, how fragile the bond was and how fragile made him, and how important Amelia was to him…

“Where is Amelia?” 

“She’s at work.” Osteron’s stern voice replied as he entered with a Thousand Son sorcerer.

“Why didn’t she stay?” Alcyon asked while the apothecary checked the readings on the machines connected to him.

Osteron looked at him as if his bout with bond breakage dulled his mind, “Amelia is still afraid of you. It’s difficult for baselines to forget that type of violence against them… especially from their bonded.”

Of course, the apothecary wouldn’t let him forget it. The memory of his claw ripping through Amelia’s clothes flashed in his mind… had his claw gone any deeper… Alcyon closed his eye, trying to will that dark thought away. He questioned, “If she was so afraid, why did she return to save me?” 

Mythras the sorcerer, his eyes glowing with activated psyker powers, answered him, “Out of guilt mostly, and perhaps out of love. Emotions can make baselines do strange and hypocritical things.”

Guilt, love? Or rather out of pity?  It was clear from his recorded feed that Amelia still held some degree of affection for him. But what’s the point of bringing him back if only to never see him. Did she not plan to see him again? Only hover within his proximity so to keep this bond and him alive? Did he deserve her love even? Perhaps he deserved this kind of treatment from Amelia since he had gone against the very duty of being her bonded Astartes, his promise of always protecting her to the point of physically hurting her.

Alcyon was so mired in his thoughts of self-hatred and guilt that he nearly missed what Mythras said next. The sorcerer had a satisfied expression on his face after his analysis, “Your bond has recovered to 65% of what it once was. Further recovery will be up to the both of you.”

Osteron reattached his leg prosthetic, warning the chaos warrior, “You are under base arrest until we can be sure that you will not lose your mind nor arbitrarily harm others.”

Alcyon tested his legs; his eyes narrowed upon hearing that, “Then let me see Amelia.” he demanded. 

“That would be Amelia’s decision to make. Don’t forget the harm you did to her.” Osteron sneered, annoyed by Alcyon’s insistence. He checked the chaos warrior’s prosthetics and mobility again then dismissed him, “Behave and maybe you’ll see her. Polistes, accompany Alcyon back to his room.”

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

As soon as the door to his room closed behind him, Alcyon froze, alert yet confused. His room smelled like Amelia. His bed smelled like her. Had she been here? Slept here too? Alcyon smelled his bed again to confirm his suspicions. It was Amelia’s floral scent, there was no doubt about it. She had been there. 

Who’s sadistic prank was this? They needed to stop teasing him before he decided to lose the rest of his mental faculties. If Amelia had slept in his room why didn’t she stay? He wouldn’t have minded if she did. 

Alcyon laid in his bed trying and cursed. Her scent was everywhere: on his sheets, his pillow, his blanket. He tried to go to sleep, but his thoughts kept drifting, picturing Amelia sleeping there in his bed, wearing one of his shirts with no pants on, because she for some reason, did not bring her sleeping clothes. His shirt rode up her leg, exposing the expanse of her thigh. Alcyon swallowed the saliva that built up in his mouth. He could still remember the softness of her skin under his hand…

Alcyon’s hand drifted down to palm himself. He wondered if Amelia would pleasure herself on his bed while waiting for his return? Her arousal staining his blanket? His pillow? A deep growl left his chest as he held the pillow to his face and inhaled deeply.  

Saliva gathered in his mouth. His cock twitched as his thumb rubbed over the sensitive tip. Vivid imagery played in his mind of Amelia naked, fondling herself, riding the edge of his pillow with his name falling from her lips in quiet gasps while she chased her orgasm. Her gasps turned into moans as she reached completion, her scent and arousal spilling and absorbing into the fabric on which his head laid. The chaos Iron Warrior groaned deeply and bit into his pillow, sucking on the fabric, tasting the fragments of Amelia’s scent left there. 

His abdominal muscles tightened and relaxed as Alcyon stroked and tugged on his cock. Precum leaked all over his hand, making his actions smoother. It’s been too long. Gods, he missed Amelia so much. His need for her was overwhelming. Alcyon let out a long breath and licked the drool from the corner of his lips, imagining her hand, her mouth caressing his cock as he stroked himself. 

The scene switched in his delirious mind; Amelia was riding him, the soft expanse of her body moving against his scarred torso, Alcyon’s hand squeezing the soft globe of her ass while he bucked into her from underneath. He adjusts his grip on his cock, remembering how her cunt squeezed around him each time he thrust into her. A part of him felt disappointed. It’s not the same. His hand could never replicate the same feeling as her tight, wet heat. 

“Alcyon! Please… I need you… Alcyon!” He heard her gasp as she rode him. 

“Amelia!” He grunted as he thrust through his fist. 

Amelia was his bonded. Amelia was his bonded whose body he claimed and left his marks on. Amelia was his bonded mate who he fucked and claimed over and over again. Amelia was his bond-mate who he memorized the taste and scent of and mapped out her body with his hand and tongue. Amelia was his mate who he vowed to keep and protect. Amelia was his bond-mate who had returned to him; to save him from the torment of their bond that he so carelessly broke. Amelia... Amelia… Amelia... Amelia…

Alcyon moaned her name as his hand gripped tightly,  his hips thrusting up, imagining himself spearing deep into her velvet heat; fully sheathed, his pelvis pressed against hers, spilling his seed deep inside. Hot milky cum splattered all over his hand and torso as he came. The Iron Warrior groaned, his hips falling back onto his bed, his spend quickly cooling. With his mind now clear, disappointment and yearning quickly took over again as he knew Amelia wasn’t there with him.

He wiped his hand on his chest, making his way to the shower to clean himself off. Hopefully he could wash away these lustful thoughts of Amelia from his mind so he can focus on sleep again. 

He needed his mate, his bonded, the other half to his soul.

Amelia, where are you?

[laukern]

NOT PROOF READ

Sypnosis: satoru, your fiance, ditched you on your date and you get mad. That's it.

Part 2 is up but it's not fulfilling trust.

You never minded the bromantic shit they did honestly. But privileges are not always limitless, even if he were the strongest it didn't give him the right to ditch your date that you planned WEEKS ahead for his 'bff'.

You've been sitting patiently in the new catcafe that opened up just recently, looking at the clock every now and then, fixing your sundress which you specifically picked to match his oceanic eyes. He was late.

You had hopes.. so you waited

2 hours went by. Hah. Must be traffic.

4hours. Okay maybe he's getting yelled at by yaga again... stupid satoru.

6hours and you were done, the sun had already went down and the employees were looking at you weird. On god you heard somebody pity you through whispers

"Aww looks like she got ditched"

Just when you were gathering your things to fucking leave, you heard a ping. As pathetic as it was you wished it was satoru and as mean as it was you wished for him to either be dead or seriously injured to have had ditched your date.

Toru : *sent 6 pics*

Toru : look ml , sugu took me to this super cool carnival thing. The deserts were SO GOOD, coming home btw <3

So.. he forgot.

At moments like this you swore you would've stayed calm but this date was marked on the fucking calender for God's sake, it wasn't some last minute hang out.. it was a fully planned date that you were looking up to since satoru and you had not been able to see eachother because of your busy schedules.

You walked inside your shared apartment, sighing to just... let this disappointment pass and talk to your beloved about it but as soon as you entered the living room your anger went through the roof.

Satoru and suguru, in a very suggestive fucking pose(jk they were about to kill eachother). With what seemed like YOUR makeup spread all across their stupid faces.

Now normally you'll beat their asses and make them clean the whole room but this time you just stared at them, barely being able to handle your overwhelmed nerves.

They looked at you with fright evident on their faces. Shit.. they were done for.

They waited for you to get mad but nothing happened i mean their limbs were still attached so they looked up at your.. trembling figure? Wait what.

You've had enough. Unable to control your anger but also unable to get mad at them, you did the next best possible way to let it out.. you cried.

Panicking satoru stood up and quickly ran to you.

"Baby, w-why are you crying?? I'm sorry, was that kit your favourite? I can buy you a new one, baby please don't cry oh I know-"

"shut up."

....

"What?"

He looked confused and you were loving the look of helplessness on his face. Is that how you looked when you were waiting for him in that cafe?

"Are you guys-" suguru tried to calm the tense air surrounding everyone.

"I said shut.up." You gritted your teeth, hands fisted.

"Babe we're so-"

"don't you get it? I said SHUT UP" You yelled, You didn't mean to but you did.

"Woah woah okay y/n , calm down. Talk to us." suguru tried to comfort you.

But you were never in the mood for peace.

"Talk?? HAH about what?? The fact that MY fiance ditched me ,forgot about our date and went to fucking make out with the guy he sees almost everyday while I have to literally make an appointment to see him TWICE a week." You yelled whatever your brain could comprehend.

Okay maybe you were exaggerating it a bit but they deserved it anyways because that's how you felt.

Your ears rang , eyes glossy and you were trembling so fucking bad. Turning away you stomped to your bed room and shut the door with a long bang.

In the living room, satoru looked just as shocked as suguru disappointed.

"Fuck.."

A/n : I wrote this In a hurry cause the idea was slipping sorry 😬😬 also please be totally honest in the comments if you have to, I just want feedback. English is not my first language and this is my first fic so forgive and complain 🫶

[lsunstreakerl]

(DarkBull)

I absolutely love the extra info given from these last 2 ficlets and I have thoughts opinions and praise to give

Carlos and Max!! The comfort Max gets from being in Carlos' presence. How he worries about his boys but doesn't understand the implication (said like Always Sunny in Philadelphia) of his actions and what that can mean for others! The gun! How many are just hidden around Redbull and Max's own apartment? When did Carlos become involved enough with crime part of rb that he has access to a gun and takes note of where it is?

More info on the trackers! I love the idea of the placement being the spine ( can't remove it without permanent damage to Max ) and the ankle ( Probably won't be able to walk normally if removed, can't run )

The list that Daniel and Carlos have and share about what makes Max happy, sad, etc. Their job is reliant on this mans emotions, they are learning everything they can.

I love timelines and im asking more for the vibe of where different fictlets fit compared to each other? Are they most chronological to posting unless placement is share (ex. pre kidnapping)? If you don't really know don't worry about it, I just like dates and numbers.

The jewelry! I loved the fact that Christian zoned so far into the bracelet being on Max's skin. In my mind, Christian and GP co-design the bangles and there was a heated discussion, so seeing that in person, on his pet's driver's wrist was worth the argument with GP. I like how Daniel and Carlos got him his collar necklace to symbolize their mark on him (Charles is furious when he sees it for the first time, Pierre did not have a good time).

Did Carlos have to get Christian's and GP's approval before he started the romantic/sexual part of his relationship with Max? If so how did that go? When did Daniel get added to the dynamic? You mention how Carlos just started to lead Max around and finally led him to the kiss which turned to more.

Carlos and Daniel just being in his place ready to catch him when he wants to rest. I loved the both touching part of "they care about me" and "If he breaks down in the wrong place people will die"

In one of your responses you mentioned "discipline". Can you show/explain some examples of what they are or when they were used (On any of the 3 rb drivers because while I think rb wants Daniel and Carlos to be disposable, Max likes them too much for them to be able to get rid of them in the way they did for that one employee you mentioned in 2nd ficlet)

Anyways, I love Dark RedBull and the way your mind has been coming up with progressions because I would never of thought of some of the plot points you give us! Make sure you rest and eat, college students unite!

carlos and max!! the way max really does deeply care for both of them, and in a semi-twisted way they do actually love him back- it just also happens that their jobs depend on it.

carlos was brought into the crime side as soon as his relationship with max moved into a romantic/sexual aspect. redbull pulled him aside after they saw the way max was using him as emotional support/an emotional safe space, and they basically told him "you can take that further, but if you fuck it up we're going to kill you", and also "if you're going to be around him like that you need to be able to defend him".

daniel got the same kind of speech. there are many guns scattered across the factory, and more than a few in max's "flat".

I use flat loosely because you'll notice in the max pov, he says his room at the factory. that's because max has his own space, literally within the factory on one of the higher floors. it's basically a fully kitted out apartment, except he uses his employee badge to get in.

the trackers!! so happy you picked up on the placement there, it was very intentional. the one in his spine is hard to get to without a dedicated surgical team who knows exactly where they're looking- otherwise the damage would be immense.

same with the ankle. if it was removed, he definitely wouldn't be able to drive anymore. couldn't run, couldn't really walk without a slight limp and a lot of PT.

if anyone ever tried to steal max so he could drive for them, they wouldn't be able to remove the trackers without max also becoming unable to drive.

it's by far the most permanent claim redbull has on him- they can't be removed without permanent damage.

daniel and carlos's list is the golden egg of rbr tbh. it's come in handy many, many times.

I'll make a timeline post when I compile stuff for the eventual ao3 post, but until then it's mostly vibes unless I specify lol

the bracelets and the necklace. oh man. christian and GP do spend a lot of time getting it just right, and then the actual screw is customized, so it's different from any of the other love lock bracelets. christian has the tool to open it, and max doesn't, so they're permanent.

the bracelet he gets from daniel and carlos is also permanent. it's not that the clasp is weird and he can't figure it out- it's that it's a permanent locking mechanism, and isn't designed to be removable.

it's so complicated with the three of them. daniel and carlos really do want to take care of max, and they really do love him, but there's also the metaphorical guillotine over their heads. they're both very aware that max being upset at the wrong time or the wrong place could end up with problems, so they have the responsibility of trying to keep him emotionally regulated. they take it very seriously.

ficlets I will be writing: adding daniel to the dynamic, discipline, max redbull reunion

thank you!! once again, thrilled that people are enjoying darkbull as I try and get the brainworm out lol. college students on top raaaahhhh 🦅

[kazanfamily]

I just took part in the second Cat Life miniround, and I want to share with you the wild ride I had today.

