#and lost and gained a stitch somewhere along the way

[yandere-romanticaa]

There's something so oddly sweet about the "childhood friends to lovers" pipeline in fiction, but with Aemond Targaryen it takes such a deliciousy dark turn that my mind couldn't help but to linger on it.

Aemond can still recall every single harsh word his family has even thrown his way, how he can still feel the way his eyes would get wet but he had to hold it all in, because he could not afford to let himself to show even an ounce of weakness, not even to himself. Countless hours were wasted with him staring off into the distance somewhere, admiring the noble beasts which were flying high above in the sky, far away from the reach of anything and anyone.

Those were the times he was most envious of not having a dragon of his own. The green little beast known as jealousy would take over, causing him to want to step off the deep end.

Just as he felt the skin of his knuckles threatening to rip due to his tight grip, a warm pair of hands would make their way to him and hold onto him gently, as if he actually mattered somehow in the grand scheme of things.

Most of the time he would just stand there and let you embrace him, his heart doing cartwheels in his chest as his luscious blonde was carried by the wind. Although, if he had a particularly rough day, he would sometimes simply melt into your embrace. Cheek against cheek, Aemond could feel the worry radiating off you in spades.

It was dreadful how absolutely euphoric that made him feel.

You were his only real playmate growing up, causing him to become dreadfully possessive over you. It got so bad that Aemond outright forbade Aegon and Haelena of all people from even looking at you, let alone actually seeking you out. None of the other children in court were safe either as rumors spread fast that they ought to steer clear far away from you, lest they wished to suffer Aemond's thorny wrath.

The little paradise Aemond had cultivated for himself was not meant to last. One the same night he finally claimed his dragon, you had vanished along with your family.

He still remembers how excited he was to share the news with you, how he wished to tell you that once he was skilled enough he wished you to be the first person who would fly with him on his dragon.

No one else had the right to that privilege, absolutely no one.

But, things didn't go to plan. And truly, when do they ever?

Aemond had lost a lot that night and gained just as much. He had claimed a dragon, Vhagar, one of the largest and strongest dragons there were. In just one evening he became a one man army, there was nothing that could hold him back.

He can still feel just how tight the chair was he sat on as the maesters stitched his damaged eye, how hot the cracking fire next to him was, just how loud everyone was being... It was all irrelevant. The moment he could, he was going to seek you out and tell you everything, share each and every detail he could about his dragon...

... Until his mother told him the news.

Your family relocated due to some personal reasons and as Alicent went on and on about that, little Aemond felt his world shatter in a heartbeat.

He would rather take ten thousand cuts and stabs to his eye than ever face the pain he felt once he learned of your departure.

"It's for your own good too..." he can recall his mother saying, her voice sounding a little defeated.

"You shouldn't tie yourself to one person like you already have... I worry about you, Aemond."

That dark and stormy night, Aemond had made two vows to himself, vows he was going to sign with his own blood if he had to. The first was that no matter where in the world you were, no matter how far your family may try to take you, there would be no distance he would not tread, no man, woman or child he wouldn't slay just to hear the sound of your voice, to feel your soft skin, to be with you.

And the other was that he would make due on his promise of giving you a ride on Vhagar. He was in your debt for even trying to claim the mighty beast, it was only fair.

Aemond Targaryen took those two vows and kept them under lock and key, hidden deeply in his dark, which grew darker and darker. At the rate he was going, he would turn into a more terrifying beast than the actual dragon he had. Although, even dragons had their hearts.

You just happened to be Aemond's.

And he was going to come to you one day, soaked in the blood of his enemies, his arms open wide as he makes his way to embrace you once more.

[gtbutterfly]

Jen and Gabby (working title): chapter two

Here's the second part of my gt story. Criticism is appreciated,

Here's part one:

heres part three

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It was late into the evening. The wind blew cool through the air as Jen trekked through the grass, slicing down the tall blades in her way with her sewing needle. She peered out of the grass onto the curb of the street. She'd been walking in the direction of the car that the human who took her sister was in, but she had lost track of it. The car seemed long gone, along with Gabby and the human child that took her. Jen walked into the street and looked both ways. It was empty, no humans were walking on the sidewalk, or cars in the road. There were massive human houses on both sides of the street. Jen didn’t want to rest until Gabby was safe and not until she found her, but it was only getting darker and colder outside. Jen kept walking on the side of the road, hoping she would see the car soon. Eventually, Jen started yawning. Usually, she and Gabby would be asleep at this time. Regardless, she ignored it and kept walking, when she heard a sound from somewhere above.

“Hoooo….” The sound startled Jen, who quickly looked up, darting her head around to find the source. She looked up at a tree planted in front of a human's house, where a sort of brownish bird was perched. It was large, and its face looked flat to her. Jen thought she remembered seeing one before, in one of the human children's books, or on their television when she was borrowing while the humans watched it, but she couldn’t remember the bird's name. She could remember that the bird hunted small animals, like her. Jen looked at its sharp talons, readjusting themselves on the thick tree branch they were on. The bird began to raise its two massive wings. As the bird jumped off the branch, Jen ran into the grass, hiding before running away from the way the beast was flying in.

Jen ran into a human's garden, right against the front wall of their house. Jen looked around in the air. The thing she was running from was nowhere. Jen was confused. Was it even hunting me at all? She thought to herself. She shook her arms and head and looked up at the human house she had come up to. She decided that it would make sense to rest for a second, and gain food and materials to save her sister with. Jen noticed there was an open vent. Maybe another borrower is already here, she thought, going into the vent opening, and putting her mask over her mouth. She hoped that if another borrower was here, they would be helpful to her. There were no markings of warning or welcome near the vent opening, so there was no way to be sure.

Tim laid on a soft doll bed made of wood and soft, cut-up materials for the mattress. He got out of the bed and stood up. He walked on the plastic floor, out of the room, and into his bathroom. Nothing in the room actually worked, it all being plastic, including the mirror. Tim looked at himself, he ruffled his hair a bit and looked at his teeth. He was still wearing his borrowing clothes, crudely stitched together, oversized shirt and pants, cut up from pieces of curtain and human clothing. It's what most borrowers wore, either made by themselves or by other borrowers who traded the clothes with something, or given as gifts. Tim left the bathroom and looked in his plastic dresser. It had clothes Rebecca made for him, hand-sewn and stitched from wool and craft cloth. He considered changing when he heard footsteps and felt vibrations coming closer to him. There was a gentle knock on the outer wall of the plastic house.

“Hey Tim, I’m just checking in. Are you ready for our night in?” a voice from outside said. It was gentle, just next to a whisper, but it was still loud enough to sound like a normal voice to Tim.

“Yeah, I’m just getting ready,” Tim said, holding a wool sweater in front of him.

“Am I good to see you? You’re not naked in there or anything?” the voice said with a slight laugh.

“No, I’m dressed, I’m just… looking at what else I could wear,” Tim said. Then, the wall of the house moved. The entire side of the house was removed, and Tim saw a massive human face smiling at him.

“Hey Rebecca,” Tim said, waving at the human.

“Heya cutie,” Rebecca said, putting her hand into the doll house and patting Tim's head. Tim pushed her finger off and smiled. “What are you looking for?”

“Clothes, for our, uh, date,” Tim said. “I can’t wear my borrowing clothes on our night in.”

“Why not?” Rebecca asked. “It's just a night in, you don’t have to wear anything special. I’m wearing my normal clothes.”

“Hmm….. ok….” Tim said, putting his clothes back into the toy dresser before walking towards Rebecca. Rebecca put her palm out, which Tim climbed into. Tim's four-inch body easily fitss in the center of Rebecca’s human hand. Carefully, Rebecca held Tim in her two hands, cupping him so he wouldn’t fall. Butterflies fluttered in Tim’s stomach as he was lifted high off the ground, being enamored by Rebecca as her large eyes blinked at him. She carried him through her large human house, outside to her fenced backyard. Rebecca sat down in a lawn chair, cupping Tim in her lap. They both looked up, gazing at the stars, tiny shining dots in the black night sky. It felt nice to Tim, looking up in the warmth of a human's flesh, shielded by the cool air. Rebecca looked down at Tim, who was relaxed with his legs crossed in her lap. She gently rubbed his back, beginning to make small talk.

“So, how was the borrower market today? Rebecca asked him.

“Same as it usually is,” Tim said. “I saw Liam and Nora today, they wanted to go borrowing and asked me to come, but I said no.”

“Huh, y’know, your friends don’t have to risk their lives borrowing,” Rebecca said, “you could always introduce them to me, and I can take care of all of you.” Tim sighed.

“Rebecca, we’ve been over this, you can’t meet the other tinies.” Tim started. “They don’t trust you, even if I try to introduce you to them.”

“I’ve never understood why you tinies are so scared of humans,” Rebecca said, lifting Tim to her face. “You’re just smaller, cuter humans after all, why do you think anyone would want to hurt you?” She ruffled his hair with her finger again.

“We live in humans' walls and steal their food and other objects, we’re basically mice to you,” Tim said.

“Mice don’t talk, wear clothes, or use tools,” Rebecca said. “You’re way smarter than mice are, and I’m sure humanity would see you as people if you revealed yourselves to them.”

“That sounds optimistic,” Tim said. “You have no idea how many stories there are of borrowers getting seen or caught and having some terrible fate, like there is one about those who got tortured, those who were forced to be pets, those who were just killed instantly.”

“That sounds horrible but they can’t all be true. There are tons of stories made to cause fear so people will follow rules or be safe.” Rebecca said, Tim looked at her, slightly offended but he shrugged it off.

“I mean, yeah, I guess there could be a lot of exaggerations, but plenty of them or first-hand accounts. A lot of my friends have those kinds of stories.”

“Oh…” Rebecca looked down, sort of embarrassed. “I’m sorry about that. But, even if that stuff happens, you know I wouldn’t do that,”

“Yeah, but they don’t know that,” Tim said. “And even if they did, you could.”

“Come on, doesn't it sound paranoid to avoid humans just because they’re bigger than you all? Imagine how much better your friends' lives would be,” Rebecca said. Tim thought about it. He never had to worry about starving, freezing, or being killed by some animal because Rebecca was there. All of the other borrowers and tinies had to deal with that regularly. But he didn’t know how they would react to him introducing them to a human. What if they saw him as a traitor? What if they thought he was selling them out?

“Maybe you're right…but the others aren’t just going to trust humans just like that,” Tim said. “It took me months just to let you hold me like this.”

“And look how close we are now,” Rebecca said, petting Tim's head again. “If we can be like this, there’s no reason all tinies and humans can’t get along.”

“Maybe…” Tim sighed. “I dunno….I’ll think about more…”

“So… you wanna watch a movie?” Rebecca asked.

“Sure, it's getting cold out here,” Tim answered.

Rebbeca cupped Tim in her hands again and walked inside, closing the screen door to the backyard. She stepped into her living room and gently placed Tim on her couch, kneeling down on the floor to talk to him.

“I’m gonna go get snacks for us. You make yourself comfortable, ok hon?” Rebecca said.

“Ok, see you,” said Tim.

“Be right back, don’t move a muscle!” Rebecca left the room. Tim sat on the blue couch, waiting for Rebecca to come back, when he heard a voice in the distance.

“Ow! Damnit…” the voice wasn’t very loud, it sounded sort of muffled by something. It wasn’t big and vibrating like a human's voice, it was definitely that of a tiny’s, and it sounded familiar.

Tim climbed off the couch, landing on a pillow on the floor. He walked to the other side of the room. There was a small table there, smaller in width but taller than the main coffee table in the middle of the room, placed next to a recliner. At the bottom of the table was a tiny on the ground, dusting themselves off and standing up through pain. Tim approached them, before recognizing who they were.

“Jen?” Tim asked.

“Tim?” Jen said, removing her mask. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, this is the house I live at ...y'know, where my…hideout is….” Tim said, sweating.

“I thought you were seeing someone tonight, that's what Nora and Liam said anyway,” Jen said. Tim pulled at his collar.

“Um…they called it off?” Tim shrugged.

“Huh,” Jen said, looking toward the kitchen. “Hey, who was that human that was here? Who were they talking to, there's no one else here,”

“Umm, I dunno, she's like that… one of those humans with meds, y’know?” Tim lied.

“She has an iron deficiency? That's what the humans I borrow from take pills for,” Jen thought to herself for a moment, “look, that's not important, I really need your help with something, like seriously, like life or death,”

“Hey, cute stuff!” Rebecca's voice was heard in the distance, Jen was startled.

“Shoot,” Jen looked around before hiding under the recliner, waving at Tim to do the same. Tim hesitated, staying in the open not knowing what to do until the human was right over him. Jen watched in fear and confusion as Tim turned around towards the human, and the human kneeled down at him.

“Why are you over here?” Rebecca asked him.

“Uh, um….” Tim didn’t know what to say, knowing Jen was watching him from under the recliner. Eventually, he swallowed and responded, “I heard something over here, it was nothing.”

“Oh, ok. So we don’t have any popcorn, do you want chips?” Rebecca asked.

“Uh...yeah, um, could you also get… uh…” Tim sweated and nervously held his hands together. Rebecca leaned down to look closer at him.

“Are you ok, buddy?” Rebecca asked, concerned. “You look nervous about something.”

“Uh, I just need a minute…” Tim said.

“Oh, ok. I’ll give you some space for a sec.” Rebecca got up and walked to the other room. Jen could feel the vibrations from her footsteps on the ground. She crawled from under the recliner and looked at Tim. Tim turned around at her.

“Tim…” Jen glared at him.

“I can explain…” he said, backing away slightly from Jen.

“You’re a pet?” Jen asked with disgust.

“What- No! Of course not!” Tim exclaimed. “I’m here willingly, she isn’t like that, she doesn’t own me or anything,”

“Tim, be honest, you don’t have to lie to keep yourself safe from them, I can get you out of here,” Jen said, worried.

“I am being honest,” Tim sighed, “I….I’m friends with a human.”

“Friends?” Jen was dumbfounded for a moment, before gaining her words back. Are you you friends with her? How? You can’t just be friends with a human,”

“Look, I was borrowing here like, last year, and I got caught, and she was really nice,”

“You were caught?” Jen said, shocked. “You’ve been lying about this for a year?”

“A bit more than a year…” Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, this human, Rebecca, isn’t like the others, she gave me food, and clothes, and let me live here-”

“So you’re a pet?” Jen put her hands on her hips.

“No! She doesn’t let me live here like that, I’m more like… a roommate.” Tim said.

“A roommate? Right,” Jen shook her head. “Tim, listen to yourself, you’ve been living with a human for a year being fed and housed, why do you think that is?”

“Because she's a good human!” Tim exclaimed.

“No, because you’re a pet! She thinks you're a cute little thing to keep around and take care of.” Jen saiShe’ll probably throw you away if hen she gets bored.”

“Then why does she let me leave to hang out with you guys?” Tim asked.

“Because she knows you’re gullible enough to come back,” Jen argued. “She probably feeds you table scraps and makes you sleep in a cage.”

“No, she makes me my own food, and I have my own doll house,” Tim said, crossing his arms.

“Oh, so you’re not a pet. You're a toy.” Jen said, rolling her eyes, “That's way better.”

“You don’t even know Rebecca, I’m perfectly safe with her, more than I was before!” Tim argued.

“She’s controlling you, Tim,” Jen said. “We’re both just things to humans, you can’t trust one even if they give you food or whatever. Now, come on, let's get out of here,” Jen started walking away, expecting Tim to follow. Tim grabbed her arm.

“Rebecca! Rebecca, come here!” Tim yelled towards the kitchen. Massive human footsteps could be heard approaching.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jen asked, pulling away from Tim.

“Letting you meet her,” Tim said. Before Jen could respond, the human was already looking down at them, towering over them as she moved closer.

“Aww, Tim, who's this?” The humans said, kneeling down at the two tinies.

“Rebecca, this is Jen,” Tim said looking up, before turning towards Jen. “Jen, this is-”

Jen started running away as Tim was talking, sprinting as fast as she could away from the human. She pulled her sewing needle out from her belt as she felt vibrations in the ground caused by the human chasing after her. Suddenly, she felt something grab her legs. Jen was stopped dead in her tracks, dropping her needle and nearly falling over but then being lifted up by what grabbed her. The human hand wrapped around Jen as she kicked and squirmed, trying to get out of its grip. Jen forcibly was turned around towards human'sman's massive face, which was warmly smiling.

“Hey there,” the human said, “I’m not gonna hurt you, don’t worry.”

“Let go of me!” Jen yelled, kicking and biting at the hand. “Let me go!” she screamed desperately.

“It's ok, it's fine, you’re fine little one,” the human said, cooing Jen. Jen kept struggling in the human's grip. “You’re Jen, right? Tim told me about you,” as the human said this, Jen looked down at Tim, angry.

“Uh, Rebecca, maybe we should sit Jen down somewhere to explain all this to her,” Tim said, “she doesn’t get what's happening with us here,”

“Good idea,” Rebecca picked up Tim and began walking through her house with both borrowers in her hands. Tim sat comfortably in her left palm while Jen had to be squeezed in Rebecca’s right fist to keep her from breaking out of her grip. Jen looked at Tim in the hand across from her.

“You told her about the rest of us?” Jen said, brimming with anger.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t say where any of you lived or anything,” Tim said.

“Where the hell is she taking us?” Jen yelled. Rebecca raised her right hand to her face.

“Calm down, I’m taking you to where Tim stays,” Rebecca said, as Jen fell silent. “We’re gonna talk, ok?”

Rebecca placed Tim and Jen on a table where Tim's dollhouse was. Upon being placed down, Jen started running towards the edge, before being blocked by Rebeccas' hand dropping in front of her.

“Hey! You don’t want to fall now, do you? You tinies are so small, it wouldn’t be very pleasant for you to fall from this table,” Rebecca said, in her overly sweet, infantilizing voice.

“What have you done to him?” Jen yelled, her hands balled into fists. She knew there was nothing she could do to this human without her needle, but she still had to try to show some strength.

“Well, last winter, I found your friend eating bread in my kitchen, so I gave him food and a place to stay, and we’ve been friends ever since,” Rebecca said, looking down at Tim.

“See Jen? Rebecca’s fine, she doesn’t want to hurt any of us.” Tim said.

“Ugh, I can’t believe you!” Jen said to Tim, “Becoming a human’s pet and selling me out to her.”

“I told you, I’m not a pet!” Tim said, “All Rebecca wants to help us,”

“We don’t need help from a human who could crush us at any moment,” Jen argued. Rebecca looked down at them both.

“Aw, you’re both so cute fighting like this,” Rebecca said, making Jen seem angrier. “Don’t worry Jen, you have my promise that I won’t harm any of you,” Rebecca smiled at Jen, who didn’t believe it for a second. Jen tried looking angry at the human, even though she was actually scared out of her mind. What could she possibly do? Even when the human was sitting at the table Jen andwerem were standing on, she still towered over them. She couldn’t fight or get a chance to run away without her sewing needle, so Jen didn’t have any choice other than trying to reason.

“What do you want?” Jen said to Rebecca, “For me to be your new pet, like Tim here?”

“No, of course not, you and Tim aren’t pets here, silly,” Rebecca said, “Tim’s my friend, and I helped him so he wouldn’t have to steal food and supplies anymore, so if you’ll let me, I want to help you too,”

“So you do want me to be a pet,” Jen said, accusatorily. “Why should I… ever even consider trusting a human like you?”

“Well, Tim took my help, and he’s fine, right?” Rebecca looked at Tim.

“Yeah!” Tim said, before approaching Look “Look, Jen, I’m not asking you to live here and everything, but I just want you to at least try to trust Rebecca.”

“Tim, I’m sorry.” Jen sighed, “But you’ve seen what humans have done to us before. You’ve seen what they’ve done to me,”

“But Rebecca isn’t like that,” Tim said, “just give her a chance,”

“I don’t have time for this,” Jen swallowed her fear and walked towards Rebecca, looking up at her as she sat at the edge of the table. “Human, you need to…you will let me go!” Jen said firmly.

“But it's the middle of the night, tiny,” Rebecca looked down at her with concern. “There are cats and other animals that would hurt you, are you sure?” Jen sighed with frustration over Rebecca speaking down to her.

“I know that. I neleave, nowe, now,” Jen said.

“Well, at least stay for the night,” Rebecca suggested. “It’ll be safer for you to go in the morning,”

“No!” Jen sighed, “I need to go now to save my sister!” Tim looked surprised at Jen and walked up behind her.

“Gabby?” Tim asked. “Did something happen to her?” Jen then turned towards him.

“Our hideout got discovered by some visiting human kid, and they took her home with them. I’ve been walking in the direction they went in all night.” Jen told Tim.

“Oh no,” Tim said to himself,

“Your sister is missing? You should’ve told us sooner, Tiny.” Rebecca said, looking down pitifully at Jen. “oh, don’t worry, we’ll help you find her.”

“Yeah, we’ll find Gabby, and save her from that kid,” Tim said, patting Jen's back. “Rebecca can find out where the kid is since she’s human too,”

“Jen, what did the kid who took your sister look like?” Rebecca asked her.

“Ugh..fine,” Jen looked down, “blonde hair, green eyes, like ten years, I’m guessing? And they were pale,”

“I think I’ve seen someone like that, there's a family at the end of the street up the hill, and they all have green eyes,” Rebecca said.

“Thanks…” Jen said, speaking through her teeth, not believing she was thanking a human. She approached Tim.

“You’re helping me, right?” Jen asked him.

“Yes, both of us are,” Tim said. Jen turned around and looked at Rebecca, who smiled.

