#It's just Heart Eyes vs Death Stare the entire time

[descendant-of-truth]

A Borumitsu teamup at this point in the story would be the funniest thing ever actually

[cauliflowercounty]

Knives Dance (Part III)

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

Summary: It was hard to have a prose summary so here are some bullets of what’s happening in part 3

Baron Feyd missing you + heartfelt reunion 

Feyd being totally infatuated with you

SCIENCE!!! and POLITICS!!!

Rabban being pitiful

Reader being a badass

Feyd vs Paul on Arrakis (what will happen? You’ll never knowww… [unless you read this chapter **wink, wink, wink**]

Warnings: Violence, blood, death (woohoo)

Word Count: 10.3k (whoops… I went typey-type)

A/N: I wanted to say a sincere thanks to everyone who's read Knives Dance up to this point. This series is some of the most fun I've had writing in a long, long time. Sending lots of love your way :)

Part I | Part II | Part III

--

Stirring gently in his bed, Feyd recoils slightly as the light from Giedi Prime’s black sun hits his eye line through the wall of windows that separate his bedroom from the private balcony that overlooks the cityscape.  He extends his arm to your side of the bed and runs his hand languidly across the surface, feeling the cool, silky sheets under his fingertips. His heart feels heavy in his chest, and he lets out a low growl of frustration into his pillow. It has been a long three weeks without you.  

You’ve been off-world on a visit to Youra to see your father and bring back equipment for the laboratory you’re constructing on Giedi Prime. He knows that he doesn’t have to worry about your safety because he insisted on a full Harkonnen security detail accompanying you, which should have put his mind at ease, but he’s laid awake each night since your departure, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think of disasters befalling you during your travels. One night it’s asteroids colliding with your ship, tearing gaping holes in the walls, and sucking you into the vacuum of space. Another, it’s an ambush by an undiscovered society, hellbent on killing alien peoples for sport. Perhaps a novel virus wiping out the entire population of Youra and you with it in a matter of days?  No farfetched scenarios were off limits when Feyd allowed his mind to wander.

The foreign feeling of loss due to your absence has not only plagued him with anxiety, but allowed Feyd to slip into a state of abject melancholia. None of his old vices have come close to fulfilling him, let alone make him feel much of anything.  Watching his servants cower in fear or making foreign ambassadors quake in their seats wasn’t giving him the same gratification as it once had.  Even hearing the roar of the crowds in the arena didn't given him any satisfaction. Everything had felt unbearably pedestrian. The only thing that brought a smile to his face was the thought of having the other half of his bed full again and listening to your tranquil voice. With every passing moment, he’s yearned for the life you had built together on Giedi Prime to resume.

Your mornings together were simple and easy. They were a time when he could always experience a drop of serenity within the political quagmire he’d gotten himself into since assuming the title of Baron. He’d wake up with you already in his embrace, your head laid delicately on his chest. He'd listen to your soft breathing and savor the way your limbs would entangle with his. The image of you blinking your eyes open to look at him with the special glimmer of affection reserved just for him never failed to make his heart flutter. 

Overtime, Feyd noticed you had been taking very well to Harkonnen dresses, which you now wore more often than not. He had the best seamstresses on Giedi Prime make and tailor custom outfits for you, though he didn’t expect you to always wear them, knowing how important your heritage was for you.  Nevertheless, you continued to grab one of the black gowns from your shared closet for your daily tasks and tell him with a smile “I’m Baroness Harkonnen now.  Shouldn’t I dress the part?”

Before leaving your quarters each day, Feyd always took the opportunity to take your hand in his and bring you in front of the floor length mirror in your shared closet. With his hands around your waist, he would pepper gentle kisses from your cheeks down your neck, whispering in your ear “you are a vision today, my Baroness.” You'd always smile and blush bashfully in return, returning his kisses in kind. Moments like those when it was just the two of you had become one of his favorite parts of the day.

You made the meetings, filled with diplomats groveling to win his favor, bearable. How he loved to watch you as you sat on the grand Harkonnen throne beside him. You never failed to command the room with your head held high. Power and dignity seemed to drip off of your being and fill every room you entered. You were truly worthy of the title of Baroness, and with every passing day and every interaction, there was more and more for Feyd to admire about you.

In private, you took to training together, where he would bask in your shared might. With every blow he endured from you, all he could think about was that he, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, was the only person alive to witness you so animated with ferocity and passion from battle, as all others who have seen you this way have been slain and buried. Sparring sessions between the two of you almost always ended with you both on the floor, limbs entwined and chests heaving after one of you would get the best of the other and take the opportunity to pin the other to the floor. 

At the end of the day, you'd always assume your position on the balcony in a flowy, white nightgown. With a gentle gesture, you’d beckon him to accompany you while you observe your shared domain, watching the shuttles flying through the gaps in the dark architecture and the stark white floodlights passing over the cityscape.  He’d hold you close by your waist and whisper sweet nothings into your ear until you start to shiver from the evening chill, at which point he’d tug at your waist to take you back to the bedroom to retire for the night. Every day, Feyd was falling deeper and deeper into you, and he’s loved every moment. 

Bringing himself upright, Feyd stretches his arms and stands up, walking over to the closet. Across from his sets of Harkonnen formalwear and battle gear, your gowns are neatly hung. Half of them are the sleek, black Harkonnen designs he had made for you. The other half are gorgeously vibrant Youran gowns. He sighs, imagining sharing one of your moments again in front of the mirror like always, but alas, you are not beside him. Once he’s dressed, he emerges from his quarters and is met with a nameless servant.

“Good morning, Baron,” the servant says, bowing deeply and trying not to give Feyd an excuse to kill him. “I am here to inform you that we have received a signal from the Baroness’s craft.  Her arrival is imminent.”

Hearing those words, Feyd turns on his heel toward the landing docks, dismissing the servant who heaves a sigh of relief because his head is thankfully still connected to the rest of his body. As Feyd walks the halls, his pace quickens, feeling the anticipation rise in his chest. People bow and salute him in the hallways, but he doesn’t pay them any attention. He’s too preoccupied with his thoughts of you; he can already smell the aroma of rainforest flowers you carry around with you. The thought that he’s so close to having you near again nearly drives him mad. 

When he arrives at the landing docks, the fleet of Harkonnen vessels is already touching down. As he hears the machinery’s loud whirring die, the ramps of all the crafts to meet the floor. Lines of Harkonnen soldiers file out first, each soldier with weapons in arms. The steady pulse of their synchronized footsteps echoes through the space with perfect adherence to Harkonnen military standards is satisfactory for Feyd. The commander in front barks orders, and the guards immediately step into formation, making an aisle that extends between Feyd and the craft closest to him. 

He is at a loss for words when he sees you walk down the ramp. You are undeniably gorgeous in Harkonnen clothes, but you look positively ethereal in the Youran gown and golden headdress that adorn your body today. Instead of shrouding yourself in the cloak you’ve worn in the past to hide your weaponry, you’re wearing a traditional dress reserved only for Youra’s utmost nobility. Layers of sheer, olive and cerulean fabric flare behind you to create your dress’s skirt out from under a ribbed bronze and mahogany corset.  Seeing how it’s cinched your waist and accented your silhouette, all Feyd wants to do is hold you and drag his fingers up and down the length of your figure.

Through the abundance of delicate golden chains that are symmetrically draped over your exposed shoulders and chest, Feyd can see how the corset and the off the shoulder neckline cradles your breasts in a way that makes him feel lightheaded. The entire skirt of the dress is decorated in dazzling embellishments and the characteristic Youran golden thread that Feyd has come to love on you. The fabric of the train seems to flow like water behind you as you walk.  

The high front hemline of the gown that ends at your upper thighs gives Feyd a good look at your legs, the lengths of which are delicately wrapped in the thin, tan ribbons from your sandals. The crosshatched pattern of the ribbons allows him to see just how beautifully your legs are sculpted from years of training and exploration. The sight makes his mouth water. He is truly breathless gazing upon you, his Baroness.

You return his affectionate gaze and call his name excitedly, reaching down and bunching up your skirt in your grasp before breaking into a run between the lines of Harkonnen guards. Your footsteps are the only noise reverberating throughout the area. Before he even realizes it, Feyd’s running for you, too. As you approach each other, he extends his arms out to you, and you leap into them, wrapping your legs around his waist. As he lifts you up into his arms, he spins you both around as you nuzzle yourself deeper into his hold.

Your grips on each other are desperate. Without a moment to waste, he cups your cheek with one hand as the other holds you tightly by the small of your back. A tear threatens to fall from his eyes as he considers saying that he hopes that you’ve missed him, but the look in your eyes already tells him the answer. This is truly happiness like he’s never experienced before. It washes over him when you finally bring your lips to meet his. His breath is warm against yours as he exhales into the kiss in satisfaction. He feels your hands come up to clutch the back of his head to deepen your kiss and growls hungrily, quickly losing himself in your embrace while attempting to resist the urge to devour you on the spot. His brow furrows when you finally break for air.

“Hello, my love,” you whisper softly, pressing your forehead against his, as if what you’re saying is a secret meant for only his ears. He grins at the pet name you’ve picked for him.  “How have things been at home?” Your words make Feyd pause. Were you calling Giedi Prime “home?” 

“Everything has been adequate,” Feyd says, kissing you again. “But I do prefer it when my Baroness is beside me.”

“I guess you’re in luck then,” you smile at his words. You rest your hands on his chest, feeling his prominent pectoral muscles underneath his shirt which makes him sigh in satisfaction. You swiftly squash the temptation to kiss him again as you meet his gaze because if you do, you’d never want to stop. Feyd sets you down, even though he’d gladly carry you all day wherever you want. 

“My father sends his regards. He’s very pleased with House Harkonnen. He also sends his condolences at your uncle’s passing,” you say, which makes Feyd scoff silently to himself. “I’ve also gathered all I need for the laboratory.  I hope I didn’t bring too much back with me. I hope it’s not a burden…” you trail off.

“You could never be a burden. We have plenty of servants. They can handle the labor,” Feyd assures as he turns to one of the closest guards. “Start unloading the Baroness’s things. You know where to take them. Don’t you dare damage any of it. There will be repercussions if anything is found broken.”

“Yes, My Lord,” the guard responds before beginning to bark orders to the others. One by one, the guards disappear into the vessel, and emerge moments later, carrying large wooden crates by the bronze colored handles attached to the sides of each. They all file out and disappear into the fortress, headed for your lab. 

“So,” Feyd says, turning back to you. “Home is Giedi Prime now? I wouldn’t have expected you to call anywhere but Youra home. It’s not that I’m unsatisfied that you’ve found comfort on Giedi Prime, but I was surprised to hear you say those words.”

You smile and glance down at the ground before looking back to him, responding. “Younger me would have agreed with you. Youra is my first home and will forever be such. However, my feelings have changed. Home is wherever you are,” you explain, intertwining your fingers with his. At your words, Feyd pulls you in again by the waist for another quick kiss, and he wonders what he did to deserve a wife like you as you both turn to follow your belongings. 

Weeks ago, you and Feyd had set aside the largest of Baron Vladimir’s personal recreation spaces to be converted to a laboratory for you on Giedi Prime. You both had celebrated the initiation of the transformation by gathering all the Baron’s belongings and smashing them to smithereens, which was quite cathartic for the both of you. In particular, you loved bashing Vladimir’s pipe and ripping his bathtubs apart piece by piece. The day of eradicating every trace of Vladimir, except for his portrait in the hallway, culminated in you both basking in the warmth of a glorious bonfire, fed by what remained of the Baron’s belongings. 

You both arrive at your laboratory. The Harkonnen workers have been very efficient installing the necessary infrastructure in the time you have been away. The room that was stripped to the bones the day you left for Youra is now a proper lab, outfitted with fireproof surfaces, chemical hoods, gas lines, and plenty of storage cabinets.  

“Wow, Feyd,” you say. “This is amazing. I can’t believe this got done in the time I was gone.”

“Only the best for you, my love,” he replies as more servants arrive, and you begin to instruct them how to unpack your belongings. Feyd stands back on the sidelines and watches you, seeing the sparkle in your eyes now that you’re able to bring part of your life from Youra to Giedi Prime. Many of the instruments and objects he sees being unpacked are unfamiliar to him, but you seem unphased, perhaps even comforted, by the diversity of items. He marvels at your proficiency with handling all of them. With the help of the servants, you quickly have all the crates unloaded and the items put away and organized. You dismiss all the workers promptly, so you and Feyd can be alone. Once the doors are closed, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Is the space to your liking?” Feyd asks, coming to your side and slipping his arm firmly around your waist.

“It’s perfect,” you reply, looking around with elation in your eyes. You reach into a drawer in front of you and take out a jar. Inside, he sees it’s full of the iridescent indigo scales of the fish you had shown him the night you were attacked on Youra. “I wanted to wait until I got back to Giedi Prime to do the extraction on the scales for your batch of the elixir. …Would you like to stay while it happens?” 

Feyd nods without hesitation. He knows that watching you work is something only the people closest to you ever get to see. “Of course, my love.  It would be my pleasure,” he says. You smile at him, delighted at his interest. You point to a little door in the corner and tell him to wait for you before disappearing into it. A few minutes later, you emerge having shed your gown and jewels for a tan lab coat. When you smooth your hands over the new coat, Feyd thinks to himself how put together you look. You seem even more at ease now that you’ve changed. In your arms, he sees another coat and two pairs of safety glasses. 

“To protect your clothes and eyes,” you say, walking over and handing him the other coat and one of the pairs of glasses.  Inside the coat, he sees “Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen” delicately stitched in with golden lettering.  As he puts it on, he realizes it’s been tailored to his measurements perfectly at your behest. His heart swells once again. Your foresight is obvious to him. Beside him, you take out a mortar and pestle and pour a few of the scales into the mortar. He hears the scales clatter like pebbles against one another as they fall. 

Over your shoulder, Feyd can finally get a closer look at the scales from the fish you had shown him. The scales are shaped like rounded trapezoids and glimmer even in the artificial indoor lighting. Through the striking coloration, he can see delicate silver ribs that flare out from the narrower end of the scales, making each scale look like a pocket of moonlight rays shining through an inky night sky.  Feyd thinks how it’s truly a wonder how nature produced such a creature that bears such beauty.

You grasp the pestle in your hand and start striking the scales with firm, downward motions. Upon impact, the scales fracture at the ribs. Little by little, the scales become smaller, and you change your technique, beginning to roll the pestle around the bottom and up the sides of the mortar. You reverse the direction of the circle every few times. Because of your expert hand, the scales are soon reduced to a fine powder in the bottom of the mortar.  The dust glistens beautifully as you pick up the mortar and tip it around in a rolling motion, observing the results of your grinding.

“It’s time to perform the extraction and then the purification. Hopefully the crystals will be well formed,” you say to him, taking the mortar over to the fume hood behind the two of you and flipping the on switch to the hood.  “Have you ever watched any of your scientists work before?”

Feyd shakes his head as he follows you, memories of his childhood passing through his mind. “My uncle always instructed me to remain in the arena and the training grounds growing up. The laboratories on Giedi Prime were never our places to be. Our scientists would always come and report to us rather than us going to them. It has always been that way. Everyone in House Harkonnen works for the Baron. Everything they do is in service to him. It is inappropriate by our standards for him to go to them.”

You nod at his words, reaching for the glass sash that separates you and Feyd from the compartment of the fume hood. “Unsurprisingly, it’s the opposite on Youra,” you say, putting the mortar with the powdered scales inside before lowering the sash again until it’s almost closed, leaving gap a couple inches tall for continued access. “Yes, all workers serve my father and me, but we are all colleagues, in a way. They are the workers and my father is the hub for all of the departments on Youra. Much of my father’s success is tied to them, so he would often visit our workers to acknowledge their efforts and dedication. He always wanted to see their work for himself, too. He’s always been the curious type. My father had me follow him to the laboratories as soon as I was old enough to understand safety protocol. I’m sure if it wasn’t for regulations, he’d have brought me into the labs in a baby sling.”

The image of young you in a laboratory, holding your father’s hand as Youran chemists show you both what they’re working on comes into Feyd’s mind.  Even though he didn’t know of you when you were children, he can imagine you then, much shorter with a rounder face but with the same bright eyes brimming with curiosity.  The idea makes his heart warm and a smile tugs at his lips.

“I’m sure those laboratory visits were most influential for you,” Feyd says. You nod in return as you put on a pair of gloves and reach under the sash to grab an amber bottle containing a clear liquid from the side of the hood.  

“Absolutely,” you reply as you transfer all the powdered scales into a glass Erlenmeyer flask and add enough of the liquid to cover the solids. You move the flask onto a raised plate in the hood and press a few buttons to begin the heating process.  “I loved watching them do their work. They knew so much about our world, but were still determined to know more.  The way they moved in the lab was like a dance. I desperately wanted to be a part of that, so I began working with them when I was fourteen…”

As Feyd listens to you talk about your past as you work, his admiration of you grows. Your determination and tenacity through failed experiments and stalled projects are astounding to him, and the fact you’ve been able to become a swordswoman on the side this is truly a marvel. Your skill and years of training are evident today, as your body seems to know this process by memory. This in front of him is the product of all those years of effort.

The liquid in the vessel begins to bubble gently. As the moments go by, the liquid takes on the iridescent nature of the scales and becomes a vibrant blue. Removing it from the heat, you strain the liquid through fine mesh into another container, removing all the powdered scales from the mixture.  Looking at the collected solids, Feyd can see the scales have lost their original coloration and turned a chalky off-white. You smile to yourself, knowing that the extraction was effective while you prepare a large volume of a different liquid, also clear and colorless, in a large beaker. 

“Are you ready for the recrystallization?” you ask him, grabbing a syringe and drawing up some of the extract into the barrel. You return to the beaker of liquid and gently tip it sideways with one hand while pointing the tip of the needle at the side of the beaker. Carefully, you begin to squeeze the syringe and the indigo liquid begins to drip out the needle’s tip and trickle down the side of the beaker. As the extract hits the surface of the clear liquid, deep purple crystals seem to flutter out from the point of impact into the liquid instantaneously. Feyds lips part in amazement, unable to tear his gaze away from the process

“How does it work?” he asks, watching as a batch of thin, needle-like crystals start to gather at the bottom of the beaker while the bulk liquid remains colorless. It’s as if all the color of the extract has been contained within the crystals. 

“I use the first liquid to remove the compound from the scales and make a concentrated extract. I then add the extract to a bulk solvent which our compound of interest is insoluble in. The compound forms crystals when the liquids meet because the second liquid is in great excess compared to the first,” you explain, drawing up more extract and adding it to the beaker in the same way. Once you’re out of extract, you squat down to bring your eye level to that of the beaker. “It’s perfect. I don’t think the crystallization has ever gone that well.” 

You’re absolutely beaming as you swirl the crystals suspended in the liquid, admiring how they twinkle in the light. He can’t deny that your excitement is contagious. You collect the crystals by filtering the mix through another filter and spread out the crystals on a metal sheet to allow them to dry before removing your safety glasses, and Feyd follows suit.

“This is the compound I was referring to that night at the Pools of Ashora,” you say to Feyd.  “If we dissolve the crystals in water and drink it, it allows people to retain their body’s water content and reduced the frequency at which people needed to drink water.”

“Fascinating…,” Feyd trails off, staring at the delicate crystals scattered across the surface inside the fume hood. 

“When I was on Youra, I tested the elixir myself,” you say. Hearing you say that you’ve done that, a bolt of fear goes to his heart at the thought of you just drinking a novel chemical. Feyd’s eyes quickly lock onto you, and his neck stiffens. His mind swirls with distress at the possibility of you getting hurt. You may look okay now, but was the elixir difficult for you to stomach? Did it hurt you in the moment?

Looking at him, you’re immediately in tune with his reaction, and you lift your hand up to rest on his arm to calm his nerves. At your touch, he immediately relaxes. “Don’t worry, Feyd. I am alright. There’s nothing to be worried about. We’ve done plenty of trials since I first introduced this fish to you. I assure you it’s safe. I’ve had all of my best scientists on this project, and I had the best doctors in Youra monitor my vitals for two days after the fact.” Feyd nods, knowing if anyone is competent enough to keep you safe, it's yourself and the Youran doctors and researchers. “We still don’t know the exact mechanism of the compound in the body, but we do know there aren’t significant negative side effects on people. Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Feyd replies, taking the opportunity to bring his hand to your waist and pull you close enough that your lips are almost touching and you’re both staring into each other’s eyes.  “I will always put my faith in you and your work.”

“I’m glad to hear,” you reply, your breath fanning out across his face, which sends shivers down his spine.  “That means a lot, Feyd, we’ve been working hard the last few weeks for this.” Grinning at you, he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tips your head up toward his, catching your lips in his.  You quickly take off your gloves and hold his cheeks in your palms, savoring the intimate moment. 

A knock at the door sounds through the room. Feyd grumbles in annoyance as the tension between you releases. You and Feyd look at each other before ending your embrace. You call out “Enter!” in the direction of the doors. A military advisor enters the lab in full uniform with his head low. He immediately drops to his knees in front of both of you to show his respect.

“Baron, Baroness,” he says. “I am deeply sorry for interrupting you both, but I bring critical news from Arrakis.”

“Very well,” Feyd says, straightening up and peering down at the man kneeling before him. “Out with it.”

“There has been an attack by the Fremen. They destroyed eighty percent of the most recent spice crop.” You can tell by the way the man shivers that he is afraid. Nobody ever wanted to be the one to break bad news to Feyd-Rautha. “Count Rabban attempted a counterattack.”

“‘Attempted?’ What happened?” Feyd growls, his eyes flashing in dissatisfaction. You catch Feyd’s hand in your palm as it flies in the direction of the knife he keeps on his person. You shake your head. You tell him there is no use in killing this man because it would be a waste with just a look.  

“Y-Yes, my Lord,” the man says, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. You can hear him beginning to hyperventilate despite his best attempts to steady his breath. “Rabban went after the Fremen, but the dust and debris from Rabban’s initial artillery attack made the visibility so poor on the battlefield that only Count Rabban and a few others survived. They were ambushed in the haze; it was a massacre with a casualty rate of seventy two percent and climbing.”

“Over half?!” you gasp, your own fists beginning to clench at Rabban’s blunder.

“Rabban says he saw the Fremen prophet, Muad'dib, on the battlefield before he fled. The Fremen… they are dedicated to him. They kill for him, Baron. Our spice operation is in jeopardy. We await your command.” 

Feyd stiffens, a vein threatening to pop on his temple. He sucks in air through his teeth, infuriated at Rabban’s continued incompetency. The advisor recoils at the noise, shuffling backward toward the door.

“You are dismissed,” you call to him with a huff.  A wave of relief washes over the man as he bows and thanks you before slipping out the door.

“Rabban is a damned fool!” Feyd shouts once you’re alone. “He has had every chance to rectify his mistakes on Arrakis, but he seems to leave his brain behind when he makes decisions and lets this Muad'dib win every time! And now I hear news of abandoning the battlefield at the sight of this prophet? He is a coward! An absolute imbecile! If something doesn’t change soon, the Emperor will take Arrakis from us!” 

You reach your arm out and rest it on his shoulder. In moments, you’ve quelled Feyd’s initial outburst until he’s only seething with fury instead of being on the verge of trashing the entire lab. “I think it’s time to relieve my brother of his duties,” Feyd says after he takes a deep breath. “We shall go to Arrakis to do it. I want to see the look on his face and the hope drain from his eyes when he knows he’s failed. I will take over the operation on Arrakis.  We will do what my brother was incapable of.”

“In that case…,” you say, preparing two glasses of water, adding a pinch of the crystals to each.  The water immediately turns a luminous indigo, and you hand Feyd one of the glasses, which he gladly takes.  You raise your glass in the air. “To victory and to House Harkonnen.”

“To victory and House Harkonnen,” he replies, connecting the rims of your glasses and drinking the entire glass in one go.  The elixir is salty and rich on his tongue as if he’s drinking the essence of the tropical ocean. As the elixir flows into him, he feels a warmth pulsate throughout his body.  He isn’t sure if this is truly the effects of the elixir or just a placebo, but Feyd feels powerful, like he could slaughter a thousand men and still have a hunger for more.  As he meets your gaze, you give him a knowing look. You feel the energy, too. You both shed your laboratory coats and leave the room to prepare for your journey to Arrakis. 

--

The preparations before and journey to Arrakis went without a hitch. You had opted to choose Harkonnen battle gear over your own, but you and Feyd still agreed on concealing your knives under a black Harkonnen dress cloak, still not eager to let anyone know of your true nature. Arriving in Arrakeen, you notice the striking architecture, made up of geometric slabs of tan stone layered to create a fortress to protect its inhabitants.  This time on Arrakis, Feyd doesn’t feel the heat like he used to. It’s as if his body is fighting back against the harsh environment on the desert planet. You feel it, too. You were initially concerned because you had only tested the elixir during the dry months on Youra, which paled in hostility in comparison to Arrakis, but seems the elixir’s protection is more than sufficient.

You and Feyd walk the halls of the fortress side by side, heading to the room where all of the Harkonnen strategists and military officials are. You see them gathered around a digital map projected by a computer in the middle of the room, which shows the locations of all the Harkonnen forces in the north of Arrakis.  Upon seeing their Baron and Baroness side by side, they all freeze and bow.

“Welcome to Arrakis, Baron, Baroness” one of them says. He opens his mouth to continue but Fed cuts him off. 

“Enough,” Feyd hisses at him. “I have orders for you. You are no longer to follow the word of Count Rabban. As of today, he is relieved of his duty as Planetary Governor of Arrakis. You will report directly to and receive orders only from me and your Baroness.”

The room of men immediately shout “Yes, My Lord!” in response. A smirk forms on Feyd's lips at their responsiveness, and he instructs them to hit the Fremen with old-fashioned artillery. As the orders are executed by the Harkonnen military, you watch the map intently as the targets on the map turn green, indicating the Fremen bases are hit successfully. All of the military advisors’ eyes widen in surprise at the genius of Feyd’s strategy as the reports of complete annihilation from the ground forces roll in. 

They all begin to applaud Feyd and as their chants fill the room, your heart fills with pride.  Feyd has finally proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was always meant to be the leader of House Harkonnen.  As the applause continues, you see Rabban appear in the doorway, a look of surprise disgust on his face. You notice he’s still wearing his nightclothes, and your eyes flash between him and Feyd as Rabban approaches Feyd, Rabban’s legs still stiff from sleep. 