At first, I was just kinda wandering around not knowing what to do, I got killed a couple times from hunts, but things got reset so everyone went back to 9 lives.

I ended up settling on the cherry mountain, and I started a base with random blocks that were in the kits, which in the end looked like a neapolitan ice cream, so I called it the Neapolitan Home and fully embraced the theme, adding a spoon and cherry on top later.

My neighbors were Cupid and Tuna, so we slowly grew into an unstated team, even if at first we just minding our own business, building our bases and hunting our targets.

At one point, Sylvie joined us up there and for some reason started digging a hole all the way to the void. We called it the sacrificial pit and several people were offered to it. Me and my neighbors joined in to expand the hole into a massive wide crater.

Once we finished that, I got separated from my allies and it took forever to find them again. When I did, they were both on yellow from spleefing, and they invited me to play it. We all died and I got to yellow as well, so we decided that we wanted to kill someone. Thus, we spent 40+ TNT trying to set a trap that only served to blow us all up. A big waste, but it was worth it for the funny.

All our bases at the cherry mountain had gotten destroyed at this point, so we decided to make a new super-secret base that no one was supposed to know about. It had an extremely stealth path of fire with many inconspicuous signs leading right up to it.

Sylvie came up to us while we were building it and joined the team, which was now officially named the Cherry Pits. She brought in Salem who became our fortune teller, with fantastic predictions such as "Cherry Pits will make it to the final 15", "Cupid will be first on the team to die", and "Kazan will have a delicious meal".

Cupid was worried about the second prediction and didn't want to die alone, so I promised to stick by their side. Between sacrificing some lives to Sylvie and the yellow names hunt after we all turned red, I ended up as the only one with two lives when everyone else only had one.

Sylvie really wanted to go after Qibli, and as we were making our plans, they happened to be listening right in. We immediately went on the offensive, with me jumping ahead and getting killed.

When I respawned, I saw death messages from each of my teammates pop up in quick succession. My immediate thought was that I need to find Cupid to not let them die alone, so I ran back up the mountain. I saw someone there and asked them where they were, but then I looked at the team list.

Everyone was gone. I was the last Cherry Pit left.

I made a sign by the grave at spawn to honor my friends, and ended up briefly joining someone who had already been kind of working with us (I forgot their name, sorry 😭). We got together with a new team on top of a platform and started fighting some others who were attacking.

Then, I saw Qibli. I didn't have any faith that I could kill them, but I didn't care. Rage blinded me in that moment and I rushed them. They placed a TNT minecart on the spot, and... well, it was the end of the Cherry Pits. In the end, we couldn't fulfill the top 15 prophecy.

It was a 6-hour session, so there were a lot more great moments which I couldn't highlight here. But anyways, have some screenshots I took! I had the most amazing time today, I didn't care to win that much and was just really glad to have fun with everyone ^^

[jinxerbiscuit]

Shaded'moon redraw and his mate Dew'flower redesign chat🙏🙏🙏

Anyways I mentioned them before on Oat'whisker design that I have posted about along with his mate Turtle'flame which I will send a link to it, where I have mentioned them about on that post as you read it through the post about them

link to it:

As you can tell yes Oat'whisker mentor is Shaded'moon who is also abusive towards him when he was an app at the time because Oat'whisker mother Velvet'snake was Shaded'moon sister and they were close together when growing up and when Shaded'moon sister broke up with her mate Silver'snake due to their relationship starting to become unhealthy and toxic due to unknown reason which Shaded'moon put onto the blame to his app Oat'whisker who is also Shaded'moon nephew as well too and once Shaded'moon sister Velvet'snake was killed in a battle from another clan, he fully yell at his app in front of Oat'whisker father and brother and sister, and Oat'whisker friend Turtle'flame who were mourning her because of her death and Turtle'flame being here to comfort Oat'whisker at the time for it because Turtle'flame had a crush on him and wanted to be here for Oat'whisker, which when Shaded'moon yell at Oat'whisker he also blame her death on him saying that if he hasn't been born along with his brother Storm'soot and his sister Stoat'velvet that Velvet'snake bore kits with Silver'snake then none of them wouldn't even happen in the first place. Which after that day of Shaded'moon sister death he began to abuse his nephew Oat'whisker before starting to punish him as well too if he didn't do his training well at all and if that happens that he will overwork him and attack him making Oat'whisker to become scared of his own mentor who is also his uncle as well too causing Oat'whisker to have serious injury/wounds from this making his family, Turtle'flame and their clanmates to become aware of Shaded'moon actions towards his own app and no matter how hard they try to tell their leader Scorch'star about this Scorch'star would end up gaslighting them saying that Shaded'moon would never do that to his own nephew WHEN CLEARLY Scorch'star haven't see this himself AT ALL until yadada moons later Shaded'moon would also starve his own app as well causing Oat'whisker to almost died of hunger and thirst from this which this also making him to began to overwork himself as well too making Turtle'flame to become worry about this ---until yadada I'm time skipping this--- Oat'whisker father died few moons after Oat'whisker became warrior early from saving Shaded'moon mate Dew'flower who was also taken away by a eagle. Until 6 moons later Oat'whisker sister was murder who was expecting her mate kits and the murder of Oat'whisker death was unknown to this. Until yadada timeskip forward Oat'whisker brother was killed by Lion'star from leafclan during a war between brackenclan which when Shaded'moon saw this he fully blame Oat'whisker for this telling him that this is all his fault and that all of their kins are dead because of him making Oat'whisker to attack him and almost killing him too until Turtle'flame stop him from doing so which then soon Oat'whisker would make a plan to kill him after all of the abuse and trauma he receive from him which he ends up murdering him the night before the gathering somewhere in brackenclan territory.

yay the end now moving to his mate Dew'flower

And as for Dew'flower I end up changing her design because I didn't liked her old one at all when looking through my post like I did with Stoat'watcher that I have mentioned him and giving the same reason as well too that I'm giving to Dew'flower as well rn. I also add items that she is wearing rn on her new design which I'm too lazy to make the color palette for it 😞😞😞

Dew'flower also named one of her and Shaded'moon kits after Oat'whisker after he saved him from almost being taken away by a eagle which Dew'flower was worry that Shaded'moon wouldn't accept their son being named after him because of this due to how I mentioned that everyone is aware what Shaded'moon is doing towards Oat'whisker when Oat'whisker was an app at the time when this was happening. Which in the end Shaded'moon allow her to name their son after him which she was relief of, but unknown to her she doesn't know that her mate Shaded'moon is giving the same treatment to their kits that he did with Oat'whisker, until one of their kits from their 2nd and last LITTER Bog'water who is their daughter told her about what was Shaded'moon doing towards them after Shaded'moon death that was caused by Oat'whisker which Dew'flower still mourn for her mate but will never forgive him for being abusive towards their own kits and Oat'whisker until she retired as a elder and when moons pass she finally died in place when a greencough out break was happening which she reunited with Shaded'moon who guided her to starclan which she forgive him but never for his actions and what he did for.

LINKS TO OLD DRAWING OF SHADED'MOON AND HIS MATE DEW'FLOWER OLD DRAWING AND DESIGN!!!!!!!!

OLD DRAWING OF SHADED'MOON LINK:

OLD DRAWING AND DESIGN OF DEW'FLOWER LINK:

[callme-aprilroseisha04]

I so badly wanna know what's going on with Sonic in your Voices AU!!! (This is an invitation for you to info dump if you so desire)

OK so originally I had this MONSTER essay on what this was about but im really really bad at explaining things and I don’t want to leave you hanging forever so instead I’ll just give you a basic rundown of the concept and all the plot points. Also, important thing to mention, I HAVEN’T FINISHED SEASON 2 YET. Y’know, where the majority of my AU takes place. Haven’t finished that. Haven’t even seen Chaos Metal Sonic. Sorry, sorry, I know, I’m a fake fan but in my defense every time I turn on the show I want to bang my head against a wall, tear all my skin of, and run in circles at the speed of light (in a good way) (but also in a bad way) (a good bad way). Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I need to quickly explain the concept behind this. In the first episode of Season 2, Avoid the Void, Sonic doesn’t realize that he can run out of the Ghost World. He’s stuck there. This also means that he can’t save shadow from falling into the void (this is why shadow doesn’t have his arm or his leg in my au illustrations, he wakes up before he can be fully disintegrated, but he did lose some limbs.) Back to Sonic, since he has nothing better to do, he tries to take a nap at the beach where his friends are at and starts “taking” to Tail’s projection. Then, the voice comes. I don’t really know how to describe this. There is a voice, like the name says, but it’s also a lot more complicated than that. When “it” comes, Sonic can’t hear anything; or, well actually he can hear things (sometimes the noise feels oppressively loud) but he doesn’t know what people are saying, so to him it just sounds like gibberish. Also, this isn’t always true, (it just depends) but his eyes won’t focus properly and they get really blurry, like can’t see what’s in-front of you blurry. Also, headaches! Because apparently we needed to make this even worse for him for some reason!!!!! It’s not at its worst here, but as you can expect, he is pretty disoriented after it’s done. Shadow comes back to the ghost world, Sonic is understandably surprised by HIS LACK OF TWO LIMBS, he gets the tech and bounces, yadayadayada, all the stuff. More importantly, now we get Nine back! Chapter two; Sonic goes to Boscage Maze, they’re ripping the place up, Sonic goes to help Thorn, mini “voice” episode (as an appetizer), he gets a tech upgrade from Nine, he goes to fight, gets the main course “voice” episode, Nine gets in trouble cause emo tween egg boy caught him talking to Sonic trying to figure out what’s wrong with him and why he’s talking to himself, Sonic gets the shard from Thorn, he runs of with it, emo eggboy sends a message that they’re gonna kill Nine unless Sonic gives them the shard, Nine tells him not to, he goes anyway and THROWS THE SHARD INTO THE OTHER SHARDS THE EGGMEN HAD COLLECTED SO HE CAN SAVE NINE, (he tries to get the shards back but they got swarmed by robots) and finally they get out and go to the ghost world. Shadow is really, REALLY mad at him for trading a SHARD just to save his little kit boy and ALSO mad because Sonic wants to keep Nine there, to keep him safe. Eventually, Shadow gives in after Nine mentions that he could build Shadow a prosthetic, but he adds the clause that the moment Nine finishes the prosthetic, he leaves. After that, Sonic goes to get the rest of the shards back while Nine makes Shadow’s prosthetic at Tail’s workshop. For the next few chapters, Sonic get into some sort of a routine; Try to get the shards, come back to the ghost world to rest, squabble with Shadow, chat with Nine for a little, and repeat. Some important things to mention from this period are: 

Nine is intentionally taking his time making Shadows prosthetic (Sonic’s idea) as well as making it break really easily & adding a secret “feature” that allows him to $&@!?ING electrocute him from afar using a remote implanted in his mechanical tails (both and especially the last one NOT Sonic’s idea); 

Sonic doesn’t actually sleep during this time, he just takes 3 hour naps so he can get back home quicker, which only worsens the voice thing; 

Shadow, (who doesn’t understand anything about what’s going on with Sonic other than the vague sense that something’s wrong with him, unlike Nine who got a basic lil explanation from Sonic after asking wtf happened at boscage maze) is getting increasingly frustrated with Sonic because of how long it’s taking for him to get all the shards, as well as his continual trusting of Nine.

This continues for a while, those “episodes” get worse and worse, Sonic grows closer to Nine and tension keeps building between Sonic & Shadow until <drumroll………>

THE EGG COUNCIL COMES!!!!! Again, since I still haven’t seen season two of Sonic Prime, I don’t really know how this is gonna happen, but I do know it’s gonna happen. (btw Nine finishes Shadow’s prosthetic & leaves like a day before the egg council comes.) This is a massive battle and I have like a whole thing on how it’s gonna play out but the important things to note for the story are: Shadow finally sees Sonic’s “episodes” play out in front of him and he is understandably confused and concerned, but their in a battle right now so he can’t really do anything about it and <another drum roll please…..>

SONIC TRIES TO CHOP OFF HIS F$!?KING ARM! Ok, I definitely need to explain this a little more. During the first occurrence of the “voice,” it mentions something about them and Sonic being the same person, & basically says “I am a part of you, Sonic. The only way to get rid of me is to get rid of you.”  Edgy stuff like that, y’know? Well, during this one, it repeats that phrase again and in true Sonic fashion, he decides to do something incredibly stupid, risky, and drastic based on even dumberreasoning. You see, the voice said it was a part of him, not all of him. It also said that in order to get the voice out, he’d have to “get rid” of himself too. So, using this logic, if he only gets rid of a part of him, then he gets to keep living without the voice constantly haunting his every move! This is admittedly pretty silly logic, but he was in the middle of what is essentially a scaled up panic attack, so cut him some slack, OK? He tried to use a piece of scrap metal that fell off the robot to remove it, which unsurprisingly doesn’t work very well. It only ends up cutting halfway, but Sonic can’t really tell that it’s still attached since he’s so tired, & “it” did shut up after he stabbed his arm open soooooooo¯\_(ツ)_/¯. He manages to drive the egg council off to their own dimension before passing out from blood loss, leaving Shadow to rush him to Tail’s workshop so he can get bandaged up, made harder with Shadz’s new leg getting absolutely trashed. When Sonic finally wakes up, Shadow is confused, deeply concerned, and angry with him for almost killing himself for seemingly no reason. Sonic, however, is incredibly calm about the whole thing and nonchalantly explains why he cut off his arm during the battle, until he realizes his arm is still attached to him 

Here’s a comic page of the next scene:

He leaves to go get more shards and get Nine back to fix Shadows leg, which Shadow predictively grumbles about. This is a pretty light chapter, besides the ending:

Nine and Sonic are hanging out, having fun, the usual. Nine points out how cheery Sonic is right now, and Sonic starts to explain why he’s in such a good mood while Nine passes a small knife for him to hold while he does other things. Sonic, in the middle of his explanation, is cut off by…… “it” and proceeds to frantically rip off his bandages and try to cut the remainder of his arm off with the knife Nine gave him. Nine, who has no idea what’s going on, tries to wrangle back the knife from Sonic. In the struggle, Sonic ends up permanently scaring Nine on one of his eyes. It was an accident of course, but Nine bolts out of the workshop and zaps the door so Sonic can’t chase after him all the same. Sonic breaks down. 

