#Alternatively: Give the traitors a knife

[inkperch]

I feel as though The Traitors would be more interesting if it had two prize pools- one for traitors, one for faithfulls. The Traitors have to sabotage the challenges, without the Faithfull catching on, giving the Faithfull more clues and the Traitors more psychological torment as they actively betray people with a smile. 

[inky-snowdrop]

RAIN COSTUME RANKINGS

(because i have a lot of feelings about this man 💜)

Look under the cut for my more in depth opinions lollll

Mortal Kombat Trilogy ~ Eh. It's the same as every other ninja in MK3. Since it's his first costume though, it gets a slight pass.

Mortal Kombat Annihilation ~ This ain't it. The vest part is somewhat interesting, but the clunky mask??? NAH. It's too much like his MK3 costume. Also this version of Rain kinda gives me uncanny vibes lolll??? And on the wiki it says a black dude played him in the movie and this picture is def not of a black dude??? 🤨

Mortal Kombat Conquest ~ A worse version of Annihilation's costume. No color, no personality, no interesting details. What do I learn about Rain from this costume? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

Mortal Kombat Armageddon ~ THE CRÉME DELA CRÉME OF RAIN COSTUMES! This is the first time we see him with a crown/helmet, which shows that he views himself as being superior to other people. The color is a rich purple, which also indicates his powerful heritage (in history, purple was a rare color in clothing and was reserved for the wealthy). His hair is exposed for the first time, adding personality to his character. The heavy jewelry and embroidered cape shows his inflated ego. He's got an assassin's knife, which shows that he is a traitor to the realm of Edenia... Like Netherrealm hit it out of the park on their FIRST TRY!!!

Mortal Kombat Armageddon Alternate ~ I love the reddish-purple color of this costume bruh. The crown is still there but the fact that they covered up his hair again isn't my most favorite. It's starting to lean back into MK3 territory, but it has gold embellishments that keep me from completely hating it.

Mortal Kombat 9 ~ The purple in this costume is NOT. HITTING. IT'S SO UGLY. I feel like a lot of the costumes in MK9 were muted (except for Jade and Mileena), and that makes the game seem a lot flatter. Rain looks like a warrior with this costume, not a demi-god. Where's the gold? Where's the showboating? The shoulder pads and the designs on his torso are the only things that I truly like from this design. The crown on his cowl is barely visible... That is NO BUENO.

Mortal Kombat X ~ MKX my beloved, you never fail to disappoint with the costume designs. The crown, the golden jewelry and red jewels, the shade of purple (a dark purple indicating a sinister character), the CROP TOP 👀, his hair being exposed, his lil jagged cape that shows that he's been through the ringer trying to get Mileena to power?!?! I have nothing bad to say about this design; It fits his personality SO WELL 💜💜💜

Mortal Kombat 11 Perfect Storm ~ This costume is growing on me. I like the color, all the gold and silver accoutrements are very well placed, his new weapon is different and makes his kombat more exciting. I feel like there could be more though. This is almost perfect.

Mortal Kombat 11 Son of Argus ~ Bro looks like he's about to go play rugby lol 😭 I HATE IT! He doesn't look like himself AT ALL! What is that helmet/cowl thing he's wearing!? He's wearing the same belt from the previous costume in this one! It screams I threw this together at the last minute! Once again, he looks too much like a fighter... At least in MK9, he had some regal elements in his design. Also all the variant colors for this costume are so ugly????? Bruh throw it out

Mortal Kombat 11 Weathered By Kombat ~ By far the most regal costume of MK11. I like the golden horns, the HUGE golden belt along with all the little storm ensigns, and the draping design of the costume is absolutely serving. I love and hate the spikey parts of this costume because it makes sense for his character, but it doesn't flow well with the rest of the costume. Also the mask could be better (which I know can be exchanged, but the default one is meh). The rings are a new detail!

Mortal Kombat 11 Hidden By Argus ~ It's giving assassin, not demi-god. It's too sleek. Overall the design is good, but it's not loud enough for me. I need more. Color palates for this costume though are the best (especially positioned for success 😉)

Mortal Kombat 11 Ending ~ Bald Rain is cursed 🤷 There's also no personality in the outfit at all bruh. It's not even the right color.

Mortal Kombat 1 Storm of the Century ~ It's not the worst, it's not the best. The lavender purple is pretty and I'm ok with this version of Rain having that color instead of a more vibrant shade. The orange/yellow tho... That was a choice. The designs on his hood are cool, but I'm not a fan of all the ropes he has on his body. I don't think mages need that many ropes lol... Unless they into some freaky shit hehe

Mortal Kombat 1 High Mage ~ Now THIS is a Rain costume! The little epaulettes are cute and I LOVE the designs on his torso! His little bedazzled mask is funny to me lol 😆 Also the default color is really nice! I wish the buttons were gold instead of brown in the middle of his shirt; It makes him look a little bit like a sailor from the 17th and 18th century lol. Though the fact that we get to see his hair in his costume... That makes up for every other flaw on god.

[omegaray45]

Excuse this ramble but... There is a distinct lack of wholesome, character relationship centered Isekai's out there.

And no, I don't mean romantic relationships. I mean where is a story about four friends who are simultaneously warped from their home to a fantasy world? Where is a story about them learning to live in this new world, fulfilling the traditional roles of a fantasy genre as they travel? Where's the moments where they huddle around a campfire, reminiscing about their first adventure and how they nearly lost the reward because they forgot that the gold statue that was the objective had to be spotless and one of them put it at the bottom of their bag along with the moldy sauce they forgot to throw out?

Legitimately, too many isekai focus about power fulfillment instead of friendship. The power of friendship is overused as well, but you don't really see slow progressing, slice of life stories about friends learning and traveling together as if it was a road trip but with swords and magic.

Frieren; Beyond Journey's End is a great example of this. Beyond all the conflict with demons and the inevitable fights that take place against them, at it's core it's a story about people. About how people effect other people and how one should value their relationships with other people even if their perception of time is so vastly skewed that it's hard for them to realize how they feel toward said people.

I'll reiterate; give me a story like Rising of the Shield Hero, but instead of every other hero being foolish and choosing to form their own parties, they have some common sense and think "Hey, we all have the basic components of a fantasy party, let's work together" and then traveling together. Give me a story where they have enough common sense to recognize that something is off about the certain shady people they meet, and then bouncing that idea off their other three party members so the issue is resolved with efficiency and it bringing them all closer together. Give me moments where an outsider, a healer perhaps, tags along for a few days and they're struck just by how friendly and close knit they are. That they click so well with each other that if they use their heads and work as a team, there is literally no obstacle they cannot overcome.

Most of all, if you want drama, expose these friends to something that would strain friendships in real life. Have one of them consumed by their own thoughts, to the point they don't think the others like them. Have it grow progressively worse over time until it gets to the point a cursed artifact uses it against them, and they must fight their now brainwashed friend to free them of it's control. Have them reassure their friend that they ARE still important to them, and that they would never abandon them for the petulant reasons the little voice in their head gives.

Alternatively, if you'd like to twist the knife, present an equally likely scenario. Have one of those friends give in to their darker urges permanently. They betray their friends and defect for whatever horrible reason they have, whether it be riches or a seductive individual or simply power. Have the friends who were betrayed foster an unreasonable hatred because above all, their friend abandoned their relationship and bonds in favor of something fleeting. The traitor may or may not come to regret their decision, but what never changes is that they still gave in, and that wound will need work to heal.

Sorry, this is overly long. Basically; give me friends in fantasy settings. No more of this overpowered harem fantasy fulfillment. Give me people who form bonds with one another, and stick together for as long as possible so they can cherish the warm and happy memories they make. Give me friends who work together to beat their next biggest enemy or solve their most complex puzzle. Give me the epitome of the human spirit of connection with each other, and how it opens the way to a brighter future.

[ughohyoumadeafunny]

It's Good To Be King ( Evil Optimus prime edit)

[ This is an alternate timeline where after optimus becomes prime, he apoints Megatron as top general of cybertron, however as time passes, the idea of power and control corrupts Optimus, after all, he was simply a scholar. He begins to see himself as a God that could do no wrong, and at first he does good, till his actions become more corrupt and tyranical)

It's good to be Prime

And have the absolute authority

All the attributes of divinity

I'm a religion

Look how they all worship me

Don't have to be good

To be a good Prime

Just gotta look

Like you've got sympathy

Then keep 'em hooked and suffering

To maximize your imagry

Look how the traitors work down to the bone

As I sit up high on my velvety throne

Pulling the strings on the people below

It's so stinking good to be prime

Mine is the kingdom

Mine is the all-spark

Mine is the glory

Forever more

(Optimus: Behold the spark! Behold!

Starscream: Everybody hates me, yeah!

Optimus: I'm gonna kill him

Ha, ha, ha!)

It's good to be prime

And be the one who screams

"Off with the traitors head!"

Or be the one who's seen

As there savior instead

It's delicious

To watch them begging for them death

I put in a knife and then give it a twist

A smile opens up on my little lips

The joy of the crown is too much to resist

It's so stinking good to be prime

I just love it!

Mine is the kingdom

Mine is the all-spark

Mine is the glory

Forever more

Forever more

Forever more

It's so stinking good to be prime!

[pastelwitchling]

Michael tells Alex about the Dictator.

Michael was leaning forward on his knees, staring at the flames of the bonfire. He was slowly losing his mind, he knew it, but that didn’t make him pick up his phone and call Max for guidance or Isobel to apologize. He didn’t call Maria to ask if she was having any visions about his future, or Valenti to look him over for a burn mark he might’ve miraculously missed.

Mr. Jones had told him all he’d needed to know, and now the rest of the world felt muffled, like there was cotton in his ears. He didn’t want to talk to his siblings, he didn’t want his friends’ advice or insight. He didn’t think he could ever move away from this bonfire again, watching the flames taunt him. Because they knew they couldn’t hurt him, and that it was torturing him.

When a car drove up to the junkyard, Michael was flooded with memories of another late-night visitor. He looked up, traitorous hope climbing his throat before he could help it. When he saw Isobel behind the wheel, his heart sagged back to the bottom of his stomach, and he returned to staring at the fire.

It was frightening how, even after a year apart, just the thought of the airman cut through his haze like a knife.

Isobel stepped out of her car and stood across the bonfire, her arms crossed. She sighed. “I think you should talk to Alex.”

Michael’s eyes flickered upward. Isobel looked shaken, and the brotherly part of him wanted to be protective and concerned, but the bigger part couldn’t muster the will.

He offered a small, humorless smirk, the only kind he could manage, and held his still untouched beer bottle to his lips. “Pardon?”

Isobel wasn’t having it. She came to stand in front of Michael, blocking his view of the flames. “You’re not okay,” she said simply.

“Would you be?” he answered without looking at her, the cruelty evident in his tone.

“I don’t know why you’re listening to Jones of all people,” she tried. “You’re the one who said we shouldn’t –”

“Is,” Michael cut her off, shutting his eyes. “Not now, okay?”

Isobel said nothing for a moment, then huffed. She grabbed the chair nearest Michael, pulled it closer, and sat down, facing him. “You need to talk to Alex, Michael. You’ve . . . you’ve never listened to anybody like you listen to him, and he’s smart. He’ll tell you what I already know, and . . .” she shook her head. “Maybe you’ll believe him.”

Michael said nothing. He said nothing as Isobel sighed, kissed his temple, and told him she’d come by again in the morning. He said nothing as she got in her car with a final plea for him to go see Alex. He said nothing as she drove away.

He said nothing because he couldn’t admit that he’d been terrified of this beyond anything else. Facing Alex again, after everything he’d done. But he wanted it. He wanted to see Alex so badly, and though he knew it might only push him further over the edge until he felt nothing at all, he also knew he would be worse off not seeing Alex at all.

When Michael dared ask himself what he wanted, the answer was clear; he didn’t want to see or talk to anybody, but he could manage just enough strength to talk to Alex. Only to Alex.

On his way to Alex’s house, he thought of all the ways he could explain what he was doing there, where to begin in what he’d discovered. But it looked like Alex had somehow known he was coming because he didn’t give him the luxury of working out a script in his head. Instead, Michael found him in his front garden, kneeling in the mud and pulling at weeds. He had one hand on the dirt beside a few roses, as if careful not to accidentally hurt them.

Michael pulled his truck to a stop, watching the ends of Alex’s hair stick to his skin with sweat, the way his brows pinched in concentration, but his hands worked gently. A lump formed in Michael’s throat. He thought about the things he’d said to Alex almost two years ago, and the way he’d made him feel.

“I don’t think we’re good for each other, Alex.”

“I like Maria, okay?”

“I’m saying no.”

Michael shut his eyes tight. What right did he have to talk to Alex now? He clenched his jaw and swallowed thickly. He started to turn the steering wheel when Alex glanced up and their eyes caught through the windshield.

Alex straightened and raised a hand in startled greeting. Michael hesitated. He should’ve driven away, escaped as quickly as possible, but he hadn’t seen Alex in a year, and only barely glimpsed him at the bus stop when he’d come back before he quickly turned away, unable to stand the sight of him and Forrest together. And he missed him. He missed him like he didn’t think he could ever miss anybody.

Seeing him now had Michael itching to be closer, to touch. Before he could tell himself it was a bad idea, he parked his truck. Alex pushed himself to his feet as Michael stepped out.

“Hey –” Michael started and stopped as Alex breathlessly pulled him in for a one-armed hug.

“Hi,” Alex said and started to pull away, but Michael kept a hand on his back, keeping him close for a few more seconds. He turned his face into his hair, breathing him in. He was so warm and felt so good, his soft strands tickling Michael’s cheek.

When Alex finally stepped back, Michael saw that he looked tired, but was smiling, his cheeks dusted pink. “I was going to come see you tonight.”

“Y-You were?”

“Yeah,” Alex dusted the mud off the hem of his shirt, but Michael’s hand was still on his waist. “We haven’t talked since I got back. I missed you.”

Michael let his hand fall and allowed himself to stay close. Just for another few minutes, before Alex found out the truth about him and pushed him away in disgust.

He forced a chuckle. “I’m flattered, Private.”

As Alex searched Michael’s face, his eyes narrowed, and his smile slowly dimmed. “What’s wrong?”

Michael’s brows furrowed and he was about to shake his head, to say nothing was wrong, then Alex pursed his lips and said, “That bad, huh?”

He tried for another chuckle, but it got caught in his throat and sounded weak to his own ears. “Alex, I don’t –”

But Alex was already dusting the dirt off his hands. Michael briefly noted the strange new ring on his finger. At his confused look, Alex smiled, “I’ll put some coffee on.”

Ten minutes later found Michael in Alex’s living room, two steaming cups of coffee on the table in front of them. Michael sat on Alex’s couch, while Alex took the bench in front of his keyboard. He had changed into his sweats and an Air Force t-shirt, and Michael kept alternating between fear of what he would say, studying every freckle on Alex’s face and neck, and ogling his strong arms. He was always toned, but it was evident he’d spent the last year working out.

“You look good,” he thoughtlessly blurted.

“And you’re stalling,” Alex said, blushing.

“I’m not,” Michael truthfully said. “You look really good.”