“Leave us,” Feyd instructs the others in the room, who promptly file out. They keep their eyes on the floor, not daring to look at Rabban. They know people who end up alone in a room with Feyd after repeated blunders usually don’t exit the room outside of a body bag. 

“What are you doing here?” Rabban growls at Feyd.

“It’s early morning.  What are you doing here?” Feyd quips back.  Rabban lets out a frustrated huff.

“You can’t just waltz in here,” Rabban says through gritted teeth.  “And how can you bring that woman into the inner sanctum?”  

“How dare you refer to your Baroness like that!” Feyd roars, grabbing Rabban by his collar.  “If you have forgotten, dear Brother, I am Baron now.  I will do as I please and take my wife wherever I wish!” 

Feyd throws Rabban back and he falls on his back hard. In desperation, Rabban tries to scramble to his feet again, but as soon as he’s almost upright, he feels his knees buckle from under him as you kick the backside of his knees in. Rabban’s forehead collides with the stone floor with a visceral crack, and he feels his arm caught in your grip behind him. He groans as you push his arm to the verge of overextension. On his neck, Rabban feels the cool tip of a blade threatening to pierce his skin, which sends a chill down his spine, his head still spinning from impact.

“You should learn to respect your superiors,” you whisper to him as Feyd’s gaze is fixated on you.  The picture before him has a fire rising within him. His breath turns thick and heavy, seeing you over Rabban, your blade on his neck and your foot on his back with a fiendish smile on your lips.  “I would have expected more from my brother-in-law… You are a disgrace to House Harkonen,” you drawl, pressing your dagger’s tip into Rabban’s neck enough to draw blood. Dark crimson blood trickles down Rabban’s neck and he squirms. You remove your foot from his back and step forward to place your shoe by his face. You take the opportunity to kick his cheek in a little with the toe of your shoe before the heel of your combat boot hits the floor by Rabban’s face with a firm thunk. “Kiss my feet, and I may spare your life.”

Rabban quivers under your hold, his palms spread over the stone floor. He considers trying to escape. He could try to press his body up and avoid the blade on his neck and try to sweep your legs out from under you, but he quickly realizes that you are in control. Any movement like that would end with your knife in his chest, back, or neck. Despite his position being compromised, he hesitates to kiss your foot  How could he, Glossu Rabban, kiss a woman’s shoe in submission?

“You heard her, Brother,” Feyd hisses, stepping toward you both as he basks in his brother’s terror.  Feyd stops in front of his brother and squats down to look at him. “Kiss her feet.  Now.” 

After a moment, Rabban quivers and presses his lips against the leather of your shoes. As he does, you see how miserable and pathetic this man below you is. It's truly a shock that this oaf is the brother of your Feyd, who is confident, domineering, and skillful in every way.  

“You made a good decision obeying, Rabban,” you say, releasing the blade on his neck. “I would have wasted a perfectly sharpened knife slitting your throat if you hadn’t cooperated.” You step back from him as he clambers into an upright position. His hand flies to his neck, feeling the blood trickle down his neck and seep into his nightshirt. 

“You are hereby relieved of your duties as Planetary Governor of Arrakis,” Feyd grins at the pitiful sight before him. “You will return to your quarters in the meantime and wait for future instruction.”

Rabban leaves in defeat. Once the doors shut behind him, you and Feyd smirk at each other, and Feyd rushes to you giving you a tender kiss.  “I love you, Baroness,” he murmurs, completely infatuated with you.  

--

A few days later, you stare up into the atmosphere of Arrakis. The Emperor’s craft has just entered the atmosphere. You and Feyd share incredulous looks and you immediately make your way to where the emperor will be docking.  

“What could the emperor want?” you ask Feyd as you walk..  “We restored spice production. It’s never been more efficient.”

Feyd shakes his head, deep in thought.  “I do not know, my love.”  

“I don’t like this, Feyd.” you whisper to him, trying not to let anyone else hear and Feyd nods in return.  “What could have summoned the emperor to Arrakis?”

“We shall see,” he replies. Rabban arrives and bows to you both, which makes you frown. Rabban hasn’t been involved in House Harkonnen’s operations since he was removed. Nevertheless, he still proceeds into the throne room before Feyd or you can dismiss him.   

Inside the throne room, the emperor is perched on a large throne up a large flight of stairs with his daughter and a Bene Gesserit standing by him.  Your eyes narrow seeing the witch’s presence, knowing they have tricks they are not afraid of using to manipulate the great houses. You, Feyd, and Rabban kneel in front of them, bowing your heads.  Before any of you speak, the emperor’s voice rings out. 

“I am sure you are curious as to why I have come to Arrakis,” he begins.  “What do you know of the prophet Muad'dib?”  Rabban speaks up first, saying that Muad'dib is a madman.

“Mad?!” the emperor says.

“All Fremen are mad!” Rabban counters, and the Emperor’s fist clenches around the arm of his throne. You and Feyd shoot daggers at Rabban, and he closes his mouth immediately, putting his head down again which casts his face in shadow.

“We apologize for my brother speaking out of turn,” Feyd says to the Emperor. “Rabban has had no part in the latest work of House Harkonnen. He is not a reliable source of information.  We know Muad'dib is a figure of the Fremen, and they follow his command.”

“Yes,” you say. “He organizes their forces, and they have been effective in battle against many of our forces by hiding in the sands and staging ambushes.  They’ve been effective at destroying our spice harvesters in the past, but we’ve been able to successfully retaliate.” The Bene Gesserit flashes some hand signs at the emperor. She must be able to tell if people are lying or not. 

“What of the prophet’s whereabouts?” the Emperor asks, his voice darkening with frustration at your lack of knowledge.  The emperor’s suggested scorn directed at House Harkonnen is sour on your tongue, and you grit your teeth.  

“We control the north of Arrakis and spice production, Emperor,” you reply, keeping yourself collected.  “We believe Muad'dib has fled to the south to hide in the storms after my husband’s last military tactic was successful in neutralizing their northern bases.” 

As you utter those words, you feel a tremendous boom propagate through the air, causing the building to shudder. Everyone in the room looks up. Some of the diplomats that have accompanied the emperor swallow thickly. You and Feyd exchange knowing glances. Something isn’t right. The Sardaukar forces, who have come to protect the emperor, raise their weapons and get into formation with one line in front of the emperor, who has abandoned the throne in favor of shelter. 

The other line of Sardaukar forms a line opposite the entrance way, as more explosions can be heard beyond the walls. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rabban slip away, ever the coward. You feel Feyd’s touch on your arm as he beckons you to position yourself behind the defenses with the other diplomats. From your shared position, you both wait and listen intently. The others in the room are paralyzed in a cold sweat, but you and Feyd are silently watching, waiting, and listening, already gathering information on the situation to calculate your next move.

Dust fills the room as another bang resonates throughout the room and the barrier breaks down. The frontline of the Sardaukar advance, weapons at the ready. As they disappear into the dust, you know they aren’t coming back. The room is almost entirely quiet, but through the haze you hear the barely audible but familiar sound of daggers piercing armor, slitting throats, and tearing flesh. The remaining Sardaukar dig their heels in as a figure emerges through the orange debris, wrapped in tan fabrics caked in others’ blood. His face is concealed by a scarf, and the only flesh of his you see are his eyes, blue from spice. He is accompanied by an army. Judging by the amount of noise they made on their arrival, you and Feyd know there are probably hundreds of them. Fighting your way out is not an option. This must be the prophet Muad'dib.

Muad'dib looks around with his blade drawn, seemingly searching for someone as he enters the room.  You see him and Feyd make eye contact. Feyd’s eyes narrow at him in curiosity. When Muad'dib does not find who he is looking for, he turns the crowd of people behind the Sardaukar guards. Most of the diplomats instinctively take a step back. He makes eye contact with the emperor before turning to his own forces and hissing something in a foreign tongue which you presume to be Chakobsa, Fremen language. He exits the room back into the crowd of Fremen who chant for him, waving their war banners.  You see they bear the hawk insignias of House Atreides. The son of Duke Leto Atreides is alive. 

The Fremen advance, easily slaying the last remaining Sardaukar. Many of the diplomats shudder and jump in surprise as the Fremen plunge their daggers into the Sardaukar warriors, who are powerless to stop them. Once they are all dead and their blood is spread across the floor in crimson red pools, the Fremen start grabbing the rest of you by your arms, and you are all dragged away one by one. You are being taken prisoner. You look to Feyd, who gives you a subtle nod as if to say “go along with it,” and you do.

--

You’ve laid low all in the confinement the Fremen have kept you in all night, not eager to give any of them a reason to kill you. Silently, you’ve been analyzing your situation, trying to figure out a way to achieve an optimal outcome, which you feel is slipping through your fingers. Since you have been taken prisoner, you can only presume that the rest of the Sardaukar and the Harkonnen army have been slaughtered and their bodies burned before daybreak. You and Feyd are likely the last living Harkonnens on Arrakis.  

After sunrise, you are called upon by a faceless Fremen, who orders all of the prisoners to follow. You are reunited with Feyd, who takes your hand, careful not to let the Fremen see this gesture of affection as to not allow them any leverage. His touch automatically makes you as at ease you can be, given that you are both captives without allies. 

Arriving in a room with the other prisoners, you see the surviving Fremen mingling and congratulating one another. The man from before stands in the clearing of the room without his face covering, his black wavy hair framing his face. Feyd turns to you and mouths “Atreides.” You nod in understanding, and watch as Paul Atreides addresses the Emperor, challenging him for the throne. Looking out the window, you see warships in the distant sky.  The other great houses have arrived and Paul Atreides threatens to destroy all the spice fields if the houses intervene. 

“Stand yourself or choose your champion,” he orders the Emperor, who turns to Feyd.  

“I select Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” the emperor declares. “Get him a blade.” You inhale sharply, knowing this means Feyd must fight to the death against a man who has already slain many in battle and emerged victorious from the bloodbath of the previous night. You trust Feyd’s skill, but you know not to underestimate Paul Atreides. Feyd’s eyes flicker toward you. He knows what you’re thinking and gives you a slight nod as if to promise he will fight his hardest, not for the emperor, but for you. He is presented with a blade by one of the members of the emperor’s council. To your surprise, Feyd pushes it away and turns to you. Coming to stand in front of you, he gestures downward toward your legs, where your daggers are still strapped to your thighs out of sight.

“Feyd, are you sure?” you say to him, your voice small. 

“I want to use your blade. Please let me fight for you,” Feyd whispers. You nod and reach down to fulfill his request, drawing one of your Youran weapons from your garters. When you hand it to him, Feyd feels the familiar heft of your dagger in his hand, which makes him grin. Just as he remembers, it’s expertly balanced and perfectly crafted, its pointed tip shining in the low orange light of the room. He smiles, recalling the night you handed him the same blade, the first time he saw your true nature. He twirls the knife in his grip with a flourish of his wrist as he stands opposite Paul Atreides. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, cousin,” Paul says.

“Cousin…” Feyd says, continuing to evaluate Paul for his weaknesses. “You wouldn’t be the first family member I’ve killed.”

His words don’t phase you. You’re well aware of Feyd’s family history. You clasp your hands in each other in front of your chest, willing Feyd to be the victor. Paul Atreides straightens himself and salutes Feyd. “May thy knife chip and shatter,” Paul says with a gruff tone, lowering himself into a battle stance and pointing his knife at Feyd. Feyd smirks, raising your weapon. The sight of it in his hand is gratifying for Feyd. Despite standing alone against Paul, it’s as if you are both in this fight together with him wielding your weapon. 

“May thy knife chip and shatter,” Feyd returns and within moments, they're after each other, having an all out brawl in the middle of the room. They each swipe at each other with reaction times like lightning.  The sounds of blades crashing against one another, the low smacks of their bodies colliding, and their grunts of exertion fill the room. You have to admit, Paul Atreides is an impressive fighter. He’s quick on his feet and swiftly dodges and counters many of Feyd’s attacks, but it is obvious that Feyd is the one with strength on his side. The only way for Atreides to win is if he is able to find a way to use that strength against Feyd.

You’re barely breathing at this point. Your facade of stoicism threatens to crumble when you see Paul Atreides’ forehead connect firmly with your husband’s nose. To your surprise, you don’t see any blood on Feyd’s face. Paul Atreides’ head is thrown back after almost bouncing off of Feyd’s nose. Paul’s head seems to be spinning as he stumbles backward on uneven footing.  Feyd recognizes Paul’s debilitated state is fleeting, and takes advantage of the moment, striking Paul again. The tangle of limbs is intense, but in the blink of an eye, you see Feyd disarm Paul, taking Paul’s knife for his own.  

As they break away from one another, Paul Atreides is heaving, struggling to breathe as the leather bound hilt of your dagger protrudes from his abdomen. He’s wheezing as his own blood seeps into his battle gear. His allies gaze upon the sight in shock, some wincing in second-hand pain.

Feyd approaches him promptly, and grabs Paul by the scruff of his neck, raising Paul’s own knife at him. Paul Atreides uses his own gloved hand to grab the blade, trying to push it away, but Feyd leans in, forcing the blade to slip further into Paul’s grip, cutting the flesh of Paul’s hand open with a sickening noise, the tip of the knife getting closer to piercing Paul’s neck.

The next moment, you feel like screaming. The dagger, once poised to slice open Paul Atreides’ neck, is no longer in the air visible to you. Paul Atreides has used his grip on Feyd’s blade to redirect the tip toward the stomach of your husband. Your hands fly to your mouth, tears threatening to spill.  The force Feyd puts behind his blade at that proximity is fatal. 

The memories of meeting Feyd on Youra, fighting by his side against Ozran, plotting into the early hours to kill his despicable uncle, your wedding ceremony in front of House Harkonnen, and the moments of tenderness and affection he’s given you in private flash through your mind. Your stomach writhes, and your heart shrivels into itself, and your mind begins to confront the idea that you now must mourn the life you and Feyd had assembled. Another thought flashes through your mind. You’ll likely be killed after this with the rest of the prisoners in this room, and die alone without your husband, lightyears away from your people on Youra and Giedi Prime. You’ve failed.

Through your tears, you stare at the scene as the air and the people surrounding you are completely still.  However, something gives you pause. You hear something hit the floor look down to the area under Feyd and Paul’s feet. You spy fragments of metal, broken into uneven shards, scattered across the floor. However, there is no blood to be seen.  Your eyes shoot to Feyd, who is also looking down to where they both hold the hilt of the broken knife. 

Without a second to spare, Feyd’s hand flies to your knife in Paul’s side, ripping it out of him. Paul cries out in agony, the removal of the knife causing a blood curdling squelch of skin and muscle ripping. The next moment, Feyd slits Paul Atreides’ throat with a grand swing of his arm, sending blood splatter fanning across the floor. The pregnant woman seated in the wooden throne bearing the Atreides crest lets out a high pitched shriek, and she begins to wail, seeing the light from her son’s eyes fade as his body crumples to the floor. A Fremen woman across from you lets out a shaky breath, her lip quivering and tears pool near her bright blue eyes as Paul Atreides’ fresh blood collects in a puddle on the stone floor under the gaping hole in his neck.

Feyd turns back to you, bloody blade in hand and lets out a deep exhale, allowing the tension in his own chest to dissipate. He had thought he was dead, too, but no. He is alive. He is victorious, and he gets to look into your eyes again, knowing that he has done his job for you.

Kneeling, Feyd presents the emperor with the soiled blade. The emperor smiles and pronounces Paul Atreides, the prophet Muad'dib, to be dead and Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen as the victor. In defeat, the ally of Paul, identified as Gurney Halleck, relays a message to the great houses of the outcome of the fight.  The emperor’s reign shall continue, and your husband is alive. You push your way past the others in the crowd and throw yourself at Feyd, who cradles you in his arms, running his fingers through your hair, whispering to you “Please don’t shed any more tears, my love. I am still here… I wouldn’t leave you that easily.”

“I thought I lost you,” you choke out and Feyd shakes his head, using his thumb to wipe away the tear stains on your cheeks. 

“You haven’t and you won’t,” he replies, his hands holding your body steady. “Let’s go home.”

—

Holding your knees to your chest, you sit in a private chamber on the Emperor’s vessel as it leaves the atmosphere of Arrakis to take you and Feyd back to Giedi Prime, which was the least the emperor could do given that Feyd nearly died for him. One of Feyd’s hands rests on your waist, holding you firmly in his grip while the other rubs gentle circles on your shoulder with his thumb.  Feyd watches as your eyes dart side to side, which happens when you’re deep in though. 

“What is on your mind, my love?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.  

“I’m thinking about your battle with Paul Atreides,” you reply. “The knife broke when he tried to turn the tables on you, didn’t it?” Feyd nods, bringing his hand down to the spot on his abdomen where the knife was. “May I see where it was?” you ask and Feyd obliges, creating a small bit of distance between the two of you so that you can get a good look at his torso.  

You bring your hand to where Feyd’s armor has been sliced open by the blade. Bringing the other hand to his body, you gently spread the layers of fabric and leather apart to look through the hole. Underneath, you see Feyd’s familiar pale skin and his chiseled abdominal muscles that you’ve always loved to drag your fingers across. His skin appears to be absolutely pristine without a single nick or bruise in sight. You bring your head closer to get a better look before saying, “There isn’t evidence of any damage to your skin, Feyd. Your body is like the battle never happened. There isn’t a trace of impact.” As soon as you utter the last word in the sentence, you freeze and your lips part ever so lightly as your mind races to connect the dots. He knows that look on you, and he sees the gears turning in your mind. 

“Impact…,” you mumble to yourself. Your eyes shoot up to Feyd’s  “During the battle there was a moment when Paul Atreides’ head collided with your nose.” Your hand flies to his cheek to steady his head. You examine his nose, using your hand to tilt his head side to side. Everything about his face is unchanged, which shouldn’t be the case, especially after a fight like that and the headbutt he endured from Paul. You tip his head back. Again, there is no blood or breakage. 

Your mind begins to race as you return your hands to your husband’s torso. Your hands fumble as you attempt to remove the layers of armor in between you and Feyd’s skin. Feyd realizes what you’re doing and soon enough he’s shirtless in front of you. You extend your hand out and drag your hand over his stomach. You press your fingers firmly down onto his abdominal region and upper body repeatedly, changing the area you’re putting pressure on each time. He feels solid under your touch and not in the way you’re used to. Feyd has always been bulky and muscular, hardened from years of training, but something about this is different. It’s like his body has the durability of an alloy the researchers on Youra could only dream of engineering, but he’s still flesh and blood. Bring your fingers to your own stomach, pressing your fingers against your own front, and you gasp. “That’s it!” you exclaim.

“What is it?” he asks, knowing you are on the edge of an epiphany. 

“It’s the elixir!” you gasp, standing up and holding your head in disbelief  “It saved your life!”

 “I thought it was only to help the body retain water,” Feyd says as you get up and begin circling the room.

“Don’t you remember? That’s the end result of the elixir, but we were still unsure of the mechanism by which that happens!” you exclaim. “Remember the night I showed you the fish? I said that the fish sheds its scales at the beginning of the wet season. What I didn’t tell you is that the wet season is the only time of year we can get the scales off the fish because they fall off naturally. Our scientists have tried to get the scales before the transition of the seasons, but they've always been unable to pry the scales off or kill them because it was impossible to slice open the fish. No matter how much we sharpened the knives, we couldn’t cut them open!”

“That’s how the fish retain water in the dry season. The fish develop these scales with this compound that transforms their own bodies into a shield from the elements, so that water can’t escape. I’ve always wondered how a fish would be able to survive the whole dry season on a dried up lake bed.  This compound is why the fish species hasn’t gone extinct! When they’re sitting in their dried up ponds, no predators can eat them because their bodies are too tough to pierce,” you surmise, delight filling your complexion. “By drinking that compound, the same thing has happened to our bodies! You were able to survive the battle because your skin became this impenetrable barrier that lets you keep your water that just so happens to be impervious to outside attacks as well! That’s also why your nose didn’t break and why Paul Atreides was so disoriented after he struck you with his head. It was as if he rammed his head into a steel wall.  Researchers on Youra didn't catch this effect in the clinical trials because we don’t just go stabbing all of our test subjects with knives or subjecting them to blunt force trauma, especially not for a study about water retention!”

Feyd hardly believes what he’s hearing, but he knows it's true. Everything you’re saying makes perfect sense.  Memories from the battle flash in his mind.  He remembers his arm is suddenly bending toward himself, feeling the rough surface of the broken blade scrape against his abdomen, but the pain he had been trained to resist since childhood never hitting his senses. He brings himself to his feet and pulls you into his arms, squeezing you as tight as he can muster. “You are phenomenal, my dear,  I can’t believe you figured that out,” he murmurs to you. “Thank you.  I owe you my life.”

He lowers his lips to yours, kissing you like he’s never done before. You both cling to one another, relieved you are both alive and safe. Feyd holds the back of your head and runs his fingers through your locks tenderly, thinking about how far you both have come in this short amount of time. Mere months ago, you were a stranger he had the obligation to meet and marry. He knew he would have to enter a loveless relationship with you in the name of alliances. He tried to convince himself you were a woman he wanted to make a plaything out of.  Before, he was intent on manipulating, breaking, and exploiting you for his own amusement. Those ideas feel so foreign to Feyd now as he revels in your affections and caresses your cheek. 

Looking down at you, he sees you for what you are. You are the most beautiful being to ever exist.  Nothing past or present will ever compare to you, and it brings tears to his eyes, knowing you are his wife and he is your husband. You are the culmination of all House Ronen and House Harkonnen have worked for, a true representation of the union of your two houses, and the pinnacle of all Feyd has come to hold dear. You are where brain meets brawn, where tradition meets modernity, and the pride and joy of Feyd’s life. You are simply everything. 

-- 

Thanks for reading!  I can’t believe the series is over (but I'm also considering writing an epilogue, but I have some requests coming down the pipeline, so we'll see about that. lmk if that's something you might be interested in...). Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed Knives Dance! :)

Also is it obvious I study chemistry yet?

Taglist:

@austinbutlerslovers @rougegenshin @itshype@woodland-mist @tian-monique @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @allthingsimagines @meetmeatyourworst @nyaaaaa008 @caroline334 @alana4610 @targaryen-madness

Tags that aren't working for some reason??? @roguegenshin @miaraises

[crybyemissamericanpie]

Academic rivals - Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader (PT,1)

needed to put the story in 2 parts cause I wrote too much, and i cannot change first or anything, idk my tumblr is acting weird

TW: Mentions of death

Coriolanus Snow and Y/n Y/l, the top students of the academy,for years now. They didn't really hate each other,they just like a challenge, and with the hunger games coming up and both of them going to be mentors soon enough, the adrenaline just grew

Everybody is seated in the class room, the teacher calls the names out for the student then tells them their score and their grade "Coriolanus snow,99%, A as usual" The teacher says as she looks at Coriolanus with a small smile putting the paper in front of him, as she walks back she reads out"Y/n Y/l-"The teacher stops, as if she is double checking her reading"29%, F"Says the teacher, the small shock and disappointment in her voice could be heard as the students eyes light up and immediately look at y/n in silence, she puts the paper down in front of herShe looks down at it and the teacher goes on to say the other grades.

She starres at the F, with her head down the entire class until the bell rang, and Coriolanus came over to her desk as the last student left too"Didn't expect that" Coriolanus says, as he looks over her shoulder, his eyes observing her paper

They were academic rivals of course, but after all they've known each other since babies, they hid in the dark days together, and when the tests disappear they can real be friends

"So didnt i"she says, her eyes not moving from the paper, blinking a few times as her eyes feelt like it was burning a hole through the score and the grade next to it

"Is there a reason?why this was so bad?"Coriolanus asks, he knows there is no such a thing that y/n wouldn't study or didn't remember the test, he knows that something is on her mind

"The games"she says, her mind running off. She speaked her truth, no matter if Coriolanus would take adventage of her weakness, making her think about the game more so she would be humiliated at the next test again

The games, it was the 10th game of the Capitol putting kids in an arena, then watch them fight to stay alive for their own enjoyment, or 'to remember what has the districts done' at the rebellion, it was stupid

"Stressed?"he asks,Coriolanus himself didn't know what to think of the games, he thought it was smart that they used it to show power, that they are still stronger than the districts no matter what

"Scared"She replied,the only thing scary wasn't just to watch kids fight to death but that she might get attached to her tribute and what if they can't win after all its 1 vs 23 , expect if they make allies, but either a disease, thirst, hunger, poison or a tribute is gonna kill them no matter what, it was cruel

"You're too smart to be scared about that,it haven't even begun"Coriolanus point out, that makes Y/ns head turn"yeah I don't even know which kid do I have to see die" She barks at him, frustrated a bit

"And..-and what if your tribute won?"Coriolanus tries to make this more positive"still gives them trauma"She replies as her eyes stares into his, as she observes him a bit more

Was he gorgeous, she thought, he was always fine, his blonde curls, his blue eyes,kissable red lips, he could steal anyone's heart in a heartbeat, oh but was he clueless, she thought again, he was always like every capitol born, agreeing with everything the Capitol does, even when not saying it out loud she knows. But he isn't like the Capitol themselves, yet.

Coriolanus sighs giving up to fight for his own opinion and to make it a bit happier, he straightens up a bit, fixing his red uniform"I'll see you later"says Coriolanus, not even waiting for her answer, he walks out of the room, leaving her alone in the cold classroom

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

Adopted Dadmas using the prompt from the poll: Damas vs Teen Driver

Damas Ariidas Maridius had many regrets in his life.

He regretted ever trusting Aldrik Praxis.

He regretted putting his faith in Onin when she told him it would be safe to bring Mar with him into Haven.

He regretted not learning to cook sooner.

He certainly regretted wearing a kilt the first time he learned to ride a Leaper.

And currently, he very much regretted ever letting Jak get behind the wheel of the Slam Dozer.

"Jak, the cliff- the cliff-!"

Feet pressed into the floorboards, back braced against the seat, Damas wedged himself in place in the passenger's side with wide eyes.

"Yeah, I know." Jak was entirely too calm. "Gotta wait til we get to the edge to get the right turbo boost."

"Turbo boost?!" Damas yelped in a most un-kingly fashion, "There was a perfectly good ramp down!"

