#also covered up clothes to hide healing scars from the crash :)

[i-mybrunettelady]

That one time she crash-landed in Cantha

[koolades-world]

Can you do headcanons with all the characters of an MC that has scars on their body from maybe a car crash years ago and how they would react to seeing them? Can you also do an MC who’s really insecure about them and tries to hide them?

Please and thank you 🙏🙏🙏🙏

hello! sure thing :)

idk why this one got so long? slight angst warning for belphie's (lesson 16 reference) actually might write belphie's as a drabble! if y'all are interested in seeing the others as drabbles too, let me know!

enjoy <3

Mc who's insecure about scars from a car crash

Lucifer

he didn't think much of it, since he too prefers clothing that covers basically everything, even down to gloves however, the attention to detail came down to how you behaved and the way in which you vehemently avoided any situation in which you'd have to change into something you hadn't selected or needed to wear something more revealing

one late night, you ran into each other in the kitchen, and while he expected it to be beel, raiding the fridge again but he found you crying on the floor

of course, he asked what was wrong, and while at first you didn't say anything, he stayed by your side. when the tears had slowed down and you could speak again, you told him it was the anniversary of the devastating car crash and you confessed how much it took from you

that was the first time lucifer had ever hugged you, and for once, you felt at home in the devildom. for the years to come, he makes sure to spend that entire day with you to make you feel loved

Mammon

he's the first to see them and learn of their existence because of how quickly the two of you grow close. you had many movies nights together where you ended up asleep on his shoulder and he caught glances of the scars

he never asked, but he was forever curious. he wanted to wait for you to tell the story rather than intrude on your privacy, even if that meant he never learnt

eventually after you deliberated with yourself, during one of those movie nights, you turned to him and told him everything after mentally debating

you could tell you'd help satiate his curiosity, but of course he was very sweet about it. he starts coming home with things he knows will make you feel gorgeous and expects nothing in return

Levi

the two of you spend a lot of time gaming, reading, and watching anime together. your favorite characters are said to be a reflection of you, and he noticed that pattern after enough time

now, he wasn't quite sure what to do with that information, how he would even start to go about addressing that, or if it was just him and he was looking into it too much. maybe you just had a certain type you enjoyed, although part of him hoped it wasn't that, because that would mean your type wasn't him

nevertheless, he kept this information to himself and dwelled on it until one night, you brought that very topic up yourself. at first you hesitated, but once he told you to think of it as your "lore" you became more comfortable with the situation and told him

he wasn't quite sure what to say, but offered you comfort. you spent the rest of the night watching your favorite anime and from then on, you got to see this more gentle, loving side of him more often. maybe one day, he'd tell you about his "lore" in depth too

Satan

he felt like the entire situation was something right out of a romance novel, where the two main characters slowly grow closer like the two of you were, and the exchanging of backstory that inevitable happens at some point

but, he didn't expect yours to include something so devastating in nature and how it affected your life in the aftermath. he's amazed at the way you have been healing yourself over the followings years. he admires your strength, and he knows that the scars and accident don't define you

you spent most of your evenings together, either at an outing or just at home together. it was one of these evening sessions by the fireplace together in the living room where the two of you were cuddling, and he noticed them on your shoulders. of course he didn't mention it, but you noticed him looking

since there was nobody else around, you decided to tell him since you would've at some point eventually. he doesn't make a big deal out of it because you didn't, but he lets you know if you ever need someone to talk to, he would be there

Asmo

he noticed that your entire wardrobe, including sleepwear and formalwear was all long sleeve and basically covered you head to toe

to try and get closer to you, he took you shopping and still saw you only picked out things that fit into your current wardrobe despite seriously eyeing several other pieces of clothing that were short sleeved. you didn't get them, but he could tell you wanted them, so as a surprise, he bought all of the items for you and presented it as a gift

through your tears, you thanked him and decided to tell him why you didn't get them. he apologizes profusely, but you tell him it was alright and that one day, you'd wear them

once you're finally closer, you wear one of the short sleeved pajama sets to a sleepover with just him, and he can feel his heart swell with the amount of trust you'd put in his hands. expect to be pampered <333

Beel

while he's not the first to see them, he was the first to catch on to their existence. he's very good with reading your emotions and could easily tell when you were uncomfortable. every time, he saved you from the situation but he was afraid of how you might feel when he wasn't around

the two of you had just gotten done with a jog that ended in a park, where the two of you sat in the grass to relax before headed home. while there, your conversation got rather deep and you ended up discussing thing you never thought might slip out

the manner in which you told him was detached and while you mentioned it in passing, beel was insistent you go back to that topic. he held you close, despite the fact that you were both sweaty and gross, because the thing that mattered most to him was how you felt

of course he wouldn't pry, and he didn't, but he will guard your secret with his life now. anytime you need him or just want to talk, or need a hug, he's there unconditionally

Belphie

when you initially met, when he was imprisoned in the attic and you thought he was human like he claimed he was, whenever you'd chat he could tell there was something you were holding back

he asked upfront what the matter was, not realizing he'd strike such a nerve. you took it not how he expected you to and you stormed off, upset. he was concerned he'd jeopardized his plan but there wasn't anything he could do about it now

later that night you returned, you had cooled off and apologized, and told him why you had been so disturbed by his comment. you showed him the few on your upper back and neck, and told your story. he almost felt bad about what he'd done

when he held you aloft by your neck, that same part of him that felt guilty chimed in again and made him remembered the scars you'd shown him and the kinship you thought you shared together, when you thought he was a human. it was a shame not all of him felt sorry for you

[rainylana]

bad day<3

i’m sad today so thus this was written lol

You knew it was because of your nightmare, but the entire day hadn’t been a good one for you. You couldn’t keep your mind to reality, and all day you kept catching yourself staring off into space, mind held captive back at the upside down. When you saw Eddie, you couldn’t help but bite back tears in remembrance of his injuries. You’d both long since healed from that night. Everyone had. But it was also okay to have bad days. It was what made you human.

It also didn’t help that it had been storming all day. You were late to work and hadn’t ate all day. Plus, you’d gotten no sleep. Eddie noticed too, the bags under your eyes darker than usual.

It was late that following night. Eddie was passed out asleep on the recliner in the living room, wearing grey sweats and a baggy t shirt with a beer stain on the collar. You stared tiredly at the tv screen playing wheel of fortune, your head resting against his knee, your own knees resting against his ankles tucked away.

You were so exhausted and desperately needed sleep, but you had a lump in the back of your throat that had been there since you woke up. You knew everything was okay. That Eddie was fine. But still, it was okay to cry over everything that had happened, right? Your eyes teared up against his leg, and you shivered slightly from the cold.

Tears were soon to slip freely down your face, glowing in different shades of color from the spinning wheel on the screen. You let out a muffled sob against the fabric of his clothing, eyes crinkled up around your lashes. Your heart ached and your stomach twisted into sickness, your fingers tightening their grip on the frayed carpet you sat on.

You were so tired that you were practically crying in your sleep, eyes fluttering closed with little whimpers falling past your pink lips. You didn’t even feel alarmed at the warm hand at your shoulder.

“Y/n?” Eddie’s voice cracked tiredly, and you heard the squeak of the recliner as he sat up from his sleeping position. “Hey, are you-” He stopped, mouth gaping slightly when he peaked down at you and saw your tearful face. You didn’t hide away. You were too tired.

“Baby, hey, what’s the matter?” He said softly in concern, pushing himself down to the floor so he could kneel beside you. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

He took your damp cheek in his palm, holding your face while the other went to your thigh, pulling your close. You didn’t even deny the fact, nor hide that you were crying like you normally did. You sniffled and took in the feeling of his hands, overwhelmed by a flush of ptsd from your nightmare. You let out a cry and leaned to put your forehead on his chest.

“What, baby?” He rubbed up and down your back. “Talk to me.”

You let out a small sob, your hand going to the scars on his stomach that were covered by his shirt and hovered over them. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” Your voice had cracked into a million staticky waves. “I love you so much.”

His face faltered slightly before he squeezed you, sighing into your hair that was under his nose. He too, remembered that night at the mention of his survival. He shuddered at the thought, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “God, I love you.”

Sleep was crashing into you like a bullet train, and you whimpered as you pulled at his shirt. “I’m so tired. I just wanna sleep.”

His fingers combed at your hair before he licked his lips, lifting you slightly as he nodded toward the chair. “Come on.” He helped you stand and he guided you to lay beside him on the chair, pulling you practically atop of him as your feet hung off the end of the leather chair. He reached down to the floor and brought up the quilt blanket Nancy had made for the both of you, pulling it up around both your your shoulders. His arm hooked around you and your legs tangled together, chests pressed to one another’s and breathing began to match.

When it came to times like these, times where the upside down came back to haunt you, he decided it was usually best not to say anything. You knew he was okay. You knew he was alive and wasn’t going anywhere. You knew all of this, but he still understood that sometimes all you needed was a good cry. With sleep, however, he could help with.

You buried your face in his chest and cried softly from exhaustion and your own anxieties, Eddie’s lips on your forehead and hands rubbing up and down your body. “Try to sleep, honey.” He whispered into your ear. “I’ll protect you.”

[thehomothings]

for the headcanon thing: kite with ☪️✴️ plss

Ohohoho my fave fictional guy to hurt!!! Ty for that

So before i start, i had a little problem deciphering the emojies bc my phone and computer show me completely different things so I'll assume you meant moon and sun? If not I'm sorry, feel free to correct me and I'll do another post :3

☾ - sleep headcanon

The man is a chronic insomniac. It takes a long time for him to fall asleep and the slightest shift in the air to startle him. He grew up in an environment which conditioned him into being half aware in his sleep- he couldn't afford to be caught off guard. The smallest noise wakes him up, which is mainly why he prefers to camp out in nature than to actually get a place in the city. Sometimes he can't fall asleep several days at the time- which drives him to overwork himself to the point he hopefully passes out at night. At some point in late teenagehood/early adulthood he was prescribed sleeping meds, but stopped taking them due to how much more vivid they made his nightmares.

The nightmares where he's back in the streets, cold and starving, small and weak, and in the dreams he can't find his dogs; it's a neverending chase with shadowy tormentors and no respite to be found at the end of the line. He hides and hands find him, sneers and jeers ring out as he hits the ground again and again, and he wakes up with the iron tang of blood on his tongue. Sometimes he goes for a run when the sky's still dark, other times he just summons Crazy Slots, clutching the clown in his hands until the sun rises and the birds sing so he can tell himself i survived another day.

That being said, he can sleep much easier with someone to keep him company, being a pack of cats and dogs, or his team crashing into a cuddle pile (or Wing, bc the man is a human furnace).

☼ - appearance headcanon

Kite is easily 7 feet tall- which is one of the only physical features that he actively likes about himself. It helps him in combat, and admittedly towering over people dissuades them from messing with him.

It's not only the hair on his head that's white- his eyebrows and eyelashes are also white, almost to the point of being translucent. His legs and arms are quite hairy, but he barely grows any facial hair at all and despite that, keeps his face clean shaven. He doesn't remember ever having short hair at any point in his life, but one of his earliest memories is of a less than kind caretaker trying to cut his hair and after facing Kite's resistance, beating him. He doesn't quite trust anyone around him with scissors even years after and trims his own hair.

He has many scars, from his childhood living situation and the time he spent travelling with Ging; the ones that stand out most being one on his throat and the burnmarks covering his forearms. He hides them with clothes and doesn't undress in front of others less out of vanity and more so people don't ask questions. He wouldn't be able to stop himself from being snarky if they did so.

His nose was broken in childhood and has a badly healed bump, so do two fingers on his left hand. His front teeth are crooked- overlapping a bit, and one has a chipped corner. By his late twenties he has pronounced crow's feet when he smiles and asymmetrical smile lines.

I always headcanon that he got tattoos, maybe as a way to claim back ownership over his own body. I think maybe an ouroboros (SYMBOLISM!!!) and possibly flowers.

And honestly i could keep going but i will end my waffling here. Who knew i still had so much to infodump about this man.

Ty for the ask!

[skellebonez]

Hmmm how about MK and Monkie King with number 1 and number 45

I wanted to write a follow up to a certain fill that got some wonderful art recently too! But then the finale happened and now I made it depressing, sorry. Spoilers for... everything as this is set 3 days after the final episode. This also plays around with the “Sun Wukong is still super immortal and powerful but...” and other theories. (second prompt line is only used as inspiration in fill)

Do not give me that look./ You may technically be an adult, but you’re still my child.

The moment MK's curse was lifted and he was re-aged from 4 years old to adult Wukong acted like nothing had happened at all. No understanding conversations about how his powers could hurt him, no cooking together, no video games, and no accidental couch naps. It was as if the entire day had been undone to the sands of time.

But MK remembered and when the literal next day Wukong announced he was going on vacation... let's just say he was not happy in the slightest. He had tried to voice his objections, citing the Spider Queen as a prime example for why they should be worried, but the immortal monkey just flashed him dual thumbs up with a “Monkey King Out!” and flashed off somewhere MK couldn’t follow.

And now he was back and while MK had been more than happy to get going at first, to push everything that happened deep down inside him and ignore it for as long as possible (why was he doing that, he needed to stop doing that, look where that got them he was a mistake a bad choice as a successor and now he’s barely a successor at all) there was only so long he could go before it became clear there was more wrong than what Sun Wukong was telling him.

There was more wrong with Sun Wukong himself that he refused to admit.

He tried to hide it as well as he could. Despite the heat outside and the fur covering his body he still wore full body clothing. Hiding away the gashes and healing scars that riddled his form now. There was a nick in his eyebrow that had never gone away, and when MK watched closely he could see his mentor sometimes place his hand too far to the left when grabbing something. He walked with a slight limp, though that had improved over the last few days.

And he was quiet. Yes, when someone was addressing him he was “yeah totally, we got this fam, onward westward!”, but when MK caught him alone... especially outside on the deck of the drone, watching the horizon, he was more quiet and still than the Monkie Kid had ever seen him before.

Or maybe he was always like this and now Wukong was too hurt or distracted enough or just didn’t care anymore that MK was finally seeing him.

It was hard to tell with how distant he had been the last three days. Distant in the same way the day after the curse was lifted, but quieter.

“We need to talk,” He said from behind his mentor, watching as Wukong’s tail jumped only a little. Maybe that was just surprise at the words themselves. “Alone. Please.”

He expected Wukong to brush him off, to say “aw bud, can’t it wait? look at the sunset!” despite the sun having set so far they barely had any light left or something else. But instead he straightened up (MK heard the slight crack of his back again, much softer than when he had first heard it after their crash landing, and he wondered how much his back had healed from whatever injury it had) and turned to his student with an odd expression. Somewhat soft and fond and somewhat worried and resigned. Like this was more than just 3 days coming (and it was).

“Let’s... get something to eat first, alright?”

MK didn’t mention that they had eaten just over an hour ago.

~

They sat in the kitchen of the drone, alone under the dimmed lights with cups of tea and sliced fruit between them (mostly for Wukong). Neither had said anything as they prepared the small snack, and neither said anything as they sat down and took sips of their tea.

MK had made it slightly too strong.

“What did you want to ask first?” Wukong started off, picking up a peach slice and biting into it carefully. Slowly. This was something else that was noticed. Before when eating the Monkey King would just shove whatever he was eating in his mouth and MK wasn't certain he tasted it. But now it was like he was trying to make every meal last as long as possible. “There’s... a lot. I can tell.”

“We spent an entire day together and then you left without telling me anything,” MK said firmly, gripping the tea cup in his hands. He squeezed harder, just to see what would happen. It should have shattered... it didn’t. “Why didn’t you just... say something?”

“... I thought I was protecting you,” Wukong admitted honestly, taking another bite of peach. “And the city, the others...  That if I acted distant you wouldn’t wonder where I went a-”

“Wouldn’t wonder wh- no!��� MK interrupted, gritting his teeth. “No, Monkey K- Wukong.” The change in how MK addressed him made Wukong jolt, looking at him with wide eyes. He had never called him by his name before now. “We spent an entire day together. You took care of me, helped me when my powers went haywire, helped me make food! You never treated me like that before! You treated me like... Like I was...”

“My kid,” Wukong finished for him, now looking down into his tea cup. “MK... You’re an adult, I know that, but somewhere down the line I started to think of you as... I didn’t know till then I guess, and that terrified me. The idea of you getting hurt that day was the only thing that compared to admitting I got attached to you as more than just my student.”

Had this revelation come sooner MK might have been more surprised. More disbelieving. But after that day and everything that happened once the curse was gone...

“... you have a funny way of showing it,” MK snapped without thinking, eyes widening and jolting upright when he realized what he had said. “I-”

“Don’t,” Wukong said with a shake of his head, sipping his tea with a sigh. “You deserve to be angry with me. I talked to, uh... Pigsy? Sandy too. Tang.... Mei. Your boss in particular laid into me pretty hard after the excitement died down... Don’t know how I went 1000 years without knowing what a ‘lie by omission’ was.”

“... you abandoned me.”

“Yes... I didn’t mean it that way, but that doesn’t change that I did.”

“You didn’t trust me.”

“NO.” Wukong said firmly, voice raised for the first time in days. MK glowered at him. “No, that is one thing I will not back down on. Yes, I lied to you and left you behind and that was a mistake I will need to make up for over a long time, but it wasn’t because I didn’t trust you. I trusted you to take care of yourself, to teach yourself the lessons I left behind, and take care of the city. And you did! You did so much better than I even hoped for, and I hoped so badly that you would do as well as you did! I didn’t leave you there because I didn’t trust you, I left you there because I did... and because I thought I had to do everything myself...” He sighed, running a hand down his face. “I’ve been alone so long... I forgot I could do things with help on my end, I guess...”

“If... If Lady Bone Demon hadn’t finished what she was doing...?”

“Had the Lady Bone Demon not been working faster than I thought she was I would have come back with nothing less than even more trust in you as my successor.”

“... am I even still your successor without...?” MK trailed off, trying to keep his voice level. The tea cup still held strong.