“Guerin,” Alex leaned in. “What happened?”

Michael met Alex’s eyes and felt his own burn, the plagues of his mind coming at him at once with the genuine care in Alex’s eyes. He wondered how many minutes he would have before that kindness turned to cruel satisfaction.

“Karma,” he said. “I . . .” he looked down at his lap, his fingers playing. “I think I know who my dad is.”

Alex’s eyes widened slightly before his captain’s training kicked in, and he schooled his expression to one of indifference. “Okay. Who?”

Michael shook his head. He whispered, “A monster.”

At the confused furrow of Alex’s brows, Michael launched into the story of everything Jones had told them. He thought it’d be impossible to speak at all, but Alex held his gaze and it gave him a strength he didn’t think would last outside these walls.

By the time he was done, he was pacing the length of the living room, and Alex watched calmly from where he sat.

“This guy might’ve chased my mom and Louise off our planet in the first place,” Michael raged, his heart racing. “My mom – my mom, Alex – made Max in a lab so she could use him.” A rough chuckle escaped his lips. “And all the crap I gave you because of Jesse –”

“Guerin,” Alex said gently. “Sit down. Please.”

Michael clenched his fists, and sat down. He shook his head, staring at his cold cup of coffee. “What do I do now?”

Alex raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

Michael looked up at him. “Alex,” he reminded him, “my dad’s a villain.”

“So is mine,” Alex sighed, taking their mugs to the sink. “It happens.”

Michael stared, and stood to follow. “Do you not get –”

“I get that this is freaking you out,” Alex said simply, and turned to face him. He leaned against the sink. “I get that you’re angry.”

“Angry?” he scoffed. “I’m a monster’s son!”

Alex raised a cool brow. “So?”

“So my parents are supposed to be heroes!” he slammed his fist against the wall, and all the furniture jumped a good foot before falling back down.

Alex looked unaffected, but when he spoke, his voice was soft. “I know.”

“My mom used Max! My dad destroyed everything!”

“I know.”

“Fire,” he breathed, “fire doesn’t hurt me, Alex.” He shook his head. “It feels wrong.”

Alex took Michael’s face in his hands. “It’s not.”

Michael opened his mouth on a silent sentence, whatever he was going to say next lost as Alex brushed his cheek with his thumb.

“I . . .”

Alex gently pulled Michael in against him, hugging his shoulders. Against the crook of his neck, he whispered, “I’m sorry your family’s more human than you wanted them to be.”

Michael shuddered. He tried to push Alex away, to get angry, but in his embrace all he could feel was the desperate need to be closer. He ended up grabbing Alex’s hips, his fingers curled tightly in the material of his shirt.

“Why don’t you hate me?” he demanded. “Yell at me, laugh, tell me I deserve this!”

Alex held him tighter and shook his head.

“Why not?” he urged through grit teeth, his eyes burning. “I do deserve it, Alex. I made you feel like crap because of your dad. I . . . I left you alone –”

“Shh,” Alex said softly, raking a gentle hand through Michael’s curls.

“Hate me,” he begged. “Please, get mad at me.”

“Am I monster,” Alex asked, and Michael stilled, “because of my dad?”

Michael was already shaking his head. “You’re my hero, Alex,” he said without missing a beat. “But –”

“And you’re mine,” Alex whispered, his lips brushing the bare skin of Michael’s shoulder where his shirt was pulled back. It made it very hard for Michael to think.

He opened his mouth to argue, to say something, but before he realized his vision had gone blurry, big fat tears were falling down his cheeks and onto Alex’s shirt. Alex held him even tighter.

“We’ll figure it out,” Alex said lightly, as if this was no big deal. As if he had no doubt in his mind the kind of person Michael was, the hero he was. “Everything’s fine, Guerin. I promise everything’s fine.”

Michael’s hands slowly came up Alex’s back, his fingers clawing through his shirt and into his skin, holding him back even tighter.

“I missed you, Alex,” Michael breathed, and buried his face in the crook of Alex’s neck. “I missed you so much.”

Alex chuckled softly. “I’m flattered.”

[procrastinationonvacation]

Bear with me here, but I am firm in my belief that the tapestries in the Halls of Mandos function like movie screens, showing either important events or important people (often said important people are just going about their daily lives).

So all the dead members of the House of Finwe just sit around a tapestry with imaginary popcorn and watch the world. Some of it is tragic and moving of course, but so much of it is benine (they spend the majority of the second age trying to figure out who Gil-galads parents are).

But once things start happening in the third age (in which our movie-watchers have previously split their time alternatively encouraging Galadriel to deck Saruman in the face, and getting weirdly invested in Shire politics) they quickly develop a favourite hero. Said hero is Eowyn. She reminds them all of Aredhel, and by the time she joins the army they’re all in mass support of everything she does.

What I’m saying is that once Eowyn actually fights the Witch-King, she has the entire House of Finwe cheering her name, and when she wins they all riot so hard Namo kicks them out of the Halls. Naturally both Maedhros and Anaire (once someone tells her about it) lament the fact that they couldn’t marry Eowyn instead of their current husbands, and the rest of the family vehemently insist that Arwen chose the wrong mortal.

HCanon I absolutely ADORE THIS. However, if it doesn’t culminate in Gandalf being forced to go back to ME to “go get our girl” under pain of death until Eowyn is like “no I’m good” at which point Olorin has to haul ass *back* to Valinor, while a very upset Faramir is protesting that he’d like to see the undying lands, pretty please with a cherry on top. (I love Faramir very much and im sorry)

Also, just to be clear: they know Saruman is bad news pretty early and are angrily yeeting popcorn, almonds, and the occasional knife whenever he shows up on screen. At first Namo thinks its just them being Overly Aggressive, and honestly, the Feanorians aren’t quite sure why they hate him so much either. But at some point Saruman does turn evil and the valar do concede that when it comes to being oddly in tune with exactly who is “a traitorous piece of shit” the shiny murder family (minus Celebrimbor who is a kind and innocent soul) takes the cake.

--

Further bonus: they demand occasional cuts to Maglor, which is then spliced in comedically, in a “Meanwhile Maglor” segment which could well be the same clip over and over. *insert that meme where the child wipes away a movie screen characters tear*

--

When Frodo first shows up, he is almost crushed by the whole family demanding to meet the mayor. Frodo is really confused who “the mayor” is and if he is also “the potato man” until he finally exclaims “Why that’s SAM!” He is swiftly informed that no one ever calls him that, jeeze, but yes that’s “Sam.” Where is “Sam.”

They also go after Galadriel for giving Sam that tree and magic dirt because she really upset the balance of power there, but did she even consider that?? NOOOOO. She didnt.

There were all those rumors of Sam’s mayor ship being blessed. Was she aware of that?? Of the ridiculousness she’d brought into what was normally Good Ordered Politics!!! Galadriel’s like “fuck yeah I did think about that actually, and can you Really say Sam doesn’t deserve a little bit of awe from the people there”

The Feanorians realize that, being Galadriel, Galadriel is RIGHT. And since they have no sense of a middle ground, they get in contact with their sleeper agent Maglor (who’s obviously a sleeper agent and very much in contact with them, shut up). Who will now fulfill my life’s ambition of forming a cult as a (in)famous bard. The cult of Samwise the potato man. Sam would like to know what the Fuck is going on and he shows up to Valinor with Questions. (please ignore this paragraph, I just want a cult)

--

Of course they’re also very pleased with Frodo, who is Small and a very precious little guy. Because we ALL love Frodo.

--

Thanks so much for the ask, your head canons are hilarious and full of life as always. Have a great day :)

-Sam

[letsfluxshitup]

the mortifying ordeal of being cared for (ao3)

(tw injury/blood/stitches)(not permadeath btw <3)

Technoblade thought, with absolute surety, he was going to die.

He wasn't sure how he'd made it back to Pogtopia, fresh bloody handprints decorating the walls, and small pools of blood from where he rested a second too long.

It didn't matter if he died, he'd just respawn, it'd be fine, but that didn't stop the deep primal fear of death, of not coming back, of the respawn failing. 

He let out a deep stuttery breath as he fumbled open a chest, desperately searching for bandages, cloth, anything to staunch the bleeding.

He heard, faintly, some noise behind him, muttered talking that turned more frantic but he brushed it aside, it was unimportant, where was his medkit-

A hand on his shoulder startled him out of his desperate searching, and he automatically swung backwards, but he was slow, too slow, and the figure easily dodged. 

He reached for his knife, fumbling to his feet, knife first, all regards for tact and technique abandoned in his desperate swing. 

He wasn't sure what happened then, vision blanking from the rush of movement, but he knew he was knifeless and being cradled to someone's chest. Quackity's, he guessed, between the panicked shrieking and signature jacket.

It was slicked with blood now, and no, his jacket shouldn't look like that, and he tried to pull away, to mitigate the damages and prevent more blood spilling. Quackity only held him tighter, arms feeling like iron bars locking him in.

Since when was Quackity so strong, Techno thought. Since when was I so weak.

His memories after that were spotty as he slipped in and out of consciousness, mostly remembering the warm water and rag that cleaned his wounds, the bite of the needle from stitches, and Quackity's soft cooing as he ran fingers through his hair, a reassurance and distraction from the burning pain spreading up his side.

--

Quackity had decided that morning that he very much did not like Pogtopia. It was cold, Tommy and Techno(traitor) bullied him, and he could never find things where he left them.

Case in point, he was clambering down the steep staircase that had fallen many a foe, in a futile search for his misplaced pickaxe. It took a second to register the blood smeared on the walls, the scent of copper smothering in the air. He walked faster, ignoring his shoes sticky with blood, as he nervously called out a tentative 'hello?'

No response.

He walked faster, gaze sharp as he took in the ravine before him, and he wished it had been lit up a little better, fumbling through long stretches of burnt out torches. He followed the trail to Techno's door and his stomach dropped, if something had fucked him up so badly, what did that say for the rest of them? 

Praying that whatever he picked a fight with was either dead or knew better than to come back, he entered the room.

"Techno?" He started, trying to sound calm but quickly dissolving into panic as he rushed towards a hunched over and bloody Techno. 

He'd barely touched his shoulder when he lashed out at him, a sharp snarl echoing through the room, eyes unfocused and uncomprehending. He lurched forwards, half crawling half on his feet, and Quackity easily, too easily, pried the blade from his hands.

Techno then face planted into his neck, a pained sob making its way out of his throat. Quackity quickly dragged him back to the ground, curling his arms around him, trying to keep his voice soothing but he knew the panic was leaking through.

Techno squirmed weakly, before stilling, a dead weight in Quackity's lap. Quackity tried to calm down, take deep breaths, but the cloying smell of blood was making it difficult to even think.

He went through the first aid he knew, haphazardly cleaning wounds and his stitches sloppy and almost definitely going to leave an ugly scar.

At least he isn't bleeding out anymore, Quackity thought nervously, splashing a regen potion on the worst of the wounds. 

After assuring he wouldn't bleed out, he found a bucket that he filled with water, keeping it warm near the fire.

He carefully cleaned the blood off of the rest of Techno, scrubbing it out of his hair and nails. He used the knife Techno had swung at him to carefully cut away his ruined shirt, cleaning the blood off of him before shoving him into a nightgown he'd found when digging through chests for more medical supplies.

Quackity decided that once Techno was better he could tease him about it, but it would probably reflect poorly on him if he made fun of a half dead bed ridden man.

He absently wondered who had given it to him, doubting he'd bought it for himself. It was covered in potatoes and looked comfy as hell, so he couldn't really judge him.

Techno was relatively dead to the world anyways, so teasing him now would be pointless. 

The most response he had gotten from the man was a reflexive splutter when he'd accidentally dropped a water soaked rag on his face, and Quackity could only hope he wouldn't remember that.

He dragged Techno into bed, mindful of his stitches, and noticing the drop in temperature. He was still unnaturally warm by human standards, but unnaturally cold by... Techno standards. Blood loss would do that to you, apparently. 

Quackity hunted down every blanket he could find in the room, uncovering some from chests and the like before carefully tucking Techno in. He looked very... small, on the bed, face colorless and slack, breaths uneven and stuttery.

Quackity hoped he wouldn't have to do anything about his breathing, that was a bit out of his area of expertise. 

All of this was out of his area of expertise, actually, but that was fine. 

Techno was breathing, wasn't he? 

Well. Mostly.

--

Techno wasn't sure how much later it was until he woke up properly, but he was propped up in his bed, thoroughly tucked in. Quackity was slumped in a chair next to him, face buried in the sheets as he snoozed. 

Techno cleared his throat, and that hurt, and his mouth tasted awful and everything else was just pain.

Quackity sat up abruptly though, hair sleep ruffled and he hastily swiped away drool. He blinked blearily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before giving Techno a nervous lopsided smile.

"How's my favorite patient doing?" He chirped, standing up and carefully checking Techno's wounds. When Techno just grunted in response he waved a healing potion in front of him, and Techno was grateful for having at least a semi competent caretaker.

That gratefulness was swiftly shattered as Quackity waterboarded him with the healing potion, overzealous in his offering and spilling it all over his face and shirt. Thankfully the potion wasn't picky, and absorbed anyways, the healing effect settling in and making him feel tired.

He wanted to fall asleep, but Quackity was waving food in front of him, toasted bread slathered with sweet berries, as he stuttered out apologies.

"I'm not the, uh, best doctor-" Techno interrupted him with a snort, "but I'm the best you got for now, alright?"

Techno just gave him a flat look in response.

"Listen! Would you rather I wear a nurse outfit? Would that make you feel better?" Quackity huffed, arms crossed, and Techno made a show of shuddering in horror.

"Hey, fuck off! I have the fattest ass in the cabinet, you know! You should- you should be appreciative of- of my... Of my ass." He finished lamely, cheeks aflame as he waved his hands. "Listen, listen, let's just- we're gonna forget all that, alright?"

Techno snorted, and it hurt his throat and ribs but Quackity was grinning back at him, and he figured that made up for it.

--

He wasn't sure how long he'd been sleeping on and off, waking up only for the occasional healing potion and sip of water. Quackity never asked what had happened, and he was glad, not wanting to explain the circumstances that had almost led to his untimely demise.

Quackity insisted on brushing his hair every time he woke up for longer than thirty seconds, chastising him about proper hair care and tangles and if Techno could say more than a word at a time he'd point out the poor state of Quackity's wings. 

As Quackity deftly braided his hair from where he'd settled behind him, Techno focused on the apple he'd been given, carefully slicing off bits with a knife and alternating between handing them to Quackity and eating them himself.

He had to question the logic of giving a very out of it patient a knife, but he quietly revelled in the feeling of comfort it gave him, and the warm feeling spreading in his chest from sharing food.

When the apple was finished and the braid completed, Techno leaned his head back, resting on Quackity's shoulder. Techno couldn't understand what Quackity was saying, instead just humming and snuggling back, dead to the world in an instant. 

Quackity felt a small pang of pride at the blatant trust, before starting to settle in for the night. Day? He'd lost track of time, caring for Techno being his prime focus.

His communicator flashed with unread messages, but he had been busy, alright? Was still busy, he thought, eyeing the knife in Techno's now loose grip.