“No, just you,” Jen said, looking back at Tim. “I’m going to save my swith the helphof help of a human.” Rebecca looked offended and disappointed at this.

“Aw, come on, tiny, you don’t have to worry about me hurting you, or Gabby,” Rebecca said.

“Call me tiny one more time,” Jen said, sounding annoyed.

“Jen,” Tim said, causing her to look at him. “Please, just trust her. I promise she means well, even if she is a human.”

“Tim, if you want to be some human bean-” Jen stumbled over her words, “human being’s pet for the rest of your life, fine. I’ll respect that. But I’m not letting that human do whatever she did to you to me and my sister,” she said.

“Well, if you don’t want both of our help, you won’t get mine,” Tim said firmly.

“Fine!” Jen said, walking away from Tim and Rebecca. She got halfway to the edge of the table when she stopped and thought to herself. How was she going to do this? She was completely alone trying to save her sister, she could find Liam and Nora, but she didn’t know where they were. She still had some trust for Tim left, but she couldn’t imagine what this human’s true intentions were. Then, she had an idea. She walked back to Tim.

“So, you’re working with the both of us?” Tim asked.

“If you don’t help me find my sister, I’ll tell the rest of the borrowers you’re ‘friends’ with a human,” Jen said sternly. Tim was silently shocked. He stumbled over his words, looking at Rebecca, then Jen, then Rebecca again, before turning to Jen and saying,

“Can we have a second?” before walking towards Rebecca and having her pick him up. Rebecca went to the other side of the room, whispering to Tim while holding him up to her face. Jen couldn’t hear what they were saying, but at the end of it, Rebecca smiled, looking nervous. She walked back to the table and gently placed T

“Ok, we’ll go to save Gabby tomorrow, and Rebecca won’t come,” Tim said.i“She won’t be involved at all?” Jen asked. Rebecca leaned on the table.

“If you two don’t come back by the day after tomorrow, I’ll go out to look for you, m'kay?” Rebecca said.

“Me and Gabby aren’t coming back here,” Jen said, crossing her arms. Tim sighed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know if they’re ok,” Tim said to Rebecca.

“Thanks, Tim,” Rebecca said, “Jen, if you and your sister have any issues finding a new hideout, or anything at all, you’re always welcome to come here, ok little one?” Jen scoffed, turning away from Rebecca’s smiling face.

“You said we’re going tomorrow?” Jen asked Tim.

“Yeah, it’ll be better to get some rest before we go in the morning, especially you,” Tim said.

“Fine, but I’m not sleeping out here with….her…” Jen said, looking at Rebecca from her side, scared.

“I have extra room in my dollhouse, come on, I’ll show it to you.” Tim led Jen into the plastic, tiny-sized building. Jen took another look at Rebecca, who waved at her as she entered. Jen shuddered and closed the plastic door behind her.

Sometime later, Tim had moved an extra toy bed into the room he slept in and put it next to the bed he usually slept in. Tim had changed into different clothes to sleep in, which was unusual for Jen. Both tinies were lying in their own beds, while Rebecca was elsewhere in the main house.

“Y’know, that was a pretty low thing to do,” Tim said, lying down.

“What?” Jen asked.

“Blackmailing me,” said Tim, “you know the other tinies can’t know about me and Rebecca,”

“You’re worried about them knowing you’re a pet? Trying to save you?” Jen asked,

“I don’t need saving from her, if anything she saved me,” Tim said.

“She caught you, Tim,” Jen said. “You’re her prisoner. Her pet.”

“No, I’m not,” Tim defended himself.

“She lets you do whatever?” Jen asked.

“Well, not anything, I can’t destroy her stuff or anything, but she's not oppressive. I don’t have a curfew or anything like that,” Tim said, looking away from Jen.

“Did you notice how she spoke down to us?” Jen asked. “She called me ‘tiny,’ ‘little one’, ‘cute’, it’s humiliating. Does she not do that to you?” Jen asked.

“I know she seems…condescending, but that's just how she shows she doesn't want to hurt us,” Tim said, “she’ll lighten up on the baby talk when you get more used to her,”

“I’m not planning on getting used to her,” Jen said. “And be honest with yourself, the real reason she talks to us like that is because that's how she probably sees tinies. Cute little animals she gets to own.”

“You don’t know her,” Tim said.

“I know humans,” Jen said, “and humans don’t see us as equals,” Jen said, turning away from Tim.

“You don’t know a thing about humans,” Tim said, covering himself with his blanket. “See you in the morning.” With that, Tim went to sleep. Jen laid down in her bed, staring at the plastic ceiling over them, thinking about the situation Gabby was in, but also about her own situation, in a house where a human knew exactly where she was, a human that could do anything imaginable with her, and she couldn’t stop it. Jen didn’t sleep for a while, she just laid down with a sense of fear, until she eventually drifted off to sleep.

m down.

“Ok, we’ll go to save Gabby tomorrow, and Rebecca won’t come.” Tim said.

“She won’t be involved at all?” Jen asked. Rebecca leaned on the table.

“If you two don’t come back by the day after tomorrow, I’ll go out to look for you, m'kay?” Rebecca said.

“Me and Gabby aren’t coming back here,” Jen said, crossing her arms. Tim sighed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know if they’re ok,” Tim said to Rebecca.

“Thanks Tim,” Rebecca said, “Jen, if you and your sister have any issues finding a new hideout, or anything at all, you’re always welcome to come here, ok little one?” Jen scoffed, turning away from Rebecca’s smiling face.

“You said we’re going tomorrow?” Jen asked Tim.

“Yeah, it’ll be better to get some rest before we go in the morning, especially you.” Tim said.

“Fine, but I’m not sleeping out here with….her…” Jen said, looking at Rebecca from her side, scared.

“I have extra room in my dollhouse, come on, I’ll show it to you.” Tim led Jen into the plastic, tiny sized building. Jen took another look at Rebecca, who waved at her as she entered. Jen shuddered, and closed the plastic door behind her.

Some time later, Tim had moved an extra toy-bed into the room he slept in, and put it next to the bed he usually slept in. Tim had changed into different clothes to sleep in, which was unusual to Jen. Both tinies were laying in their own beds, while Rebecca was elsewhere in the main house.

“Y’know, that was a pretty low thing to do,” Tim said, laying down.

“What?” Jen asked.

“Blackmailing me,” said Tim, “you know the other tinies can’t know about me and Rebecca,”

“You’re worried about them knowing you’re a pet? Trying to save you?” Jen asked,

“I don’t need saving from her, if anything she saved me.” Tim said.

“She caught you, Tim.” Jen said. “You’re her prisoner. Her pet.”

“No, I’m not,” Tim defended himself.

“She lets you do whatever?” Jen asked.

“Well, not anything, I can’t destroy her stuff or anything, but she's not oppressive. I don’t have a curfew or anything like that,” Tim said, looking away from Jen.

“Did you notice how she spoke down to us?” Jen asked. “She called me ‘tiny,’ ‘little one’,‘cute’, it’s humiliating. Does she not do that to you?” Jen asked.

“I know she seems…condescending, but that's just how she shows she doesn't want to hurt us,” Tim said, “she’ll lighten up on the baby talk when you get more used to her,”

“I’m not planning on getting used to her,” Jen said. “And be honest with yourself, the real reason she talks to us like that is because that's how she probably sees tinies. Cute little animals she gets to own.”

“You don’t know her,” Tim said.

“I know humans,” Jen said, “and humans don’t see us as equals,” Jen said, turning away from Tim.

“You don’t know a thing about humans,” Tim said, covering himself with his blanket. “See you in the morning.” With that, Tim went to sleep. Jen laid down in her bed, staring at the plastic ceiling over them, thinking about the situation Gabby was in, but also about her own situation, in a house where a human knew exactly where she was, a human that could do anything imaginable with her, and she couldn’t stop it. Jen didn’t sleep for a while, she just laid down with a sense of fear, until she eventually drifted off to sleep.

[i-amarobot]

Second bit of crocheting!

[navigating-through-gray]

Landing in the Ocean 1

Author’s Note: Like a lab experiment that gained sentience, this fic has grown beyond my control.

Summary: Karl has been falling from one world to the next for so long his memories have vanished into the purple haze of the void, so XD decides to jog his memory with a world of almost-familiar faces.

***

Karl lived a charmed existence, by which he meant that a witch had probably cursed him at some point.

He panted heavily, sprinting for his life over end-stone and obsidian. There was a maniac with an axe behind him and Karl could confirm the smiley-faced Jason ripoff wanted his skull as a doorstop.

In the corner of his eye he caught sight of purple sparks and nearly sobbed in relief. He couldn’t sob though, he couldn’t stop gasping in lungfuls of air and running for nowhere at all. The killer was still behind him.

As the sparks slowly multiplied Karl’s lungs began to burn, an awful stitch in his side beginning to grow. His traitorous body would slow down soon, maybe too soon. If he couldn’t stay out of reach long enough for the ‘shift’ he’d be dead. Desperate, Karl whipped his head around searching for a way to buy time. His eyes landed on the edge of the building’s roof, a long drop to concrete below. Hopefully the shift would come before he hit the ground. Karl darted for the edge, but the sparks had multiplied into a shimmering sea of stars that obscured his vision. That meant the next step of phasing out of existence, dizziness and nausea. He tripped and felt his open palms meet the hard ground, screaming in terror as the smiley-faced assassin’s boot pinned him down a second later.

Despite the boot digging into his back Karl felt weightless, blind and sobbing as he heard the sound of an axe swooshing through the air-

Then the lost traveler dropped through reality like a brick.

\/ \/ \/

Karl closed his eyes immediately as the cold wind of the void rushed past him, but as always he heard that awful voice inside his head.

<Still ignoring me, Karl? It’s been so long for you hasn’t it?>

Karl clenched his eyes shut tighter, only able to remember one thing about the god that taunted him between the planes of reality. Nothing good ever came of acknowledging its existence.

<Fiiine. Let’s see if this will get a reaction out of you.>

\/ \/ \/

The sensation of falling vanished as quickly as it came and Karl found himself planted in front of a sun-kissed resort, seagulls calling in the distance. He sank to his knees and panted, trembling next to a bubbling dolphin fountain. That last world had been so, so close. Had he ever come so close to dying before? Karl couldn’t remember.

After a few minutes his legs began to ache and Karl picked himself back up. He was somewhere new, and that meant something new to deal with inside this hotel. It’s hard to start walking again, Karl ended up standing lamely just out of range of the automatic sliding doors. He really doesn’t want to find out what awaits him inside.

But eventually, the same old feeling wins out. There is something, somewhere he has to find. The feeling used to be stronger, used to burn in his chest. Now he’s forgotten why and Karl moves mostly on instinct.

If he’s about as animated as a corpse the concierge doesn’t comment on it. Karl has long since learned to make the best of things and goes along with confirming his ‘reservation’ and attendance at ‘the auction’ in two hours. He’s never (to his knowledge) been here before in his life and certainly has no money to spend at an auction, but in a few days he will lose everything but the clothes on his back again and wind up in a new perilous situation. He may as well enjoy the five-star resort while it lasts.

The nice lady at the front desk hands him a room key and points him toward a ritzy reception parlor. It’s a pretty standard setup as far as these things go, and with some luck Karl will have enough time to go to his room and sleep behind a locked door before things go south. The heavenly aroma of food nearby wafts through the air and Karl’s stomach growls. Saying the previous world had been unkind was an understatement, Karl hasn’t eaten in days. The fancy little hors d’oeuvres buffet doesn’t stand a chance.

The small shrimp dipped in cocktail sauce crunch unappealingly between his teeth because Karl does not bother to shell their tails. This is because they are the best thing he can ever remember tasting, and the traveler is happy to keep shoving them into his mouth as quickly as possible. The other guests are giving him weird looks and Karl knows he ought to be mingling, but for now as long as they aren’t trying to kill him he could care less. He’s had a rough eternity. Sue him. He threw himself fully into the pleasure of filling his empty stomach at the expense of social courtesy.

“Hungry?”

A hand landed on his shoulder and Karl jumped out of his skin. His startled screech was silenced before it even began when he inhaled a shrimp. Airway suddenly blocked he began to cough, hacking as his hands flew up to his throat. Strong arms wrapped around him and Karl had just enough time to stiffen before a balled up fist drove itself up into his diaphragm. The shrimp went flying and Karl gasped as the stranger moved to steady him, the sounds of the party pausing to watch the drama unfold. He was the center of attention, along with whoever had snuck up on him.

The stranger looked more amused than anything, the man’s single raised eyebrow stretching the scar running down the left half of his face. Karl thought he saw a glint of gold beneath the divot where the old wound crossed over teeth.

“Karl Jacobs,” Karl looked up in surprise and no small amount of trepidation. The man smirked. He did have a gold tooth beneath the scar, along with an immaculate set of sharp teeth.

“You’ve got quite the appetite.”

“How do you know my name?” Karl squeaked, eyes finding the closest exit.

“I make it a point to know all my guests.” The man said, ignoring his obvious unease and offering him a handshake. “I am Quackity. Are you enjoying El Rapids?”

Quackity. Karl froze, attention snapping fully back to the man. He searched him up and down, and then over again, but there was no recognition on Quackity’s face and Karl… to Karl this man was a stranger.

“I like the food.” He said dumbly, taking the hand.

Quackity’s grip was firm, and then it was gone.

“I can tell. Try chewing next time, this is a high class establishment.”

“Oh yeah. Sorry.”

“Until we meet again, Mr. Jacobs.” Quackity purred, smooth as silk, before he walked away and at some invisible signal the reception started up again. Karl stared after him, before making his escape entirely.

***

The elevator doors slid shut behind him and Karl closed his eyes, counting up the floors as they passed.

1,2,3,4…

Quackity, Quackity, Quackity, Quackity.

The player had been trapped for as long as he could remember, thrust from one place to the next by a the cruel god in the void. But ‘as long as he could remember’ was a flimsy measurement. Purple static obscured his memories, only the past handful of weeks remained clear. The rest of his past was a notebook written in pencil with its lines erased, and now Karl could only fumble at the pages for impressions of what had been. He thinks he used to write down everything he could remember after a shift, it seemed a logical thing to do, but he didn’t anymore. The voice had wanted him to stop.

A shiver of instinctual dread to runs through his body.

He only had two words, now. The only things he could keep between shifts because at some point he’d carved them into his body. Karl’s hand traced his right arm, where meticulous scars etched pale letters into the flesh. ‘Quackity’ and ‘Sapnap’.

Nothing more than utter nonsense to his ears no matter how long he tried to wrack his brain, and now was no different. Except now he knew Quackity was a NAME. All this time puzzling over anagrams or a hidden message and it was a name. Karl felt sick, frustration and fear clawing up his throat because Quackity was someone he SHOULD remember but COULDN’T. Purple static was the only thing left and his head ached from the effort of trying to clear the fog. All he had was the same creeping dread that followed him everywhere.

Karl had always assumed the words were important, if his past self deemed they shouldn’t be lost. Somehow, those words had to be the key to ending this nightmare. But what if he was wrong? Now that he’d met Quackity and seen the dangerous glint in the man’s eyes... maybe they were meant to be a warning instead.

The elevator let out a cheerful ding and Karl’s stomach lurched as the upward momentum halted and gravity briefly lessened. He didn’t want to feel the weightlessness of a shift ever again.

***

Two hours later Karl is no closer to answers, and the auction house is a large ornate room covered in gold from one end to the other. One side opens onto a rooftop bar with a crimson seaside sunset but the view was obscured by rich red curtains shortly after Karl slunk past the bouncers at the door. A relieved receptionist had shoved a placard with his name on it into his hand and told him a ridiculously high sum of money that left Karl staring like an idiot at the innocent wooden board. The fresh sea breeze died a minute later along with the guests’ chatter and Quackity himself stepped onto the raised stage in front of the crowd. His golden tooth glittered in the spotlight as a near manic grin split the man’s face and stretched his scar.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Quackity boomed, voice filling the room without a mic. “Tonight El Rapids hosts an array of ancient artifacts and priceless magical merchandise for sale, I’d like to give a huge thanks to Ponk for his last minute addition to the docket.”

Karl shifted uneasily. He got the feeling Quackity was angry, but as quickly as the feeling came on it passed. The man’s face hadn’t changed in the slightest.

“Please let me remind you tonight’s auction is limited to the placards present, if you want an item raise your placard! We can see everyone just fine and we know how much money is attached to it. There will be no online or over the phone bidding.”

“As always we are selling under the terms and conditions listed in our catalogue, for those of you joining us for the first time that means you pay every day. You buy an item today you write a check today. That’s just the best way to do it.” Quackity’s eyes locked with his, just for an instant, before they  continued rolling over the crowd.

“I’d also like to thank all you lovely people for your patronage at El Rapids, my humble hotel would be nothing without your patronage and support. Let us begin the 13th Sunset Auction!"

This was a cue to some men off stage to carry in a small box made of black wood, which was placed on a table in front of Quackity’s podium at the man’s nod.

“Our first object of the evening is a treasure taken from the very ends of the Nether, a prize so rare many believe its existence nothing but a wish.”

The lights dimmed at the wave of his hand, and Quackity approached and opened the box with theatrical reverence. He carefully teased a crystal star from its satin confines and raised the shimmering light aloft.

“Let’s start with ten thousand for this nether star!”

Quackity began belting out numbers faster than Karl could track, but he didn’t try terribly hard. Karl didn’t want a nether star, or a conduit, or even a pair of magical wings Quackity named an ‘elytra’. He wanted answers, not treasure.

As the auction continued Karl took a moment to scan the room. In his experience, it was always the people you had to watch out for. His eyes met a piglin’s, and to his dismay the massive hog grinned and began pushing through the crowd. Karl held his ground with some effort as the piglin reached him, the stranger’s size letting him loom over Karl’s human height.

“You’re here for the last item on Quackity’s list, huh?”

Karl gulped.

“I can tell.” the piglin continued, “You aren’t interested in all this fancy stuff.”

“Yeah.” Karl agreed with the hope of appeasing him and ending their conversation. Karl never had that kind of luck.

“How do ya feel about a deal?” The piglin’s tusks flashed as he grinned, “You see that guy over there?”

Karl followed the piglin’s gesture and his blood froze in his veins. Green. There was a man standing in the shadows at the back of the room wearing a green hoodie and a white mask, a simple smile carved into the porcelain. He was clearly not the same man, but Karl recognized that smile. That smile had nearly buried an axe into his back two hours ago.

“Yeah,” Karl said, his mouth dry. “I see him.”

“He’s rich.” The piglin stated bluntly.

“I mean, everybody’s rich here but I know that guy’s richer than me and probably richer than you. I also know he’s here with the express purpose to buy what Ponk found. In fact, I’d reckon this whole shebang is just dressing up to make the sale more ‘legal’. Dream is the type to make things stupidly complicated.” The piglin snorted, shooting the man an unimpressed look before turning back to Karl with a feral grin.

“I, on the other hand, am more partial to chaos. Wanna throw a wrench into an entitled rich snob’s plans?”

“I, um.” Karl hesitated, and the piglin plowed on.

“I’m just suggesting we make a deal, if Dream manages to beat out our individual bank accounts. I combine my money with yours, or yours with mine. Then we split the prize fifty-fifty. Deal?”

“Deal.” Karl said with no idea what he was agreeing to, just wishing the stranger would leave. The piglin shook his hand, his hooves dwarfing the other’s fingers.

“Cool.” The piglin moved off and finally left him alone.

Karl eased his way to the front of the room, as far away from the masked man as he could get, with half an ear out on the items for sale. A bunch of magical stuff Karl had never heard of flew by at the rate of Quackity’s tireless voice, the man yelled out price after price for an hour and never seemed any closer to going hoarse. As time wore on, however, Karl noticed the room begin to change. The other guests had started the auction chatting quietly among each other but that chatter was slowly dying down. The bouncers had come in at the back of the room and doubled in number at some point. Whatever Ponk had found needed extra security.

Karl had a sudden uneasy image of a warden being led on stage, just before the monster broke free during the bidding. That was how things usually went. Karl glanced back at the doors, but he certainly wasn’t going to get any closer to ‘Dream’ until he had to. A large clock on the right wall in the room silently reached ten and the piglin came to stand a few feet away from him. Karl gulped as a complete hush fell over the room.

“And now the moment you’ve been waiting for.” Quackity beamed, gold tooth flashing in a way that made Karl think of nothing so much as a snarl. From stage right two employees wheeled in a box, around two feet long and a foot tall, covered by elaborately decorated silk. With a gesture from Quackity they left the box and cart before the podium and exited stage left. Quackity walked up to the box and unfurled its covering, revealing a fish tank.

Within the small tank a flicker of living flame flashed through the water, trapped inside the glass. It stopped closest to Quackity, and Karl finally saw a tiny mermaid. The little thing glared at the man, bearing its tiny white teeth. Quackity gave the creature the smallest glance before turning his full attention back to the crowd, “Ladies and gentleman our final item. A bone fide’ mermaid.”

He turned to the mer and whispered something. It snarled and crossed its arms, to which Quackity frowned back and poked a finger into the glass, tapping out an enunciation for whatever he said next. The mer continued to glare, but Quackity turned with a smirk. His eyes were dead, and Karl decided then and there the name ‘Quackity’ was a warning. The room’s lighting dimmed, and patrons of the auction gasped in awe as the mermaid’s scales began to shine. Karl watched entranced as the faux firelight rippled over the room, refracted as if through invisible waves. Quackity continued his pitch as the colors danced.