Jak gunned the engine, sending the Slam Dozer flying off the edge of another islet and back onto the mainland. He glanced over at Damas and burst out laughing. Even the icy glare sent his way couldn't dampen his mood.

"Oh come on!" he snorted, "I do this all the time!"

Damas gripped the safety harness tighter.

"With my Slam Dozer?!"

"No, with the Dune Hopper."

Damas turned his head slowly and stared at his adopted son in flabbergasted horror.

"That's worse! You took us off those islets expecting the same spring suspension as the Hopper?!"

Looking mildly insulted, Jak shifted gears and headed inland. "No?? I'm not that dumb, Pa! I tested this thing out on the bridges in Tributary first!"

The bridges in Tributary.

The shattered bridges in the burned out ruins of what used to be one of Spargus's towns? Jak was taking his favored vehicle and driving off of broken bridges-

On purpose?!

"Why?!"

Damas clasped a hand to his head.

"I know recklessness is all in a day's work for the young, but- Just-! Why?!"

Jak shrugged. "Trial and error! That's how I learned to drive!"

This child was going to give him a heart attack, Damas just knew it.

"Trial and error," he repeated flatly. Then he inhaled slowly and silently counted to four before asking, "You learned to drive through trial and error?!"

Daxter unwound himself from his death grip on the machine gun for just a moment to point at Jak. "You see what I live with?! I'm amazed I don't have gray fur by now!"

Jak rolled his eyes and Damas sent the ottsel a skeptical frown.

"And yet you're the first one demanding an encore during dark eco battles. You are not, I suspect, as adverse to danger as you pretend."

The buggy swerved to stay in a silvery patch of moonlight -- for no other reason than its driver's whim. Jak took them on a bizarre, zigzag path through the dunes, in no particular hurry. They weren't to the canyons yet, and the tires weren't kicking up dust. He wanted to enjoy breathing unfiltered air while he could.

"I assume there is a purpose to this pattern of movement?" Damas remarked -- although he suspected there wasn't. His son looked too relaxed to be racing or shaking off pursuit.

"The purpose is "driver makes the decisions"," Jak retorted with a smirk.

"Maybe I should drive, then, so we can actually make it home before sunrise."

"Loosen up, Pa! When was the last time you took a night drive, huh?"

Damas resisted the growing urge to drop his face into his palm.

"Well, son, I was being shot at by Marauders at the time, so you'll have to excuse me if I wasn't focused on enjoying the scenery."

He leaned back to slap the side of the machine gun, snapping Daxter to attention.

"Keep that thing ready. We're too close to Egil's territory for there not to be Marauders about."

"With this much space?" Jak lifted a hand from the wheel and gestured around as the dunes gave way to dusty scrub grass and cactus. "I can see them coming a mile away! Way more room to outmaneuver enemies here than in Haven, that's for sure."

"Don't tell me you drive like that around buildings?" Damas sighed. "This is why my predecessor only allowed Leapers past the gates, isn't it."

Now Jak's mood began to slip a little. "Well what was I supposed to do, stand still and let the KG take me back to the labs?" he huffed, "It's not like they gave prisoners a driving course."

A little knot formed in Damas’s gut. The boy had a point. No one had taught him to drive, he'd learned on his own, under fire. Was it any wonder he was so reckless? And here was Damas, complaining and criticizing instead of offering correction. As a father: not his finest hour. He swallowed down his still thrumming adrenaline and forced himself to loosen some of his muscles.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

The Slam Dozer jerked to a halt, throwing them all against the safety restraints. Jak blinked owlishly at Damas. He clearly hadn't expected an apology. Damas cleared his throat and folded his arms awkwardly.

"That was more critical than I meant it to be. I could have simply asked you not to take that kind of risk again and left it at that." Damas again cleared his throat and tightened his arms to avoid the temptation to fidget. "I do not mean to belittle your driving skill. I just...worry."

It was difficult to admit that, especially in front of his son. But as impressive as Jak’s driving was -- even more so now that Damas knew it was self-taught -- that adrenaline-chasing behavior was going to end in a crash sooner or later. Damas just wanted to ensure that it was a crash Jak could walk away from.

A quick glance at Jak revealed an expression that was more confused than anything else.

"You know I can take care of myself," he protested, "Why are you worrying about me?"

Damas reached over to drop a hand over Jak's scalp, pushing his head back and forth with a wry playfulness.

"I'm your father. That's my job."

If anything, Jak looked even more baffled.

"I don't get it." He made a half-hearted attempt at shoving Damas’s hand off his head, then gave up. "What does being a parent have to do with worrying?"

The sentiment was as tragic as it was comic. Damas let his hand slip down to rest on Jak’s shoulder and tugged until the boy had turned to face him.

"Do you and Daxter worry about each other?" he asked pointedly.

"Yes!" Daxter interjected instantly, as Jak reluctantly admitted, "I mean, yeah."

"Because you care deeply for each other, yes?" Damas squeezed Jak's shoulder affectionately, then released him. "Well, there's your answer. Good parents worry because they love their children."

He watched the gears turn behind Jak's eyes for a moment before the teenager abruptly yanked his scarf up over his face in a futile attempt to hide the blush sweeping over his cheeks.

"Papá!" he groaned, "You can't just say things like that without warning me!"

"Yes I can," Damas snorted, "I have a license."

"What license?"

A smug grin tugged at Damas's face.

"The record of your adoption in the city Archives."

Jak covered his face grumbling about embarrassing adults, and Daxter laughed so hard he almost fell off of the machine gun perch entirely.

[wellntruly]

M*A*S*H - Season 6 misc. notes

Oh my god, this round-up is so unwieldy. Long. Just, had a lot comments. And if you were waiting for my whole manifesto on the ‘Comrades In Arms’ question, have I got that herein!!!!!

— — —

You guys gotta stop re-orchestrating the song, I’m too sensitive to this! This is how far we’ve gotten, listen: these worn-in, mellow guitars & horns of S1, this jangly extended situation

Camera’s getting in closer this season I notice. Do you know what else I noticed: HY AVERBACK. Haven’t seen that name since the change-up, since he was directing seemingly every other episode, since [quiet swallow] Trapper and Henry. Since this show was significantly nuttier and also I miss it like crazy. Hy…hi.

Klinger: “What am I, the only medic in the shop!” BJ: “You’re loved, you fool.” Klinger: “Command me, oh tall one with the Presbyterian features.” It’s like I was just saying—!

Hawkeye: “Where you from, Charlie?” Major Winchester: “Charles.” Me: “So, like the river, then?” Potter, a moment later: “Impressive, Doctor. Harvard Med, Massachusetts General…” Me: “Oh my god, like the river.”

BJ has never gone as Berkeley than when now being confronted with Beacon Hill, and fuck that is Correct. The natural challenger. Maine and the Midwest can contribute but California must put up our champion. Back Bay vs. The Bay: Fight !

Really good papers toss Mike Farrell, that’s not easy

“Creative Consultant”! Alda :)

Margaret & The Boys ‘Silly Mood’ but now it’s Babe! Babe Tell Us What’s Wrong! [Keke Palmer in Nope voice] You Look Pretty :)

Klinger’s sling-armed lawyer…this season is already pleasing me so much

Absolutely obsessed with the moribund injured Dr. Berman, whose entire affect is the part where Cameron wakes up and fixes him with a weird stare and drones “Ferris Bueller you’re my hero.”

Charles: “Colonel I, I think I should tell you that my father knows Harry Truman.” Sure, and my own rich Massachusetts friend’s dad knows Mitt Romney, this is just how this goes (Haha I’m DYING.)

Ahh, nice way to even it out. He’s a very skilled surgeon, and smug about it, but they have a skill-set that he doesn’t: move fast, not pretty, save all the lives you can, don’t fall until you reach your cot.

Ahh and yeah he’s so much smarter than Frank! God this is gonna be great. Not that he can’t be tricked, but he can also trick you. Hey let’s make this interesting, the sixth season says. Let's.

“What’s up, you look down?” is such a smooth joke that the laugh track editors didn’t even notice it

Radar: “Um, well I’m very concerned about something that concerns my life here.” Hawkeye: “What’s the trouble, Andy?” Radar: “Well, I don’t think that this place is turning out to be that great an experience for me. I mean I work under terrible pressures and there’s lots of death and destruction and stuff, but other than that I don’t think I’m getting much out of it.” Heeheehee, heeheehee, okay you know what: this is exactly the energy this show has been missing. I needed this deadpan absurdist commentary.

Radar: “I’m the only one that’s gonna leave this place younger than I was when I came.” ASLDKJFL THIS IS WHAT I HAVE BEEN SAYING. HE’S GETTING YOUNGER. Oh lord they're saying it!

They play this reveal well I gasped!

Hawkeye, drunk & maudlin at Rosie’s: “You know that my hands were shaking? I had butterflies. I’ve held people’s hearts in my hand and with him I was nervous. Am I boring you?” BJ, tired: “I’ve heard this four times already, I know how it ends.” Hawkeye: “How does it end, I wasn’t here for the early show.” BJ: “You start crying and sing ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’—can we go home?” [hard cut to BJ half-carrying Hawkeye to bed while he warbles: “If funny little bluebirds fly—!”] GOD THIS SEASON IS SO GOOD

Sparkly sparkly sparkly blue-gray eyes, all barely held tears

I think a lot about… There’s a casual detailed realism to Alda and Farrell’s acting with patients. I think what it is is this thing where they’re delivering the light dialogue to reassure, but it’s laid over something still attentive and thoughtful. Underneath the blithe jokes you can see them actually assessing how they’re doing, taking in and gathering information. Here it’s this quick beat amidst quips of Hawkeye bending his own elbow and asking “Can you do that?” and watching as Radar mirrors him.

Wooo I had to pause for a second to feel some feelings!!!!! God Alda I can’t stand that you wrote this, you wrote all this…tearing into your character’s faults and vulnerabilities…god I love you

Father Mulcahy is incensed!! He’s outraged!! </3/3 I’m losing my mind

Hahhhh Margaret like no no no, I pre-DATE you with him, Colonel, I get to yell at him first

I looooooove this episode. I love how unfair it is. It’s so unfair for Radar to be wounded and let down, and to be yelled at for this by this person he relies on, to be yelled at for feeling betrayed by Hawkeye because he loves him. And it’s so unfair for Hawkeye that it’s because he loves Radar that this even happened, that he's only fallen because he was and is so messed up over Radar getting injured. And that it doesn’t matter to the sequence of people now coming to shout at Hawkeye for shouting at Radar for holding him to this higher standard he’s stuck being held to because usually he is strong, but currently feels completely incapable of maintaining because Radar’s hurt and shouting at him. It’s all just so unfair and it’s all because everyone LOVES each other and I love that.

Can’t believe the course my life has taken has resulted in Klinger naming his imaginary camel the one Arabic word I know: Darling

Oh man, wasn’t there an episode where Henry actually pulled rank and was like oh no, you can’t arrest anyone here without going through me? Any time this happens, well I like that.

God, guess whose rampant bisexual behavior is back being tossed around in public. I’m blissful.

Also: “Knock off the didos, Pierce, we’ve got work to do.”

Wowzers

“How would you like to be up to your knees in floor.” Margaret 😂

Hawkeye is So Bothered that this guy got BJ arrested. He’s not letting this one go. He’s already called him a creep—one of the more damning designations from him! This is actually rather rare in their arrangement as has been, that Hawkeye is the one getting worked up protecting BJ—usually it’s swapped. He’s almost a little scarily unforgiving. I’m very interested by this.

Noooo your therapist has a head wound! Terrific dramatic irony, Alda. Please don’t comment on it, make me proud… Aw you make me so proud. And my goodness you love this character.

BJ: “You touch his nose, Charles, you’re gonna have to marry him.” GOD we’re back :)) Thanks for seeing me, M*A*S*H

Aw Sidney my dear

Demerit for ending with ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’ though. [pleasant BJ voice] Fuck off, Ivor Novello.

Hawkeye: “Charles, come on, as a friend?” Charles: “Not eeeven as an enemy.” God, tasty. Tasty dialogue.

Why is everything Charles Winchester says so fucking funny. I go to write it down and it’s half just in his delivery—David Ogden Stiers is good stuff.

Hawkeye: “Thank you, thank you, I’d give you a hug but in my condition I might not be able to stop.” Ohoho, nyhaha, ah. The dressy khakis in an apron and splashed all over with plaster of Paris is also unfortunately some kind of look. It’s just novel, but we shouldn't undercount that effect.

Charles: “One of my tent mates is a relatively inoffensive chap named BJ Hunnicutt. Excellent surgeon, in spite of the fact that he was, born, raised, and studied in….California.” What did I say! What did I say!!

The fact that one of BJ’s strength is that everyone thinks he’s a sweetie, and he is, but also he’s sneaking around playing tricks, is delish.

Know that they’re beaming with love & glee while pretending to polish their shoes (BJ’s is a rubber chicken) for this entire exchange: Hawkeye: “You’re a vicious fiend.” BJ: “Worse than you?” Hawkeye: “By far.” BJ: “Nicest thing you ever said to me, thank you.” Hawkeye: “Oh my pleasure.” BJ: “My pleasure.” Hawkeye: “Any time.”

The bit where they just collapse in pure exhaustion and never makes it to their planned romp in Seoul is an oldie but a goodie

The instant I’m looking at scrubs over sweaters, I know I’m going to be enjoying an episode

God they’re all so cute when they’re cold

Charles’ clipped accent keeps making me think he’s saying “Hanukkah” when he’s actually addressing “Hunnicutt”

God they’re all so cute when they’re trying to solve a mystery novel together

Make-out fade to black. Classy.

Mike Farrell’s golden arms.. Reblog if u agree.

What kills me is that the final button of Hawkeye & Margaret is easily 10x as good as the rest of the episode, which I know is a relationship that will be forgotten by the show immediately so could never buy it for a second, but this I’ll buy every day, I’ll take out a subscription, long term. You two!

Potter: “We’ve staggered down this road before. You’ve got a razzle dazzle going.” Klinger: “Wrong sir, respectfully.” Potter: “I’m gonna love this one, it’s got a lot of reverse top-spin.” I love him. I love them.

Why do I so like a tie tucked into a shirt

Wait, so I didn’t spend enough time having a reaction to this when they’ve gotten their pay in the past, but they’re being paid in like, notgeld? What kind of company town is this! How are they paying Rosie??!

I swear Alda is getting greyer and skinnier every time I see him this season. Don’t become an actual ghost, babe.

BJ’s hair is getting longer & fluffier, too

Klinger’s first name is Max?? Well I love it

This sweet baby nurse reminds me of Marcia Strassman—I miss her! Hawkeye’s best girlfriend, in five seasons haven’t met her equal.

Why are you playing cat’s cradle with your own face, he’s right there

Huh, we’re really against tattoos now? Weird hill to die on, but okay

Potter: “Pierce, Hunnicutt, you mind going up against each other as team captains?” Hunnicutt: “What do you say, powder puff?” Pierce, big gay leg cross: “Well it will prove who’s the fairest in the land.” These moments happen and I literally say aloud, “Thank God”

Loretta!….LEGS <3

BJ Hunnicutt, I would like an entire oral history of your choice to wear your pink armband tied around your upper thigh

Watching this historic Olympics footage really makes me feel like we’ve gone too far with athletes

Just, a lot of symbolic-looking yarn winding with Hawkeye and BJ, huh. What threads tie you together, et cetera.

Charles: “Haven’t you ever seen truffles before?” BJ: “Nobody knows the truffles I’ve seen.” [Alda: might actually laugh for real, as this is so goofy and not his usual HAH] Charles: “Here you are, gentlemen.” BJ: “Oh, goody!” Hawkeye: “Mm-mm, chopped liver!” Charles: “It’s pâte de foie gras” BJ, gesturing to his mouth: “I happen to know Paddy De Foie Gras and this definitely isn’t him.” Okay who wrote this one, they get it

I like Potter pointing out Hawkeye’s hypocrisy of “railing against violence and insensitivity, then to prove your point you attack a man.” Many people could stand to hear this I think! Not to be bold!

[reminiscing about some dance hall in Toledo] “I gotta go kid. I’m breaking my heart.” Klingerrrrr <3 <3 <3 Me about the theme song.

I love irritated Potter, he’s so punchy. “Explain to me, why am I here?”

It’s been a while since we’ve had an episode where some random brass is like “I hate Hawkeye!,” and then they watch him do surgery for 48 hours straight, and are like “Never mind, he’s allowed. Also, related, I would like to never be here again.”

The Alda Two-Reveal Slow Camera Pull-Back but it’s adding BJ showering next to him singing his own opera part, then Charles in a robe crossing in front of them combing his hair. Oh and my review of this is: choicechoicechoicechoice

BJ: “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Hawk: “What don’t you do?” BJ: “I’ll think of something.”

Margaret: “HOW CAN A GROWN MAN BE SO MECHANICALLY INCOMPETENT.” Hawkeye: “I take a lot of cabs.”

Oooo I like BJ pacing in his doctor’s coat, fretting, gnawing a nail

[getting out the shrapnel] “There. You wanna look at it?” “Don’t be morbid! Just clean it up and put a dressing on it.” Love that these speakers are not who you might guess they are :)

Margaret to Hawkeye: “Do you know what it feels like to give your heart to somebody? To live just for a glimpse of his handwriting in the mail?” Hm pardon me while I just scoop this up nicely and hold it for a moment, emotionally panicking!

“Oh, I think I should warn you. If you come over here for any reason during the night, announce yourself. I intend to swing this to kill.” I fucking love her sometimes. Alan, this line, Loretta, this delivery. He’s so good at writing for her, and she just takes it and Runs.

Welp, look at that—suddenly need to qualify that last part!! Hey Part 2 what is this???

Y'know the thing is though, I sooooooo support Margaret & Hawkeye boning. Oh do I. But this, is not it! This is supposed happen in an episode where they’re mostly squabbling with each other, this is right. It keeps it part of the way they squabble. If it came out of them being all tenderness, the risk there is that then it feels like it needs to become a real thing, and it won’t work as a real thing. Or not real, this is so real, I mean as like a usual romantic relationship. Their relationship is not romantic, but frankly has always been erotic. It’s sort of the opposite of how Hawkeye has mostly been with BJ, really. (That the biggest mix of both was with Trapper is why I still can’t really talk about that !)

Anyway Hawkeye & Margaret are the horniest characters on this show, and that’s why this should so happen. For both of them, sex is a major part of the way they experience & process the world and other people in it. And with them always sparking as much as they have, absolutely should it come to this someday. And it’s so good to wait until this far in, because at this point they’ve also grown to genuinely respect each other. This can actually be a kind of gesture of mutual respect between them, a meeting as equals (on the sexy field). I mean the set-up here is actually quite good: bickering and stressing under intense fear and danger, but I want it to be a tiny bit more of a decision, again a kind of meeting at the table, not this accidental brush of lips. Maybe we keep the shelling and the shouting but do it simpler, Margaret screams and Hawkeye yells out in the dark "Margaret!" "[sobbing] What?!" "I'm coming over there!" "You'd better!" And then they're just cowering tightly in each other's arms under the blanket, and it becomes clear he has his hand clenched in the back of her hair, and she has hers gripping the open collar of his shirt, and then we just take it from there. Still keeping it simple, maybe: "Hey?," a request, and "Yeah," an acknowledgement of same. Yeah. Take comfort. Take distraction. Both be a little prideful in how good you can do ‘em—a little bit of a competition, where everyone wins. This is what I want.

And then here’s what’s not all supposed to happen next: what happens in Part 2! Margaret has always been a character who knows her own mind, knows what she wants, almost to a fault at times, and there’s no way she wants to pursue this as a romance. Even just later this same season, she’s going to think she’s pregnant, and in 1952, be like, I do not want this baby. This does not align with what I want out of this marriage or my career. There is zero way she wants to commit herself to dating Hawkeye, and Hawkeye of course does not want to be dating Margaret, and that should be the miscommunication driver of the next episode: they’re both worried the other is going to think this is a romance now when that is not what this was or is, and in their equivalently nice & awkward handling of each other the next day, are of course absolutely going to think the other is nervously smitten, and be smiling weakly at each other while privately they’re both Wirt dragging his fingers down his face whisper-rasping “Noooooo.” And then finally they manage to get it out, possibly they both start making the same confession at once like they’re Radar and one of his colonels, and then are just collapsing in relief like OH THANK GOD. Listen that was good, but that was just an elevated facet of our existing relationship, it's own weird thing that can stay its own weird thing, and (nice little ‘Aid Station’ call-back, and it’s Margaret this time doing the deliberate reprise): “If you tell this to anyone, I’ll deny it. <3” And Hawkeye’s like, “That’s why I love you :),” and it’s sweet and understood and joshing and cute.

But, all this is not what we get. An error! Well, we do eventually end in a place somewhat akin, an understanding of friendship, and they’ve each had a bit where they like, have ~learned something about themselves~, and each other, but even that part feels a little falsey, and in between, a lot of positively agéd woman-pursues-resistant-man nonsense. But we can FIX IT just call me up with time travel abilities and we’ll get this banged out right, no pun intended.

Okay where were we. Oh, something unexpected!! Well first, this:

Potter: “I hope you’re shaking a leg, Winchester.” Charles: “Colonel, my graceful fingers are dancing o’er the innards of this hapless doughboy, and when I am done, I shall be done.” Potter: “I’m sorry I asked.” Charles: “That’s what I had in mind.” Tasty.

And then: BJ saying he can’t sleep because he keeps expecting Hawkeye to walk through the door. BJ saying he wishes his heart was in the right place, as right now it’s in his mouth. BJ risking life & court martial to get a chopper and find them. BJ singing a welcome back song about how he adores ya, please don't put him through this again. How is BJ ending up being the biggest romantic choice of the Margaret/Hawkeye two-parter, that’s the sort of thing you make up on Tumblr, not the sort of thing that actually happens?? Alan??!

Hawkeye: “How’d you like to save my life again?” BJ: “Sure, you want me to fight her for you? [little committed sigh]” Mike???!

Finally looked up the inflation on 1952 money: you can baaasically just multiple it by 10 for a rough estimate. This will be useful.

Ooo! Been a few years since you’ve identified as female in dialogue, Mother Hawkeye!

“See you for dinner, Beej?” “Our little spot.”

HYANNIS PORT. I CHOKED ON MY WINE. Oh fuck, haha fuck—this is a Kennedys joke isn’t it. GAWD.

Hawkeye just amiably hosing down Nurse Kellye and her pal's outstretched limbs in the heat. You love to see this. This is so domestic.

Maaaargaret, the halter top!! Whew now I’m feeling toasty!

You two are sweating through your shirts but you gotta be close, huh

The way she slides his hand on the line like a piece of laundry, lol. This is the Margaret & Hawkeye I love, thank you. (What went wrong! The rest of this season is so right!)

And we get to see Mulcahy in short sleeves? What doesn’t this episode have

I like the theme that Hawkeye’s boyfriends are always golden gods to his iron-haired slump

The new bit where everyone makes fun of Hawk for being basically a surgical idiot savant who knows shit about fixing anything else is really good.

[Knock knock] “Enter the mausoleum.” “Hello goils, hello.” “What do you two want.” “Love and respect, but we’ll settle for love.” I love everyone in this nurses tent

Hawkeye & Margaret are so cute this episode. Seriously, the two immediately after ‘Comrades In Arms, Part 2’ are both showing up ‘Comrades In Arms, Part 2’ hand over foot

A bit everyone seems to have immediately wanted to keep up, probably because it’s so odd and funny, is Charles for some reason clearly believes Margaret must be cultured, and he’s so thoughtlessly certain of this that absolutely no hilarious thing she replies with immediately proving the contrary seems to register with him.

Deploying his warm, tireless, rail-at-me-if-you-want steadiness to helping a morphine-addicted patient get through withdrawal is SUCH a BJ plot. Amazing we hadn’t done that yet.

“Oh no thanks, when I lose I like to know why.” Sometimes Radar is incredibly profound while he’s making me laugh so much.

I swear the new writers who have come in this season fell for it in those first few years. This show is running long enough that it can start referencing its own eras.

Margaret playing Charles the world’s smallest violin!!!! BABE?

I gotta say, I don’t think you all understand how blood types work. You can give the AB negative kid A, B, or even O, as long as it’s also negative. He could literally only take more blood types if he was AB positive. The one you really want when you’re doing these plots is O negative, because they can only take other O negative, and that’s always gonna be in short supply because it’s the universal blank slate, you can use it for any other type you’re running out of, or if they’ve lost their dog tags and you don’t know their type at all. That's the one you want for this!

Klinger is trying to drag Hawkeye off to bed as BJ sleepily encourages over his protestations: “Don’t ask, just take him.” BJ [chinhands] I have so many thoughts about you

“Come on, if you can’t tell your number one nemesis who can you tell?” Again, this is exactly what I love about you guys. This is, in fact, the best Margaret & Hawkeye season yet, despite my one complaint!

Hawkeye genuinely so excited and sweet, exclaiming that all they see is death and destruction and now here’s life thanks to her. And Margaret going no, no this is not good, I do not want this baby right now. This kinda extremely rules.

Waitaminute. We won’t…we wouldn’t???! Will we??!!

We will not, but I will learn how you did a pregnancy test in the 1950s! Wow!!

Klinger: “Excuse me for saying so—your mail is leaking, Colonel.” Potter: “Honey.” Klinger: “Your mail is leaking, honey.”

Wait I love the Pierce & Mulcahy live show. They’re dueting.

Hawkeye: “What do you say I take you home and put you to bed.” BJ: “Aw you service men are all alike.” It’s giving Trapper era... I’m in a tidal pool of emotions.

Hawkeye: “May your fingers never lose their cunning.” Father Mulcahy: “Ah, see you in church!” Lot going on in the officer’s club tonight

Oh! Hawkeye Pierce is the only child of a widower. In Maine. Yeah, that might make this.

I don’t know why BJ character reveals always feel worth their weight in gold, but: what has him so distressed is the idea that Peggy might not need him any more. He needs to be needed. No wonder you took one look at lorn bedraggled weird Hawkeye Pierce and said, hi, I’m BJ.

If this means this episode we’re going to get BJ alone with Charles going full maniacal to make up for Hawkeye’s absence, I’ll so support it.

“A little to the left, dear”—it begins.

Oh em gee Margaret’s old bestie??! :)) They were such scamps!