Quackity gently took the knife from him, setting it in reach, before settling his arms lightly around Techno's torso, protective of the hastily stitched gash in his side.

It took a bit of squirming before his wings settled comfortably on his back, but finally Quackity managed to fall asleep.

--

Quackity had been helping a shaky Techno into a new shirt when the door abruptly shrieked open. 

Reflexively, Quackity reached for the knife on the bedside table before turning towards the door. Techno had drilled into him that it was better to be paranoid than dead after Quackity had unthinkingly mentioned the condition Techno was in to the others.

Privately, Quackity thought Techno was being a bit paranoid, but it helped him relax a little and Quackity really was worried about the poor guy's heart.

Wilbur stepped in, taking in the scene before him with an impassive face.

"You're making friends." It wasn't a question, more of an accusation over anything else, and Quackity wondered why Wilbur sounded offended.

Turning back to help Techno, he absently looked over his healing wounds, checking for any damages or fresh blood.

Wilbur continued to stare past Quackity, studying his brother and oh.

That's why Wilbur was offended.

Techno opened his mouth as if to speak, but Wilbur cut him off, irritation clear in his voice.

"No, no, I get it. You're injured and need to be cared for so obviously you ask the flake with a complex." Wilbur's face had turned more snide, his voice disparaging as he planted his hands on his hips.

Quackity wanted to defend himself, and also ask what kind of complex Wilbur thought he had, and also ask what the fuck, low blow, asshole.

Techno moved like he was going to stand up, looking pissed, and Quackity waved his hands frantically, wings puffing up and blocking his view of Wilbur.

"Hey, hey, c'mon, buddy, you don't have to defend my honor or anything, stay in bed." Quackity carefully guided him back into bed but Techno still looked irritated.

"He's being an ass." He deadpanned, leaning around Quackity's outstretched wings to send Wilbur a scathing look. 

To Wilbur's credit, he managed to mainly suppress his flinch, but it was still noticeable enough that Techno shot him one of his more feral grins.

Quackity, realizing he was still holding the knife, set it back down on the nightstand. This quickly turned out to be a big mistake as without hesitating Techno snatched it up, throwing it at his brother. 

Between the injuries and not actually wanting to hurt his brother, it missed by a mile, and Techno punctuated the clear message with a snarled 'out'.

Wilbur looked hurt for a split second, before he settled back into an unbothered stance, leaving the room with a muttered 'whatever'.

"Your family's fucking weird, man." Quackity finally broke the silence, letting out a nervous laugh as he side eyed Techno.

Techno just nodded slightly, scrubbing at his face before settling back into the pillows.

"He's just lashing out because he's a theatre kid and doesn't know how to process his emotions any other way." 

Privately, Techno wished Philza was here, he was always a lot better at smoothing things over. Or riling things up, depending on the situation.

"Right." Quackity said, after a bit of silence, both deep in thought. "Do you want him to take care of you? Like, I know we've settled into this sorta thing, but, like, I'm not gonna be offended or anything if you'd rather have family watch over you, y'know?" 

Techno looked perplexed for a second, before shaking his head.

"Wilbur's been pickin' fights with me lately, should probably give him space or something." He looked towards Quackity, uncertainty written across his face.

"Oh! Yeah! That makes sense, absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that." Quackity nodded, self assured in that way only someone who wasn't entirely sure what they were talking about could be.

Techno snorted, before patting the bed next to him.

"Sleep?" 

"Sure. Y'know, big guy, you should feel special." Quackity grinned at him, as he settled into the bed next to him.

"Oh?" Techno raised an eyebrow, settling his arm around Quackity.

"Yeah. Not just anyone gets the Quackity into their bed." Quackity tried to hide his smile in Techno's shoulder, failing miserably once catching sight of Techno's expression. 

Techno stared down at him, eyes wide and looking... Confused? Mortified? Quackity wasn't that great at reading his expressions, yet. 

Unceremoniously, Techno shoved him off the bed, hiding his snorts in his pillow.

Quackity's hip hurt where it connected with the floor but he couldn't hold back his wide grin.

He stumbled up off the floor, flopping on to the bed and settling in against Techno, delighted he could make Techno laugh like that.

--

Quackity laid there in silent horror, staring down at the wet spot of drool on Techno's shirt. Techno would never sleep with him again. Not that he cared, or anything. Techno was just very warm and the ravine was very cold, alright?

"Techno." Quackity whispered, sitting up as best he could with Techno's arm locked around him. "Techno it's time to get up."

"No," Techno murmured, moving the arm around Quackity's waist to cup the back of his head and gently push him back into his neck. Quackity snorted into Techno's neck, before patting at his chest.

"C'mon big guy, time to get up." He squirmed out from under Techno's arm, patting at his cheek insistently. 

Techno's eyes fluttered open, looking mildly irritated, before he rolled, taking Quackity with him and pinning him underneath him.

He buried his face into Quackity's neck, free hand moving into Quackity's closest wing and lightly petting the feathers. 

Quackity huffed, batting at his hand because that was cheating, thank you very much, Quackity was going to fall back asleep at this rate.

"C'mon, Blade, we gotta get a move on." Quackity twisted the fingers of his free hand into the hair at the base of Technoblades neck, and tugged lightly.

Techno let out a warning growl, before rolling off of Quackity. Quackity side eyed him and, deciding may as fucking well, shoved Techno the rest of the way off the bed. 

He was mostly healed up anyways, and it wouldn't hurt him that much. Hopefully.

There was a beat of silence before Techno popped up from over the side of the bed, looking completely baffled.

Quackity jumped over him and made a break for the door, but Techno was faster.

He draped himself heavily over Quackity, nearly sending him tumbling to the ground, as he sighed obnoxiously in his ear.

"You're going to have to carry me, I think you broke my legs." Quackity could hear the grin in his voice, but didn't call him on it. He'd rarely seen Techno in any kind of playful mood, and he figured he could risk playing along if it made Techno happy. 

He'd only heard the man laugh a handful of times before, and all that stress couldn't be good for his heart.

Quackity barley made it another stumbling step before there was a sharp rapping at the door.

"Techno? Wilbur needs you." Tommy called through the door.

The change in Techno was immediate, the playful attitude rolling off of him as he straightened up and headed for his clothes and sword. The past... Dispute still fresh in his mind.

"Tell him I'll be there in a minute." Techno called back. 

He knocked his crown off of it's hook and Quackity reached down to grab it for him. He was met with a sharp look, Techno quickly snatching it up, the cuddly Techno from earlier replaced with a cold, more analytical persona. 

Techno whipped open the door, brushing past Tommy with barely an acknowledgement, deep in thought and looking mildly irritated. 

Tommy looked over at Quackity, shifting awkwardly. 

"Sorry about him. He's not much of a morning person." Tommy said absently, as he watched Techno move through the ravine.

"So! What do you want to eat, Big Q?" Tommy beamed at him, energy cranked up to 11 after his brother was out of sight. 

Quackity gave him an unusually soft look, before throwing an arm over his shoulder and knocking their heads together.

"What've you got here, boss?" Quackity practically chirped, letting himself be dragged away by an overly excited Tommy. He tamped down on his worry over Techno, as he settled into bantering with Tommy.

[ikeromantic]

Loyalty

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic. This scene occurs at the start of Ch. 10 it the main route. Alternately titled Taking Out the Trash. Approx. 2300 words.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Right

Evening fell in a grey hush. At least to Mitsuhide’s eyes, though his vision was grainy, blurred at the edges. He couldn’t trust the little spots of color that blossomed in halos around candles and lanterns. There were no such lights in this abandoned warehouse. Only what came from the setting sun, and the rising moon and stars. 

“My lord, our forces are in place. Scouts indicate the monks have retreated beyond Honno-ji - should we bring them in?”

“No. They are unimportant. What of the Oda vassals? Nobunaga? Any movement?” Mitsuhide’s voice betrayed nothing of his exhaustion. It sounded cold and distant in his ears. 

The warrior nodded. “What is your command?”

“Tell them to hold. I will give the signal to move in after full dark.” He watched the warrior run off to pass the message on to the Imagawa, and the rag-tag militia Yoshiaki had conscripted for this attack. 

Mitsuhide stood, stretching. His joints popped and his bones creaked. Every aging bruise felt fresh, sending a pulsing ache through his body. He made no sound as he forced himself to prepare for the coming fight. There were so many variables. So many points where it could all fall apart. 

Outside, the grey faded to a dark blue, the depth swimming with tiny white stars. The moon sat above the horizon, fat and round and full. Men in armor whispered in alleyways and shadows, voices lost in the cold night breeze. There were no other sounds. No chirping crickets or hunting owls. 

Mitsuhide left his warehouse, signaling to the men that now, now it was time. He drew his sword, stilling the trembling of his hands. Just a little more. 

He rushed forward, silent as he covered the ground between himself and Honno-ji. Behind him, his troops also ran, their steps a wild drumbeat. The next few breaths were chaos. The flash of blades in moonlight, violent exhalation as men breathed their last, and the savage of shouts of men in blood-lust.

On the balcony above them, Mitsuhide made out a shape. Someone standing at the railing, looking down. Despite the darkness, he knew it was her. His little one. Watching. He had not wanted her to be here, but now, somehow, it felt right to him that she was. That she witness this moment.

The kitsune warlord avoided the door guards and the smattering of vassals between himself and the large inner chamber where he knew Nobunaga would make his stand. Behind him, Yoshiaki’s vassals crowded into the halls, keeping track of Mitsuhide’s movements to be certain he could not betray their lord. It might have made him laugh, if he had breath for it.

He heard more than saw Hideyoshi charge out to meet Yoshimoto and the Imagawa at the main doors of the temple. It was impossible not to recognize his voice, even in this pandemonium. That should hold most of the conscripts and mercenaries. Mitsuhide chanced a look back to make sure the shogun’s men were still following. They hadn’t lost any ground, and better, it seemed they’d summoned their lord now that victory was imminent.

“My liege! Nobunaga is this way,” Mitsuhide called, motioning Yoshiaki toward him. Then he turned back, leapt up the narrow stairway, and kicked in the door. 

His calculated melodramatics had the desired effect on everyone but Nobunaga. Yoshiaki’s vassals filed into the room, cocky and self assured. And the shogun himself followed. 

Mitsuhide’s gaze pulled toward the woman at Nobunaga’s side, but he refused to let them rest on her. He could see enough. She was safe. Unhurt. So far. The kitsune warlord forced his eyes to his target. “It’s been a while, Nobunaga.” 

There was nothing but confidence in those carnelian eyes as Nobunaga greeted him. 

Yoshiaki strode into the room, his soldiers moving aside to make way. “I hope the great fool of Owari is not too foolish to realize when he is bested.” 

“Oh? As opposed to you who was too foolish to realize all the times I called you an idiot to your face?” Nobunaga’s left brow rose as his lips turned up in a mocking grin.

“He’s trying to be funny, I see.” Yoshiaki’s mouth twisted with distaste as his vassals all gave a forced laugh. 

Mitsuhide kept his expression cold, and added his own polite chuckle to the shogun’s words. He had to hold to his role a while longer yet, no matter how plainly distasteful. He caught sight of his little mouse sticking out her tongue - and for a breath his laughter was genuine. Only she would make such a face at a shogun. Only she would have so little a care for her own safety. 

Finished with his failed word games, Ashikaga turned to Mitsuhide. “Go now and finish the job. Just . . . don’t get any blood on my robes.” He swept a hand over the fine embroidered silk, as if suddenly realizing battle was a messy affair.

“As you wish, your excellency.” Mitsuhide gave a slight bow. It gave him a moment to check his composure. It seemed there were no bounds to Yoshiaki’s arrogance nor his ridiculous demands. What a sad creature, he thought. To be such a useless creature and to still be so certain of your own importance. 

He held his sword toward Nobunaga, preparing to strike. One of the Oda guards launched himself forward, intent on defending his lord. 

And as if Mitsuhide had scripted the moment himself, the other guard lunged, plunging his sword into the defender’s back. Revealing himself as the traitor embedded in the Oda forces, the hidden blade Mitsuhide’s spies had been unable to identify. How fortuitous. 

Dying, the guard turned to his friend, stumbling against him. “Why? Why -” did you kill me - the words died in a rattling breath.

The other guard shoved the body to the floor, his expression one of triumph. “I fooled you all! My life and my loyalty have always belonged to the shogun!” He turned to Nobunaga. “This is the end for you.”

The Ashikaga vassals pressed in close, grabbing Nobunaga’s arms and forcing him down in front of Yoshiaki. 

Mitsuhide surreptitiously watched his little one, making sure she stayed clear of the violence. She didn’t look afraid, even now. Just shocked and angry. Some of the soldiers grabbed her and held her down. Seeing them handle her like that made his jaw clench. If she had a single bruise, he thought, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his hilt tightly. 

“Mitsuhide,” Yoshiaki called. “Remove the Devil King’s head from his neck and offer it to me as a gift of your loyalty.” 

And now he had his opening. The moment he’d hoped this farce would provide. Mitsuhide smiled his knife-sharp smile. He advanced, the sharp edge of his sword gleaming in the pale moonlight. Then he struck. His blade bit into the fine, embroidered silk of the shogun’s clothes and parted the flesh of his chest and belly just as easily. But with Mitsuhide’s fading strength, the strike was not a killing blow.

Ashikaga stumbled back, eyes wide with shock. He held a hand to his stomach and then pulled it away, staring at the crimson smear in confusion.

“Dearest me,” Mitsuhide’s grin widened. His golden eyes shone. “How clumsy I am.” He lifted his sword for another attack. “I meant that to be a killing blow. It looks, well, it looks quite painful.” 

The shogun’s vassals flung themselves between Mitsuhide and Yoshiaki, ready to spend their lives to keep their lord safe. But they were too slow. 

Fighting through his fatigue, Mitsuhide dodged behind the flailing shogun and forced the man to his knees. He brought his sword to Ashikaga’s throat. “I wouldn’t make another move, were I you. It might startle me into cutting right through his throat.”

He could see behind the men, his little mouse standing up. She straightened her clothes and shot him a proud smile. It felt so good to see her look at him like that. As if he were a hero.

Yoshiaki trembled, though Mitsuhide could not be sure if it was fear or anger. “You - you can’t betray me! Not here! You’ve - you’ve gone mad!”

Mitsuhide laughed. “Well, you are right about one thing. I can’t betray you. I was never loyal to you.” He pressed his knee into the shogun’s back, forcing him to lean forward, into the sharp edge. “I am loyal to my ideals alone.”

Nobunaga began to laugh. “And that is why you are my left-hand.” He stood and straightened his clothes, sauntering over to where Mitsuhide held the shogun.

“My liege.” Mitsuhide nodded to him. 

“You base, vile, traitorous dog!” Yoshiaki’s voice was shaking. “D-don’t you know the penalty for laying a hand on me is ruin?” He turned his gaze to Nobunaga. “You may think you control things, you foul upstart, but I am still shogun! You will lose everything for this!”