“Smaller than the legends would portray, but nonetheless the genuine article. This creature possesses magical abilities as of yet unknown. Who will be the one to discover his mysteries? The bidding starts at twenty thousand for Sapnap.”

Every placard in the room rose, including Karl’s. The mermaid flinched, eyes darting around before snapping back to Quackity and belting out a silent string of insults. If the little guy was making a sound Karl couldn’t hear him. If Quackity heard anything he made no move to indicate it, the room had erupted into a cacophony of noise the instant the placards rose. Still, Karl would swear on his life that ‘Sapnap’ was talking.

The number he had been told at the entrance was fifty thousand dollars, but Karl’s heart leapt to his throat as the mer’s price jumped to thirty thousand in moments. Several placards fell and Karl caught Quackity calling for a raise of five, then another five. Suddenly all the other placards were down.

“Forty thousand!”

Quackity called, his pace slowing for Karl to easily keep up with. Like everyone else in the room the man was staring at him now, but while the crowd was filled with glares and amusement Quackity just looked mildly confused. Karl steeled his nerves and stared back. The money meant nothing to him, he’d lose it all in the next shift but before then he needed to talk to Sapnap.

“Do I hear forty-five?”

Karl kept his placard up, but Quackity ignored him. He guessed it was because he had the bid for forty.

“Forty-five?”

The rest of the room remained empty of placards and Karl felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest.

“Forty-five is out!” Quackity sang and Karl felt a moment of pure relief before the man continued, “Do I hear a forty-four? Forty-three? Two?”

At two a handful of placards rose and Karl’s relief vanished.

“Forty two! Forty two now forty five? Forty-five!”

Quackity gestured to Karl’s placard as it began to tremble, the player’s heart in his throat. No bids for fifty thousand but at forty six the same number of placards raised.

“Fifty!” Quackity finally called, indicating him again. The room had gone dead silent as the guests who had retired from the bidding war looked on, still staring at him. Fifty. The number did not seem like much now. The piglin snorted and gave Karl a shrug, before his placard rose into the air. Quackity looked at placard, then back to Karl with a second of pity, and that was that.

“Fifty five!” The owner’s voice rang out an instant later, picking up its pace once more, and a wave of dismay crashed over Karl.

The bidding war continued but he could only stare at the tiny mer trembling with rage on the podium. Sapnap’s eyes darted from the piglin to the masked man, as each named a higher number, all the while muttering darkly to Quackity or himself, Karl couldn’t tell. Quackity remained impassive beside the small mermaid, continuing to belt off numbers, and yet Karl could tell he was getting angry. Karl didn’t understand that. Surely the more ‘Sapnap’ went for the more money El Rapids made, and Quackity clearly loved gold.

“Seventy!” Quackity finally called, and the piglin’s face fell as the green man held up his placard smugly. The man had drawn a smiley face onto his placard. The piglin turned to Karl and tilted his head, hand casually outstretched as he spoke.

“Alright, spiral guy. Let’s go crazy.”

Karl handed over his placard and the piglin’s voice rose to a yell that deafened the room.

“One Hundred and Nineteen Thousand!”

At this Quackity’s eyebrow visibly twitched, before he repeated the number. Though their play had caught more than Quackity’s attention. With a shiver he realized the green man had gone still, and was staring at him through the dark holes of that pale mask. Karl squared his shoulders and stared back as the piglin grinned and patted him on his shoulder.

For a moment Karl swore the mask’s grin stretched wider, and his heart stopped as the man tilted his head and a fair voice called out, “One Hundred Twenty.”

The piglin’s grin had frozen on his face, then fizzled into a pout.

“Well that’s that then,” He shot an apologetic look to Karl, and changed from patting his back to supporting it. Karl would’ve sank to the floor without him there.

Green. Whenever he got close to an answer, or even just had a moment to breathe, Karl was always confronted with acid green and an empty smile.

<home?> The words flitted through his mind unbidden, a memory or a dream, <but you haven’t found your answers, Karl.>

<You said...> The memory laughed, it’s voice quickly fading back into static <...go back…fix the present.>

“This isn’t even my world.” Karl whispered under his breath, voice hoarse and strange in his ears, “You’re not even giving me my world anymore…”

“Hey. Hey spiral guy. Um. Yeah, that didn’t work out. You are not taking this well.” The piglin’s voice brought him back to the present, where the guests were currently filtering out the doors. Karl saw Quackity pick up the mer and carry him off stage. The nice thing about being displaced in existence? He didn’t need to worry about the long term consequences of robbery.

“W-when?” He clutched the piglin’s arm. “When is Quackity handing him over?”

The piglin gave him an assessing look. “The mer?”

“Is it happening now?” Karl pushed, but the piglin ignored the question.

“It kinda sounds like you know him.” He said slowly, and Karl’s hand clenched.

After a pause the piglin sighed. “No. You have, like, an hour. There’s this big dinner thing first.”

Karl fled. Once he exited the auction house he looked for a way to back stage and spotted a pair of double doors on the side of the hall, beside a potted palm and guarded by two large men he had no hope of slipping past.

A piercing squeal ripped through the air. The piglin had picked up a bouncer and hurled them onto the stage. The guards rushed past Karl a moment later, attempting to tackle the piglin and only managing to dangle off the hog as he rampaged. Karl slipped through the crowd of running and shouting guests and hurried through the double doors. Sure enough the other side was a service hallway. He heard people approaching and rushed into the nearest door, hearing Quackity’s voice hissing a moment later as the man ran past.

“...are you serious?! Get me...”

More people came, and Karl could hear piglin squeals and shouting from the main hall. The noise quickly ended, however, and employees began filtering back past his little broom closet while Karl held his breath. He did not hear Quackity again.

He just needed to get some time alone with Sapnap, just a few hours. Just to talk. Eventually the sounds of people outside became less frequent, until Karl felt confident he could leave and be unseen for at least a little while. The hall was indeed empty when he left it, and Karl walked as quickly as he could, glancing at green rooms and one dance studio. Then he came to a door labeled ‘backstage’ and the room next to it ‘storage’. He carefully cracked open the backstage door but only saw a small, dark area behind the curtains of the stage. Storage, however, was the room he was looking for. Stage props and items from the auction were line up from one end of the room to the other, with a pathway leading to another set of double doors labeled ‘loading bay’.

To Karl’s unease the room appeared abandoned, the only light hidden behind other objects in the middle of the space.

Karl crept inside, noting the path was lined with a strange bouncy material, and looked down to find rubber laid down to prevent scratches on the hardwood floor. The color of it was green. Of course. Swallowing his nerves Karl kept going, noting the box with the wither star as he passed it before he found Sapnap’s tank. It bubbled quietly in the center of the room just off the path, sitting on a sturdy wooden desk strewn with records and receipts. A water filter had been added to the tank along with a heat lamp bathing the cloth in soft warm light. The cover Quackity had used at the beginning of his presentation was back over the glass, hiding Sapnap from view, so Karl carefully reached for it.

“Karl from Kinoko!”

Karl screeched as the floor moved and caught him up in acid green slime. A human face materialized from the sludge and gave him a beaming smile as Karl thrashed about.

“Hello!” It said and Karl gulped. The hold was too strong to escape.

“Wh-what’s Kinoko?” He asked, “And how do you know my name?”

“What’s Kinoko?” What had been the rubber path parroted back in innocent confusion, “You must have been traveling for a long time. I am glad you still remember your name though!”

Before Karl could demand more the thing continued jovially, “My Quackity said I should kill anyone who came in here, but he wouldn’t want me to kill you.”

“What?” Karl’s heart stopped and he squeaked.

“Don’t worry, Karl!” the slime wiggled around him playfully, “My Quackity will come back soon, I triggered a silent alarm when you came in! He’ll know what to do and I’ll let you go.”

“No! I mean, just let me go now.” Karl pushed at the slime ineffectively. “I need to talk to the little mermaid, Sapnap. Please!”

“Hmmm…” The slime seemed to hesitate, before they both heard a tiny tapping sound coming from the tank. “Ok!” The slime chirped, and just like that it grew a human hand from the mass trapping Karl and lifted the cloth, revealing the mer tapping on the glass inside. Sapnap’s eyes were red, Karl saw, the same red as his firey scales. Even without the magic glow the mer’s scales were stunning, but Karl was more focused on Sapnap’s eyes as they darted over Karl then narrowed.

“Um, hi.” Karl said weakly, picking up on the distaste. “I’m Karl.”

The mer made no move to answer him.

“Do you know me?”

Karl asked plaintively and Sapnap swam to the top of the tank, splashing above the water and tapping at the closed top. A series of grating clicks came out of the mer’s throat and Charlie started.

“Oh! Of course. Just don’t jump out.” The slime replied to the strange sounds in English and unlocked the top of the tank. Sapnap pulled himself half way out of the water and proceeded to glare at Karl, spitting out a string of his strange deep clicks, vitrol in every sound. When the mer stopped the slime noticed Karl’s helpless look and said, “My Sapnap says he is very mad because you and Technoblade tried to buy him!” Karl’s heart dropped as the slime poked his face hard and added, “Buying people isn’t nice Karl.”

“I… oh.” Karl went back over the last hour and went pale. “I’m sorry,” he shrank under Sapnap’s accusing glare. “I’m so used to going along with whatever’s happening, I… I didn’t think…Oh god I’m an idiot.”

Sapnap cut him off with a trilling growl.

“My Sapnap says that is a bad excuse, and I agree with him.” The slime said, and poked Karl again while the player wished the floor would hurry up and finish swallowing him. Sadly, the green slime perked up instead and happily exclaimed, “My Quackity is here!” Just before the door opened and Karl felt a fresh bolt of fear jolt through him.

Quackity strode through the door, tilted his head at the strange sight they all must make and gave him another false smile.

“Well, well, well.” His golden tooth flashed as he closed the distance between them, “Hello again, Karl. I’m surprised you’re still alive.” Quackity shot the slime a look and it beamed back. “Hello Quackity! Look! I found a Karl!”

Quackity’s smile softened for an instant before the man sighed and gestured for the slime to let Karl go. “I noticed. Thank you Charlie.”

‘Charlie’ jiggled and receded into the form of a human, allowing Karl to stand on his own two feet. The look Quackity gave him was far less fond.

“You’re a terrible robber. You know that?”

“What?” Karl tensed and Sapnap screeched beside him.

Quackity pinched his eyebrows and turned to the mer. “How many times do I have to say I fucking know, but you’re getting sold anyway. Stop trying to make it my problem!”

“And you!” Quackity whipped back around to glare at Karl. “How did you even get here?”

Karl’s breath rushed out of him. No one had ever noticed his appearing out of the blue before.

“I memorize my guest lists.” Quackity continued, jabbing a finger at him. “You weren’t in our system last week. But lo and behold I can’t find ANY evidence of tampering, even in our physical copies. So me,” Quackity began to chuckle and Karl tried to take a step back. Charlie nudged him and he stayed put. “Being the idiot I am, thought you must be competent. And what do I get?”

He gestured to Karl with a sneer. “Whatever the hell you are. Were you even trying to keep a low profile? TECHNOBLADE was more subtle. And then you walk in here and get CAUGHT.”

Quackity spread his arms wide and cackled. “I should be happy, you know? El Rapids has a reputation to uphold.”

The rant ended as quickly as it began, Quackity falling silent with another quiet curse. He stared at Karl, the light reflecting in his retinas bouncing back an inhuman shade of gold.

“Where did you come from?” Quackity held a veneer of calm and composure that belied some danger about to strike. Karl knew with unpleasant certainty that the man was weighing up whether or not to kill him. He wished he had an answer for him. Instead, the water in the mer’s tank kept up its quiet bubbling and after a moment of tense silence Quackity lazily glanced at the mer still glaring on the lid. “Is he a friend of yours?”

Sapnap’s tail worried at the water behind him, glowering as he clicked out a reply. Behind him Charlie shifted, and Karl held his breath. Quackity and Sapnap stared each other down until the man stepped forward and the mer dived to the bottom of the tank, hissing inaudibly underwater as Quackity loomed over him.

Karl jerked forward but Charlie was there to restrain him, green ooze holding his arms and legs fast.

“Leave him alone!”

To Karl’s surprise Quackity flinched at his shout, before glaring back at him defensively.

“Shut up! If you had done your job I wouldn’t have to deal with this. God damned Hybrid Rights vs The SMP...” The man spat, turning to the tank again and darting his hand into the water quick as a flash. He grabbed the agitated mer and raised Sapnap out of the water with a grimace. This time he ignored the shrieks and chitters in favor of speaking to Karl. “The guy selling Sapnap is an asshole and the buyer is a bastard, but every fucked up thing about this is legal and done in the public eye.”

“However...” Quackity removed a length of fishing wire from his suit pocket and carefully pinned the mer’s flailing arms down.“Despite staying at the hotel Dream has seen fit to handle his own security after the transaction. He’s in room 121. Say that back to me.”

Karl glared as Quackity used more wire to gag the mer. Charlie’s slime tightened around his arms.

“Dream is in room 121.”

Quackity nodded, then dangled Sapnap by the tail and raised him above his head.

“W-wait, what are you doing to him?”

Quackity looked him in the eye and dropped the wriggling mer into his mouth.

“No!”

Charlie muffled the rest of his shouts and thrashing as Quackity swallowed once, twice, a large bulge pushing out his throat and then vanishing below his suit collar. Sapnap was gone. Just like that. Quackity straightened his collar with a sigh before deigning to meet his horrified stare.

“Relax, will you?” Quackity smirked, yellow eyes glinting like a cat who just ate the canary. “He’s magic.”

With that he placed a keycard on the desk and walked away while Karl hung limply in Charlie’s hold.

“Don’t worry, Karl from Kinoko!” Charlie set Karl down after Quackity left and formed back into the shape of a man in overalls. A pair of ordinary glasses bubbled up and settled on the slime’s nose as he continued, “My Sapnap will be fine. In this reality he is mostly stomach-proof! Isn’t that neat?”

Karl did not move, still staring at the door Quackity had exited. Charlie shrugged after a moment and continued, “My Quackity just wants to hold onto him until our Dream gives us a bunch of money!”

Mind swirling, Karl finally turned and picked up the keycard Quackity had left. It was blank. All Karl wanted to do was leave but as he stepped away Charlie fell upon him again. This time the slime gave him a proper hug instead of restraining him, but the effect was the same. Karl couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged, even if he wished the source came from someone less threatening. “I’m so glad I wasn’t asked to kill you, Karl! I hope you are better at rescuing than stealing.”

“Um, thanks. Charlie?” Charlie beamed. “I am a Charlie, yes! Though I am not your Charlie. I should be Charlie from El Rapids, I think. To avoid confusion.”

“Ok.” Karl said, very confused.

The hug ended, and Charlie waved as Karl debated staying before the urge to flee won out and he walked to the door.

“Good luck, Karl from Kinoko!”

Charlie began melting back into a path as Karl stepped outside, and stared blankly down the service hallway he had snuck through mere minutes before. Quackity was gone, along with Sapnap.

The blank keycard trembled in his fingers.

[plus-size-reader]

The Slip Up

Ransom Drysdale x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1418 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Keeping your relationship with Ransom a secret from his family until you get caught getting a midnight snack in one of his sweaters

——————————————————————————————————

You didn’t really want the Thrombey family to know about your relationship with Ransom. 

It wasn’t really that big of a deal, the two of you were both adults and you didn’t think they wouldn’t like you. It was just that he didn’t have the best relationship with his family, and you didn’t really think it was any of their business.

You didn’t want to deal with his entire family, asking questions and prying where they had no business being. 

His family had enough trouble keeping their noses out of each other’s business as it was, Ransom had never tried to hide that fact from you. 

They were constantly asking when you two were planning on getting married or having babies. On one occasion, his mother even asked if you’d gained weight since she saw you last. 

You’d simply grown out of that, a long time ago, and you didn’t want to have to justify yourself to a bunch of people who didn’t even like you. 

You had known Ransom for most of your life, but you’d have never known it based on the way his family treated you. The only one of them who you could even tolerate was Harlan, who was always kind. 

From the very beginning, when you were nothing more than a little girl, coming to hang out after school, he had always been nice to you. 

That didn’t change when somewhere along the way, your relationship with Ransom had morphed into more than it was ever meant to be.

You were everything, and nothing all at once, for a while. You were more than friends-with-benefits, but you weren’t quite ready to be married to one another for the rest of your lives. 

It was a strange combination but it had always worked for you and Ransom. 

It wouldn’t make much sense to any of his family members, or anyone else who had been in your lives before, but you didn’t feel the need to change it. The two of you were wonderfully fucked up, and you didn’t want to apologize for that. 

So, it was much easier to just keep it hidden from them entirely.

You could have, and would have, continued that way uninterrupted until you decided to saunter down to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Usually, when  you and Ransom turned in for the night, that was it but your stomach had other ideas. 

For some reason, you were starving. 

Those damn floorboards creaked as you made your way down the stairs, alerting everyone under the roof to the fact you were out of bed. Though, you were sure they wouldn’t bother getting out of bed. 

With so many people under one roof, it was only understandable that some noise would come to be, at some point. 

Besides that, it had to be three or four in the morning and you couldn’t imagine that any of Ransom’s family members would be awake at this time.

...Right? 

Ransom had always been the night owl of the family, and if he was asleep, there was no way anyone else would be up. You would have put money on it, if given the chance. 

However, maybe you should have assumed that wouldn’t be the case. 

You wished it was true, that you could just walk down to the kitchen and get a glass of water, but as soon as you turned the corner, you saw that wasn’t the case at all. 

Standing right there, smoking a cigar over the sink, was his father. 

Richard was still up, for some reason, and it was quite possibly the worst thing that could have happened to you. In all their minds, you were sleeping in the guest bedroom but that would be hard to play off in your current ensemble. 

Adorning your frame, was one of Ransom’s sweaters. It was an old one, of course, with the stitching all worn and frayed but that was what made it perfect for you. 

A brand new sweater of Ransom’s would never have fit you but this one fit like a glove, save for the large hole in the shoulder that you’d made a decided choice to ignore. 

It was just one of those things that was perfect about it. It was his, and was one of those things that you would never give up, no matter what. As a bigger girl, you’d never been able to wear a partner's clothes before, but this was different. 

It was oversized and fit snug over all your curves. Of course, it was the only piece from Ransom’s closet that you could wear but you had made a choice to enjoy it. 

That was why you were wearing it tonight. You were cuddled up in bed with Ransom previously, all snuggly and cozy, just like it should have been. 

However, this thing seemed much less wonderful than it had when you were in bed, because now, it was going to reveal your biggest secret to your boyfriend’s father. 

It was terrible. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Richard asked, a small smile on his face as he looked at you, not even bothering to address the fact that you were wearing something that didn’t belong to you. 

All things considered, you were lucky that Richard was the one to see you first, as he didn’t care about much of anything. Though, your celebration was short lived because you knew it wouldn’t stay that way forever. 

At some point, someone was going to find out about this, and you just weren’t sure if you were ready for that. 

“Nope, needed some water” you allowed, snatching a water bottle from the fridge and immediately heading back toward the stairs, not even bothering to say anything else. 

You just knew that he knew, and that was too much for you.

You didn’t even know what to say, and you didn’t stop moving until you were safely locked behind Ransom’s locked, bedroom door. It was the only place you could hide away.

“Your dad knows, he totally knows that we’re dating” you sighed, resting all your bodyweight against the closed door. You had no idea what was going on, or what you were going to do, but Ransom didn’t even seem phased. 

In fact, he barely even looked up from his book when you told him. 

Clearly, this wasn’t the world ending news to him that it was to you. There was a reason you two had decided to keep this whole thing a secret, sure, but deep down, he didn’t know why it mattered now. 

They were his family, but he didn’t really care about what they thought. You were the greatest thing that had ever happened to him and if his family couldn’t handle that, he didn’t need them. 

That was it. 

“Who cares” he shrugged, earning a gasp from you that you hadn’t even realized you were holding in. This was insane, but you wouldn't have known that based off of how he was acting. 

It was like nothing had happened at all. 

“Ransom! I’m being serious? Isn’t this a huge deal? What are we going to do?” you wondered, plopping down on your shared bed with a huff. It made you really upset, but he had hardly blinked. 

It just didn’t make any sense. 

Did he not understand how big of a deal this was? After all this time, you’d been hiding it and now your biggest secret was on the brink of being out, and he didn’t seem to care. 

You were just lost. 

“Honey, would you relax? Everything is going to be fine” he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a small chuckle on his lips as he leaned over you. 

This was just one of those things that came with the territory of hiding your relationship, it was bound to come out at some point. 

It was just what happened sometimes. 

“I love you, okay? It’s all going to be fine” he smiled, moving up toward the headboard, holding out his arm for you to snuggle up into your rightful place against him. 

Whatever happened, the two of you could deal with it, he could deal with it. All you had to do was relax and trust him, and eventually, everything would be back to the way it was. 

Besides, Ransom doubted that his family would even care in the first place. They didn’t care much about anything else he did. There was no reason why this should be any different. 

[honalele]

Seventeen

This will all be over soon.

A vow.  

Ranboo placed the final bright red package on top of the large stack that sat in the middle of Big Q’s restaurant and stepped back to admire his work. It almost looked like Christmas, but instead of ugly sweaters and scented candles, these gifts were full of gunpowder. Ranboo breathed in the familiar smell. Mr. Soot said that he couldn’t stand it. Not after what he’d done to L’Manberg and especially not after what he said to Tommy. Even the smell of gunpowder on Ranboo’s clothing was enough to cause Mr. Soot to gag. Ranboo had to be sure to clean himself up after this final blow. Soon the van would monopolize the business. Soon he’d have proof that Mr. Soot was a changed man. Soon the voices would die down. All Ranboo needed to do was get rid of the competition.