Oh em gee, the boys be plotting! The boys being BJ & Charles. Wow Hawk’s gonna come back and not only is Charles going to be like oh thank god, but also he and BJ are going to have An Understanding—this is gonna come up pluses all around.

THIS IS SUCH A GOOD MARGARET EPISODE, MEANWHILE

“They hated me. The doctors, nurses, everybody. Kept telling me I was dull.” You could say a whole lot of things about Captain Pierce, but they managed to find the one thing that would make that other MASH seem completely deranged. They said you were what?

Charles literally exclaiming how much he missed him and grabbing him into a bewildered hug, only for BJ to then happily tackle them both with his long arms—great!!!!

It’s now one year until Potter retires. This whole season has lasted: two months.

Counterpoint, Charles - he has been here: six months. I love this :)

“Look at that brazen hussy over there. And the woman he’s with,” BJ, glowering in sexual jealousy at Hawkeye across the party. “You’re all lunatics,” Margaret, in a cream turtleneck, correctly.

I just love Charles being like PLS, that is so not the tactic I would have taken, you want this angle. The thing is, Frank was always a dumbdumb—and for all his posturing about it, Charles actually is intelligent. He just uses it in ways that displease us. But, once in a blue moon, he can turn around and use it in ways we want, ways to help, and it’s a Thrill. God, when we finally reach the point where Charles unbidden uses his influence & largess to save or protect one of them, easy money’s on Hawkeye but more interesting money is on BJ, it’s all over for us, huh. Meaning our cool.

Gary Burghoff is going next level with this mailbag protection performance and I am hortling

This drop to beneath the table! Great little bit of direction

Hawkeye to Potter, in a way I can’t quite describe but will stick with me a long time: “You could give me a hundred good reasons to leave, and I can’t give you one good reason to stay. Stay anyway.”

Why do you have a whole bottle of amphetamines in stock?

God remember when House drugged Wilson. “I’m on speeeeed!”

“Who wrote that?” “Charles Emerson Winchester, while still in undergraduate.” “It sounded very…collegiate.” FATHER.

“Good night, BJ.” “Good night, Hawkeye.” Together: “Good night, Charles.” Charles, sing-songing: “You promised.”

Marine: “Hey Radar—you and your mouse, are okay.” I’m McLosing it.

That Charles is always reminding us he was almost the head of thoracic surgery is so funny. He wasn’t actually.

Five points to Harry Morgan for how my pulse picked up at the way he asked Hawkeye to close the door because he has something to disclose to them. What is it gonna be!!

Fuck. Yes. The Placebo Plot. Oh what a fun little finale for me, as a weirdo.

— — —

Season Viewguides

These

[mirror-to-the-past]

Dream Drop Distance is really cool so far! Anyone who's heard me speak knows I love shit with dreams, and I'm glad KH is really throwing itself into that mix now. The intro was admittedly a bit jarring, because I was like... "okay... they're younger... with raft? No Kairi? URSULA?! They're drowning? Traverse town... did I skip a cutscene without realizing?"

But I'm good to go, now! 😆 👍

Except for the phantom Ursula bit... why her? Trying to figure that one out, still.

Anyway, here's where I squeal!

Remember when I said this, one post ago, in reference to Maleficent rhetorically questioning fiction vs. reality:

"Here we go, create new worlds from stories, huh?"

On top of Sora's journal being established as being tied to his very being, and that the two clearly have just as much life within them, and that line, it's an interesting choice that the Dream Drop Distance opening movie shows lots of storybooks with writing within them of places in the games, particularly one of Destiny Islands with the trio within it. The game's going meta, boys... I'm banking on it.

The intro scene with Braig's death and Xehanort's... whatever is going on... so intrigued...

The Dream Eaters are SOOO cute! I love their wonky little faces and weird eyes. A mix of Inception dream diving, KH, and Pokémon? This game is like... scientifically engineered to make me go insane. I immediately went to see if censors were enacted for Dream Eater naming as was the case for actions in BBS, and Riku now has a colorful bat following him around named "FU%K." Truly, I am maturity incarnate.

The addictive card game in Traverse Town is very rewarding as a CoM Enjoyer with how it replicates the gameplay. The entire time I was running around I shared Sora's hyper reaction of "I haven't seen this part of Traverse Town before!!" :D I am Filled with Wonder. Traverse Town's got a whole underground supersized mailroom that reminds me of that one place in Polar Express, holy cow!

The two worlds I've been to are so pretty so far! And AAAA a Hunchback of Notre Dame world, which I have been wanting since the first game, ohmygod, guys! The intro got my hopes up for a Fantasia world, but it could've just been a one-off reference like they've done before, and there's so much in Fantasia that I don't know if they'd actually commit to stylizing a whole world off of it. But anyway, if they did... I'd explode. But I won't hold my breath (I say, coping, setting my expectations to a reasonable level). Anyway, now I can legitimately say "Sora and Riku fight the church lmao" and actually have canon backing for it. My wish came true again. And wow.... the cathedral windows are so purty... I just sorta stared at them for a 'lil bit. Then I fought a frog. Then Sora got profiled by Frollo (that was not on my bingo sheet, but something was both disconcerting and hilarious about Frollo looking Sora up and down and going "I know what you are," *projects discriminated group onto Sora's oblivious being*).

And hoo boy, don't get me started on my little duo. Not half an hour into the game, and already Sora was screaming for Riku at the top of his lungs. That was the true indicator it was a KH2 sequel. And Riku, Mr. 'I-agree-with-the-I-wanna-protect-the-one-thing-that-matters-feeling,' *reaches out tentatively for Sora's spectral face,* and "Wish I could take my own advice?" (In terms of struggling to be vulnerable enough to look for acceptance from those close to him- a theme I hold near and dear to my heart) (Seriously, that Quasimodo and Riku parallel was just *chef's kiss*) These two are gonna be something (and when were they not), aren't they?

Also loved when Riku just instinctually backed up Esmeralda with the 'I am an alien to this world and do not know your slurs, I only know to turn a blind eye when I see someone running from authority.' I lol-ed.

Theory time! I guess not really a theory, but moreso multiple observations. The Dream Eater symbol is really similar to the Unversed symbol, first of all! Which is interesting, but would also make sense, as Nightmares and "Bad, lingering feelings" can kinda go hand in hand. Will that mean something for the plot? I'll see! ALSO I think it's interesting how the story took the time to have the characters be like "woah my clothes are different," so like any self respecting person with eyeballs that work, I looked at the clothes and noticed Riku had a Dream Eater symbol on his back! I checked, and unless it's hidden, Sora did not, so hm.... I mean, all I could really throw out with that is "Riku's a dream eater!" But that wouldn't answer why, how, why Sora isn't one, what it really entails to exist as a dream eater, anyway, so it's not really a theory and instead is half baked speculation. But... neat, y'know?

I'm still figuring out what exactly the Sleeping Worlds are and what they mean for the canon, but ya know I'll get there! It's about the journey, maaan. 😎 But know that so far, I am definitely a happy camper (Playing in Proud mode though, we'll see how long that good feeling lasts, lol).

[futurefind]

No Time for Cleaning

Or: A Hypothetical Master Sasume vs Camelot Singularity

There's blood on her hands.

On her skin, under her nails. Pouring out of her past the ice and the bandages and the stitches, and she can't tell where she ends and her losses begin.

It's too easy to imagine awake, and when she closes her eyes her skull sears with the crimson spilt and so she doesn't close them at all.

The Lion King's soldiers spill the blood of men and mothers and women and children hot against her face, and she thinks to finally get it off would require clawing her flesh off with it.

Rushd still smiles when he thanks her for water, whether it's the first or the tenth or the hundreth time and god knows how many hours spent absently filling wells.

Entire towns are eradicated by starlight that seers itself beneath her eyelids, the same as Stella as Arash breathes his last.

There's blood on her hands.

She doesn't know if it's hers, or where it's come from, but it doesn't matter. One clang of her sword erupts a shielding wall of ice, bisecting one of the knight's arms in the process. Another sends in speeding down in dagger-shards. She twists around one's sword, pinning them in place for her Servants with a frosted grip as she sends a flaming kick into another's helmet and sends them alight with a stench that makes her stomach roil and her shoulder itch.

She roars back, iron and ash alight in her dead mouth, and keeps moving through the fray.

Bedivere smiles away her concern— just as he smiles away her dismissals of being called 'Lady'— even as she offers him a knowing gaze. They talk around it more than they talk about it, because many things are better left unsaid, especially what's most familiar.

The Pharoah stares her dead in the eye with his throat cleaved in two, and she glares right back, almost wondering if he can see the crimson trail she leaves in her footsteps.

Da Vinci laughs like she always does, regardless of the tension. Laughs like she always does, even as she happily rushes off to her own death to leave her behind (she's always left behind, isn't she?).

There's blood on her hands.

There's blood on her hands and she's screaming. Ripped apart from the inside out 'til it's erupting from her throat in a numbing cacophony, pulsing in time with the pain in her heart.

Bedivere's dying.

Da Vinci, dying.

Arash, those she's never known the names off and those she's forgotten, all people she's sworn to protect—

Her mother, her—

Her everyone, it seems like.

She shoves her way out of the Coffin—and isn't that ironic, isn't that fitting?— and past the others, past Romani, numbly following her feet even as the world itself burns with too-much.

She's in the training hall, and she—

She cuts and slices and slams her sword so hard her teeth rattle, so fierce that before she knows it her palms are too raw and slick to hold a proper grip.

"I'M SICK—!

AND TIRED—!

OF LOSING PEOPLE—!"

She throws her mother's blade away from her with a shout, letting it clatter from wall to wall to floor as she tightens her gloves.

Punches and pivots and hits with her fists with just as little (none) relent until her knuckles bruise and her skin tears and she. Keeps. Going.

Resorts to kicks and knees when even her arms start to fail.

And she—

She screams. Screams and screams and screams, until she's deaf to the sound. Until the pain rips out of her ribcage with it, spreading her heart and gore and viscera splattering against the room as much as her voice.

She crumbles.

Stares at the ceiling (the wall?) until she's staring past it in its entirety. Maybe if she stares hard enough, stares-past enough, she can see those she's lost again if she tries hard enough.

She wonder's if she's laughing, or sobbing, or screaming, or if it's just her heart rattling in her ears as unsteadily as the world around her.

There's blood on her hands.

...She can worry about getting it off tomorrow.

[opossumanonymous]

How did things get so messed up?

Warnings: Talk of murder, a single swear, Inko just sometimes thinks about murder, uh vigilante Izuku

Black Widow Inko! Part 2 featuring Dad Might vs Dad for One! This is honestly just Crack with a plot...

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

It seemed like yesterday he was in that hospital room meeting his son for the first time. Inko holding their sons tiny body, tears welling in her eyes as she beckoned him closer.

He walked over with no hesitation fully ready to meet Izuku (The name chosen by Inko who got to pick after winning a bet).

Sitting down next to his tired wife he stared down at the infant in wonder. The tiny human they'd waited 9 months for was finally here. Hizashi almost didn't know how to act for a second, so caught up in looking at the tufts of green hair and freckles covering small cheeks.

Reaching out Hizashi gently caressed Izuku's little face with a single finger causing the baby to let out a coo. He grabbed his father's finger in his little fist nearly bringing the 200 year old man to tears.

If asked that's how that day went to Hizashi of course Inko remembers him nearly flooding the hospital room but Hizashi would never admit that.

Tears or not that day Hizashi knew he would protect them with his life so how....how did things get so messed up?!

How did he end up sitting across from his arch nemesis?!

How did Izuku out of everyone in Japan end up with one for all?!

And most importantly how did All Might end up seducing his goddess Inko?!?!

Seriously Hizashi just couldn't understand how she could be with such a lowlife, she must not know who he is.

Never before had Hizashi felt such a deep burning hatred for anyone.

Currently he was sitting on the couch in his and Inko's apartment while she and All Might sat on the adjacent couch. No one spoke until Inko finally cleared her throat.

"Toshi this is my ex hus-"

"Current Husband."

She looked at him with eyes full of fire and a voice full of venom as she spoke. "You forfeited that title the second you thought not calling for 12 years was a good idea."

"...."

She always knew what to say to shut him up especially when she was angry. One of the things that interested him in Inko at first was how unlike most she got incredibly smart when angry.

She also got more sadistic, he could practically hear the gears turning in her head as she calculated all the ways she could kill him.

In this house he was not the devil no, the cute green haired woman sitting across from him was. In fact the murderous aura around her was very concerning, not that he feared for his life with witnesses around. He knew she'd be angry but he'd hoped him getting on his knees and begging for forgiveness would work like last time.

Meanwhile Toshinori was on the verge of having a mental breakdown. At first when he walked into the apartment after a date night he was shocked to find none other than All for One standing in his living room. He quickly pushed Inko behind him ready to defend her against Japan's greatest villain.

While he no longer held one for all that wouldn't stop him from protecting his wife with all he had. How did All for One break out of tartarus anyway?

And just how did he look like this?

All for one looked the way he did before their battle where he smashed his upper face in. All for one, who last they spoke had no eyes, hair and barely a nose now had all of that back and even looked a few years younger.

Each and every person in this room was plotting how to kill someone. Thankfully this day they'd all walk away unscathed.

Mainly because they all had a secret to hide from eachother.

Inko didn't want Toshinori to know about her past, Toshinori didn't want Inko to know who her ex was, and Hizashi didn't want to anger his wife further by revealing any of her secrets. (He may have been criminally insane but he wasn't stupid)

After all one does not rat out their ex-assassin wife's past to her new husband who is also the ex-symbol of peace. Lest they both team up, beat your ass and throw you back in prison or just straight up murder you.

"Anyway Toshi this is my ex husband Hizashi, Izukus father, he left about 12 years ago with no contact or information."

"Oh come now darling those divorce papers weren't serious. I understand you're mad but I'm back and I promise nothing will keep me away this time."

The utter nerve of this guy he really wants to die today! He's lucky he stopped wearing ties years ago or else Inko would've been choked him to death!

"Tea. I'm going to go make some tea I'll be back soon." She said with a strained smile resisting the urge to rip out Hizashi's teeth.

After she left to the kitchen the atmosphere got even darker the two mortal enemies now left alone.

"So it wasn't enough that you destroyed my face and took my son as your successor, you just had to go and seduce my wife too!"

"Your wife! Did you not just hear her she divorced you?!"

"Yeah all because of you and your meddling if you hadn't destroyed my face putting me in comatose I would've been there for her and Izuku!"

All Might paused for a second realization hitting him like cold bucket of water. Before he got his composer back not wanting the enemy to get the upper hand.

"If you hadn't have been quirk smuggling and stealing classified documents I wouldn't have had to!"

"Oh so it's all entirely my fault?!" Hizashi scoffed "I bet she doesn't even know what you did to me does she?"

Toshinori stayed silent it was true she may have known who he was but she didn't know about his hand in her ex husband's absence.

He had no idea how lucky he was she didn't know or there would be two dead men walking instead of one.

"I take your silence as a yes then?" Hizashi was a little smug now.

"Not like you've told her who you really are." Hizashi frowned at this causing Toshinori to smile "I see I'm right as well."

Well he was only half right he never out right told Inko she figured it out on her own. But All Might didn't need to know that, after all no use making Inko even more upset then she already was.

Meanwhile in the kitchen Inko was trying to figure out how to shoot her ex from the kitchen without Toshinori noticing.

While she knew it was impossible without blowing her secret a woman could dream.

As the tea finally came to a boil she noted the distinct sound of her sons bedroom window opening and closing. Knowing her son was back from his nightly vigilantism only done on weekend nights per their agreement. She briefly considered pouring rat poison in Hizashi's serving but decided against it.

Not that the good for nothing scumbag didn't deserve it. But just scaring him would do for now unless Izuku didn't want him in his life. After all he was Izuku's father and Izuku deserved to choose whether he wanted him in his life or not.

Bringing back a tray with the tea she sat the cups down with an eerie look on her face. "Here you go Hizashi I made yours just how you like it!~" She said sweetly.

Yeah Hizashi isn't drinking that, no way she definitely must have done something to it. He hasn't survived the past 200 years to die like that, thankfully his lovely queen isn't good at holding her emotions in.

"Thankyou darling you're too kind." He said taking a cup but not drinking from it.

Toshinori on the other hand called her buff he knew she wouldn't do anything. As he drunk his own cup he remarked on how good it was, well atleast he didn't have to worry about no real or imaginary poison.

Toshinori really didn't know what to do he was having a mental crisis. Should he tell Inko and young Midoriya the truth about All for one or not say anything? The boy would be devastated and would he really want to fight his own father when the time came? He would never forgive himself if it caused Izuku mental pain.

But if he turned Hizashi in to the hero commission they wouldn't know it was him. But he'd still have to deal with them being distraught and possibly hating him for not telling them sooner. Plus everything might become public and there's no telling how many enemies All for one has made that would be out for blood.

This was bad, both his morals and heart clashed at the thought of hurting Izuku and Inko they both quickly became the family he never got to have.

Izuku even started calling him dad for crying out loud! What would he call him if he found out his idol and mentor was the one who separated him from his biological father?!

"We need to settle this once and for all." Inko finally said still annoyed and just wanting Hizashi out.

"Yes you're right we should Inko darling. I won't make this hard, I promise I only want to see my son. Perhaps he can sleepover at my place on the weekends?"

Toshinori paled at that, if he got young Midoriya alone there's no telling what that monster would do to the boy. He could kidnap him, take one for all, and lock him away forever. Toshinori couldn't let that happen deciding he'd rather tell both Inko and Izuku who 'Hizashi' really was.

"Yeah no I don't think so you can have supervised visits and you can take him somewhere if I'm available to go with."

Yeah Inko wasn't buying what her ex was selling she knew he'd have Izuku quirkless and vaulted if she left them alone.

Not to mention that would force her to try rescuing him leading to her being vaulted as well.

But together they could defeat him after all he couldn't fight them both at once.

Hizashi was about to open his mouth when all of a sudden a voice called from the hall.

"Dad?"

"Yes son?" Both men said in unison before looking at eachother with a glare.

Izuku just stood there frozen in shock as his step dad and biological father glared at eachother. He couldn't believe his eyes, even though he heard his father's voice he just thought his mom finally got him on the phone. But this is unreal he never thought in his wildest dreams his father would be in front of him again.

He gripped his plan shirt that had "shirt" written on it in big white letters. His heart felt like it would beat out of his chest at any moment, a million questions going through his mind.

He was so deep in thought he didn't hear his mom get up from the couch and approach him till he felt her hand on his shoulder.

"Sweetie are you okay?" His mom asked him worried.

The two men stopped glaring at eachother now focused on Izuku concerned for him.

Tears came to the greenettes eyes as his voice shook with joy. "Dad!"

Hizashi was then tackled by the boy, slight bits of green lighting appearing on him showing his small use of one for all. Despite Izukus small stature compared to his father's hulking one, Hizashi nearly doubled over feeling like he was punched.

His son was a strong boy, he lamented the years lost since his little green bean was no longer little.

Wrapping his arms around his son Japan's evilest villain patted Izukus head. Causing the ex-symbol of peace to go into a coughing fit, a waterfall of blood pouring from his mouth.

"Dad are you okay?!"

Pushing away from Hizashi Izuku went to check on Toshinori as Inko offered up a handkerchief. Taking it in gratitude Toshinori thanked his wife before reassuring Izuku he was okay. "Thankyou son I'm alright no need to worry." Giving his signature grin he ignored his enemies death glare.

All for One the demon emperor would never admit he's jealous of anyone especially his arch-nemesis. But seeing his son coddle that blonde theif made his blood boil.

"Well this will be a new experience I never thought you'd call someone else dad..." Hizashi said with a strained smile his mouth lighting up with fire for a second.

He could always burn the blonde homewreaker with his fire breath good thing that was the quirk he with.

"Oh I guess it will get really confusing calling you both dad. But what other alternative names for you both? Or I could just call one dad and the other something else...maybe papa could work?" Izuku muttered suddenly, scratching the back of his head.

Both men looked at eachother realizing this could be the deciding factor. They knew that whoever got papa would win, after all it was the cuter of the two choices.

"Alright it's decided then!" Izuku claped his hands together a wide grin growing on his face. Both men sitting in anticipation at the boys verdict. The two looking like they were on a high stakes game show as sweat trickled down their foreheads.

"I'll call you dad" Izuku pointed at Hizashi "and I'll call you papa!" He then pointed to Toshinori.

Toshinori felt like he could do a cheer, his crops were watered, his stomach was back, his scares gone, everything in the universe was right.

That was until he looked over at All for One who he was sure would definitely kill him now if he wasn't going to before. His aura now darker than before as Toshinori's own aura glowed bright with happiness knowing he was the superior father figure in Izukus life.

Meanwhile Izuku ever oblivious to his father's fued just gave his mom his best smile feeling happier to have them in his life. After all they were his family and he wouldn't change that for nothing in the world.

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

Sometime later

Yoichi: Leave brother we will not leave this host!

AFO: Oh I don't want your quirk little brother, no not anymore.

Yoichi: Then why are you here what else could you possibly want?!

AFO: WHAT I WANT IS FOR YOU TO MAKE YOUR GOLDEN BOY LEAVE MY WIFE AND SON ALONE! HE'S RUINING EVERYTHING!

Yoichi: I see so that's what this is about...yeah no this is what you get. Consider this karma goodbye brother.

AFO: OH NO DON'T YOU DARE HANG UP ON ME TELL ALL MI-

Yoichi: *disconnects AFO from Izukus conscious*

AFO: *Sitting in Izukus room while his son sleeps* I can't believe it he hung up on me.

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

AFO: I'll have you know I did alot of good things I'm not a good for nothing scumbag!

Inko: Oh really name one good deed you've done since we got married.

AFO:............Well umm..... Oh! I had Izuku our son!

Inko: Hehe yeah no I had Izuku you just stood there and cried in the corner for 11 hours.

AFO: WELL YOU TRY BEING SUPPORTIVE WHEN YOUR WIFE CALLS YOU A- Wait no actually I adopted a stray child off the streets! That definitely counts as one good deed!

Inko: WHAT!?

AFO: *realizing how bad he messed up* You what happened was....

[haikyuuuuuhypeeeee]

Chapter 7

⚠️WARNING: Mentions of previous characters' deaths, swearing, mention of unhealthy coping mechanism

• ────── ✾ ────── •

You gasp as you wake up, your eyes attempting to discern anything in the dark.

What the…

Not even two seconds ago you were playing volleyball back in the Aoba Johsai gymnasium. It was a silly two on three game, Oikawa and Mattsun vs you, Makki and -

Oh.

Oh.

Tears well up in your eyes, fast and hot. They flow down the side of your face, into your hair and the pillow. You do nothing to stop them, crushed by the sudden wave of sadness.

It was a dream. It was a freaking dream.

You’re alone in your apartment in the middle of the night. You’re a college student at Sendai Uni. You don’t play volleyball.

And Hajime is dead.

The sobs come out unconstrained, as you were too heartbroken to try to stop them. How could you, as it was the only way for you to let out the sorrow and anguish coursing through your blood right now.

C’mon Y/N, get yourself together. You will yourself to calm down, getting the sobs to subside. The tears don’t slow though, as you sit up to grab some tissues from your bedside table. You clean yourself up, sniffling and grabbing your phone.

It’s only just past 1am, and you can’t fathom the idea of falling back asleep. Not when there’s the chance of you falling back into that dream. Not when you can be fooled into thinking that you’re playing volleyball, still trying to receive Oikawa’s serves and laughing when Hajime yells at Makki to take this seriously -

Your eyes well up with fresh tears and you clutch a tissue to your mouth to muffle the cries that want to escape.

The only thing you’re sure about right now is that you don’t want to be alone. You can’t be alone, you just can’t.

You unlock your phone but staring at your screen you don’t know who you can call.

Ok, that’s not true. You have a lot of people you can call. Your parents, Oikawa, Mattsun, Makki, hell even your therapist gave you her cellphone to call if you need her. And you know that all of those people wouldn’t hesitate to listen to you and help you.

But do you want to call any of them?

This isn’t a life or death situation, and you don’t feel like you are a danger to yourself so it would be irresponsible to call your therapist. It’s the middle of the night and your parents still work so you don’t want to wake them up.

That leaves your friends, the people who honestly could still be awake and maybe even wanting to talk to someone. But Makki has Mattsun, and vice versa. Which would leave Oikawa, but honestly? He’s been more than unbearable lately, and you’ve been walking on eggshells around him, scared that anything you say will set him off.

So you’re here, laying in your bed with no one to call. And the one person that you desperately want to call is dead.

Sniffling again and wiping the fresh tears from your eyes you pull up your texts. Maybe you can send a funny meme to Makki and start a meme war - it’ll take your mind off your current predicament at least. But your eyes fall to the chat you have with Osamu, close to the top of your messages.

Huh, you didn’t really think of him.

Not that you wouldn’t want to talk to Osamu. He’s actually very funny, with his dry humor and easy banter. Your friendship, despite its more than unusual beginning, has blossomed into something you’ve come to cherish.

But you can’t bother him with this, no no. You guys can, and have, confide in each other about your struggles and your complicated feelings and emotions. But it’s mainly been small bits and pieces shared over coffee.

But it couldn’t hurt to text him, no?

You wouldn’t say anything about your dream. Maybe you can find a funny meme to send him, or ask a question about lunch tomorrow.

You methodically type out your message, finding a meme to almost perfectly capture your mood (but not too accurately.)

You send the text before talking yourself out of it. It wouldn’t surprise you if Osamu didn’t text you back - it’s late (or early, depending on your opinion) and he should be sleeping.

You sigh deeply, finding yourself back in square one. Square one plus a stuffy nose, aching head and absolutely broken heart. You close out of the messaging app and decide to find some show to binge while you wait for the sun to rise.

Your phone begins vibrating and you’re surprised to see what comes across your screen.

Osamu doesn’t text you back. He calls you.

You pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“I hope that photo isn’t a subtle request to have me come over and cook for ya.” The soft, calm voice coming through the phone makes your chest tighten. It brings a wave of relief because you’re not alone but drowns you in guilt at inconveniencing your friend.

You clear your throat and sniffle. “No, sorry.” Your voice cracks and you wince at how obvious it is that you were just crying.

Osamu picks up on your current state. “Hey, are ya alright?”