“Yes,” Wukong assured, reaching out to put a hand on MK’s shoulder. MK noticed how he almost missed and corrected his hand. “The staff and my powers alone didn’t make you my successor. I picked you before those, remember? You’re still the Monkie Kid, MK. Nothing is going to change that for me.”

The young man went quiet for a moment, taking a shaky breath. He wanted to ask why he was chosen, what made him so special... but there would be time for that in the future. For now he had gotten at least some of his questions answered. But there was something much more pressing to touch on.

“,,, you’ve been lying to all of us,” he accused suddenly, reaching up and grabbing the wrist of Wukong’s hand on his shoulder before he could pull back. He looked his mentor in the face, watching as Wukong’s eyes widened in realization and horror. “Do not give me that look. Stop... please, stop lying. I’m not stupid, I can see you’re still hurt bad. You’re supposed to be invincible but you came back hurt and... and almost nothing can hurt you!”

Wukong didn’t meet MK’s gaze, looking down at their snack as he breathed heavily and shakily. He knew he was caught, that much was obvious.

“Please... talk to me, for once. I know I do the same thing, I lied to everyone else by not telling them about LBD or the calabash or Macaque coming back-” Wukong tensed at that, an odd sound escaping his throat. “-and look where it got us. We both need to talk. To everyone else. To each other.”

Wukong’s arm was shaking where MK held it, but he didn’t try to pull it back. Not until MK let it go. He sat back down, looking at the table like it held all the secrets of the universe before bringing his hand up to cover his eye. The one with the nicked eyebrow.

“Bud...” Wukong started, biting his lip. There was something wrong in his tone. “I... you were going to find out eventually. I can’t keep this up forever, not like Macaque can.” MK tensed at the mention of the other immortal monkey, watching as Wukong did not move his hand. “This takes a lot of focus. And... with my invincibility partly gone-”

“What?” MK asked, so soft he thought Wukong hadn’t heard him.

“... You didn’t get my powers from the staff, MK,” Wukong said. “And they don’t just duplicate. That’s not how they work. From day one I have been... siphoning my powers to you. Bit by bit. As you got better at controlling them I would give you more until I felt I didn’t need them myself anymore. When I locked away your invincibility I just undid what I had given you and slowed down the transfer... you’d been half invincible for weeks.”

“No...” MK started, slowly realizing what Wukong was implying. “No, no you’re lying again! This is a terrible, horrible prank!” Despite wanting to be quiet before MK found himself yelling. “Say you’re still lying!”

“No,” Wukong shook his head, looking down at the scar on his arm that was now visible as his sleeve had slipped down. “Most of this will probably heal eventually, except maybe one thing, and I’m still immortal! There’s no undoing that no matter what I do. I’m not dying any time soon. But my transformations? Cloning? My cloud...” He trailed off at that, breaking in a shaky breath. “You didn’t even get to use that... Lady Bone Demon took all of it when she took it from you. I still have some powers, some of my transformations and hair stuff and some invincibility... but I’m not the same overpowered Monkey King you met when you freed DBK...”

And as he trailed off, Wukong lowered his hand. Something flickered, something familiar. Too familiar. Reminiscent of Macaque’s shadows but brighter. And after there was something else reminiscent. In reverse.

MK had only seen it for a split second, when all of Macaque’s glamor magic had dropped. The milky white right eye and the scar over it that was left behind from his battle with Wukong 500 years ago.

And now Wukong looked at him with a similarly white left eye, a similar scar that wasn’t just a nicked eyebrow running down his face.

It makes sense in retrospect, much more. MK supposed that when you lose an eye you lose depth perception and it takes a while to get used to judging where things are.

“... what happened before you came in to save me?” MK asked quietly, watching as more of the glamor fell with a curse from Wukong. There was another nick on his cheek that was still healing, a piece of one of his ears had been ripped off too. No doubt there were more injuries under his clothes that Wukong hadn’t let anyone see.

“She has Macaque under her control,” Wukong said plainly, groaning as he held his head. “Damn, that... letting that down...” He groaned again and before MK could realize what was happening Wukong’s eyes rolled back into his head and he slipped from his chair to the floor.

“WUKONG!” MK shot up, rushing over to his side and yelling over his shoulder in the hopes someone would hear. “Pigsy! D-DADSY! Help, SOMETHING’S WRONG!”

When Pigsy rushed in with the others in tow Wukong hadn't regained consciousness.

[justnerdthings]

Frigid Heart Ch. 4

F!Reader x Bi-Han

Okay. I'm not feeling so well, so this chapter might not seem as well written as the others. But, I'm also not so great with action. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

@poor-unfortunate-soul-85 @whitelotusfighter @icy-spicy @crazytxgradstudent @d-taslim @bihansthot @legends-of-apex @lillikue @missroro

Bi-Han was chopping wood when you returned late in the afternoon. The girls were still talking when you left, and you were sure they were still talking as you walked towards your master. Thema had braided your hair. She’d weaved in some blue flowers to match Sub-Zero’s robes. Cho had painted your lips a deep red. Suki had made-up your eyes. And Margita? She’d shown you how to properly carry yourself.

Snowflake had beamed at your finished look. “You’re so pretty!” She’d told you. Snowflake was sure once the scars faded, that you’d quickly catch the eye of the Grandmaster, himself. But when the girls had told you what the Grandmaster did with his girls… You weren’t so sure you wanted your scars to heal.

Bi-Han looked up as you came into view. You could see his brow furrow at you, as if he hadn���t recognized you, but it quickly faded as you stepped closer. You caught the slightest hint of him fighting a smirk before he turned away, back to the wood. “Did you enjoy yourself?” He asked before swinging his axe down, easily splitting the wood. You eye’d the odd colored axe for a moment before you realized it was made of ice, just like his blade from yesterday.

“Yes,” you answered plainly. “I’d never been to a hot spring before.”

“Well, now you can’t say that,” he said, setting up another log. “I see you’ve met Cyrax’s servant.”

You blinked and reached for your braid that was draped over your shoulder. You ran your fingers over it gently and admired the small flowers. A reddish hue painted your cheeks as you remembered something Thema had told you. “Do you… Like it, Master?”

Bi-Han swung his axe again. The wood split just as easily as the last and fell off the block. “It looks nice,” he told you without looking back at you.

You didn’t mind that he hadn’t looked at you again. It actually took some of the pressure away. But his answer still made a sheepish smile come to your face.

“I shot some grouses earlier—” He’d begun.

“I’ll get right to them!” You interrupted, a bit too zealous. Your blush darkened when you caught him glance over his shoulder with a raised brow. He chuckled and looked back to his growing wood pile.

“Do that,” he told you.

You gave him a quick bow before hurrying off behind the house.

Two large grouse hung outside. Heads severed. A puddle of blood was below them. They’d been bled out. But that was the most Bi-Han had done with them. The rest was for you to handle.

Your sleeves had been tied up to avoid staining them. You’d have to ask about getting more clothes. Ones that were more practical, preferably. You didn’t want to ruin such nice clothes, even if they did seem plain and simple to everyone else.

With the grouses plucked and cleaned, you’d placed them both in a wide pot with several herbs. What vegetables you’d found were chopped and thrown in with them. A lid covered the pot before you carried it over to the hearth and carefully placed it. Soon enough it would be ready to eat. You would clean your mess for now.

You’d made quick work of the kitchen. Outside, you collected the bucket of feathers. Those could be used. Padding in armor. A pillow. Trading. They had use. You secured a lid on the bucket and set it aside carefully.

A deep, echoing growl had caught your attention. You knew that sound…

The sounds of horns alarmed the village. Your heart pounded and raced as voices shouted in the distance. Heavy thudding was coming closer. Monstrous snarls filled the forest. Bi-Han came around the house, looking in the direction of the commotion.

“Get inside,” he told you as he walked past you.

“Master—”

“Get inside!” he ordered as he ran into the forest.

You stepped back and towards the house, but stopped at the door as you heard blood curdling screams. Assassins from the village went charging after the screams. Trees fell in the distance, the cracking of their trunks sent shivers up your spine. You knew of only one beast that could snap trees in half with little effort and make hardened warriors cry in fear.

Ice beasts.

Your heart skipped a beat as the shouting grew closer. The ground beneath your feet was starting to shake with each step that beast made. No… Beasts. There was more than one.You jumped the next second as the treeline began to collapse in front of you.

A beast broke through a line of assassins with a mighty roar. Ice shards were sent flying in every direction. You ducked out of the way.

A large chunk of ice lodged itself into the wall of Bi-Han’s house. Your eyes grew at the sight. It’d only just missed you. The chill of adrenaline rushed through you as you looked back to the beast. It was quickly joined by another and you could still hear fighting deeper in the forest. Had it been a whole herd?

The two beasts stormed the village. Palace guards were pouring out. Servants were running for their lives. Just those two ice beasts were enough to destroy the courtyard. Assassins were being torn apart. The snow white coats of the ice beasts were stained red with blood. You were frozen in fear. You’d never seen such brutality. In your old village, ice beasts never attacked like this. One would appear in a fit occasionally. But they were quickly tamed. The Snow Ninja clan was gifted with being able to tame such beasts.

Lily had come out of the palace, blade in hand, the Grandmaster at her side with two blades in his hands. They wore matching armor as they watched their guards get thrown around like toys. More ice beasts broke through the treeline, charging into the village with such ferocity you hadn’t seen. You quickly moved to take cover as you watched the chaos.

Was this a common occurrence? Did the Lin Kuei often fight with the ice beasts? Did the ice beasts often attack the Lin Kuei with no warning? Both the Grandmaster and Lily charged into battle. Lily took every chance she could get to guard the Grandmaster. She reminded you of a female wolf guarding her alpha, putting herself between the beast and the Grandmaster, protecting his weak spots as they fought off one of the beasts.

Off to the side, smoke had begun to fill the village. You recognized it. It was the same kind of smoke that had covered your old village and blinded your old clan. It creeped along the ground and quickly engulfed the beasts to disorient them, leaving the Lin Kuei to freely attack with the new advantage. Explosions rocked the village. The ninja in red who you’d known as Sektor was firing hand cannons. The yellow ninja, Cyrax, was appearing and disappearing out of thin air around the battlefield.

A blue blur whipped by you. You recoiled and ducked behind the stone wall as ice crystals rained over you. A strong hand gripped your arm and pulled you away just in time as a beast’s foot came down and destroyed the spot of ground you’d been hiding in.

“Get out of here.” You turned to see it was Tundra who had saved you. But your brows knotted and you looked back. If Tundra hadn’t been the blue blur thrown past you…

Sub-Zero pushed himself up with a strained growl as the beast came barreling toward him. Your heart was about to jump right out of your chest. You looked back to Tundra with panic in your eyes. “You have to help him!” You screamed.

“Get out of here!” Tundra shouted. His eyes then shifted and he pulled you behind him. A wall of ice grew in front of him as a bolder came flying for the two of you. As it crashed into the ice wall, the ice cracked, only just barely able to hold back the attack. You ran. But not away.

“What are you doing!?” Tundra called after you as you ran around his wall and into the chaos. You grabbed a dead assassin’s sword as you ran for Sub-Zero. Blood was staining his clothes as he struggled to keep what surely was the alpha beast at bay. Bi-Han’s attacks were thwarted one after the other. He was pushed onto the defensive. Ice walls grew all around him, only to be knocked down by swings of the beast’s fists.

You did what you’d saw Lily do. You’d done what you were raised to do in your old village. You slid to a stop in front of an injured Bi-Han, facing the beast yourself. You couldn’t see Sub-Zero’s reaction, but he hadn’t shouted for you to leave like Kuai had. Your eyes locked on the beast’s. It swung a giant fist down and you jumped back to avoid it. Ice beasts were huge and powerful. But they were slow and dumb. This one had a strange look in its eyes. Something wasn’t right. You could feel it.

More attacks came from the beast. You dodged each one until you felt yourself back into Bi-Han. He grunted. He was leaned back against a tree. His breath was heavy in your ear as you stood your ground. The beast reached and grabbed the tree. The tree was pulled up from the ground, roots and all, and was tossed aside like a simple stick. You fell back with Bi-Han to the ground. As a massive foot was lifted, you threw your sword.

The beast let out an ear rupturing roar as the blade speared deep into its foot. Someone was grabbing you. You looked back to see Tundra again. His arm was wrapped around his brother as he tried to lift him and you to your feet. He swung you both around the next second. Another ice wall shot up from the ground as the beast sent its fist down. But the wall didn’t hold. It shattered, ice shards being sent in everywhere. You covered your face with your arms. What in the world had gotten into these ice beasts. They had usually been so peaceful in your old village.

You caught the strange eyes of the beast again. Your stomach sunk as a feeling of desperation came over you. You pushed past Kuai and rose to your feet. The beast roared at you as you stepped closer in defiance. Your eyes were locked on the beast’s. It seemed to take it as a challenge to its dominance. It slammed a fist into the ground, shaking everything around you. You managed to keep your footing as you stared down this abomination. “No.” You told it, stepping closer.

The beasts huffed, steam filling the air. It roared, sending icy spittle at you. You didn’t budge even as the tiny shards of ice stung your face. “No!” You shouted.

Another roar shook the trees around you. This beast seemed to be having trouble dealing with your defiance. Despite its injured foot, it backed up only a single step as it snorted. “NO!” You screamed with every ounce of air from your lungs.

The beast recoiled, stepping back further. You stepped closer. The beast dropped to all fours to support itself and raised its injured foot up. Its head shook as if trying to shake something off. You stepped closer. It grunted and snorted, unsure of your intention and kept backing away. You could hear Kuai trying to coax Bi-Han--trying to awaken him. Bi-Han must have passed out. You hoped, at least, that he’d only passed out. What would happen to you if he died? Your jaw hardened as you kept moving towards the beast.

It howled. The sudden cry jolted you, but you didn’t back away. You fought every instinct your body was screaming at you to turn and run. You kept your eyes right on the beast’s eyes and watched as clarity began to spread through them, like some veil had begun to lift.

The howl had signaled the rest of the ice beast to cease their attacks. Some were killed at the first sign of forfeit. Some were trapped. The rest had been given caution as they fled the village.

You were so close to the alpha now. You reached out as it lowered itself to your level. Those massive eyes turned the most brilliant shade of blue as they watched you. Your breath hitched when your hand finally touched, and rested, on the beast’s face. Your blood was roaring in your ears and your heart was shaking your whole chest as you stood there. The beast was heaving chilled breaths. Whatever spell this beast had been under, it seemed to have waned.

You let out a slow, calm breath as you stepped closer and placed your other hand on the beast. Your fingers combed through its thick fur. Oh, how you missed the feel of ice beast fur. So thick and coarse… But so warm when made into blankets or clothing. It backed away and you noticed it winced.

Its foot.

Slowly you broke eye contact with the beast and moved around it, letting your hand trail along its fur as you moved towards the injured foot. It snarled and you looked back to its eyes. It huffed, then moved to sit on the ground. You reached for the blade stuck in its foot and in one quick yank, pulled the blade clean out.

The beast howled again and pulled its foot away, guarding it.

Assassins had come running, shouting and readying their weapons. They were going to kill this beast. You couldn’t let that happen. You backed away from it and looked into its fearful eyes. “Go,” You told it.

You didn’t have to tell it twice. The beast quickly rose and took off deep into the forest. You then moved back to Kuai and Bi-Han as the assassins came. Bi-Han’s eyes were still closed. Kuai was watching you in disbelief as you dropped to your knees next to him. Bi-Han’s wounds were filled with ice, keeping them from bleeding.

“What happened?” the Grandmaster asked as he made his way to the front of the crowd. Kuai reluctantly shifted focus from you to his master. “He’s been injured.”

The Grandmaster stepped closer to get a better look. His expression was hidden behind his mask, but his eyes showed a level of sadness. He caught your eyes the next second, lifting a brow before they shifted to the sword in your hand, coated in blood. You quickly released the blade and averted your eyes.

“It was not her doing,” Kuai answered to your defense. “She… helped.” He seemed to have some trouble admitting that you had stepped in. Or maybe he was just confused with how you managed to subdue an ice beast.

“Someone bring Sub-Zero to the palace,” he ordered no one in particular. “Have him treated before the others.” Kuai helped a fellow assassin carry his brother away. The other assassins had begun to thin out and assess the damage to the village. You were alone on the ground with the Grandmaster’s eyes weighing heavy on you.

“You. Girl.”

You looked up to the Grandmaster slowly, not wanting to make any sudden moves.

“Where did you get that blade?” He demanded of you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I took it from one of your dead. My apologies, Grandmaster. I only wanted to help my Master.”

His eyes searched you before he was joined by a limping Lily. Her eyes fell on you and filled you with dread instantly. But to your surprise, and Lily’s, the Grandmaster had sheathed one of his swords and stepped forward. He offered you his bloodied hand. You froze. Your eyes shifted from his hand, to his face, then to Lily’s deeply baffled expression. “Come,” the Grandmaster said. You looked back to him, then his hand. It wouldn’t be wise to refuse the Grandmaster...

You took his hand.

[ratisnotcrying]

you’re useless

Summary: “Well, maybe if you weren’t so goddamn useless then we wouldn’t be stuck here.”

Juno hadn’t meant to say it. He didn’t even really believe it. Maybe he would have, when he was still a PI, before he had first met Peter, but he had changed so much since then. He still had bad days, but he handled them better now. He knew when he was in the wrong.

Prompt: "You're useless." from palettes-and-prompts

Pairings: background Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, background Buddy Aurinko/Vespa Ilkay

Warnings: implied child abuse, descriptions of violence, hidden injury, hurt/comfort

Word count: 2.6K

A/N: this is crossposted on ao3 - ik that repeticism isnt a word but im making it one for this fic 

~~~

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so goddamn useless then we wouldn’t be stuck here.”

Juno hadn’t meant to say it. He didn’t even really believe it. Maybe he would have, when he was still a PI, before he had first met Peter, but he had changed so much since then. He still had bad days, but he handled them better now. He knew when he was in the wrong.

~~~

Rowan isn’t quite sure how they found themself on board the Carte Blanche and on the outskirts of the Aurinko crime family.