“What are you doing?”

Ranboo’s heart turned to lead when he heard the familiar voice behind him. He held the detonator close, uncertainty clawing at the lining of his stomach.

“You weren’t supposed to be here.” He said with his back still turned to the door.

“I forgot my jacket.” The boy responded. Ranboo let his fingertips graze over the remote’s button. Whatever was in his head toyed him with visions of what could happen if he pushed it at that very moment.

Two birds, one stone.

Everything in Ranboo’s mind screamed at him to press it, but every fiber in his body told him not to. It was like someone was playing a game of tug of war with his body, both sides aggressively trying to gain control, but tearing him at the seams in the process. The world that once appeared black and white had now become a grey abyss and he was lost in it.

Acting without hesitation is the cure to a gelatin bone structure.

Mr. Soot’s voice rang in Ranboo’s ears. He wanted to press the button so badly. The trigger was one flick away. And yet,

“Ranboo. Turn around.”

Tubbo.

Ranboo turned to face him. The voice in his head started shouting at him in refutation, but Ranboo couldn’t make out the words. He was too focused on the tacky comic burger stitched into Tubbo’s uniform.

“It’s not what it looks like. This… it was supposed to be a harmless prank, but…” Ranboo shivered, his body was growing tired. All he wanted to do was blow this place to the ground. Even if it cost both him and Tubbo their lives.

“You’re not yourself.” Tubbo said as he took a step forward. Ranboo took a step back in response and pointed the detonator threateningly at Tubbo, but the boy didn’t seem to be fazed. “This isn’t you.” His voice was nicer than the one shouting in Ranboo’s mind. He sounded so calm and so sure. But Ranboo’s mind recoiled and flashed him a vision of the explosion. It would hit Ranboo first, but his skin was tough and would absorb most of the blow. Tubbo’s skin on the other hand was much softer, as proven in the scars on his arms and in his face.

His face.

“Ranboo, look at me.”

Why couldn’t he bring himself to look at Tubbo’s face?

Listen to me.

The voice spoke, clearer than it had in a while. Panic flooded into Ranboo. He couldn’t tell who was in control anymore. His memories started slipping away like a loose balloon in a severe storm. His surroundings faded in and out with every breath as Ranboo struggled to keep control.

He wasn’t sure where he was or what was happening. Was he at the mansion? What was he holding? Was it Michael’s doll? The one with the blue buttoned-up dress?

Button.

The detonator. Right. He was holding a detonator. To what? What was he detonating? Perhaps the garage? The shed?

Press the button.

Someone was speaking to him, but he couldn’t place the voice. Ranboo’s thumb hovered over the button. It felt like the right thing to do.

“Ranboo.” Tubbo’s voice came through. He was close.

Ranboo felt a small tug on the sleeve of his uniform.

Uniform?

Tubbo was standing nearby, cradling the hand that Ranboo held the detonator in. Ranboo could tell that the boy was staring at him, and even though the voice screamed and his whole body withdrew at the thought of looking back, he did.

Tubbo’s gaze gripped tightly to Ranboo’s as if Tubbo believed that it was the only thing that kept Ranboo from falling off the edge of the world. The space around Ranboo froze, and he felt himself come out of his body. All the noise in his head had become muffled; tossed into a glass box and locked in the back of his mind. The once ominous mansion setting melted away and now he and Tubbo were stood in the middle of a snowy landscape with the sun shining down on them. Ranboo watched from the sky as his body place its free hand under Tubbo’s. The small voice screamed at him to claw Tubbo off and activate the redstone, but it was about as powerful as the whispers of a rat. The air around them was almost magical, and reminiscent of something sweet as strawberry. And Ranboo watched as his body simply held Tubbo’s hand.

Ranboo wanted to be that person, but he felt like he was looking at a photograph from another universe. It all seemed so distant.

“Hey, hold on. Don’t stop looking in my eyes.” Ranboo’s stomach rolled and he felt his vision narrow as he was suddenly pulled back into his body. He didn’t even realized that his gaze had shifted, but Tubbo had drawn him back. The boy reached up and held Ranboo’s cheek in the palm of his hand. “Why does it have to be this way? Can’t we be seventeen? Is that so hard to do?” His voice made it sound like such a simple task, but his eyes were welling up with tears, holding the amount of pain a seventeen year old should never have to hold. “If you could just let me in.” Ranboo felt his grip on the detonator loosen and fall into Tubbo’s hand. The voice gave one final cry of defeat, and then disappeared. And suddenly, Ranboo was back under the fluorescent lighting of the burger shop. He was back in his smelly uniform. Back with Tubbo. Suddenly, Ranboo was seventeen again.

“There he is.” Tubbo said with a relieved smile. Ranboo felt a stray tear run down his cheek. It burned into his skin, but Tubbo wiped it away. “Purple was never a good color for you anyway.” Ranboo wasn’t sure what Tubbo meant by that, but he was glad that everything seemed to be ok now.

Then suddenly glass shattered and fire rained down onto Ranboo’s skin. All the noise and static came back in a vengeful blur. Ranboo thought he heard Tubbo screaming at someone, but he couldn’t open his eyes.

“He broke the glass! The aquarium!”

The tiny voices of Ranboo’s particles forced themselves into his ears, feeding him all of the information that he couldn’t see.

“He wasn’t going to do anything! I was handling it!” Ranboo heard Tubbo’s voice yelling on top of all the terrible noise in his mind. Then, he felt that hand, that firm and caring grip, pull him up onto his feet.

“Tubbo, if you leave here without explaining yourself, I’ll make you clean the fryer!”

“Come on Ranboo, let’s go, let’s go.” Tubbo said as he pulled Ranboo along. And the slight giggle in his voice told Ranboo that they weren’t in any real danger. Ranboo allowed Tubbo to lead him through Las Nevadas completely blind and felt a strange sense of joy tear through him as the water droplets flew off his body and Tubbo’s laugh filled the air. He felt something flee from his mind, but like a dream that you couldn’t quite remember, it was gone in an instant. Ranboo didn’t bother searching for it, instead he focused on the present moment. Running somewhere with Tubbo.

Together they bounded across terrain unknown to Ranboo. Eventually they stopped, out of breath and satisfied with their distance. Tubbo propped Ranboo up against something solid and helped wipe the water from his face. Ranboo blinked up at the boy, his vision blurred at first, but finally focusing in on those brilliant blue eyes.

“Are you ok?” Tubbo breathed. Ranboo nodded silently and gave him a small smile. Tubbo rolled his eyes back and heaved a relieved sigh before flopping himself against the large boulder that he’d propped Ranboo against. “Thank the gods.” Ranboo blinked a few more times and began to take in his surroundings. They were sitting at the top of a large hill that looked down on Las Nevadas. The sun was just beginning to set, its fiery rays stretching out over golden sand dunes and silver mountains. That precious scent of summer swam through the air along with the lazy lightning-bugs that flew around them. Ranboo wasn’t quite sure what they were doing here. He couldn’t exactly remember why he was drenched in water or why it felt like his head was about to burst, but he was with Tubbo, so he assumed that everything was ok.

Then Tubbo folded his hand into Ranboo’s.

“Never scare me like that again.” He said. Ranboo turned to the boy who was looking at him with a stern expression. Ranboo wasn’t sure what Tubbo meant by that, but he gave him a reassuring nod all the same. The worry in Tubbo’s eyes didn’t vanish completely, but he seemed content with the response, turning to rest his head against Ranboo’s shoulder.

Never scare Tubbo.

A promise.

A memory.

A vow.

[flowercrown-bard]

I Scream a Truth, You Hear a Lie - bonus chapter

for @ban-aard  <3

read on AO3

previous

this takes place way before any of that fake-marriage nonsense. This is the real moment Geralt realised he was in love. So it can be read as a stand alone one shot

content warning: mention of animal death (falsely assumed by a character. No actual death)

“And who’s this lovely lady?“

Geralt rolled his eyes. “That‘s Roach.”

Jaskier snorted and put his hands on his hips. “Listen Geralt, I know that it’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other, but I am fairly certain that I remember Roach being a lovely shade of brown and not grey.” Jaskier let a moment pass before he gasped, clutching his chest in that overly dramatic way of his. “Geralt! Are you cheating on her?”

“I lost my old Roach.”

Immediately, Jaskier’s playful demeanour dropped and his grin was replaced by a furrow of his brow.

“Oh,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically small. “Geralt, I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t have made fun of it if I’d have known. I know you loved her.” He took a step closer in the way one would approach a wounded animal. “Are you alright?”

There was a brief moment of hesitation before Jaskier reached out to touch Geralt’s arm, just for a heartbeat, just long enough to make it clear that he was offering comfort, before pulling away again. It was strange, but after being apart from Jaskier for so long, it felt…nice. Geralt almost found himself wanting more of that touch. Which was a ridiculous thought, of course.

Before he could do something stupid and catch Jaskier’s hand mid-air, Geralt grunted and turned away, but something about the crestfallen expression on Jaskier’s face made him stop.

“She didn’t… she’s not dead, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Geralt said awkwardly. There was something uncomfortable of having Jaskier’s eyes so intently on him. It made his heart beat harder against his ribs. Geralt found himself wanting more of it, but he turned away harshly, leading Roach over to a tree he could fasten her reins onto. It bought him enough time to get his heart back under control enough to go back to Jaskier.

“She’s not?” Jaskier’s eyes lit up as if he had just been announced winner of a bardic tournament. No, that wasn’t right. Geralt had seen him at such an event once and the look Jaskier had on his face now was so much brighter than it had been back then. It did something to Geralt’s chest that he couldn’t quite name, didn’t want to name. “But you said you lost her?”

Jaskier said it so tentatively, sounding almost as if he was truly concerned for Geralt or his horse.

Geralt huffed, rolling his eyes. “I lost her at Gwent.”

For a long moment Jaskier just stared at him, before he narrowed his eyes. “You’re shitting me. Geralt, you can’t joke about Roach like that.”

“It’s not a joke.”

“Come on. I watched you play and listened to you get all excited about all the strategies and tricks of playing Gwent for years and in all that time not once have I seen you lose a game.”

Geralt shifted and crossed his arms. He didn’t need to justify himself to Jaskier and there was no need for his stomach to twist in that way when Jaskier mentioned listening to Geralt. After all, it wasn’t as if Jaskier had ever complained about Geralt talking about Gwent. In fact, he had always seemed rather interested in what Geralt had to say and he had only ever seemed disappointed when Geralt realised that he was getting carried away and shut himself up.

Jaskier cocked his head. “Alright then. Who was this mysterious Gwent champion who defeated you?”

“Why do you need to know?” Geralt said, sounding perhaps a little more self-conscious than he wanted. He quickly tried to cover it up by adding more playfully, “About to write a sing about how I lost a game?”

“No,” Jaskier said, his face set in determination. “I am going to challenge that person to another round of Gwent and win Roach back for you.”

Something in Geralt’s chest stuttered and his mind was unable to form words. He could only stare at Jaskier.

“You really mean that, don’t you.”

“Of course,” Jaskier said without hesitation. “Roach is your friend. So, who is it? Who has Roach?”

It didn’t make sense. There was no reason for Jaskier to get so worked up over Geralt’s horse. The bard had never even gotten along with her, always complaining about her almost nipping his fingers or chewing on his expensive doublets. But thinking about it…despite all of his complains Jaskier had never stopped approaching her and trying to win her over with treats, silly songs about her beauty and the promise of scritches.

“Roach is with a farmer,” Geralt said slowly. “A retired one whose old fields are now over run with wild flowers and all that.” There really was no need to add that, but seeing a smile spreading across Jaskier’s lips and getting wider with each word made it impossible to stop himself. “The farmer’s son played me for Roach, saying his mother needed her to get to the market every once in a while. And that she could need a companion.”

A strange look passed over Jaskier’s face. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable and yet it made Geralt want to look away. Or to keep looking until he understood.

“So…” Jaskier drew out the word, his eyes searching Geralt’s face. “Roach is on some old farm somewhere happily munching on some flowers and keeping an old lady company?”

Geralt hummed.

“Well then. Maybe…maybe I won’t challenge anyone to a game of Gwent anytime soon then.” Jaskier gave him a lopsided grin. “After all, how could I defeat someone even you lost to? Which I am sure didn’t happen because you were wilfully holding back.”

“Of course not,” Geralt growled, his weak pretence of being annoyed fooling no one, even if he weren’t already betrayed by the smile tugging at his lips.

“However, if you were willing, I would play a round of Gwent with you?” Jaskier said, fiddling with the hem of his doublet.

Geralt’s eyebrows rose. “Since when do you actually want to play?”

“Since I have something I want out of it.”

“Oh?”

Jaskier raised his chin in a challenge. “If I win you are going to tell me everything you know about your new Roach so that I can already begin to befriend her?”

Geralt’s lips twitched and he pulled out his deck, shuffling it.

“And if I win?”

Jaskier heaved a heavy sigh. “If you win, I promise to grand you some blessed silence and not to sing at all until we reach the next town.”

Geralt smirked at that. He was almost tempted to make the game quick and brutal, just to watch Jaskier’s cocky smirk change into that pout he sometimes got. And a small part of Geralt didn’t want to tell Jaskier about how to bond with Roach.

It hadn’t exactly been a bad experience to watch Jaskier coo over his old Roach and do his best to get her to like him. If Geralt was being honest with himself, those evenings where Jaskier’s face lit up because Roach had let him stroke her mane were ones he had thought of often when he had found himself at Kaer Morhen and strangely enough missing the presence of the bard who had somehow wormed himself into Geralt’s life.

He would love to add more such moments to his memory, of Jaskier trying to gain his new Roach’s favour all on his own. But on the other hand, the way he looked at Geralt so hopefully now made his throat tighten. And for some reason Geralt couldn’t shake the thought that it was important that Roach and Jaskier got along. They had to, if they all were to travel together for the next couple of years.

The thought sent a strange pang through Geralt. The next couple of years.

He risked a glance at Jaskier who rolled his eyes and marched over to Roach, holding his hand out to her and watching with bated breath as the grey mare came closer and nuzzled into the touch.

Geralt couldn’t fight his smile when Jaskier turned back to him, a huge grin on his face. A sudden tightness in Geralt’s chest made it difficult to breath.

He didn’t want to lose that grin in a couple of years. He didn’t want to lose the shared laughs and the songs around the campfires at night. He didn’t want to walk the Path without knowing Jaskier would be there waiting for him at an inn with a worried look and the gentleness of his hands as he stitched him back together.

He wanted to keep all of it. Wanted to keep Jaskier.

How could he not want that, when for years Jaskier had been his best friend, the person whose ridiculous outfits and endless tirades about his bardic competitors made Geralt’s heart skip a beat. When Jaskier was the one Geralt –

Oh.

Geralt’s hands stilled and his heart clenched.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Jaskier who by now was throwing his head back laughing as Roach tried to eat his hair, his eyes twinkling in mirth.

Oh.

How could Geralt not have known before? How could he have ever been stubborn enough not to give a name to that feeling he got every time he saw Jaskier again after a long winter? Every time Jaskier accidentally bumped shoulders with him or gave him a smile when others only scowled at him?

Seeing Jaskier now, it was so easy, so obvious.

Jaskier was an idiot. He was ridiculous and loud and gods, Geralt loved him.

“Hey Geralt,” Jaskier called over, interrupting Geralt’s thoughts, though the shout couldn’t take away the warm feeling flooding Geralt. “Are you done shuffling your cards yet? I’d almost think you want to buy yourself some time until your second defeat.”

Jaskier gave him a wink and poked the tips of his tongue out.

Geralt froze, transfixed.

“I’m ready,” he said, hoping Jaskier didn’t notice how strangled he sounded.

-

Geralt lost the game.

He accepted Jaskier’s gloating and bragging with a roll of his eyes. When they were back on the road and Jaskier was composing a new song about how Geralt had been defeated by a bard, he allowed himself a smile.

How could he not? Geralt’s deliberate loss at a game was not a bad price to pay for seeing his love happy and maybe having him in his life just a little bit longer.

[supernatural-freek]

Knife To My Throat

Dean x Sister!Reader, Sam x Sister!Reader

Synopsis: Hello! I have a very angsty request!!! Winchesters x sister!reader. The reader is the boy's half sibling and always seems to be forgotten. She goes through memories of them forgetting about her for early years to present. [Never picked up from school, left behind on a hunt, having to clean up after them,stuck with research,chores,ect.] It makes her snap when she was put in a life threatening situation[kidnapped for a couple of months] and they didn't even notice she was not in the bunker.

NOTE: This is a lot sadder than I thought it would be, I’m so sorry. I’m also sorry if this wasn’t quite what you were looking for but once I started I couldn’t stop and- I mess around with the ages too, so don't worry about the canon ages.

There is a trigger warning for this one. It’s not the happiest of one shots.

REQUESTED

MASTERLIST

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Your life passes in snapshots.

.

You’re 12, the product of something between your mom and a man whose two sons stare at you with blatant resentment. You’ve slandered something, soiled someone’s image or reputation. They’ve come to your school, you see, and they know who you are. They don’t take you with them when they leave, and you’re not sad to see them go.

When you tell your mom that the Winchester boys can’t possibly be your brothers, she laughs sadly until she starts crying and holds you tightly throughout the night.

.

She dies when you’re 14, two years after Sam and Dean had taken one look at you and decided that didn’t want you. Someone contacts John, and you hear the Impala before you see it. It’s a majestic beast, big and proud and growling. You desperately want to touch it.

John does’t let you stay for the funeral. He’s not being cruel, he’s just gotta get back to something. You sit in the back with Sam while Dean sits in the front with John.

“I don’t really hate you,” Sam whispers, sneaking you a lolly. You take it shyly. Sam smiles. “I’m Sam.”

“I know,” you say, and his smile grows instead of wavering, and you know that things won’t be too bad if Sam’s around.

.

Sam leaves when you’re 16, a teenage girl who’s prone to flinching at sudden movements but can stand next to a firing gun and have a spine of steel. Sam storms out the front door in a flurry of anger and deadly hate. John shouts something about not coming back, and Sam shouts back that he doesn’t care, and then the door slams.

He doesn’t say goodbye.

Dean comes to your bed that night, wordlessly asking for comfort. You roll over and let him lie next to you before you’re cuddling in to his side and crying as silently as you can. Dean’s body shakes, but the darkness hides if he’s got tears too. You fall asleep like that, and when you wake up, Dean’s already moving around the room and there’s no way to tell if last night had been real.

When you, Dean and John pile into the Impala, you think that it’s awful lonely in the backseat.

You miss your brother.

.

You’re almost 18 when you and John have your first real fight. You’ve argued before, fuck knows John can’t be around another living thing without arguing with it, but this time there’s a slap from you and a threat from him and Dean has to step in the middle.

He picks John over you. 

You can’t say it doesn’t hurt, but it’s expected. You stare at them, so alike in their feelings and their actions and their pain, and you scoff and shake your head and say, “I hate this family.”

“You aren’t hunting, Y/N, and that’s final!”

“And why not?” You shout back, and Dean groans because here you both go again. It’s the same argument you’ve just finished, but the anger is still rippling under your skin so you don’t walk away. “Am I just some glorified nurse? Here to clean up the messes?”

“You weren’t supposed to be my responsibility,” John seethes. He’s said it before. It doesn’t really hurt much anymore. “I’ve already lost Sam because of this life. I won’t lose you too.”

You give up fighting. It’s too tiring. You can’t be bothered.

.

When you’re 19, Dean comes back half-dead and without John.

You keep calm and stitch him back together again, going through too much alcohol and too many strips of cloth. You run out of dental floss for stitches, but you make fucking do, because if Dean dies on your watch, you may as well die too.

He’s not coherent the whole time he’s with you, mumbling about ghouls and blood and John, but you can’t spare a second to worry about John now, not if you want Dean to live. You manhandle him, pretending that he’s just drunk and not concussed and bleeding out. 

“Fuck you,” you hiss at him as you cover him with the sheets on the bed, sitting by his side as he sinks into a troubled sleep. “You problematic fuck.”

John doesn’t come back until three days later. He’s not horribly injured, but the claw mark on his chest has smeared blood all over his front and he looks like death incarnate. He sees Dean, still unconscious on the bed, and grunts, settling into the seat at the table and closing his eyes.

“Fucking ghoul,” he sighs, and then you’re attacking him with whatever medical supplies you have left.

Dean wakes up the next day, takes the keys, and drives you and John far away from that little town. You never tell him that you left your story book on the bedside table. 

It had been the last thing you’d had of your mothers.

.

You’re 22 when Sam truly settles back into hunting. 

You know he misses Jess, know that he’s got too much weight on his shoulders, know that he wants to find Dad just so he can go back to pretending he doesn’t miss his old life. But he settles into it after a while, sitting in the front seat with Dean. 

It’s still lonely in the back.

.

You’re 23 when John dies. 

Dean and Sam are without injuries. You have a broken arm that doesn’t get properly treated before you’re leaving the hospital in the dust, the taste of ash still on your tongues.

.

Everything goes to shit when you’re 24. There’s something about Sam, him being a Chosen One, and Dean says that John had wanted him to kill your brother, and it’s all so confusing. You know about the visions, and you trust the visions, but then Sam and the other kids like him are mutating into something else and you’re afraid.