After a bit, (about 30 minutes or so,) and after seeing and briefly meeting with Nine to ask where Sonic has been since he should be with him at the workshop; Nine responded with a suggestion to check for himself, Shadow decides to take Nine’s advice and go. Here’s the scene I wrote for this, as well as the comic I made (they have some dialogue differences, but the general idea is the same.)

“Sonic,”

He didn’t even look up. He was completely unfazed, almost expecting it.

“Sonic!”

Finally realizing who it was, he made a soft gasp, which, however small, was enough for Shadow to know he was listening.

“Do you know how big of a mess you’ve just made?”

They both stayed silent.

“Let me get this straight: That, … thing came back,”

The blue hedgehog sitting on the floor appeared perfectly still in the darkness of Tail’s old workshop.

“So you decided that it would be a good idea to try to cut your arm off again, even though it clearly didn’t work the first time, and I explicitly said not to, because we didn’t have the medical supplies to patch you up after,”

This time, he made a slight nod downwards.

“And when the fox tried to stop you, you hit him in his FUCKING eye? Is that all? Does it get any worse than that?”

The hedgehog didn’t respond. He was focused on something else.

“Are you even listening?”

Complete. Silence.

“Of course not. Of course you’re not listening. You never have, so why start now, huh?”

Shadow broke into a grin.

“You can’t listen to anyone, can you? Not your friends, not your allies, not even your own family! You’re Sonic the Hedgehog. The arrogant, narcissistic, naive, idiot hero who destroyed his own world because he couldn’t slow down. That’s all you are.”

Still nothing. He got angrier.

“I’m TIRED of your NONSENSE! I’m TIRED of you just sitting around having a PITY PARTY over something YOU CAUSED YOURSELF!”

Shadow grew quiet.

“I’m tired of your games, Sonic.”

A cold, hard, stare crossed the black and red hedgehog’s face.

“SO GET UP ALREADY!”

He forcefully pulled him off the ground, and for the first time during this whole conversation, Sonic spoke. He… screamed, a scream so loud you could hear it from a mile away. 

Shadow let go. 

Then, he slowly lowered his hand to his face, and …. No. The hedgehog gazed into the person standing before him, looking for something, anything, any semblance of the hedgehog he knew, but all that met him was an empty husk that he could barely even recognize.

“I-”

Sonic ran past him. He was gone. And Shadow didn’t know if he would ever come back.

“I’m sorry.”

———————————————————————

Sonic runs into the New Yoke rebel base and patches himself up. He’s able to get two shards from the egg council, but the rebel base is found in the process. There’s only one left, besides the Grim shard. Before Sonic leaves, Shadow tries to talk to him for a moment, but once he got a hold of him, he doesn’t know what to say. Does he apologize? Would that make things worse? Is he just supposed to wait it out and hope Sonic’s friends will help him? Sonic is still able to collect the shards, so they’re still getting back home, but what will happen after that? As much as Shadow hated to admit it, Sonic and his friends were just about the only force that could stop The Doctor from completing whatever world ending scheme he cooked up that week, other than himself. If he …. If something bad happened to Sonic after this, and he couldn’t get back up from it, and if he couldn’t pick up the slack, then….

He didn’t know what would happen. 

Shadow is barely able to get a word in before Sonic leaves to get the last shard. There’s nothing left to do.

Before we move on to the next plot point in the story, i want to talk about Nine for a second, since we haven’t really gotten the chance to explore him at all yet. A quick little thing I want to note is that Nine knows what the plan is in the AU. Get the shards, put them together, and save this world. He is planningto betray Sonic in this. At the same time, he’s also a lot closer to him. They hang out more, they chat more, and both of them feel the other is the only one on their side right now. Nine reasons that he can just convince Sonic to come with him, since they’re friends after all. He doesn’t really pay Shadow any mind, just thinking of him as an antagonistic coworker, not a real threat. The zapper he put in his leg was just a backup plan, incase he couldn’t fight him himself for one reason or another. Sonic and Nine were a team. They wouldn’t hurt each other. Until they did. Until Sonic did. After the incident, all of the trust between the two is gone. Nine doesn’t blame Sonic per say, he knows that Sonic was just desperate for it to stop, but he’s still angry. He’s angry at himself for trusting him. For trusting that he wouldn’t get hurt. From this point onwards, neither of them try to talk to each other. Nines plan only changes slightly.  He won’t try to convince Sonic to come with him. He won’t make that mistake again. 

Sonic’s feelings are a bit more complicated than Nine’s. He wants to fix everything, but he can’t. He wants everything to go back to normal, but too much has happened for that to even be a possibility. He wants everything to just stop for a minute, to just let him rest, but no matter what, it won’t. He just has to keep going. He just has to keep moving forwards. 

Sonic gets the last shard (Sonic and Shadow have to fight off the egg council again; it’s pretty awkward), and Nine finally puts his plan into motion. Using a machine he built while Sonic wasn’t around, he creates a portal to the Grim, his new home. Sonic begs Nine not to do this, that they’re friends, but that only makes Nine angrier. If they were friends, then Sonic would want to help him, if they were friends, then Sonic would’ve listened to him, and if they were actually, really friends then Sonic WOULDN’TV’E DONE THIS TO HIM.

Shadow had been outside the whole time listening to this, and he has heard enough of Nine’s ramblings. He lunged straight at Nine, but just as he’s about to reach him…. ZAP.  They both stare down at Shadow’s limp, burned body. Sonic’s head started spinning rapidly. He couldn’t tell who was in front of him, he couldn’t tell what was going on, he couldn’t tell where he was or who he was or why he was doing any of this at all. All he knew was that Shadow. Was. Dead. Because of him. Because hedecided to trust him. He spin-dashed straight into the kit’s chest, pressing him deeper and deeper into the rough, ragged cavern floor. One of his mechanical tails snapped from the shear force the spin dash on his body. Sonic slowly picked the broken hunk of metal, held it above the little fox’s body, and …

He ran as far as he can go. He ran and ran until he just couldn’t anymore and broke down in the middle of f@!king boscage maze. They’re dead. Both of them are dead. And it’s his fault isn’t it? If he had listened to Shadow about Nine then he wouldn’t had gotten electrocuted. If he had listened to Nine then Nine wouldn’t have betrayed them. If he had listened to his friends then none of this would’ve happened in the first place. But he didn’t. And now they’re all dead. So why even try? Why even try to help people if you only end up hurting them? What’s the point? What’s the point of anything anymore? Sonic’s grip on sanity finally snaps, when someone finally finds him….

It’s Thorn. She’s been watching Sonic this whole time and is understandably disturbed by the whole, watching someone have a meltdown thing. Seeing that Sonic has seemingly calmed down, she reaches to ask what happened to him, why he was so scared, but it was too late. Sonic grabbed Thorn by the neck, just before Mangey, Prim, and Gnarly came looking for her. Meanwhile:

Shadow tackles Nine, shoving him into the portal and just barely managing to close it before he got back. But now, both Shadow and Nine are both stranded. Without the shards, Nine can’t create a portal to escape the Grim. Shadow can’t enter any of the shatter spaces, so even if he could leave the ghost world, he’d still be trapped. They’re both stuck. 

Back with Sonic, the boscage maze crew are still trying to snap him out of it as he attacks them and their home. Prim keeps arguing this is pointless, that they should just beat him up until he leaves, but Thorn won’t let that happen. Sonic’s still in there. He has to be. This gamble fails, the forest is mostly destroyed and Mangey is injured. (btw the boscage maze stuff I just talked about isn’t very plot relevant, just wanted to mention it cause I could.) When Sonic finally leaves boscage, he plans to go to the other realities as well, destroying them one by one. But, for some reason, he decides to go to the Grim instead. He’s not quite sure why, but goes anyway. Why not, after all? 

Nine has been on edge the entire time he’s been in the Grim. It made sense, after all. Sonic was still alive, and presumably, still looking for the last shard. His best bet was to try to find it before he found him. Nine had been searching for about a day and a half, getting increasingly desperate by the hour. He wished he had stolen the tech he gave to Sonic, or made another one that could help him track where the shard was. Suddenly, Sonic arrives. And Nine’s not exactly happy to see him again. Sonic immediately starts attacking, Nine trying as hard as he can to get a hit in. As they’re fighting, Nine has a realization. He can use this to his advantage. All he has to do is keep Sonic chasing him and his shoes will tell him where the last shard is. Then, try to trigger the “voice” so he can get the shard. Finally, finish. the. job. Unfortunately, the second step doesn’t go to plan. He’s able to get the shard but…….

Sonic gets to him before Nine could run off with it.

And when he watched him bleed out, when he watched the blood pour out of his chest, when he realized that he was dead, that there was no way he could come back from this, no way he could still miraculously be alive, no chance that he could ever fix what he had done, Sonic fully accepted what he had become. A mindless, murderous, monster.

Shadow has been waiting this whole time; waiting for Sonic, waiting for the last shard, and waiting for a chance to actually apologize for what happened at the workshop. But that chance had already passed, it seemed. Sonic slowly walked into the cave, where everything started, Grim shard and metal tail both in hand. The two hedgehogs met eyes. Sonic stood in shock for a minute, then smiled. One last person to kill.  He hopped down from the cave’s mouth, tossed the shard to the side, and gripped the bloody scrap metal harder. Then, he lunged. They start battling it out as Shadow tries to put the pieces together on what happened. Sonic keeps teasing and joking with Shadz while they’re battling it out. Eventually it just devolve into rants about how stupid everything is, and how stupid he was for ever thinking he was a good person. When Shadow finally gets a good look at how deteriorated Sonic’s mind has become, he can’t help but wonder what he could’ve done to stop this. But it’s too late for that now. He was too slow. Shadow eventually gets the upper hand and corners Sonic, toppling him over. Here’s the passage I wrote for the next scene: 

——————————————————————

Shadow grasped the jagged piece of metal and held it just above the blue hedgehog’s skull, shaking with what he couldn’t tell was rage or fear. Sonic’s eyes stared up at him, his maniacal grin completely wiped. Instead, a blank expression crossed his face. It wasn’t exactly fear, it wasn’t exactly shock, it wasn’t exactly sadness and it wasn’t exactly relief. It was…. everything, all mashed into one giant, unreadable expression. For once, Shadow felt he genuinely understood Sonic. For once, he knew exactly what he was feeling. Shadow dropped the blade. He hugged him.

“Wh-?”

“Because you need it.”

Sonic couldn’t hold back any longer. The tears that he had been repressing for so long now streamed down his cheeks like waterfalls as he leaned further and further into Shadow’s embrace. All the words he had wanted to say for so long spilled out of his mouth in a giant river, jumbled and broken and completely incoherent as he tried to explain it all, as he tried and tried and tried to apologize for everything he had done. 

“I-I didn’t-”

“Shhh”

“I j-just-”

“Shhh”

“I c-couldn’t”

“It’s OK. Sonic, look at me.”

He lifted up Sonic’s tear stricken face with his hand, staring into his eyes, tinted with pain.

“It’s all gonna be OK.”

the end.

———————————————————————

And that’s it! This took a while to write, so thanks for sticking around through it all, that was really cool of you. A few little notes about the epilogue & after story.

Epilogue:

I need to clear something up before I can start discussing what happens in the epilogue. You may have noticed some of the Sonic art I’ve posted (mostly the ones with Sonic using a prosthetic arm) mentioned something about an epilogue. This is a mistake. What past me was trying to say was that this was from the after story. I just forgot the word for it, sorry! With that out of the way, let’s begin. After Sonic’s finally cried it all out, they both get up and he thanks Shadow for the hug. Shadow accepts, and there’s a cute lil scene where the two of them are just… talking, while they go to grab the last shard from the top of the mountain to put it back in its place. After they’re done, Sonic hesitates for a moment. Should he go back to them? After everything, he doesn’t really believe that they would want to see him, not after what he’d done. But Shadow reassures him that if HE could forgive Sonic, then his friends probably would too. They both go their separate ways, and Sonic finally gets to see his friends again. He (tries) to explain what happened, why he’s missing an arm and covered in blood, all that stuff, and they are understandably horrified at…. EVERYTHING he’s saying but ultimately forgive him. They all leave to get chili dogs, and we end with the whole gang minus Shadow having a picnic and Sonic FINALLY taking a nap on Tail’s tails.

After Story: 

I don’t have much of this part planned out outside from a prosthetic design for Sonic and the BAREST of story outlines so I’m just gonna make a bullet point list.

Eggman steals the paradox prism

Everyone (including Shadow) gets together to make a plan to steal it back

Sonic messes up the plan somehow and starts freaking out

Shadow yells at him, making it worse

Sonic runs away and has a panic attack 

After he calms down a little, Shadow goes to apologize 

They go back and come up with a new plan

It works & they all go get some food (including Shadow, after a lot of convincing)

———————————————————————

Final, FINAL Notes: OH MY GOD THIS TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DONE IN ONE WEEK OH MY GOD. thank you again so much for reading all of this this is so long oh my freaking god why’d I make this so long? uh, this mostly serves as a reference sheet so you know what scene im drawing so I can stop getting questions on what is going on. speaking of questions, if you have any, ask! im bad at explaining stuff, so im sure there’s PLENTY. just to make sure im not getting anyone’s hopes up btw, i dont know if I’ll actually end up making this a full fic, mostly cause ive never made one before & i dont know how to use ao3 yet :( feel free to use any and all ideas mentioned within this mega-essay with or without credit, i support you! with this last, last, LAST note, I think I will leave you be.