They had the typical, cliché backstory of a lone-wolf operating within the underbelly of society - a surface-perfect home life destroyed by something seemingly mundane blah blah blah, trust issues, a long line of enemies, enough friends to count on one hand, and nothing much else to show for over two decades of living.

One good thing about working alone is the need to get creative, and this is what had put them on Buddy’s radar in the first place. A few years ago, Rowan had been hired to acquire a tank of rare fish - this is about where they stopped asking questions, they didn't care as long as they got paid - and, after some very elaborate lies, an even more elaborate disguise and a rigged game of cards, they had managed to win a tank of the ugliest fish they had ever seen.

The part that caught Buddy’s attention, though, was the escape. Rowan had been found out before they had a chance to get out of the building, and had only managed to escape because they had memorised the security’s routes. It took a bit of guesswork, but they had been able to work out where the security would be coming from, found an unguarded window, clambered down a drain pipe, fish tank sloshing precariously in their bag, and landed near perfectly in a pile of rubbish bags outside the window - if you discount the broken bottle that had gouged their leg.

Buddy had picked Rowan up a few weeks after Juno and Rita, but it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, no matter how much anyone may have wanted it to be.

The problem wasn’t that Rowan couldn’t do their job - if that were the case they wouldn’t be here. No, the problem was that being thrown into close quarters with a bunch of strangers was… a lot. Especially for someone who had been alone for so long.

Rowan liked Jet well enough, he was straightforward and honest but intense; Buddy’s ‘take no shit but do no harm’ attitude aligned perfectly with her unwavering morals, and this was a welcome relief from the lies and deceit Rowan had lived with for so long. Rita and Peter were surprisingly welcoming, and Rowan formed a reluctant almost-friendship with Vespa. Juno, though. He and Rowan were too alike: fiercely independent, stubborn as a mule, and they both fell back into old habits as easily as anything.

Maybe this clash of bad habits, the deceptive comfort in being who you were, even for a moment, is how this job went so spectacularly wrong.

~~~

It was supposed to be a simple in-and-out job. Rita had taken out the security cameras, Jet was waiting in the car, and Juno was sneaking down the darkened hallways with Rowan.

“I still don’t understand why we need this goddamn painting. It looks like a baby threw up crayons and then just threw up on a canvas.”

“I’ve just eaten, Juno, shush if you don’t want me to throw up too.”

“Rowan, darling, please do not do that - this painting is priceless and highly sought after, which is why, Juno, we need to swap this for the information August Reid is refusing to give us. I did mention this in our family meeting before you left.”

Vespa’s aggravated voice piped up in the background of Buddy’s comms, “He was too busy swooning all over Ransom to pay attention.”

~~~

They had gotten the painting easily, so it was just a matter of getting out again. Rowan had been tasked with studying the guards’ shift patterns and routes, and had had no problem getting them in. Apparently, their luck couldn't hold.

They crept forwards, leading Juno left, right, left again, ducking this way and that to avoid the, quite frankly excessive, number of guards patrolling the halls. And that’s when it happened.

Rowan ducked right around a corner into another corridor, one that was supposed to be empty for another six minutes at least and there, at the other end, was a guard. A guard who was looking right at them.

“Crap.”

“What? Rowan we need to kee- crap.”

Both of their comms beeped, Buddy asking them questions with thinly veiled panic in her voice, but neither of them answered, stood frozen, eyes locked with the guard. Then all hell broke loose.

Everyone took out their guns and bullets started flying, the guard was shouting and footsteps could be heard thundering closer from all directions.

A tidal wave of de ja vu crashed over Rowan, “Fuck, this way,” they shouted, turning to run, voice tinged with something Juno didn’t have time to decipher, but Juno grabbed their sleeve and dragged them in the opposite direction.

“Hell no. You are done giving directions, I am not letting you get me killed here.”

They ran back the way they had come, and Juno skidded to a stop in front of a storage cupboard.

“Get in, quickly. There’s a vent at the top we need to get through. Do you think you can manage that?”

Rowan wasn't sure - there was a searing pain in their side that sent shocks of nausea through them with each breath and black dots into their vision with each movement. But this was their fault - they had failed at the one job they had - the one thing they were supposed to be able to do, they got themself shot and had put Juno in danger. They did not need to hold the job up any longer - they just had to get out of here and they could deal with the shot later.

It was a tight squeeze, both of them were crammed awkwardly into the vents, waiting for Rita to work out where they were so she could guide them out.

“Christ, it’s cramped in here - my side is killing me.” Rowan muttered to themself.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so goddamn useless then we wouldn’t be stuck here.”

Everything seemed to shift and sharpen, Rowan suddenly violently aware of everything around them whilst simultaneously being blurred by memories they had tried so hard to bury: Juno was trying to listen and see if they had been found, there was shouting from down the hall, the smell of musty metal was almost overwhelming and Rowan jerked as if physically struck by Juno’s words, completely at a loss for what to say. Luckily, Rita, who had been on the comms, was not quite as speechless.

“Mistah Steel! That is a horrible thing to say, how could you-”

“Goddamnit Rita, I don't have time for this - how they hell do we get out of here?”

~~~

Jet was still outside with the car, and took off at break-neck speed as soon as the doors were shut. Juno sat in the front seat, the painting on his lap, talking to Buddy about something, and Rowan was slouched in the back, trying to cover up the fact that their organs were about to fall out. Well, that was an exaggeration. Probably. Just to be safe they grabbed a jacket they had left in the car weeks ago and slipped it on, wrapping it tightly around themself to try and hide the blood and hopefully-not-organs.

Juno had gotten a bit banged up in the vents, so when they arrived back at the Carte Blanche he went straight to the medical bay to meet Buddy with the painting and then to get checked.

“Rowan, it is recommended that you also get checked out. You look very ill,” Jet said as Rowan turned away from the medical bay and towards their room.

“No worries, Jet, I just want to get changed first - these clothes are filthy.”

~~~

“It was a mistake, darling, the best of us make them.”

“Yeah, well, it ws a stupid mistake - all they had to do was make sure they knew where the guards would be and then make sure we weren’t there!”

Vespa growled at Juno, who was gesticulating wildly whilst she was trying to wrap a bandage around his arm.

“Juno, I don’t care if Rowan walked straight up to that guard and told him why you were there - we are a family, and you will not speak to any member of this family like that.”

“That’s another thing - I get why everyone is here except Rowan - you said it was some daring escape that brought them here, but after today’s performance… what exactly do they bring to the table?”

“I’m going to leave that for you to work out, Juno.” Buddy said tersely.

He deflated a little, head tipping back to stare at the ceiling. Goddamnit.

“Are we about done here, Vespa, I’ve got places to be.”

~~~

Rowan would quite like a stiff drink right about now. Partially to actually drink, but mainly because they had run out of steriliser and this wound was definitely going to get infected and it would be this whole thing and they would get ill and-

“Get it together, Rowan.” They hissed, pulling out a sterile needle and taking a deep breath as they began to stitch themself up. This was not the first time, and likely wouldn’t be the last, that Rowan has had to do this - working alone and working recklessly meant most jobs ended with soft pink staining bandages and staining baths, throat and skin burning from cheap whiskey. Tonight didn’t have to be different.

The shot had skimmed their side so, luckily, no organs were falling out, but it was still going to be a bitch to heal, likely would be ripped open a few times and leave a nasty scar. This, unfortunately, was also not uncommon.

The painful repeticism of the needle going in and out lulled Rowan into a violent comfort they tried to avoid, the panicked calm soothing them until they couldn't quite hold back the memories they had been reminded of earlier.

Raised voices, gritted teeth and finger shaped bruises. Running, up stairs, through doors, arou-

There was a knock at their door. They flinched, snapping back to reality.

“Rowan, it’s Juno. Can I- can we talk?”

They almost said yes, just called Juno in like nothing was wrong. Then their brain kicked it’s way through the fog and realised they were sitting in bloody trousers, half stitched up wound and thread fully exposed to anyone who might walk in.

“Rowan?”

They picked up the shirt closest to them - part of a matching pyjama set - and tried to tuck the needle away so they could carry on when Juno was gone, and threw the door open.

“Sorry, I was just getting changed. Just sit anywhere.” They mumbled, haphazardly shoving piles of washing off of a chair.

“Thanks. Listen, about earlier, I know that you didn’t mean for that to happen. It’s been a rough week, not that that’s an excuse for what I said- are you alright?”

Rowan had half-sat, half-fallen back onto their seat on the bed and was focusing very hard on not fainting, so much so that they couldn’t really understand what Juno was saying. Maybe this wound was worse than they had thought. They nodded and hoped for the best.

“Right… Anyways, what I actually came to say is that I'm sorry I called you useless. You made a mistake, no one died, well I don’t think anyone died. Whatever, it couldn’t have been avoided. I know that I can be abrasive,” he said with a look that meant he had been told this many, many times before, “but that doesn’t mean that- Rowan, you really look like crap.”

“Wow, thanks, Juno, you say the sweetest things,” they took a deep breath and tried not to panic at the fact that they couldn’t really feel most of their torso anymore, “I know you didn’t mean it, we’re fine. Stop looking at me like that, I’m fine, I just need a nap.” The last words were pointed, hinting sharply at Juno to leave.

“Yeah, because slurred speech and sweating and shaking all scream ‘I’m fine’,” he paused for a moment and Rowan could almost see the cogs whirring, piecing together the information - bullets flying, the unidentified something in Rowan’s voice, the jacket they hadn’t been wearing before, the sterile wrappers on the bed… Then the last piece clicked into place, “Rowan, is that blood?”

They looked down at their top - their white pyjama top - as their vision began to fade out, their head too heavy to hold up and mouth too numb to speak, “No-”

~~~

When they came to, they were in the medical wing wearing a loose sleep shirt - distinctly not soaked in blood - and shorts. They tried to get up and go but a not-so-gentle hand pushed them back to lying down.

“Goddamnit, stop moving. You’ve already ripped your stitches once and you weren’t even awake,” Vespa growled, fussing with the bandages wrapped tight around Rowan’s middle.

“Sorry, I’ve always been lively in bed.”

“That’s cute, darling. What’s not cute is the stunt you pulled last night - if Juno hadn’t come to see you when he did... “ An uncomfortable look passed over Buddy’s face, “Let’s not dwell on that. I will want to talk about this later, but, for now, somebody else wants to see you.”

“Great,” Rowan tried to get up again, “Where are they?”

“Nice try, tough guy, but you’re staying right here until mean old Vespa lets you out.”

“Bite me, Steel.”

“No, thanks, I think I'll leave that to-” He cut himself off at Buddy's warning glance and didn't speak again until Buddy and Vespa had both left the room.

Rowan glanced at the bandage wrapped around Juno’s bicep, “Is it bad?”

“No, just a flesh wound, unlike that one you’re sporting - what was the plan? Stitch it up and hope you didn't drop dead in the middle of the next job?”

“Something like that.”

“Goddamnit. Okay, I don't know how much of what I said yesterday you heard but I'm sorry for what I said. I know we don't really… get along, but you remind me of,” he sighed, “You remind me of someone I used to know.”

“Juno, I really don't need a pep talk.”

“Well, here's the thing - you absolutely do because this,” he gestured to the bandages and the bed, “can’t happen again. You can't see that we care about you - you wouldn't be here if Buddy didn't think you were worth something and Rita is the best judge of character I know; she thinks you’re great. You have a goddamn family here, Rowan, stop trying to push us out.”

Rowan sighed, and Juno graciously didn't mention the tears in their eyes. “I don't know how to-” Rowan shook their head.

“We aren't going anywhere, Rowan, I know that's not what you want to hear but I don't care. For right now you need to stay here and stop ripping out your stitches. Take care of yourself for once. Then we can work on whatever complexes you’re holding onto so tight.” Juno said, squeezing Rowan’s shoulder as he stood.

Rowan didn’t say anything till he was half-way out the door, “Hey, Juno? Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

[whump-cravings]

Bird in a Ditch

saw a prompt about someone being dumped on the side of the road and an idea started to form. I’ve also wanted to try a BBU type thing, so here it iiiiiis

Content Warnings: BBU, pet whump, winged whump, nonhuman whump, fantastic racism referenced, extreme disassociation, past torture implied, tbh this piece is pretty mild

Lemon shook xir head to try and clear fatigue, keeping xir eyes on the road as xe leaned forward to manually roll the window down. Cool air blasted xim in the face and behind xir neck, sending refreshing shivers down xir spine.

Something glowed gold on the road and xe jerked the wheel, sliding into the other lane. "Feathers?" xe said, throwing xir gaze to catch another glimpse of the obstacle, already pulling over.

A downed barn owl? xe wondered, flicking the hazards on. Getting xir phone out, xe searched the cabin for a blanket or something to wrap the little dude in. If it wasn't dead, anyways. I better hurry. Another car could come by at any time.

"Probably already dead but just in case—" Lemon muttered to xirself, trying to forestall disappointment before it began. Xe surfaced with a canvas tarp and hustled out into the night, boots hitting asphalt. Xe was a little ways away from the bird...

As the phone's flashlight caught feathers again, Lemon frowned. That looked a lot bigger than an owl. Maybe an eagle, or—

Maybe a whole goddamn person? Xe stopped at the side of the ditch, looking down in shock at the humanoid body connected to the wings. Xe'd never seen any birdfolk up close. They were rare in this part of the world, where everybody was pretty damn racist.

That was neither here or there. Lemon shook xir head, dropping the canvas and propping the phone and its light up before carefully finding the top of the person’s outstretched wing and trying to gently-gently-gently fold it towards their body.

How did I mistake them for an owl? These are huge! Xe felt soft clicking underneath hands through the feathers and bone. Now up close, the feathers didn't seem to shine with the golden luster Lemon had seen before, but were instead dull and dirty.

"Sorry, sorry," Lemon murmured, though the person hadn't stirred. Concern buzzed in the back of xir head as xe stepped around to the face-down body.

Lemon crouched, slipping a hand down the side of neck and searched for a pulse. Still warm—there. Xe let out a sigh of relief at the rhythm beneath xir fingers. "Didn't want to have to report a dead body tonight," xe chuckled.

Xe moved xir hand to the bird person's shoulder, gently shaking. No reaction. "Of course, you wouldn't be lying in a ditch if you could wake up," Lemon muttered, straightening. Xir gaze traveled down, and xe picked up the phone to get a better look.

The bird person was wearing only boxers, so there was a lot to see. Mostly, they were dirty. And the wings looked terrible. Whole patches of feathers were missing, and the ones that remained—Lemon suspected those weren't supposed to look so bedraggled. Xe shook xir head, sympathy turning in xir gut. Poor thing. Had they been mugged and then dumped, or maybe crash landed here?

The situation presented a problem. It’s one thing to bring home an animal, xe thought to xirself. This is a whole person. If they were awake, Lemon would have given them a ride to wherever they needed to go and the little cash xe had on xirself.

Xir mother's voice rattled in the back of xir head. It wasn’t as dangerous for Lemon to pick up people off the side of the road as for xir sister, but their mother always had some new story about somebody being shot and having their car stolen when they mentioned picking somebody up.

Xe waffled. I could wait until they wake up... Assuming they didn’t die of exposure, and assuming xe didn’t want any sleep tonight. Xe glanced around at the dark road, then back down at the stranger. If they were unconscious like this and didn’t smell of alcohol, they probably weren’t that dangerous. And somebody who felt less neutral about birdfolk might come along to finish them off.

Lemon sighed, already knowing xe couldn’t leave them here and trying to figure out how to get them over and into to the truck. Maybe xe could carry them there, but the wings would probably drag. Xe tried imagining walking backwards while carrying them from the front. Could xe lift them high enough? Probably not.

"Tch." That wouldn't do. After a moment's consideration, xe looked back at the canvas.

It took some pulling and maneuvering, but soon Lemon was pulling the bird person across the road on top of the canvas. Xir sweatshirt was tucked underneath their head, keeping them safe from rocks.

"Expected you to be a lot heavier, honestly," Lemon said. Maybe the weight was normal for adult birdfolk.

It would have been way more comfortable for them, Lemon was sure, to be in the cabin, but xe wasn’t sure xe could manage that without damaging their wings further. So, xe carefully lifted them by the front and laid them face down in the truck bed. It was not graceful and xe was a little relieved they weren’t awake for it. Xe tucked the sweatshirt back under the person's head.

"Home is just a few minutes away," xe promised as xe tried folding up their wings, worried about the wind catching them or about hypothermia setting in. Xe unfurled the canvas with a shake, then draped it over the bird person's body and wings to block the wind, securing the cloth at the corners with bungee cords.

Looks like I'm trying to hide a dead body, Lemon thought when xe put the tailgate up. "Hang in there, buddy."

Lemon would have liked to speed home, but the bed's occupant had xem driving far more carefully than normal, particularly around corners. When xe got to the apartment, xe pulled into xir spot in reverse. It was a much shorter distance to carry somebody from the truck bed to the door, so Lemon did—xe wasn’t entirely sure xe could get them through the door otherwise. It was already a hassle to get them past one door, the next, and then settle them on the floor of the small bathroom against the wall.

Xe closed and locked the front door, then flicked lights on. As xe stepped back into the bathroom, careful to avoid any errant limbs, xe started.

The bird person's eyes were open.

"Hey, you're awake," Lemon exclaimed.

But the person didn't seem to hear Lemon--they hardly seemed aware of their surroundings at all, staring straight forward. Shit, had they been awake the entire time and Lemon just hadn’t noticed? How awkward that would be! And...

Xir realized their face was covered in scars. Unable to help xirself, xir eyes were drawn down. Mottled bruising covered their ribs, long-healed scars past that and the dirt. Same with their legs. What had happened to them? Was this just the result of being birdfolk here?

Xe took a steadying breath, crouching down. "Hey, can you hear me? Can you look at me?"

Finally, the tiniest response. Topaz eyes slid fractionally towards Lemon's center of mass, but nothing else. Their expression and muscles remained listless.

"Good, that's—no no no, come on, don't do that," Lemon cajoled in gentle frustration as the bird person closed their eyes. What am I supposed to do with this? Xe scrubbed xir tired face with one hand. What were the symptoms of a concussion?