You know it’s the Demon, good old Yellow-Eyes, but you don’t matter to him. You don’t matter to anybody. Bobby sees you sometimes, but that’s because Bobby is an old soul in an old body and knows what it is to be in the background.

Ellen sees you too, but only because you remind her of Jo. “Don’t let them boys walk all over you,” Ellen tells you one day, when you’re sitting at the counter at the Roadhouse after the boys had taken off on one of their adventures without remembering you. “Honey, you aren’t a doormat.”

“I’m not much of anything,” you tell her and then you finish your beer and motion for another.

.

You’re 25 when Sam dies and Dean sells his soul and leaves you with two brothers who are forever tainted with the cold tang of death.

Dean shoots the Demon.

You’re 25 when you look at schooling options for adults.

.

The Hellhounds come for Dean sometime after you turn 26, and you have nightmares about Sam’s cries and Dean’s blood until you have to start taking extreme measures, like pills and alcohol and concussions.

You and Sam crash at Bobby’s house once, and you sleep easier than you have since your brother went to Hell. 

When you wake up, Sam is gone and he doesn’t come back. Bobby looks at you with pitiful eyes, but you keep your head down and make yourself a list of permanent chores to do just so you have a purpose and won’t have to kill yourself.

.

Dean comes back while you’re still 26. You’ve given up on schooling, which is good, because Dean wants to look for Sam, and you have to scramble to get in the back seat of the Impala before he takes off with a squeal of the tires.

Bobby sits in the front. It’s not any less lonely in the back. You seem to care less now, and you wonder if it’s because the nightmares have sucked out your soul and no you’re just hollow and beaten and sad, and you don’t care anymore that your brothers don’t really care about you.

.

Sam causes the Apocalypse. You’re turning 28 the next day.

.

You meet Cas when you’re 28, but you aren’t important so he doesn’t see you. The angels don’t see you, your brothers don’t see you, and Bobby loses sight of you somewhere along the way. You slip through the cracks.

You go on a hunt on your own and it goes fine. 

You’re disappointed that you don’t die.

.

You’re 29 when Sam jumps in the Pit with Lucifer and Michael. Cas isn’t God, and you aren’t important enough for anybody to take as leverage. Zachariah had taken Adam and Sam, but he hadn’t taken you and that should tell you to quit while you’re ahead, but you’ve already decided you’re a lot cause with school and there’s nowhere else for you to go. 

Dean goes to Lisa and Ben. Cas disappears. You float around and you pretend you have purpose. You think your name becomes a legend amongst the hunters. Something about you being a ghost, here one moment and gone the next. 

You’re too cold to cry, really.

.

You’re 30 when you attempt to kill yourself and fail.

.

Nobody comes to get you until you’re 32. Sam loses and gains his soul in that time. There’s someone named Samuel. There’s Alpha monsters and Death and walls in minds that shatter far too easily, and then Cas is the new God, but he’s sick.

You run into the boys on a hunt. Dean says your name with the reverence of someone who has seen God and laughed. He talks to you, and it’s nice, and then he tells you about Leviathans and Cas and your heart breaks and you crawl into the back seat of the Impala and stare out the window.

Hunters still talk about the Ghost.

Dean doesn’t know that it’s you.

.

You’re 33 when Dean and Cas go to Purgatory, and you’re 34 when Dean comes back.

You’re 33 when Cas comes back, too.

.

You’re 35 when Metatron casts the angels out of Heaven and Sam fails the Trials. It’s a mess, but there’s Kevin and the Bunker, and the angels falling look like dying stars and it’s oddly beautiful.

Kevin likes you. It’s strange because Kevin doesn’t really like anybody else. You think that its nice to be seen, but then there’s Crowley and demons and your brothers are important again and you quietly make enough food that nobody stares and clean up afterwards. 

Your room stays bare. Nobody comments. You don’t think Sam or Dean could point out which room you claimed as your own anyway.

.

You’re 37 when Dean gets the Mark of Cain. It’s scary and it makes him into something harsher and more unstable. You try and keep quiet around him, because he seems almost hyper-aware of you now and he keeps eyeing you.

You make food and you do beer runs because that’s the role that they accept, and that’s the role you know. Charlie braids your hair once. It feels like something a sibling would do.

.

The Darkness brings Mary back when you’re 38. 

Mary looks at you once, understands who you are and what you represent, and then she turns to her boys and smiles. You are 39 years old in a world that doesn’t want you, and you’re invisible to everybody in the damn room.

You can’t harbour any anger for Mary though.

You’re just so unbearably tired.

.

You’re on the cusp of turning 39 when someone steals you off the road when you’re waiting for the boys to come out from questioning a witness. You don’t know who they are, but you know they want information on your brothers, they want someone to experiment with.

They want a hunter.

They want the Ghost.

Torture becomes old soon enough, so they play mind games. It takes them a while to adapt to your apathy though, but once they understand that forcing you to imagine your brothers being nice hurts more than making you think they hated you, things get going.

You don’t talk. But you hurt.

You hurt, you hurt, you hurt.

.

You’re 39 when you make your escape, killing everybody there and returning to the Bunker covered in blood and wounds and you are afraid.

“What the fuck,” Dean says in a tight voice as you stumble down the stairs. Cas is already charging towards you, a glowing hand held out. You flinch away. but he’s persistent, and your wounds close slowly. “Y/N?”

Sam stares at you with wide eyes. You stare back without saying anything. Cas gently brushes his hand over your shoulder. You croak miserably and he pulls away.

“Where were you?” Dean asks.

(You’re 39 when you realise that nobody had noticed you were gone.)

You turn away, intent on going back to your plain little room, but someone holds your arm and you can’t take the touch. “Stop,” you beg and whoever is holding you lets you go. 

“What-” Sam gets cut off by the guttural wail that rips from your throat.

“I was gone for months!” You seethe, voice cracking and rasping. You are 39 and you are breaking, breaking, breaking. “You didn’t come for me, you’ve never come for me.”

The Ghost, the Ghost, the Ghost.

“I am nothing and I am nobody, but I should have been somebody  and you took that from me and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

Cas reaches for you again. “Let me ease your troubles,” he says and fingers touch your forehead and nothing happens. “You are in too much pain.” he murmurs. “I am sorry.”

“So am I,” you whisper, and then you turn away from your brothers and you go to your plain little room.

.

You are 39 and half-Winchester when you press a gun to your temple and pull the fucking trigger.

[sarah-writes-marvel]

Don’t: Bucky Barnes x Reader (platonic)

S.S: Heyo, its been a while since posting a story so here you go! BE CAUTIOUS!!! This fic ca nbe ver ytrigger so read at your own risk! Thank you guys hope you all had a wonderful holiday season!

Warnings: !!TW!! cutting, depressive/sucidial thoughts, anxiety, bleeding, needles, MAJOR ANGST and some fluff

Word Count: 1,798

Again, please read at your own risk!! Thank you!!

MASTERLIST

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The events of Endgame had affected everybody. The loss of Tony, Nat, and Vision, the resignation of Cap, Thor off in space, and Bruce was somewhere in Europe helping develop cures for diseases, everything had changed. There were only a few who stayed around the reconstructed compound anymore. Those few including Bucky, Wanda, Sam, and me. 

It was usually quiet, sometimes Pepper, Morgan, and Rhodes stopped by to see how things were going. Peter always came after school to see if we needed help on missions. T’challa and Shuri always checked in over the video call, same with many of our off-world allies. Valkyrie even checked in every once in a while, per Thor’s request when he couldn’t. It was nice, but nothing would ever be the same, and everyone knew that.

We each had our own ways of coping. The four of us that lived in the compound did our best not to bother each other. Bucky usually locked himself in his room, Sam went on runs, Wanda meditated and I blasted music so loud that I couldn’t hear my thoughts. It probably wasn’t the best way to cope but if it helped, it helped.

It was one of those days where memories flooded and tears fell without a second thought, so I plugged in my headphones and laid back in my bed getting lost in the bass vibrating in my eardrums. I watched the blades of my ceiling fan turn painfully slow while the urge to eat crept on me. I turned to my clock and realized that it was around noon and I hadn’t eaten since sometime yesterday. So I wiped the few stray tears away and managed to roll out of bed, feeling the cold wooden floor beneath my feet.

I pulled an earbud from my ear, even turned the music down just slightly as I walked down the hall. Even though there was plenty of room to spread out the four of us decided to share a hallway, the close proximity giving some comfort in the time of difficulty. It was nice.

As I passed a certain door, the sound of a muffled cry reached my ear. It was Bucky’s door. I understood why it had been so hard for him to lose Steve. He had been Bucky’s anchor in life, and his comforter after the whole Hydra situation. He had to put on a brave face before Steve left to return the stones, knowing that the punk of a friend would stay and live his life. He had to bite back the tears when he saw Steve sitting on the wooden bench, hair turned white from age and skin wrinkled. 

I took a step closer, removing my other earbud and pausing my music so I could hear better, pressing my ear gently against the door. Another strangled sob came from the other side along with a guttural scream. I felt awful, I wanted to check in but I didn’t want to bother him if he just wanted to be left alone. But I went against the latter and gently knocked on the door.

“Bucky? Are you ok?” I asked. The only reply I got was muffled sobs. Maybe he hadn’t heard me. So I knocked again a little harder. “Bucky?” Again, nothing but crying.

I took a minute, maybe he just needed a minute before he answered. So I waited, listening to the pained cries until I couldn’t take it.

“Bucky, I’m coming in,” I called through the door. I turned the knob and opened the door to see Bucky on the floor, sitting against the side of his bed, a throwing dagger in his metal hand, and fresh bloody cuts along his flesh forearm.

“Bucky? What are you doing, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” I closed the door before moving towards him, tossing my headphones and phone onto his bed before kneeling beside him. I took the stained knife from his metal grip, tossing it across the floor to pick up later, and pressed my hand over his cuts to minimize the bleeding causing him to hiss in pain.

“Please, please don’t.” he cried, his metal digits wrapping around my wrist.

“Buck, I’m gonna help you no matter how much you might not want it. I’m not gonna leave you,” I told him, looking into his lifeless blue-grey eyes.

“That’s what Steve said, now he’s gone. How do I know you aren’t lying?” his voice was weak and quiet, scared almost.

“I’m not Steve, I’m not going anywhere. I swear on my life,” My hand still pressed against his bleeding cuts. “But this needs to be a mutual agreement, so you cant leave me either. At least not right now. So I need your help, alright? I need you to work with me here Barnes.”

His gaze was hazy but he nodded and let go of his grip on my wrist.

“We need to get you to the bathroom, and I know I might be strong but your much heavier than you look, no offense.” I smile, trying to bring some light to the situation. Luckily I saw a small smirk form on his paling face before he nodded again. 

I removed my hold on his arm, standing up and reaching my hands down to pull him up, which was successful as he used the bed to help. His left arm wrapped around my shoulder as we shuffled to the bathroom where I set him on the toilet.

I grabbed the darkest washcloth in his cupboard of towels, pressing it against his wrist and placing his metal hand over it.

“I need you to keep the pressure on that, please. I know it probably hurts but you gotta do it,” I commanded gently, squeezing his hand around his arm. He simply nodded as his eyes followed mine lethargically. I continued to look through the cupboards for his first aid kit.

“Top cupboard to the left.” He sounded tired and I didn’t blame him. I had walked in on him sitting in a small puddle of his own blood and the emotional toll this event has all taken on us was more than enough reason to be tired. I opened the cupboard he suggested and retrieved the kit from the shelf opening it quickly and pulling out what I needed.

Even when the blood had been dripping from the cuts I knew some were deep enough for stitches, so I pulled the needle and suture thread from the box, gaining a groan from Bucky.

“I’m sorry but I know those cuts are too deep. It’ll only be a stitch or two and ill make it as painless as possible Buck, you just gotta stay with me.” I replied, looking at him. He replied with a nod as tears streamed down his face. I quickly wiped one away before sending him a small smile and returning to my task.

“Alright hun, we need to clean your arm so I can make clean stitches,” I stated, standing in front of him holding my hands out again to help him to the sink. He took my hands and hauled himself from his position and made his way to sink and began washing the cuts under the running water, wincing at the stinging pain.

Once he was back on his seat, I carefully patted the area dry with the used towel and began stitching the larger cuts. I only paused when Bucky hissed in pain or jerked away after I had pulled the thread through. A chorus of apologizes came from my mouth, and from his.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” his usual stern, strong voice was broken and came out in whispers.

“Buck, you dont have to apologize. It’s alright, life gets hard, it’s only logical to find a coping mechanism. It’s ok hun. It’s not your fault.” I cooed, trying to calm him.

“But I do, I just tried to kill myself because, what? Because I’m sad that my friend left me to be happy? How pathetic is that?” He denied, shaking with anger and sadness.

“It’s not pathetic because it is completely valid.” I began pulling the last stitch tight. “Life gets hard, and you have been through hell and back too many times to count. We have to cope with it somehow and pain can be a distraction, though not always the best option.” I continued looking at his sorrowful tear-filled eyes.  “Steve was your rock, the person you went to with every issue. And now without him, you feel lost and your drowning under the metaphorical waves of life. So your feelings are valid, and your actions were valid, just not the right way to go about it.” I finished as I wrapped gauze and Coban around the fresh stitches.

A moment of silence filled the bathroom as I finished wrapping his arm and cleaned up the supplies that had been used.

“How are you so good at this? Why weren’t you phased?” he questioned, breaking the eerie silence.

“That, my dear friend, is a conversation for another time. You need to focus on yourself right now.” I said with a smile while I watched my hands.

He looked away, down to his bandaged arm flexing his fist as the muscles shifted the bandage.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “For helping me.” His eyes looked to mine, the small spark of hope back in his irises.

“It’s what friends do,” I replied. “Now you need some sleep,” I said helping him from the toilet and leading him back to his bed. Moving my phone and headphones out of his way, he settled onto his bed grabbing the fleece blanket from the foot of his bed and pull it over himself.

I carefully help before grabbing my phone and the knife on the floor and turning to leave. 

“Wait. I-uh- could you stay? Please.” he sounded like an innocent little boy who was scared of the monsters under the bed.

“Ya, of course I can.” I smiled, crawling into bed next to him. I sat with my back against the headboard, Bucky’s head on my lap, and his bandaged arm wrapped over my legs. My fingers found their way through his brunette locks as his breaths became heavier.

“You know you can always come to me,” I said quietly, leaning my head against the backboard. “I’ll listen, always.”

“You can come to me too. Tell me anything and everything,” he mumbled through his tired state.

“Love ya Buck. Sleep well.” I hummed quietly, closing my eyes.

“Love you too Kenz.” he murmured quietly before the room was filled with soft snores from both the soldier and me.

Things might not go back to how they were but they will get better.

-----------------

THanks for reading. IF you ever need someone to talk to if you ever have thoughts like these dont be afraid to send me a message! Im alwasy willing to talk through lifes troubles with soemone if it helps them! Also know that there are hotlines that you can call! 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Rise: Killan

The universe of Killan’s story belongs to @wildfaewhump​. If you haven’t read their Iesin and Talvos or Pathverse stories, go! Go read! Read them or face my wrath. I have so much wrath to share.

CW: Referenced past torture, scarring, referenced dehumanization and briefly referenced pet whump, but this is not a piece about any of those things

Killan stopped, just at the edge of the rock along the riverbank, taking in a deep breath. The air was thin here, where the trees became scraggly pines that clung to rocky soil, hints of snowfall still littering the earth even this late in spring. 

Leather boots covered his feet, he’d made them himself. It had taken forever to make the kill, tan the leather, cut it around his foot, sew it together. But he’d done it. Coated against the water, they kept his feet warm, but he wouldn’t have needed them, anyway.

He just never lost the habit of wanting to feign humanity, no matter how clear it was that he wasn’t human at all.

Not anymore.

Not a man.

Before, he couldn’t have stood here like this in just a shirt and pants without freezing. His fingertips should be blue, but when he looked down they were the same as always. Pale skin, roughened and scarred, but still skin - feeling only a faint chill. The dark talons on his right hand didn’t feel cold at all.

Killan lowered his eyes to look at them, clicking them together a little. The place where they’d been attached to the knuckles of his hands still held faint scarring where they’d been stitched on even as his bones blended, accepting with each addition parts that had been someone else’s body a little more easily.

Killan was so many people now, most of them fae. He was the only human left in his body but he could have told anyone who asked - cut his skin now and the blood ran pale, a pearlescent shimmer in what had once been a flat dark red when oxygen met wound. 

Break a bone and find it hollowed inside, lighter weight easier for his wings to carry. 

Make an incision along the wicked scar down his side and you’d find he lost a kidney and some ribs but gained other organs that weren’t there before. Killan would tell you - the wings were one life he stole, it took two for the eyes because the first set didn’t take, my hand was one along with some air sacs, the other air sacs and the lungs were another…

He was so many fae who should be alive, but instead there was only Killan Josta left to wear their parts, a child’s nightmare hiding under the bed, in the dark woods, a set of glowing eyes in the dark.

Not fae, either. 

Watch Killan Josta open his eyes and see the pale color was replaced by a saturated, overwhelming blue, a black slit-pupil, eyes that would never sit in true comfort in his skin. They weren’t meant to be there. He still bled instead of crying.

Monster.

Hurt the creature and make it cry out in pain and hear two voices, two sets of vocal chords operating simultaneously, a shrieking fae scream alongside the lower human voice. Calon Nie had loved to hear both screams at once. So had the humans who had chained him down for entertainment.

Everyone was a monster, when given power over something new.

Everyone but... everyone but the ones who had saved him.

Buachaill del. Pretty boy.

Calon Nie’s pretty human, left alone to wander and stumble and plead, to make the mistake of asking for help. Captured, bought and sold, beaten and bled and sold and bought again, until there hadn’t been anything in Killan’s life but survival. 

Until there had been no Killan left, that name held and hidden deep within himself. There had been only the creature, the monster, the pet the piece of fascinating conversation start the thing.

Not man or fae or boy or anything but organs and skin and wings to be bruised, broken, bloodied. Not even a favored animal.

Just a thing that knew how to keep living.

Raise your chin at the four-count whistle, hold up your hands at the three. Let them touch your talons, your wings, run their grubby fingers through the feathers you can never get clean. Feel the lash against the skin you were never meant to have for your own when you disobey. Fingers prodding and pressing at your scars. Chirp and trill for the men, the women, the children who call you the unnatural offspring of degeneracy when you were never that.

And it wouldn’t matter if you were, no one could deserve this. No one could earn this.

But this is life, this is all you’ll ever be, guard what’s left of you as deeply as you can and give them the mindless animal doing tricks for their coins, their hands, the promise that if you’re good it won’t last forever.

Feel the press of the muzzle keeping your jaw locked while you weep and beg to be seen as human again. See them lock up your voice and laugh when you try to speak and you can beg all you want, it won’t happen, they’ll never see you as a boy again.

It will never happen, and then one day… 

One day, stop begging.

Slide away, into your own mind. Live for the moments where you’re fed for being good, the soft velvet of a horse nosing a carrot right out of your hand, the warmth of their breath curling up in winter stables with them. Curl up on straw and hold the chain around your neck and learn to stop crying.

Until he gives the five-count whistle.

Then you cry on cue.

Live for nothing but the hope that this day will end, because it has to, and then begin the next day living for the end of that one, too. Pray for the night because you are never alone until then.

Pray that it will one day end, and know that you are not praying for salvation, only darkness.

Until someone looks you in the eyes and takes a risk and you end up saved anyway.

Next to him, the river rushed by, swollen with a winter’s melt. The roar of water was deafening, and he couldn’t even imagine how loud it would be at the bottom of the waterfall, hundreds of feet below. 

Somewhere further up there were fae courts hidden, deep inside the mountains. They didn’t want him either, but at least he wouldn’t be sold there. He wasn’t a curiosity to the fae, but an abomination, a warning, something to be feared. Something to be sent away as quickly as possible, but for all Calon Nie’s cruelty, it was only one fae that had held him captive and carved into his skin.

It had been a dozen of his fellow humans-

No. Not human anymore.

It had been a dozen or more humans who had bound his hands, forced muzzles on until he bled, sliced his skin to show the change in blood and marvel over his reddish tears, buried their hands in his feathers until he could not help but scream at the violation.

They loved to hear him scream.

Fae rejected him - but humans overwhelmed him.

Not fae either.

Killan looked down at his hands - fingers and talons, a madman’s puppet tossed aside, a piece of decoration in a human’s receiving hall, a pet kept hidden away until they tired of cutting him, a dirty slave for sale in the streets, keep him as a pet or the same way you keep a painting on the wall.

I promise you, messire, you’ve never seen anything like this! Show the man your hands, creature.

Even now, just remembering the whistle, Killan’s fingers twitched with unconscious need to obey.

The sun was rising, the sky a brilliant scattering of pink thrown up against the gathering clouds and a growing golden light finding its slow way along the world he could see below. The forest ran to the curve of the earth, and he could, with sharp fae eyes, see the smoke of chimneys in a village that would have taken him a day to climb down the mountain and walk to, but with wings…

Killan slowly flexed his wings out as wide as they would go, closing his eyes as his back straightened instinctively to balance the weight. The chill air ruffled along his reddish-brown feathers, a playful hint of breeze.

You know how to do this, the breeze whispered to him. You knew the moment he gave them to you. 

He wasn’t meant to have them, but he did. They were blended into his back in a mass of scarring and changed bones, shoulder blades shifted out. On fae, the transition was seamless. On Killan, every inch of his skin told the story of screaming agony.