(also sorry that this took so long to write, it got deleted 3 separate times so I had to start over haha :))))))))))

[chasing-faith-and-fate]

Can we know more about riftjay since she is respond for how sootsnow turned out

Jeez yes that woman

Okay, so—

Riftjay was a very stilted person, wasn't emotionally available to her children and her only friend was her sister Tigerripple, and that was Tiger that put in all the work, not Riftjay.

Her parents, Lionsplash and Yellowheart both died of starvation during her apprenticeship, and was put under the care of Gardeniastar, whom she fucking hated.

Riftjay was alive as most of her clan withered away to starvation, and it kinda made her cold to the world, just fully believing everything she knew would die painfully one day and she'd have to watch— so she never got close to others (except for her sister.)

She got involved with Carmen out of the same reasons that Sootsnow got with Quiver, an intense loneliness, wanting to have someone but also not something committed.

This ended up biting her in the ass, as she jumped the border on moon0 to hunt for food, she ran into Carmen again, told him about his kits and tried to convince him to take them to Wisteriaclan. Carmen refused and they had a fight, they didn't notice that Riftjay had been followed over by a Taker. It attacked them, as they both tried to escape up a tree— Carmen got up first, and as he looked down at Riftjay saw an opportunity to get out of everything scot-free, so he trapped her and threw her to the Taker, breaking her back on the way down.

Anyway that's her death— her little bullshit thing about canon fodder was born completely out of pattern recognition in her youth. You see, Tigerripple was the youngest of the litter of three, Riftjay the middle and their older stillborn sibling— out of the three, the oldest died and the youngest thrived.

It was the same pattern she saw in her parents as Lionsplash's older sibling died protecting her, and Yellowheart's four older littermates were all stillborn. And also something she learned from stories about Nightingale and Skychaser, their youngest continued the family while the oldest either didn't or died (and the oldest of their grandchildren killed Skychaser so obviously wasn't good either.)

So, girly was lonely, paranoid, and bleak. And she thought that to her kits, as Soot was the youngest and Silk was the oldest.

She has a fucked up relationships to both her kits.

[znitsamluv]

Hiii if ur not busy can you do this?

Soulmate AU Chifuyu x fem reader (who is a valhalla captain). Its the one where if your soulmate gets injured you get the same injuries too. So during the time when chifuyu got hit by the first punch by baji in the valhalla arcade, reader quickly realizes and basically runs out bc obviously she can't risk seeing being soulmates with a rivalling gang member.

The rest is up to you on how it goes. But if you don't want to do this its fine!

Fate !

Note: had some much writing this and I hope you liked it too anon since I am not really good with writing oneshots , anyway have fun.

Chifuyu x FEM!reader

Warnings: Kisaki, mentions of Bruises and fighting but not overly detailed just mentioned a few times.

" you are late ... Again "

I glanced at kisaki for a second and shrugged my shoulders not really feeling intimated

" My bad "

I walked away but didn't fail to hear kisaki scoffing, even though he is younger and weaker than most of us he wasn't a person to be taken lightly which makes me patient around his bratty attitude and lack of respect to those around him.

I walked further in the hideout and saw hanma grinning widely as two blonde boys wearing the toman uniform stood in the hideout, my eyes widened for a second they are really asking for death !

It all happened so quickly, I made eye contact with one of them and I felt an electric shock that lasted for a second leaving me with goosebumps.

'Huh?!' I couldn't even have time to process as Baji started beating up the blonde one which I heard his name was chifuyu, every blow and punch I felt it deep in my guts , I can feel my lungs struggle to breathe just like chifuyu must be feeling , I could feel my head spinning, he is going to pass out if I didn't do something.

I quickly pushed Baji away and looked at Hanma and kisaki.

" that's is enough we don't want to kill someone and cause problems"

My breath was shaky but I managed to hide it well , I was a higher rank member in Valhalla and my orders were as important as kisaki and hanma so other members started clearing the way.

" I will take care of that boy before toman realize he is missing "

I didn't wait to hear an answer as I bent down taking a hold of chifuyu's arm and pushing him to stand then making him lean on me as I dragged his half conscious body outside the hideout.

His pain was mine , I could feel how his jaw aches from Baji's earlier punches and how his left eye kept twitching in pain and I could only imagine the ugly bruise that will form later.

I couldn't walk really far with how heavy he was but I know that we were far enough to be out of sight , I gently placed him on a public bench in the park , looking at him from a closer angle made me realize he was quite handsome despite his visibly swollen face .

I continued to stare at him for a minute, a part of me telling me I should leave already as I saved him enough, and the other begging me to stay to make sure he was ok .

I sighed and messed with my hair in frustration seeing how no matter I tried to leave him like this it felt like a force was holding me back, if I can't leave then I should at least treat his face wounds since I could feel them as well .

I opened my backpack and took out my first aid kit , I took a deep breath as I held his chin softly wiping the dried blood before I use any treatment, my eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

'i'm doing this for me'

Even though my mind thought like this my soul knew otherwise, if it was another person I could have let Baji killed him and I wouldn't care , I wouldn't be standing here cleaning his wounds like I have known him for years .

I could feel Chifuyu stir awake and once he opened his eyes fully I was met with a push making me stumble back a little.

" What the hell?"

I looked at him with confused and irritated expression not really expecting this type of reaction, I saw how his eyes scanned me until it Landed on my Valhalla uniform and how visibly tensed he was.

" Where is Baji ?!"

" huh ?!"

I looked at him in disbelief, he must have hit his head hard to be thinking of someone else let alone the one who beat him like this when he was in this condition.

" I said where is Baji ?"

I can see how he tried to be intimidating but I couldn't help but let out a chuckle in amusement.

Chifuyu didn't know what was wrong but just hearing her chuckle made butterflies swim in his stomach.

" I think you should be caring about something else"

I touched the bruise on his cheek making him hiss in pain .

" look , I am not here to hurt you, just let me finish helping you and I will leave"

I looked at his eyes as I talked trying not to lose focus, Chifuyu knew he couldn't move after what happened not long ago and he wouldn't mind staying here .... You felt oddly comfortable to be around , his heart beating faster once he noticed the string tattoo on your arm which just looks like his , he always heard how soulmates have matching indicators and for him it was the tattoo.

" You- "

The words got stuck in his throat, seeing how close you were to his face , feeling your breathe fan at his face , the string tattoo starting to get tighter making him hiss slightly.

" just stay still, I will be quick"

The ability to talk was taken out of chifuyu, he just nodded in a dazed state , maybe because he was tired and couldn't think straight but he felt like he could stay here all day, under your gaze seeing how much you tried to look like you don't care and you hate him , but your expressions betrayed you as your eyes softened everytime chifuyu would groan in pain or jump slightly from the stinging feeling of the cotton pad brushing softly against the ugly bruise on his cheek .

Seeing how you stood just close enough to see the details of your face , the way your eyes sparkled in concentration, the way the orange sky of the sunset kissed your skin as you looked at him. He could look at you forever if he could.

And of course I didn't miss the way chifuyu looked at me , the way he blushed at the slightest touch on his skin , the way he avoided eye contact, i couldn't help but feel warm inside. It felt peaceful for once .

Once I finished treating his wounds I moved a few steps back, seeing his pretty face all covered in plasters and patches made me feel some kind of rage inside of me , not knowing exactly who I was mad at but it felt right to feel like that when you see the one the universe chose for you in this state .

I sighed and sat beside him on the bench massaging my temples as I felt a headache coming.

" If I knew I was going to meet my soulmate today I would have at least tried to look cooler and fight back "

Chifuyu mumbled loud enough making me giggle slightly as I looked at him noticing his embarrassed red cheeks.

We stayed in silence watching the last stream of light go down before exchanging places with the moon , neither of us wanted to move nor talk , just stay close like this in silence.

" i think I will be taking my leave"

I stood up only to halt when chifuyu's hand wrapped around my wrist gently making me stay still in my place , his eyes saying million words a second and yet nothing seemed to get out .

" you don't have to"

We both stared at each other , the universe made us for each other but the pathes and choices we took in life making a repulsive reaction whenever we thought of staying . It feels ridiculous to be in a situation I always laughed about, to be torn between two choices you want to chose both of them .

" we can work this together slowly... Just the two of us "

It felt like a magic spell putting me in haze , I think I know which choice I am going with this time .

I took out a small piece of paper writing something on it and placing it in chifuyu's hand , before starting to walk away.

" wait ! "

Chifuyu sighed in defeat seeing you walk away , noticing the paper in his hand he unfolded it and couldn't help but smile widely and feel his ears getting warmer reading your note .

' Here is my number.... Call me when you need to get your wounds cleaned '

Chifuyu chuckled and shook his head in amusement thinking to himself.

' I think I will need my wounds cleaned up every hour '

[butcherhell]

"    the  butcher  is  here .  he ' s  like  a  rabid  canine  ,  thrashing  at  everything  in  sight  .  be careful . "  

credits to kratos-sins, underesources, and skeletonenthusiasts for graphics. thanks!

BUTCHERHELL : an indie , canon - divergent portrayal of Sour Apple Studio's HorrorTale Sans the Skeleton (going by the name butch) not in affiliation or support of the muse's creator. free for anyone to interact with! not limited to just mutuals. functions using x-kit rewritten , operating as an ask / rp blog . established 6 / 24 / 25 . personals are free to interact via asks. roleplay for rp blogs only.

due to the nature of Butch as a character, please interact with caution - keeping in mind the following triggers: blood , death , body horror , self - destructive behavior , suicidal ideation and actions , severe manipulation , toxic relationships , unhealthy codependency , and eating disorders .

below the cut will be some blog rules, and tags, as well as stats in case our carrd is not functioning. please read fully! <3 ( mun : ant , he / any , est )

RULE COLLECTION NO . 1 : please do not godmod or attempt to kill butch. he will fight back. no metagaming either please, these are basics. in regards to ask memes or sending funny things to affect horror, these are always allowed! just don't use knowledge provided in his backstory/stats unless your character already knows that stuff. if your character doesn't, then they don't. effects can only last up to ten asks. be specific for the amount of asks you want it to last for. ask memes never expire! if you see it on the blog, send it in! ALSO, always reblog things from the source as to not flood mun's notifs. thank you! also, i'd personally prefer to plot threads rather than jump straight into them. sometimes if i feel motivated enough that's what i'll do- but plotting is my preference.

RULE COLLECTION NO . 2 : besides the nsfw present on the blog in the form of blood and gore, there will be no smut or sexual connotations. jokes are fine, as butch makes them himself. this is not set in place to limit interactions, i just know a lot of people thirst after him (as do i) but smut makes me (the mun) uncomfortable, considering my interpretation of butch is a questioning member of the ace spectrum. shipping is completely fine as long as there is chemistry and proper relationship - building. butch likes taking people out surprisingly! makes him feel normal. mun's only preference for shipping is nightmare x horror. i like their dynamic a lot

RULE COLLECTION NO . 3 : CROSSOVER AND OC FRIENDLY!!! COME INTO THE INBOX PLEASE!! as you can tell, mun loves ocs and different fandoms. as long as you have a verse or are willing to squeeze into butch's world, we're good to go! i know there's quite a bit when it comes to the utmv fandom, so it's okay to be hesitant. shoot me a dm and i'll tell you all about it! anyway, proshippers are the only specific dni for this blog. mun blocks freely! and of course, duplicates are completely fine as we know the multiverse has many versions of sans. i do not have any particular triggers, but if you do, please let me know and they shall be tagged! only blacklisted media for me is vivziepop productions. just a personal preference!

BUTCH'S STATS: Name : Sans / Horror / Butch Gender : Cis Male , he / him pronouns Sexuality : questioning ace spectrum DOB : August 4th Age : 30 Occupation: Mercenary / Baker Birthplace: Snowdin , Underground Current Residence : Omega Timeline Personality : relies on logic, caring, considerate, intelligent, loyal, short tempered, possessive, unpredictable, territorial, lazy, family oriented and cautious of those unknown. Likes: Baking, cooking, providing for his brother no matter what, music, good books, baked goods. Dislikes: those who are inconsiderate, wasteful people, people with god complexes Hobbies: music, reading, writing, journaling, scrapbooking Build : 6'0, 197lb. bulkier ribcage and thicker legs. Conditions: Chronic migraines, OCD, possible binge eating disorder. VERSE INFO: the current reality this horror resides in is a place familiar to many, the omega timeline. while him and many variants of himself and others reside there, he does bother to leave and pick up jobs occasionally. he works for nightmare on a regular basis, similar to a puppet on a string. the only reason he does this is to keep him and his brother safe. he often switches locations, going between his shared apartment with his brother and nightmare's domain, which takes the form of a castle. as for how he got in this mess: butch and his brother were 'rescued' by core!frisk after the collapse of their timeline, caused by the death of aliza at the hands of queen undyne. considering that wasn't supposed to happen, the timeline began to self-destruct as the monsters of the underground began to realize they were truly doomed. considering this to be a charitable moment in which core!frisk could provide a safe space and rehabilitation to the monsters of this timeline, they took, butch, his brother nicknamed gums, and a few other select monsters, having them transported to the omega timeline. and that was that, until one day, years after butch and gums had been rescued, he received a letter from nightmare offering to provide protection if he were to work for him. wanting to do anything to keep his brother safe, butch accepted. and now nightmare is pulling the strings on his life, keeping him tethered to a reality of death and gore.

[say-hwaet]

That's the Way it Is

Chapter 26: To Plan Treason Next Chapter: Twenty-Seven Summary: Now that the Marstons are in on the plan, it is now time to plan the escape. Hosea, Arthur, Kit , and the Marstons need to piece together what she's learned with the little time they have left. Warnings: Mature themes, language, violence, character death, animal death Word Count: ~9,500

“Alright!” Javier calls out as he finishes his guitar riff. “Any other requests?”