"Let me get you something to drink," xe said. "And maybe eat?"

No response. The only sign they were still alive was the gentle rise and fall of their chest.

Lemon wearily got back to xir feet, ambling into the kitchen for a glass of water and some—did bird people eat normal food? They looked plenty human. But what if they were allergic to stuff? Xe grabbed a small variety of snacks—string cheese and pepperoni from the fridge and a little baggy of trail mix. Bundling the food into a paper towel in one hand and holding the glass of water in the other, xe returned to the bathroom.

"Here we go," Lemon said as xe returned, kneeling at arm's length to set down the array of food. Xe set the cup of water closer still. "Little bit of food, little bit of water."

Their eyes were open again, looking down at Lemon's offerings. Maybe. It was hard to tell for sure, since they seemed unfocused. They made no movement to accept.

"Does your head hurt?" Lemon tried. "If you have a concussion, we should..." Xe trailed off. I don't have money for an emergency doctor visit. "Have you lie down, probably."

It's like talking to a rock. "I'll give you some space."

Getting back to xir feet, Lemon went back into the kitchen and washed xir hands. Xe probably should have done that earlier, but if they haven’t died of dirt already, they probably won't from a little on their pepperoni.

"Might as well prep a meal," xe mumbled, since xe couldn’t sleep until xir guest was settled. Xe took a moment to draw up some videos online about birdfolk and birds in general, then got to work with the food.

About twenty minutes later, everything was assembled in the pressure cooker. Lemon hadn't heard anything from the direction of the bathroom. Anxious, xe checked on xir guest.

I'm going to have someone die on my floor of starvation and atrophy, Lemon thought. The bird person was in the same exact position xe’d left them. Their tourmaline-brown gaze still rested on the food and water.

Lemon chided xirself. They could be a paraplegic for all xe knew. Maybe their eyes were all they were able to move. It would explain their weight.

This thought in mind, xe crouched a little closer to them. "Hey," xe said. "Can you blink twice if you understand me?"

Their eyes slowly rolled back up to Lemon's chest. Noticeably, they didn't blink.

Lemon laced xir fingers together and pulled them apart, repeating the motion a few times while they thought. Could be he was a paraplegic foreigner? Hells.

Reaching out slowly, Lemon tapped their hand, before picking it up and turning it over. Xe froze.

On their wrist was a black barcode.

After staring for far too long, Lemon let out a shaky, "O-oh."

I'm going to have someone's slave die on my floor. Xir anger towards the Box Boy industry stirred—a regular feeling. The legalized trafficking wasn’t something xe could do much about, other small donations here and there to liberation and activist groups.

Who had dumped this poor bird on the side of the road? Where was the owner? Lemon's eyes went to their patchy wings.

"Can't be sure they didn't do this to you," xe said softly, jaw clenching at the idea of it. They could have very well escaped and ended up in that ditch on their own, just to get away from the abuse written on their body. It matched up with the stories Lemon had heard and read about how owners fucked their slaves over.

Fuck, and it wasn't even like this man was nondescript. Birdfolk were rare enough, a Pet bird was sure to be noticed in a crowd. Stealing a Pet was grand larceny, and Lemon didn’t want to think about how much an exotic specimen might go for.

Calm down. So far all you've done is provide aid. That's not theft.

But Lemon's hands shook as xe held onto the bird person's, because xe knew xe couldn't—

That's a problem for Future Lemon, xe decided, taking calming breaths. There were groups xe could contact, but not tonight. Tonight, this poor bird needed a safe and calm place to recuperate. Lemon could provide that.

[the-peachpit]

Another chapter from the Ender Mirror Series:

FIRE FLOWER SCAR

Romance: Ranboo/Tubbo kinda? The husband thing but slgihtly more romantic

TW: Scars/Constant Pain

Slicing through a golden apple the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board echoing around the kitchen. The sound of Michael babbling to himself in piglin gentle and barely registering in Tubbo’s damaged ear. Sounds of birds outside the open window silent to his brown floppy ears, drowned out by the ringing that would come and go in the left and buzzed constantly on the right.

Tubbo grabbed his right wrist dropping the knife watching it slightly fall against the floor narrowly avoiding his socked feet. Cursing under his breath Tubbo stretched out the fingers of his right hand watching them slowly curl back to his palm. The tips were numb, and he knew it would be a good hour before feeling returned even with a health potion, it would alleviate the burning tension in his charred tendons though. Placing the apple slices on a plate Tubbo turned to Michael in his highchair. Michael paused his unrecognizable speech pattern watching Tubbo with a curious blue eye. Setting the plate down in front of his son Tubbo smiled rubbing the soft cloth they kept over Michael's exposed skull to protect it.

Seeing the small piglin Tubbo remembered how attached he felt at first glance. A zombie pigling on its own missing an eye with skin peeling away from the right side of his face. it was like looking into a grotesque mirror. His skin itched all over remembered what it felt like as it peeled away in large scabs over time. The pain as he picked away large chunks of himself. Until Ranboo found him Tubbo was no better than a pathetic animal fighting away everyone out of fear. Lashing out with his untrained left hand desperate to hide his injured body that refused to heal. Ranboo had lured the monster out of its cave to give him healing potions every day and change his bandages. When Tubbo saw Michael, he wanted to wrap his arms around the trembling piglin and let him know he wouldn’t hurt forever. Now Tubbo made sure Michael would never hurt again.

“Here you go big man,” Tubbo smiled feeling the pain creeping up his arm. Heat radiating in his neck.

Watching Michael’s hooves gently grasp a golden apple slice Tubbo smiled.

Pushing aside bottle after bottle in the medicine cabinet Tubbo groaned standing on his tiptoes pushing another strength potion out of the way. The bottle slipped past the edge crashing to the floor.

“Damn it Ranboo, why do you have to put everything so high?” Tubbo grumbled remembered to give his husband an ear full when he got home.

Sliding the last bottle to the side Tubbo sighed closing the mirror. Fuck. Did Ranboo say he was going to make more healing potions today? Did he forget to tell Ranboo they were out early enough to have one leftover? The pain seized his right arm making him flinch stiff in one place as he willed himself to relax. Standing in the bathroom Tubbo let his gaze shift to the mirror he always avoided. A monster he hardly recognized gazed back at him through thick dark scruffy hair. One broken jagged horn with a gold band accompanied a white horn with cracks that curled around the fluffy mass of hair. Long ears with matching brown fluff almost got lost in the mass of hair just distinguishable. At least one- the ripped ear was hidden. The ear that wasn’t damaged sported an ear tag, the only part of his past he couldn’t seem to part with no matter how much he wanted to. The tag was bright yellow with dark bold lettering that read peace. Being forced into his ear during the festival to taunt him, remind him he was nothing but a pawn, an expendable animal no one was really listening to. Tubbo wanted nothing but peace for L’manburg, he wished he believed the people who said it was impossible.

With his left hand, Tubbo pushed his tangled bangs from his face. Red, angry, chewed up, and spit back out. From the right edge of his nose to the tip of his ears and down across his body Tubbo was walking scar tissue. The eye in his right socket milky and lazy lolling to the side useless. The bright yellow one he had left got fuzzy if he concentrated for too long on one thing. When he first joined Ranboo back in a home Tubbo avoided all mirrors unable to deal with the state of himself. Growing his hair long to cover the scars clothes couldn’t, he just wanted to forget.

Groaning again Tubbo walked to the bed he shared with an enderman hybrid laying down on his left side curing up. Unsure of the time he wasn’t sure when Ranboo was coming back from his lesson with Technoblade. Grinding his teeth -the way he wore down his top canines- it made him shiver every time he pictured Ranboo enjoying himself at Techno’s. Ranboo had denied it hundreds of times, calling it an opportunity to learn potion-making to help Tubbo. A way to keep the family safe if he was in Techno’s good graces. Tubbo knew it was all bullshit Ranboo liked hanging out with the Blood God, but Ranboo didn’t know he had that title.

Ranboo didn’t know a lot of things about his past from two years ago. He didn’t need to know and never pried. Tubbo tried once asking him to not hang out with the piglin and when his husband asked why Tubbo didn’t have a good answer. For some reason, he believed Ranboo would just obey what he said. Ranboo also thought it would be good for Techno to be around Michael maybe it would bring the little piglin out of his shell or give him some comfort. Tubbo was still fighting that idea as if Technoblade could be a comfort for anyone. Grimacing at himself in the mirror he knew the blood god was a comfort to his best friend in his time of need when Tubbo wasn’t there. Tubbo tried to take Techno from Tommy commending the pig to death in a public execution. Holding an ax against his exposed throat felt right, it felt good. He had power, control, all the fear in the back of his mind melted away. His scar didn’t burn in shame.

Techno escaped that day fucking scot-free no answering for a single crime. Not that Tubbo gave a shit about what he’d done the small ram just wanted to watch his boogie man get what he deserved. Eye for an eye, public execution for public execution. Tubbo is certain he is the only man to see fear in Techno’s red eyes and he’d been itching to see it again.

Snorting and squealing alerted Tubbo to Michael being sick of his highchair. Sighing sagging his one good shoulder Tubbo hated doing anything with Michael when he was immobile. The young boy would squirm kicking Tubbo who begged him to be still just for one second. Currently, his right arm was numb to his shoulder with a quick zap of pain-causing his neck to twitch to the same side. Out of the highchair one fluid movement, he could do it.

“I know I know,” Tubbo smiled at his son, “You want out and I can do that, just work with me,” he begged knowing it would be for nothing.

Slowly worming his left arm under Michael’s arms Tubbo held his breath as he started to lift upward. He’d been working hard on his left arm strength holding heavy objects, gardening, and writing with his left arm. To his surprise, Michael stayed relatively still ignoring a few squirming kicks. Nestled under Tubbo’s arm like a bag Michael giggled and Tubbo was proud of himself.

The screen door opened in the minute making Tubbo spin on his heels to a figure ducking under the door frame to enter the house.

“Didn’t we ask Foolish to make this bigger?” Ranboo stretched his back out stepping into the kitchen.

Tubbo smiled looking at the gold ring around Ranboo’s white horn on the non-enderman half, “He’d been busy with Quakity from what I’ve heard. I’ll try asking him again.”

Ranboo cocked a brow and Tubbo had forgotten Michael spitting raspberries under his arm snout squished up.

Lowering the piglin child to the ground Tubbo rolled his shoulder back, “I’m getting good at the one arm dad thing.”

“Fuck,” Ranboo started digging through his canvas shoulder bag, “I’m so sorry, is it bad?”

Shaking his head Tubbo smiled, “Not unbearable, good thing you came home at just the right time.”

“Here.”

Ranboo held out a little round potion bottle with a cork in the top, Tubbo tilted his head to the side and Ranboo used his claws to swiftly uncork it. Grasping the bottle in his stubby fingers he noticed how dull his own nails had gotten. He used to have sharp nails that could cut through the skin too easily. Ranboo held him down the first time he filed his nails down crying more than Tubbo did. The ram boy had sued his long claw privileges to pull thick pieces of skin away from his body. The enderman said he’d never heal that way. At the time Tubbo hadn’t wanted to heal and it was fine with him if he stripped himself to the bone.

Downing the pink liquid Tubbo shuttered poking his pink tongue from his mouth.

“You guys still can’t make this taste any better?”

Ranboo shrugged, “I tried bringing it up to Techno, he seems to look down on strawberry flavored health potion.”

“He looks down on anything that fits outside of his perspective,” Tubbo could feel the right side of his body at least.

“Why don’t you sit down,” Ranboo avoided any more Techno talk ushering Tubbo to the living room.

Pouting Tubbo wanted to continue his regularly queued-up Technoblade rant knowing it would accomplish nothing. It just felt good to make his opinion known again. Falling back onto plush couch cushions guided by Ranboo’s gentle hand Tubbo felt his right side tense up again. Forcing his back against the couch he focused on the way his left side felt relieved after being busy on his feet since he woke up. Busy with Michael, running an Inn and doing maintenance, planning out a greenhouse for when winter made its swift return, and gardening. The day had gone so fast and he’d gotten so much done, why did he still feel like he could have done more? The pain settled in his shoulder and neck making him wince.

“Ranboo can I have another health potion?” Tubbo groaned leaning his head back against the couch.

“You know the rules,” Ranboo placed his slender fingers on Tubbos shoulders, “You have to wait twenty minutes between each potion.”

“Just let me double dose this once,” Tubbo whined, “It’s been a long day Boo.”

“Doctors orders.”

Ranboo pushed Tubbo forwards and Tubbo slumped on command feeling Ranboos fingers kneed across his back. He hummed basking in the massage his husband was always so willing to give. Tubbo had tried massage therapy before with Niki she was sweet and tried every way she knew how to get Tubbo less dependent on health potion on bad days. He never felt less pain though, and slowly stopped going too embarrassed to tell her it wasn’t working. The moment Ranboo watched Tubbo down three full health potions in five minutes like a glass of water the enderman hybrid put his foot down. Hiding the health potions Ranboo took notes from Niki using his strength to kneed into Tubbo’s muscles making him melt. In minutes Tubbo was sprawled across the green couch Ranboo hated because Tubbo found it outside and said it was the color of puke. Tubbo thought it was the comfiest couch he’d ever sat on and told the older it relaxed him. That was all it took and Ranboo gave in when it came to physical comfort Ranboo would do anything to alleviate Tubbo’s pain.

Tubbo frowned.

“Why haven’t you ever asked me what happened?” Tubbo mumbled into his crossed arms.

“Hm?” Ranboo paused.

“Even the day you found me, you’ve never asked what happened,” Tubbo slowly started to sit up feeling a dull ache in his back.

“I figured you would tell me when you were ready,” Ranboo pressed down a little harder keeping Tubbo from straining himself.

Ranboo was too patient with Tubbo who could never bother to be patient with anyone. Maybe it was time.

“Do remember the firework festival last year?” Tubbo mumbled.

“Vaguely.”

Tubbo sat up feeling the hitch in his back choosing to ignore it, “You’re kidding! How could you forget that?”

Ranboo rolled his green and red eyes the horizontally divided bottoms showing, “I’m more prepared this year. I got earmuffs.”

Tubbo played with the extra-long sleeve of his shirt- actually it was Ranboo’s shirt.

Every year a firework festival is held when all corners of the map experience spring or summer simultaneously for a week. The air is hot and sticky with not one cool place left to run to. Tubbo had spent the week in every year since he was a kid sensitive to temperatures. Moving to Snowchester had been good for him he thrived in the cold. Snowchester had four months of warm weather before being fridged the rest of the year. Six years ago, everyone found the hottest week of the year was the same no matter who you spoke to and to celebrate something altogether they started putting on firework shows. Ranboo had begged Tubbo to sit outside and watch and he thought he’d be fine. With Ranboo to protect him, he was rarely afraid of anything.

Tubbo pulled a strong on his sleeve, “You know it wasn’t the noise, by itself at least,” he scratched his ear, “I love loud noises. I can’t hear quiet things anymore.”

When he saw that first flash in the sky it all came flooding back and his vision tunneled. Every spark was coming right for him ready to fall on his head and set his hair ablaze again. Heat pooled across his skin feeling it melt and slosh off to the ground. He felt exposed and vulnerable as red illuminated the starless sky. For the first time in two years, he swore he could see out of his right eye, and he saw his demise. Over and over again he watched himself die. He grabbed his hair and screamed letting it echo in his ears over the bursts. They had set up a blanket on the roof of their home. If not for Ranboo holding his small waist letting him curl and cower into his tall frame Tubbo would have jumped. He felt it in his bones he would have gone out on his own terms because he’d gone out on everyone else’s so far.

“Lights too bright?” Ranboo cocked his head to the side, “I can fix that,” he gently coaxed Tubbo’s hands out of his baggy shirt to hold them.

Tubbo squeezed Ranboo’s hands, they were always so cold. His hands were dwarfed in comparison, Tubbo knows they’d never seen bloodshed. He wondered what it was like to not lose a piece of yourself to others' violence. To not get swept up in others' regrets as they clung to morals that never meant much in the end. Not enough to destroy nations and livelihoods. Tubbo wanted to get lost in Ranboo’s world it wasn’t perfect, but it felt safe. He squeezed Ranboo’s hands gently with his black tainted ground down claws.

“I was executed Ranboo,” Tubbo felt his heartbeat stutter, “In front of everyone in L’manburg during a festival.”

Silence.

Looking over at Ranboo his eyes were glassy water collecting in the corners Tubbo wiped them gently. There was no sense in him crying over something that happened long before they met. Nothing he could change now it was written in stone, but Ranboo made the past bearable.

“A firework was shot directly at me, I had nowhere to run labeled a traitor. The impact killed me, and I didn’t revive quite right. With no one to heal my wounds while I was returning. I was thrown to the side a causality really.”

Ranboo squeezed Tubbo’s hands tighter his eyes no longer held tears, but something strong, steely. Anger, it was a rare look for the soft enderman hybrid he could find the good in a nuke.

“Who was it?” Ranboo’s voice sounded strained a sound Tubbo had never heard before, it made him nervous. He was never nervous around Ranboo.

Tubbo couldn’t look at the man shaking gently hoping Ranboo wouldn’t notice. This is all he wanted, to tell his husband to get him away from the piglin hybrid, but Tubbo knew. He knew how much Rnaboo enjoyed the others' company, who was he to take away his husband’s happiness? He was his father.

“I-I-I,” Tubbo babbled.

“Tubbo,” Ranboo shifted from his spot kneeling on the floor holding Tubbo’s shoulders firmly.

Tubbo’s good eye connected with Ranboo’s beautiful gaze his green and red eyes had a fire lit behind them making them shine.

“I can’t tell you,” Tubbo’s throat felt dry and scratched.

“You can tell me anything,” Ranboo promised.

Tubbo opened his mouth again shocked that nothing came out. This was the moment he was waiting for, he never shut up about what a terrible influence Technoblade was. Why couldn’t he drive the final nail into the coffin?

“If I say then I’m no better than Schlatt,” Tubbo turned his face from Ranboo.

“Who?”