“Oh, I think not. Nobunaga will retain his good standing with the court.” Mitsuhide tugged Ashikaga’s head back so that the shogun was forced to look up at him. “You see, it will be I, Mitsuhide Akechi - traitor - who is guilty of your murder.”

Nobunaga shook his head. “I should have known that was why you arranged this theater. You sly kitsune.” 

“That’s why you never told anyone what you were up to. So only you would be found guilty . . .” His little mouse spoke up from where she stood, just out of reach. Her expression was troubled. 

Mitsuhide met her gaze, wishing he could tell her how difficult it had been to hold to this path. How he’d wanted to share his burden with her, and yet, never wanted his misdeeds to sully her. How even now he wanted to put this behind him and take her away from here. But even if he could tell her these things, such wishes were meaningless.

“Are you saying you had this all planned? That you expected my messenger?” Yoshiaki swallowed carefully past the sharp edge of Mitsuhide’s sword. 

The kitsune warlord smiled down at him menacingly. 

“E-even if you kill me, none of you will survive. My army will sweep in here and slaughter all of you.”

Nobunaga glanced down from the balcony as if remembering something. The chatelaine’s gaze followed and even Mitshide found himself looking that direction. 

Out from the dark road, armor glinting coldly, there came a sound of a thousand men shouting.

“Wha- what is that,” Yoshiaki tried to turn himself to see.

Above the roar of voices, one stood out. “Is this where the traitor Mitsuhide Akechi has hidden?” 

“Masamune?” The chatelaine said softly, her eyes going wide.

Ashikaga sputtered. “You- you brought an army to Kyoto? How do you expect to get away with that? The court-”

“Will know that the Oda forces came here in search of that vile traitor, Akechi,” Nobunaga interrupted. “And if they happen across allies under attack, no one would blame them for offering assistance.” He smiled. “Now do you understand?”

Mitsuhide felt a moment of genuine respect for Nobunaga. He couldn’t have crafted a better response himself. He removed his sword from the shogun’s throat and kicked him forward. He was ready to be finished with this. “Now, your excellency, it is time for you to gracefully die.” 

His sword arced through the thin, cold air. And came down hard enough to part bone. But it was Ashikaga’s vassal that took the hit, leaping forward to use his body as a shield. What a bother, Mitsuhide thought. That such an arrogant ass could still hold sway over otherwise good men.

“Quickly, peasants! Guard me!” Yoshiaki crawled toward them, letting his men form a human wall.

Mitsuhide stepped forward, intent on finishing the job. The shogun could not leave here alive tonight. But he stopped, turning back to Nobunaga.

“Go after them,” Nobunaga urged.

“Yes - but first, the chatelaine -” he gestured toward his little mouse. “She should be taken somewhere safe-”

Nobunaga pushed her forward gently. “Go with Mitsuhide. You are ordered to stay by his side at all times.” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Maybe I should hide instead of getting in Mitsuhide’s way?”

Mitsuhide nodded, glad she said something sensible when he was slow to respond. 

“You will obey.” The command was unmistakable. “Further, when the battle has ended you will bring Mitsuhide back to Azuchi.” He arched one dark eyebrow as if daring her to make him repeat himself.

She turned to Mitsuhide with a wicked smile. “Alright. You can count on me. I promise, I won’t ever leave Mitsuhide’s side again.” She reached out and took his hand, not seeming to mind the sticky, drying blood or the cold sweat on his skin. 

Mitsuhide was torn. These were words his heart yearned to hear and yet - this was not the time or the place. This was a battle and she, and she could not be at his side, where all swords would be turned against her. He tried to say so, to speak reason, but his throat would not let a word pass. 

“Your response,” Nobunaga pressed.

Her hand was so warm in his. Mitsuhide could not let go. It was too late for that. “If my lord commands it,” he said softly. The words were barely audible. And yet, he found himself smiling.

Next: Not An End

[writtenonreceipts]

29 I thought ypu were dead aelin and aedion

Thanks so much for the prompt!  I had fun with this.

Slight Canon divergence—Alternate Aelin and Aedion reunion.  Mostly because I can’t remember how the actual scene went…it’s been a while since I’ve read the books.  Oopes.

And it is deff longer than I intended it to be.  My bad…

#

Reunion

The body slumped against the stone cobble of the tavern wall with as much grace as a sack of potatoes. There was nothing special about the body.  No significant rings or emblems.  Even his coat was second rate.  

As Aelin stared down at him, she almost regretted her actions.

Almost.

She wiped her knife clean on the edge of the man’s coat and left him there, his throat sliced open like a second mouth.  Aelin looked into his dead eyes, dull now that the dark blue hue appeared black.  Not even the oil lamps over head could illuminate anything in this alleyway.

Aelin stood and sheathed her knife.  She knew she should keep it out and ready.  The night had only just begun and she had deeply intricate plans of how she would spend the night.  She kicked the foot of the dead man and left the alley.

Tucking her cloak around her, Aelin slunk through the shadows.  While she couldn’t see him, she knew Rowan was lurking somewhere nearby. The ass felt it well within her right to take care of this part of her training without any help from him.

Not that he was helpful to begin with.

Aelin paused at the corner of the street.  There was something wrong with the night.

Standing just out of reach of a streetlamp’s dull glow, Aelin peered into the night.  She couldn’t sense Rowan nearby.  He was likely in his hawk form on a rooftop somewhere.  No, there was something else disturbing the peace of the night.  Something…familiar?

Aelin scowled.  She was supposed to be gathering intel on traitors to Maeve and Wendlyn.  She was supposed to be gutting men and women for their secrets.  Using their own lies against them.  She was supposed to be proving herself worthy for her own birthright.

“Where are you?” she whispered into the night.

The village she was stalking was relatively small.  There was only one main square for businesses before the main road peeled off to homes and farmland.  It truly wasn’t the most exciting place to be or find secrets hiding in the dark corners.

That did not mean, however, that there was nothing to be learned here.  Aelin only wished that she didn’t have to kill everyone she spoke with.

Not that the last man didn’t deserve it.  Not with his wandering hands, his vile tongue, and the fact that Aelin knew exactly how many mistresses he had.

Aelin shook her head. She needed to focus.  There was something in the darkness of this sleepy village that watched her.  And it wasn’t Rowan.

Never one to walk away from her problems, Aelin cast one more look over her shoulder and then stepped off the cobbled road of the village and into the forest beyond. Rowan could follow if he wanted, but Aelin was certain there was something far more menacing in this village than a grumpy old Fae warrior and herself.

Another cold breeze rushed through the trees.  The branches overhead groaned and rustled while the dead leaves on the forest floor skittered about.  Aelin pulled her cloak tighter around her, making sure the hood kept her face covered. Having the cold air assault her face was the last thing she wanted.

As she moved deeper into the trees, Aelin could have sworn she heard footsteps behind her.  If she had better control—more control—she would have been able to tell for sure who or what was there.  For now, she remained alert.  After all, hunting things in the night was one of her specialties.

The snap of a tree branch had Aelin spinning one direction when another force came up from behind.  She spun around again but found nothing but trees looming over her and shadows crawling across the forest floor.

Baring her teeth, Aelin hissed into the wind.

She didn’t have time to try and call out to Rowan when a massive shape barreled into her.

Yelping, Aelin and her attack fumbled in the dirt and debris of the forrest floor.  She managed to free her knife from its sheath only to have her attacker whip her around onto her belly, knife flying from her fingers.

Fae.

A damned Fae.

Growling, Aelin struggled in the strong hands of the Fae.  The hands holding her tightened and she was yanked up, send headfirst into a tree. Aelin barely managed to catch herself before breaking her nose.  Her cheek and hands certainly were scraped up by the rough bark of the tree.

“Who the hell are you?” she snarled.  

Aelin grabbed from the second dagger hidden in her boot.  Brandishing it, she stared into the empty void of the forest.  Her attacker disappeared.

“Little killer, little killer,” a low voice sang.  It wasn’t Rowan.  Aelin knew that much.  But there was something, something familiar about it.  “And I thought you’d put up a fight.”

“Show yourself bastard and I’ll give you a fight,” Aelin said.  She spun the dagger in her hand and strained to listen to the sounds of the forest.  Anything different, any steps, any change in the air.

The Fae moved for her. Aelin met him with her dagger slicing up for his belly.  He rolled from the attack and Aelin only managed to rip the edge of his cloak.  

His legs swiped for hers and they were on the ground again.  Aelin tried to swipe at him—to hit flesh, bone, anything.  It didn’t matter.  He blocked her every move before he got one large hand wrapped around her throat.

Gasping, Aelin dropped her dagger and reached up to grip his hand.

The male chuckled and drew leaned over Aelin.  His face was cast in the shadows of his cloak, but Aelin could still see a sharp smile on his mouth.  She scratched at his hands, his wrists.  This was not how she would die.

Where the hell was Rowan?

Overhead, moonlight broke through the cloud coverage of the night and filtered through the empty tree branches of the wood.  Finally, Aelin was able to see better than the blue and gray shadows of the night. If only she could breathe.

But the male leaning over her froze.  Something caught his attention because he swore and rolled off of her.  

Immediately Aelin gasped for air, her hands going to her throat to massage the tender skin.

“Hell,” she croaked.

Before she could recover properly, the male had a dagger out and aimed directly at Aelin.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Aelin continued trying to breathe.  Answering him didn’t seemed to be very important.  In their scuffle her hood had fallen and now she had dirt and leave in her hair.  Shaking the mess out, she scowled at the Fae and his still covered face.

Now that they weren’t fighting to the death, she could tell his was a large male.  Tall, broad shouldered, well-built.  He wore fighting leathers and a loose tunic tucked into his breaches.  Wisps of blonde hair flew out from his hood.  

There was nothing overtly familiar about him.  Yet still, Aelin couldn’t shake the thought from her mind…she knew him.

“Don’t make me force an answer from you,” the male said.

Aelin stared up at him. The dagger in his hand gleamed in the moonlight. It was a beautiful weapon.  Well-crafted and balanced.  If she made it out of this alive, she’d have to figure out a way to steal it from him.

“Tell me your name and I’ll tell you mine,” she crooned.  

She half expected a chuckle, a curse, something other than the dead silence.

The Fae took a step closer until the blade of the dagger kissed Aelin’s neck.

“Who. Are. You.”  His voice took deadly edge, far sharper than the weapon at her throat.

Aelin cocked her head. The bite of the dagger on her skin wasn’t anything special, hardly noticeable.  Even when the small bead of blood slipped down her neck.

“Aelin Galathynius,” she said.  She was trying to discern what this male was on about.  The sooner she could figure that out, the sooner she could get out of this mess.

The words were no sooner off her tongue than the Fae had a hand at her throat again, the blade to her belly.  He pulled her to her feet.

“Liar,” he hissed.

The sudden motion had his cloak shifting and his hood fell from his face.  And Aelin found herself looking into his eyes.  Her eyes.  Ashryver.

Her mouth went dry and her muscles taut.  She’d heard rumors of the wolf.  Adarlan’s Whore.  She didn’t want to believe them.  Didn’t want to think of her cousin, her once best friend as such a monster…

“Aedion,” she whispered.

“Who are you?” he snarled.

Aelin gaped.  He was handsome, she’d always known he would be. A strong jaw, straight nose, golden blonde hair.  They could have been siblings.  They practically were.

Against her better judgement, Aelin reached a hand out to rest on the side of his face.

“Aedion,” she repeated. “By the mother, look at you.”

And he was stumbling back as through Aelin’s words, her touch, had burned him.  Breathing deeply, he ran a hand through his hair and stared.

“It’s not possible,” he said.  His gold and blue eyes were wide and wild in the moonlight.  “I didn’t want to believe that captain and what he said.  It’s not possible.”

Aelin couldn’t help the tears that burned behind her eyes.  The slipped down her cheeks as she looked at him.

“I thought you were dead,” Aedion whispered.

Dragging her hands over her wet cheeks Aelin shook her head. “I may as well have been.”

As he sheathed his dagger, Aedion kept shaking his head.  His eyes never left Aelin though.  It was as though he believed she would disappear the second he looked away.

“I never wanted to believe what happened,” he said.  “I wanted to…I tried to…”

Aelin stepped forward holding a hand out to her cousin. “I know,” she said, “I know what you did.”

And looking into his eyes, Aelin started to understand a little bit of why he did those things.  Because not only were their eyes the same color—they had the same regrets, the same horror painted in the iris’.  

“Aelin.”

Without any warning, Aedion rushed forward and pulled Aelin into a bone crushing hug.  For the first time in a very long while, she finally began to feel like she was returning home.

#

Thanks for reading.  My ask box is always open, my messages too!

tags:

@tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire  @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx  @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @chieflemming @julemmaes @lysandra-ghost-leopard @harrymoncheri @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

[1-lightofjustice]

Justice for Awashima Seri

One of my latest posts made me want to re-watch K Project Return of Kings, especially Scepter 4 segment. And damn, there are so many things that happened to Awashima and frankly she didn’t deserve it. I’m not talking about GoRa’s overly disgusting fanservice attempts on Seri, although that’s indeed something that must be protested. I’m talking about how she was kept in dark by her two megane colleagues (mainly Munakata) even though she’s Second in Command of Scepter 4 and someone who has been working besides them for years. After I finished rewatching..... wow it’s worse than I remembered. My heart truly breaks for Seri, and I’m super glad that in the end she got her happy ending (by punching Munakata’s face). Like first, we know how worried she was about Munakata’s state, and after Reisaru’s fight in episode 8, Seri was so worried about Fushimi’s wellbeing and his bedding. Then at the very beginning of her role in episode 9, we have this :

For almost anyone besides Seri, maybe they will not think too much about the fact that they can’t understand what the hell are on Munakata and Fushimi’s heads, after all they’re not the easiest people to understand. But for Seri, it’s quite a new unpleasant territory for her. There’s a reason why she’s the Second in Command after Munakata, why she can easily command the rebel Fushimi without many protests from the said rebel, and why she can work alongside cryptic geniuses like Munakata and Fushimi. From R:B novel, we know that she’s an all-round achiever, but one of her main virtue is she’s goddamn observant. She more or less can understand Munakata’s unique mindset, and she mostly can see right through Fushimi’s bullshit. She more often can hit ‘100 point mark’ regarding the enigmatic Munakata and the ‘absolute tsundere’ Fushimi than any other human being except each other. Like on Munakata’s case, we have this :

Yoshino continued. “An ordinary man would have an interest in nude females, I think, but this is the Captain we’re talking about… How is it for him, what do you think?” She looked up at Awashima.

Awashima’s lips curved into a stiff smile as she took her time to think.

Then she drew a breath and, “I haven’t given that subject a thought until now. But well, if I had to answer…” She shook her head. “This is what I think: in the Captain’s case, it’s entirely possible that never once in his life he has so much as opened that kind of magazines or, alternatively, stores an entire thousand book collection of obscene materials in his room, and I won’t be surprised in the least in either case. Would this suffice as an answer?” Munakata Reishi’s right hand woman and Lieutenant, Awashima Seri, said with an even more strained smile.

 Case Files of Blue Chapter 1 (and looking at how eager Munakata asked Hidaka to show his collection, suffice to say that Awashima is absolutely correct about her answer).