“What about Clementine?” Jack asks as he rests in your lap. You have a good hold on him and there’s something comforting to have him there. You’ve been swaying to the music as Abigail sits next to you, joining in with the gang as they sing to tunes that Javier plays.

It feels good to have something happy and light to think about and you feel like celebrating, for you’ve convinced Abigail to take Jack and leave with you and Arthur.

Abigail was hesitant at first, John being her reason for hesitancy, but you made it plain that he will go if she goes. And that, after some heartfelt words of a future for her son away from all this mess, was convincing enough.

Now, you wait, hoping that Arthur will do the rest.

It’s been a good half hour since they both walked off behind the house, and you’ve done your part to keep everyone near the campfire singing and laughing. You’ve looked over your shoulder enough times to see if he’s returning, but they must be having a deep conversation.

Meanwhile, everyone else is accounted for.

Except for Dutch, Hosea, and Micah.

You figure Hosea is somewhere nearby, but you aren’t worried if he discovers Arthur and John while they are having their secret conversation. You plan on talking to him eventually. It is Dutch and Micah you’re worried about.

Since Molly is now gone, you can see the mental dissent more clearly in Dutch, and little by little, there are becoming less voices of reason to keep him from becoming fully undone. Hosea and Arthur are truly the last of them, but it seems that Arthur’s thoughts have already become discarded.

Or replaced.

Micah Bell has been like a disease ever since he came. The physical representation of destruction. If you had a cure, you’re not sure it would be enough. It is something only a bullet could deliver. 

But you want Bronte to be the last man you kill. You promised to put it behind you. This life is over. No more running. You’re going to live instead. 

Maybe you and Arthur can slip away one more time to look for that treasure Arthur was talking about. Maybe after talking to Hosea you and Arthur can figure out when it’s the best time to sneak away. Clearly, it was easy for Molly to do, but Dutch hadn’t been paying any attention to her to even notice. She might have left days ago and he only just cared to look. 

Javier nods toward Jack. “You got it, Pequeñín.” And readying his guitar, he begins to play the tune. You aren’t sure you recognize it, but you don’t sing anyway.

At least, not anymore.

But you’ve found it building in your throat at times, though it isn’t strong enough to make you want to burst out in song. There are a few songs from your heritage that echo in your heart from time to time, but you don’t let them out. Still, you sway to the music with Jack in your arms and soon, those that know it begin to sing. 

Oh my darling, oh my darling

Oh my darling, Clementine

You are lost and gone forever

Dreadful sorry, Clementine

In a cavern, in a canyon

Excavating for a mine

Dwelt a miner, forty-niner

And his daughter, Clementine

As the song continues, you see some movement at the corner of your eye. Turning your head, you see Hosea step over the log and sit next to Abigail. He seems content, giving no sign that he’s seen Arthur. He doesn’t appear to be looking for anyone, but you learned the art of concealing things from him. He could be thinking and reeling about something, but you are none the wiser.

Oh my darling, oh my darling

Oh my darling, Clementine

You are lost and gone forever

Dreadful sorry, Clementine

He turns his head nonchalantly and meets your eyes. You try to read his expression, for any sign that he could be trying to give you. He might be counting on your knowledge of people to understand something left unsaid, a plan only half-formed but desperate. Your heart skips, remembering when such looks between members of the gang meant trouble, or a way out. This time, it feels like both.

As Javier's guitar strums the melodramatic tune, you try to fight a sense of nostalgia that washes over you—a mixture of good times and wishes of what could be. All these people, these faces that you’ve come to remember and love, all are in danger.

And you feel helpless to warn them.

To come out and say anything would be a death wish. You spoke subtly, working your words into their ears in the way that Hosea taught you, hoping that they might plant a seed of doubt, or a wish to find something better.

But tonight, everything is veiled under a heavy cover of sentiment and song, making it almost impossible for your warnings to take root. You remember Hosea's eyes—the way they used to search for truth in the early dawn light. Now, under the flickering campfire, they are just reflective pools of regret and longing.

You want him to go with you and Arthur. To live out his days in peace, but you have a feeling that he's too tied to Dutch, too loyal to break away now, despite the sinking ship that the gang is becoming. His life, tangled up in promises and old debts, keeps him anchored here amidst danger.

Oh my darling, oh my darling Oh my darling, Clementine You are lost and gone forever Dreadful sorry, Clementine

Ruby lips above the water Blowing bubbles, soft and fine But, alas, I was no swimmer So I lost my Clementine

You hear a quick shuffling of gravel and dirt behind you and so you look over your shoulder. It’s Arthur and John, and you can’t help but feel relieved.

But as you look into Arthur’s eyes, you see something. An urgency.

We need to talk, they say.

Then in those stormy blue eyes, the light from the fire catches and he glances at Hosea.

You turn around and see Hosea looking up at Arthur, giving a subtle nod.

You feel Arthur’s hand on your shoulder, a silent comfort in the night air. It's a gentle, but firm squeeze. He needs to talk to you. Now.

As nonchalant and as inconspicuous as possible, you pick up Jack under the arms and move him into his mother’s lap. Abigail meets your eyes, lips moving as she quietly sings the song, and you offer her a smile.

“I’ll be back,” you say and she nods as she takes Jack and puts him on her knee. You rise and take Arthur’s offered hand as he helps you step over the log. Your hand still in his, he begins to lead you away from the group in the direction of the shack, the farthest you can be in camp.

And you hear the last of the song echo out into the night.

Oh my darling, oh my darling Oh my darling, Clementine

You are lost and gone forever Dreadful sorry, Clementine

“Hosea will be here soon,” Arthur says softly. You simply nod your head. The fewer words spoken until you have a private place to talk, the better. 

The walk to the shack feels longer than usual, each step heavy with unspoken words, your hand gripped in Arthur's strong yet trembling grasp. The silence is thick, punctuated only by the distant calls of night birds and the rustle of dry leaves underfoot.

As you approach the small wooden structure, its weather-borne sides look more daunting now in the night, instead of a place of passion when you had pushed your husband against its walls. Arthur lets you take the steps first, and you walk up them slowly, each placement of your moccasins making the smallest of sounds. You reach the door to the shack and Arthur opens it to let you inside.

It’s dark. Mighty dark, but you hear the lighting of a match, and once Arthur lights a lamp, a dim glow fills the small space.

Well, it isn’t homey, but at least the four walls add privacy.

“Did you tell him?” you ask softly, still keeping your voice low.

Arthur hums affirmatively as he goes to the window to watch for Hosea or for anyone who might be listening. “He’s gonna bring Abigail. Gotta make it look unassumin’.”

You nod your head. You can sense the tension in his voice, a soft rumble like thunder, prefacing the storm of what you anticipate discussing. 

Plans to leave. The official step-by-step of your escape. 

While the space falls quiet, your mind is loud on the inside. Thoughts and ideas that you’ve had but have been waiting to share them. You and Arthur have talked about the money part, but the leaving part? Well, it seems both of you are either too nervous to even discuss it, or have doubts it will even work. 

Do you still have those doubts? Maybe, but you and Arthur have made it through scrapes like this. You almost made it out together, if it weren’t for the botched ferry job and the Pinkertons shooting you in the back. 

But now it will be more challenging having the Marstons with you. More people means more space needed to hide or be smuggled away, if that’s the route you take. You suppose you’ll have to see when they all arrive. 

You quietly roam about the space, stepping around crates and old furniture. The floor creaks under your weight, despite how small and light-footed you are. 

Arthur finally breaks the silence, his voice raspy from the constant vigilance. "We'll need to be careful, Kit. More than ever before." He turns from the window, his eyes catching the lamp's glow, making them appear deeper and more troubled.

Your brow pinches. “I know, Arthur.” But as you study his face, there is something about his expression, a hidden worry that has rendered itself to the surface. “What did John tell you?”

He makes his way over to you, hands reaching out for you. You walk to him and let yourself be enveloped in his arms, instantly taking a deep breath and smelling the leather and tobacco that ground you time and time again. You hear how his lungs take in air, like the sound of waves rolling into the shore and you close your eyes.

“We don’t have the time to plan like we thought,” he answers solemnly.

You open your eyes. “How much time?”

You hear him swallow before he replies. “Two days. Maybe less.”

Your heart sinks at the thought, a cold dread settling in your stomach. Two days. The words echo through your mind like the haunting chime of a clock nearing its final toll. You pull back slightly, looking up into Arthur’s eyes, searching for a flicker of hope or reassurance. But all you find is the same grim determination that has become his trademark in recent days. His hand gently cups your cheek, the roughness of his skin a stark contrast to the worry softening his eyes.

“Do you think we can do this?” you ask. 

He sighs and as he continues to cup your cheek in his palm, you find yourself leaning into it. "Kit, we've always found a way. No matter how tight the noose got." His voice is steady, a bastion in the midst of the storm brewing around you. “Hosea will help us. We all can get out of this.”

The resolve in his voice steadies your own trembling heart, even as the reality of your situation presses down on you like the heavy Blackwater fog. Despite the danger, a small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, because with Arthur by your side, there is hope.

Just then, you hear the wood door creak its way open. Both of you turning but remaining in each other’s arms, you see Hosea carefully step into the shack, meeting your gaze.

“Before you ask, no one saw me.”

Arthur nods, his body relaxing. “Good. But we best assume we don’t have much time, anyway.”

Hosea nods. “You’re right about that. Since Molly left, Dutch has been eyeing the camp from the second floor of the mansion. The preparation of the bank robbery isn’t helping things, either.”

The bank robbery. That must be why you only have two days. “Did Dutch plan on who is doing what?” you dare ask.

Hosea nods again. “In a way...” He begins to look about the room. “Let’s all find a place to sit down.”

You feel Arthur let you out of his arms and wordlessly, you three work together to arrange crates and an old chair to make seating for everyone. You make two extra seats for Abigail and John, who will be joining you once they can get away.

You sit on a crate right next to Arthur.

Hosea clears his throat but still speaks quietly. “Dutch and I have come up with two phases: distraction and heist. We will blow up an old warehouse, then some of us will immediately enter the bank and take it. The distraction will be destructive enough to attract law enforcement, which will mean that whoever blows up the building will need to be good at escaping.”

Arthur chortles. “You make it sound simple, Hosea.”

“But it isn’t,” Hosea says soberly and he eyes you two.

That is when you understand what he means. “You want us to participate in the robbery.”

He nods, his lips forming a thin line. “I know you two want to leave, and I would imagine you want to escape before the robbery, but I’ve been thinking about this while you both have been away, and I think that the robbery would be the very thing you can use to get out of here.”

You look at Arthur to see his reaction and you see him bristle, shaking his head. “We already tried that, and look at what happened at the ferry…”

Hosea leans forward. “But this is different.”

“How so?”

“You will be there. And I’ll be helping you.”

Arthur leans away, furrowing his brow. “You mean to say that the ferry job in Blackwater fell apart simply because I weren’t there?” He scoffs. “I’d expect Uncle or Pearson to have that sort of notion.”

Hosea scowls at Arthur’s remark. “I’m not saying that just your absence was the cause of the calamity at Blackwater. What I'm suggesting is that with your skills and Kitka's acquaintance with the explosives, we can ensure this job goes smoother. You two are invaluable to this operation, and it could be your best chance at freedom." He pauses a moment. “The chaos and the money could get you gone. Dutch is the main figure that the law is after. He will be making a show of himself, and Micah will be chanting his praises. Act discreet enough, you can slip away.”

You feel a knot tighten in your stomach, the risks and implications not fully addressed. “What about John, Abigail, and Jack? We just going to drag them into the robbery as well?”

Hosea pauses before speaking, his gaze intense and sure. “John will be there. Abigail and Jack will stay behind. They’ll be packing and will then slipping away on their own.”

“They will be meeting us somewhere,” Arthur deduces.

Hosea confirms this with a subtle nod. “I’ll leave that up to you.”

The door creaks again, and John steps into the shack.

But Abigail isn’t here.

You stand up and meet John’s eyes. “Where’s—?”

“She’s with Jack. Thought it would be too suspicious to have us both walkin’ over here. I’ll relay this all to her when I go back.”

You nod. It’s just as well. While you would feel some solidarity in the presence of another woman, you know Abigail can’t bring herself to part from her son anyway. 

Arthur gestures to one of the crates you had set up as a seat. “Sit down, John.”

John lumbers over and sits on the crate, leaning and supporting his body by his elbows on his knees. “What a hell of a mess we’re in, ain’t we?” he asks with a sigh.

“Not for long,” Hosea answers with conviction. “When you are all out of here, you won’t have to look over your shoulders every day. Freedom's within your grasp if we play this right.”

You rub your hands nervously, the texture of the dusty shack making your skin itch slightly. The plan is daring, almost too good to be true, and that’s what scares you. Arthur catches your eye and his expression softens, perhaps more for your benefit than anything else. “Do you think Dutch will agree with your idea? Of me helping you with the explosives, I mean?” you ask.

Hosea sits up straight. “Dutch may be angered towards you, but he can't deny your use. Same goes for Arthur.”

Arthur bows his head, looking at his folded hands in his lap. “Didn’t think he’d be that angry with me.”

Hosea smirks. “Consider it a badge of honor.”

But Arthur doesn’t find it amusing. You can tell by the sadness in his eyes, even in the dimly lit space. He’s looked up to Dutch his whole life, seen him as a father. The thought of having that bond soured seems to dampen his spirit more than any threat of the law ever could. You are used to it by now, but it is finally becoming more real for him. This choice has irrevocable consequences. 

And you can only imagine all the things Micah has been spewing behind his back. 

“You and Arthur skills that can make or break this, Kit,” Hosea continues, turning back to you. “Your knowledge of explosives isn’t just useful; it’s essential for this to work. John will be helping us before reconvening with the others at the bank. That way he can round up Arthur, get him out of there, and meet you with a wagon nearby.”