Tubbo flinched, “Oh yea, that’s my dad.”

“I’ve never heard you use his name.”

“But you’ve heard everyone talk about how awful he was,” Tubbo was sure of it.

“Y-yea,” Ranboo stuttered.

“He manipulated just about everyone, Me, Quakity,” Tubbo’s throat hurt as he forced his voice not to waiver, “ Technoblade was manipulated into killing me.” Daring to glance at his husband Tubbo was met with a shocked expression. Ranboo’s eyes were clouded again with tears dropping silently against his cheeks leaving red thin trails that would take weeks to heal. His Adams apple bobbed gently over and over Tubbo was afraid he was choking back on his words.

In a desperate attempt to comfort the lanky enderman hybrid Tubbo took his clawed hands in his again a physical comfort.

“Boo,” Tubbo frowned hiding behind his long bangs, “I’m sorry, really I- it wasn’t his fault.”

“You don’t think that,” Ranboo’s voice was raspy, “You always ask me to stop hanging out with him. You’re mad at him.”

“No,” Tubbo hurried, “Techno was a good friend of mine, I’m not mad, I’m. I’m afraid.”

The thought of the large piglin hybrid alone sent a chill down Tubbo’s spine.

“I’m afraid of what he could take from me again. I’m afraid of what he thinks after that day.” Tubbo pulled his hands back fidgeting.

The silence was ringing in Tubbo’s ears. He just wanted Ranboo to say something.

“This,” Ranboo started his voice too loud suddenly, “This probably doesn’t mean much, but he asks about you.”

Tubbo felt his lungs seize his good ear straining to listen.

“He asks about your injuries, how you’re healing if you’re in pain. He’s upped the strength of several health potions and tested them before letting me bring them home. He asks if you need anything. I think in a weird way, he’s sorry.” Ranboo’s voice was soft, and it sounded like Tubbo was underwater.

“Really?” Tubbo’s voice cracked.

Ranboo nodded.

Tubbo felt his lip quiver and knew there was no way to stop the flow of tears that mimicked his husband. To finally talk about the day he died the pain of losing more than his life, but the comfort of a friend. To be afraid of Ranboo suffering a similar fate or being told Tubbo was nothing but a kid pretending they knew how to run a nation. He knows what he became on accident a dictator bred with fear of losing everything by his father. The man also lived in crippling fear of an uprising. Tubbo knew that seeing Techno again would feel like a hot iron to his skin, it would be terrifying. Even with Ranboo beside him, it would take everything for him not to collapse at the feet of his executioner. Yet Ranboo stood beside that man every day, and if he wasn’t safe Ranboo would keep him far away. He would never tell Tubbo he thought the man had remorse if he didn’t believe it to be true.

Tubbo lunged forward knocking Ranboo back against the hardwood as he landed on top of him burying his face into his suit collar as he cried.

“Baby steps,” Ranboo rubbed Tubbo’s back, “Right now let’s get you another health potion.”

Tubbo nodded feeling the pain in his arm, but it didn’t sting as bad as before.

[mythicalavengermakeup]

NSFW SAITO SMUT. NC17. M RATING

Smut fan fiction based on RP in discord. Saito x OC

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The meeting had run extremely late, and Saito was tired. He was not a man that let his weaknesses be known, no matter how normal they were. Showing your enemy any advantage would mean death to you. 

Saitos feet carried him to the other side of HQ, where Mira and Midori shared a room together with Chizuru. Chizuru would be busy with the lord commander tonight on his investigation, and Midori was out with Shinpachi to enjoy the latest kabuki theater production. Saito couldn't help but shake his head at the ladies of HQ. 

It has not been made public, Saito made sure of that. Him and Mira have been seeing each other much more secretly and much more intimately. He had a feeling that at least Midori knew, but she could be trusted to not say a word, as she had proven numerous times when Saito and Mira had almost gotten caught by a captain or two. This made Saito even more paranoid, not wanting the other members to know. 

Saito stopped mid way, listening for any sounds of anyone that might be following. Silence was all he heard, and he continued down the path until he reached the room. He didn't even stop to announce he was coming in, wanting to be swift and not seen. 

Pushing the door closed as fast as he opened it, Saito was met with a dark room. No light could be seen. He took note of this, turning his head to look over his shoulder, before turning his body. That's when it hit him. A full on body slam to his side. He sidestepped, using his leg to stop him from falling. "Mira." He said calmly, looking down at the top of her head. "What is it?"

Mira lifted her head, looking at him with eyes that she had not looked at him with before. They had a red tinge to them, and her fangs were noticeably out. Was this what she has been speaking about? Saito wondered. 

Mira had filled him in on a secret she had been hiding. Every month her vampirism was heightened above what it normally was. This caused her to have increased strength, she thirsted more than usual, and her sexual desires were amplified 10 fold.

"Saito.. I need.." Mira spoke slowly, her breathing heavy. Reaching up, she began to remove the scarf that covered his neck, exposing the last session she had from it. It had healed, but she could see the visible puncture scars. Her breathing was getting heavier as her fingers dug into his shoulders. "Onegaishimasu." Mira pleaded. Not waiting for an answer, she pushed him down onto the tatami mats below, straddling his legs. The thirst was hard to suppress. Normally Mira had no issues controlling it. Today, when she saw Saito come through that door, it was like she hadn't drank anything for years. Her throat was so dry it felt like dry sand scratching on the esophagus. She wanted him, and she wanted his blood. She opened her mouth, and bit his neck, harder than normal. Blood flowed into her mouth, and she let out a muffled moan, matched only by Saito's low growl she felt in his throat. 

Saito would never admit it if anyone asked him, but the bite from Mira was hard to bear. It didn't pain him in any way a wound could. It pained him because it gave him such pleasure, that he could not show it to her. Saito's hands grabbed onto her hips, squeezing as hard as he could. He knew he would not hurt her, especially in this state. The pleasure from the bite made him let out a small gasp when she dug in harder. "Mira… that's enough.." Saito said, his cheeks red.

Mira let go, lifting her head so she could look down at him. Her fangs glistened with his blood, small droplets falling onto his cheek and neck. "No." She said defiantly. With this new state of Mira, came speed, faster even than Saitos. He was barely able to move before Mira had his wrists bound by the very scarf he wore. 

The man who was known for having no reactions, gave just that. His eyes widened, a look of shock passing by on his face. "Mira.. this-" It was like the blood had intoxicated her. Mira has never felt such pleasure, and such need to have it fulfilled. Her and Saito had been intimate on numerous occasions already, but this… during this phase.. internally Mira was acting on basic lustful instinct. Saitos very skin against her own sent the most pleasurable electric shocks through the entire body. She wanted to mate with the strongest. She was going to mate with the strongest. All her senses were heightened, and it was intoxicating. 

Mira had put a finger to Saito’s lips, silencing him. “No talking. I’m busy.” she said firmly. Her hands immediately went to his robes, pushing them open. The bottom was stopped by his sash, and Mira growled in irritation, using the new strength she had to literally rip it off. 

Saito was completely exposed to Mira's will, her eyes, and his body. It irritated him, having always been in control of himself. It also excited him greatly, and he couldn't hide this. Especially with the look Mira was giving him, like she would eat him up in a second. Being desired, after all the things he had done, made him more aroused.

Mira dragged her nails down his chest, leaving marks enough to be noticed, but not enough to draw blood. When she reached his pulsing member, her fingers wrapped around it, moving up, then down, and repeating the action. Saito gritted his teeth together, wishing he could use his bound hands. He was one that loved touching his partner while they pleased him. It was a type of connection Saito had to have, and with his wrists bound, he was denied touching the one woman he desired above all.

Mira shifted, kicking his legs apart with her knee and moved down so her mouth was near his inner thigh, her hand continuing to move up and down on his shaft. Her hot breath heated up his thigh, before Mira opened up and bit into it, the blood from his thigh flowing into her mouth. 

Saito jolted. He honestly couldn't tell if it was the bite itself, the area she picked, or both that caused him to give out a loud moan, followed by Miras name. His bound hands moved down, fisting into her hair. Saito even went so far to give her a rough tug, causing Mira to let go of his thigh and moan in pleasure. "Come up here." Saito pleaded.

Mira let go of Saito's member, his hips raising in displeasure. She smiled up at him, before sitting up to remove her own clothing, letting it pool behind her and over Saito's legs. "You're not following orders very well Hajime.." Mira teased, positioning herself over him. She brushed the tip of her opening against his before slowly moving down, allowing him to fill her up completely. And it felt better than before from her heightened senses. Her insides quivered and pulsed so much, it caused Saito to let out a low growl, feeling it himself. “Do you like that love?” Mira asked, her english accent coming through thick. Saito narrowed his eyes at her, knowing she knew full well that he did.

Saito was a man who liked to make sure the woman was prepared before this specific action together. It not only made for a pleasurable experience for the woman, but it was a lot easier to slide in when it wasn't dry. Mira wasn't dry. In fact she was soaked, and his ass was starting to feel the wetness become cold from how much it dripped onto him before the floor. 

Saito thrusted up with her movements, her moans exciting him further. It was not long after he started this before she had the first orgasm. Her body shook, and her insides tightened around him with great force. Saito bit the corner of his lip to stop himself from releasing right then.

Mira looked down at Saito, lifting up his torso by his bound wrists. Saito put his bound wrists over her head, and further down until they rested on her waist, crushing her lower torso into his as he started thrusting into her once again, his lips crushing against hers. His tongue pushed through, sliding along hers. His arms pushed her down when he thrusted up, his pelvis grinding into hers and against the clit. Mira was getting louder and louder with each thrust, her arms wrapping around his neck, and hands fisting into his hair. Saito was a pro at never changing up his rhythm. Continuing with the same speed when he knew Mira was close is what she loved. Saito had gotten another orgasm from her, her legs clamping around his waist tightly. Air was pushed from his lungs. Breaking the kiss not only for air, she bit the other side of his neck. 

Saito wasn't expecting this sudden rush of arousal from her bite, and he thrusted into her hard, and harder every time. He pushed all he could of himself inside her right down to the base, and it still wasn't deep enough for him. Bringing his hands down he cupped her cheeks in opposite hands, lifting her up so her clit just barely brushed the skin of his pelvis, angling her so he could hit her enlarged G-Spot. 

Mira felt the change, letting go of his neck while she breathed erratically, her body beginning to shake uncontrollably. Her hands could not touch Saito enough, running up and down his back as she continued to shake. One giant orgasm carried out over what felt like 10 minutes. And it could have been so. 

Saito had a layer of sweat on his skin, not changing up the rhythm as she quivered in his lap. "Ha..jime" Mira’s voice was shaking from the intensity of the last orgasm. Once it was over, she pushed her arms under his, pushing his arms back over his head and pushed him back down on his back. "I never said touch did I?" Mira teased, though she did not complain about the last one. He knew where all her sweet spots were, and exactly what she liked. Only this time she was in control. To prove her point further, she hooked his bound hands under the leg of the small coffee table above his head. Now his hands and arms were completely useless. Saito narrowed his eyes, now completely denied even touching her with his hands. He was completely exposed, and if he were to try to move, the coffee table would go crashing down with a bang. Clever girl..Saito thought, the corner of his lips tugging into a smirk. Mira drove the man crazy, in more ways than one. She was not only gorgeous and was smart, but the way she would give him a look of disapproval, or a look of ecstasy, or laugh, or try to argue with him, he could not get enough of her. She was perfect to him. A precious jewel that deserved only the best. Her feeding habits left Saito in the most aroused state, most of his other senses flying out the window. He wouldn't never admit it, but he enjoyed it when she fed. His neck was not only his most sensitive part, but he was becoming addicted to the effect it had on him. 

With Saito still inside of her, Mira began to rock her hips back and forth, dragging her enlarged clit over his pelvis skin. Mira dug her fingers in, using his chest to help her rock. Saito growled loudly, unable to move his hips much from his position. Mira only only became louder the more she got closer, to the point where her legs began to clamp together from the stimulation on her clit, and from the feeling of Saito's girth filling her up completely. She let out a high pitched moan that continued to go the more she repeated the action, riding out her own orgasm on top of him until she was lightheaded and red faced.

Saito couldn't hold back any longer. His bottom lip was already pierced from biting on it so hard to wait. Gritting his teeth, he looked straight into Miras eyes while he filled her up, his own shaft pulsing and throbbed along with hers.

Mira breathed heavily while straddling Saito who laid on the floor. Her eyes were going back to normal, her body continuing to shake from all the release she had, among her first time experiencing such release while under the influence. 

Saito breathed heavily, sweat rolling down his brow. Over an hour had to have passed since he was first bound by the wrists. Mira shaking lifted her hands, undoing the tie around Saito's wrists. While doing so, she bent down giving him a kiss while her tongue lapped up the small bit of blood from him biting it. The scarf loosened, and Saito pulled his hands apart. Mira was exhausted, and barely had energy left. That didn't mean Saito was done. Despite being drained by Mira in more ways than one, he took the scarf, and bound Miras hands in return. "W-What are you doing?!" Mira asked with wide eyes. She tried to pull her hands away while still straddling him, but it failed. She didn't pull away fast enough, and Saito had bound them together tightly. 

With free hands, and control back in his corner, Saito grabbed her hips and flipped them over so Mira was on her back, and he was still settled between her legs. "You didn't think I was really going to let you get away with binding me. I hope you are prepared for your punishment." Saito growled, discarding the sweat soaked kimono of his to the side. Mira was slightly scared at the look of annoyance on his face. The look ment a few things. Annoyance of being bound and unable to touch as he pleased. The annoyance of not having control. The annoyance of being denied. She laughed nervously. "W..What do you plan to do?" 

"Everything." Saito began, removing himself from between her legs. "I have not yet had my fill of you yet.” He moved down, his mouth trailing kisses to the first nipple. Popping it into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, his hand traveling further, going straight for the gold. It was still super sensitive, even after all the orgasms she had. Miras legs jolted when his fingers brushed over her clit, and further down until he pushed 2 digits inside. Pushing them upright, he used his fingertips to massage the g-spot, her body responding nicely with slick juices. 

Mira moved her hips, trying to get away from his hand. It was no use. It only made Saito move further down south, his mouth marking the way. Once his face reached between her legs, he wrapped his arms around her legs, hands holding her down by his hands on her stomach. He breathed out hot air on her clit, her hips raising towards his mouth. Saito moved his head back, not allowing for contact as he teased her by kissing everywhere but where she wanted. He heard her whimper in protest, making him give out a small laugh. “Oh? Is there something I can help you with?” He asked, a playful smiling tugging at the corner of his lips.

Mira looked down at Saito with red cheeks and an annoyed look. “Quit teasing me!” Mira begged. Saito only chuckled. “Oh is that so?” He continued his journey of kissing her inner thighs, listening to Mira’s protests a bit longer before his mouth devoured her clit. His tongue flicked, and his lips pulled it so he could suck on it like he did the nipples. He bit it gently, her excited screams making him only go much harder. It wasn’t long until he felt her muscles contract and release, did he finally let up. 

Mira breathed erratically, her lip quivering. “Hajime...I don’t think I can take much more..” Mira went to sit up, only to be pushed right back down by Saito. He slowly crawled up her body, wiping the juices from his chin, his eyes hungry for more. “You will take much more.” His tone was demanding, just like the tone he took with those who served under him. It was an order. With one hand at her side, Saito placed his other on her hip, thrusting into her roughly. He started slow, rocking his hips against hers, stimulating her more and more with each circle of his hips against hers. Mira’s whimpers aroused him further. He could feel she was close, and stopped his movements.

Saito sat up,removing himself from between her legs only temporarily while he flipped her over, pulling Mira’s hips up so she was on her knees and elbows, and he was on his knees behind her. Looking behind her, Mira saw Saito staring directly at her, his eyes much like that of a wolf who has caught its prey. A cold chill ran down her spine, knowing what was coming. Saito looked hungry, and if you tried to take his food, you would suffer the consequences. The same came when he was intimate with her. He would not stop until he was full.

Mira felt Saito enter her once again, his strokes hard and fast. Saito placed a hand on her back, pushing her torso into the futon while he pushed farther up, her knees almost coming off the ground. Mira clawed at the tatami mat above the futon, nails scraping against it hard. Saito was being rough. Rougher than usual. His hand went from the middle of her back holding her down, to fisting in her hair and bringing her head up roughly, and with it her torso. Now she was on her knees while Saito thrusted into her from behind, letting go of her hair and moving to tease her clit once more. His other hand wrapped around  her chest, his hand moving her face to the side so he could bite on her neck. Miras body shivered at the contact his teeth made. Saito’s thrusts were getting faster, and she could hear him letting out small grunts. He was close, and when he finally released, he continued to slam into her hard from behind, giving Mira yet another orgasm, and the last one for the night. 

Mira fell onto the futon and Saito followed, resting his head on her back. His shaft throbbed against her quivering insides from his second release. His legs felt like rubber, and it took a few moments for him to find the strength to pull himself off and lay next to Mira on the futon. His body glistened from the sweat, his hair sticking to his face and body. His chest heaved up and down desperate for air. Next to him, Mira was just as desperate for air. Her body glistened from her own layer of sweat as well. Her hair was more of a birds nest than Saito’s. The blame laid with Saito, and he had no regrets. Mira moved like a sloth over, placing her head on Saito’s chest, his arm moving to wrap around her back, hand resting on the top of her head. 

Mira could hear and feel his heart pounding hard against his chest. Her fingers twirled in the ends of his hair. It was something she enjoyed doing after their sessions with his hair. It was interrupted when the sliding doors opened quickly, a surprised Midori looking at the two of them. Thank goodness they were under the blanket. Saito froze, his eyes widening at the interruption. Midori gave both Saito and Mira the ‘Really? I'm going to have to sleep elsewhere look?’ before smiling innocently and sliding the door closed. “Ahh Shinpachi, I will take you up on that late night drink after all.” Once the doors closed, Mira laughed at how red Saito’s face was, having been caught red handed. 