Awashima: But, well, for the Captain it’s probably of equal value. Fushimi: Of equal value? What is? Awashima: Protecting this country’s peace and fulfilling his promise to a kindergartener.

Optician Drama CD

And on Fushimi’s case :

“…It might not be a misunderstanding, you know. What if I were in cahoots with Homura?” he retorted, lips pursed.

For a moment, Awashima’s eyes widened slightly before narrowing to slits as she humphed letting a slight smirk tug on her lips. “Suppose there really is a traitor who’s trembling while covered in cold sweat; I’d say at the very least it’s safe to assume he’s not switching sides because he likes it. It’s time for your report. The materials are ready, I hope?”

The King and The Traitor 

“It’s hard to call realistic, I have to agree with you on that. And on the off chance that it indeed is a strain’s doing, there is hardly any ground to claim harm sustained from the act. It’s the rainy season, after all. So I do find the idea of wasting time and manpower on investigating this possibility unreasonable, especially considering that we hardly have any to spare, but… if it’s an order from my superior officer, I will look into it though?”

It was said curtly and emotionlessly, but Awashima let out a little chuckle, hearing Fushimi’s answer. “Then look into it for me. Since like me, my competent and capable subordinate, too, seems to be concerned with this matter.”

Endless Rain

Also in anime, she noticed Yata’s worry for Mikoto and informed him about Mikoto’s condition to calm him. After breaking Sarumi’s fight, instead of asking apology, she demanded Fushimi to show her the result of his investigation, knowing full well that Fushimi already did some digging before he confronted Yata. She made the remark about only a King can attract another King. Heck, she already deduced that the reason why Munakata kept Zenjou-san on Scepter 4 is to kill Munakata one day, even though Munakata understandably never told anyone about it. During ROK, I kinda got feeling like Munakata and Fushimi were purposely ‘ghosting’ her, but looking at how observant she is, it’s quite understandable why Munakata and Fushimi kept Awashima in the dark to preserve their secret mission (still jerk move for them though). 

I think that’s one of the reason why Fushimi gave the hint about his secret mission only to Yata. Not only Yata is his best friend, but he also can count on Yata’s insensitiveness, having been the victim first-hand in the past. Like, Fushimi who is surprisingly responsible and dutiful for his job maybe thought “it’s fine to give Misaki a hint, it’s not like he can pick it up anyway”, so he can feel ‘less guilty’ for endangering the secrecy of his mission. Not that he’s wrong though, I mean Yata you’re a good guy but I have to say you really have a fine thick-head for not noticing and still saying that Fushimi betrayed the Blues, Fushimi jumped from sinking ship after Fushimi uttered such a vague sentence and after knowing that Fushimi secretly asked your brother to quit Jungle. Thank God Munakata gave him clear explanation later. Instead for Awashima, she only got this :

In that brief moment of silence, Fushimi let Awashima knew 3 things :

1. He joined Green clan and willing to attack his ‘former’ clansmen for them.

2. Not only joined Green clan, but he’s now one of J-ranker of Jungle. You know, the true Green clansmen, the one they have to be most cautious like Sukuna and Yukari.

3. He allied with one of Green clansman who participated on Anna’s kidnapping and former Scepter 4′s prisoner.

And he didn’t give Awashima and Kusanagi anything except complete silence and green-laced knife-throwing. Mission accomplished! The monkey succeeds on fooling the strong-willed and observant Lieutenant of Scepter 4. Just like the phrase “To fool your enemy, fool your friends”, there’s no way Awashima can perceive that except as complete betrayal. Haha.

(Truly, Fushimi was so good at executing his job. Too good, actually).

Then, after that shocking revelation that can shake someone’s mentality, she still had duty to report it toward her superior. Look at her reaction after Munakata said things about biting the giver’s hand.

(OMG watching that scene after knowing about Fushimi and Munakata’s secret mission made me truly itch to punch a certain King’s beautiful sparkly face).

She blamed herself for failing to look after Fushimi. I read some posts about Fushimi’s betrayal speculation before ROK episode 11 was aired, those who predicted that Fushimi joined Green for real, almost all expected Yata to stop Fushimi and made him go back to Scepter 4 (or Homra). While I understand the potential Sarumi heartbreaking angst and their another flashy fighting scene, I can’t help but think, can Yata do it? Not that I doubt strong bond between them, but Yata and Fushimi are equal in power. Okay, Yata is stronger in raw power, but Fushimi proved himself can accommodate his power effectively to match Yata. We know from their fight in Ashinaka Gakuen that Fushimi’s dual-color status can pass Yata’s defense, just like an attack can pass the defense from the same aura. Then Fushimi got his Green Aura. I didn’t say that Yata surely would lose to Fushimi on that situation, but it’s understandable if he lost and no one will blame him. But Seri? She’s canonly stronger than Fushimi, she’s usually can keep Fushimi on check in Scepter 4 and Seri is his direct superior after Munakata. I think if indeed Fushimi joined Green clan, the ones that have a chance to win battling him are Seri, Kusanagi, Kuro, and Kings. I can see Awashima blamed herself for failing to stop Fushimi and wanted to compensate for that failure by bringing Fushimi back to Scepter 4.

So, as if that burden is not heavy enough, Munakata brought Zenjou to his side and Awashima, who already worried about Munakata’s safety for a whole season and more, got an honor to watch on front seat as this happened :

Her King had a sword pointed toward his neck, but Awashima wasn’t fast enough to even touch her saber. Munakata’s Second in Command, who just realized that preventing her King’s Damocles Down is her responsibility, was shown the fact that she was not fast enough in comparison with Zenjou. Just, let’s imagine some time between episode 9 and 11 Seri looked at her saber, lamented at the fact that she failed to stop Fushimi and she was not fast enough to fulfil her most hurtful responsibility. Imagine Seri tried to get a hold of herself, readied herself to point her sword toward her closest comrades. 

Of course her torment didn’t end there. The Quack Prime Minister fired Munakata from his duty, removed him from Scepter 4. And Munakata, wordlessly, without giving any words or announcements toward his clansmen...  

(SERIOUSLY GIVE HER A BREAK! MUNAKATAAAAA!!!!)

I feel like that scene is the peak of Munakata’s “ghosting” toward Awashima. Not to mention, her (and Scepter 4) next order is :

(Help! My poor clueless ducklings are trapped while their genius jerk megane superiors are carelessly walking toward suicide plans!).

Honorary mention for the rest of poor lost ducklings :

(Yes, Munakata, you can’t just leave without any words toward your clansmen. Especially when you literally walked toward your death).

(BTW the meaning of “one unthinkable thing happening after another” is Fushimi’s betrayal followed by Munakata’s resignation. Little appreciation that they thought Fushimi’s betrayal is “unthinkable thing” even though the fact that Fushimi’s status as Homra’s “traitor” is widely known in Scepter 4).

 (Zenjou-san and the rest of Scepter 4 are not amused by your secret plan shenanigans, Munakata and Fushimi. Zenjou thought that those jerks truly ruin meganes’ reputation. Unbeknown to him, Enomoto thought the same).

Well, we know what happened after this. Seri and the rest of Special Squad got their first clue about what the heck is happened from a freaking TV, they rushed toward their King, the show was shifted to Silvers and Reds and NO SCEPTER 4 REUNION OR SETTLEMENT EVEN THOUGHT GORA CRAFTED SUCH A BIG AND COMPLEX CONFLICT IN SCEPTER 4.

Well, at least Seri got to punch Munakata in the face, even though in my opinion she truly deserved more after all the shits she had been through.

[scullysexual]

pirate au fic; i’ll tell you a tale of a pirate queen (5/ )

pirate au | multi-chapter | au | multiple parts | historical au | 18th century | msr | mature | chapter 4 | ao3 | wc: 2,423 |

A tale of a Pirate Queen.

@today-in-fic

- - -

Chapter Five: Here A Man Be Free

The last few men filter through the entrance to the cave, spreading themselves out in the small area. Fifty, Dana counted, of the 300 that mull about the island, only fifty want to continue piracy. Spender keeps watch for any snitches who could’ve followed them here.

“You all know why we’re here,” Mulder asks. He stands near the back of the cave holding the pardon in his hands. “This pardon says we’ll be able to live free if we turn ourselves in but we know that’s not true. We turn ourselves in, when will we ever be allowed, trusted enough, to sail again?” She watches his eyes scan the faces of the men sat listening to him. “When will the likes of Frog, Elias, and Jacko be considered equal in the eyes of white men and gods again?” A murmur begins to rise, mutterings to the person sat next to them. Mulder looks down at the pardon and hops down from the bench he stands upon. “This pardon says all men will be free but what they don’t understand is that here, a man be free. Free from the hierarchy of a naval service, where a man is whipped if he so much as mutters a word, dares to disagree. Free to take as much or little as we want.” A stir begins to form, the mutters and murmurs etch higher and higher as men begin to shout their agreement towards Mulder.

“How many of you have risked your lives on the sea and received nothing but a pitiful handful of coppers?”

The men shout back, banging their hands on the rocks.

“Because that is what you’re asking for when you sign this.” He holds the paper up and points at it. “You’re asking for the whips, for the chains, for the poverty if this is what you agree with.”

All fifty men rise, shouting and yelling in encouragement. Adrenaline courses through Dana as she finds herself swept up in it. She looks towards Mulder who stands there looking pleased with himself. He catches her eye and she smiles.

The cries die down and a slow clap makes its way through the cave. Dana turns towards the noise as the men part and a man she has yet to meet makes his way through the crowd.

“Impressive speech Mulder,” the man says. “How long did it take you to come up with that?”

Mulder sighs. “What do you want, Krycek?”

“Just having a look,” Krycek says. His eyes scan the crew. “An interesting bunch you’ve got here, Mulder. A black man, a psycho,” his eyes finally land on Dana, the look of disgust clouding them. “And a woman.” Dana clenches her fist, staring him down. Krycek smiles and looks back towards Mulder. “Fitting for the disgraced son of a plantation owner.”

“You come to join us?” asks Mulder.

“I don’t think I fit in much,” Krycek answers. “Besides, I haven’t decided if I’m gonna accept the pardon or not yet.”

“Skinner just made you a captain,” says Spender. “Like hell you’re going to accept it.”

“Well, when I decide, I won’t let you know.” Krycek turns away, walking out of the cave.

“Will he tell anyone?” Dana asks. She didn’t trust this Krycek and Spender not stopping his entering worried her.

“No,” says Mulder. “He’s got no love for the British anymore than we do.” He shakes his head. “He won’t say anything.” He shuffles forwards, rising his voice to address the crew. “This is the plan. Tomorrow, Scully will go back to the tavern, be part of the welcoming committee and will sign the pardon on our behalf. It will give us more time to figure a way out of here.” He turns to Dana. “If anyone asks, the rest of us have gone out to sea, you’re not sure when we’ll be back.” Dana nods, it was easy enough. “I want you to report back anything you hear, okay. Anything.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

“The rest of us will camp out here until we know it’s safe to leave,” he addresses back to the men.

“Do you think this will work?” she asks him. It’s not to undermine him, her hope depends on it.

“It won’t be easy but once we’re away from here, we should be okay.”

Dana smiles, hoping that was the case.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Colton is an idiot. Ambitious, smug, carrying an air of arrogance and “I’m better than you” around him. The lower end of the ranking, Dana imagines he volunteered for this job, thinking he was doing somebody a favour. All he’s doing is shovelling the shit in the Navy’s eyes.

She signed the pardon, scribbled her signature on behalf of herself and Mulder’s crew. In three days time, they were to board The Angel and go back to England or, alternatively, they could live on here.

She does as Mulder told her. Sits in the tavern and listens to the conversations around her- one she learns are rumours that Krycek plans to take a ship called The Outlaw as the ships in their harbour would become property of the British. She keeps note of what is important and what isn’t, keeping her ears trained on Colton and Skinner, mostly, who sit on the furthest table in the room.

“There are still people yet to have signed the pardon,” she hears Colton say.

“Look,” says Skinner. “Those who want to sign it, sign it. I can’t make them.”

Colton hums. “One of these people who have yet to sign it is Aleksandr Krycek. He was your Right-Hand-Man, was he not?”

“He was,” answers Skinner.

“And you can’t account for his whereabouts?”

“I made him a Captain,” Skinner explains. “He commands his own ships now, his own crew. If he hasn’t signed the pardon, that’s his reasons.”

Dana tucks that one away; Krycek made his decision.

“Well, I doubt you’ll mind looking for him then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Those who don’t sign the pardon are to be caught and hanged, Mr Skinner.”

“You expect me to become your bounty hunter?”

“The Navy would appreciate it greatly.”

Colton’s footsteps retreat from the table, Dana watches him walk past. He takes no notice of her.

This was interesting.

She downs her drink in one gulp and scurries out of the tavern towards Mulder in his cave.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“Krycek has gone. I overheard someone say he was planning on stealing a ship called The Outlaw, that all our ships would become property of the British.”

“Makes sense,” says Elias. “Take our ships, we can’t sail anywhere.”

Mulder nods.

“There’s more, too. Colton’s turned Skinner into some pirate bounty hunter. He’s instructed him to go after Krycek and his crew.”

“Traitor!” yells Spender, he kicks the rocks on the ground.

“And once they realise we’re not here, he’ll be instructed to go after us, too,” Mulder states.

Dana nods. Her father told her tales about Walter Skinner, how he was one of the best navigators. There was no out-sailing him.

“We’ll have to leave sooner,” says Mulder.

“How?” Elias asks. “There’s no ships left.”

An idea hits Dana. It might be suicide but it was worth ago.

“What if we took The Outlaw?”

“Steal from Krycek?” Elias laughs, shocked. “That’s the last thing you want to do.”

“It wouldn’t be stealing if we claimed it first,” Dana explains, her eyes on Mulder. “We’ll fight him for it.”

“Krycek isn’t some little amateur sailor, you stupid bitch,” shouts Spender. He stands close to her, peering down at her. “In first sailed with the Imperial Russian Navy. There’s a reason Skinner chose him as his Right-Hand.”

“Alright, back off,” commands Elias, standing between Spender and Dana, creating a wedge.

Spender steps back. “She wants to get us killed,” cries Spender, pointing his finger at Dana.

Dana goes to say something but she’s cut off by Mulder.

“I don’t see you suggesting anything, Spender.” Spender backs down. “It’s worth a shot.” He says, nodding.

Dana smiles gleefully at Spender.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The ship sits at the bottom of the harbour. Not a soul in sight, it was easy pickings. Something about it didn’t feel right to Dana.

“If Krycek is really gone, why hasn’t he already taken it?” she asks Elias.

“Nobody knows why Krycek does anything,” says Elias. “Get untying.”

Dana nervously looks around. Her stomach twists and turns. Something was wrong about this. She might not know Krycek every well but something told her he wouldn’t just abandon his ship like this, not while knowing they were still on the island. The others, however, seem not to care. She shakes her head, puts it down to worrying about getting caught by the British and sets on untying the rope.

The moment her hands touch the rope, however, there’s a cry from Elias. She turns as he slips and his dragged into the sea by something.