But the fae who had owned them was dead, along with every other one sacrificed to Calon Nie’s game. If they were anyone’s wings now, they were Killan’s. 

I don’t have to be ashamed of what he did to me. I didn’t ask to be a monster.

The water burst from the confines of the earth next to him, tumbled and rolled into the air before it fell and fell and fell and crashed back down to earth below. Killan sighed softly, watching breath puff out before his face, and then turned away from the dawn.

He walked, step by silent step, back along the riverbank, watching the water running the other way, chasing the flight back down to ground. He stopped next to a thin pine tree, reaching out to touch the needles, crushing them between his fingers to release the scent, closing his eyes and breathing it in.

I didn’t ask to be this. It’s not my fault.

It’s not my fault I have new parts.

It’s not my fault I can fly.

Against his back, the breeze slipped around him again, dancing air that ran along the edges of feathers, beckoning. Beneath that, a faint shimmer of mystery. While fae and humans both looked away, Killan could call and have starsong reply, if only faintly, to his cries for help.

The mysteries recognized him as a mystery himself, not a monster. Not understood but not entirely turned away. 

And he wasn’t alone, either. There were others out there who had been broken and bent to someone else’s will, who could see beyond the way he had been stitched together and know there was still a whole person inside.

Eitilt.

The breeze called again, and Killan stopped to look over his shoulder at the dawn. Farther than the sun’s light could reach, stars still shone, visible in the blue as brightly as they’d been in the black the night before.

Fly.

Killan took off running, back towards the cliffside, racing with his wings curved against his back and his feet pounding on rock. The roar of the river alongside felt like it ran with him right to the edge, where instead of stopping Killan flung himself out into space, the spray of water beside him.

Wings curved, he fell.

The air flew past his ears as he plummeted towards the earth, mysteries a song that wound around hollowed bones and filled the places inside him with air. The bottom of the waterfall came closer and closer, a frothing white spray where the water was wearing the earth down beneath dirt, beneath stone, to bedrock underneath it all.

Instinct told him things that human experience never could, and he let his body - bent and broken and twisted and remade, rebuilt, created by a fae who named himself Killan’s god - tell him when to stop.

Down and down and down and-

Now.

His wings snapped out, catching the breeze and slowing his descent, sending him forward instead of down and he trilled, beating wings heavily to head back up again. His back ached a little but he caught a current that helped carry him up, air that rested under his feathers like hands slipping around a small child to lift them up onto a mother’s hip to be carried.

The sky was not his mother, but she would be here to lift him where his own mam could not.

He burst upwards, spinning, breathing thin air as though he’d always been able to do so, human and fae lungs filtering every ounce of oxygen he needed in tandem. The sun warmed his face, and he closed his eyes against its touch. Sun on his face, stars at his back, Killan let the currents carry him a little further.

And then he dove again. 

Fly.

He dropped like a stone, rushing downwards, spinning in the air before he snapped his wings out again and cut a hard left. Around him the air itself celebrated with him everything his broken body could still do, all the things he’d been given alongside what he had lost.

Sharp talons could tear apart a rabbit and defend him from attackers just as easily.

Rise.

Fae eyes saw far, farther than even the keenest human sight, and kept him safe. He could see in the dark, he could see them coming before they could see him. 

Rise.

Hollowed bones let him fly, kept him lighter, along with the places added to him to hold air, to bring him higher and higher, to help him-

Rise.

Fae blood carried oxygen more easily, let him climb higher into the air, the currents under his feathers like a friend lifting him up. As high as he could go, not quite so high as a full-blooded fae but he felt the air thinning and thinning and the stars were ever closer, their song welcoming him even if the fae did not.

Ardu th’uas. Rise above.

He slowed, spinning in the air, letting starshine and sun wash all his ruined skin clean.

Leanh na realtai. Child of stars, you, too.

His heart stilled, here where the air was thinnest, with the question he never voiced. Even ruined, I am?

And every time, the certainty returns.

Even ruined, you are.

Iron and earth may be blind, but the stars see you.

Killan dropped again.

He spun with his wings pressed tightly, speeding to earth so fast the air was a scream and he couldn't find the breath to laugh. The forest below him, the sky above him, the sun and stars. 

Killan Josta, as he was, should not exist. 

He did, though, and in this moment with his wings snapping out to slow his descent, catching an air current that pulled him back around towards the mountains, he feels them.

Something like friends.

They were calling him back to the waterfall and the cliff and the camp in the woods where they will be waiting for him, the ones who saw beneath his skin to the boy still hiding under a monster, the man half-buried by cruelty but still trying to break free of its legacy. 

They were waiting, with breakfast probably already ladled out for him. 

First, though…

First Killan Josta, who had a name again, wanted to fly. One more time he climbed the currents, found the pockets of air to push him higher and higher and higher, until there was a half-breath of pause as high as his broken, remade body could go.

He let that pause draw out, listening to the stars whisper in human ears.

Sing, Killan Josta.

He trilled, a cry as much of gratitude as it was of joy, and wrapped his wings around himself to plummet to earth again. 

Rise.

Killan fell, and fell and fell, and then just when he could fall no further without breaking on the earth, his feathers caught the air and he flew.

-----

Tagging Killan’s crew:  @astrobly​​​​ @burtlederp​​​​ ​, @finder-of-rings​​​​ ​, @slaintetowhump​​​ ​, @quirkykayleetam​​​ ​, @whumpallday​​​ , @whumppsychology​​​, @doveotions​​​, @broken-horn​​, @moose-teeth​​, @whumpfigure​​, @spiffythespook​​, @oceanthesarcasamfox​​,  @whump-only​(if you would like to be added to an OC’s tag list, please send your request via an ask! Those are easier for me to keep track of and I tend to lose requests in comments, reblogs, tags, or PMs!)

[pandelion-fic]

chasing windmills

It feels like a dream, after. Like he's woken up and found that all the fantastic, impossible things he'd done had only been a figment of his imagination. And dreams rarely survive past the waking.

Ichigo eats breakfast with his sisters, goes to school, takes a walk along the river afterwards to watch the sun set. His bag feels light on his shoulder, nothing like the solid heft of his zanpakutou. The people he passes on the street are wearing jeans and t-shirts, dark business suits, summer dresses in bright colors. No one is wearing even a yukata, let alone solid black kimono.

He stops on the bridge, braces his arms on the rail and leans into the breeze, staring down into dark water.

It wasn't a dream, Ichigo reminds himself. It really happened. He'd been powerful and strong, strong enough to protect everyone he cared about. He'd been to Hueco Mundo, to the Soul Society, to the Soul King's palace. He'd won and lost and gained friends and enemies in equal measure.

He'd done things that mattered, that made a difference.

Ichigo closes his eyes.

His friends had been… normal, at school. There had been no sudden alarm of a hollow appearing. No one had mentioned swords or spirits or powers. They'd only talked about the latest shows and music and a new ramen shop opening up.

Rukia was gone, no one else seemingly bothered by her empty seat. Ichigo wondered if they even remembered her, or if she was like a dream to them, nothing more than a bit of haze in the morning sun.

Does someone still exist if you are the only one who remembers them?

He keeps walking, taking a slow route home.

The clinic is in sight when something finally disrupts the normality. Ichigo's still crap at sensing reiatsu on a fine scale, but he doesn't need any refined senses to feel a garganta opening somewhere above town. He stops and looks up, shading his eyes against the setting sun.

Normal hollows don't use garganta. Most are born and die without ever setting foot in Hueco Mundo, from what he understands. So a garganta means gillian or better. Menos Grande, at the least.

Maybe Ichigo's finally gone insane, but he's really hoping it's not a Menos.

Because the last time he'd seen a garganta had been when Tier Harribel had gathered up the arrancar that had come with her to fight Yhwach and the Jagdarmee and taken them back to Hueco Mundo. Nel had gone with her, after much crying and making Ichigo repeatedly promise he wouldn't forget her.

So had Grimmjow, still recovering from his fight against that Quincy and apparently completely disinterested in any form of farewell beyond reminding Ichigo that he owed the Espada a fight and Grimmjow still intended to collect on that when they were both healed up good as new.

The feel of the garganta fades away before Ichigo can pin down where it was, but it's replaced a moment later by very familiar reiatsu.

It's spread a bit thin, probably cast over the entirety of the town like a fisherman casting a net. Which makes sense, Ichigo figures as he starts running for the clinic and that stupid substitute shinigami badge that is still his best method of ditching his body.

After all, Grimmjow had only been to the living world twice that Ichigo knew of and neither time had included a tour of Ichigo's most frequented locales.

The door slams behind him and Yuzu yells from the kitchen, but Ichigo just shouts a garbled apology over his shoulder as he takes the stairs three at a time. Then he's in his room, ditching his school bag and grabbing the battle pass out of his desk and barely having the forethought to fall back onto his bed as he slaps at his own chest.

Then he's launching himself out of the window with a surge of his own reiatsu, a "here I am" flare.

Grimmjow's reiatsu pulls back and Ichigo follows it to the Espada himself, standing high above the town with arms crossed and sword hanging at his hip, mouth already stretched in that slightly deranged grin that Ichigo remembers so well.

"Told you I'd be back," Grimmjow says.

Ichigo bares his teeth in response, hand already curling around the hilt of Zangetsu's larger blade, eager. "I'm ready for you," he says and slips into bankai on the next exhale.

After, when the mountains outside of town have been re-rearranged, the lingering marks from his fight with Aizen overwritten with new topography, he sprawls on the ground, panting and staring at the bright blue sky. A hand's-width from his outflung arm is Grimmjow, similarly exhausted. They're both bloodied and beaten; Ichigo has a new set of clawmarks over one hip, Grimmjow is sporting no fewer than three stab wounds. But last Ichigo had seen, they were both grinning the same way.

Their swords are…somewhere. One of Grimmjow's wounds needs either stitches or a kido healer or both if it's going to heal anywhere near reasonably well. Ichigo himself has a head wound that could probably stand to be checked over to make sure his actual skull hadn't cracked when his bone mask had.

But that can all wait at least another minute while Ichigo enjoys the feeling of a good, hard, no-holds-barred fight that didn't actually have any stakes but the personal attached to it.

[cowboisadness]

Hang ‘Em High {Arthur Morgan x FemOC} Chapter 9

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC Summery: Belle Hawthorne is high society looking to escape her mean husband. A robbery by the Van Der Linde gang could be her chance. Can she escape his cluches and possibly discover what love should feel like?

Warnings: None

.....

The strong, bitter smell of coffee filled my nose and woke me. My back aches and eyes sting when trying to open them. The faint morning glow stabbing the back of my eyes. A noise from beside me wakes me further. That's when I realised I was laying against something apart from the log at my back. Opening my eyes I'm met with the smouldering fire ahead and Arthur laying right beside me, my head against his shoulder and his head propped up against mine. Arthur stirs and Pearson comes into view, adding a few more sticks to the fire and checking the coffee pot. Groaning from the intense headache and pain in my neck as I sit up, waking Arthur fully as I do so.

“Morning folks. Coffee is ready, no doubt y'all need it.” Pearson grins at us as he pours the coffee into two tin cups.

I look to Arthur, hungover evident in his features as he scowls and lets out a groan. We look at each other, smiling shyly and slightly embarrassed at the whole situation. Pearsons hands us the steaming cups and we murmur our thanks, not even prepared to move ourselves from the floor. We sipped our coffee in silence for a few minutes. Wishing for the intense headache to subside soon and hoping the unease in my stomach won't be the alcohol trying to make an appearance.

“I wanna die” I murmur into my cup

“Me too.” Arthur murmurs back

“I’ve never been that drunk. Does it always hurt like this?”

“More or less” He takes another sip of his coffee

I groan, wondering if this feeling is going to last all day. If so, today is going to be fun, to say the least. I’d love nothing more than to curl up on some bear hides and sleep till dusk.

We sit in silence for a while, as the others slowly wake, some looking just as much of a sorry state as we do. After our second cup Dutch calls for Arthur from his tent and he leaves with a groan to see what he wants. I stayed seated on the floor, not daring to get up as every movement inflicted some variant of ache and the threat of my stomach emptying its contents.

“You look worse than I feel” That Irish tone appeared from nearby at the fire. Sean pouring himself a cup.

“I’m trying not to vomit.” I grinned weakly as I looked up to him. He nodded in understanding, sitting on a crate nearby.

“So, tell me more about how your Knight in shining armour saved you.”

I couldn't help but giggle, my hand shooting to my stomach to ease the sudden and threatening twinge.

“My husband is one mean bastard…”

“You're married?”

“Unfortunately. Arthur, Dutch and Hosea were in the process of robbing him. I got caught up in it. Got out of the gunfight that ensued and asked, well, begged him to take me somewhere else. Passed out due to a few broken ribs and woke up here.”

“Damn what a shit show. You got somewhere you'll be moving onto, or will you be staying with this bunch of degenerates?”

I look around the camp, everyone now up and preparing for the day. Little Jack playing with a bunch of flowers, tongue out in concentration. Abigail watching over him as she collected clothing to be washed. Hosea and Lenny sat at the table playing what looks to be a very competitive game of dominoes. Pearson preparing today's breakfast at the food wagon. Sadie sat on a rock at the edge of the overlook, taking in the views and seemingly lost in thought as the morning sun beams down onto her. Mary-Beth and Tilly stitching garments in their hands, sharing a few laughs between them. Javier sat on his bedroll sharpening and cleaning one of his knives, all his attention on the task in hand. Strauss with his book in hand, that thing seems to be in his grasp as often as a bottle is in Uncles. Arthur stood at Dutches tent, talking about whatever jobs that need doing or what their next move should be to gain more money no doubt. Dutch is rambling on as Arthur listens, hands resting upon his gun belt, nodding along to whatever Dutch is saying to him every so often.

“I think I’ll stay.” I say unsure if I was answering Sean’s question or telling myself.

------

After a few hours of chores and making myself busy around camp, the hangover slowly began to ease. The distraction and the emptying of my stomach by one of the trees in the outskirts definitely helped. It was at that moment I vowed never to drink that excessively again. Lesson learned.

I sat with Jack, watching him play with his two wooden horse toys. He was bored and Abigail had become restless with his constant need for attention and questions so I was doing my best to entertain him to give her a few moments of peace and to complete whatever tasks Miss Grimshaw had asked her to do.

Watching Jack as he played out the story he imagined for his little horses Arthur came over to us. A slight smile on his face as he watched the boy play contently.

“Whatchu up to?”

“Playing”

“Anything fun?”

“I guess”

“You wanna come fishing with me?”

“Fishing?”

“Sure. It’s about time that you started to earn your keep.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Go get your pole then. You do have a fishing pole don't you?”

“I sure do! Uncle Hosea made me one.” Jack stood, little horses and their story now forgotten about in the dirt.

“Well go get it then. Let’s catch us some fish.”

“Yeah!” He almost shouted, running off into the direction of his tent.

We both watched as he went with a little skip in his step. Excited about having something new and different to do.

“You, er, wanna come with?” Arthur said, going through his satchel to pull out his cigarettes. Lifting one to his mouth and then lighting a match with the bottom of his boot.

“Sure. I don't have a pole though. But I could catch a few rabbits or something while there.”

He nodded then made his way over to his horse, giving him a brush down while he waited for me and Jack.

Thankfully we didn't need to go far from camp as the Dakota river was only a minute ride away. Jack sat in front of Arthur and I kept up beside them listening to their conversation. Asking if Jack was feeling better from recently being ill and Jack mentioning a storybook he left back at the camp in Blackwater.

We all dismounted at the riverside, the two boys making their way to the water to ready their poles as I readied my bow. Telling them I won't be far before making my way towards the gathering of trees nearby but far enough away from the dirt roads that noise shouldn't be an issue. It didn't take long to find a few Black-Tailed Rabbits hanging around the area, as well as a few squirrels running through the bushes and up the trees.

I knelt in an area void of sticks or piles of dead leaves, skimming my eyes over land ahead of me, waiting for that unsuspected rabbit to place itself in my line on sight.

Four rabbits later I returned to the boys at the river. Jack now sat nearby, flowers in his hands and a pile at his feet. A child that age doesn't seem to have the attention span for something like Fishing, something that takes a little patience. We should have known he would have gotten bored of it quickly.

“Catch many?”

“Uncle Arthur has!”

I smiled at Jack and walked over to Arthur who was currently battling a fish as we speak.

“Can I borrow your knife to skin these? I still don't have one.” I said as I held up my catch.

“Sure. It's on my belt.” He pulled on the rod, seeming to get frustrated that this stubborn fish wouldn't give up.

I sat a little aways from Jack, glancing over to see him delicately chain each little red flower together. His tongue sticking out from intense concentration.

For a few moments, it was quiet and peaceful as I skinned and salvaged the usable meat. Arthur muttering praises then whispered curses to the fish he finally reeled onto dry land. Holding them up to get a good look before throwing the back into the river.

“Hey, look at this.” Jack proclaims, holding up the completed chain of red flowers as far as his little arms to reach.

“At what?” Arthur says, kneeling in front of Jack to see his creation.

“This necklace I made.”

“Necklace?”

“For Momma. I made one for you too Miss Bella.” He grabbed another chain of red flowers from his side, handing it over to me.”

Putting down the knife and rubbing my bloodied hands on my pants I then reached out to take it. A smile beaming on my face and heart swelling twice its size at this adorable and thoughtful gift. “Thank you, Jack. It’s beautiful.” I place the necklace over my head for it to lay around my neck as delicately as possible. Worried that I might pull it apart accidentally. Thankfully I don't. A necklace like this is more valuable than any gold or jewels and should be treated as such.

In these few moments, we are seemingly so distracted by what is going on that none of us noticed two men appear nearby on horses until one of them speaks.

“What a fine young man…” One man says as he strides towards us, dressed in fine clothing. Bowler upon his head and a badge on his lapel. “And in such complex circumstances. Arthur, isn't it? Arthur Morgan?”

The other man dismounts his horse and cocks his rifle. Not saying a word but striding towards us too. Weapon rested on his shoulder. A badge adorning his lapel also.

The three of us stand to the attention of these unwanted strangers. Arthur ushering Jack to stand behind him. “Who are you?” Arthur says, an air of confusion and wariness in his voice

“Yes, Arthur Morgan. Van der Linde’s most trusted associate. You've read the files, typical case, orphaned street kid seduced by that maniac's silver tongue and matures into a degenerate murderer.” He turns to his friend beside him, both nodding in agreement.

“Agent Milton. Agent Ross. Pinkerton Detective Agency seconded to the United States Government.” They finally introduce themselves, taking slow but sure steps closer towards us. My heart starts racing, cursing myself for leaving my gun back at camp. I look down to the knife still on the floor beside me along with the rabbit remains. I’m sure Arthur could deal with them himself if it came to it but with Jack here it was too much of a risk. There is no way I could bend down to pick it up now with both their beady eyes on us, watching our every move. If I went for it when and if shooting started that would leave Jack more in the open and more at risk. Instead, I keep it in my sights and hope it doesn't come to that.

“Nice to finally meet. We know a lot about you.”

“Do ya?”

“You’re a wanted man, Mr Morgan. Five thousand dollars for your head alone.”

“Five thousand dollars? For me? Can I turn myself in?”

“We want Van der Linde.”

“Old Dutch? I haven't seen him for months.”

“That so? Because I heard a guy fitting his description robbed a train belonging to Leviticus Cornwall up near Granite Pass.”

“Oh, ain’t that a little old fashioned nowadays?” He huffs a laugh.

“Apparently not. Listen, this is my offer, Mr Morgan. Bring in Van der Linde and you have my word, you won’t swing.”

“Oh, I ain’t gonna swing anyways Agent, um…”

“Milton.”

“You see, I haven’t done anything wrong aside from not play the games to your rules.”

“Spare me the philosophy lesson, I've already heard it. From Mac Callander.”

“Mac Callander?”

“He was pretty shot up by the time I got to him so really it was more of a mercy killing. Slow. But merciful.”

Arthur fling the pole he was still holding to the ground, losing his composure but still trying to keep some sort of calm when given this information. His fists balling at his sides but keeping one close to the holster at his side. Jack jumps and gasps at the sudden outburst so I grab his shoulder with one hand to gently guide him to stand behind me.

“You enjoy being a rich man's toy do ya!?” There is a low growl to his voice, fury slowly pooling out with every word.

“I enjoy society, flaws and all. You people venerate savagery and you will die savagely! All of you.” The Agent gets up closer to Arthur, pointing his finger in his face to try and be imposing towards the man that is twice his size and could possibly snap him like a twig.

“ Oh, we're all gonna die, Agent”

“Some of us sooner than others. Good day, Mr Morgan.” With that, he turns and walks away. It wasn't till now that I realised the other Agent had his rifle up and aimed at Arthur and by the looks of it, Arthur might not have noticed either as he kept his eyes on the one now with his back turned. The other man starts to back away keeping his eyes on us but slowly lowering his weapon to the ground.

“Enjoy your fishing kid. While you still can.” It's all he says before turning as well. Both of them mounting their horses and riding off. Neither I or Arthur took our eyes off the two men until they were clearly out of sight.

“Who were they?” A little voice pulls us back, Jack now moving from behind us.

“No one to worry about, no one at all. Come on, let’s pack up your things and get home.” Arthur places his hands on Jack to steer him away. All of us collecting our belongings and mounting up as quickly as possible.