“You said moneh, Hosea,” Arthur interjects. “You mean to say we take some of the gold from the bank for ourselves?”

John turns to look at Arthur. “This bank will have more than enough for Dutch. He won’t miss it, trust me.”

Arthur shakes his head. “We should just get gone. Kit and I already talked about how to get moneh. We are goin’ straight. This is the opposite of all that.”

“And what plan is that?” John asks. 

“Bounty hunting, legendary animals, and treasure maps,” you answer. 

John snorts. “That could take weeks. We ain’t got time for that, sis.”

That may be true, but you see Arthur’s point. You both agreed you would stop this life before you left it. And you don’t want to kill anyone. 

But that was before, when you thought you had more than two days. Could you really plan to escape now? 

The room goes silent, the tension palpable as each of you considers the implications of your choices. Hosea scratches his beard thoughtfully, a hint of worry creasing his brow. "Time isn’t exactly on our side, Kitka. We need a sure thing, and we need it now. Your plan has merit, but it's a slow burner. You all can't afford that kind of time." He looks between you and Arthur, his gaze lingering on the set of your jaw, the determination in your eyes. "I reckon you're both strong enough to pull through whatever comes, but right now, you need quick money."

You eyes remain downcast. “It wasn’t just my plan…” It was your and Arthur’s dream. Part of the plan with the least resistance, the least chance to get yourselves in trouble. A bank robbery of this magnitude will ruin both your lives.

Arthur rubs the back of his neck. “Is there any chance Dutch will change his mind? Or postpone it?”

Hosea shakes his head. “Believe me, I tried.”

So that’s that, then. In the lack of time, you can’t think of an alternative right now. Maybe if you sleep on it, inspiration will come, but then you will have only one more day left. Without looking up, you reach for Arthur, who takes your hand. “Okay, Hosea,” you say with great resignation. “I’ll do it.” You lift your head and look at Arthur. “If you will, Arthur.”

Arthur's eyes search yours, a storm of emotions whirling within them. For a moment, the world feels suspended, hanging on the precipice of his decision. Then he squeezes your hand, a subtle nod affirming his commitment beside you. “I'm with you, Kit. Always.”

John lets out a low whistle, breaking the heavy atmosphere with a hint of levity. "Well, ain't this a pair of star-crossed lovers ready to face hell together. Makes a man almost believe in fate," he muses, folding his arms across his chest with a smirk.

Arthur's expression softens slightly at John's comment, but his gaze remains fixed on you. "Don't matter what we're up against, or how dark the road gets," he says, his voice low and resolute. "We stick together, alright? Through thick and thin."

You can only nod.

“Alright. I suggest you all prepare yourselves. Pack what you can. Kit and I will take a wagon to Saint Denis come morning and leave it parked somewhere quiet, so it will be ready for your departure.” Hosea pats his knee and looks at John. “Think Abigail will be ready?”

John nods. “Yeah. She’s been wantin’ this for a good while.”

And with that, Hosea rises to his feet. “I guess that is it, then. We only have two days left. We best make the most of it.” He looks at the three of you with sobered eyes. “Don’t look back, you three. When you go, live your lives. That would be the greatest mission you could ever pull.”

And without saying anything more, he turns to leave, opening the old door to the shack and disappearing into the night.

The room falls quiet and you feel Arthur rub your back. “We can’t let him down.”

“I want him to come with us,” you say. “He may not plan on leaving, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make ones.”

John nods his head. “I know what you mean, sis, but Hosea's made up his mind about this. He's set in his ways, and he believes staying here is what he ought to do. We gotta respect that, even if it's hard.”

You sigh, feeling the weight of responsibility and the ache of impending separation mingled together. “Yeah, I know,” you sigh. “I just wish he’d change his mind.”

“How much money you got, Marston?” Arthur asks. “Enough to get you and your family outta here?”

John doesn’t answer right away, but he nods. “It’ll be enough. And if we can get anythin’ from the bank, that will be more than enough.”

“It better. ‘Cause I ain’t never wanna do it again,” the tone in Arthur’s voice suggests great conviction, a steadiness that soothes the anxiety in your chest for just a moment. 

After another pause, John rises to his feet, looking at you and Arthur. “I’ll let Abigail know what we talked about. That we have a plan. Where do you all want to meet when everythin’ is done?”

“There’s a remote spot just outside of Saint Denis. Copperhead Landing. We ended up there after Trelawny’s job,” Arthur answers and you nod softly to validate his suggestion.

“Okay,” John says, his voice raspy and resolute. I’ll get the particulars later, but at least now we have something to focus on.”

“That we do,” you say.

He nods to you both. “Goodnight. Be seein’ you.”

And you and Arthur reply at the same time. “Goodnight, John.”

You both watch him go, his figure fading into the darkness and the sound of his steps on the wood growing quiet. You sit there on the barrel and let it all sink in for a minute. Pretty soon it will be a reality and you won’t have time to think about it or reflect.

“It’s happening then,” you say softly.

Arthur’s hand circles your back once again. “So it is.”

“I guess we can worry about more treasure hunting later.”

“We’ll have to.”

“Did we feel this way the last time?” you ask, your voice quivering slightly. “Was I this afraid?”

Arthur straightens, not meeting your eyes. “We had reason to be nervous,” he begins. “But I think we both knew that if we didn’t try, we’d regret it.”

You look into your lap. “I guess I feel that way now. I just wish I had more time.”

“We only had a few days the last time. ‘Course, it was just the two of us, but it seems that time is never is on our side.”

You chuckle, feeling the truth in his words. You’ve known each other for years, but have only just barely begun to share a life together. Now, you’re on the precipice of danger, but you hope to live a life that is truly yours, unshadowed by the looming demands of the gang. “Maybe this time it’ll be different,” you murmur, allowing yourself a fragile thread of hope.

Arthur nods, his face somber in the dim light. “We have more people helpin’ us. So, maybe you’re right.” He pats your back one time before rising to his feet. “Guess I should…”

And before he walks away from you, you take him by the wrist, and he quickly looks back at you.

“Can we just stay here for a little while longer?” you plead. “I’m not ready to go back to pretending.”

He smiles softly at you and nods, easily convinced. “Alright, Kitten.”

Rising to your feet, you both go to an old cot in the corner of the shack. Getting in it first, Arthur lays on his side and guides you to lay beside him. He holds you tight in his arms, and the warmth between you two fills the cool night air. You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart—a comforting rhythm in the uncertainty that surrounds you.

“We can’t stay too long,” he says, and you can feel the vibration in his body at each word.

But you don’t hear him, as a pain in your head suddenly begins to grow, your body feeling heavier and heavier. “A memory,” you manage to say. “It’s coming.” And you hope that he’ll understand.

He holds you tighter. “I got’chu, Kitten,” Arthur whispers, his voice a soothing balm against the burgeoning ache inside your skull. “Just let it come. I’m right here.”

You close your eyes and surrender to the tidal wave of images and sensations flooding your mind.

And like developer revealing an image, a brightness fills your vision, and you hear birds.

And running water.

And the rustling of leaves in the trees.

You open your eyes, you aren’t in Shady Belle.

“Over here, Kitka!” a woman calls out to you and you sit up from laying in the grass. You look at your feet to see them bare, your dress beautifully embroidered and a white apron covered in grass stains. “Quickly!”

You recognize the voice, and by the way you rise to your feet, you are eager to reach the woman who calls for you.

Before rushing through the grass, you bend down to pick up a satchel, one that you had made and embroidered. You swing the strap over your shoulder as you run toward the echo of the voice that continues to call you. 

Soon, you reach a bunch of bushes and a woman rises to a standing position. Her dark brown hair is radiant in the sun, but it’s her glimmering green eyes and smile that make her look as youthful as ever. “Kitka, you’re supposed to be helping me pick some herbs! Where have you been? Psenice is going to eat all the sage if you let him…!”

You shrug your shoulders and look over to see your mustang as he grazes mindlessly, his halter lead draped over his neck. “I’m sorry, Annabelle. I just found a beautiful patch of grass and just had to lay down and look at the sky.”

She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “I swear, Kitka, you act as though you are still a teenager sometimes.”

You frown. You don’t want to be perceived as immature. You’re twenty-three now and you want Arthur to notice that you aren’t a kid anymore. Though, for the past few months since you’ve returned to the North from the southern border, he’s been in a dark mood. You’ve rarely seen him smile at camp, and he’s been gone so often, it seems that he’s only there to eat and sleep. He’s either doing jobs for Dutch and Hosea or running somewhere nobody knows. John had tried to follow him once, only to be sent on a wild goose chase and ended up somewhere boring, like a saloon. 

Annabelle must see the chagrin in your expression for she quickly adds, “I mean that you’re so full of wonder and energy! Even with all that’s been handed you, you have such a playfulness about you.” She reaches a hand toward you and grips your chin softly between her thumb and forefinger, giving it a gentle wiggle. “We need that around here.”

She’s right. With Bessie gone, there seems to be a dark cloud that hangs over the camp. The number of members has remained the same, though. Bill Williamson is the newest member, and seems to want to get drunk more than Hosea and Arthur do. 

And to make things even more thick with tension, ever since Dutch, John, and Arthur came back during that winter storm, there’s been an uneasiness. It’s been nearly two years now, but Annabelle has been nervous, still looking over her shoulder. It seems that Bessie’s death only made her more anxious, even if she had passed from an illness that no one could stop. All the tinctures you made had seemed to only ease her suffering. If only it removed it completely and left her to live. 

You tuck your chin. “ Ano, but I don’t seem to be of much use in that regard.”

Annabelle lowers her hand. “You’re thinking of Hosea?”

You nod. And Arthur, but you don’t speak it. 

Annabelle nods knowingly, lifting her eyes to look at the trees towering above you. “Bessie was a beautiful person. She was like a sister to me.”

“A mother to me,” you say and look up as she looks back down, meeting each other’s eyes. “You both are like my mothers.”

Annabelle beams at this and takes you into her arms. “I consider that a great honor.” You both stand there for a moment, holding each other as a soft breeze comes through the trees again. You love autumn. The colors and the cool air always have a way to settle you while invigorating you all at the same time. Annabelle lets you out of her embrace. “Now, let me show you why I called you over.” And taking your hand, she leads you to a spot around a large bush and pulls back some tall, dried grass. 

In the center of your view is an orchid. You can tell by its shape and delicate petals, but you’ve never seen this kind before. It’s purple, with a yellowed center, and its outside is veined by maroon stripes, like a tiger’s coat. 

“Fairy Slipper Orchid,” Annabelle explains. “They’ve become more rare by the years.”

You resist the urge to pick it, to dig it up and put it in a jar like how Arthur keeps the flower that reminds him of his mother. Instead, you take in its beauty, admiring it as it lives peacefully, undisturbed. “It’s beautiful,” you say. “I’m glad I had the privilege to see it.”

You feel a hand on your back. “That’s how we should always look at life, Kit,” Annabelle says with reverence. “To be glad to be here while we get to live on this planet. However long, or short, that is.”

You nod, feeling the weight of her words settle deep within you. They resonate with a truth that has been growing clearer each day you live, each day that you rise with the sun.

You’ve been with the gang for almost ten years now. And it hasn’t been short on death and trials. You know that tomorrow isn’t promised, and you want to take Annabelle’s advice.

“Thank you, Annabelle,” you murmur, your eyes still on the orchid.

She pats your back. “Let’s head back to camp. I want to make Dutch a good meal when he gets back.”

You nod and walk over to Psenice and as soon as you take his lead he lifts his head and pivots, ready for you to lead him back to camp. As you follow Annabelle through the rustling leaves, your mind wanders to Arthur. He’d understand the quiet significance of the orchid, the unspoken promise you feel swelling in your chest to live more fully, more aware. Well, at least he used to, when he’d actually talk to you. There’s like a dark cloud over him, and you wish that there was some way to cast it away like a bad dream. Your thoughts are interrupted as a twig snaps underfoot, and you glance back to ensure no one follows. The path is clear, just the whispers of the wind through the trees offering any reply.

“Kitka!” You turn back around to see Annabelle way ahead of you. She waves you over. “Keep up with me!” she calls.

You shrug. There you go, about to get yourself lost again. “Promiň!” And you hurry to catch up with her, your equine companion quickening his steps.

You are a mile or so away from camp, but you are rather used to walking. You walk in stride with Annabelle and she holds onto her basket of herbs and you begin to feel the weight of your satchel. It is full of herbs, but also other finds like puffball mushrooms and rose hips. You are eager to get back so you can add them to the camp’s meal, and perhaps Pearson might actually let Annabelle cook every meal from now on. You’ve been getting quite tired of stew.

You hear a twig snap again, but this time it is not under your feet.

Annabelle stops. She heard it, too.

You take her arm and begin to carefully scan the trees, listening carefully.

“Anna—”

Suddenly, a gunshot rings out, and you feel a rush whizz by you and a pop.

Psenice neighs loudly, a cry of pain and as you turn to look at him, you watch as he falls to the ground with a hard thud. 

“No…!” you cry and you hurry to him, kneeling behind his large head. “Psenice!” 

You see the wound, a perfect mark into his barrel, just beneath his front leg. Where the bullet reached his heart. 

He moves his leg, as though trying to run from the pain. You try to soothe him, praying that his ache won’t be long. You pet his cheek, humming softly to him. “Shhh…to je v pořádku, můj příteli. jsem tady.”

In the distance you hear laughter, telling you that this was not a freak hunting accident. You look up to the sound of hooves bringing horses through the trees, seemingly appearing out of thin air, and they carry riders.

While you normally would high tail it and run, you can’t bring yourself to leave yet, your promise to remain by your friend more important than your own safety. Psenice’s whinnies soften as you continue to comfort him and as his eyes close, you see a deep exhale leave his nostrils. 