[whumpiary]

whumptober 2020 | day 1: let’s hang out sometime

[content warning: discussed past self harm, referenced past abuse, mild dissociation/depersonalisation, intimate whumper]

-

There's something harrowing — gut-wrenching — about seeing a grown man cry. It's almost painful. Just watching someone with utter poise and dignity let it slide and crash because they don't care anymore who sees them crumble.

It's enough to make the one watching crumble a little, too. Just a little. It doesn't even matter what it is that they're crying over. A loved one in a hospital bed. A job that came to an end too quickly. A lost pet. Some spilled milk.

A boy strung up in the middle of their parlour, hands high above his head, barely standing where he's chained.

Christopher sobs silently, one hand clamped over his mouth as the other grips the edge of the desk he’s leaning against like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He had started tearing up as soon as he’d started taking away Cass’ clothing: a soft little gasp as he caught sight of the first scar, and then growing grief as more skin was exposed.

The first sob took the man over as the last scrap of clothing fell away and he’s been braced against the desk since. Shoulders softly shaking, eyes squeezed shut. As though he can barely stand to look at the boy in front of him without being overcome.

Cassius is cold. He registers it dimly. Distantly. This body, right now, isn’t his own. His senses seem to know that, relaying everything from a distance. Like hearing the radio from someone else’s car. Like watching the TV in the reflection of a window. 

The cuffs around his wrists cut in and his calves are starting to burn and his lungs ache from breathing against stretched out ribs and he also doesn’t care about any of it. He’s back here again. A whole new cycle that he always knew, not so far below the surface. And every scar across his body is a road map of a world that Cass already feels like he never escaped to to begin with.

Christopher  brings his hand to Cassius’ cheek and as though on muscle memory, Cass leans into it.

“My darling boy,” the older man whispers. His eyes are tear-filled still, searching Cass’ own desperately, as though for some sort of answer. Cass has none. “My darling, darling boy. What have they done to you?”

Cass holds Christopher’s gaze and for a moment wants to share with the man the entire history of the last few years. Every secret. Every truth. Give them up. Give them over. Undo. But he feels muzzled. Gagged. Like his lips are sewn shut.

There’s nothing to say. There’s everything to tell. 

“I’m so sorry, Cassius,” Christopher says. His hand skirts over the scar near his shoulder, the one down his arm, the one at his ribs. Like a fucked up dot to dot. “I’m so sorry. If I had known… My god, darling boy, if I had known…”

Cass nearly laughs at that. He would have what? Bought the company just to win his contract back? Stolen him away? Killed Tucker with his bare hands? Or would he have shaken the man’s hand and given him a bonus? Asked to sit in for the next blood letting?

Christopher starts with the obvious.

“This one,” he says, pads of his fingers tracing the gnarled, raised scar along Cassius’ ribs. “Tell me about this one.”

“Got stabbed,” Cass mumbles. His mouth feels full of cotton wool. “Job went wrong. About a year in. Maybe later. Can't remember. Had to have surgery.”

Christopher sucks in a breath, deep and shuddering, covering his mouth on the exhale as another silent tear slides down his cheek. He brushes his cheek dry again with his knuckles and takes another breath to calm himself, lowering his head. For a moment, his hand sits heavy on Cassius’ hip, as though he needed it to steady himself. Cass rocks back on the balls of his feet just barely and the man’s grip seems to tighten in kind, keeping him still and close. 

They stay just like that for a moment until Christopher manages to collect himself, fingers pressing to the bridge of his nose, drying his eyes with a sniff. He drops his hand from his face to trace the scar again, breath stuttering. Cass feels seasick with the the touch. A dragging back of forth over scar-tissue he can’t quite feel properly.

“The scarring is terrible,” Christopher says.

Cass closes his eyes for a moment. If he imagines enough, the cool, dry hands are warm and steady instead. They’re firm and sure instead of claiming and caressing. They’re pulling him back together, stitch by stitch. The memory is such a sacred indulgence, he has to shake his head a little to clear it again.

“Yeah, they... fucked the stitches,” he says, voice croaked. “Had to get it redone.”

Another shaking breath. Another sniff. Cass keeps his eyes lowered. He doesn’t need to see the grief.

“Well that surgeon deserves to be fired.”

They go on like that. Christopher touching each scar, having him name and catalogue them, one after the other.

The thin one over his bottom lip. “Bar fight.”

The short thick one at his collarbone. “Lab test.”

The nick up by his brow. “Beat down.”

The curving long one down his arm. “Don’t remember.”

There are a few like that. More than he’d have expected. The burn on his arm. The glossy skin on his knuckles. The twisted one at his knee. Don’t remember. Don’t remember. Don’t remember.

And Christopher in between, mourning each one. Touching them, pressing his hand to them as though he could will the scars healed with his grief. Christopher has to keeping taking breaks for more tears and sobs. Like over, and over again he’s realising what he’s lost. Of what he once had. What he’ll never have back.

“My God, what have they done to you, darling boy?” He whispers it over and over again and over again. “You were so beautiful. So perfect. What have they done to you? What have they done?”

It takes them a while to retrace every new mark on him since Christopher has seen him last. The man is methodical and thorough. Scrupulous. Cass is almost startled by how many he finds. More than Cass would’ve discovered on his own, he’s sure. By the time they get to the last few, Cass can’t feel his hands. 

“I’m so sorry, my love, I know you’re tired,” Christopher says with a kiss to the cheek, a hand cupping his jaw. His eyes are filled with sympathy and apology. As though he isn’t the one who’s doing this. As though this is some necessary procedure instead of his own predilection. “We’re nearly done. Last ones.”

Christopher holds Cassius’ gaze as his hand drifts low, skirting a decent gathering of little scars at his hip, over his thigh. They’re smaller, these ones. Harder to see. Only a shade or so lighter than his skin these days but piece by piece, bit by bit, they stack up, start to look noticeable. Little fine nicks and cross hatches, some raised, some flat, all faded.

“These ones here. The lab again?”

Cass drops his eyes. He stares at them for a beat, stares at what he can see beneath the man’s hand anyway, before looking back to Christopher.

“No,” he says. He feels a thrill to say it. “Me.”

A sharp intake of breath. “Excuse me?”

“I did those ones myself.”

A beat. “I thought we broke you of that little habit.”

And they had. For a while. – You’ll be hurt on my terms or not at all. – But Christopher should’ve known it would be one of the first things to resurface once he was out of reach. Why shouldn’t it be?

Cass smiles at the older man, eyes dead. “If it helps, I thought of you every fucking time.”

Which isn’t true entirely but shit does it feel good to say it.

The slap that flies hard and brutal across his cheek feels good too.

“Don’t you do that to me,” Christopher says, after a moment. His voice is soft and quiet and sad. Shaking with what was maybe a little anger. Funny. It was rare to see Christopher show that card. “I’m hurting badly enough today, I don’t need your cruelty on top of it.”

Cass keeps his head turned, staring at the arm of the leather rancher’s sofa beside him. His cheek burns, hot and tingling with the blood rush, as Christopher’s hand trails up and to his shoulder. As the man steps behind him, both palms pressing at his shoulder blades. At his back.

“And these?” he says. Cass’ eyes shutter closed, breath all at once catching high in his chest. Christopher’s been saving these, he knows. The crosses and lines on his back. One after the other after the other after the other.

Cass can’t answer to these. He can’t say. Can’t bear to. And, by some virtue of generosity, by some kind of twisted, fucked up grace, Christopher doesn’t make him. “He gave these to you?”

It takes him another minute. A long, hard minute of trying to breathe. Christopher allows him the mercy of the hesitation. And then, shakily, he nods his head.

Christopher sucks in a shaky breath as his palm presses to the scarring and Cass can tell he’s crying all over again. The sob shakes down Christopher’s arm, into his hand and hits like a jolt of electricity through Cass’ spine. It feels like it shakes his

“My God. This is cruelty. This is… this is cruelty.”

And Cass could laugh at that. He really could. After everything, everything this man has done. After everything he’s put his head through and his heart through and his body. This is cruelty, is it? Finally, this is cruelty.

Nah, it’s not cruelty. He wants to say. Penance.

He’s glad the words don’t actually make it past his lips.

Christopher’s hand runs across them over and over, again and again, and the feeling is so strange, so tender, so violating that Cass finds himself pressing his face against his arm and screwing his eyes shut, as though to hide. Skin then scar then skin then scar. Numbed then felt. Hot then cold.

Every trace of the crosses feel like he’s being stripped bare. As though with every caress, Christopher is peeling away a layer of numbness, a layer of armour, an exoskeleton. The world is like a burning thing without it all.

Cass hangs his head, arms still stretched up and aching, and he sobs, voice pulling out of him in a broken whisper. “Please stop.”

The plea seems to bring Christopher to the surface of whatever grief laden fascination he’s lost in and the man circles in front of him, hand cupping his cheek, thumb catching the tear that slides down it. Christopher’s tears mirror Cassius’ own as the man presses their foreheads together and Cass is sure they look a lovely picture of grief.

Shared martyrdom. Saint and saviour.

Maybe the man should have crucified him instead.

“I’m so sorry, Cassius,” Christopher whispers again, and Cass cringes and cries and keeps his eyes shut. “If I had known… I promise you, if I had known…”

It’s a mercy beyond measure that the man never finishes the sentence.

[shooting-starry]

Trust me. Love me. Shoot me.

Atsumu Miya x female reader

Summary: Atsumu finds himself with a young woman who is more that what she seems.

A/n: Writing this was fun. It was fun. Please enjoy the awkwardness and watch me try to build character dynamics. Yay ::) please do not repost, but feel free to reblog or like!

Warnings: drugs and alcohol mentioned, weapons mentioned, Atsumu gets punched lol, I didn’t edit yet again

Masterlist

Previous//Next

The minivan was quiet, except for Bokuto’s light snores. Akaashi was driving with Kuroo in the passenger side. Kenma was sitting in the back on his switch, and occasionally pushing the sleeping Bokuto off of his lap. Y/n sat behind Akaashi, passing maps and snacks to Kuroo. Atsumu was directly beside you, looking out the windows as the buildings  turned into fields then back to buildings.

Akaashi was planning to drive to the Nekoma headquarters, where a majority of Fukurodani  also stayed. Nekoma preferred to stay in Tokyo’s countryside. It was close enough to the city, but remote enough for no one to care. It was a strategic location.

When the minivan pulled to a stop, not a a rest stop this time, a tall warehouse sat in front of the group. The tall metal walls started down at the very mini minivan, the windows were ominously empty. The warehouse had a spooky feeling to it, it felt as if no one had been there for years, yet every single step was being carefully watched and criticized.

The first time Y/n came to the warehouse, she was terrified, but none of the boys knew. After all, she had to keep her reputation as a force to be reckoned with. The rumours which shrouded Y/n were always enough to scare someone out of their wits. She was often described as a ghost who disappears into the shadows, blends in with the crowd and masquerades herself as anyone, then strikes when you think you are safe. She became anyone, a local grocery store worker, a waitress, a prostitute. She manipulated people to get what she wanted, then killed then. She camouflaged herself in the crowd and went unnoticed. Because of this, she was dubbed “The Chameleon ”. Y/n fed off of this respect. The fact that when her name was mentioned, people would visibly shiver. She didn’t care if she was called a monster. As long as she got praise and the respect that she deserved.

The 6 boys got out of the car and made their way towards the dark warehouse. Kenma knocked on the door, 6  rhythmic knocks, before the large sliding door slide open with a crash. Kai welcomed the group in, hesitating when he saw the 6 foot blond. Apprehensively, he let him in. The warehouse smelled like marijuana and alcohol. Y/n noticed that Lev and Yaku had yet to return. As the group entered the building, people from all angles yelled out in greeting to the group.

“Hey Chameleon! Did you kill anyone yet?” Yelled Yamamoto, along with other calls to the group such as, “Hey Owl!” (Referring to Bokuto and his strength, or his hair. No one has ever been brave enough to ask), or “Raven, I need your help on this assignment!” (Akaashi was dub this for his intellect. This man is smart). Other voices called for “The Hyena” (Kuroo was named this for his hyena like laugh that you would hear right before he killed you) and “The Caracal” (Kenma got this name thanks to his crazy kill methods. That man can be unhinged. Just take away his switch and get ready to die).

Y/n walked through the warehouse soaking in every word, but not replying to any. Right now she didn’t want to be the happy, friendly Y/n. Right now she had business to do. She kicked open a metal door which lead to a large office. The office wasn’t fancy, but inside sat the bosses of Nekoma and Fukurodani. As Y/n walked in, followed closely by the boys, keeping Atsumu behind them, she swiftly slammed the door shut with a loud bang.

The two old men looked up at her and the boys before their eyes landed on Atsumu. They looked surprised to say the least.

“L/n, why did you bring him here? Now were have to kill him.” Said the first old man, Nekomata. He was a carefree old man who was often smiling. Despite his appearance, Y/n knew that he could kill someone in less that a second.

“Nekomata, he is part of the Inarizaki family. If we killed him then they would be after you. So instead I propose we keep him here until his leg heals, then we make the trade with Inarizaki. They get back their man-child, and we get they alliance. Doesn’t that just sound wonderful? Akaashi and Kenma help me think of this.” Y/n asked, speaking in her sweetest, most convincing voice. She knew the last part was a lie. Kenma didn’t care about what happened to Atsumu, and Akaashi didn’t want to keep him around any longer than necessary. You just hoped he didn’t realize.

“Well L/n,” spoke the other old man, Yamiji, “I think its a good idea, except your safe house was destroyed because he was there. And how will we convince them to come, without an attack?”

“Well that’s simple, we can stay in the hotel in the city. The five of us can stay there with Atsumu. And I can take care of an arrangement.” Y/n said slyly. “I will even give you sometime to consider it. It is so much more beneficial to return him than to just kill him. Don’t you think?” She finished, leaving the room, with the boys, close behind her.

After about 10 minutes, both Nekomata and Yamiji stepped out of their office. Everyone in the warehouse, even the wasted men in the corner, stood up, as a sign of respect. Y/n had a more friendly relationship with the two men, and all parties were much more informal with each other.

“Y/n, we will let you go. Make sure that you trade him off in 3 weeks or else we will kill him.” Said Yamiji. “But, it is under the conditioned that the hotel he doesn’t get injured. We will send him off unharmed.” He finished, still staring at Atsumu.

After Yamiji’s speech, the warehouse burst into talk and gossip. “Can you believe the Ferocious Five have another assignment?” Or even “Why are the Ferocious Five getting such an easy assignment? They just have to make sure the dude doesn’t get hurt”. The group walked quickly to the store room. Inside there was the wall of guns and a separate wall for knifes. The drawers under the display of other weapon are held devises which were only common in spy movies. Y/n took multiple knife and hid them on her body. Two for each boot, one in each sleeve, and another on her ankle. She also took a tube of lipstick and a small jar of pills. Y/n loved the lipstick. If it got into your blood stream, it would kill you in a few hours. It would start to seep your energy within minutes, and then it would kill you. She also went to the hidden closet and grab different clothes. She grabbed a formal dress and a cute little picnic dress. She also grabbed a long coat, glasses, a collared shirt, dress pants, jeans and multiple pairs of shoes. But of course she also threw in a pair of loose fitting sweat pants and a sweatshirt. She grabbed a duffle bag and placed the clothes in the bag. She also found a few different purses and bags which she added to her bag.

After she had packed everything she needed, she regrouped with the boys. Kenma was fiddling with 6 cell phones and his bag rested on his feet. Akaashi was nearby, calling the hotel to book the rooms (He seemed very tense when he was talking on the phone). Bokuto and Kuroo were busy stuffing a bag full of food. Atsumu was staring at the ground, daydreaming about something. Y/n paced towards him, pick up a Polaroid camera on the way. She fisted her hand and punched him in the face. Hard.  As her fit collided with his cheek, he groaned at the contact. A bruise was starting to for on his right cheek in a red mark formed on his face. Atsumu looked at her with a look disbelief while she shook out her fist.

“What the hell was that for? Ya crazy bitch, ya just said that A would be unharmed?” He yelled, while Akaashi in the corner was trying convince the hotel employee that nothing was happening.

“I just needed you to form a bruise, besides you’ll be fine. Now sit down so I can cover it with some makeup” Y/n ordered.

Compliantly, Atsumu sat down, while Y/n grabbed a foundation, concealer and a pallet of nude eyeshadows to help hide the redness of his cheek, and a blush. Carefully, she applied foundation across his face. After blending it, she applied concealer under both of his eyes and on his cheek. The concealer hid the red cheek while giving his skin a flawless sort of look. Next, with a small brush, Y/n altered the colour of the bruise, holding her face uncomfortably close to his. As she move from each product, she became more aware of the closeness. She could feel his breath on her hands as she fixed little parts of his face. As he looked more alive and functional, the more she realized his beauty. His dark eyes focused on hers as she scanned his face for any flaws in the makeup. She had covered his scar on his face, to make him look like any normal person. His skin looked clear and hydrated, and his cheeks were slightly blushed. Perfect. He was perfect and ready to go.

Together they stood up, Atsumu a little slower and more clumsy, and walked towards the door. Kenma handed everyone a cell phone, each person's number already entered in. Akaashi grabbed his bag and a bag of medical supplies and placed them in the car. Bokuto then took the rest of the bags and left them in the car (He was upset that Akaashi wouldn’t let him grab his bag too).

Once the group was in the car, Akaashi assigned the room to people. He explained that each room will have two bed. They were all on the different floors, but he would need to check them in.

“Bokuto-san and I will be in room 303, Kenma-san and Kuroo-san will be in room 204, and L/n-san and Miya-san will stay in room 405. Also, we will not be able to switch rooms. I was able to get the last three rooms for the next 3 weeks.” Akaashi explain as he drove the minivan.

The car ride was short then that mornings, once the fields turned to buildings, Bokuto got excited. He knew that the car ride was almost over (He was like a small child after an hour car ride). After another half hour. Akaashi pulled into the parking lot of a large hotel. After grabbing the bags, which Bokuto insisted on doing, the group walked into the hotel, and was greeted by the sitting room. It was a beautiful room. There were exquisite decorations along the walls. On the ceiling there was a beautifully complex chandelier. There were many people in the sitting room, drinking water or talking to each other. Akaashi, confidently walked up to the counter. The group was sitting on a large couch when Akaashi returned. He handed each person a key card for their room.