He sounds so concerned, the teasing lilt in his voice instantly dropped. Your eyes start to water again and you can’t stop the sob that escapes your lips in time.

“Hey, Y/N are ya okay? Where are you, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” you croak out. Your voice sounds horrible, extremely hoarse and tight as you try not to let more sobs spill out. Gritting your teeth helps keep them at bay but it does nothing to stop the flow of tears. You sniffle, loud.

“Where are you? Are you in danger?”

“No, no. I’m at my apartment. I’m okay.” You take in a shaky breath, sniffling again and clearing your throat. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“It’s okay,” Osamu replies. He doesn’t sound as frantic as he did before but you can detect the worry in his voice. “I was still up so it’s no bother. I don’t even know why I called honestly. I think I just wanted to see what ya were doin’ up.”

“It’s fine, you can call me whenever,” you reply earnestly. “I….just had a dream.”

A split second of hesitation is all you’re allowed to mentally scream at yourself for breaking the one condition you set when you decided to text Osamu. “A dream?”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Yeah, and I’m sorry for bugging you because it’s not fair to you but I just have to tell someone or else I feel like I’m going to fucking suffocate. I know I should just call my friends but they don’t want to hear me go on and on and -”

“Hey, hey Y/N. Calm down and take a breath.” You listen to Osamu, taking a pause to breathe. Your head is now throbbing painfully and your throat feels wretched. “What was yer dream about?”

“I was playing volleyball with my friends and...Hajime.” You are silently screaming at yourself. You were not going to do this to Osamu, you were not going to burden your friend, who is already facing struggles of his own, with your problems.

But...he did ask what your dream was about.

“We were playing volleyball together,” you go on. “And it felt so real, like one minute I was in the middle of a play and the next I was waking up in my bed, searching for the ball. It took me a few seconds to realize that it was all a dream, and, and,” your breath hitches again and you feel more sobs bubbling out. Again you feel the grief take control of your body and you start crying.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay Y/N.” Osamu is trying to soothe you but it’s not doing much to calm you down. If anything the added reassurance was making you cry harder “It’s okay.”

It’s not okay. It’s so far from okay that you can’t even imagine how you would get to okay.

“I’m sorry,” you sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Ya don’t hafta apologize,” Osamu replies. “Just let it out, Y/N.”

Oh boy, do you let it out. You cry and cry, curled up in a ball in your bed, lamenting the loss of your best friend and trying not to drown even more in your sorrow.

But you’re not alone, really. There’s not another person in the apartment with you, but you have Osamu on the phone right now. He’s reaching out to you, reaching through the dark and trying to get to you.

You’re not alone.

You feel the sobs subsiding as your breathing returns to normal. Your entire head is throbbing, you have no chance of breathing out of your nose and your eyes are painfully dry.

“Are ya alright?”

“Yeah,” you rasp out. “I’m sorry again, for that.”

“Ya don’t ever have to apologize to me,” Osamu says immediately. His insistence brings a small smile to your face. “If ya ever need to talk about yer dreams or anything, that’s what I’m here for.”

“Thank you,” you reply. Your voice is nasally but you try to get as much sincerity in it as possible.

“Of course, and ya can call whenever. I don’t sleep so there’s a good chance ya’ll catch me anytime.”

You pause in wiping your face with your tissues as you take in what Osamu is telling you. “You don’t…sleep?”

“Nah.” Osamu's nonchalant answer makes your cock your head in confusion. “I don’t think I can remember the last time I actually slept through an entire night.”

“So,” you pause, still not comprehending. “What do you…do?”

“I do my homework, I’ve got a job at the convenience store and I usually work the night shift. Sometimes I read or binge watch a new show.” He laughs. “Usually every three or four days I just pass out for 14 hours or so, and then repeat.”

“Osamu,” you chastise. “That’s not healthy.”

He laughs again but it’s not the light chuckle from before - it’s a hollow laugh with a hard edge. “Yeah, well it stops me from havin’ the kind of dreams yer havin’. The kind where I forget that my brother is dead.”

You’re taken aback from the harshness in Osamu’s voice. It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sound like that. It could be considered in the same category as his usual tone - dry, sarcastic and nearly apathetic. But his regular tone is part of his sense of humor and how you two converse. You’ve never felt unease from those conversations, but now you do.

“And ya know what's worse than those little dreams?” Osamu doesn’t wait for input. “The worst is when I’m not even asleep and my stupid brain will give me random reminders from when my brother was alive. Like ‘don’t forget to wake up early and shower before Atsumu uses all the hot water!’ Or,” Osamu takes in a harsh breath, the noise making your phone speaker crackle. “Or the reminder to grab another sports drink at the store for Atsumu because he’s a scrub but he’s my brother and I love him. Or to save the mushrooms from my dinner even though they’re gross but Atsumu will trade his broccoli for them.”

Osamu blasts on, speaking fervently. Someone listening in would think he’s mad at you, but you know his frustration isn’t directed at you.

“But then I remember that I live alone, and I don’t need two bottles of sports drink and my plate is full of fucking mushrooms for no god damn reason.”

“And then, after feeling like the world’s biggest idiot for forgetting that my own twin brother is dead, I remember how alone I am.” He lets out another laugh, but it’s not light nor is it bitter. It’s worse, full of self-deprecation and pain.

You wait with bated breath, waiting for any sign on life through the phone. But when Osamu speaks, a small, broken voice comes through the line and nearly breaks your heart.

“It’s like - finding a life raft in the middle of the ocean but when you get to it it’s just a bundle of seaweed - it gets me every time.”

You inhale quietly. You want to reassure him but you can’t find the right words to say.

You can’t, because you know exactly how it feels.

The cold hard truth is that Iwaizumi Hajime is dead. There is nothing in the world that can bring him back, and there is nothing you can do to change that fact. Some days you can accept this fact easier than others.

On the easy days you feel most like yourself carrying a small rock. The weight of Hajime’s death will be something you will always carry with you. But on those easy days you can slip the rock in your pocket or hold it in your hand and carry on through life.

On the hard days it takes way more effort to lug the boulder around. You don’t know if you should drag it, heft it over your shoulder, tie a rope around it and yank hard. Sometimes you’re left to your own devices, sometimes your therapist or your parents can tell you the best way to carry it. Even your friends have stepped in to help you carry it, despite their own rocks to hold.

But the absolute worst days are the ones where you lose the rock, but you haven’t realized it. Where are you going to find it? In your pocket? Your bag? Will you trip over it?

Or will it come crashing down on you like an asteroid hellbent on wiping you out?

And it’s not even the impact that’s the worst part! Sure, this asteroid comes down on you with enough force to kill you, but the shockwave is what really destroys you.

When you have those moments when you forget that your Hajime is dead, the realization of his nonexistence is the asteroid’s impact on you. The cruel realization that his nonexistence is permanent for the remainder of your life is the shockwave.

This cruel one-two punch is devastating. It knocks you down and out, merciless in it’s destruction.

For what it’s worth, Osamu’s solution to dodging that one-two punch is not terrible, although it will have major consequences for his body and mind that he will have to face someday. But you can’t blame him for doing something to avoid the heavy blow.

It does destroy. It does make you feel like you’re drowning. It does nearly kill you.

“Ah, I think she fell asleep.” You’ve been quiet for so long that Osamu thinks you’ve fallen asleep on the phone.

“No, I'm here.” You murmur. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Ah, a dangerous pastime.” Osamu jokes, but it doesn’t quite land. Could be from his full disclosure or from the strained laugh he gives at the end of the sentence.

“It is,” you agree. “But I was thinking about what you said.” He doesn’t respond, letting you continue. “And I just wanted to say...I get it.”

There’s silence on the other end. It’s so quiet that you fear for a second that Osamu has hung up the phone in anger, or maybe he’s drifted off to sleep. But then you hear another breathy exhale, a laugh from a person who is the furthest from laughing.

“Ya know Y/N? I think you’re the only person who does.”

You exhale and close your eyes. You find it hard to open them back up, pure exhaustion taking over your body.

“We’re still on for lunch tomorrow, right?”

“Of course,” Osamu answers. “But ya gotta rest now if ya wanna wake up in time for it.”

A small smile crosses your face. “Sure. Promise me you’ll try to get some sleep too?”

A noncommittal hum is the answer you receive, not ideal but you don’t push him. You feel brittle and fragile, and you’re sure he’s the same.

“Osamu, thank you.” You want to convey how thankful you are, not only that he called you tonight but for coming into your life at a time where you needed a friendly face. You know your gratitude doesn’t come close to covering the vast expanse of your gratefulness but you hope you’ll have time to show him.

“No worries, get some sleep. I’ll see ya tomorrow. Good night Y/N.”

“Good night Osamu.” Your eyes slip close, and you let yourself fall into a dreamless sleep.

• ────── ✾ ────── •

A/N: 😔😔 y’all this story is making me Big Sad and I wrote it. 🥲 Thank you so much for reading!!! I should probably mention that the time stamps in the chat and on the tweets and such are accurate - the story is moving right along!

Taglist Open! Please send an Ask with the request to be added to It’s [Not] Okay Fic & SMAU: @psycho-nightrose @camcam1617 @kamalymaly @toobsessedsstuff @shookykookie30 @roro-707 @qualitygiantshoepsychic @cerealfrdinner797 @ara-mitsue @gray-444 @tanakasimpcorner @rintarovibes @jellien @everytimeswift @bongofrito

[kuromantic]

Tales of Zombish: Haikyuu Light Novel Translation

*This is my translation of the Zombie Knight Zombish snippets from the light novel. It’s split into 5 parts, and inserted between each chapter of the light novel. Don’t copy this to another site. The translation is under the cut!

Zombie Knight Zombish

 1: Zombish is Born!!

Nightfall. A lone swordsman wakes up. A swordsman that does not know of true death, because of experiencing a false death. 

“...Wait, it’s still evening, you stupid crow!” 

The man yells at the small crow beside him, having just woken up by a thin bush. The man’s body was wrapped up in an old, tattered cloth—which must have been a cloak some time ago—which covered his entire body. 

“I could have gotten burned by the setting sun…” The man blocks out the sunlight with the tattered cloth, and the crow caws apologetically. 

“Well, it’s okay. I don’t even have a body that can be burned.” 

The man laughs, and the crow flaps its black wings, flying ahead up into the sky. The man follows it with his gaze, squinting at the brightness. He stands up. 

“Oh, well. Guess I’ll go.” 

The man starts to walk. His frame was thin and delicate, which could be seen even when it was covered with the tattered cloth. And on his back, was a sword. 

The sword, which is large enough to not be recognized as one at first glance, does not suit the lean man. 

“Man, I wonder if a car will pass by… Eh, I guess no sane person would have gasoline now.” 

There’s no road where the man looks ahead. 

In the dead world where smokey, dried up wastelands stretch out for seemingly forever, the man continues to walk alone today.

“Yeah, isn’t this good? Isn’t this good? It sounds like the story’s just begun, right?” 

The rookie mangaka, Udai Tenma, stands up with an excited face and gets another drink from the self-service fountains. He returns to his table with a glass of cola in his hand. He continues working on his storyboard. 

The only equipment on the table is a notebook, a pencil and an eraser. On the open page, there are scribbles that nobody else could decipher. It’s the storyboard Udai made with all his effort. 

I wanna try and make a manga. I like it. With that, Udai had drawn a manga during his college years. And it had won an honourable mention in the rookie awards. He had gotten an editor and debuted as a mangaka. But the reality was, he wasn’t quite reaching serialization. 

But now, “Zombie Knight Zombish”, is being created in the restaurant. And there’s a confidence that hasn’t been there before. 

“‘Everything but death is nothing but a scratch’? He needs to get over himself… No, maybe ‘Mortal bodies, they make me jealous.’...” 

Udai mumbles dialogues to himself, changing his expressions to suit the main character’s. The other customers at the restaurant glance at him. 

But he can’t afford to care about those gazes.

Zombish needs to help the heroine attacked by the enemy, in an extremely cool and overdramatic manner. 

And the enemy has to be a fated opponent that Zombish has known before turning into a zombie. The heroine needs to be a key person, for Zombish to return from zombie to human. And of course, she needs to be cute, a little strong-willed, who tries to join in on the fighting sometimes. But also a girl who you just want to protect…

A flash. 

The girl’s eyes can only capture the white hand, emerging from the tattered cloth and gripping the sword on his back. 

She feels wind brush past her cheeks, and closes her eyes. She opens them again, and the bandits have already collapsed onto the dry ground. 

“Huh? What…?” 

As the girl struggles to comprehend what had happened, Zombish is already starting to walk away. 

“Hey, don’t leave me behind!” 

She grabs the knight. At that moment, the tattered cloth on him rips and falls to the ground. 

What appears is not the handsome knight she expected. Nor a fighter that’s big and well-muscled. It’s a skeleton. 

“...Wait, bone?! Why bone! Bone? Wait, do bones even talk?!” 

“Yeah, I’m bone! So sorry I’m bone, sue me!” 

The knight picks up the truly tattered piece of rag, and hides his body. It truly looks like a skeletal model. He turns his back to the girl. 

“Anyway, I’m bone. So I can’t go with you. Protect yourself, you’re on your own.” 

The “bone”, that had slain a crowd of bandits instantly, tries to walk away from one single girl, as if to escape from her. 

Staring at Zombish’s lanky, weak-looking back and the huge sword on it, the girl shouts over at him. 

“Hey, bone! Can you eat?” 

Zombish turns around, lifts the tattered cloth, and points around his stomach with a laugh. 

“You wanna see me eat? It’s hilarious.” 

“If you don’t eat… That means I don’t have to share my food or water with you, right?”

“Huh?” 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re bone or not, if you can defeat these guys. You’re pretty strong.” The girl points to the iron-clad, muscular bandit with a mohawk. “And I should sew that cloth I ripped back together…” 

Zombish laughs, his hard skull distorting a little. “I’m not strong. Those guys are just small fries. But I guess I’ll have you fix this cloth for me.” 

At those words, the girl runs up to him. 

In the dried-up world of death, two footsteps mark their paths. Up above in the sky, a crow flies around in circles. As if to watch over them. 

Zombish’s journey has just started!! 

“I wonder what my editor will say…” 

 The man, once the “Little Giant”, leaves the restaurant and returns home. And without changing his clothes, collapses into his futon for the first time in a while.

2. VS Editor A!! 

“Zombies aren’t usually skeletons, right?” Akaashi Keiji opens his heavy mouth, holding his coffee in one hand. It makes Akaashi heavy-hearted to meddle with a work an author brought to him. 

Kanda, Chiyoda City, Tokyo. 

In the editorial department of Weekly Shonen Vie, there’s an extreme lack of people in the afternoon. 

The rookie mangaka, Udai Tenma, freezes momentarily in the meeting space. And he attempts to brush it off with a laugh. 

“Yeah, I thought, ‘Is a skeleton okay?’ for a bit. But maybe a Japanese-style zombie would be new, and I thought I could pull it off. We all get cremated in Japan, too. Hahaha.” 

“I see.” 

Akaashi looks at the copy of “Zombie Knight Zombish” on the table, and Udai laughing in front of him. And he says one more time, with force behind his words. That this is the last time he’ll say this, and he won’t say the same thing again. 

“Zombies aren’t usually skeletons, right.” 

The question mark had disappeared. 

It’s not a question, but a confirmation of fact. 

“...Yeah.” Udai replies weakly. He drops his shoulders, and bites the straw of his cola. 

 It’s tough. 

It had been his best work. He had a confidence in it, that he hadn’t before with his other works. But his concept had been fundamentally criticized. 

The editor continues talking to the crestfallen Udai. 

“And one more thing.” 

“...What is it?” 

Udai hunches his shoulders, looking up at Akaashi like a scolded child. Akaashi sips his coffee, adjusts his glasses and lets out a breath. He opens his mouth slowly. 

“We’ve established that a skeleton is not a zombie. But I think this skeleton’s design is a little lacking, in the first place. It’s no different to any old skeleton. For the main character, I want a quirk that will tell you it’s Zombish with just one look.” 

“Any old skeleton?” Udai says, and draws a normal-looking skeleton into his notebook. 

“Yes. For example, he could be wearing glasses, or he could have a large scar. I want a unique design. Even if you draw him simply, you would know it’s him. If I were to ask for more, I’d even say make his silhouette recognizable. That’s how strong his design should be.” 

Udai adds a scar to his skeleton, and mumbles, “I guess it can’t be a scar, if his silhouette has to be recognizable.” 

“The scar is just one example.” 

“I’m sorry…” 

Udai slurps the cola at the bottom of the glass, which is pretty much melted ice. He laughs disappointedly. 

“I thought the skeleton was fine, since he was cremated. Like a Japanese-style zombie. Well, there’s no zombie-ness, I guess…” 

At those words, Akaashi’s glasses shine. 

“Then… How about you make Zombish look more Japanese? It could link with his sword, too.” 

“What?” 

“Well, this is just one what-if scenario.” 

“...No, I think it could work. I’ll think about it! Then maybe he can look different from any old zombie!” Udai grabs his pen, and draws a Japanese-style zombie in his notebook. “If it’s Japanese clothes and a sword, he’d just be a samurai… How do I give him the zombie knight feeling…”

Watching the pen move busily and create many versions of Zombish, Akaashi feels a weight lift from his heart. 

It makes him heavy-hearted to meddle with other people’s works. But sometimes, his words make the author take a step in a good direction. That must be why he can continue with this job. 

“So now, please brush up on the work. And, depending on the edited manuscript, I may bring it up during the serialization meeting.” 

Udai’s pen stops moving. “Wait, why?! You’ve been talking about my work so harshly and tearing into it this whole time!” 

“...I haven’t been tearing into it. It’s entertaining, so I just want to make the story even more entertaining.” 

Udai’s face crumples, as he looks up at Akaashi. “Akaashi-san, you weren’t just an unpleasant person, after all!” 

“I’m an unpleasant person…?” 

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean it that way! I meant it in an um, good way!” 

Akaashi doesn’t ask what exactly he means by that, and organizes the manuscript. “Zombish is very entertaining, compared to the works you have brought me so far. I think you have a chance.” 

“Thank you!” 

“Oh, and lastly…” 

“There’s… still more?” Udai tenses. 

 Akaashi chuckles, before talking. “I’ve been thinking for a while, but this bit on the edge of the page, saying ‘Zombish’s journey has only just begun!’. You don’t need to write that. It’s the editor’s job.” 

“...!!”

4. Get Serialized!! 

It’s just past noon. Noticing that the phone is ringing, Udai reaches out from under the futon. He checks, and realizes it’s Akaashi. He gets out of the futon in a hurry, and answers. 

“You were asleep.” Akaashi says, in the same straightforward tone. 

“...I’m sorry.” 

“No, I’m sorry too. I’m going to get into it. Your one-shot is well-received.” 

At those words, Udai’s hand begins to sweat. He had been told to make a one-shot for the extra issue, and had made “Zombie Knight Zombish” with everything he’d got. 

He had changed Zombish’s design into a young man with patchwork skin, after Akaashi’s critique. He likes the way the bandages show around his collar. It can’t have been a skeleton, he thinks. It’s hard to relate to a skeleton. 

The “recognizable by silhouette” task had been cleared with the axe on his head. The zombie knight element was incorporated, by making him detach his left arm to wield his sword. Maybe they’ll make a movable figure out of the character. 

Above all, it was a work he’d been confident in. If it had still been absolutely hopeless, Udai wouldn’t have been able to recover from it. 

“Thank god…” Udai feels the tension drain out of him, and Akaashi continues. 

“And now, I would like to brush up Zombish to prepare for serialization.” 

“Of course! With pleasure!” Udai answers with gusto, almost like an izakaya employee. 

“Firstly, your heroine.” 

“Yes!” 

I should probably fix up the heroine a bit more, Udai thinks. Make her cuter, better… But Akaashi doesn’t steer the conversation in that direction. 

“In the one-shot, Zombish saves her, and they decide to go on a journey together, and it ends there.” 

“Huh? Oh, yes.” 

“If the one-shot will be chapter one, are they going to be travelling together in chapter two and beyond?” 

It’s not anything fun, like about making the heroine have a good figure or about how revealing her clothes should be. 

And really, Udai hadn’t been thinking what would happen once it got serialized. Well, he supposes it would be like what Akaashi just said. 

“Wouldn’t the readers grow bored of that?” As if to read Udai’s mind, Akaashi says. 

“What?” 

“The main character and the heroine go on a journey together the whole time, an enemy appears, he saves her, he defeats the enemy, and then moves on. And they continue like that until the final boss.” 

“Yeah…” 

“Wouldn’t that bore people?” 

Wait, am I getting given out to? 

No, he’d only been thinking of the one-shot as a base, so he hadn’t set anything beyond that in stone. He had only thought that leaving the readers hoping for more would be enough. 

“...Um, if it’s possible, I’d like to talk about this in person.” Udai says, wiping the sweat off his palms with his t-shirt. 

“All right. When are you free?” 

And so, in the editorial department the day after, the brainstorming session in the meeting space had continued for more than two hours. 

“So then, instead of a heroine that just keeps getting saved…” 

“She’d be like a buddy that also gives witty comebacks.” 

Udai draws a bunch of expressions for the female character. Flustered, angry, glaring… He stops his pen, and looks at Akaashi. 

“Then maybe Zombish will have a goofy side, instead of just being cool?” 

“But please don’t make it into a gag manga. Looking at the survey results, there are a lot of people saying that the manga is interesting because Zombish is cool.” Akaashi answers, looking at the survey chart. 

“I see… Balancing it out is hard.” Udai draws out a bunch of Zombish’s expressions in his notebook, and laughs. “But it’s fun. It feels like I’m making a manga.” 

“It’s good to hear that.” Akaashi smiles for a moment, and continues. “And also, about the enemy. Instead of them being a group of bandits in the harsh world, making them an organization would add depth to the story.” 

“Oh, maybe they’re the reason Zombish turned into a zombie?” 

“Sounds good.” 

Udai’s mood lifts from Akaashi’s acknowledgement, and opens up a page earlier on in his notebook. 

“Look here! The final boss is a fated opponent from before Zombish turned into a zombie. And the heroine is a key person for Zombish to turn back into a human. So I thought right now, maybe the heroine is the daughter of the final boss.” 

In contrast to the excited Udai, Akaashi lets out a low groan of uncertainty. 

“...So what, exactly, is Zombish fighting for?” 

“You always ask questions that can make the whole thing fall apart, Akaashi-san.” 

“Well, isn’t that the most important part?” 

Expanding ideas simple-mindedly is fun. The more he expands, picking up the pieces and making the story coherent will be hell, though. But knowing that, talking about final bosses and rivals is genuinely fun. 

“Secret hideouts are great, aren’t they?” 

“If they’ve taken over this world, isn’t there no need to keep it a secret? Something that would display their power…” 

“A castle!”

7. Secret Technique: Bolster Up! 

Just after serialization, the response had been very good. It had been. Udai had been in a good mood, asking “This will definitely be turned into an anime, right?” 

But now, it had gotten to a point where they couldn’t let it get any lower on the survey rankings. 

“........” 

“Are you okay?” Akaashi’s senior sees him with his head in his hands, and speaks to him. 

“...Oh, yes.” 

“It’s about Zombish, right? You should bolster it up with something. Like, with a pretty girl or a handsome guy,” the senior says. “Well, I don’t know.” He returns to his seat, after saying his part. 

“Bolster it up…” 

Akaashi’s brows knit together. 

Would that be enough? Could such a hasty, superficial solution entertain the readers? Well, the current results point to the fact that they’re not entertained. But even so, shouldn’t they be charming the audience with the protagonist’s appeal, or how interesting the story is? 

“The protagonist’s appeal, huh…” 

But what are the features of a protagonist that will be loved? 

What kind of story makes the readers want to come back for more? 

“.....” 

It would be the anticipation the readers have for the main character. What will happen next week? What will he show us next? Expectations as such. There must have been a lack of absolute protagonist strength, if he thinks about it. 

But that was the result of trying to create a dark fantasy, painting a delicate picture of emotions. Precisely because it was an absurd world with a zombie knight appearing in it. Was that what they had done wrong? Was it impossible for his literature department-aspiring self to make an entertaining manga, after all…?

After pondering for a long time, Akaashi lifts his head with a start. 

“....!” 

Wait a minute. 

Am I making the same mistake again? 

Am I thinking I could control the author and the readers? 

“...No. Pour your spirit into each ball, pour your spirit into each ball…” 

Yes. Focus on the next point, the next ball. Focus on this week’s story, the obstacle the protagonist must overcome. 

His desk becomes messier each day, as if to reflect inside his heart. Akaashi closes his eyes, and focuses his mental state. 

“Don’t think about what’s easy, think about what’s fun. What’s fun…” 

The survey rankings going down, getting discontinued isn’t fun. Then what is he meant to do…?

“Give feedback… Connect it to the next step… The next…” 

The seniors look at Akaashi worriedly, in front of the printer. 

“Akaashi is muttering to himself again, is he okay? He won’t quit, will he?” 

“He always comes back to life afterwards, you can leave him alone.” 

“Yep.”

“I want an absolute, strong main character.” Akaashi says to Udai, during their meeting. 

“Absolute?” 

“Yes. Like a star that hits any ball with his utmost ability.” 

“Am I going to get discontinued?!” 

Udai stands up with a clatter, face growing pale. Akaashi shakes his head quietly. 

“...Please calm down. It’s not getting discontinued, yet.” 

“...Yet…” Udai shrinks, and sits back down. 

“It’s a tough situation, but let’s turn things around.” 

They’re burning their bridges behind them. 

On the walls around the meeting space, there are many posters of works that had been turned into anime and movies. And the cardboard boxes blocking the corridor are packed with samples of goods. 

They have to join the ranks of those popular works, at all cost…!

Akaashi brings his gaze back to Udai, and starts to summarize the things he had thought about for the past week. 

“The main character… Zombish is a ‘star’. The readers have expectations for the star. What will he do next? What awesome moves will he show us? What kind of crazy risks will he take?

“We want the main character to amaze us with unexpected, yet charming actions. Whether Zombish sinks or swims will depend on how he overcomes next week’s desperate situation.” 

Akaashi lifts the paper bag on the floor. “And there’s a favour I want to ask from you.” 

“What’s this? I was wondering about it for a while.” The paper bag handed to him is unexpectedly heavy. Udai glances inside. “A blu-ray?” 