She goes to shout, to alert the others, but they’re under attack, too. Some pulled beneath the pier, others with shadows holding a knife to their necks.

“You really thought it would be that easy, Mulder,” comes Krycek’s voice. He moves from the shadows, a smile across his face.

“You already have a ship Krycek,” Mulder tells him. “Why do you need this one?”

“It’s bigger, better.” He smacks the side of it. “But I am willing to fight you for it.”

The smile doesn’t leave Krycek’s face. Already, he thinks he’s won.

Mulder nods his head, not letting any fear show. “Deal.”

Krycek just smiles some more. “You win, you get the ship. I win, I get the ship and…” his eyes fall to Dana. “her.”

Dana’s stomach drops as she looks at Mulder. She catches the worry in his eye, a reminder that he isn’t a fighter.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She tries not to let her worry show. Soon as she notices her fingers tangling together, she rips them apart, even going as far to sit on her hands.

Mulder wasn’t a fighter. He avoided it as much as he could but now her life depended on him winning. Dana hoped that wasn’t too much to bear.

“I can fight him for you,” she suggests but Mulder shakes his head.

“That would be cowardly. Especially if I was to get a girl to fight for me.” He smiles. “I’ll be okay, Dana. I’ll try my best.”

She nods, knowing he will. “Will he kill you?”

“No. It’s just who gives up first.” They see Krycek ready. “The others will fight. Your going will be the last thing that happens, okay.”

Dana nods again, believing him, believing in his crew.

His lips press against hers. “I love you,” he confesses.

Dana smiles, pushes at him slightly. “Go on.”

She watches him walk away, her arms crossing over her body.

“He’s been in fights before Scully,” says Elias, soaked through yet recovered from his dip in the sea. “He’ll be okay.”

She uncrosses her arms, allowing her fingers to tangle together as she watches. A clanging of swords, near misses from both of them. Mulder tries to keep up but Krycek is too quick, the edge of his sword scrapes Mulder’s side and Krycek knocks him to the ground.

Dana holds her breath, praying for Mulder to get up, her hand subconsciously falling to her stomach.

Beside her, Elias is whispering his own mantra yet Mulder does not get up. He lays on the ground, his hand covered with blood.

“You’re just not good enough Mulder,” Dana hears Krycek say. He turns around, the victor. He’s won the ship and Dana.

“He’s gotta get past us,” says Elias, determined.

Dana smiles, trying to find comfort in that. She doesn’t tell him that the others don’t care for her.

“Or maybe not.” Elias nudges her. “Look.”

Dana looks to see a dagger pierce Krycek’s calf. The other man falls to the ground as Mulder stands up. The tables have turned and it’s them who have won the shop.

She runs to him, gathering him up in her arms. He falls against her, hissing at the pain in his side.

“Let’s get you inside,” she tells him, helping him towards the ship.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Once on board, she helps him with his clothes. The cut is long and nasty. He hisses and winces when she moves the skin.

“Is it bad?” he asks not wanting to look at it.

Dana smiles at him. “You’ll live,” she says. “It’ll scar, though.”

Mulder shrugs. “What’s another scar?”

Dana smiles slightly. She busies herself getting pieces of cloth and bunching them together to press against his side.

“You seem distracted,” he says.

One look into his eyes and Dana knows she can’t keep her thoughts to herself anymore. She drops the cloth and sighs, turning around to sit beside him on the bed.

“You won’t be mad when I tell you?” she asks, looking at her hands, pressing her thumb into her palm.

She waits for him to comment, to offer in this quip or joke. When one doesn’t come, she exhales, her eyes trained above her on the ceiling.

“Mulder…” A shaky breath falls from her lips. The internal struggle of whether to tell him or not. But he’s looking at her expectantly, it’s clear she has something to say.

“You can tell me, Dana.”

And she can. She knows she can.

“Okay,” she says, nodding, believing him. “I…I think I’m pregnant.”

Shock floods his face, then confusion, then awe.

“You’re…” he starts then shakes his head. “How can you be sure?”

She shrugs, unsure herself. “I just…know?” she offers as answers.

He jumps up, the pain in his side forgotten, smiling. Then the smile fades.

“Shit Dana,” he says. “We’re about to go…the men….”

Dana stands, ready to protest.

“They don’t have to know. Not yet.” She grabs his arms. “I’m not even showing yet. Please, don’t leave me behind.”

“Dana, it’s dangerous. This life is dangerous. If something was to happen to you, or…”

“It won’t,” she tells him. “We’re just looking for more crew, right?”

“Right.”

“Then you need me until then. Once I start showing, then you can drop me off somewhere. But until then, I stay here.”

His eyes trained on her stomach, she can see him thinking it over. Finally he nods then laughs.

“A baby…” he says in awe.

Dana finds herself laughing, too. At the absurdity of it all.

Mulder kisses her. Once then twice then once again and Dana laughs some more. She was home. And she was free.

[one-boring-person]

Ok ok ok. So i just got done reading your series 'Just a babysitter' and boy let me tell you how much i loved it. I was amazing! But it got me thinking, what would you think would happen if instead of the boys using mind tricks, they instead went into a comma like state until they healed all the way. BUT they reader doesn't know that and and goes into a depression until all she can think about is revenge? Idk. It was a thought. I love your writing! Please Keep up the good work😘

I'm so glad you enjoyed the series! And thank you for all the kind words!💛💛💛 I find this idea really interesting, so thank you for sharing it! (My thoughts are that they were brought up (in part) by bloodthirsty vampires, so they'd never be opposed to some violence ;))

Just A Babysitter - Alternative Ending (ish).

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: major character death (implied), mention of alcohol usage

Masterlist

A/N: I wasn't too sure how to finish this, so I've left it kinda open ended for now. I might do a part two to this, once I've figured out an appropriate end to it.

An involuntary gasping sob bursts from my throat as I find the bodies lying on the floor, my eyes widening as they fill with tears, my mind unable to grasp the concept of what has happened. My muscles give way and I collapse to the floor, knees banging harshly against the solid rock below, my mind in turmoil now as emotions start to rush to the surface: anger, hurt, grief, betrayal and despair are the prevailing ones, all of which assault my conscience until my resolve breaks, tears spilling over my cheeks without abandon, my voice finally finding itself again as strangled sobs start to leave my mouth. Pleas and whimpers of denial accompany them, incoherent through the wracking cries shaking my body.

"No, no, no, no! Please no, this can't be real! Please! Wake up, please, I'm begging you, wake up! No, no, no..." I mutter as I crawl over to the familiar outlines of my friends and brothers, hands reaching for the usually comforting shapes of the closest: David. As my hand makes contact, I fight the urge to flinch, repulsed by the sensation of the dead flesh beneath my fingers, the icy temperature not a surprise, though the lack of life definetly is. Out of the four bodies present, his is the least damaged, his features still recognisable and handsome, his only noticeable injury being the dual holes in his shirt, where stains of dark blood have gathered.

To his left is who I assume to be Dwayne, the dark haired vampire burnt and bloodied, the tanned skin pallid and mottled, as if scarring over, an arrow protruding from his abdomen. His features are nearly completely distorted, clearly in pain when he died, the sight of this inciting a sharp burst of anger inside me, though it is easily swamped by the grief.

Just left of Dwayne is Paul, the tall blonde the least recognisable of the group, his features almost melted, as if someone pressed an iron to his face, the skin and flesh bloodied and shiny, the waxy complexion giving him the appearance of some ruined sculpture. Bone and muscle tissue peek through the usually pristine skin, his clothes nearly destroyed, showing angry red marks and ugly burn marks beneath, the sight of which make me want to throw up, especially as I catch sight of the yellowing pus gathering around the worst ones.

Looking back to David, I feel another, stronger, wave of grief wash over me, my sobs getting louder as I try to hold back the steaming tears and pleas of hope, the emotion building up more and more. Pulling my hand away from David's ashen face, I cup my face in them and rub at my skin, scratching my nails over my scalp in mental agony, before I throw my head back and scream. The sound is strangled and guttural, but it holds all the emotion I'm currently feeling, allowing it to reverberate around the room.

I break off with yet another sob, my throat raw and shredded from the painful sounds, a pounding headache starting to set in as my body starts to dehydrate, all the energy leaving me as I slouch to the side, unable to hold myself up as I fall to the floor, hitting my shoulder painfully on the hard rock. My vision starts to fade, my eyes still fixed on the bodies a little way away from me, my breathing erratic as I drift off, darkness easily consuming me...

*

I'm almost disappointed when I come to again, my eyelids sticking together slightly from the dried tears, my entire body aching painfully as I lift my head from the floor, a dull pain spreading through my muscles. Groaning, I heave myself upright, rubbing at my face as my eyes stray back to the line of bodies, grief flooding me again, though I suppress it, choosing to stay numb instead, not allowing myself to break down again, knowing that my body will need some water soon, or it'll start to shut down.

Staggering to my feet, I shakily take a few steps away from the object of my misery, the room spinning in my vision as I walk away and into my room, aiming for the bed, where I've got a spare water bottle. Nauseous, I bend down and take it out from under the bed, checking to see if it's filled, before taking a long, deep drink from it, relishing in the sensation of the cool water running down my chafed throat, soothing the dull burn already setting in.

Almost instantly, I bend back over and return the contents of my stomach back to the outside, throwing up all over the floor as my body rejects the sustenance on account of me drinking too much too quickly, soon resting to dry heaving as nothing else comes up. Coughing, I drop to the floor, wiping my sleeve over my mouth to clear away the saliva and bile, whimpering at the pounding head ache setting in, my throat stinging now from the harsh acid that just rushed past, my body now pleading for some water or food to keep it going. Hesitantly, I take a swig of the water and swill out my mouth, spitting it onto the floor to get rid of the taste, quickly taking another sip seconds later, cautiously swallowing it. Thankfully it stays down.

For hours, I remain sat there, my body turning numb and sluggish as I fade into a trance, my mind refusing to accept what it knows, trying instead to think over different subjects. Eventually, it settles on one thing, and one thing only.

Sharp anger spreads through me, my head filled with a plan as I stand and go back into the main room, staggering once more as I struggle to regain balance. I quickly locate a bottle of whiskey, a knife from one of the past victims, a bandana (again from a past victim) and a hooded jacket (one of mine this time) pulling on a pair of black gloves as I go. Sticking the knife through my belt, I tie the bandana around my lower face and pull up the hood of the jacket, sending one last look at the bodies before I head out, focused on the one thing that will make this right: killing the murderers.

Once outside, I locate my bike and climb on, kicking it into gear with no hesitation, speeding off at a dangerous pace towards the main road, the now-empty bottle of whiskey lying on the cliff top, the alcohol running through my veins. Recklessly, I hurtle down the roads, avoiding the new night traffic as I do so, ignoring angry protests as I pass them, only revving the engine when someone screams at me from their window, thundering into town. I don't stop until I've reached the Boardwalk, too focused to realise there are large crowds of people around until I've nearly bowled some of them over, screams and shouts halting me as I pull the bike up short, parking it near the wall.

Climbing off, I instantly start wandering the streets, looking out for my targets, my hand on the knife at my hip as I do so, all rational thought leaving me as a murderous rage takes over. After a good hour or so, I finally spot them: the traitors to our group and their little friends.

Silently, I fall into step behind them, ready to act on a moment's notice.

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XX

A/N’s at the end:

Parts I-XIX:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

Part XIX

.XX.

Lucie was already awake when the knock came at her door. She’d been up with the sun writing a letter to Grace for her next available time to meet so that they could continue with their plan to resurrect Jesse without having to sacrifice a life. She’d been up half of the night with ghastly dreams of herself holding a knife to the neck of someone she loves. When it came down to it, even in her wildest imagination, she couldn’t bring herself to do it; not even to a stranger. When it seemed sleep would allude her, she did what she’d always do when reality came to be too much. She sat at her small writing desk pressed underneath the window so she could see the moon and the stars once the clouds had broken away enough. She started a new story. Disappearing into a different reality with new, but familiar people, and stayed with them until dawn. In her alternative universe, there was no mention of demon attacks, murder rates, or pretentious leaders. Instead, they flowered with friendships and love pursued, sustained, or left in need of resuscitation. The pages smelt soft as if sprinkled with powder. She wrote until her wrist ached and her fingers locked and she was forced to rest.

Lucie had just finished buttoning the pearl buttons down the front of her dress when a small knock came at her door. She picked up her gloves and companion hat and glanced once at the drying pages on her desk.

Her hands were stained with black ink that even the fiercest scrubbing wouldn’t remove. Her once clean and neatly trimmed nail beds were all colored with ink. When she woke this morning, she found a mark on her chin, across her forehead, and even some on her bottom lip. Luckily, those came off with a bit of soap and warm water. She recalled the hands of a painter that once did a portrait for the Institute. Not only his hands were riddled with color, but his clothes and his traveling bag as well. An artist doesn’t need to speak or show off their work to be known as an artist. An artist wears their work wherever they go.

She smiled to herself as she opened the door to find their butler with a letter sitting on a silver tray.

“The post arrived,” he said and lowered the tray for Lucie. “Breakfast shall be ready shortly. Are you in need of any assistance this morning.”

As soon as she saw the neat, elegant gold lettering of her name on the smooth parchment, Lucie nearly leaped onto the letter.

“No, thank you,” she fumbled. “That will be all.” And shut the door with her foot.

Without a letter opener close by, she used her finger to slide underneath the wax seal and pulled out the letter, tossing the envelope aside as she unfolded the paper.

Dear Lucie,

I am writing to request your assistance with some correspondence letters I have been needlessly putting off for the last month. If you find yourself with some time today, would you be so kind as to come by the house at any time after noon. The back door will be open. You can see yourself in.

Best,

Aunt Cecily

Clever girl, thought Lucie. Pretending to be her Aunt as to not give away their agenda. Perhaps she did not give Grace the full credit she deserved.

She folded the letter into a small rectangle and stuffed into the bodice of her dress. As she turned to leave, her gloves slipped from her hands and her mouth dropped.

Jesse leaned against the door. With his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes held her face with a rage that rivaled even her own anger.

“And what is it that you want?” She asked with a slight break in her voice.

Jesse’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not going.”

Lucie scoffed. “And are you going to be the one who stops me?”

“Yes,” he growled.

“Is this how it’s to be?” She brushed a curl away from her face. “I do something you don’t particularly agree with and you suddenly become my own personal poltergeist?”

“When you’ve left me no other choice,” he said. “I’m trying to leave you alone. I realize I made a mistake by taking advantage of your ability to see me. I’ll never forgive myself for giving into the selfish ideology that after so many years alone, I finally had someone to talk to, that it never occurred to me the wild, beautiful girl would try to resurrect my lifeless corpse.”

“A terrible mistake on your part,” said Lucie, picking up her gloves from the floor.

Jesse stepped away from the door. “I tried staying away from you, but that clearly hasn’t worked. You’ve just managed to get yourself into even more trouble.”

“I need you to move,” said Lucie.

“Lucie, you cannot go there. It’s dangerous. Whatever you’re thinking, whatever they’re planning, it will not bring me back. Not as I was and not as I am now.” He reached for her, but his hands stopped in the air, as if he suddenly thought better of it. His expression softened. “In truth, this is something that I never wanted to confess to you, I’d hoped that you’d simply just let me go. But I realize how important it is now. Lucie, the way you think you feel about me, I don’t feel that way about you.”