The group piled into an elevator and slowly got off at their floor. First Kenma and Kuroo got off, then Akaashi and Bokuto. Finally, there was just Y/n and Atsumu. The 30 seconds of the elevator going up were excruciatingly awkward. Neither said a thing, but a few glances were stolen when the other wasn’t looking.

When they got off the elevator, Y/n held both people’s bags as the looked for the door which read 405. When they found the door, Y/n slide the key card into the reader, after shifting all the bags onto one hand. They opened the door, they were met with long windows and a flat screen TV. There was a closet to the right of the door and the bathroom door to the left. There was a small desk against the door and a large glass panel separating the bathroom from the bedroom. In the bedroom, the bed was decorated in white sheets and many throw pillows. But there was a problem in the room. There was only one kind sized bed

Taglist: Please request to be added to taglist!

@kayleighbeccaa @jojowantstocry  @m1lfluv3r

[pine-lark]

later at night

Hi so last time you heard of Ven in “soup” was when he was just starting to let his sympathy get the best of him, right? Well, I have a bad habit of skipping around in timelines, and this is a big leap! There’s a lot of development coming in between these drabbles but for now it’s just… a BIIIIG jump from “hi I’m a decent person now probably” to “oh look they’re in love now”. So uh. Without any context or further ado, enjoy! ✨

(also, for those of you who looked at the masterlist going, “wait wait wait…. RECAPTURE ARC???” uh…………. Yeeeeah. About that. *slips into vent*)

CWs: tiny!whumpee, tiny!whumpers, tiny!caretaker, romance (nonsexual- these are my lil tiny hopeless ace romantics!!), forced nudity (nonsexual), implied recent noncon/aftermath of noncon, captivity and implication that only some captives are ‘allowed’ clothing, implied starvation, implied wing whump/amputation, implied reluctant!whumper/caretaker dynamic where Ven essentially has no choice but to participate in the torture of Arion and then comforts him when no one else can see, this is generally just a pretty sad drabble about Ven sacrificing the few things he has for Arion who he feels needs it more. 

Arion’s legs collapse when he tries to stand, so when he slips into Ven’s cupboard, quiet and hurting, he’s half-crawling, half-sliding. He’s a mess. A bleeding, aching mess with sharp, pained eyes and tear-stained cheeks, still red from the backhand slap and the following deep, burning shame. He feels horrible. Used. Disgusting. Uncomfortably warm, that same sickening feeling on his skin that a fever may invoke. But it’s not a fever.

Being completely spent, with no more energy to spare, his arms tremble to a halt once he’s within the safety of the cabinet’s walls and he collapses right there, headfirst, one limb failing at a time.

“A- Arion?” Ven yelps from somewhere in the room, surprised and panicked and heartbroken all at once. Arion barely registers Ven’s hurried footsteps before he’s at his side, handing him a thin, worn blanket to cover with, brushing careful, fleeting hands over his shoulder and through his hair. Ven’s black wings move to shelter him, to hide him from the lingering gazes and hands that aren’t there anymore, but still stain like ink in his mind. “Arion… what- what did they do to you, what did they- Ari…” His voice drops to a hoarse whisper as Arion breaks into sobs. Ven reaches for him, pauses to ask before touching. Gathers him in his arms.

Arion seems thinner than he was the last time Ven held him. His hair is matted, greasier, thin. Brittle. All of him is brittle. Ven’s noticed his healing is slower than it used to be. It only took a few days to mend his own bones when he first got here, Ven remembers, after Heston lost it and broke both Arion’s legs with the big sledge hammer that always had hung near all the knives. Ven had cowered then, safer in his cabinet with his hands over his ears, backed up in the corner with wide eyes as he heard the screams and Heston’s yelling. You thought you could run? Just thought you could pack up and leave? That you had a right to go to some nice little house, and heal and sleep and eat like a pig, and you thought that was fine?

His body had healed quickly then, from nearly a year of mending, nearly a year of being safe in a warm cabin with someone there to protect him. But now… now it’s been a week, maybe two, since Arion had been knocked off the garage desk and crippled; and he still limps, if he can even manage to walk at all.

The blanket, the one that’s been there even before Ven, is scarce and small and full of holes and barely covers Arion, let alone keep him warm. It’s been passed from captive to captive over the years, Ven assumed, until finally it was himself who landed the luck to be placed in a cabinet like the others, and not a cage.

Ven’s stomach lurches. It wasn’t really luck, though, was it.

Arion chokes on his own tears and coughs at the breath that catches in his cracked ribs. He shifts closer to Ven, arms to his chest, nuzzles pleadingly at the collar of Ven’s shirt. Closer, please, closer, hold me closer, the gesture says, but Ven’s afraid of holding him any tighter, afraid of brushing up against an open wound, afraid of hurting what’s already hurt. He presses a kiss to Arion’s temple, instead. “Want to lie down?” he whispers. “We can lie down on my mat.”

He nods in answer but as soon as Ven shifts to stand, Arion’s voice breaks, his fingers tuck into the folds of Ven’s shirt with a white-knuckle grip, he holds tightly to him with renewed desperation. Don’t let go, he says, words broken and taught and barely audible, please don’t let go, please, don’t let go of me, I need you, I need you, and by the time he says those last words his voice is gone and he’s just mouthing them. Just silent, heavy truths.

Ven hushes him in the gentlest, most patient voice, weighted with the sheer ache nested deep within his chest. “I won’t. I won’t,” he promises. “I’m not letting go, Arion. Not until you ask me to let go. I’m here.” He moves to stand once more but this time he makes certain to keep a firm hold on the other shaking arivie. “I’m here, I’m staying,” he murmurs. “They won’t find you here.” With some effort he helps Arion to stand, but only so that he can easier sweep him off his feet, and carry him the rest of the way.

Ven’s mat is no nest, and it’s no dollhouse bed. It’s dirty and worn and the old fabric is itchy but it’s so much better than the floor, so much better than the cage. Arion melts into it as Ven sets him down. The tension in his shoulders eases and the growing headache at the base of his skull begins to ebb. His breathing still hitches but its slows, deepens. Ven sits at the side of the mat, but hesitates there.

It doesn’t sit right with him, that all Arion has is the pathetic little piece of cloth to cover. Ven’s own clothes start to feel too hot, though he’s only wearing a black t-shirt and pants that feel of thin, synthetic fabric. He knows it’s wrong. Knows that Arion wouldn’t be here, cold and bare and terrified and starving, if it weren’t for Ven’s selfishness.

He’d still be at that cabin.

He watches Arion try to curl in on himself, draw his legs closer to his chest, move the flimsy blanket forward to feel less open, less seen, less vulnerable. Ven feels a sharp pang in his chest, just from the sight.

“Do you remember, when, when I said I would give you the clothes off my back, Ari…” he says, quietly.

Arion turns his head to meet his gaze.

“I, um.” He swallows. “I meant it, you know.” He thumbs the hem of his shirt, just a little too big and meant for a doll. He lifts his arms, pulls it over his head.

“Ven, I, no no no no no, you don’t, don’t have to-“

“Please take it.” He says. “Both. I- I’d rather you have them.” He watches the sad way Arion regards his long, pale scars. He hates having them uncovered. His skin starts to crawl. But it’s better than what he knows he’d feel if he deliberately let someone he loves go unclothed while he didn’t, while he held them but still wouldn’t let them have what he was unrightfully given. Ven swallows thickly against the crashing, threatening waves of guilt resting in his throat like a stone. “It’s not fair. Ari, please let me.”

Arion shakes his head, wipes away a few stray tears with a bruised wrist. “I-I can-can’t, can’t, can’t, I, I can’t, Ven, can’t. Don’t. You need- they’re yours.”

“I have wings, Arion, I- I’m okay. I’d rather it be me than you. I’d rather it be me.” Those words have more weight to them than he voices. I’d rather it be me.

Arion takes the shirt in his hands, but he doesn’t move to put it on. “I’ll, I’ll get them, I’m dirty, I-“

“They have a little blood on them anyway. I don’t care. Arion. Please.” He waits for Arion to shift to slip it over his head before he sinks his hands to his waistband- and Arion softly turns to look away- and Ven pauses only briefly at the vague breath of a horrible memory before sliding off the only other layer of clothing he’s allowed to wear. His wings circle around him, wrap over his sides like a long, thick black towel, and even still he feels guilty that at least he has that, at least he always has something.

Arion looks like he’s about to cry, as Ven hands that last piece of clothing to him. Like he’s about to refuse, like he wants to so badly, but he knows that it’s only out of love that Ven’s doing this and for that reason he can’t quite bring himself to. It’s as if this is some grand gift, the greatest sacrifice, something so tremendous that he can’t except and it shouldn’t be that way, it should never be that way. Ven whispers small assurances that yes, he still means it. Yes, take it. Really, he’s okay. He’ll be okay. He’s just fine. Please take it. Please sleep.

And even as he says it he knows that if anyone found them like this they’d both be dead or worse by morning. But, at this point, for both of them, to be alone and to have the opportunity for a little comfort among all the suffering…

It’s worth the risk.

---

tagging: @whumping-every-day, @deluxewhump, @sola-whumping @haro-whumps, @inaridriscoll, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @kiretto-laorentze @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @ahorriblebimess

[rhetoricalrogue]

31 Days of Wayhaven: Day 7

Prompt: Sleep Rating: G Words: 2,061 Characters: Cameron Buchanan, Penelope Fisher Summary: Three times during their partnership where there was only one bed.

For the @31daysofwayhaven event.

June 24, 1999 Classified Agency safehouse, north of Nepal

“There’s only one bed.”

Cameron sighed.  “I’d hoped that there would be at least two when the place was assigned to us.  Sorry.”  

Exhausted, Penelope dropped her hiking pack to the ground and pulled off her thick winter coat.  “Rock, Paper, Scissors you for it?”

He shook his head, going over and grabbing one of the spare pillows.  “No need, I’ll take the sofa.”  It was a short loveseat that he was certain his long legs were going to drape uncomfortably over the side, but he was too tired to complain.  While the two of them weren’t exactly a unit unto themselves, they’d been recently partnered up.  This whole “mission” was an Agency-mandated exercise to get to know the other better as well as to check up on the lone Yeti that made this part of the Himalayas.  There hadn’t been a sighting in some time and the Agency was growing concerned over their well-being.  

Penelope moved over to the tiny stove in the middle of the similarly tiny shack on the side of the mountain and started it up.  “I’m tempted to just sleep in wolf form to fight the worst of the cold.” She trailed off.  “Shit.  I’m sorry, Cameron.”

He waved her off.  “Don’t be, it’s okay.”

“It was insensitive of me.”

Cameron walked over to the fire and warmed his hands.  The loss of his sealskin was still a sensitive topic for him nine years after the fact, but he was trying his best to overcome the pain.  His burns had long since healed over, but the cold was making the worst of the scars sting and the muscles underneath stiffen.  “It’s okay, I promise.  And it was a smart idea; fur would be an advantage right about now.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“No.”  He turned his back to give Penelope privacy as she shed her clothing, his ears picking up the sound of material being folded.  He smiled as he also heard her curse and teeth chatter before the unfamiliar prickle of magic made the hair at the back of his neck stand on end.  

His chest tightened.  For the briefest of seconds, he almost remembered how it felt to change from man to seal.  “See?  Lots more comfortable, I bet.”  He eyed the too-short sofa then the bed that in her current form, was far too small for Penelope.  “If you’re not using it, you mind if I do?”

Penelope gave a soft huffing noise before curling her body close to the stove.  Cameron took that as a sign enough and only taking off his boots and coat, curled into bed.  It wasn’t long before the warmth of the stove and the heat radiating off Penelope’s larger frame lulled him to sleep.

November 12, 2009 Las Vegas, Nevada

“There’s only one bed.”

“Did you expect anything less?” Penelope asked, kicking off her heels the second she stepped foot in the hotel room.  It was classier than what they had been staying at, and while she could hold her own in more rustic conditions, she did appreciate the nicer accommodations when they were given to them.  “We’re supposed to be man and wife for this investigation.”

“Could you say that a little louder?” Nicolo’s voice hissed in their ear.  “I don’t think everyone listening heard you.”

Cameron undid the cufflinks at his wrists and loosened his tie.  “Please, we’re surrounded by nothing but humans.  Our cover is still good.”  The sooner they could get out of this situation, the better.  There had been a rash of supernatural children being kidnapped and the Agency had narrowed a trafficking ring to the very hotel they were staying at.  Some rich humans were selling the children to the highest bidders under the guise of a charity gala.  Cam’s blood boiled as he recalled the past hour of putting on a smiling mask and listening as one after another, people were spreading the rumor that a supernatural child’s blood was the key to everlasting youth.

“Calm down,” Penelope told him, coming up to him to undo his tie.  “Your hackles are raised.”

“And yours aren’t?”

She sneered.  “I was instructed to not shift and murder everyone on sight.  If I had to hold my temper while being pawed at by greedy old men, then you can do the same.”  She sighed and swayed towards him.  “I want this over with.”

He bent his head so he could press his forehead against hers.  “I know.  Soon.”

“Not soon enough.  Those poor kids.”  She closed her eyes tightly.  “I keep thinking about my nieces and nephews.  If any of them had been taken…”

Cam’s arms went around her and hugged her tightly.  “We would be doing the same thing.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”  Children had always been a soft spot in Penelope’s priorities, and just the thought of any of them being used for some horrendous belief that their blood could prolong human life was enough to make her want to rip everyone in the room they had just been in to shreds.

“Come on,” Cam told her, his lips at her brow.  “We’ve got a few hours; get some sleep so we can end this with the other agents.”

Nicky’s voice buzzed in their earpieces.  “Both of you get some rest.  I’m tapped into the security system and the rest of the Agency techies are covering the rest of the hotel.  We’ll need you both at your best to take those fuckers down.  Anything happens, I’ll let you know.”

“He’s got a point,” Penelope said, breaking away to head to the bathroom.  Cam heard the rustle of fabric and she emerged wearing a more practical outfit for combat.  He traded places with her and came out wearing pretty much the same.  

“Pick a side,” he told her, tidying the room to get rid of some nervous energy.  He’d memorized the layout of the hotel long before they had entered the infiltration phase of the operation.  He’d met with the other commanding agents from the other units assigned to the case.  Alpha and Bravo were in various staging locations, along with Delta and Echo agents.  

Their bags were packed before he even realized what he’d been doing, so caught up in going over mission objectives.  At least it was one less thing for them to have to do post-operation.

“Come to bed,” Penelope called, and Cameron froze.  She’d taken her hair down from the stiff twist it had been in most of the evening and it cascaded down over her shoulders to fall in a silvery puddle at her waist.  They’d been partners for a little under ten years and there wasn’t a person alive that he trusted more than her.  Silently taking her advice, he climbed into bed and tried to relax.

“Everything will happen as planned,” she told him.

“You think so?”

Her hand slid into his and she laced their fingers together.  “I know so.”

He squeezed her fingers, running his thumb along the side of her hand.  “Then I believe you.”  Closing his eyes, he let the steady sound of her heartbeat send him into a light, yet somehow restful sleep.

April 15, 2015 Portree, Isle of Skye

“There’s only one bed.”

“I know.” Penny put her bag down beside an easy chair and crossed her arms over her chest.  “The rates were a lot cheaper for two singles instead of a single and a double.”

His eyebrow quirked and he gave her a halfhearted smirk.  “I guess frugality won over concern for my virtue.  What will the locals think, lass?” 

She rolled her eyes, focusing on the way that his normally lilting accent had grown thicker in the days leading up to their arrival of a scenic little town off the west coast of Scotland.  He’d tried to hide it from her and Nicky, but they could both tell that this mission was a difficult one for him.  “Talk to me, Cam,” she said softly, watching as he opened the door leading out to the small balcony.  He left it open, which she took as a cue that he wanted her to follow.

“I haven’t been in this area in years,” he quietly confessed, eyes sliding shut as the breeze coming off the water pushed his hair back.  “Can you hear the waves, Pen?  They call to me.”  He wrapped his hands around the metal railing and held on tightly until his knuckles turned white.  He opened his eyes and there was such a depth of sadness within them that Penelope’s heart ached. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve heard this particular call.  Like a mother welcoming her son home.”

“Are you all right?”

“No.”  He let out a shuddering breath, one of his hands reaching up to touch the back of his neck where the edge of a faint burn scar began.  “I’m afraid,” Cameron told her, his voice barely audible above the sound of the sea.

“Of?”  She moved so she was closer to him, their arms touching as a way to anchor him to her, to the moment.

“The Agency sent me specifically to come and help this pod of selkies because on some level, they’re my kinsman.  But what if they hold this,” he pushed up the sleeve of his sweater over his arm, the discolored splotches on his forearm standing out in harsh contrast to the rest of his skin, “against me and think me unworthy of their notice?”

She frowned.  “Then they aren’t worth calling kin.  Family is family, no matter if they can shift or not.  If they refuse to work with you, then fine.  We can send another agency unit in to talk.  They were the ones to contact us in the first place.”

He was silent as he stared out to the sea, but he leaned against her, their shoulders touching.  “I’m so glad that you’re here with me.  Nicky too, even if he’s done nothing but complain about the cold since we got here.”

She gave him a smile and bumped her shoulder companionably against his.  “We’ll get through this mission together, then head back home.”  She didn’t know if her statement was supposed to comfort him or if it was a warning that his visit so close to the shores and waters he used to call home was going to be a short one.

“You’re right.”  Stepping away from the balcony, he made his way back inside.  “Jet lag is absolute murder, I’m beat.”

“Then pick a side.  I’m going to go check in on Nicky, see how he’s settling in.  Do you want any dinner, or do you want to grab something later?”

“Maybe later.  I’ll probably crash out until morning.  Don’t worry about waking me up when you come in, you know I usually sleep like a rock when we move time zones.”