“Yes. I picked out swashbuckler films of all types, that have useful scenes for composition and pose references. At this point, we should take in anything cool and flashy.” 

“Thank you!”

“Also, it will be hard for you to watch it all, so I wrote the times for scenes I want you to watch.” Akaashi gives him a note. 

“I’ll definitely watch it! I’ll use them as references!” 

“I’ll do anything I can as well. Let’s both try our best.” 

There’s no way Akaashi can control what story the author will bring to him, what the other works will be like, how the readers will react. 

So, he should think about what he can do, what he should do. 

Avoiding discontinuation— it’s hard, but it shouldn’t be impossible.

10. Our fight has only just begun! 

“Zombish is getting discontinued… You have seven chapters left…” 

After getting the phone call informing him of the discontinuation, Udai had gone outside. Staying in his room felt too painful. But why, and how he’d come to the editing department, he doesn’t remember. 

Akaashi had been taken aback, after Udai had come without contacting him. But one look at his face, and he knew he couldn’t leave him by himself. And so he had taken him to a nearby coffee shop to talk to him. It was just his luck that he hadn’t gone outside the company. 

“Please order anything you like.” 

Akaashi gives the menu to Udai sitting opposite to him, but Udai drops it onto the table, not having enough energy to hold it. 

Akaashi pulls the menu closer to himself, trying not to show his shock. “Is coffee all right, then?” 

“........” 

There’s no answer, but Akaashi asks for two cups of coffee from the waiter. He chooses his words carefully, and begins to speak. 

“We had unfortunate results this time, but…” Akaashi continues, to the dejected Udai. “And as a suggestion from me…”

“........”

“I would like to get a fresh start with a new work. We should solidify the concept more for your next work, and compete with a work only you can make.” 

“Next…?” Udai raises his head at last, only to slam it back into the table. “There’s nothing! There’s no such thing that only I can make!” He lifts his crumpled face, and yells. 

“That’s not true. There must be something…”

“It is too! There’s nothing!”

Akaashi can only bite his lip, while his assigned author descends into total panic. 

What should he do…

He can’t just say “Bye, then,” and leave him feeling downcast. He had wanted to part ways with him in a positive manner, connecting him to the next step. That might just be his own ego talking, though.

“...I’m sure there’s a good theme for you. Is there anything you liked as a child, or something you put your heart into?” 

“I’m just a jack-of-all-trades, average guy. I’ve just gotten by in regards to study, sports, art and music…” 

When Udai had been in good form, he had preened about it, saying “I can do pretty much anything!”, but now he’s totally dejected. Well, that can’t be helped. He’s getting discontinued, after all. 

The only thing Akaashi can do, is to tell him his completely honest thoughts. 

“I don’t think a serialized author is just a jack-of-all-trades, average person.” 

“I’m not a serialized author anymore, I’m a discontinued author…”

At that moment, the waiter arrives. He shows a slightly intrigued face at Udai’s words, but immediately puts on his professional face and turns on his heels. 

Akaashi takes the cup, and inhales the aroma of coffee to calm himself down. He thinks. Maybe he should make some small talk, and change the mood. 

What should he talk about? Not about his work, or about what lays ahead. Then, about Udai himself? He wonders what he had talked about with him recently. What club had he joined in college? Where was he from? 

And he remembers. 

“Udai-san, you told me before that you’re from Tohoku. Were there any unusual traditions there? That you can write a manga about.” 

“...Yeah, I’m from Miyagi. But I lived in a normal estate, it was all pretty normal.” 

Udai says with a hoarse voice, and absentmindedly puts sugar cubes into his coffee. Many, many sugar cubes. Akaashi thinks he’s adding a bit too much, but there’s an atmosphere around them that makes him unable to say that. 

“Well, maybe where I live is in the middle of nowhere in the countryside, to you. You’re from Tokyo, after all.” 

“That’s not…”

Akaashi thinks that Udai is getting a little too dejected with him, but he can’t be blamed. “Zombie Knight Zombish” is Udai’s first serialization, and his first discontinuation. 

Food, sleep… Udai had sacrificed such human necessities, and yet his work had not been well-received. Of course he would be dejected. 

And as a new employee, “Zombie Knight Zombish” was Akaashi’s first work that he had launched from nothing. Due to being emotionally invested in it, Akaashi had felt deeply disappointed about the decision made for Zombish. 

Which is exactly why he had wanted to end it on a positive note. Surely there’s something in common with them, that they can talk about…

Akaashi, feeling cornered, opens his mouth. And starts to talk about something unexpected, even to himself.

“...Actually, I have someone I know in Miyagi. It was in relation to the club I was in during high school.” 

“I see.” 

Udai stirs his coffee with lifeless eyes, not picking up the conversation at all. He doesn’t even drink the coffee that is surely too sweet. 

“........” 

Of course. Someone else’s high school years is the most irrelevant subject to Udai right now. But really, what should he do? Telling someone they’re being discontinued, and thinking of what happens afterwards, is a first for Akaashi. And it’s a big job. He isn’t sure what the correct thing to do is. 

Akaashi falls silent, and Udai opens his mouth. “...What club were you in, during high school?”  He asks, not sounding that interested. It feels more like he asked out of obligation, because there was a break in the conversation. 

Akaashi feels regret, after realizing he’s made Udai read the room for him. But at the same time, he feels relieved that some of Udai’s energy has come back. 

“Volleyball.” 

“I see. I did volleyball, too.” Udai says. “During my years, we went to the Spring High nationals, too.” 

At those words, Akaashi places the coffee he had lifted back onto the table. 

“Oh, me… too.” 

“Really?! That’s amazing, Akaashi-san!” 

“No, you too.” 

And with a light premonition, Akaashi asks. “...Which school did you attend in Miyagi?” 

“It’s not a powerhouse, so I don’t know if you’d know…” Udai laughs, before answering. “It’s called Karasuno.”

Please look forward to Udai-sensei’s next work, “Meteo Attack”! 

[zakthefiend]

The Shadow of the Night

(Happy Birthday @pebster​! I hope this adds to the celebration very well! Damn it’s been awhile since I’ve done one of these hasn’t it? Life gets in the way, new hyperfixations, Tumblr constantly killing itself, same old and same old. Well I feel like I’ve written a lot from other sources so why not return to my first MMORPG with a bang! Tyrande VS Sylvanas! Night Warrior vs Banshee Queen! Personally I didn’t much care for the cinematic, looked nice but I’ve long since given up on Blizzard actually doing good with their characters. That aside, my personal thoughts on WoW deserves it’s own separate post and shouldn’t be here where I gift an old muse and friend of mine something she’s probably been wanting for a long time. So without further adieu, I hope you enjoy!)

Ciradel lunges forward with her moon blades ready, her Elven weapons focused on their mark and their serrated edges threatened to rend the Banshee’s neck wide open! Suddenly she feels a shadow over take her chest before a sudden force smashed into her chest and sent her hurdling back! Her back slams into the ground, the force shaking her to her very core as she tried to pull herself back up. The Warden could barely catch her breath from such an attack yet willed herself back on her feet. Her fellow wardens were trapped in the midst of battle with the Jailer’s forces, and only she could delay Sylvanas from completing her ritual at that moment.

“Damn it!” She curses, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth quickly as she coughed some up in her helmet. Her hands rested over her chest and felt the overall damage. A cracked breastplate would explain why some of her ribs feel almost like dust now. Ciradel tried to regain focus, focusing on her stance again before drawing her moon blade again. Her breathing was ragged but as a Warden of Elune she must fulfill her duty before death!

Sylvanas simply took a glance at her before refocusing on the ritual once more, her attentions better spent on something far more important than Elune’s attack dog.

The Warden tried to move but found herself stumbling too much and ultimately fell to her knees. She tears off her helmet and coughs loudly while sucking in as much air as she could. Her hands gripped the grass beneath her and watched it slowly change colors from teal to black and grey. She felt the plants wither in her gauntlets and further inspection shows it all but ash in her hands. The sight of it, the smell of death that now permeated the air, it flashed images of her home before her eyes. The devastation brought on by the War of Thorn and the burning of Teldrassil ran before her very eyes. The faint screams and dying flames filling her minds and dulling her hearing before ultimately succumbing to the crushing weight of despair upon her shoulders.

“Poor lost soldier...” Sylvanas says, lowering herself to the ground and standing over Ciradel with a slight smirk on her face. “So hard you have fought for kin and nation, to stand for Elune only to watch her leave you to your fate. It reminds me so much of an old life I once had.” 

Ciradel looks up, but not with a face of fear or intense grief, she stares up defiantly to Sylvanas. Tears running down her cheek as her blood stained teeth gritted as she stares into the Banshee Queen’s scarlet eyes. “I do not fear you, banshee! Kill me and raise my body if you wish, but my mind and soul belongs to the Kaldorei! I will not forsake my people as you have yours!”

That smirk faded, and a dark look overcame the Banshee’s face before drawing her bow. “Then die braver than most, Warden.”

Ciradel prepared for the arrow to make it’s mark, and muttered her prayers before feeling something yank her from her armor collar with such a sheer force of speed that she had thought it teleportation! She quickly gathers herself and the situation, seeing the Banshee Queen almost yards away from where she originally was only centimeters from here the arrow was pointed at her head! 

Then, she saw her.

High Priestess of Elune: Tyrande Whisperwind.

The woman who brought back the Night Warriors to the Night Elves after their darkest hour, the one to have stood against Azshara when she sought to bring Sargeras to the world, and the woman who lead the Night Elves through the many wars and battles Azeroth has had over countless centuries. She stood over Ciradel, almost a towering presence now with the powers of the Night Warrior changed her appearance more now. A moon hovered above her head like a halo, as the markings she had received from her transformation now dazzled like stars upon a night sky, and runes of azure blue glowed across her arms and legs as she held her glaive in her other hand.

She let go of the warden, and gave it a wave and suddenly Ciradel felt her body completely healed of all it’s wounds! She looks up to Tyrande, whose black eyes stared at Sylvanas with a hatred rivaled only by Maev’s loathing of Illidan and of the Xaxa’s himself!

“Go.” She said to Ciradel, treating it less like a demand and more like something she was supposed to do, “Aid the others with repelling these deathless mongrels from these lands. Sylvanas is mine to rend justice upon.”

The Warden looked between the two, feeling these two near demigods were about to engage had her prepared to leave. She stood up quick and looked to Tyrande a final time. “Shaha lor’ma, Tyrande. Elune-Adore, an Andu-Falah-Dor!” Ciradel fled the scene to return to the other Wardens at the battle, leaving those two alone to their battle.

(Darnassian: ”Thank you, Tyrande. Elune be with you, and let the balance be restored!”)

 ______________________________________________________________

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut it with an axe, the two Elves who walked the path of vengeance were faced to face once more. Their previous fight back on Azeroth, where Tyrande had caught up to Sylvanas was interrupted and left unfinished until now. The peerless void filled eyes glared towards Sylvanas, returning the stare with a scowl as the memory of their last fight still burned in her mind.

“So. You found me once again. Did you wish for an award of some kind?” Sylvanas starts, opening her hands and closing them around twin shortswords of Quel’dorei design now warped to reflecting her darker attire now.

Tyrande took out her other Glaive from behind her, and did not hesitate with her answer. “Your head.”

Sylvanas nodded, removing her cloak and tossing it aside and shaked her head free of her cowl before smugly responding to her hunter: “Then come and try.”

Tyrande lunged forward, slamming her galives against Sylavanas’s blades and used her weight to swing the other blade at the banshee’s arm. Sylvanas quickly ducked beneath the swing and pulled her blades down with her and moved in to stab Tyrande in her gut but watched her swing herself out of the way for another slash to the Banshee Queen!

The two Elves were caught in a dance of blades and swords, each moving to a different tune and song of battle and war. Tyrande heard and felt the drums of the Kaldorei beat and boom as thunder inside her mind as she swung and spun herself with the weight of her blades and body against Sylvanas. The Banshee however felt the solemn sounds of a lute strummed and played louder and quicker within her, her parry’s and dodges and counters constantly keeping the other on their toes the entire fight. Neither dared to use their magic for this fight, as this was an almost ritualistic tradition that both Elven women of their races held close to their heart. With every swing that cuts the Banshee, the Priestess felt a stab to the exposed flesh of her armor. With every missed slash of the short swords came the near death experience of the magical glaives coming towards her neck. While the music within them played to different tones and themes, it was the same song that began to control their movements in an almost entranced way.

It ultimately ended when Sylvanas pierced Tyrande’s midsection with her blades, watching the woman drop her weapons from over her head to the ground. It was over.

Sylvanas won.

That is, until Tyrande gripped her fists together and swung a hammerfist across the Quel’dorei’s face! Sylvanas immediately stumbled backwards from the sheer force of the swing before forced to stop when Tyrande stomped her foot down on top of hers and swung a right hook across her face! She pulled her arms up to guard her face from the next punch, but felt an uppercut to her gut nearly shook her entire armor!

Sylvanas forced her foot free, and quickly side stepped the next punch and quickly backed away from the Night Elf to formulate a counter. Unfortunately Tyrande was on top of her the entire time and refused to give her a moment of rest. The next swing slammed into a tree and the bark practically exploded off from the force of the punch! Her knuckles bloodied from the swing, she gritted her teeth towards Sylvanas who used her new powers to bind Tyrande in shadowy chains long enough to catch her breath. In that moment, she realized that the Night Elf still had her swords firmly implanted into her gut! Before anything else could be discovered, a beam of light blasted down from the sky and blasted the Banshee onto the ground! She rolled onto her knees, snapping her fingers as the swords faded away and her bow was summoned into her hands. She quickly took pot shots at Tyrande, who now dashed to grab her Glaives from the ground. She was quick enough to dodge most of the arrows but felt one firmly implanted itself into her shoulder! She let out a quick groan before rolling for her weapons and quickly wielded them to block the next volley of arrows and slashed one in half before charging at her once more.

Sylvanas quickly realized the position she’d be in again if Tyrande was to close the gap again, and transformed into her banshee form to fly out of reach! Just as she turned to fire a shot at the Night Warrior, she saw Tyrande had blasted herself at Sylvanas with a mighty leap and slammed herself into the other Elf and the two came crashing back down to the ground below! 

The air around them swirled with a blackish blue dust cloud, before it revealed Tyrande having impaled Sylvanas in her shoulders. Tyrande pinning her as the markings slowly faded, having expended much of her power to healing the stab wounds in her gut and that powerful leap. She kept herself over the Banshee by kneeling over her midrift. The Quel’dorei groaned in pain as she struggled to fight the Night Warrior off her body.

Tyrande leaned close to the pained expression of Sylvanas with a calm fury over her face, before speaking to her in a cold tone: “For Teldrassil, and Elune’s mercy be upon you.”

She pulled her glaive’s out from Sylvanas’s Shoulders, and impaled her in the chest with her weapons! The Banshee cried out, her hands trying to pull the blades out of her body while cutting her hands on the harsh steel of the blades. This pain forcing her to remember her final moments alive at the hands of Arthas all those years ago, forcing a boiling rage to swell within her at being reminded of such a hated memory. Her head rolled back as the pain shot through her body, her eyes burning with fury and pain as she looked back at the one who had done this to her.

In her eyes, she saw no joy nor satisfaction in this act. There was no pleasure in this act of vengeance. No glee or pride found in the Priestess’s eyes. Instead, she saw only pity. She almost saw a hint of regret behind her cold glare, as if she wished she didn’t have to end this life.

Sylvanas breathed heavily, her breathing ragged as she looked at the Night Warrior who kept the blades embedded into her body. She smirked up to the woman, feeling her blood escaping from her mouth.

“I... I suppose this is wh... where you take my head then? Well go on. Your trophy need only a swipe to claim. Ash karath, Tyrande Whisperwind.”

(Darnassian: “Do it, Tyrande Whisperwind.”)

Tyrande pulls a glaive out from her chest, and raised it over her shoulder. She looked down and took a deep breath, “Selama Ashal’anore.”

(Thalassian: “Justice for our people.”)

Just as she swung down, just before her blade could meet the banshee’s neck, she was interrupted by the Jailer’s minions and slammed off Sylvanas. She was pulled away, as the invading forces retreated and left Tyrande behind. She tossed her Glaive at them, but missed as they were too out of range for her. She watched them get further and further away, her breathing quickening as her anger soon boiled over, and she released a blood curdling scream as loud as she could that echoed across the realm!

Tyrande had won, but failed to finish off Sylvanas this time.

(Author’s note: I know, I know, I know, this is a shitty ending. Look we all want Tyrande to put down Sylvanas after all the shit that had happened between them. Hell, I’m hoping they duke it out and the cinematic gets the animation of Saurfang V Sylvanas! But for now, until we get to see where the story goes, she gotta stay alive. Still, I hope you still enjoyed this fic and hope you have a wonderful birthday Pebs.)

[dionnaea]

Promises

pairing: kenny ackerman x reader (platonic), slight levi x reader

warnings: angst, character death, mild swearing

wc: 4.4k

a/n: so, so sorry this took so long!! i decided to combine these two requests and change them up a little, so i hope that’s okay! i’m really proud of this piece, so i hope you all enjoy it, too. xx

side note: technically this is a sequel to my other fic Pot Meet Kettle but it’s not entirely necessary to read that first.

requests:

Your writing’s so good I’m cryin’... Also, I’d LOVE to see what you have in mind for Kenny and Reader’s background! 👀 Were they both underground? was Reader already in the Corps when they met?? did she learn how to punch creeps from Kenny?? Plus I’m very curious about what he meant by her fixing broken hearts!

could you do a part 2 to the pot meet kettle levi fic? i really loved it and i think it would be cool if you could write a part 2 based off the kenny vs levi scene in season 3? like maybe kenny sees the reader and he's like good to see you again and levi is like mf what idk im not creative :(( sorry if this isn't enough

attack on titan masterlist | general masterlist

After Rod Reiss had been taken down, the scouts were sent to search the ruined fields for survivors. It was unlikely that any were left, but Erwin was adamant that no soldier would be left behind. You respected him for that, and went on your way to do your job. 

As you wandered, you ran into a returning scout, someone you didn’t know the name of but were sure had been paired with the Captain for this mission. His head was down as he walked, like there was something he had seen that he shouldn’t have, and your mind began to fill with worries for Levi. Had something happened? 

Making your steps slightly heavier in the grass so that he would notice you, the man finally looked up, quickly saluting to his superior. You brushed him off, instead getting down to business. 

“Where’s Captain Levi, cadet?” 

The man’s eyes darted away from your own before he answered. “Taking care of something, I think.”

You raised an eyebrow in suspicion at the soldier’s weary tone. “Oh? And what is he taking care of, might I ask?” Everything about this seemed peculiar, and you weren’t having it. 

“I don’t know. Something… personal.” When he finally met your gaze, he relented, sacrificing the Captain’s privacy for his own sake, too scared to see what your reaction would be if he kept playing coy. “He’s that way, by the big oak tree,” he stated, pointing in the direction he came. 

You squinted, making out the shadow of the tree in the setting sun. You dismissed the cadet, and quickly made your way towards Levi, his body becoming clearer as you approached. Once you were a reasonable distance away, you called out, but were met with silence. As your worry grew, you moved faster, only stopping when you realized what was going on. 

Levi was kneeling, his body covering the person in front of him. It didn’t matter, you’d recognize those spurs anywhere. 

“Kenny?” The name was uttered in disbelief, and as you stepped around Levi, your eyes grew wide with fear. “Kenny!” 

Immediately, you jumped into action, your scout training taking hold of your body as you knelt by your friend. Your hands hovered over his burnt and bloodied body, not knowing where to start but ignoring the possibility that it was too late. “How… How do I help you? I-I don’t know what to do.” Your eyes were tearing up, and your breathing was getting ragged as you struggled to find some solution. “Please, Kenny, tell me how to help!” 

“Kitten…” His voice was rough as he spoke, his usual tones of confidence and charisma gone. You met his half-closed eyes with your wet ones, begging for him to give you some answer, some, any sort of reassurance that things would be alright. 

“Please,” you pleaded. You had never sounded this pitiful in your life, but you didn’t care, and as his shaking hand grabbed your own, a sob wracked your body. “Kenny, please. Please stay.” You couldn’t help, you knew that, but you hoped for once in his life he would listen to you. 

His eyes began to shut, and his voice fell to a whisper as he said, “Stay safe, kitten.” With a barely there squeeze of your hand, his body went limp, his hand dropping from your grasp.  

You stared in silence, shock overtaking you for a moment. But then, all you felt was anger. “No. No! You promised!” You were yelling at this point, fist reaching out to bang on Kenny’s chest in retaliation. A strong grip on your wrist stopped you, but you weren’t done. As if he could read your mind, Levi wrapped his free arm around your waist, pulling you back from the now dead man. You were screeching obscenities at both Kenny and Levi as you struggled to break free. Soon, your screams turned into sobs, and as you fell limp into Levi’s arms, you let out one last whimper, a last cry for help. “You promised.”

Later that night, as you pulled a camisole over your head, a knock sounded on your quarters’ door. Truthfully, you had absolutely no desire to talk to anyone. You had had a long day, you had just changed into your pajamas, and you weren’t in the mood to join your fellow soldiers in celebration. Still, you pulled the door open a few inches, hoping it would be someone you could easily send away. To your surprise, Levi stood outside dressed in plain clothes and hair wet from what you presumed was a shower. Even more surprising was the newly formed bruise on his cheekbone. The reddish-purple mark stood out against his normally flawless skin, and you found yourself staring, only Levi’s sharp voice bringing you back to reality. 

“You did that, you know,” he commented with a blank face. 

“What?” You opened the door a bit more, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

His left eyebrow cocked up just barely. “When you went berserk earlier. Before I managed to snag both of your wrists,” he explained. He reached up a hand to brush against his cheek. “Damn, you hit hard.” 

You weren’t sure, but the tone in the man’s voice made you think that maybe, just maybe, he was trying to cheer you up. Against your will, the corners of your mouth turned up the slightest bit. “Did you expect anything less?” You quipped, wondering what his answer might be. 

“No.” He shrugged. “Just surprised it took you this long to punch me in the face.” 

At that, you let out a laugh. It was true, the man had managed to push every single one of your buttons during his time with the Scouting Regiment. The two of you were in constant conflict, arguments over the smallest things popping up out of nowhere. At some point, Erwin had decided that Mike would be the babysitter of you two, keeping you both in line during training and even more so during squad leader meetings. You started to smile at the memory, but when you remembered that Mike, like so many of the others you loved, was dead, your expression fell. 

Moving your eyes to stare down at the uneven floorboards, you spoke quietly, but sincerely, “I’m sorry.” 

Levi knew you weren’t just apologizing for hitting him but for everything, and as he studied your face, he made a decision. “Do you want some tea? I keep a special brand in my room.” It was the only thing he had to offer, and both you and him knew it. 

You froze as you tried to figure out the best course of action. Follow the Captain to his room or mope around alone until you cry yourself to sleep? In the end, it was an easy choice. Still, your heart stuttered in your chest while you gained your composure. You took a breath before responding, “Um, sure.” 

There was a beat of silence, as if the two of you were readying yourself to take on some new, mysterious foe. And in a way, you supposed, you were. About a month after Levi had joined the scouts, there had been an… incident of sorts. It wasn’t disastrous or anything like that, but Erwin had quickly ruled that the two of you weren’t allowed to be in the same room together without someone else present. A wise decision on his part, if you were being completely honest, and something that Levi nor you argued with in the slightest. But now, years later, it seemed both of you were ready to break that rule, Levi making the first move as he turned on his heel and waited to see if you would follow. 

Out of all of the scouts, you were known to be the most stealthy. Mike was usually the only one who could sense you were coming, claiming you had a distinctly pleasant smell that his nose had no problem picking up on. One time, he had even claimed that you were the best smelling person in the Survey Corps, and you couldn’t help but swell with pride. Hange had whispered to you later that evening that that was his way of flirting, but you never took her seriously. You weren’t interested in dating anyways. No one had ever really caught your eye minus one man, but you always said it was more of a fascination than a crush. 

Even your ODM gear seemed to be quieter than the rest, and you once managed to spook even the Commander when you landed on the same tree branch as him without him knowing. You naturally existed silently and sneakily so when Levi picked up on the sound of your sock-clad feet shuffling behind him, the pit of concern in his stomach grew. 

Reaching his quarters, he unlocked the door wordlessly, holding it open so that you could enter first. Your eyes widened as you took in the space. First of all, it was much bigger than your room. While you only had a bedroom and bathroom to yourself like the other squad leaders, Levi had a small living area with a couch, small coffee table, and even a desk. There were papers neatly stacked on top of it, and the rest of the area was just as orderly, his tea kettle sitting in the exact center of the coffee table. Only when you sat down on the couch did you see the small fireplace he had. It was just big enough to fit a tea kettle over it, and that’s what Levi proceeded to do. 

You let out a low whistle, capturing the man’s attention. “Wow. When did you get so important?” You asked, motioning lazily about the room with your hand. 

Levi scoffed and placed a hand casually on his hip. “Erwin gave it to me when he moved into the Commander’s quarters. Reward for the highest kill count or something like that.” His voice was so nonchalant that for a moment, you didn’t realize that he was insulting you. No, you thought, it was more of a tease than an insult. 

Now it was your turn to scoff, well aware that your fellow Captain was just trying to get a reaction out of you. Levi watched as you rolled your eyes playfully, firelight glinting off of your irises. Had they always been such a pretty color? 

The whistle of the kettle broke him out of his reverie, and he swiftly turned back to take it off of the heat. When he brought it back to the table, he was pleasantly surprised that you had already prepared the teacups, him only having to pour the water in and wait for it to steep. Hesitantly, he moved around the table to take a seat next to you, wondering when the two of you were ever this close. The events of the day popped into his head, and he did his best to ignore the fact that the thing he remembered the most about it was you being in his arms. Still, a question had been lingering in his mind, and he figured now was the best time to ask it. 

“Y/N,” he started, and you looked over with wide eyes at the use of your first name. You honestly weren’t aware that he even knew you had a first name. “Can I ask you a question?” You knew what was coming, but you forced yourself to nod anyways, giving him silent permission to know your secrets. “How do you know Kenny Ackerman?” 