You keep petting him, letting the tears blur your vision. You shake your head. 

“Kitka!” Annabelle grabs you, trying to pull you up. “We have to go…!”

You want to stay. You can’t bring yourself to leave Psenice.

And just as Annabelle pulls you to your feet, you see that any hope to run is gone, as you and Annabelle are soon surrounded by mounted riders. 

All wearing black and green.

You’d recognize them anywhere.

O’Driscolls.

“Look what we found, boss!” one of them leers.

“Ain’t they just pretty and fine?”

Annabelle instantly puts you behind her, trying to follow them as they circle you both and your dead mustang.

“Look at ‘em, Colm!” another says. “Found them wanderin' like lost lambs in the woods."

Your heart pounds in your chest, a blend of fear, grief, and anger churning inside you. You didn’t think to bring anything to defend yourself. All you have is a small knife for foraging, and even if you use it, it won’t be much against their rifles.

You could run, but you aren’t faster than five horses. And your only chance for a quick getaway is now dead. 

The ring breaks for a singular rider to enter. He looks distinct from the rest. Nastier, more wicked, if it could ever be possible.

You’d know him by looks alone, if not for the evil deeds that follow him.

Their leader: Colm O’Driscoll.

He tips his hat. “Well, Annabelle, ain’t it a pleasure to see you?”

Annabelle narrows her eyes, her apparent fear dissipating for the hatred taking its place. “Colm.”

You shrink back, feeling the icy prickle of dread as Colm's gaze shifts to you, his smile curling like smoke in the chilly air. "And who might this be?" he drawls, dismounting with a thud that sends a shiver through the underbrush.

Annabelle steps forward, her body tensed like a bowstring, ready to snap. "This here's nobody you need worry about, Colm."

His laughter crackles through the woods like fire through dry leaves. "Oh, I always worry 'bout the unknown, especially when they're in the company of old friends." Colm's eyes gleam with a fire that you’ve only seen in the perverts who tried to touch you during your performances. Only worse.

“I don’t ever recall being friends, Colm,” Annabelle says. “Dutch has told me what you’ve done.”

“Did he tell you what he’s done?!” Colm shouts, his roar echoing into the trees. “He killed my brother…!”

It is then that you realize why he’s here. What Annabelle has feared. What Dutch said he would do.

He’s come for revenge.

You feel emboldened somehow, that bluntness in you returning as you see weakness in Colm. “Dutch isn’t here,” you say angrily through tears. “He won’t be back for a while.”

Colm's eyes narrow at your interjection, his smirk faltering into a grim line. "And you're speaking for Dutch now, are ya?" His voice is slick with suspicion, edged with a cruelty that makes the forest feel colder.

Annabelle gives you a quick, warning glance, her fingers twitching as if she is wrestling with her own indecision as to what she should do.

Colm pulls out his revolver and leans into his saddle horn. “What makes you think it’s Dutch I’m after?”

And his eyes fall on Annabelle.

She stiffens, her jaw setting like stone. "You think I'm scared of you, Colm?" Annabelle's defiance pierces the cold air, a stark contrast to the wary silence that has fallen around you.

"You oughta be," Colm replies, his tone low and dangerous. He sets the hammer back on his gun.

That’s when a flash of white appears in Annabelle’s eyes, looking at you. “Run, Kit!” And pulling out a gun from within her jacket, she aims at Colm and fires, grazing his shoulder.

“Ah, you whore!” he cries and he clutches his gaping wound.

This seems to be distraction enough, for Annabelle takes your hand and runs between the horses into the trees. Soon shots follow you.

Your feet, though hardened from all the earth you’ve tread, are pricked by the pine needles and stones as you run. You cling onto Annabelle’s hand for dear life as you run faster, pulling her along with you, making sure she stays with you. Breathless, the cold air stings your lungs as you sprint through the underbrush, branches whipping against your face. You are relentless, dragging her deeper into the woods.

“We need to draw them away from camp,” she pants and your eyes scan the thickening forest for a sense of direction. But you aren’t good at these things.

Then, suddenly, you feel a sudden jerk backward and a loud snap. You fall to the ground, but with adrenaline so high, you quickly get up to your feet.

Only to look back and see Annabelle still on the ground, her shin bending unnaturally, caught in a rusted bear trap that had lain hidden under a bed of fallen leaves. Panic shoots through your veins as Annabelle lets out a yelp of pain, her face contorted in agony.

“Hold on, Annabelle,” you whisper hurriedly, your hands trembling as you kneel beside her. You try to assess the trap, but you are no hunter, and even if you know how to locate the release mechanism, you aren’t strong enough to release her from its rusted maw. You feel yourself breathing heavily, the sounds of voices nearing you both. “I just…I just need—”

Annabelle takes your wrist and you are forced to meet her eyes. You see it. You see the acknowledgment that you didn’t want to see. A sacrifice.

“Kit,” she pants, clearly trying to conceal her pain. “They won’t stop. You have to go, now. Leave me here and run.”

“No!” Your voice breaks as you shake your head fiercely, the terror of abandonment gripping you as tightly as the trap grips at her leg. “I can't leave you, Annabelle.”

“You must,” she insists, each word punctuated by a grimace of pain as tears fall down her face. “It would mean so much to me,” she breathes as her hand reaches for your face. “if you lived beyond this. Don’t let my death be for nothing…” You lean into her touch, wanting to hold onto it for just a little bit longer. “Tell Dutch…I love him, alright? Tell him…to be the man that I…know he is…”

Tears cloud your vision, and you know that leaving her goes against everything you believe in. But Annabelle's plea is desperate, tinged with the resignation of someone who understands their fate. A heart-wrenching decision rests upon your shoulders. You can't bring yourself to nod, but her eyes tell you she understands.

And as you lift your eyes, you see him coming. That damned Colm O’Driscoll, arm covered in his blood for once.

“Go…!” Annabelle barks, pushing you. “I don’t want you to see—!”

Your legs spring to action almost against your will, heart hammering against your chest like a wild drum. You dart through the thick underbrush, twigs snapping underfoot, every sound magnified in the silent dread that fills the air. You glance back only once, the sight of Colm O'Driscoll advancing on Annabelle forever seared into your memory. You turn and run, ignoring the pain in your legs as they push you further.

The crack of a gunshot echoes through the woods, splitting the stillness and sending a chill down your spine. 

You know, with an awful certainty, what it means.

Your legs carry you faster, driven by a mingling of fear and urgency, until the woods begin to thin, and the air feels the same.

Your throat burns, your lungs feel cold and hot at the same time. You try to slow down your breathing to hear for any gunshots, or footfalls, but there are none.

But that is the least of your troubles.

You are lost.

You spin around, trying to see if anything is recognizable, but it isn’t. You know that you are far away from camp, far from the direction where you started or where you should be. You don’t know how long you’ve been running. If you will even be able to return to Annabelle. You will need to bury her. She deserves a proper burial.

Like your brother.

Like your mother and father.

You begin to feel a weight of despair. Your legs buckle under the agony and you crumple to the ground, crying into the dirt.

Your tears mix with the earth, the damp musk of forest decay embedding itself into your senses. You claw at the dirt, your fingers numbing as you gather clumps of moss and leaves, seeking something tangible to hold onto in this world that feels like it is slipping away underfoot.

Then, a sound—a rustling of leaves beside you, cautious and quiet—startles you. Your heart skips as you peer through the tear-blurred veil. "Arthur?" Your voice is a desperate whisper, half-choked with hope and fear.

But it isn't Arthur who emerges from the shadows of the green; it's a young doe, her eyes wide and curious as they peer at you. Her eyes are an earthen brown, her coat almost red as she watches you.

You sniff and wipe your nose with the back of your hand, your eyes never leaving hers.

After a moment of silence, she turns slowly. She takes a few steps and just as you think she’s about to disappear into the brush, she stops and looks back at you.

She snorts softly, her warm breath like steam into the cool, fall air.

You blink. Does she want you to follow?

You carefully rise to your feet, legs still shaky, and your motion doesn’t seem to scare her off. She still waits, almost expectantly.

You follow, your footsteps hesitant but drawn by the ghost of a chance that this creature, somehow, might lead you somewhere important. Perhaps to safety, or at least back towards familiarity. Your breath steadies as you navigate through the underbrush, guided by the doe's silent confidence. The forest around you starts to feel less hostile, less of a violent air like it was just moments ago.

The doe keeps an even few paces ahead of you, checking to see if you are still following and you hold yourself as you keep up with her.

The rustle of leaves and snap of twigs underfoot becomes a rhythm, a soothing cadence that calms the storm raging inside your heart. Each step forward feels like a tentative stitch sewing up the frayed edges of your soul. It’s as if the forest itself whispers secrets, ancient and profound—reminding you of times where you and Antek played amongst the trees, pretending to be warriors or the greatest performers of all time.

You come to a clearing and looking just ahead, you see a dirt road.

And riders approaching.

Even from yards away, the red coat of one of the horses stands out as a beacon of hope, your heart recognizes the mare immediately.

It’s Boadicea.

And she carries Arthur.

And with him rides Dutch, Bill, and John.

You try to make yourself seen, waving your arms and running as fast as your legs will carry you. “Arthur…!” you cry. “Dutch…!”

The sound of your own voice feels strange, almost foreign, as it breaks the silence of the woods, rising above the gentle rustling of the leaves. Your heart pounds against your chest, fear and hope mingling in a potent rush that drives you forward.

Arthur's head snaps up at the sound of his name, his eyes still darkened from the gloomy haze he’s in, the circles under his eyes showing lack of sleep for the past few months, but he spurs Boadicea on once he sees you.

The distance between you closes rapidly as Arthur pushes his horse, urgency etching his normally stoic features. The rest of the gang follows suit, their attention fixed on your running form. The ground beneath your feet feels unstable, as if it might give way under the weight of your pounding heart, but you keep moving, driven by rescue.

Just as you’re about to reach them, Arthur dismounts with a swift motion and hurries to you. “What’s wrong…?” he asks, taking you by the arms. He scans you over, his brows lifted with worry. “What the hell happened?!”

You can barely breathe, but you know that you need to tell him. To tell Arthur and Dutch what happened. “C-Colm…” you gasp. “Colm. Here.”

Dutch has dismounted The Count and storms over to you. “What?!”

Your eyes meet his and the pain of him not knowing what has happened makes the ache greater. Tears flow down your eyes and you shake your head. “Psenice…Annabelle…”

Arthur’s grip on your arms tightens as he tries to steady you. "Kit, breathe," he says gently, his deep voice trying to anchor you back to the present. "Tell us what happened."

You swallow hard, fighting against the panic tightening around your throat. "He... he killed her, Dutch…!” you have tried to let him know gently, but the words still fall like stones. “She saved my life…and he killed her…!”

Silence descends upon the group, heavy and thick as molasses. Dutch’s face darkens, a storm brewing in his eyes. Arthur’s grip on your arms loosens and they fall to his sides. He turns to Dutch, instantly checking in on him.

But even you can see that Dutch’s pain is almost palpable, his jaw clenched tight and eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The revelation seems to hit him like a physical blow, drawing out a rage that simmers below the surface. “They’ve gone?” he asks, his voice a raspy cry more than anything. “They’ve killed her and fled?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know…I got away…”

He looks at you with a flash of anger. “You left her…?!”

And just as he takes a thundering step toward you, Arthur steps in between. “Colm killed Annabelle for savin’ her life, Dutch! Don’t blame Kitka for this…” Arthur's protective stance casts a shadow over you, the intensity in his blue eyes a fierce barrier between Dutch's wrath and your trembling form. "There’s no doubt in my mind that Kit did what she could," Arthur continues, his voice firm, unwavering even as Dutch’s stare burns through him. “Kit ain’t one to betray the gang. Or abandon us.” These are the most words you’ve heard him speak in months, and you are overcome with surprise as much as you are in fear of the whole situation. 

Dutch stops, the air thick with tension, before he turns away, his shoulders heavy with the burden of grief and leadership. The air is thick with sorrow and anger, mingling in a toxic brew that threatens to choke you. You watch as Dutch swallows hard, struggling to compose himself. He finally speaks again, his voice steadier but haunted by the echo of loss. “All this…for…” He shakes his head. “Kit, take us to her.”

You feel a pang of worry in your chest. You don’t remember where you left her. If it weren’t for that doe…

You turn around and look toward the trees. If she lead you out, perhaps you can find your way back. Now you know where you’ve been.

You swallow and when you turn back to meet Dutch’s eyes, you nod slowly. “Follow me.”

***

Coming out of the reverie, you gasp, shooting straight up to a sitting position. You scream, a hoarse, gravelly scream, as though you had been shouting for hours.

But arms instantly come around you, warm and loving, and the instant smell of Arthur brings you back to reality.

“Arthur…!” you cry as he pulls you into his chest, your back against his abdomen. “Annabelle and Psenice! They really killed them!”

He speaks softly to you, settling you with words of comfort. “I know, Kitka. I know. I’m here. You’re here.” His voice is a low murmur, brushing against the shell of your ear, steady like the distant roll of thunder on a stormy plain.

“It was my fault they’re gone,” you heave. “Dutch blames me for her death.” You swallow as tears pour down your face. “That’s why he hates me.”

Arthur tightens his embrace, his breath warm against the chill that has settled over you. "Dutch is angry, that much is certain," he says gently. "But he don't hate you, Kit. He's just strugglin' to make sense of things gone wrong." You feel his lips press softly against your head. “It ain’t your fault.”

You lean into the comfort Arthur provides, the shack is dark and foreboding and empty. You clutch onto his arms as he holds you, as you struggle to catch your breath. “I don’t want to go back…” you heave. “I don’t want you to leave me…!”

“I won’t…” Arthur whispers softly. “But we can’t stay in here…”

He’s right. Even though it is more private, you don’t want to be in here any longer than you have to. “Hold me, Arthur…”

He answers by maneuvering you into his arms and he scoots to the edge of the cot. Rising to his feet, he carries you in his arms, and walks toward the door.