True to his word, Cam was out like a light when Penny came back to their room, not even stirring when she slid into the king sized bed with him.  She hadn’t expressed it, but she worried about him, being so close to home after being away for twenty-five years.  While it wasn’t quite near the same area as the little fishing village he’d last called home, it was close enough for concern.  Moving to her side, she stared at his sleeping face until eyes not able to stay open any longer, she succumbed to sleep herself.

Unlike Cam, she was an incredibly light sleeper who woke at the barest of movements.  She didn’t alert him to her wakefulness when he slid out of bed, and she didn’t turn at the sound of the balcony door gently opening and closing.  She did finally turn in time to see Cam, wearing only a pair of sweatpants that hung loosely to his hips, resume his stance out on the balcony, his back to her and his face to the sea.

For the first time in the sixteen years she’d known her partner, she feared that their mission would end and she and Nicky would be the only ones returning to the Agency.  Turning around to give him and his thoughts privacy, she reached out, pulling the pillow next to her that still smelled of his shampoo close and hugging it tightly to her chest.

[dragonsaphirareads]

Hidden Scars

Day 10 for @tsshipmonth2020 Fluffuary

Ship: Moceit

AU: Human

Word Count: 1719

Summary: After suffering in an accident, Ernest is worried that his fiancee no longer wants to be with him.

(Like listening to podfics? You can listen to this oneshot on my YT channel here!)

Hot. Flames clawing up the walls, through doors, surrounding him. Everything collapsing around him. His leg caught against a scrap of heated metal, and he tripped as pain surged up his calf.

He tried to scream, in pain or for help he didn’t know, but he couldn’t force out a sound. Then the ceiling cracked loudly, and the last thing he saw was a flaming wooden beam as it crashed down...

Ernest shot awake, hyperventilating as he tried to calm down from the dream. His skin grafts and scars ached from his thrashing around, and his right hand was tangled in the bedsheets from his desperate attempt to reach for help.

He heard footsteps rushing down the hall, and Ernest quickly schooled his breathing to a normal level as his fiancee opened the bedroom door, coming to his side.

“Are you alright sweetheart? I heard you shouting.” Patton asked, his bright blue eyes full of concern. Ernest nodded, grabbing onto Patton to pull himself into a sitting position.

“I’m fine... just a dream, nothing more. I need a shower though.” He lied, getting to his feet and holding onto the bed to keep from collapsing. Patton offered his arm, but Ernest refused, walking on his own to retrieve a change of clothes.

“If you’re sure about that... Is there anything I can do before I leave?” Patton asked, and Ernest shook his head just a little too quickly.

“Don’t worry about it, love. I’ll be just fine.” Ernest told him, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You should get going, you don’t want to be late because of me.”

Patton chewed his lip, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. “You’re probably right... but text me if you need anything, ok? I can always work from home!”

Ernest shook his head, waving him off as he went to the bathroom. “You know I will, darling. Be safe driving.”

“I will. Love you!” Patton called as he left the bedroom and Ernest closed the bathroom door, leaning against the counter as he let his facade drop.

Two months. Two whole months had gone by since the day Ernest’s office building had caught on fire, and he’d gotten stuck under burning rubble. The man glanced up to look at his reflection with his remaining good eye.

The entire left side of his face had suffered from third degree burns. The skin grafts hadn’t healed over smoothly, leaving him with a freckled, almost mottled texture to his cheek. His left eye had also been damaged beyond repair, and he could no longer see anything out of it.

The rest of his body had faired slightly better, healing much faster than his face. Even so, there was a clear line of scar tissue where the burns had healed.

The doctors told him the damage would fade over time, and physically he knew that was true. Eventually those lines would dim, eventually his grafts would be indistinguishable from the rest of his skin.

Physically, he would heal.

Emotionally, he was starting to believe he would never heal from the traumatic event. He’d spoken with a therapist at the beginning, while he was receiving treatment for his burns. Ernest had been told to schedule a followup when he felt he was ready to begin unpacking what had happened.

At first, he hadn’t thought he’d need it. Yes, he was in pain, but he had his wonderful fiancee that was so supportive and loving and he had thought that that would be enough.

But Patton had grown distant in the months since the accident. It started when he moved to sleep in the guest bedroom, allowing Ernest the full bed to sleep in. The first week or two he’d appreciated it - even the soft sheets brushing against his skin felt like fire. If Patton had accidentally hit him in his sleep, it would have been agonizing.

However, he hadn’t moved back in the weeks since then. Besides that, he’d also grown less intimate with him. Even innocent small things like holding his hand or giving him a peck on the cheek were rarities.

What was worst of all, was that he had stopped wearing his wedding ring after the accident. It was as if he had fallen out of love, but was too kind to tell Ernest honestly.

A tear welled up in his right eye, and he quickly turned on the shower and stepped inside to pretend it was only water running down his face.

It hurt worse than any burns he could imagine. He loved Patton more than anything or anyone he had ever met in his life. Patton had saved him countless times just with his thousand watt smile. To think that he might lose the love of his life...

He’d rather be stuck in that burning building again.

~

Ernest had been careless. Normally, if he took a nap, he always did it early in the day, so he would be wide awake when Patton got home. He wasn’t ready to be working a job again yet, so he did his best to keep the house in order and make sure Patton didn’t have to worry about anything.

But this afternoon he’d been overcome by a wave of exhaustion, and he fell into a deep enough sleep to start dreaming again.

Flashes of fire flickered through his otherwise serene dreams, until they started devolving into terrifying images that made him break into a sweat and cry out in his sleep. When the dream showed him the image of Patton stuck under burning rubble with Ernest unable to move and help him, he felt a tongue of fire land on his shoulder and he bolted awake, nearly hitting Patton in the face.

“Ernest! Are you ok?!” Ernest blinked at him, knowing he was crying and had no chance of hiding that from Patton.

“I... I’m...” He tried to reassure him, tell him these dreams were normal and he could handle them, but he met Patton’s eyes and he knew he couldn’t lie to him anymore.

“Ernest, please, you have to talk to me. I know you’ve been having nightmares every night, and I want to help you! Please, what can I do for you?”

“Patton...” Ernest whispered, and the other man moved closer. “Do you... still love me?”

“W-What? Of course I do!”

“Really?” Ernest hated how accusatory it came out. Patton’s eyes flashed with hurt for a moment.

“Yes!”

“I don’t believe you!”

Patton reeled back at the sudden anger, and Ernest’s heart panged at the sight of it but he couldn’t stop the flood of emotions.

“You say you do... you say it every day... but you... you don’t mean it anymore! You can’t mean it! I can’t... can’t believe...”

“Ernest... where is this coming from?” His fiancee asked softly, and Ernest felt tears start to fall from his right eye.

“You’ve barely touched me at all since... since... you don’t hold my hand, or kiss me... we don’t even sleep in the same bed anymore!”

Then his arm shot out and he grabbed Patton’s hand, pointing at his bare ring finger. “And this...”

“Ernest, stop.”

Patton’s tone was stern, but comforting. Ernest shifted as Patton wrapped him up in a hug, and it only took a moment before he completely lost it, letting out everything he’d been bottling up for two full months.

“To start... I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t love you anymore. I want you to know that you’re the most important person in my life, and I would never mean to hurt you.”

“So... why?”

Patton sighed. “Well, for the bed thing, I guess I just got settled into a routine. I knew you were suffering from nightmares, and I thought it would be best if you had the bed to yourself. And I stopped being intimate with you because I was worried I was going to accidentally hurt you.”

Ernest sniffed. “I’m not that fragile, you know!”

His fiancee nodded, running his thumb over Ernest’s knuckles. “I know, I know. But, Ernest, I don’t know if you understand how scared I was... When I got the call that your work had caught fire, and that you had been hospitalized... I thought I was surely going to lose you, and I didn’t know what to do.”

He blew out a breath, and Ernest could tell he was holding back tears himself. “Seeing you in that hospital bed, covered in bandages... I didn’t know what to do with myself. I just wanted to cry. But then, one of the nurses told me that I should try and make sure to keep things normal, and not bring it up until you were ready...”

“Patton... you know me. That was shit advice to follow.”

Patton laughed. “Yeah, I should have thought about that a little more.”

“And... the ring?”

He put a hand to his neck, reaching under his shirt to pull out a chain that Ernest hadn’t noticed. Hanging from the small chain was Patton’s ring.

“They told me they had to cut your ring off because your hand swelled too much, and it wasn’t able to be repaired... I wanted to get you a new one before I started wearing mine again, so I wouldn’t make you sad because you didn’t have one...”

Ernest stared at the chain. “You could have told me...”

“I should have. I didn’t think it would take this long to get a replacement. And I should have told you about the other stuff too. I guess... I was just worried about bringing it up. I didn’t want to do anything that would make it worse for you.”

They both fell silent, holding each other and letting their tears dry on their cheeks.

“So... you still want to get married?”

Patton laughed, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to Ernest’s right cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. It would take so much more than this to make me change my mind. You’re stuck with me, don’t ever forget that.”

Ernest snickered with him, holding onto him for a little while longer. Eventually they got up to eat dinner, and spent the evening talking. Then that night, Patton laid down beside him in bed, and Ernest had his first dreamless sleep in months.

[cryxmercy]

PotW Solo: No Mime Like the Present

Mercy’s mime comes for her at the worst possible moment. 

POTW solo that takes place at the same time as this. 

TW: Blood, gore, dismemberment, guns, injuries, body mutilation, horror, death 

Mercy was restless. All night she’d tossed and turned, covered in a cold sweat, sheets twisted around her feet… her mind caught in that ephemeral space between dreaming and waking. She was no Seer… no prophet of any sort. But many of her dreams had a nasty habit of foretelling things to come. They always had. 

But it was pain that woke her, not dreams. Sharp and searing, taking her breath even as she cried out at the fire that pierced her chest not once, not twice, but three times. Fire, followed by a nearly unbearable pressure that threatened to collapse her lungs and crush her ribs. A fire that was matched by the white-hot flash of pain across the scar on her palm. A pain that hadn’t been shared in over a millenia. Until Arthur had renewed the age-old bond between them, in saving Mercy from the wraith, and remade the mark that mirrored her own. A mark that had burned away at the end of his first lifetime. 

Yet Mercy’s mark had remained as unchanging as the Fury herself. Faded slightly with time, it had always been a beacon, guiding her to him in every lifetime. Letting her know when he was injured or even dying. 

This pain Mercy knew better than anything she’d ever experienced. The searing pain of a blade as it punctured vulnerable flesh. Tearing through skin and bone, muscle and viscera… until it found something vital. Something that would bleed… 

Something that would kill.  

Mercy knew this better than she knew her own name. 

Because it had happened before. 

But not to her. 

“No… nonononono… not again… not-” She coughed violently, stumbling to her knees as she tried to roll out of bed. It felt like… she couldn’t breathe… even though she knew she was doing just that. Her phone was on the bedside table, and Mercy reached for it, forcing herself to slow  her breathing - and reminding herself again that she was, in fact, doing so - before hitting Arthur’s contact information. She forced herself to her feet as the phone rang. And rang. And rang again. “Goddamit, Ren,” Mercy cursed as Arthur’s voicemail picked up. She was as close to panicking as she’d been in years.  

“Ren… Ren, pick up the phone. Please… please pick up phone.” The signal seemed to wobble a bit, but Mercy kept talking. “I know something happened. I felt it. Just like… just like before and I need-” The sound of glass breaking came from Mercy’s front room. She paused, phone still to her ear. When Loki came streaking into her bedroom to hide under the bed, Mercy blamed the shattered glass on the overly curious cat, and finished throwing on her shoes. “I’m coming over. Gods if you get this... call the cops. And please be careful. Please don’t die…” 

There was another small crash as Mercy’s cell service cut out completely. She glanced at her bed where Loki was hiding, and then back to the open bedroom door. The fire in her chest hadn’t gone away, but it was far less searing now. Which meant Arthur was still alive, whatever had happened. She had to get to him regardless. Because this couldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t let it. 

But something wasn’t right. Something that prickled the hairs on her arm and made her freeze in place, listening for anything that might be moving in the other room. There was the smallest sound… a shuffling of something soft, like socks over a wooden floor. Or gloved hands being dragged along the wall. 

Mercy had been alive long enough to know when something was trying to draw her out. Something that seemed to know better than to enter the room with her. Gods, she didn’t have time for this bullshit. Sliding her phone into her pocket, Mercy reached for the pistol she kept in the top drawer of her nightstand. She might prefer blades and arrows to firearms, but currently she had no real choice. 

The shuffling came again, and Mercy eased into the hallway, weapon raised. Almost immediately, a dark silhouette stood out against the window. Eerily familiar, but also not. 

“Turn around, hands where I can see them,” Mercy said, focusing her weapon on the figure’s center of mass. Surprisingly, the figure did as she asked. It turned, raising it’s arms out to the side. Mercy stayed where she was, ignoring the creeping of gooseflesh over her arms, and the fiery ache in her chest that was far more urgent. “Step into the light. Slowly.” 

Again, the figure did what was asked of it. Whoever or whatever Mercy had suspected this person to be, the absolute last thing she expected was to watch as the light from her bedroom illuminated a set of hands covered in soft, white gloves. Attached to arms and chest banded in black and white that was much too form-fitting to be cloth. And then… her own face staring back at her from beneath a pallor of messy white paint, a slash of red across her mouth, like smeared lipstick… though it glistened a bit too brightly. The eyes were pools of black pitch, not the odd violet color of Mercy’s, and as she watched in frozen horror, the… thing… moved one if it’s gloved hands to it’s cheek, tipping it’s head a bit too far to the side as it mimed tears falling down it’s painted face.  

“I said, don’t move,” Mercy reiterated, tightening her grip on her weapon. Fuck this thing. 

But even then, it had the audacity to mimic her, even raising it’s hands to mime holding a gun. Except unlike Mercy, who would rather not discharge a firearm in a building occupied by other people, the mime did just that. Or… mimed it. 

‘Pew-pew’ it seemed to say. 

The searing heat across the side of Mercy’s neck and into her shoulder were, however, very, very real. As was the blood that ran hot and fast from the wounds as the Fury staggered back under the force of her mime-self’s ‘bullets.’ There was a split-second of shock, followed by Mercy pressing a hand to her neck to stave the flow of blood until it could heal itself - the shoulder was less of a priority, even though the wound had already soaked her shirt - after which Mercy unloaded almost her entire clip into her mime-self’s chest. The creature staggered back under the onslaught, just as Mercy had, except it went down hard, slumping against the wall and leaving behind a streak of crimson and black gore as it slid to the floor. 

Mercy coughed wetly, spitting out a mouthful of blood as she put her last two bullets into the mime’s skull. It twitched grotesquely, spattering her with gore. Mercy backed away, slipping a bit in the mess that coated the floorboards. She watched the body for a moment, wincing as she felt the ‘bullet’ in her shoulder start to move as her body fought to heal itself, and when the crimson-spattered fingers of one of it’s gloved hands started to twitch, Mercy realized that like herself, there was likely only one way to kill this thing. 

By the time Mercy staggered back into the hall, the glint of steel visible in the hand not pressed to her neck, her mime-self was getting to it’s feet. Riddled with bullet holes, it looked at her with it’s one good eye, while the bloody, black cavity of the other mangled socket oozed black ichor down the painted face. It mimed dragging a sword, just as Mercy was, tipping it’s horrible, destroyed face to the side again. 

Mercy was done playing games. The fluttering heat in her chest was growing weaker, which meant Arthur was- 

 Without warning, Mercy slashed the sword up and across. The mime brought its own ‘sword’ over and down, deflecting the blow and locking the point of the blade against the floor, just as Mercy would have. Then it grinned at her, showing a mouth full of teeth stained black with gore. 

It was still grinning when Mercy slammed a second blade into the soft patch beneath its jaw. Concealed along the forearm that had been crossed against her chest, the hilt palmed in the hand pressed to the wound in her neck, the dagger was long and wickedly sharp. There was a wet ‘thud’ as it hit bone, and the mime jerked violently. It’s grin fell flat, mouth opening in a silent scream of fury as it tried to raise the sword again. But it was too late. Mercy jerked the dagger to the side, opening up the mime’s throat from ear to ear. Blood sprayed in a violent spurt and the action caused the mime to reach for Mercy with both hands, releasing the ‘sword’ in the process. 

That was all Mercy needed. Dropping the dagger and grabbing the mime by the hair, Mercy gave a savage pull and let the mime’s own weight carry it to the ground. It flailed and ‘screamed,’ feet kicking wildly against the floorboards even as the bloodied socks it wore muffled the sound. Putting a knee into the small of it’s back, Mercy slammed it’s face against the floorboards over and over until the hard crack of bone had turned to something far more malleable and wet. Then she wrenched it’s head back as far as she could, the savage wound in it’s neck gaping wide. With a savageness that was both horrific and brutally efficient, Mercy used her sword to finish it. The body gave a violent shudder as it’s head rolled away, leaving a trail of pink-tinged paint smeared across the floor. Mercy stood up, breathing hard and covered in gore, grimacing as her own wounds pulled and throbbed. And as the entire creature started to bubble and writhe. Soon there was nothing left but a puddle of black gore. 

“Motherfucker.” Mercy spat a mouthful of blood at the remains of the mime before dropping the sword in the hallway and heading for the door. She didn’t care what she looked like. Or that she was injured. The wounds were already healing. But the burning in her chest was fading. That frightened her more than anything. Another call to Arthur went unanswered, and Mercy didn’t even bother with her helmet as she climbed on her bike and raced across town to Arthur’s house. 

When she got there, she very nearly wrecked her bike trying to get it parked. There were police. And crime scene tape. And… gods… blood. So much blood. And… pools of water. Nonononono-“ARTHUR!!” Mercy screamed, breaking the police barrier and running towards the house. She was stopped by several officers, and after being threatened with arrest if she didn’t calm down and stop fighting them so they could help her, Mercy finally got an answer about what had happened to her friend. She only needed to hear the word ‘hospital’ to ignore their questions - due to her visibly distraught and bloodied state - and break every traffic law in town as she raced her bike towards the ER. Hoping that the old adage of history repeating itself would, for once in Mercy’s long, chaotic life, not come true. 

*