It was a loaded question, and you let out a breath as you tried to figure out the best way to tell the story without getting either you or Kenny into trouble. Even the secrets of a dead man needed to be protected sometimes. Despite it all occurring years ago, the government’s threat towards you regarding the release of information hung heavily in your mind. Both you and Levi would be in danger if you revealed too much. He could swear himself to secrecy, and you would trust him, but the risk would never be worth the reward. You fiddled with your fingers in your lap, worrying your lip as you thought of how to start to explain. 

“Well,” you bit the inside of your cheek, gathering your nerves before continuing, “About a year and a half before you joined the scouts, I got myself into a bit of trouble.” He raised an eyebrow in surprise as you were widely thought to be the most well behaved and well intentioned scout there was. He thought he was the only person who could get you riled up, your scoldings from the other squad leaders and the Commander always leading back to him. You sent him a small grin. “I wasn’t always the goody two shoes I am now, Levi.” 

“Anyways, it became kind of a big deal in the Capital, and a lot of higher-ups were calling for my head.” You let out a light chuckle. “Imagine just turning 19 and having almost every MP looking for you. Scary stuff.”

“Wait.” Levi held up a hand to stop you before you could continue. The story had just started, but he was already having trouble believing that this was the truth. If not for the darkness that rested just behind your eyes, he would’ve called bullshit as soon as you said your first sentence. “What exactly did you do?” 

You looked away from the intensity of his gaze for a moment, an internal debate raging on inside your head. With a sigh, you relented. “I… I can’t tell you everything, but let’s just say it had to do with a certain Premier and confidential papers being stolen from his office.” Levi’s eyes grew wide, and you took that as a sign to continue. “No one knows except Commander Erwin, but I spent most of my teenage years in the Underground. I was born within Wall Sina, so I had papers to be up top, but I much preferred being below gro—”

“Why?” Levi was quick to cut you off, his expression hard and tone almost offended.

“My parents owned land in Wall Sina, and when they died, they left none of it to me, so folk got the idea in their head that I was a problem child. I wasn’t wanted there, so I left.” You shrugged, and Levi’s face softened. “I admit, the Underground wasn’t easy, but I was quick on my feet and smart for my age. I survived and I survived by myself. Help wasn’t something I wanted, but when you’re suddenly being chased by the royal government, it becomes something you need. That’s how I found Kenny, and it’s why I owe him my life.” 

It had been a week since you had completed your assignment, already turning in the materials to the man who had hired you and returning back to your comfortable life underground. All had seemed to go swimmingly, and your confidence had grown tenfold. The feeling of being unstoppable was addictive, and you craved the sensation of that feeling again. You let your thoughts drift to what you could accomplish next, but sudden screams quickly snapped you out of your daydream. Straightening in your chair, you peeked out of the window of the tavern you currently resided in. Fear grew in your chest at what you saw.

Standing right outside were five MP’s, fully equipped with ODM gear and holding up a wanted poster with a poorly drawn sketch of your face on it. It was clear that they were asking for your whereabouts, and you were thankful to see that every person was shaking their heads to say no, they had no idea. Even with the solidarity of your fellow Underground citizens, you knew you had to get out of there and away from the sharp swords that hung off of the men’s waists. Before you could move, though, two of the men entered the bar, their eyes sweeping over the patrons. 

Right before their eyes could meet your frightened ones, your world was encased in darkness, the only light you could see coming from below you. You blinked, trying to understand what exactly just happened, but soon realized that a large hat had been placed over your head. Carefully, you lifted the brim so that you could see, and were met with the piercing silver stare of a man a good amount of years older than you. Apparently your confusion showed on your face because he quickly pushed the hat back down so that it shaded your features. 

He spoke in a quiet voice, only letting you be privy to whatever information he was about to share. “I’d keep that on if I were you, kitten. Don’t want the MP’s seeing your face, now do we?” You didn’t dare speak, but quickly shook your head, showing him you were listening and following instructions. “Good,” he dragged out the vowel, and the table shook as he placed his leg onto the table. Were those cowboy boots and spurs? You were pretty sure people only wore those in stories. “Now,” he stated, “We’re just gonna have a nice, pleasant conversation. Lots of giggles, ya hear me?” You nodded, the hat moving up and down your forehead. 

As the man started spewing nonsense, you did your best to play along, laughing like he said to and keeping your face covered as best you could. You could hear the MP’s getting closer to your table over the man’s rowdy voice, and the hand gripping your drink began to shake in fear. Smoothly, the man took your hand in his, making some weird comment about how soft it was. You frowned. Your hands weren’t soft at all. What was with this guy? 

The realization of what his plan was smacked you in the face, and you let out light giggles in response, putting on your most fake voice as you thanked him for the compliment. The things you were saying to each other became sickly sweet, so much so that you almost laughed at one point. As the soldiers approached your table, the mysterious man leaned in close, his alcoholic breath fanning over your face. Calmly, he swept the hat off of your head and placed it so that it covered both of your faces from the men who were now only a couple of feet away. 

A swift kick from under the table spurred you into action, and you let out a girlish moan followed by an exaggerated giggle. He followed suit, making a comment about how nice your lips were. If it were any other situation, you would punch this man in the face, but for right now, you’d listen to every command he gave you. From behind the hat you heard one of the MP’s mumble about ‘couples these days’ with a gagging noise coming from the other. With one last lovesick comment from the man in front of you, the MP’s retreated, leaving the tavern with muttered curses leaving their lips. 

Your savior leaned back into his chair, a smirk adoring his features as he placed his hat back on his head. For a moment, you both just stared at each other, you in shock and him in some state of glee. You decided to speak first. 

“Who are you?” 

“The name’s Kenny.” He kicked his other leg up on the table with a thwack! as the spur hit the cracked wood. The silence grew again, but this time you were at a loss for words. Sure, his name was Kenny, but was that all he was going to say? Apparently not, but when he spoke up again, it was entirely unhelpful. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

You frowned, unamused. “Maybe for you. I should punch you for some of the things you said. Strange men shouldn’t talk to unassuming ladies like that.” Your tone was laced with a bit of sarcasm, and he guffawed.

“I don’t think fugitives from the crown can be considered ladies,” he shot back, and you huffed. His face grew serious. “I’ve been watching you for a while, kitten.”

You raised your eyebrows at the nickname. “It’s Y/N, and, uh, what?” Once again, this man completely took you by surprise. 

He shrugged. “You may not know it yourself, kitten, but you’re well known down here in the Underground. A mysterious girl who arrives without a sound, stealing from the above-grounders and sharing the wealth with the rest of us? You’re practically a legend; some people don’t even believe you’re real, but those that do would protect you with their life.”

This was all news to you. Yes, those were things that you did, but people recognized you for it? You furrowed your eyebrows and blinked quickly as you tried to puzzle the situation out. “I…” You struggled for words.

Kenny held up a hand. “It’s true whether you believe it or not… But, it seems that you’ve bitten off a little more than you can chew this time, my friend. Stealing from the Premier? Tsk, tsk.” His tone was more playful than condescending, and you gave him a weary grin. 

You sighed and finally relaxed back into your own chair, studying the man’s face. It showed his experience rather than his age, and you wondered just exactly who he was. Taking a chance, you pried for more information. You hated being in the dark. “So, you didn’t answer my question. Who are you?” 

His smile grew at your curiosity, crooked teeth appearing under chapped lips. “Someone who can help you. If you want it, that is. It seems clear you like to work on your own.” There was a challenge laced into his words, and you wondered what the right decision was. On one hand, getting involved with someone else, someone else you knew nothing about at that, was a dangerous game. On the other, you were in trouble and you needed all the help you could get. 

Taking a chance, you slowly nodded. “Okay. What do you have in mind?” 

He explained his plan. The MP’s didn’t know your name, so it would be easy to get above ground using your old Wall Sina papers. After you expressed your concern and with a chuckle, he dismissed their drawing of you, stating that once you got above ground and cleaned up, you would be unrecognizable from your old self. Then, with his next words, you lost your confidence in his plan. 

“You want me… to join the Survey Corps?” You shook your head in disbelief. “Uh, no way. That’s right under the government’s noses!” 

He brushed you off. “Eh, not really. The government already dislikes the Corps. They’re not gonna care who’s in it; they figure you’ll all die soon enough.” At that, you gave him a very blank stare, and he just laughed, stealing a swig from your mug. “You’ll be fine. You don’t seem like the dying type.”

It was true, you had escaped the jaws of death on multiple occasions, but you weren’t in the business of actively riding towards your demise. That seemed plain idiotic to you, and you made that known. “This isn’t a joke. It’s my life on the line,” you countered.

With a swift movement, his legs were off of the table and his body was leaning in towards yours, the weight on his elbows making the table creak. His eyes turned dark, levelling your gaze. “It’s your life either way. Would you rather die by the hands of the Military Police after they’ve done God-knows-what to you? Or would you rather die on your own terms, possibly fighting for Humanity’s freedom?” 

It was a good question, a fair question, and one you immediately knew the answer to. You sucked in a breath as you resigned yourself to your new fate. “So, how do we do this?” 

With another grin, Kenny explained the rest of his plan. It really wasn’t a bad idea, and you were grateful for the help. But still uncertainty settled in your stomach.

The day you were to join the Corps, Kenny had told you he would meet you before you left. You hadn’t seen him in about a week, and in that time, you had completely changed yourself, moving up top, getting a haircut, and finally wearing clean, untorn clothes. It was weird and different, but a part of you enjoyed it. This was a new start, you had chosen to believe.

“Kitten!” You turned towards the easily recognizable voice with a roll of your eyes, but the playful smile that toyed with your lips gave away your true feelings. “Give me a spin!” He requested, and when you did, he let out a loud whistle. “Damn, you really look like you belong up here.”

You raised your eyebrows with a grin. “That’s the point, right?” 

“Precisely, my friend, precisely.” Slinging an arm over your shoulders, he began to walk with you towards where the ferry would pick you up. His pace was slow, obviously not in a rush to say goodbye, and you felt the same. Somehow, the two of you had grown close over the past month. Even with all of the secrets you both kept from each other, there was an air of freedom when you were in the other’s presence. No lies, no false personalities, just friendship. 

It was refreshing, to say the least.

For once, you both were quiet as you walked. The weight of the future hung over both of you, pressing your mouths shut. He managed to speak first, his voice cracking for the first time since you met him and giving away his true emotions. 

“Stay safe, kitten.” The words were serious, and something in him couldn’t stand to let that be the last thing he said. “You’ll kick those Titans’ asses.” 

Normally, you’d laugh, or at least smile, at his cheesy jokes. Instead, you stopped walking and turned until you both faced each other, looking up to meet his eyes. With a swallow, you asked something of him that you knew was unfair, was selfish, was wrong. Yet, you still asked, knowing Kenny wouldn’t hold it against you. 

“Promise me you won’t die before me.” 

His eyes softened in understanding, crinkles forming around their edges as he gave you the most gentle of smiles. He knew what you needed to hear, knew it would be a lie, knew you’d hate him for it. But, he said it anyway.

“I promise.”

[whump-town]

The Paths to Revenge

Warnings: same old, same old... just some stabbing

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Summary: Doyle nonsense but make it Hotch/Morgan for the fun of it.

Clyde goes first.

“No one else can know,” JJ had whispered feverishly. She’d looked nearly insane, had come unattached in her months away from them and now pulled back into the whirling black hole of the mess he created by force, cruelly unnatural. “He will kill her. If he—” she’d choked on the words, tears starting to fall down her face. She had looked up at him with a wordless inquiry, sadness and disappointment laced in the fingers she wove into his. If this wouldn’t break him, what would? If he couldn’t cry now, for his best friend, would he ever cry again?

“You can’t tell Derek.”

It’s not their first secret. Hotch severely doubts it's their last.

The grace with which Derek Morgan seems to live has always bewildered Aaron. There is something about the way that Derek breathes gentleness, cupped hands so gentle his fingers could pry apart and life would still be captured in his hands. The fluttering of delicate butterfly wings twitching in his warm palms. Torn between desires, Aaron could never understand if he wished for those palms to close around his throat. To solidify him as something wretched, so undeserving of Derek’s endless, gentle love that he might stifle it once and for all. In another breath, he wishes he could curl himself up to be something so small and so delicate that Derek might hold him like that. Like something worth preserving, worth loving.

Those hands do not wrap around his throat, applying crushing pressure until Aaron is no more. They come to frame Aaron’s face, their warmth seeping into the bone chill of his body. Thumb stroking along a worry line stretched wide by his deep frown. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” Derek whispers, he’s desperate to be them again. For Aaron to settle back down and find him, to lean into his touch. Hotch’s weary but tense with panic and restlessness. Not sleeping. Hardly eating. Derek can’t keep watching this and he’s not sure how much longer Aaron can keep it up. “I can see it in your eyes, I can always tell.”

Before their relationship, Derek had been jealous of everything that Emily and Aaron had. At the time he hadn’t known it for what it was, his unrequited love making him bitter. He had just seen the way they looked at one another, the way they worked and he’d wanted to be that person for Aaron too. Emily’s intuition had lead her to find Aaron after Foyet’s attack, all based on nothing more than a feeling. While Derek had felt boiling rage and the inability to so much as look at Aaron while he suffered alone in that hospital bed. Derek had been jealous of how easily they spoke with one another, in a language no one else really understood. How Emily could comfort Hotch — she was allowed to touch him and hug him and press a kiss to his cheek or even drag him down several steps by the ear to reprimand him like a child. While even comforting gestures Derek attempted seemed to piss Hotch off.

But now Emily’s dead and Derek wishes she was here. So that he can hear Aaron laugh again. To argue loudly and pointless about Sean Connery vs Daniel Craig — how Aaron’s never cared about either but he gets all soft around the edges listening to Emily and Derek bicker more and more as the night goes on. To be happy and close.

And, maybe, Derek just misses his best friend too.

Both of them.

It starts with Clyde. National television doesn’t pick it up, it’s the sort of affair that’s quickly suffocated to prevent mass media from getting word. It reaks with the proper stench of death, Clyde Easter bound to a chair in his London flat. His own blood in a pool at his feet, head hung in the final submission of death. Severally tortured. The strain of an entire week of torture, hunger, and exhaustion taking its toll. Died of a heart attack. Aaron doesn’t need to be told what’s happening, he couldn’t even talk about it if he wanted to. He’s only given what he’s needed, a warning that he’s next and to watch out.

Aaron just prays Derek isn’t there when it happens. He’s allowed this one small grace.

“Ice cream,” Derek says more to the room than to Aaron, the idea had dawned on him so suddenly he’d spoken it out loud. Having spent another weekend inside, moping from their bed to the couch to the kitchen back to their bed, Derek is buzzing with energy he needs to do something with. Grief and this lie Aaron holds sucks him rather dry of the will to do anything. It seems the energy he’s supposed to have has gone to Derek, makes him worse. “Ice cream,” Derek repeats with a clap of his hand. “I’m going to get ice cream and you don’t have to come with me but I’d really like you to.”

Aaron looks up, hair a mess on the top of his head and shoulders sinking impossibly low in their joints as exhaustion sweeps over him. He’s incapable of so much as looking at Derek, having to see how hopeful and how loving he’s being looked at. All he’s ever wanted was to be loved and now he’s got it and he can’t face the vulnerability that cracks through his sternum every time Derek touches him. How every demonstration of love is such debilitating proof of how broken he is. How hopeless.

“I’ll bring you back a tub of Rocky Road.” Derek slides his jacket on, he’s not annoyed. No matter how convinced Hotch is, Derek isn’t even bothered. He knew he was going to get ice cream alone and, though he’d rather not do it alone, that’s okay.

Once his feet are shoved into his sneakers he comes back around the side of the couch and kisses the top of Hotch’s head, messing further with his hair. “I love you.”

Derek couldn’t remember what the last thing he said to Emily was. It kept him up at night trying to piece together every last second he had before she was taken from him before the nurses pulled them in opposite directions. Did she know he loved her? How glad he was that she was someone that not only he could trust but that Aaron had too? It’s the sort of thing that weighs down heavily on him. Now he can’t leave anyone without saying it.

Aaron has the opposite problem. Pulls away so that in case this happens again he won’t get hurt.

“I love you too,” he answers but hoarsely and to the sound of Derek walking away.

Jack is with Jessica. She takes Hotch’s emotional distance with grace, allows him this little period of reprieve while he tries to get back into the swing of things. He’s lost both of his best friends in a year’s span of time and is still really struggling to understand how to integrate himself fully into his relationship with Derek.

Life, it seems, has been throwing hard balls and it’s not getting any easier.

Derek kicks his shoes off at the door, more Aaron’s habit than his but he’s learning to uphold it. “I got rainbow sprinkles,” he calls out. “I know you have a reputation to uphold but I also know you love them—” Derek tosses the bags up onto the counter, smirking even in his slight confusion. He’d figured Aaron would have come looking for him once the front door opened. He’s vigilant about that sort of stuff. Even if he does know logically it’s just Derek. “Hey—” he’s greeted by the dark living room. It’s undeniably odd. “Where’d you—” Derek smirks when he sees Aaron’s back, even bowed and distressed it’s still undeniably him. “Aaron?”

A gun cocks at his head and Derek freezes, eyes never leaving Aaron’s. “Sit down.” Derek opens his mouth, going to argue or fight but Aaron looks away. Gaze sinking to the floor as his head rolls down, chin on his chest. “Sit down!” Derek listens, not out of fear of the gun just in his line of sight but because he can’t think past the sight of blood smeared across the side of Aaron’s face. The way his right eye is red with blood, his temple drooling angrily down his cheek. “I have to admit,” the dark of the room caves to what little light is in the house, and Derek tenses. Recognizes him immediately.

“You fucker—”

The gun is moved, away from his head and to Aaron’s bowed temple. “Sit. Down.”

Derek hadn’t even realized it, he’d just stood like he could do something in the face of a gun. Now he certainly can’t, being the cause of his own life’s end is one thing but to hurt Aaron is another. He sits back down, eases his way back to a sitting position with his hands on the table. He won’t do anything fast.

“You know what I want.” Ian Doyle stands in their house, smirking at the wet sound of Aaron’s blood dripping on the floor. “Tell me where she is.”

Derek opens his mouth to answer, a snippy — “she’s dead” — but Aaron looks up at him. The look they share is laced with mixed truths and the bold lie woven between the three men. His bloody eye, pupil blown wide staring back at Derek with all the answers he needs. Emily had died for them. She’d chased down her past and fought it all alone for them. Derek wondered if that meant she didn’t trust them, didn’t think they were capable of undertaking this threat with them. Looking at Aaron, watching his chest rise and fall in choking breathes, Derek wishes he couldn’t understand the solemn warrior trope. That he didn’t know the truth.

“She’s dead,” Derek mumbles but he’s not so sure about that anymore.

Ian smirks, unfooled. “See,” he clicks his tongue, “that’s what your friend here keeps telling me.” Ian shakes his head, taking the muzzle of the gun and grazing it across Hotch’s head. Trailing it through his hair. “I remain unconvinced.”

Aaron looks hopelessly up at Derek, a tear sliding down through the blood on his cheek. Caught on his eyelash, trailing over the duct tape on his mouth.

The knife comes out of nowhere. Slammed down into Aaron’s thigh with no warning. The duct tape obstructs his breathing, leaves Aaron gasping, struggling to breathe. He groans, sucking in air through his nose but it’s not enough. Aaron’s eyelids flutter, his head tilted back as he trembles. Face drained of color, his breathing getting worse. More strained, shallow.

Derek jerks his head away, clenching his teeth when Doyle jerks the knife back out of the wound. Aaron makes an awful sound, pained and unconscious.

“Tell me!” Doyle slams his fist down on the table. Completely ignores Aaron’s noises, his pained cries as he wheezes around the ducktape. “Tell me or I’ll kill him.”

Derek shakes his head, “no, no—”

“It’s not that hard,” Doyle sneers, patience is gone. “Her for him, choose!”

Derek shakes his head again, his own tear falling down. “I don’t know,” he whispers. Derek starts to tremble, rage replacing hopelessness. Angered to the point of tears. “She’s dead! We buried her!”

Doyle shouts, “fine! You want to keep playing games?” Doyle raises the knife up between them, letting the blade punctuate the question. “You will always lose Agent Morgan. Always—”

“No!”

Aaron’s eyes fly back open, a scream muffled by the duct tape. “I’ll find her,” Doyle promises. “It doesn’t matter what you do.” Aaron’s head falls down to chest, eyes falling shut. “And when I find her, there’s nothing that you’ll be able to do to stop me.” Doyle reaches down, fingers slick with Aaron’s blood, and pulls the knife from Aaron’s chest. “Last chance,” Doyle whispers with a grin. He steps back, “last game, last question: me or Agent Hotchner?”

Derek doesn’t wait for Doyle to get out of sight, he moves immediately to the other side of the room. He steps behind the chair Hotch is tied to, seeing for the first time the ropes wrapped around his arms. The way he’s constrained to the chair, unable to move. “Aaron,” Derek lifts his head up, his fingers under Aaron’s chin. His skin is clammy, cold against Derek’s palm. “Aaron, hey! Look at me, keep your eyes open. Aaron?” His head is heavy, limp in Derek’s hold. “Aaron, please. Stay with me.”

He stops breathing in the ambulance, airway preserved by the tracheal tube bulged in his throat. His heart beats too quickly, pounding away in his ribcage. Derek feels like just yesterday he was living this exact horror movie, Emily’s cold hand unresponsive in his. Dark hair a crown on poignant contrast. Life held in the balance, raw existence. Again, Derek feels the pitter of a heartbeat against his fingertips. Again his breath is held as nurses pull him one way and his heart is torn from his chest.

What will JJ have to say this time?

Will the same tears shine in her eyes? The same trepidation? Their lie is bleeding out on a stretcher being pushed down a luminescent hallway. As pale as the death they created. Perhaps this is the price one pays when meddling with things beyond control. Things that are not to be messed with. The evil Derek’s mother forbade him from playing with. Worse than the handmade ouija board under his bed, death’s creator laying on his chest.

Lying dead in his arms.

Derek Morgan sits for six hours, entirely alone in the waiting room. Each breath could be the last he shares with Aaron and he won’t know for several more to come. They labor on, Aaron’s controlled by machines and Derek’s by the flood of emotions weighing him down. He can only control himself for so long, holding down the bitter failures of the last few days. His anger is intense, uncontrollable.

“You lied.” It’s the middle of the night, Garcia’s hair still pulled back in pigtails and JJ’s in a clip at the back of her head. The waiting room isn’t full of special agents, dressed to the nines ready for a fight. Derek sees only their family, leggings, and sweatpants, and he can’t take it.

“You lied,” Derek repeats to the floor. “She’s not dead and now Aaron—” his voice catches. Derek rubs his hands down his eyes, looks up at them unashamed of the tears falling down his face. Her fault. JJ and her stupid lie. “I’ll never forgive you. If he dies… If he dies because of this stupid shit, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Derek—”

“Not now.”

Sixty-two hours. Over two days of sitting and measuring machine regulated breathes. Three nights of sleeping in a chair, falling asleep to the sounds of machines and thin blankets pulled to his chin. Aaron twitches and each time Derek thinks he’s going to wake up but his pleas are meant with more silence.

It’s sitting. Waiting. Watching. The waiting room has become his third home, where he’s kicked to when Aaron’s getting another test or scan. He’s left with only the anxieties of the unknown. He spends hours just drumming his knee, head in his hands. That’s a long time to sit and think about all things you’ve said in the past.

They hunt him down, attempting to softly fill in the holes with medical jargon. Stammering and averting his gaze to the tiled floor under his feet. “Uhm,” he rubs at his eyes. “I--I don’t want to know.” He doesn’t care that the doctor looks stunned, entirely caught off guard. “Someone else,” he mumbles, head still ducked as he steps into the room. Leaving the doctor in the hall. “Tell someone else when they arrive.” He just can’t do it. He can’t hear all that medical bullshit and still have this blind hope that everything will turn out.

He grabs a chair from the ones lining the wall across from Hotch’s bed, pulling it right up to Hotch’s side and throwing himself into it unceremoniously. Derek looks everywhere but Hotch. He got a glance in and he knows what there is to see. Tape twisting Hotch’s lips around the tube down his throat. All pale skin, still hands, and machines. Derek huffs, shaking his head, and picks at his cuticles. They’ve all been through so much but Hotch…

They never really get a break, do they?

He wishes he could go back to when it was just the three of them. Hotch, Gideon, and himself against the world. When it was Hotch’s desk he kicked his feet up on, watching him eat his lunch or snack in a certain order. Thirty years old and still saving his dessert for after his sandwich and carrots. The only person Derek’s ever met that cared or noticed the apparent lack of yellow and green M&Ms compared to the other colors. Also, the only person Derek knows who sits and sorts them out. Putting them in a neat line and two of each color-- one M&M for each side of his mouth.

Derek’s eyes sting and he rubs them roughly, shaking his head and forcing himself to pull it together. He’s not going to cry over Hotch sharing those odd M&Ms with him. Not going to think about how close they used to be, how things have changed for the better and the worse. He’s not going to die, so there’s no need to think like that.

They’ll be fine.

Everything is fine.

Garcia finds Ian Doyle, he never left Virginia.

Emily’s already on a plane coming over.

Killing Clyde Easter was revenge. It had been personal. For creating Lauren Reynolds and then for taking her away. Hurting Aaron was just convenience. Doyle knew Clyde’s death would sting but it would be no reason to come home, no reason to bring Emily home. There would be nothing she could do about the affair by the time she got word of his death. Hurting Aaron, though. Hurting one of the people Emily had supposedly died to protect, would work like a charm. It would draw her out.

Ian Doyle hadn’t planned for Derek Morgan. Not fully. He knew Derek would arrive when he needed him to, with enough time to keep Agent Hotchner sparingly alive. To make sure Doyle made it clear he knew Emily Prentiss is alive, to stir the team. Pin them against one another. Even against their downed leader. Take out the strongest first -- and that’s where Doyle hadn’t really known them. Aaron is fearless, he’s stupidly brave, but he’s not stupid. He won’t be blinded by his feelings. What Doyle did was stifle their logic, he disabled the one person who would have allowed Doyle to escape. What Doyle did was piss off five agents tired of losing the people they love.

Aaron gets worse on his own.

Garcia stays home, someone needs to be there in case Hotch wakes up. It’s not hard to figure out why they’d want to leave her behind. She’s stronger at home, has what she needs. And Derek’s terrified something will happen.