Lucie rocked back on her heels just a bit. “And how is it you think I feel about you?”

“An infatuation,” said Jesse. “I’ve let it go on because there’s not many people to talk to when no one can see you. I’ve been alone for so long, quietly observing everything, but never able to engage. And then one day, I heard a girl’s voice in the forest, calling for help and I felt this pull to answer her. A pull that I couldn’t ignore. I never expected you to be able to see me— much less communicate with me, but you could. And it felt like dry land after months at sea. I’ve been using you, Lucie. Selfishly using you, because I couldn’t stand to be alone any longer.”

Lucie’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you. You’re just saying these things so I won’t go.”

“It’s true,” said Jesse. “Lucie, you’ve been a great friend, but bringing me back to life won’t make us more than that.”

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. He was just trying to push her away; protect her. But the doubt crept in all the same. He never once insinuated that their relationship was anything more than a strange friendship. If he were all she had to talk to in the world, she felt she would have clung to him, if only not to be alone.

Warmth spread across her cheeks. She had to look away from him. She needed to leave. “Please move,” said Lucie quietly.

“Are you still—“

“Move,” she said again and his form brushed aside as if shoved by the wind. Jesse stumbled for a moment, while he gained his bearings again, Lucie pulled open the door and left.  

Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, but she managed to hold them back. If this was his truth, it was best she knew. Still, the anger boiled inside of her until she almost turned around twice to tell him that she wasn’t bringing him back so they could ride off into the sunset together. She was giving him his life back because he didn’t deserve to die when he did. The way he did. He deserved to live and if she could give that to him, with nothing in return, then that would make her happy.

But if that wasn’t what he wanted, then perhaps it wasn’t her place to force it upon him.

She ran past the empty drawing room and turned the corner to descend the hallway to the dining room when she stopped.

Standing outside the door, pacing like a nervous jungle cat in a cage, was Cordelia. As Lucie approached, it seemed she was speaking in an entirely different language to herself, muttering to hands without noticing Lucie’s approach until she stood right behind her.

“Oh!” Cordelia stumbled back, clutching her chest. “Lucie, I didn’t hear you.”

Lucie appraised Cordelia, her hair was pulled back and braided into a coronet that ran into a braid down her shoulder. Her dress was a soft honey color that swooped across her chest exposing her delicate collarbone. The intricate beading had spots missing, but Lucie could still tell it was one of Cordelia’s most treasured items, if only because she’d never seen her wear it before.

“You look lovely,” said Lucie, running her fingers over the soft silk of the skirt that held Cordelia’s curve closely.

“Do I?” Cordelia blanched. “I supposed I’m trying to make a bit of an impression today.”

Lucie looked around the empty hallway. “On whom?”

Cordelia blushed. “It’s a bit of a long story, and I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable by telling you this information, but James and I may have kissed last night.”

Lucie’s eyebrow jumped and her traitorous heart ached. “May have?”

Cordelia grinned down at her distressed leather boots. “All right, we did. But before we could discuss it, my brother walked out and said all of these awful things to him. I haven’t been able to talk to him yet. I feel terrible.”

“Is that why dinner was so awkward last night?” asked Lucie, recalling the silent meal that passed between everyone except for the adults who kept attempting to make conversation, but couldn’t manage to get more than a few words out of the young adults sitting at the end of the table. No one would make eye contact and Cordelia just pushed the vegetables around her shepherds pie. Lucie had just assumed it was because she didn’t like shepherds pie. “Is James in there now?”

Cordelia shook her head. “My brother is sitting in there alone. A ploy to be sure James and I aren’t alone together. I was hoping to catch James before he came to breakfast, but I haven’t seen him come down. Oh, do you think he’s avoiding me?”

“No,” Lucie assured her. “He’s probably dressing as we speak and taking just as much care as you have.”

“Is it too obvious?”

“No, just the right amount of obvious,” said Lucie. “Sometimes I think my dear brother needs a brilliantly lit beacon for a sign and even then it might wallop him over the head before he saw it. Why don’t you go find him now and I’ll distract Alastair?”

“Because I can’t risk someone seeing me go into his room alone and I can’t very well speak to him freely in the open hallway,” said Cordelia, burying her face in her gloved hands. “I was hoping to catch him before breakfast and ask him for a morning walk. I don’t know what to do, Lucie, I’ve never been in this sort of situation before. And now I have Alastair hovering around me like a judgmental headmistress at a convent.”

“Have you a lot of experience at convents?” teased Lucie.

“You know what I mean,” said Cordelia.

Lucie smiled and patted her dear friend between the shoulders. “I do. Now, here’s what we’re going to do—“

Before she could give Cordelia her plan, James ran into the hallway. His hair stood up from sleeping on it wet and his gear was buckled incorrectly as if he’d done it in a hurry and without glancing in a mirror. Lucie couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She looked over at Cordelia who was beaming as if a witchlight had been stuffed inside of her.

“The post arrived—“ James started but was quickly shushed by a gloved hand over his mouth.

Cordelia lunged at him. “Shhh… we must be quiet. Alastair is there.”

James stiffened. “Good. I mean to speak to him.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” said Lucie, blocking the door. “I think the two of you have more to speak about than you and Alastair. Besides, it’s barely nine in the morning. That’s far too early for blood shed.”

James took Cordelia’s hand as if in some sort of act of defiance. “I am not going to sneak around your brother. I’m not going to sneak around anyone. We’ve spent far too much time in secret, I won’t do it anymore.”

Cordelia seemed to melt into herself as she leaned towards James.

Lucie snapped her fingers between them. “That’s wonderful, but now is not the time. What was in the post?”

James tore his eyes away from Cordelia to look back at his sister. He looked at her with a confused expression as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

“The post,” Lucie demanded. “You said the post arrived. What was in the post?”

“Right,” he shook his head. “Magnus replied. He said that he found it suspicious that we chose to write him a letter rather than show up at his door unexpectedly and unannounced as history suggests. Suspicious and intriguing, he said, so he’s invited us over this afternoon.”

“Wonderful,” said Cordelia. “How are we going to get past my brother?”

The three of them thought for a moment. If Alastair had any suspicion that Cordelia would be going off with James alone, he’d be sure to insist on joining or not allowing it at all.

“You’ll tell him you’re coming with me,” said Lucie. “I have to go to Aunt Cecily’s this afternoon to help her with some correspondence. You can tell him that you’re joining me. James, what time are you supposed to patrol with Matthew?”

“Noon,” said James.

“That’s perfect,” said Lucie. “You’ll look as if you’re going off to meet Matthew to patrol and Cordelia will look as if she’s joining me to go to Cecily’s except Cordelia will hop into your carriage instead of mine.”

James and Cordelia stared at Lucie for a long moment before either of them said anything.

“That brilliant, actually,” said James.

“I know, now fix your gear,” said Lucie. “You look like an idiot.”

Lucie speared another sausage onto her fork from the steaming plate in the middle of the dining room table that had been neatly done up with slow burning candles and plain white china plates. Tessa and Will had left the Institute early to attend a meeting with the Counsel. Sona was being visited by a Silent Brother who insisted on keeping a close eye on Sona’s pregnancy due to her age and fragility.

The meal prepared was as extravagant as the table setting: piles of fresh sausages, perfectly browned toast with freshly churned cinnamon butter, golden scrambled eggs, bacon slices, and bowls of seasonal fruit sprinkled with sugar.

The smell wafted through the Institute like a beacon.

Lucie sat beside Cordelia who sat opposite Alastair. He’d finished his breakfast before they left James to ready the carriages. With his plate cleared from in front of him, he flipped through the mundane newspaper occasionally glancing up to examine the two girls opposite him.

The silence between the two Carstairs was palpable. If Lucie wasn’t so nervous herself about having to go to Grace and tell her that she no longer wanted to help bring Jesse back, she might have tried harder to fill the silence. But with her own thoughts racing with the truth Jesse had shared with her, she couldn’t bring herself to even try.

“What are your plans for today?” Alastair asked gently. “I thought we could go to the park and get some fresh air. Maybe that will help to restore some of your memories.”

Cordelia’s fork clanged against her plate. “Lucie’s Aunt needs help responding to correspondences today. I’ve been asked to join her.”

“Oh,” said Alastair. “That’s all right. Do you need an escort?”

“No,” said Cordelia sharply. “James will be busy patrolling with Matthew so you needn’t worry about the two of us sneaking off together.”

Alastair’s mouth stiffened. “Cordelia, I know that you’re angry with me, but—“

“I’m not angry,” said Cordelia, pushing her plate of food away. “We can walk around the park tomorrow or perhaps this afternoon. There are some things we aren’t finished discussing, but if you’ll excuse us, our carriage should be ready and Cecily is expecting us.”

Lucie followed Cordelia when she stood up from the table, but before she turned to leave, she saw Alastair look down at his hands resting in his lap. His mouth muttered something under his breath, probably something he wanted to say to Cordelia, but couldn’t bring himself to. For all of his faults, and he had many, Lucie could recognize the love in his eyes towards his sister.

The two girls left the room, hurrying through down the hallway towards the front doors where two carriages waited. James sat in the driver’s seat of the open one that was mostly used for transporting items. Balios stood patiently while James hopped down and assisted Cordelia into the spot beside him on the bench.

“We’ll meet back at the Institute at three,” said Lucie, that would give them plenty of time for Magnus to muddle through Cordelia’s mind and James to look for the book while she abandoned her plan to help Jesse. “We need to come in together so no one will be suspicious. Good luck, Cordelia. If anyone can find your lost memories, it’s Magnus.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Cordelia and nodded at James to leave.

Lucie gathered her dress and climbed into the carriage waiting for her. She took her seat beside the window on the plush velvet bench and tried not to think about what she was about to do.

Jesse’s words played over in her mind until eyes burned. Maybe it was foolish of her to believe that there was anything more there; that he might actually care for her. Perhaps she did spend too much time in her fairytales that she’d lost touch of reality. Perhaps this was all for the best. She could focus on her training, on becoming parabatai with Cordelia, and finish her manuscript for publication. She’d have to think of a clever pen name, possibly a male one like Jane Austen had, so that her audience would expand past bored housewives.

And perhaps one day she’d meet someone. Alive, preferably, and her feelings for Jesse Blackthorn would be just a distant memory that she tucked into a box in her mind until they’re completely forgotten about, consumed by other things.

She wondered if he’d forget her too. If that was something he could do.

If it was something he’d done already.

It was nearly noon when the carriage came to a stop outside of her Aunt Cecily’s house. She did as Grace instructed and went around the back. The house looked dark when she approached the door though the garden. There was no light coming through the windows, normally Cecily had the doors open to let a breeze inside and some of the stuffiness out or the housemaids were hard at work dusting rugs, hanging laundry, or pouring out dirty mop water, but there was no such activity. Perhaps Grace preferred everything to be quiet.

Lucie rapped her knuckles on the dark wood once. “Grace, it’s Lucie. I don’t want to frighten you by barging in.”

After a moment, when she heard nothing, she tested the door knob and found it unlocked. She pushed it open on  its aged hinges and walked into the kitchen. The curtains had all been drawn leaving the room dark except for small slivers of light where the sun came in through a break in the curtains. Flakes of dust danced in the air as Lucie passed through to the front drawing room.

“Grace,” Lucie called as she checked the chairs and the lounge sofa where they’d shared their bargain. The room was empty and quiet except for the sound of the old grandfather clock ticking away the seconds. “Grace, are you here?”

A chill drifted through the thin fabric of Lucie’s sleeves. There was a faint smell of burning wood.

Lucie turned towards the stairs leading up to the second floor.

“I don’t find this humorous,” said Lucie, and walked slowly up the stairs despite her instincts telling her to stop. “If you’re hiding because you don’t want to help me, well I’m here to tell you that I’ve decided to put an end to our plan. Your brother is adamant that he doesn’t want my help to bring him back and wishes to terminate all contact with me, so you can stop the theatrics now.”

She reached the top of the landing where the hallway split in two directions: West and East. Lucie glanced to her right and knew her aunt and uncle's room to be down at the end and Anna’s room being the first door on the left.

The sound of shuffling feet came from her left. She glanced in that direction just as the skirt of a white dress drifted into a doorway.

Lucie released a sigh and hurried towards the door. Words laced with venom filled her mouth as she stomped down the hallway and nearly kicked open the door.

“I sincerely hope you—“ The words were cut short. Laying in the center of a four poster bed in a black tailored suit, like he’d just risen from a nap, was Belial.

He grinned that cunning, familiar smile at her. “Good,” he said. “You received my message.”

A/N: Happy Halloween friends! I hope you all had a wonderful and safe holiday whether it was spent watching scary movies alone or with friends, safely trick-or-treating in a neighborhood, or partying it up sipping booze through a straw and hole in your mask while dressed like Napoleon Dynamite or a ninja turtle (I'm not judging). Live your best life! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. We are starting to get back into the thick of it, and I for one, am excited. Please give it a like, tell me your thoughts on this chapter, reblog if you feel so inclined, and if you haven’t all ready give me a follow. I post about books, romance, and zero politics. Next update is coming at you, Nov 15!

[popcrone818]

Fate - Alec Lightwood

Let me just say before I start, yes I am aware that Alec is gay! I have read the first book, (getting the rest for my birthday) and I am so in love with Malec it is so not even funny anymore, but at the same time I read fanfiction and fiction in general to escape to put myself in the shoes of the reader. So when I write that is also what I do. I don’t know how to write in a male’s perspective and I’m not about to write a full story about it. 

so in short, I am sorry to whoever I offend by posting this story. But I have been Brewing it over in my head since October 2019. So all I can say is I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think. <3

I never knew who my mother was. She left me on the doorstep of the Lightwood’s when I was just a baby. Alexander Lightwood and I grew up together, wreaking havoc on Maryse and Robert since before we could talk. The Lightwood’s were exiled from Idris before my first birthday and with Alec and I in tow Maryse and Robert moved to New York, where they proceeded to have Isabelle, and where they adopted Jace Wayland. The Four of us were never seen without each other as we grew up. Alec became Jace’s Parabatai and Izzy and I were close to it ourselves, we just never got around to doing the ritual while we were growing up.

When Clary joined the institute, Jace and Alec seemed to be in a disagreement constantly. I started to worry for my family, I wasn’t sure how parabatai’s actually worked but I was almost sure that Jace and Alec’s might start to disappear if they kept at it.

I had followed Clary, Jace and Izzy to help free Meliorn from Lydia. We were surprised to say the least when Alec was the one leading Meliorn to the silent brothers. Clary, Jace and I snuck up behind Alec and Meliorn.

“Alec.” Clary yelled jogging ahead and gaining his attention. Jace stepped in between Alec and Meliorn and the entrance to the City of Bones. I stayed back out of the way. I noticed Alec’s eyes shift for a spilt second to me before turning his attention back to Jace and Clary like I wasn’t even there.

“You told me you were taking Clary back to the Institute. You lied to me.” He growled his hands closing into fists.