He manages to get it open and the humid air hitting you, you tuck your face under his chin, holding onto him as he makes his way back to the mansion.

As quiet as he can, he enters from the side of the house, bypassing Karen as she sleeps and walking up the old stairs. For someone as large as he is, he can move quietly, years of stealthy jobs and no doubt some pointers from Charles, proving to be the reason.

He reaches the door to his room and gently pushes it open with one shoulder, careful not to jostle you too much. The moonlight spills through the window, casting a ghostly glow across the sparsely furnished room. He sets you down gently on his cot, his eyes searching yours for any sign of distress.

"You need rest, Kitka," he says. “Your head hurtin’ any?”

You hadn’t even noticed, but there is a dull pain from the spell. You hiccup as you nod. “A little.”

He nods and goes for his canteen on the table where his map is splayed out. Picking it up, he brings it to you. “Here, drink this.”

You bring it to your lips, drinking the lukewarm water. It could be worse, and you are grateful to have something soothe the burning in your throat. You wipe your lips and hand it back to him. “Thank you.”

He takes it and sets it back on the table. “You want me to get you your night clothes, or…?”

You quickly shake your head, the idea of him leaving you for a second right now is unbearable. You reach out, grasping his hand firmly. "Just stay, please," you plead quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Arthur nods, understanding flashing in his eyes. He pulls a chair up beside the cot and sits down, taking off his boots with a thud that seems too loud in the calm of the night. You watch him perform the nightly ritual of dressing down, removing his shirt and socks and running a hand through his hair to remove any loose dirt or debris from his travels.

He then goes to you, and taking one of your feet in his lap, he begins to remove your moccasin.

As he works, his fingers are gentle yet firm, a touch that speaks of years of handling both the rough and the tender with equal skill. He looks up at you occasionally, his eyes holding a silent conversation filled with concern and an unspoken promise to keep you safe.

Once he's removed your other moccasin, setting your feet in the cot, he rises and pulls the cot out from against the wall. It makes a soft sound, but not loud enough to disturb anyone in their slumber. He then climbs into the cot, his back against the door, and he encourages you to fall flush with his torso.

You hesitate for a moment, the intimacy of the gesture stirring a mix of emotions deep within. But then you relent, allowing yourself to lean into his warmth. His arm wraps around you securely, a shield from the world outside this small, moonlit room.

"You're safe here," Arthur whispers, his breath warms the back of your neck as he softly moves aside your hair to expose it. “I ain’t gonna leave you.”

His voice, gruff yet comfortingly familiar, fills the silent spaces between your rapid breaths, easing the tightness that fear and uncertainty had woven around your heart. You feel the slow, rhythmic beating of his own heart against your back, a steady drum that syncs with the quieter night sounds outside the thin walls.

And as your breath slows, you feel his words becoming more true, your reasoning slowly returning.

The night envelops the room with a protective darkness, as if the shadows themselves conspire to keep your confessions and shared silences safe.

You’ve never felt so afraid of a memory before. And even though it was so long ago, it was so vivid. You relived it.

And as you remain in the safety of your husband’s arms, you begin to think about the massacre.

What if you remembered it?

You are afraid to know the answer. 

Thank you for reading!

Tag Requests: @photo1030, @eternalsams

[booksooks]

"Merry Christmas, Doll."

Author's Note: Posting all of my fics on here too. Or at least the ones I have access to. This was written in 2020, so it's not my best work but... I miss being able to see my writing. I'm aware the banner is cringe. Anyways, enjoy please. 💙

Contents: Mild gore/treating wounds, confessing feelings, probably Dabi being wildly out of character, swearing.

Word Count: 2196

Summary: Dabi isn't around as often as you'd like, but this Christmas, he is.

“Merry Christmas, doll,” purred a rasping voice from behind you. You gasped, waking from your drowsy half-sleep and popping up from the couch with a start, the remote that had been resting in your hand and blanket tumbling to the floor. You rushed towards him, half-tripping over your own feet in your haste to see him.

“Dabi?” You asked, staring at the man who stood in your doorway. “What happened?”

“I got my ass handed to me,” he responded, finally moving forward and out of your living room doorway. “As I said, Merry Christmas.”

He was littered with bruises and cuts, his shirt a bloody brown and crusted over. He limped with every step, wincing as his torso shifted, and his shirt, sticky with blood, pulled at the open edges of wounds.

You gaped at his state, speechless as he walked past you, patting you on the shoulder affectionately. He sat on your couch and picked up your TV remote and blanket, placing the remote on your coffee table, and wrapping himself in the blanket. He smiled gently at the sight of you, blood dripping out of the corners of his mutilated eyes and mouth where his staples were pulling loose.

Dabi had been visiting you sporadically for the past two years, usually injured, and expecting you to patch him up. After a while, he eventually started coming over without injuries “just to chill, doll. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Drunken kisses and late-night confessions later, and the next thing you knew, you were a thing. You knew he was a villain. He knew you knew. You trusted him not to kill you and he trusted you not to go to the police, which was all either of you could ask for. You liked to think of it as friends-with-romantic-benefits-who-occasionally-make-out-with-each-other.

But now, on Christmas Fucking Eve, having not seen him for a month, he came back with injuries that looked like they should have landed the man in a hospital. You sputtered as he looked around at your living room, fully-decorated for Christmas, in a blasé manner, as if he weren’t dripping blood on your couch.

“Dabi,” you whispered softly, moving to sit next to him and run your knuckles over his cheek. You didn’t comment on how he leaned into your cool touch. He hummed. “Tell me what happened. Where does it hurt?”

He was silent for a minute, basking in the feeling of your fingers on his scalding skin. “My ribs,” he started. “My face. My hands and arms, too, but it’s mostly my ribs. Think you can fix me?”

You bit your lip. You knew he had a habit of being tossed around, although you knew that wasn’t his fault. “Did you hear a crack when you were fighting?”

“Couldn’t really tell.” Dabi sighed and sat back, wincing more, while you thought.

“Well, you know I’m going to tell you that you need to go to a hospital,” you said, getting up and moving to your bathroom to retrieve your first aid kit.

Dabi merely hummed again, his eyes closed, as if he were asleep. He knew you’d treat him anyway; it was one of the things he loved about you. He waited patiently for you to come back, already settled in the familiar routine you both had when he came to you injured.

You returned moments later, the small green bag in one hand and a glass of water in the other. You stopped in the living room doorway, watching Dabi in his rare state of peace.

“Stop staring and get on with it, please,” he rasped, not bothering to open his eyes. Blood rushed to heat your face, and you rolled your eyes to regain composure.

You lowered yourself carefully next to him, setting the glass of water and a painkiller on the table. You opened the first aid kit, which you had modified to include a skin stapler and remover, burn cream, and heavy-duty painkillers for when Dabi overused his quirk and seared himself from the inside out - stumbling to your door reeking of cooked flesh and day old anger.

“Think you can take your coat and shirt off?” You asked, pulling on gloves, after having furiously scrubbed your hands in the bathroom. He just grunted and sat forward, pulling his shoulders back and sucking a breath in between his teeth as his coat fell from his arms.

“Don’t know if I can take my shirt off,” he grunted, falling into a pretense of strength. You nodded and got up to get some scissors. You came back and swiftly cut his shirt in half, slowly peeling it off of his sticky skin, careful not to agitate his skin anymore.

You stopped after peeling his shirt completely off, and offered him the painkiller and water. “Take this,” you murmured, not wanting to disturb the gentle silence that had fallen over the both of you.

You looked closely at his wounds, cleaning them gently with a cotton rag and warm, soapy water. He hissed occasionally, and his muscles would twitch when the water became too cool, but other than that, he made no noise and didn’t move. When you deemed the wounds clean (to your satisfaction), Dabi exhaled heavily, and braced for the pain of re-stapling his grafts to skin, as some of the staples had popped loose.

“Do you wanna take a break?” You whispered, sitting back and dropping the rag in the dirty water, which was now steadily cooling. Dabi merely shook his head, and you nodded. You moved to load up the staple gun, patting Dabi on the leg affectionately. He seemed to relax at your touch, so as you lined the stapler up with his skin, you kept your hand on his too-skinny leg, giving it a gentle squeeze every time he hissed in pain.

“Almost done,” you murmured, moving quickly.

“What about my ribs?” Dabi asked when you were done.

“Do they feel like they move when you walk?” You asked, getting up and peeling your gloves off. You picked up the medical supplies, packing most of it away and collecting the trash in one hand.

“No.” Dabi said after a minute of thinking.

You nodded. “Well, that's good. I looked it up and if the pain doesn’t start to go away in a few weeks, then you need to go see some underground doctor. For now I’ll keep giving you painkillers and we should probably put some ice on your ribcage.”

Dabi sighed and slung his body around, splaying out on your couch like a large, lazy cat. “If you wanna feel up my body, you don’t have to pretend, doll.”

You rolled your eyes and switched on the radio and your Christmas tree. The lights gave the room a warm glow, and the holiday music that floated around the room made you feel happy, despite the bloody man on your couch.

When you were done putting everything away, you made your way back over to the couch and motioned with your head for Dabi to sit up.

He groaned, but used his elbows to lift his torso while you slotted yourself behind him. When you were fully situated, Dabi flopped back down onto you, his head resting on your chest with your legs at his hips. You both sighed, long, drawn-out sighs that spoke of content and peace.

“Those painkillers kicking in?” Dabi felt your chest vibrating as you asked.

It was a comforting feeling, one he wanted to have forever to curl into like a kitten in front of a fireplace. But you were his friend. Someone that put him back together when he fell apart. And someone he kissed on occasion.

But that wasn’t something he was willing to risk, not for the weird, half-sickening, half-whimsical feelings that were blooming somewhere in his heart.

So Dabi kept his mouth shut and leaned into your calming presence more while you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and settled deeper into the comfort of the patchwork man in your arms.

Dabi was on the edge of a blissful, pain-free sleep when he felt your hand run through his hair, making him melt and let out a sigh so near to ‘dreamy’ that you could call him a crushing schoolgirl. You giggled softly and moved his hair back so that you could plant a light kiss on his forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Dabi,” you whispered. As he slipped into a dreamless sleep, Dabi could have sworn you said “I love you,” but his eyes fell shut and he didn’t get to ask.

When you woke up, the strong smell of menthol and leather made you recoil your head, before you realized it was just Dabi and snuggled deeper into him. The last you remembered was running your hands through his hair and whispering sweet nothings to him as he slept on your chest. You must have shifted in your sleep, however, because your legs were now tangled with his and you were eye level with his collar bones.

Precious moments, you thought, wanting to stop time and keep Dabi in your arms. He would get up and try to move around a few minutes after he woke up, you knew, but it didn’t hurt less. You tightened your hold around him, snuggling your face firmly into the warm crook of his neck and inhaling deeply. He smelled strongly of burning mint, something that would always be comforting to you. You stayed like that for a few minutes, relishing in the quiet of the -

It was Christmas morning. And you were spending it with Dabi. You smiled fiercely, torn between wanting to get up to make Dabi and yourself some coffee and wanting to spend more time cuddled up to him.

Eventually, your stomach won out, and you wriggled around Dabi with minimal groans from him to get up and make breakfast. You put on your headphones and played some ambient Christmas music, collecting ingredients to make waffles. You were so focused on the quiet simplicity of making waffles for Dabi - such a domestic moment that you never truly got and were now determined to appreciate - that you didn’t hear him walk up behind you to wrap his arms around you.

You yelped and nearly elbowed him in the ribs, which would have been a very bad start to your morning, but Dabi grabbed your hand and brought it to his mouth, gently kissing your knuckles while keeping his other arm snugly around your stomach. His head rested on your shoulder, a smug smile in his voice.

“What’re you making, doll?”

You fought the heat rising in your cheeks, and responded with, “Waffles. There’s coffee for you, too, if you want it.”

Dabi’s attention moved to the coffee, and you relaxed. You really weren’t used to domesticity, you thought as your heated face cooled down. You finished making two large waffles for the both of you, Dabi’s topped with maple syrup and butter, while you made up your own.

You both sat on the couch, eating happily and quietly. It was so rare to see Dabi like this, relaxed and quiet. Normally there was a certain fire in his eyes that never wavered, never died out. But this morning, with you… it was gone. Not that there was no life to him, but he looked truly happy.

And that made you happy. You broke yourself out of your thoughts when you noticed Dabi staring back at you, his eyes trained on your lips.

“What?” You asked, licking your lips. “Is there something on my mouth?”

“Yeah,” Dabi murmured, setting his plate down to kiss you gently, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. “Syrup.”

You smiled and put your plate next to Dabi’s on the coffee table. He tasted like coffee and maple and warm butter. God, I love you, you thought, tilting your head to the side, only to feel Dabi freeze.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, pulling away. “Are you okay?”

Dabi just stared at you, his blue eyes clouded and his mouth hanging open. Then he was kissing you again, his hands coming to rest on your hip and the other at the nape of your neck.

“I love you, too,” he sighed, rubbing circles over your hip before you pulled his head away, tugging on his hair.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I,” you whispered, wide-eyed and giddy, “and you said it back.”

Dabi just nodded, his eyes flickering between your lips and eyes. “Merry Christmas, doll.”

You laughed, bringing his face down to yours again and kissing him between satisfied giggles. Dabi just chuckled along with you, laying his body on top of yours, careful to mind his hardly healed wounds that you’d treated the night before. His body had seen so little care you often wondered if you were the only one to ever touch it without the intent to harm. But you wouldn’t think of that now, because he was here, with you, safe and warm and good.

It was safe to say that it was the best Christmas you’d had in a while, and it was even snowing.

End Notes: I'm aware it's nowhere near christmas. Shut up and lemme have this.

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