My heart began to slow as we mounted and made our way back but I had questions and it seemed Jack had a few too. He has a bounty on his head? And five thousand dollars no less? It can't be true. How would he get a bounty of that sum? I was told by Mary-Bath that they all lived near Blackwater before having to leave quickly but she never said why. I never had a reason to ask. I always knew travellers and outlaws moved from place to place quite frequently and some were known to be right bastards that needed to be hanged for the horrific crimes they committed but...this gang ain't like those, they don't hurt and kill for the simple fun of it. Maybe I should ask him at some point. My logic being if I am to stay and live amongst them I should know what to say or how to act if the Pinkertons come around again. I should know what I’m truly getting myself into.

We made it back to camp quickly, Arthur looking around us momentarily to make sure we had not been followed. He let down Jack before dismounting and making his way over to Dutch with urgency.

Whatever questions I have, they could wait for now.

[thorinthehottotty]

Imagine fighting with Thorin at Kíli and Tauriel's wedding and it leads to him finally getting to confess...

Really long and I don't know how to do the hyperlink thing to make it short...

Warnings: Angst, NSFW, no editing, rushed ending but I might make a part two!

Length... Too long.

"Elvish weddings are nothing like this," Tauriel admits, eyes large but the smile evident on her face. Your friend all too happy to be here, dwarvishly married to her prince. The sap currently being paraided in the middle of the hall, a beaming smile on his young face.

"No? What are they like? No dancing?"

"Oh, there is dancing, but not so lively." Smiling, you both watch as everyone celebrates the groom.

"What about human weddings?" You glance over to see the King Under the Mountain with the whispers of a smile on his face. He stands behind you both.

"Nothing compares to the liveliness of the dwarves, your highness." Despite the pain of seeing him now, smiling upon you like nothing had changed, you relaxed at his smile. A rare and beautiful occurance.

You bite your lip and turn from him, fighting the tightness of your voice. Balin had mislead you enough in regards of your feelings with the king. From the very beginning he stole your heart. You were just a common human woman, not a dwarven nobel. The old damn dwarf lead you to believe you had a chance to win the king's affections all along the trip, and oh, did you try.

Ever since Beorn's home when Thorin snapped at you about acting like a silly little girl with a crush destracting him, you felt a growing bitterness. You accepted his feelings (or lack there of) and stepped back, much to the displeasure of the company. The rejection stung, but you would move on.

Yes, you thought, there was always Bard.

You flinch at the thought. He was caring and sweet and he had told you that you were beautiful tonight. A slight flirtation to his smile when he'd said it.

"There is no need for formalities between us, Y/N." The rumble of his voice loses the sound of his smile. You don't spare him a glance, feeling just the slightest twinge of guilt as you answer coldly.

"I'd prefer the formalities, your highness." You tell him, tilting your chin up. In the corner of your eye, you see Tauriel blink in surprise.

You didn't start out as cold. No, at first you were still very sweet. You understood and respected that he had his own feelings. You put aside your hurt at his tactless rejection to put the quest first. And once you were in laketown, he was anxious and happy you'd all made it so far.

The butting of heads began there, when his hard-headed self exposed them all. Of course he was protective of you when Alfrid and the Master seemed to eye you with interest, but he wasn't the only one. The whole company always had your back. And he was awfully sour when he walked in on you and Bard talking of his children. It was just him telling funny stories of them. Then he proceeded to make an ass out of himself (essentially grumbling about how you couldn't put yourself past your silly crushes).

You'd snapped at him their, causing a bigger rift.

Then came that awful dragon sickness. (You didn't even want to think of the awful things he'd done in his madness).

He'd managed to break himself out of the damn madness just in time to nearly kill himself during the massive battle. If it hadn't been for you blowing in from nowhere to drive a blade into Azog's side. It was a last ditch effort for an archer, such as yourself. But with a broken bow, you were left with only the blade on your hip. You'd gained a new scar, where you'd effectively been run through with his blade. It was low, jutting just inside your hip, knicking the bone.

The king, with a mighty roar, decapitated the pale orc and un-shishkabobed you to drape you dramatically on the ice.

"You fucking idiot," you muttered before losing consiousness. When you woke you were banadaged and warned it may have impacted your ability to birth children but it didn't matter, not when Thorin wasn't in the room. Not when he apologized for accusing you of getting cozy with Bard. Bitterness swelled in you, the more you both eased into life in Erebor.

You just couldn't stop yourself from being bitter when he hovered like his own guilty concious. Child bearing was a big deal for dwarves, and he'd rendered you without at a young age for a woman. It was getting to the point that his sappy looks just enraged you. Two years in Erebor. Two and a half since he rejected you, yet he followed you like a lost puppy.

Perhaps it was just because it reminded you that you were still in love with him.

"Thank you for hosting us for this event, your majesty." Tauriel tried to ease the tenseness filling the air.

"My pleasure, Tauriel. You look lovely." He offered and she beamed. Your hand tightened on the goblet when you heard the last part. She did. That wasn't the issue with it.

"Thank you," she smiled warmly at him.

"I believe it is time for your first dance with your husband. May I escort you?" She graces him and he leads her away. Someone else slips into the seat next to you.

You don't bother to look. "That sour face is going to ruin all my hard work." You glance over at Princess Dís, her face stern. She arches an eyebrow as you sigh.

"Sorry. I know you worked hard on it." She had slaved for several hours, making you stunning. She really was an expert when it came to hair. She had put up so many intricate braids, you'd never felt more beautiful until Thorin stalked right past you with barely a glance. Even after these years, you still desperately craved his approval. But you supposed it was better this way.

"I even picked out your dress! Perfect for dancing with anyone who wants to ask."

"No one wants to ask a barren human girl to dance." You reply, gazing down at the table cloth.

"Is that what this is about?" She hums softly, leaning closer. You meet her tender gaze. "Not every dwarrow or man wants that." You don't stop the scoff exiting your lips and you raise the wine to your lips.

"Why'd you put me in his colors?" You demand, but can't muster the same bitterness as before. She didn't know about your feelings (and Thorin's lack of them) since you'd fobidden any of the company from speaking of them. The navy dress had gold stitching and was wasted by your foul mood.

"You'd be good for him, if you could push past the bitterness you hold for him." It makes your face crumble in anger. You hold your tongue, not wanting to snap at her for not understanding.

"Forgive me, Princess. I must excuse myself from this coversation." You say tensely, pushing away from table. Good timing, too, Thorin is making his way over, again. His eyes fall over your figure. You glower.

"He's a bit trying, but he's not a bad dwarf." She offers.

"No. He's great." You hiss, standing. "But I don't want his pity love." You snap, moving toward the food. Maybe some of Bombur's sweets would help soften you.

"Y/N, would you like company?" You grit your teeth, meeting his eye with a furious expression.

"No thank you, your majesty." The dress flows behind you as you move away from the siblings, feeling the bitterness swell in you, stemming from somewhere cold.

Midmouthful of chocolate you feel a presence behind you. Turning, you find King Bard smiling warmly at you. "Good evening, Lady Y/N."

"Bard," you hum when you swallow. "Where are your kids?" You ask.

"Looking for more sweetrolls it would seem. It's been a beautiful ceremony." He offers you a gentle smile. "I'm about to step to the balacony, care to join me?" You hesitantly glance at his extended elbow.

"That... Sounds delightful you," you respond. Eyes catching the glare Thorin is throwing your way. You make your way despite the sinking in your gut. You're not doing anything wrong.

The cool winter air feels nice on your heated skin. It's calm for a long time, no words exchanged as you both gaze down on the land below the mountain. "Can I ask you something, Bard?"

A wave of emotion fills you, heartbreak always fresh. The tears are spilling down your cheeks by the time he looks at you. Concern fills his face.

"Go ahead."

"Does heartbreak ever get easier?" You ask him, voice cracking. "I'm trying to move on, but I can't."

His face crumbles into understanding. He gently places a hand on your shoulder. "Thorin, yes?" You drop your head into your hands in defeat. "I just... I don't understand why you're so cold to him now. I could see how much you loved him when I met you. He obviously cares for you."

"He feels guilty. He thinks he's torn my whole life away from me. I don't want his pity. I wanted his love, even just a bit of it." You sink down onto the bench by the wall. "Now... now I just wish I could move on so he can be free of the new guilt I've given him." Bard is quiet, even when he turns his back to the wall and leans. You miss the way he straightens quickly.

"Well, at least I know why you've been avoiding me so." You jerk up, on your feet as Thorin approaches. You glower at him.

"Eavesdropping? Really?" You gasp.

"King Bard, if you would give us a moment, I do believe your son is asking for you." Bard nods politely before slipping back inside. You try to follow but Thorin cuts you off.

"Pardon," you hiss through your teeth.

"My pity love?" He demands back, stepping closer. You're stunned by his seething. "I stole away your livelihood, I took-"

"You stole nothing from me, you prick!" You snarl back, stepping back and nearly trip onto the bench when he follow you. "You didn't force me to take that blade! It didn't used to bother me. What do I care if I don't push out babies!"

"But it bothers you now!"

"Yes, because you never stop looking at me like my life is over!" You cry loudly, shoving on his chest. "There is more to me then my ability to bare and raise children!"

He grasps your face tightly in his hands, not caring that they're wet with tears and and probably makeup. "There is so much more to you than that," he agrees, much softer now, and his eyes soften too.

"I fought hard!"

"You did."

"I gave you your space when you asked for it! When you made if very clear how you felt!"

"And moved onto Bard," he growls.

"What do you expect me to do when the one I love tells me to leave him be and not distract him with my silly girl crush? What? Did you want me throw myself at you harder!?" You nearly sob.

"I wanted you to wait!" He bellows, still holding onto you. You stiffen in his hands, him softening again when he see the shocked expression you hold. "I wanted you to wait for me," he repeats, much softer this time.

"You should have told me," you croak, pushing on his chest weakly. "You should have told me back a Beorn's. I would have respected that. I would have left it for the time being."

"I should have, yes." He tilted his forehead to yours. "And I have been trying endlessly to get you alone. Balin told me to give you time, but I couldn't and the longer I waited the more you pulled away."

"Because you look at me like I'm broken! I can't do this anymore!"

"Stay with me." He rumbles. You let out a sob. "Stay with me." You tremble against him, tears flowing steadily and you shake your head.

"I've tried to leave. So many times I've tried. I can't. I can't. I love you too much." You cry at him, gripping his dress robes tightly in your hands. "Let me go, dammit."

"No. No, never again." He snarls. "I want you by my side forever. You are my one." You collapse against him, holding him tightly. "Y/N, please forgive me for my foolishness." You just clutch him tighter to yourself and he jerks you against him aswell. "Marry me." He begs.

"No." You respond, dragging away to glare at him. He sighs, exasperated.

"If you love me as I do you, then why will you not marry me?" He demands, face turning red and veins popping out, his tell tale sign that he was incredibly frustrated.

"That's the first time you've said you loved me and you ruined it." You sigh, deflating completely. He softens, seeming to understand a bit.

"I'm being to brash, I see." He cups your face, tilting it back and stroking your cheeks to dry them. "Y/N, I love you. Until the day I die, I will. I will say it a thousand times over if it means you will marry me." He leans his mouth down, kissing you for the first time. It's sweet and gentle, soothing your flared nerves. You sink against him.

"Thst's a good place to start." You say. He frown, confused. "Say it to me a thousand times over. Don't think you won't have to put in the work for it." He blinks in surprise, then groans in annoyance.

"You jest."

"No, I mean it. I chased your kingly ass from Bag End to Erebor. You can at least have the decency to court me!" You tell him sternly. Normally, you were sweet and agreeable. "King or no, I will not marry you if you don't give me good reason to." You declare. His lips part in shock, and then he smiles, a big, beautiful smile that has the sun catching his eyes the most beautiful blue you've ever seen.

"I can give you plenty reason." Then, in a very frustrated manner he sighs and peaks at your head. "As long as you take that damn braid out. It's been the bane of my existance tonight." You gape, reaching for your hair.

"What's wrong with the braid? Dís did it." You squeak. He frowns.

"Do you not know what it means?" You dumbly shake your head. Despite living with dwarves for three years, you still hadn't quite caught on. An irate glare settles on his face. "This particular braid indicates that you are actively seeking a life partner." You're eyes widen in shock when he reaches up to gently brush a hand over it. "This one thst wraps around it, that one indicates you are feeling particularly... Famished." He offers.

"Famished?" You repeat, confused. He gives you stern look, trying to tell you something. Oh! Hungry for more than what lined the banquet tables. You gape at him, horrified. "I'm going to kill her!" You quickly dive a hand toward your hair struggling with the clasp.

How dare she! You trusted her with your hair and she went and told everyone you were feeling spring fever! For the love of the gods, you couldn't have any peace in this place.

"I take it she decided the dress too." He murmured grimmly. I froze where I was, eyeing him with anxiety.

"Oh, no. What's the hidden meaning behind the dress?" You ask, closing your eyes tightly.

"Well those are the King's colors to begin with, and while they suit you wonderfully, it's a very bold pairing with your hair. You look incredibly enticing tonight. Like a gift for the King." You flush deeply. You might as well have a sign taped to you that says 'I'm here to fuck the King'.

"I bet your sister's feeling proud of herself," you grumble.

"Probably, but I when she arrived, she was surprised to find how smitten I was with you. I would speak of you for hours." He informs you. It makes you gulp. Gently, he takes your hands, kissing you again sweetly. "Come back and actually enjoy the wedding, please."

"Yeah! You've been moping about for ages!" Kíli's voice cuts through. You both peer over at him, shocked to see practically the whole company peering in eagerly. "So? Did you say yes?" He demands.

Thorin glowers at him, but you just ease a hand over his chest from beside him, a soothing gesture he'd long since missed. "Kíli."

"No need to be shy among us. Did you say yes lass? Are you going to be our queen?" Bofur urges eagerly.

"No, I turned him down." Jaws drop in shock. "He'll have to work for it." You lean back in, delivering kiss to his fuzzy cheek. His gaze softens on you and you smile at your friends.

The rest of the night is easier. Loud music, plenty of drinking and dancing lead to you being exhausted... And a bit mischievous with the King.

The two of you had slipped to his chambers so he could pull out that braid and instead braid his own courting braid. It was intimate and gentle kisses where exchanged. The air heavy with unspoken energy hanging between us. And then it happened, one moment you were getting ready to leave for the night.

"You don't have to," he whispered against your lips, holding you in his arms tightly.

"I do, my king," you reply, smiling at his lengthening beard on his chin. He'd been growing it out, free of all shame, it seemed. "Propriety dictates-"

"Fuck propriety," he rumbles. "How dare you speak that word when you're in such a dress." You laugh when he leans you against the door.

"Blame your sister." You purr, kissing his lips fully. Neither want to pull away, too caught up in the feel of each other.

"Then leave now, or I'll keep you in here. You'll never be allowed to leave." He snarled into your mouth. You laugh and shake your head.

"Don't get me wrong, I want to, Thorin. I want to stay so bad it hurts. But we shouldn-Eek!" He had enough and gone was your dress, ripped in half easily down the middle. If it was a tradition dwarvish dress, that would be difficult. But it was a light fabric Dís had tailored for elvish design, something to compliment Tauriel's heritage.

"I warned you." He rumbled and then there was the chain reaction. The world blurred as you tore at each others clothes until you were being rocked against the walls, gasping for breath and moaning loud enough for anyone walking by to hear. I was not dissappointed, to say the least.

(I'm debating making a part 2 but its late and I've got work in 8 hours.)

[ofgoodmenarchive]

The third in a series of drabbles exploring my Blood Mage!Dorian.

Seasonal/Festive edition with gift-giving and psuedo-ice-skating.

Deathly Courtship

Another restless night spent in a grimy hovel- an especially restless one this time. Dorian was at least thankful his cave was uncharacteristically dry for Ferelden. It would have made the hours of tossing around in his bedding even more insufferable.

He couldn't sleep- painfully alert. Every subtle sound from the wilderness scratched at his insides and the darkness felt not dark enough- agitated by the mildest light.

Whenever he did lose consciousness- or something close- he caught glimpses of the Inquisition camp, as if projected upon his eyelids. He surveyed from above but also lurked its fringes- much closer than he'd dare approach.

The culprit was obvious.

Daylight slivered into his den and Dorian strode outside, unsurprised by what he witnessed.

His shadow was slumped along a rock, boneless-seeming, staring at the Inquisition camp.

  “You've been here all night.” Dorian admonished, flopping to tend the fire. “It kept me awake, you know! And what are you doing lurking around camp? He has his own Spirit, remember?! It might see you!”

It grunted passively, not looking at him.

He rolled his eyes, sparked kindling.

  “You need to learn some patience, is what you need to do.” Leaning back from the flames, Dorian rooted around in his bag. He didn't have anything to really appease his demon but there was salted meat. Not a fantastic breakfast- he was probably still better fed than the refugees.

This time his shadow didn't offer so much as a grunt, intent on watching

Dorian sighed and craned his neck around- below, Lavellan also prepared for the day.

  “There's a way we have to do this, you realise that?” He lectured, cutting meat into chunks. “That's the Southern Chantry down there, or have you forgotten?”

Huffing, Dorian chewed raw flesh and inspected his companion- never moving from it's spot.

  “...If it was up to you,” He considered, shaking his head. “We'd just skulk into his camp one night, sneak into his tent and...”

Trailing off, he furrowed his brow at the creature.

  “Stop that. Stop putting thoughts in my head. We're not doing that.”

His shadow seethed as if in agony, somehow becoming more limp.

  “You're so stupid.” He grumbled, standing. “You saw how he reacted to us. He'll say yes in the moment then be terrified later- as they all are! Because you, my friend...”

He leaned sideways upon the same rock as his demon, frowning at Lavellan and gnashing bloody meat.

  “...come on far too strong.”

It exhaled in dramatic anguish, one with it's perch.

Dorian rolled his eyes again.

  "If I didn't know any better...I'd almost say you're lovesick."

The demon had no comment but it's offense was palpable through their bond. Dorian snickered, continuing to mull over;

  “What we need...is to provide something- a gift, something useful! That's how everyone else slinks into his good graces, no?”

It harrumphed, unconvinced. Dorian ignored this, retrieving his staff.

  “Well we're not doing things your way! You forget we're also betraying the Venatori. They're not going to be happy about that, are they? We're going to need a place in the Inquisition to survive- which we won't get if you can't pace yourself!”

Muttering to himself, Dorian sauntered down the slope, knowing his demon would have no choice but to follow.

  “You're going to have to get used to looking in my mind, too. I can't be talking to myself so bloody much! The Venatori don't care, they just think I'm mad. The Inquisition however, might have something to say about-”

Interrupted by an abrupt crash of bristling fur- a wild wolf. Dorian was tackled and with a snarl, kicked the beast over his head. Positively annoyed, he spun around and crushed its skull with the one upon his staff, spitting-

  “Wolves! Bloody wolves everywhere- I can't even finish a blasted sentence!” He licked red from his weapon without thought. “...Don't the Dalish have some superstitions about wolves? Sort of a whole...guardians of the Beyond, sentinels of death- that sort of thing?”

He blinked towards his shadow- observing neutrally. It shrugged.

  “You know- the Dread Wolf and all that! Fenharel, or whatever!”

It's head tilted, clueless.

  “This is why I make the decisions around here, you know...” Dorian scoffed, peering down at the fallen creature. “In fact...I think I have an idea.”

--

Crisp, morning air welcomed Evallan when he opened his eyes. His room in Haven was warm- intolerably so, for someone acclimatised to sleeping in the cold outdoors. Therefore a window near his bed was always ajar, mountain chill guiding him awake before anyone else.

They'd returned to restock supplies, rest and exchange personnel. Already he craved wilderness- while they traipsed over hills and through caves, it was easy to distract himself.

Suffocating in luxurious sheets, Evallan was acutely aware of how far from home he lay.

He wondered if his brothers were rising for the day- or if they'd become slothful without him to direct. After all, he was the 'Eldest' Lavellan- a title that meant nothing here but that appointed him some vague authority among his people.

Perhaps Villyen- being younger and less focused- would whine to Amrallan for them to sleep in. They might finally climb from their aravel bunks for lunch, then perhaps Amrallan would suggest they adventure somewhere, rather than attend chores...

By this description it was easy to forget Amrallan was actually older than him- Evallan had always been more responsible. He thought of how his brother might handle this 'Herald' predicament, laughing at the idea.

  I will write them again- soon.

For now, he needed to stave off homesickness.

It was too early for serving hands- breakfast wouldn't be prepared yet. That was fine by Evallan- he could only be himself in solitude, and food would do nothing to satiate his cravings.

He craved the freedom of home. Of travelling with his clan, camping in lands too untamed for the shem. Answering to the Creators, and to the wilderness, and nothing else.

This need brought him to the frozen lake, staring wistfully from its edge.

An uncanny sense bothered him- of being observed. This wasn't an unfamiliar feeling- it occurred erratically throughout their time in the Hinterlands. Easily attributed to the Maleficar they'd encountered, he'd become accustomed to dismissing it.

Though he saw no sign of him now- and they were quite a ways from the Hinterlands. Evallan couldn't imagine a purpose in stalking him so far.

  A trick of the mind this time, I think...

He had to confess, a part of him wished otherwise. Evallan found little point of relation between himself and the humans. Therefore, couldn't help but admire a shem mage who lived so wilfully as an outcast. Perhaps he would find common ground with such a man?

On the other hand, Evallan had no guess as to his thoughts. He should be more suspicious. Yet it was difficult not to be sympathetic towards someone who constantly skirted shadows, clearly not wishing to be seen.