“I did what needed to be done.”  Jace fired back as Clary walked up to Meliorn and I took a couple of steps forward, in case I was needed to break up a parabatai fight.

“Alec, the Clave has gone too far. You have to see that. Please, just let Meliorn go.” I said calmly to him. His eyes flicked to me yet again before he looked down, not making eye contact.

“I have my orders.” His hand twitched slightly, getting ready for a fight. I saw Clary flare up.

“You and your damn orders. Who cares about orders?” Clary shouted at him. I squeezed my eyes shut, she has no idea about this world. I opened my eyes as Alec took a step closer to Clary.

“See?” he almost laughed while he gestured to Clary. “That’s how little you know about being a Shadowhunter. You couldn’t possibly understand–.”

“It’s you that doesn’t understand, Alec. Not this time.” Jace started as Alec started to move closer to the entrance. “I’m really sorry.” Jace’s head motions for me to go. I jump on Alec’s back, easier than I expected honestly, still not as easy as you might think.

“Clary, Meliorn, go, now!” Jace yells, Clary and Meliorn make a run for it as Alec flips me off his back and kneels gently on my chest. Jace knocks Alec off me and quickly jump up into a fighting stance.

“You always broke the rules, but never the law, not until she showed up.” Alec accused.

“You’ve had it out for Clary from the start. And now you’re getting married, Alec? We both know what this is about.” Jace yelled, I stood back and watched boys fight it out.

“Oh, do we? Okay. Why doesn’t the legend, Jace Wayland, tell us what’s it about?” Alec counters pushing Jace up against the cave wall.

“It’s about Mia! It’s about your feelings. It’s because you’re–.” Jace yells at him as my jaw goes slack looking at the two of them. Alec has pulled out his blade and now has Jace on the ground with it placed against his neck. “Do it. Do it! I don’t wanna be alive if we’re on different sides, Alec.” I watch as Alec gets off Jace.

“Come with us. We’ll fight Valentine the right way: together.” I told Alec stepping closer to him as Jace gets to his feet.

“If we do that, we’ll be considered traitors like Mom and Dad.” Alec said, I knew he was worried about what they had done as circle members, but I didn’t think it was this bad. This must be why he is getting married.

“I’m begging you, my parabatai, my brother. Please, Alec, come with us.” Jace pleaded with him as he and I both stepped forward again. Alec slid down the wall of the cave shaking his head.

“No.” with that one word I felt my heart break. I made sure Alec could see it as Jace and I walked away, he pulled me into his side as a tear rolled down my cheek.

We met back up with Meliorn and Clary outside of the Hotel Dumort. Izzy was locked in a passionate kiss with Meliorn before Jace clears his throat to break them up.

“I hate to break up this reunion, Izzy, but we have to go.” Jace reminded her of the rest of the mission; get Meliorn back to the Seelie realm.

“You’re in good hands.” Izzy says to Meliorn before turning to Clary, Jace and I. “I need to get back to the Institute, see what hell has broken loose. Try and talk some sense into Alec.” She gives me a sad look before she places a hand on my arm gently. “Take care of him.”

“We will.” Clary and I saw in unison.

“Kick Alec’s ass for me.” I told her. She and Meliorn share another kiss before she pulls away and walks her way to the institute.

Isabelle told me it was your idea to rally the Downworlders. That you spearheaded my rescue.” Meliorn said to Clary, “She also told me that you would have to go up against Alec, someone you love,” he turned his attention to me. I felt my cheeks blush before the memory of Alec saying ‘no’ to Jace and I resurfaced and all I did was nod my head towards Meliorn.

“Don’t give me too much credit. Isabelle made this happen. We just helped.” Clary stated as we started walking.

“She’s being modest. You’re a Shadowhunter now.” Jace said.

“I have been surprised by more than one Shadowhunter tonight. You risked everything to unite us.” Meliorn thanked Clary once again.

“Right after you tried to sell her out.” Jace reminded Meliorn. I looked away as we continued to walk towards a park I had never seen before.

“Not my finest moment. Which is why I’m offering you both a gift, for your sacrifice. If you’re ready, I can help you find your father.” Meliorn said addressing both Clary and I. I looked behind me to Jace, giving him a questioning look. I didn’t know who my father was.

 Clary and I stepped through the portal to the alternate dimension, where she and I were standing in a kitchen together. She turns around and grasps a butter knife holding it up in front of her.

“Where’s my mother?!” she shouts accusingly.

 “Whoa. Is this from one of your cosplay skits?” I heard Valentine ask as I turn around. “Uh, honey? Come in here. You gotta see this.” He turns to call into the living room. “No, seriously, you have to let me come with you, just once, okay? I wanna see what you do at these things, all right?” he turns to face the two of us again. Jocelyn enters the kitchen and takes in the scene in front of her, Clary slightly in front of me holding up a knife.

“Val, you’re not allowed to do cosplay. You’d stick out like a sore thumb.” Jocelyn says coming up to Valentine. At the sight of her mother Clary drops the knife and moves over to her.

 “Mom.” She pulls her in for a tight hug. I just stand there unsure of what to do.

 “Wow. Wow, if you miss us this much, you should really leave the dorm room more often.” Jocelyn jokes as Clary pulls away.

 “Right. Sorry.” Clary moves back over to me.

“Oh Amelia, honey, your mum said she wouldn’t be able to see you for breakfast this morning, so you’ve got us instead.” Jocelyn says to me before she moves to sit down at the kitchen table. I notice one of the sketches is signed by Jocelyn Morgenstern. I nudge Clary discreetly who then looks at the painting also. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket as Clary sits down hesitantly.

 “Clary…” Jocelyn holds up a cup of tea in a toast as I sit down opposite Clary at the table pulling out my phone. “In honour of your father’s Mad Hatter party tonight.” She takes a sip and I look at the message that lit up my screen.

From: Alec

Can’t wait to see you today, looking forward to that coffee :)

“Your mom made waffles for you. Come on, kiddo, you gotta eat something, right. So, Clarissa… when do I get to meet this new man in your life, hmm?” Valentine asks as he also sits down. It felt like I was intruding on family bonding time and I wasn’t even sure why I was here in the first place anyway. Valentine wasn’t my father.

 “Val.” Jocelyn chastised

 “What? I have to give my stamp of approval, right? For both of you by the way, you may not be blood related but we still think of you as our daughter Amelia.” Valentine said looking towards me. So that’s why I'm here. I'm basically family.

 “Oh, Clary, look at this commercial, it’s hilarious. It’s so bad, it’s good.” Jocelyn states and we all swivel on our chairs to look towards the tv sitting in the dining room. I see Magnus, Hodge and Luke on the tv in the commercial, apparently in this dimension Magnus is a psychic, I guess a warlock never changes his mark. I notice Clary starts to space out slightly and I drop my fork to bring her back. She gasps before standing up abruptly.

“I have to go.” She says as she gathers up her things.

“Uh, so do I, thank you for breakfast.” I say politely as I grab my phone and stand up too.

 “What?” Jocelyn asks Clary and I.

 “I thought you were spending the morning with us.” Valentine asks looking up at the two of us also.

“I, uh, have a last-minute assignment due that I haven’t even started yet, so I gotta go.” Clary states before rushing out of the door.

“I uh, have a date.” I say before following Clary out.

[science-bastard]

❤️🗣🎬 :3c?

❤️- Share one of your favorite lines.

Dirt bastards:

The kiss is sloppy, but he’s not with it enough to care. He’s pretty sure it’s only happening because Hadley is beyond drunk, and he just happens to be the nearest and queerest.

alternatively:

"But this is very much in-character for you, isn't it?"

Hacker lesbian:

(written while kind of drunk)

"I've never stopped feeling it!" said Nat, teeth bared. "You shot me in the back and I've been feeling it every day of my life ever since! Do you ever think about that, Bernard?! OF COURSE NOT! Because you're a selfish, arrogant, self-righteous—"

🗣- Share your favorite dialogue exchange.

Dirt bastards:

Isolde has her hands in the air and that cocky grin still on her face as Nadezhda limps toward her.

“You win,” she says easily, as if this is a card game and not war.

Nadezhda spits blood at the ground and keeps going. She isn’t blinking.

“I must say, your comeback was admirable.”

Nadezhda tosses her gun aside and pulls a dirty combat knife from her belt, all the while staring down Isolde quite calmly.

“Y-you can stop now.”

Her one hand is rock steady.

“I give up.”

“I know,” Nadezhda hisses at last, her voice shaking.

“Put the knife down.”

“Of course not.”

“This is a war crime—”

“I know.”

Nadezhda nearly trips a few feet away from Isolde, but she still doesn’t look away.

Isolde takes a wavering breath. “Nadya—”

“Don’t you fucking ‘Nadya’ me, you traitor!”

Hacker lesbian:

“So, what’d I miss?” Eve groaned, trying (and failing spectacularly) to sit herself up.

“Well…” Kat bit her lip and glanced away. “The Minister, uh…”

“He shot you,” Nat finished flatly.

🎬- Share the last line you’ve written.

Dirt bastards:

It was raining in Paris, and it made Émile think of him.

Hacker lesbian:

And the words leave her throat, but not by her mouth.

[ask meme: WIP excerpts]

[bthump]

If you could rewrite Berserk (or maybe parts of it), what would you change? I love the way you interpret this story. The way you interpret this work, makes it so much more powerful, than how some other side of the fandom understand it.

thank you so much, i’m glad my interpretations resonate with you!

tbh my ideal version of Berserk is basically a much shorter story that begins with the Black Swordsman arc and ends on this shot:

more specifically I’d open on a similar panel of Guts fighting ghosts, seen far above, and alone. I’d include a version of the Lost Children arc in the Black Swordsman arc after chapter 2, between Snake Baron and Count Slug, also introducing Skull Knight. I’d make some kind of pointed visual comparison between Skull Knight and Vargas, illustrating that they’re both similarly consumed by revenge and cautionary tales for Guts.

This version of Lost Children is even sadder and more depressing - Jill and Rosine’s friendship is highlighted as positive, the scene where they fly together is beautiful and uplifting, and it’s suggested that if Jill did stay with Rosine her influence could remake the creepy Land of the Elves into less of a horror show and more of an actual place of refuge sans monster transformations. Yk, Rosine is open to Jill’s suggestions basically.

Guts still has his humanizing moments with Jill but he’s shown at his most monstrous too when he kills Rosine. Jill returning to her abusive home isn’t uplifting or hopeful, it’s tragic. Guts’ “this is your paradise” bit isn’t an objective statement, it’s a sign of Guts’ depressed cynicism and increasingly monstrous mindset. Oh and despite the Land of Elves being fucked up (in my version it would at least be sliiiiightly less fucked up), Guts destroying it would have some thematic echoes in the destruction of the Hawks. Maybe the raid we see on the Hawks after they’re declared traitors involves a lot more fire and forest burning down. Maybe some of the elf monster kids try to save each other and one of them gets Guts with a thrown knife lol a la Judeau protecting Casca. Idk, something.

Also the Peekaf story is cut, as is Rosine’s tragic flight home, as emotional as it was in the manga. She dies with Jill here. I’m kinda downplaying the dreams as escapes theme wrt Jill’s flight with Rosine and the land of the elves because I don’t think it works in this arc due to, yk, the alternative being abusive homes.

Afterwards ghosts still taunt Guts about becoming like Femto, but without the “your friend” description bc that gives too much away. Skull Knight picks up Rosine’s behelit and has his suggestive “hm this could be Guts eventually” internal monologue even though Guts doesn’t have a behelit yet.

Count Slug arc is essentially the same. I would turn the fetus into some kind of pathetic looking misshapen dog demon (like the Beast of Darkness but in much less cool form, bc that’s essentially what the fetus was before Miura overwrote it) who follows Guts around and reminds him of what he’s in danger of becoming. Guts picking up Slug’s behelit is the last shot before the Golden Age begins.

Theresia is a more angry version of Jill, and they’re both examples of Black Swordsman Guts ruining lives wherever he goes, along with the zombie girl in chapter 2 - it’s all variations on a theme of Guts sort of creating mini versions of himself bc of his traumatized lashing out. Zombie kid is most metaphorical in becoming a monster after listening to Guts’ cynical take on dying by the sword; Jill goes back to her abusive Gambino-esque father when her potential escape, Rosine, is killed; Theresia swears vengeance when Guts kills her father who couldn’t sacrifice her to save himself.

(this mini me thing would parallel Slug and Rosine’s abilities to create their own monsters, btw. Cycle of violence kinda thing.)

Everything else follows the manga up until Guts and Casca start getting romancey. I’d cut that out completely. They can have a burgeoning friendship but there’s no romantic undertones and no sex and no meddling Judeau etc. Casca still fights Guts and stabs him and yells at him about Griff but there’s no sucide attempt. She still confesses to her crush on Griffith because it’s a good griffguts parallel, but definitely doesn’t say she was lying to Guts and herself when she said she wanted to be Griffith’s sword. But I do want that “Griffith’s not a god... and I am a woman” line in there because it’s such a good parallel.

Guts monologues about his newfound dream to Godo in a flashback during the Wyald fight instead, then does the waterfall log thing and breaks several bones, then gets told off by Erika who points out he just wants to fight Zodd again. I’d maybe move some of Godo’s lines about Guts metaphorically being a nicked sword to here too. Also show the dragonslayer leaning up against a wall lol.

Guts still tells Casca at some point that he fully intends to leave again. Maybe during the rescue mission. Because yk we still need that moment where Griffith overhears someone telling Guts to leave.

Finally the last change is that Casca dies with Judeau, Guts manages to survive until Femto wakes up, they have a moment staring each other down, there’s a clear parallel to a moment of Guts’ childhood - I’m thinkin Guts asks “Why?” and there’s a shot of Femto, shadowed so we only see one eye, a la:

Apostles begin to descend on Guts chanting shit like ‘sacrifice’ and ‘ours,’ (comparison to bb!Guts facing down the wolves btw, Guts is resigned) and then Skull Knight appears and rescues him and we get that last shot of Femto.

The End.

The implication is that Guts and Griffith are alone and monstrous without each other, violence begets violence, relationships are a positive contrast to that but they keep fucking those up, etc. There would still be a slight ray of hope though in comparisons to Jill/Rosine and Slug’s inability to sacrifice Theresia, and Femto lowering his hand, showing that, yk, even monsters have potential. It would be a very thin ray though bc Guts killed those monsters lol so the implication would still be that Guts is kind of doomed to roam the world alone with his sword like Skull Knight or Zodd.

Also... I’d fuck around with the world building and astral plane stuff because Guts and Femto being metaphysically separated doesn’t work for this. I want that thin ray of hope even if it necessarily comes to nothing lol, if only because if I was alternate universe Miura I’d want people to write Femto/apostle Guts fanfic. So no mention that the Godhand can only appear when someone uses a behelit, maybe even imply somehow that Femto could show himself to Guts at any time, he’s just snubbing him.

Anyway yeah, ty for asking.

also if you’re interested I once wrote a very long and involved post here about what I’d change if I had free range to adapt Berserk if you want a longer answer with more details that follows the actual story much more closely (including a less involved take on my answer here lol).