Ian Doyle finds Declan, it’s all the same story. Confused children and manipulative adults. There are no bittersweet reunions -- not between biological father and son and not between Emily and the others. Doyle and Emily have set fire to the families they had. Held a lighter over the portrait and watched the color melt to grey and then to black. Piercing a hole in the heart.

The airstrip lights up in heavy gunfire.

Derek doesn’t fire a shot. He wishes he had, for his own selfish fire starving out. He doesn’t shoot for Aaron. This isn’t what he’d want. This mess that they’ve all made. Aaron’s morals are always getting in the way of things but as Derek lowers his gun he’s flooded with relief. His anger abating, exhaustion seeping in. Ian Doyle dies on the tarmac. Spread out on his back and choking on blood. It takes four minutes.

It doesn’t feel long enough.

Not after everything he’s taken.

“Derek?”

He can hear it in her voice.

“I think-- Oh God, I think something is wrong.”

Emily had died. Derek had watched the monitor run-flat.

She’s a ghost and Aaron’s dying. This time no matador’s cape will dance, shaking free the threat with deadly precision. No magician to pull up the curtain, to show them the trap door.

“How is he?” Emily asks

“Alive,” JJ mumbles. “They’re not sure for how long--” she shrugs and Reid makes a choked sound, blushing and wiping his face clean of the tears still dry on his cheek. JJ just glances at him. “He’s holding on, Morgan’s with him.” The dismissiveness in her tone is not a reflection of how she feels, truly. It’s just a protective measure to ensure she doesn’t break. If she stops for even a moment she will cry and she’s still trying to convince herself that this is going to work out.

Aaron can’t die now. He’s laced hesitation into Derek’s logic. Changed too many things about him -- taught him the magic of rainbow sprinkles and how to cut hair with nothing but kitchen scissors and the bathroom mirror. Derek’s learned the magic of loving his best friend. Hating the person he shares a bed with. Being unable to sleep without the heat of Aaron’s body close by, no more than a breath away.

With those gentle hands, meant to capture thrashing wild things, Derek Morgan cups Aaron’s face. “I can see what you’re thinking,” he whispers. The intubation machines are gone, one step forward. Aaron lays flat on his back, an oxygen mask over his face. Across his bare chest are machine leads, pads left stuck to his chest. His heart is giving out. “Don’t--” Derek shakes his head, clearing his throat. He uses the back of his hand to push away a tear. “Don’t leave me, Aaron. Not now.”

Every muscle in Aaron’s body is stiff with pain untouchable by the maxed-out morphine. Cold sweat streaks across his body, makes him shiver, and clench his teeth down when the small movements spike worse pain. The thin sheet across his hips does nothing. It feels colder than the rest of the room, not even the reassuring pressure of it seems to help. His muscles ache from the tension. From the rounds he’s lost against the crash cart.

If he could force his jaw open, unclench it from the pain, he’d beg Derek for a blanket. Something warm or comforting. For relief. Anything.

He wakes to movement. It takes him too long to realize it’s his body being moved. “Easy.” Aaron looks up, confused by the sight of Emily and Derek standing side-by-side. “Here--” They work together, moving his body slowly. They try not to hurt him but he feels lit up inside. A pyre in his chest set ablaze with a match. Agonizing. He closes his eyes tight, detached enough to lose focus of where their hands are on his body.

“Aaron?”

When he can open his eyes again, he’s looking up at the ceiling.

“Hey, there sleeping beauty.”

There are pillows under one of his sides, another tucked under his thigh.

“Don’t--” He’s not even aware he’s doing it, not until he’s looking at the hand Emily’s just smacked. “Are you an actual child? Stop touching everything.” She stands and he watches in amazement as she bends over him and fixes the oxygen canal under his nose. Her hand grazes his cheek and she’s real. She’s here. When she notices his confusion she smirks, “seeing a ghost, Hotch?”

“Emily.” Oh, Derek. Hotch looks over at him, a dopey smirk he’s not even aware of spreading across his face. When Derek sees it, he loses his tension. The sting of his reprimand, who still thinks it’s too soon for Emily’s dead jokes, is gone. “How do you feel?” he asks even though he’s not sure Hotch has managed to find his words. His answer is that smile, growing wider as Derek kisses his cheek.

Aaron closes his eyes the second he sees Derek freeing his hands, sighing contently before Derek can even lean over and cup his face in his hands. They’re warm from the coffee he went to get, familiar in all the safest ways. “I missed you,” Derek whispers. Derek kisses him again, on his smiling lips. Unbothered that Aaron’s too out of his mind to work his mouth, just hums back, turns further into Derek’s touch.

Recovery will not be fun. Aaron got his wish. His best friend and his boyfriend back and it hardly cost him a thing. They'll both smother him, taking turns bossing him around.

He's never been so relieved to hear them arguing this early in the morning.

[petrichormeraki]

If you don't mind then 10 kiss prompt with fwt? 👉👈 Pls

10. “Happy you’re alive” kisses

*SCREAMS* G O D I LOVE THIS SHIT HELL YES 

-

This was supposed to be the best day of Dream’s life, the day he would marry his true love, despite the war and conflict that their respective sides had endured. It was the SMP vs L’manburg, and yet even with both sides so vehemently refusing to back down, Dream found love in the son of his enemy. 

Today was supposed to be their wedding. Even if it wouldn’t change the war back home, even if Fundy and Dream would find themselves on the opposite sides of the battlefield, today was supposed to be perfect. There even was a truce, upheld under threat of permanent death; there would be no fighting here. Only love. 

Dream exited the spawn portal, immediately greeted by his future husband, dressed to the nines in a three piece suit and grinning so wide his face looked about to split in half. He rocked on the balls of his feet as Dream gawked at the world, completely outfitted to represent Treasure Planet, the movie they watched on the night Fundy proposed. 

“Before we do anything, I want you to put this on.” Fundy said shyly, producing folds of shimmering white fabric from his inventory. Dream uttered a surprised laugh as he unfolded the cloth to reveal a beautiful wedding dress, studded with white diamonds and rhinestones. 

“WHAT? You got me a dress? Oh, and a flower--” Dream stuttered as Fundy held out a bouquet of yellow daffodils to his fiance. “This--this is amazing!” Dream carefully pulled the dress over his head, doing a little spin to dazzle Fundy as the gemstones glittered in the setting sun. “Did you--Did you get this just for me?” 

“I bought the dress! It was so expensive!” Fundy affirmed, beaming as Dream turned away from him so he could help him with the veil. “I don’t want to say I’m in debt, but, uh--” 

Dream snorted as Fundy pulled away, nodding in satisfaction as the veil seemed to hold steady. Fundy then formally held out his elbow to his fiance, who looped his arm in with his without prompt. “Alright, follow me, Dream, I’ve got a LOT to show you.” 

-

Fundy gave Dream a tour of everything he had prepared, most of which were as stunning as the portal Dream came through. (The one exception was the cobblestone crafting tables. Dream playfully punched his fiance in the arm as soon as he saw them, prompting Fundy to burst out in laughter and mischievous snickers.) 

The tour ended with Fundy revealing a button in the middle of a bridge looking out at the flying ship, which Fundy explained would shoot cannonballs at the island as it was pressed. Dream’s eyes lit up as soon as Fundy finished talking, and with that the guests were allowed to spawn in. 

Dream immediately pressed the button as soon as their communicators buzzed with the notification that people had begun to spawn, jumping back in shock as the cannons fired explosions worth several stacks of TNT at the island. “That’s not what I was expecting!!” Dream shouted breathlessly over the deafening sound as Fundy cracked up beside him, watching the guests jump out of their skin at the noise and carnage. “That is NOT what I was expecting!!” 

“...I’m gonna do it again, though.” Dream said after a second’s hesitation, slamming his fist on the button again. Fundy flinched as more explosions rocked the bridge, wheezing with laughter as he saw the guests scramble for safety. “Stop, stop!” Fundy laughed desperately, wiping a tear from his eye. “Stop, stop, stop--” 

Dream figured Fundy was joking, as his laughter prohibited him from speaking, so with an ecstatic grin on his face he punched the button again. 

The final explosions directly hit the bridge supports, and with a startled shout Dream and Fundy were thrown off the breaking structure straight into the void. 

Dream caught himself in midair, floating in place. He tried to refrain from using his godly abilities in front of his friends, but in moments like these they came out in a reflex. 

Dream’s relief was torn from him as he realized his fiance did not have the fail-safe he possessed, and was plummeting into the endless void with a choked scream of terror exploding from his lungs. 

Dream moved without thinking. He dropped into the void after Fundy, wind tearing against his body and making his eyes water. Still, he plummeted, reaching out his arms for his husband as the sky became darker and darker the longer they fell. 

The air got thinner and thinner, and right as Dream saw Fundy’s eyes flutter shut, his hand brushed his suit jacket sleeve. Dream gripped it as tight as he could, yanking upwards and praying that his clothes wouldn’t rip him away.

Dream pulled Fundy close and abruptly halted their decent, his balance thrown off by the sudden midair stop. Dream wasted no time in shooting back up to the floating islands, the air’s sudden shift from freezing to a comfortable warmth making his muscles ache. 

Dream landed on the bouncy castle, springing into the air a few times before his momentum slowed and allowed him to dismount. Ever so gently, he laid Fundy on the ground, his heart thudding so hard he was sure the entire server could hear it. 

Fundy’s eyes were closed, his head limply succumbing to gravity when Dream hesitantly tried to shake him. “Fundy-? F--Fundy, wake up--” 

Footsteps rapidly approached him, and Dream felt Sapnap’s calloused hands nervously flit about his shoulders as he stared at Fundy. His chest hadn’t moved since Dream laid him down.  

“Fundy?” Dream said, less as a question and more as a statement. He didn’t know who he was even directing it to. “Dream, h-” Sapnap said gently, breaking off to swallow thickly. “He’s....He fell in the void, man.” 

“I saved him,” Dream weakly argued, unable to tear his eyes away from Fundy’s still form. He heard Sapnap take a shaking breath, his friend’s hand squeezing his shoulder in a failed attempt to be reassuring. 

“He...He’s gone, Dream. He went too deep.” 

A strangled cry spilled out of Dream’s throat, his body going rigid at Sapnap’s words. “NO! NO! HE’S-” 

Dream struggled against Sapnap’s arms that had suddenly wrapped around him tight and attempted to drag him away. “NO!! LET ME GO!! SAPNAP!!” Dream sobbed, reeling his head back and slamming it into Sapnap’s face. His friend cried out and released him at once, clutching at his bleeding nose with watering eyes. 

Dream raced to Fundy’s body and hugged him close, reaching out his omnipotent senses for the life force that he begged the universe was still within reach. 

His mind entered the in between, between life and death and everything in the middle. It was a place where Dream had only been once before, in an attempt to test how far his abilities could reach. He had no motive then, other than curiosity, and that alone was not enough for even a god like him to push back against the forces of nature. 

But now, he had a cause. He would not accept death, not this time. 

Dream pooled all the love in his heart that he felt for Fundy, remembered the fox’s caring and compassionate nature and his unabashed love for Dream despite them being on the opposite sides of the wars. The god held on to his love for Fundy like a lifeline and cast it to the void of spirits, praying to anyone who could hear him that his hand would not return empty. 

He would not let Fundy die. He refused to believe this was the end. 

Dream’s consciousness brushed against the color of love, of familiarity, the pure feeling of his Fundy. He snatched at it with all of the force his mind could conjure, and then visualized snapping it away from the light in the far distance. 

Fundy’s body jerked violently in Dream’s arms, ripping his mind back to waking world. He opened his eyes to Fundy taking a heaving breath, shaking in his fiance’s arms. 

Fundy’s pupils were blown way out of proportion, fear and confusion and subtly growing recognition in his expression. “Wh--what--” Fundy whispered, the words cutting off with a breathy cough as he gasped for breath. “What--what happened? Dream?” 

A mix of a laugh and a sob bubbled in Dream’s throat as he made eye contact with Fundy, warm and breathing and alive in his arms. He faintly recalled moving, but then his lips were on Fundy’s and everything else faded away. 

It felt like a million years when they broke apart, breathless and in tears. Dream held Fundy’s face and bit down another sob of relief as he traced every detail of his fiance like he would never see him again. 

“You’re alive,” He said, tears spilling down his face. Fundy’s cheeks had flushed a deep pink at Dream’s sudden display of affection, seeming to steadily become aware of the crowd of guests that had gathered while he and Dream were in limbo. 

“I shouldn’t have seen you.” Fundy said hazily, blinking rapidly. A flash of confusion crossed Dream’s mind. “What?”

“It--it’s bad luck, huh.” Fundy explained with the slightest hint of a playful grin on his face. “T--to see the bride before the wedding.” 

A shocked laugh burst from Dream’s chest and he kissed Fundy once more to wipe that dumb look off his face. 

“Stupid.” Dream said, his voice welling with love when they parted. “You’re so stupid.” 

[ladykissingfish]

Snow Day with the Akatsuki

Deidara Although at first he tries to act like he’s above being excited, in truth, this guy is salivating from all three mouths to get outside and play in the snow. He’s a bit of a freeze-baby though, so he’ll put on a heavy coat, no less than 5 pairs of socks, gloves AND mittens, boots, a thousand scarves and look like a tick ready to burst. Once he is outside, it’ll be ridiculously hard to get him to come back in. He creates what must be hundreds of snow men and women; ALL of which will explode like soldiers stepping in the wrong spot on a minefield. He’ll throw himself down a steep hill on a sled more times than seems feasible. At some point will convince the others who dared venture outside into an all-out snowball fight war, complete with teams, safety fortresses, and even more strategic effort than they use on their actual missions. Kakuzu Nope. Nu-uh. You couldn’t convince the old guy to come out in the snow EVEN IF YOU PAID HIM. But a snow day means a break from traveling and doing missions, which is nice. He’ll spend the day in a warm sweater, drinking coffee or cocoa and catching up on his reading ((the Bingo Book counts as reading)). Will constantly have to yell at the ones who run in and out of the house all day, as opening the door lets out the heat, and dammit, coal is expensive. Will also have to be on constant guard against Hidan, as the immortal jerk will undoubtedly try (several times) to sneak up behind Kakuzu to drop a handful of the cold wet stuff down his back. Itachi Doesn’t want to do anything other than sit in his room under a blanket, at first. But eventually Hidan, Kisame and freakin’ Deidara burst into his room and convince him to come out and “Have some damn fun once in a while, hm!” Stands for a long time and waxes poetic about the beauty of the snow, and how winter represents coldness and death and — but then someone ((Deidara)) throws a snowball at his face, he sees it coming with his sharingan and dodges it, and fairly quickly he becomes just another big kid playing in the snow. Has a thing for making snow angels, and will spend literal hours trying to create the “perfect” one ((think: Itachi vs the Eggs)). Also cracks the first “joke” that anyone’s ever heard come out of him: he tells Kisame that he should go inside and warm up a bit, because he’s so cold he’s ‘turning blue’. Tobi Tobi is, unexpectedly, a bit leery of the snow. Almost seems like it scares him, in a way. Turns out that any kind of extreme coldness puts Obito’s mind back to when he got Crushed by the Boulder ™️, and how cold his entire body felt as he almost slipped into death. But as Tobi, he tries hard not to show this and forces himself to join the others. Keeps mostly to himself until Deidara finds him and recruits him to be a member of his team in The Great Snowball Wars ™️. Nobody can figure out why it seems like even direct hits to the masked man just seem to be going right through him. After he’s had enough, he’ll go inside and “help” Konan make hot chocolate and sweet tea for the others. Pein Doesn’t go outside himself, naturally. But will watch from an unseen vantage point, as his “children” frolic in the shining white powder. Seeing this gives Nagato a strange feeling in what used to be his heart. All members of the Akatsuki had been put there for a purpose, HIS purpose; to achieve world peace. But the blood and sacrifices these individuals had to make were tremendous, and he knows that everybody is under more stress than seems endurable. Seeing them being able to drop their burdens once in a great while and spend time with one another in non-threatening situations is heartening. But at the same time, he doesn’t want the team to get TOO relaxed or lose their battle instincts, so will send the multiple Pein bodies outside to act as the opposing team in the snowball fight, to test how everyone works together as a single unit against an ‘enemy’. Hidan Even with the snow, even in the freezing cold, Hidan is too much of an idiot to put on a shirt. He’ll wear his Akatsuki robe but that’s really it. Extreme cold

is just another way for him to test the “limits” of his immortality; can frostbite or hypothermia kill this guy? Will wander off from the others for a few hours and go searching for a sacrifice; he just knows that the way the blood will look on the snow will be beautiful. He’ll come back just in time to join a team (or work alone) for a snowball fight — or a snowman building contest — or an igloo building contest ((honestly Hidan considers EVERYTHING to be a contest; he’s highly competitive)). If Konan ventures outside, he’ll gravitate to her and make immature (but expected) commentary about what the cold is doing to her, er, pointy frontal region; quite a few slaps to the face, and not all from the blue-haired beauty.

Sasori

Doesn’t feel heat or cold in his body, so being outside really doesn’t appeal much to him. However, winter weather is a good opportunity for him to test out some of his newer puppet’s battle capabilities, as well as study the effects of how external temperature impacts the potency of his poisons. Will also be keeping an eye on his young partner, and checking to make sure that the blonde’s enthusiasm for being in the snow isn’t blinding him towards possible hypothermia.

Konan

This little lady isn’t the biggest fan of the cold, so much of her day will be spend indoors, making treats and hot drinks for the others. If she does venture outside, she’ll use her papers to create wings for herself, and fly around the area to observe the beauty of the snowy landscape from above. The others will stare at her in awe and admiration; she makes the ultimate “snow angel”. Might be persuaded to partake in sledding, or building a snowman, if she’s in the right mood.

Zetsu

Zetsu is strictly a warm sunshine kind of plant/person, so the snow and the cold hold no appeal for him whatsoever. He’ll stay inside all day under every spare blanket he can find, as well as a heating lamp (which Kakuzu will complain about, as anything that uses up energy like that is probably costing them money). If winter weather lasts for a long time, will become somewhat animal-like as he goes into “hibernation” mode; eating a lot and sleeping a ton. Also, in the cold weather, the small animals that he tends to feast on are harder to find, so his fellow Akatsuki members would be wise to stay out of his sight (and range of smell) during his more hungry periods.

Kisame

Being half-shark, his body is more suited than the others to withstand the cold. Snow is fascinating to him, and he’ll spend a long time just picking up handfuls, feeling them, studying their texture and consistency. The younger ones (Deidara and Hidan) introduce him to the concept of sledding; which he finds a bit pointless ((he’s so tall that his legs stick out of the sled anyway, so he never really goes that fast)) but interesting. Also likes to watch Itachi, as the man makes some surprisingly beautiful snow sculptures ((before they’re inevitably blown up by Deidara, anyway)). If they come across a pond, Kisame will strip down, break through the ice and jump in to swim, much to the horror of the others. Hidan will see Kisame swimming in the freezing water as him ‘showing off’, declare that he can do it too, jump in ... and sink like a brick. Kisame will have to dive deep to pull him out, which Hidan will complain about, saying he was ‘Just warming up, you stupid fucks!” Kisame finds that his multiple water jutsus also work with the snow, making him one of the more fierce opponents during snowball fights.

[good-rwbyaus]

Unnamed Crack Time Travel Fic. Part 3 [first] [prev]

After Salem united all four relics, the gods descended and judged Humanity to be unworthy, obliterating all. Ruby desperately activates her Semblance to avoid the blow and, as a result, becomes only one of two people remaining in Remnant. Months later, the two employ a plan to travel back through time.

Chronic!Backstabber!Syndrome!Cinder, DoneWithEverything!Ruby, transcended!Ruby, crack time travel AU. - mod lilac

p.s this thing seriously needs a name. 

Everything had been a blur after Ruby laid eyes on her Mom, her Mom that had been dead for a good part of her life suddenly here in the flesh. She was so out of it that she completely missed the part where Cinder convinced her Mom and the rest of her company to go back home - and that she’d take her to Patch for a check-up with a doctor.

How Cinder knew her Mom, Ruby didn’t know. Why her Mom trusted Cinder to any degree was also something that eluded her. Nothing was right in this universe - nothing at all.

After Ruby was absolutely sure that the rest of them were out of earshot, she turned around and hissed at Cinder, “What did you do?!” 

“What do you mean?” Cinder tilted her head, confused and appearing slightly hurt, “Are you okay, Ruby? I know it can be a bit confusing when you have amnesia, but trust me when I say that I have your best interests at heart.”

Ruby paused at the concerned expression on Cinder’s face before shaking her head, “No. Sorry. I’m fine.” She turned around to face the forest path leading to Patch - and missed the bright ecstatic grin on Cinder’s face as she manifested a glass knife into her hands. 

Cinder lifted up the knife silently. And with a single motion, she mercilessly stabbed down at her young charge’s back. Happiness lit Cinder’s eyes as the blade encountered no resistance - but she quickly paled as she noticed that she did not draw blood but a flurry of petals instead. The girl she just attacked just turned her head with a mildly annoyed look.

And then everything went topsy-turvy to Cinder as she was buffeted away by a gale of red petals.

“Best interests at heart, my cute ass!” Ruby crowed at Cinder triumphantly,  “I knew it! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist stabbing me in the back.”

Letting out a small pout, Cinder could only dematerialize her dagger in defeat. Her best shot after two years of planning and she blew it. “I can’t help it. It’s a nice back.” 

Ruby rolled her eyes at Cinder’s reply. “Does stabbing people in the back really make you that happy? Can’t you try...to like not?”   

“Yes it does,” she affirmed before shrugging, “As for your other question....why mess with what works?”

“Ugh. There’s no reasoning with you,” Ruby clicked her tongue, “Also, not that I’m complaining, but why’s my mom alive? And why does she trust you so much?”

“Well, that’s because I saved her life,” Cinder responded smugly, theatrically shifting her weight on the balls and heels of her feet and not giving any more information past that. 

“...And how’d you do that?” Ruby had no choice but to play along.

“Oh you know. Salem bragged about how your mom was the prototype for those talking Grimm, so I asked how long ago she’d been experimenting. Put two-and-two together and knowing where Salem would be at that time, I managed to save your mom from certain death,” Cinder smugly said, tilting her nose high.

A moment of silence fell between them.

“...Thanks,” Ruby said with a soft smile, “I mean it.”  

“And then when she was all grateful and saw me having Emerald and Mercury around, I told her that I always wanted to be a godmother,” Cinder continued proudly, “And she made me your godmother. And now I’m in charge of you brats’ training.”

“Wait. Why did you want to be a godm-” Ruby paused for a moment, eyes widening in disbelief. She stared dully at Cinder. “Did you seriously save my mom just so you could stab me in the back and call it training?”

“Nooooo...” Cinder said before crumpling under Ruby’s dubious gaze, “...yeessss?”

Ruby just facepalmed at the admission and groaned in frustration. The sky reacted to her displeasure, fluffy white clouds turning into a sinister gray. The faint rumble of thunder reminded Cinder that the small twelve-year old girl in front of her was still Remnant’s goddess, even if the events that led her there hadn’t quite happened yet. 

“So...” Cinder hummed as she changed the subject, “you gonna go smite Salem right now or you gonna pretend to be a harmless 12 year old kid?”

“Well I was going to run away from home and look for Salem,” Ruby admitted, “Not that I can permanently destroy her with the power I currently have but I’d get some satisfaction beating her up after all the crap she’s put me through.” She rested her hands against the back of her head, “But you know, since you did save my mom, I would like to be a normal 12 year old kid for a while.”

“What?” Cinder said in surprise, “I thought you’d be all gung-ho about saving the world as fast as possible. You know, being the hero.”

“Eh, your perspective changes when the entire world starts hunting you and your team for a promise the Queen of All Grimm would never keep. And in the end, didn’t she destroy the world?” Ruby rolled her eyes, “I’ll save the world eventually, but it’s not them I’m doing it for. Besides with me around, no one’s gonna be able to hurt my friends and family.” 

“Do I count as friends and family?”

“...Did you murder anyone you weren’t supposed to?”

“I murdered my abusive stepmother and stepsisters again. Which was just as satisfying as before, might I add. And I definitely remembered that I didn’t have my Maiden Powers while I was at it too,” Cinder lifted three fingers as she recalled, “And I st-”

“That’s suspiciously specific,” Ruby squinted her eyes. 

“-abbed Rhodes just to say hi. And afterwards, I pi-”

“Who the heck is Rhodes?”

“-cked up the kids and hung around Solitas and Atlas. Pretended to be a researcher for a while and stole all of Watt’s future ideas and reported them as mine.”

“How’d you do that?”

“He was pretty whiny back then about how Ironwood ignored his genius. And very vocal about his ideas and why they were so genius, so I just “beat him” to his ideas.”

“So you stabbed him in the back for something he’ll do in the future?”

“Mad about it?” Cinder rose an eyebrow.

“After what he did to Penny. Not really,” Ruby laughed, “I’m just surprised you didn’t literally stab him in the back too.”

Cinder harumphed.

“I’m not stupid. Stabbing Watts in the heart of Atlas? Even with Emerald, I won’t be able to get away. Besides... I can’t get enough of that smarmy idiot being frustrated that a woman half his age is besting him in brains.”

“Because you’re stealing his ideas.”

“Well, maybe he should’ve been smart enough to prepare for the eventuality that someone would go back in time and screw him over,” Cinder said smugly.

Ruby shook her head as she was once again reminded that she was not going to beat Cinder in shamelessness. 

“Any other changes?”

“Not really. I went to Vale. Saved your mom by making Salem have the mother of all temper tantrums. And then you regained your memory by getting hit in the face by Mercury’s boot. Nothing else really.”

“Glad you didn’t change that much then,” Ruby said as she let a breath of relief, pulling out her Scroll. 

“Screwing over Watts took up a lot of my time. And then saving your mother. And then screwing over Watts,” Cinder said, “And still failing to properly stab you in the back.”

Ruby blinked as she looked over her Scroll.

“...Cinder?”

“Yeah?”

Ruby held the Scroll so that Cinder could see it. A video with the headline “The Grimm vs SDC: Theories as to why the Grimm are specifically targeting the company” is seen. 

“This counts as nothing else?!” Ruby deadpanned.