Additionally, he tended to discern threats through his Spirit-bond. Lightbringer had voiced no concerns towards the shem's intent, so it was likely not malicious. Evallan trusted her to caution him if that happened to change.

  I see no real sign of him now, in any case...

Indeed the grounds were entirely unpopulated, sky still more dark than light. Glancing around himself to make certain, he then gazed over the ice and considered...

Before hopping from the brittle harbour, skidding upon a smooth surface. He'd been provided heavy, polished boots suitable for a Herald- definitely not meant for this. Evallan wondered if someone would scold him, then reflected how ludicrous it would be if he arrived for breakfast half-drowned.

Deciding to risk these consequences, he slid, kicking feet to gain momentum then straightening, propelled onwards with a giddy laugh. Cool winds lashed at him and he grinned at the wintery invitation, remembering such escapades with his brothers.

Spinning around, he repeated the motion, running until he could simply careen forwards. This time he intended to leap and catch himself- but it had been some time since he'd partaken in something so juvenile. Instead of landing on his feet he met frost on elbows and knees, snorting at his own foolishness. He was lucky the ice held- merely creaking.

Evallan stood and dusted himself off, preparing for another attempt...

Hasty scratches echoed along the ice, gaining his attention. Half-turning, he was assaulted by a pair of large paws and what looked like- veilfire?

His instinct would have been to attack- except the creature wasn't really attacking him. It bounced off and ran a mad circle, panting.

Or at least- it made a sound akin to panting.

Closer examination told him this thing- a wolf- was headless, its neck stitched shut. In place of a skull was a puff of veilfire and it was this that 'panted', billowing with the same cadence as an excited dogs breath.

From what he knew of canine behaviour- which was quite a bit, he was Ferelden- it displayed no aggression. If anything, it was pleased to see him.

  “...Hello, strange friend.” He greeted respectfully, bending to its level. “And where is your master? I do not suppose something as elaborate as you are, comes to be through happy accident.”

The minions 'head' formed a comically large tongue, lolling stupidly.

Evallan rang with mirth.

  “Yes, you are very charming.” He flattered, petting its shoulders. “But that is not what I asked.”

  “Oh, good- he found you!”

A somewhat familiar voice- mostly by the accent. There were not exactly a wealth of Tevinter men among the Inquisition.

Turning, he spied the Maleficar- Dorian Pavus- stood where snow met ice, beaming unreservedly.

Evallan hesitated, voice lost.

Perusing the frozen lake, Dorian inched forward, testing each step. Once confident enough he pushed towards Evallan, in such a way to suggest he'd observed some of the elf's frolicking. There was no time to be embarrassed- the man lost his balance and Evallan instinctively reached out, offering support.

The shem slumped into him with an 'oof', slinging an arm around. Evallan stiffened but allowed it- Dorian was warm, and had a scent like earth and blood. Neither of which he found displeasing.

He grinned upwards, exposing several pairs of sharp teeth;

  “My dear Herald,” Said with exaggerated familiarity. “You left the Hinterlands without saying goodbye- I was absolutely beside myself.”

Evallan blinked at this, not comprehending, awkwardly blushing. He had observed humans to have an odd sense of humour, so attempted to respond in kind.

  “I was...to leave a note on a tree?” He chuckled, tense. “You do not exactly make yourself known.”

  “I do apologise,” Dorian sighed, balancing enough to cling less. “It's not because of you, my Herald- just the company you keep.”

  “They would be suspicious of you, that is true.” He tentatively released the man, seeing him secure on his feet. “But as long as you mean no harm, I would allow none on you.”

The Maleficar roared with laughter, leaving Evallan confused.

  “How awfully noble of you, Herald!”

Slumping to meet his gaze, Evallan still couldn't understand what had amused him.

  “I would assume this is your minion?” He inquired, looking towards the undead wolf- it had been watching in dutiful silence but was quick to roll onto its back, panting again. Chuckling, Evallan crouched to deliver belly-rubs.

  “Do you like it?” Dorian asked, something hopeful in his tone.

Glancing his way, Evallan flashed a smile.

  “Some of the humans would call it unseemly,” He shrugged, continued patting. “But I can tell he is a sweet creature.”

  “He's yours- if you want him.”

Evallan perked a brow, curious.

  “Another method of tracking me, I assume?”

Surprising him- Dorian grinned shamelessly, answering the same way-

  “But of course, my darling Herald, whatever else for?” A laugh rumbled in his chest- it was a pleasing sound. “And to protect you, of course! A loyal companion, who will follow only your order, and be compelled to protect you against any threat.”

Evallan smirked mostly to himself, unfurling but not to his full height- stooping around Dorian's. The creature sat by his heels, leaning into him.

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Fenharel.”

Compelled to splutter in laughter- unable to restrain it- Evallan shook his head.

  “Maker, no! I will not curse the poor beast in such a way.”

Dorian paused, smiling in slow disbelief.

  “So you're going to take him? Did you entirely understand what I just said?”

  “I understood.” He shuffled, somewhat defensive. “But you have saved my people and myself at least once. Therefore, I seem to benefit.”

  “How...pragmatic.” Dorian bore his teeth in another sly grin and Evallan felt incredibly awkward.

Appearing to sense this, the Blood Mage redirected their conversation;

  “So what will you call him, if not Fenharel?”

Evallan regarded the beast for a moment, lowered to stroke its back.

  “Lunis, I think.”

  “Lunis...” Dorian stroked his beard thoughtfully. “That's some...minor Elven god? Something to do with the moon?”

  “Mhm.”

  “Huh...” He tilted his head, feigned a scoff. “Hardly more imposing than 'Fenharel', is it?”

  “If I call him Fenharel-” Evallan choked through mirth. “Any Dalish we encounter will shoot the poor thing on sight!”

  “Well, maybe- but they'll regret it!” Dorian quipped, earning more laughter.

  “Other than to track me...” He questioned- once restraining himself. “Is there a reason you are offering such a generous gift?”

  “Why not?” Dorian shrugged. “From where I'm standing, the Inquisition is the winning horse. I'm just trying to ensure I'm not trampled in the race.”

  “Pragmatic.” He echoed the previous sentiment- then faltered on what to say.

Again catching to his social ineptitude, Dorian bantered;

  “I can't help but notice that sliding around a frozen lake isn't very Herald-like.”

Perhaps he hadn't expected this to fluster him so intensely. Colour burnt his cheeks and a nervous cough erupted from him. Dorian simply observed, smiling in bemusement while Evallan struggled for composure.

  “I, well...” He spewed helplessly for a moment. “I...miss my home, that is all. We tended towards such climates, and would entertain ourselves in foolish ways...”

Dorian nodded, attentive.

  “I have to confess to you, my Herald...it was quite entertaining.” He chortled, teasing and warm. “But I do think I understand.”

  “Yes, of course-” Evallan tried to speak over his unease. “You also find yourself far from home.”

He nodded again but seemed averse to that topic- eyes shifting from Evallan's for the first time.

  “Well, everything always works out...” He said vaguely. “But I should be heading off, I think- I see your fellows beginning to stir...”

It was unfortunate he couldn't invite the Blood Mage to stay, Evallan thought. He might be able to guarantee the man's safety but judging by his skittishness, Dorian wouldn't trust that enough to be comfortable.

  “I do hope you enjoy the gift,” He said in a chipper tone. “Who knows...perhaps you'll give me something in return someday.”

Dragged from his pondering, Evallan lofted a brow, not really thinking of his response;

  “Gifts are not typically given with an expectation.”

  “Aren't they?” Dorian mused, chortling as if to himself. “Well...some of them are in a way, no? Dowries, for example.”

  “I...” He struggled to process what had been said. “...Pardon?”

Which inspired a chuckle from the Tevinter, shaking his head.

  “Just thinking out loud, my darling Herald.” He bowed lowly, with a mock-level of respect. “I must be off- you will take care of our Lunis, I trust.”

  “I will- of course.” He stumbled verbally, not comprehending the exchange.

Dorian just smiled and sauntered back into the shadows, leaving Evallan's heart in his throat.

--

  “I do not know if you should be accepting such...'gifts' from...renegade Blood Mages.” The Seeker admonished, watching as Lunis sped around the Chantry hall- chasing a moth.

  “I sense no ill intent from the man.” Evallan assured, fighting to keep a straight face. “And it is a fine creature.”

  “Does it have a name?” Solas asked from behind his tea-cup, observing warily.

  “The Blood Mage addressed him as 'Fenharel'.”

Solas instantly began choking, spittle flying everywhere. Unable to maintain his facade any longer, Evallan burst into laughter.

  “I know, I know! Do not worry, I told him I would not curse him with such a name. I have called him Lunis.”

  “Yes, far...that is a far more appropriate name, Herald.” The other elf muttered, dabbing tea from his face.

  “I truly cannot fathom...” Cassandra grumbled, leering. “...How you survived the wilderness as a mage child.”

Evallan snorted, genuinely tickled.

  “I had my clan to protect me- and now I have all of you!”

  “A task that will increase in complexity as the days progress, I am certain.” She sighed, not matching his cheer.

[vesperlionheart]

The Drowned - KisaSaku

What was the point in being supernaturally blessed with a god’s favor if you were only going to be supernaturally feared by mortals for it? 

“Again!”

Sakura shut her eyes in time to protect them from the sting of saltwater as her head was shoved down beneath the churning surface of a basin filled with ocean. She struggled a little, only because his hand in her hair was irritating, but gave up as another set of hands joined the first.  

She lost track of time under the water, letting go of her breath and breathing in ocean salt like any other fish would before spitting out the excess from the slits in her throat. Above her the world was noisy, she could tell, but the water muted the worst of it. 

Maybe she could play dead for them this time?

She was pulled back too suddenly and sputtered from the transition before she could act drowned. The crowd screamed at her and some even threw stones, but the elder barked at the kids to stay back. Sakura glared dully in his direction, not even remotely concerned for her wellbeing. Zabuza would kill them all if Haku didn’t finish them off first. She just needed to last another day as their spectacle. 

“This is no curse, this is a gift!” the wrinkled elder shouted.

“She’s a demon!”

“A witch!”

The elder waved his hands again and the circle of folks surrounding Sakura retreated until only he stood before her, eyes wide with greed. “No, she is a gift for us. It’s been many decades since we’ve had anyone willing to wed the lord of our waves, but here she is.”

“What?” Sakura coughed, spitting out the saltwater from behind her teeth. 

The murmur in the crowd was an instant shift as angry cheers and jeers turned to muffled whispers. Sakura had to shake the water out of her ears to hear them. 

“How long has it been?” one woman asked another.

“I can’t remember the last one,” her friend answered. 

“Old man, let me go or you’re all dead in a matter of days,” Sakura threatened. “I have friends coming for me and they’re really demons.”

“You came to us alone, you have no one,” he countered easily, leaning down to grab her face with wrinkled fingers. “No one will miss you.” 

Someone ran ahead screaming about a sacrifice to the Lord of the Waves and the village was dressed with lights and banners to welcome their arrival. Their elder was greeted with joyful praise while no one seemed to want to spit at Sakura anymore.

Instead they took her, bound of course, into the largest home and dressed her in heavy fabric the color of seafoam. Sakura struggled against the ladies when they stripped her naked, but against her will she was slipped into the wedding gown and sewn in. 

The chest they had pulled the dress from smelled like dust and a frankincense, a sign of its age before Sakura ever noticed the outdated straps and bodice beadwork. It was a relic but it was also a treasure. If the situation had been any different she would have marveled at the figure she struck in her white foam gown, but it was weighted to sink her with layer after layer under the skirt and she had people who would miss her. 

“Beautiful,” one of the girls dressing her whispered to her twin. 

“You’re going to kill me,” Sakura growled back. “That makes you murderers.” 

“Nonsense, you can’t drown so what else are you good for?” The elder was beside her, watching as the ladies sewed ropes of pearls into her hair. “There is no one to speak for you so you are the village’s.”

“You’re all a bunch of old fashioned, outdated, backwater, inbreeds,” Sakura snarled. “I am my own person and I speak for myself. You kill me, and you’ll have hell to pay.” 

But the elder only laughed, the way a parent would laugh at their child saying silly things that were too impossible to be considered. “You’re only a woman, there are always more of you. No one will miss one that doesn’t even have a surname.”

Sakura bit back her snarl and settled into her bindings, content to wait until they sank to to try and make her escape. She won’t drown no matter where they sank her, and Zabuza wouldn’t let her stay lost forever. It had been weeks since they parted, but he was supposed to be right behind her once Haku healed up. The three of them-

Sakura’s thoughts were cut off with a curse as her eyes were bound with white fabric, rendering her blind. Someone turned her over and she fell onto something wooden that was lifted into the air and carried. A rough palanquin, no doubt. 

There were voices chanting, singing, laughing as the palanquin was carried up and out of the village, further along the roads until she was sure they had covered a league on foot. She could hear the ocean waves and smell the brine as it choked the air she inhaled. 

The palanquin came to a stop and she was pulled off it, still bound around her wrists. Someone took the cloth off her eyes and she saw the black glass rocks from a long dead volcano that had once birthed much of the island. The crashing of waves drew her gaze down to the rocks below. 

Drowning became the least of her worries.

“You’ll spear me to death here?” she hissed, suddenly afraid. 

“Only if the lord finds you lacking.”

Sakura pulled against the bindings and strained, digging her heels into the soil and struggling wilder. The men who had carried her on the palanquin took her arms to try and force her still but she screamed and cursed them with every foul title she could imagine. She promised them a death ten times worse than hers and they only chuckled, like she was nothing more than a lame chicken squawking at their heels. 

Sakura pulled, gaining a step back before they pulled her two steps forward. She strained and dug in against the men twice her size. Overhead the moon was rising but it wasn’t full enough for her to drink from, and it made her cry as she struggled more wildly. 

Damn moon, damn curse, damn superstitions, damn droughts… 

There was only a spindle thin crescent in the sky to complement the scattering of stars that stood out in all their pretty patterns. Sakura know more of their forms and stories, but so far south she was sure there were new stories and new shapes the people saw when they looked up at the same sky. 

Damn every last one of them. 

“She’s got quite a mouth on her,” one of the men laughed, sounding winded as he pressed one of her arms to her side. 

“I’m sure plenty of men think that’s attractive,” the elder joked, waving to the cliff edge. “Still, she’s pretty enough for even a monster to want.” 

“Or eat,” a different man laughed. 

Sakura screamed and that only antagonized their delight. 

Someone started to sing and there was even a drum that kept the beat steady for the woman’s voice to follow. Sakura screamed over the sound and they stuffed her mouth full of the fabric that had once bound her eyes. When she kicked they grabbed at her ankles and lifted her like laundry that needed to be folded. She felt her heart drop as they swung her from her wrists and ankles.

The singing pitched and then caught on a single, long, drawn out note.

Sakura was tossed over the edge and fell, head over heels, into the black waters below. 

Kisame heard the singing and saw the lights dropped into his favorite bay. Nothing more than casual interest drew him closer as he waited to see what sort of useless treasure the humans would toss into his waters. Sometimes it was a sheep, or a pig, and he enjoyed those enough to send them still waters or their drowned husbands back, but it had been several years since his last sacrifice. 

When the large body broke the surface and sank through a curtain of bubbles he expected a small deer, or maybe a large goat. 

The bubbles parted and her hands broke apart, freeing her from her white rope bindings even as she sank under the weight of her wedding gown.

Oh, it had been many years since the last one sank for him. 

Kisame grimaced as he held back to watch her decent. The dress had been weighted with too many layers and he could tell she had been sewn in. She’d never free herself in time.

He drew closer but kept himself hidden behind the black stone rocks that sometimes pierced through the waves. He saw her face more clearly and pouted at the waste. What was it with humans and sending their most beautiful to their deaths? 

She was a stunning example of the lesser species, with a slender neck and wrists just as thin. Her hair was a halo of pink coral around her face, floating more freely as she settled on the ocean floor and gasped. She kept her eyes shut but he imagined they were just as striking as the rest of her. 

What a shame. 

Kisame almost turned away but decided he would watch her expire before tossing her body back onto the land to be buried somewhere else, someplace where the people weren't such fools. 

Well, they had paid their tribute, so he supposed he owed them their rain. Once she was finished drowning he’d get on that.

Whenever she was done dying.

…

She seemed to have quite a set of lungs on her, Kisama realized when her thrashing continued many minutes later. She looked more tired than drowned and he wondered how that could be. He dared drawing closer and hid when her head turned in his direction. It made his twin hearts thrill in his chest. 

Her eyes were the brightest green he had ever seen and just as pretty as the rest of her. 

Oh!

She turned back to try and pull her dress apart but it was all whalebone and heavy stitching, more than her nails were a match for. 

When she screamed in frustration he saw the slit under her chin and the ones on her throat. She had been cursed or blessed with the ability to breath as well as any of his kind underwater, in spite of her legs. 

His awe outweighed his fear as Kisame swam out from behind the rocks and surged across the short distance. She noticed him and startled, trying to swim back, even though her heavy dress kept her in place. 

“Can you talk underwater too?” he asked, speaking without bubbles. 

“Fuck you!” she hissed, disturbing the waters with her cursing. 

Kisame laughed and braced one hand over his chest, afraid of how hard his hearts were beating at the sight of her. She was by far the most beautiful his ugly eyes had ever beheld and the singing from before meant she had been drowned for him. 

“I’m Kisame, you might not have heard my name from them but-”

“I’m not your damn sacrifice, fish face,” she snarled. 

Kisame nibbled on the edge of his bottom lip, hiding his smile as best he could. “I’m sure, I’m sure. What’d they tell ya, princess?” 

“That they’re too stupid to do anything more than breed and piss in their own pants, what do you think?” she snapped, eyes flashing with thin, weak magic.

“You’re hilarious,” he chuckled with pure mirth making his voice rumble. “Want me to help you get out of here?” 

She stopped struggling. “Get me out of this...dress?”

“Nah, then you’d run off on me. I meant this place. I have a palace not far from here where my servants can tend to you and get ya fed. You look thin enough to snap in half, princess.” 

“I’m no princess and I’m not going with you.”

“Why not? You got somewhere else to be?”

“Yeah, back on land.”

Kisame hummed playfully. “Not a good idea. I don’t get many visitors and even fewer guests who are this entertaining.” 

He reached for her face and traced the side of her cheek with his rough fingertips before pulling his hand back and kicking at the water between them to raise himself up and show off the powerful whale shark body that made up his lower half. With a rush of magic he kicked and the tail became legs, tapered into fins at the end, before melting back into a mer tail. 

“You’re a-what the fuck are you?” 

“You can call me Kisame, babe, and I’m whatever the hell you want me to be.”

“I want to be out of this dress.”

He reached for her and pulled her to his body with powerful arms crossed behind her lower back. She sputtered and braced with hands on his chest where she could no doubt feel the way his two heart fluttered for her. The feel of her made him want to vibrate right out of his skin. 

“Not yet, but give me a night and I’ll gladly help you shed your layers, wife.” 

“I’m not-mph”

He kissed her gills and it made her stuttered incoherently. It was where he was the most sensitive, so he was willing to bet she wasn’t much different. 

“I’m-ah, ahhh, mm-mah,” she gasped when he tilted his face to reach the rest of her gills and kiss those too, one hand straying to the curve of her backside to cup her through her dress. 

He could feel her legs, caught under so many layers of fabric, twitch and reach to clamp down on his hips, keeping him close. Anytime she opened her mouth to object he kissed her again until she was nothing but moans. 

“What was that princess?” he teased in a timber of pure mirth to match his saucy expression. She was flushed for him and trembling for his touch. 

“I-ah, I...I mean...a detour wouldn’t...be…” she swallowed and ducked her face to get her thoughts better controlled before trying again. “I wouldn't be opposed to a detour.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that, princess,” he cheered. “You can leave whenever you want after we get to know each other a little better, what ya think about that?” 

“Depends on if you can do something with this,” she huffed, rubbing against the bulge between this thighs that tented his scales. “I’ve got time.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that. Got a name, princess, or should I just call ya mine?”

“Sakura.”  

He traced her gill with a rough finger, making her twitch. “Great, now I know what to scream.”

 -

So hey your gorgeous writing plus these Paulo Sebastian dresses are a match made in heaven. Could you do the very last one of Siren of the Seas with kisasaku?

[the-evil-authoress]

5D’S MONTH DAY 13: FLIP THE SCRIPT

We all have a favorite alternative universe we’d like to see Team 5ds in. Whether it be a coffee shop, college, or maybe even a glimpse of the timeline Z-ONE came from! Anything is on the table for this day!

“It’s been a while since we’ve visited dad. We should go check on him, and maybe convince him that he’s actually supposed to be retired.”

Yusei nods along to his sister’s chatter from the cell phone secured to the shopping cart as he walks down the aisle. He tries not to wince as his knee pops. Maybe he has been holing himself up in the lab too much. He wouldn’t be out here now if Akiza hadn’t all but shoved him out the door with a grocery list before leaving for her shift at the hospital.

“Oi, Yusei, are you even listening to me?”

“Yes, Ciandra, I’m listening.” Yusei pulls a box of oatmeal off the shelf and places it in the cart. “That’s a good idea. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see us.” Like father, like son; Hidea Fudo often got lost in work and forgot to take breaks.

“Cool! When does Aki get off today? I’m free after 5, so-” Ciandra cuts off abruptly as Yusei opens the calendar in his phone. “The hell is that?” she murmurs in a voice not meant for other ears but the speaker transmits it anyway.

“What is it?” Yusei’s thumb freezes over the calendar date, eyes focused solely on the green bar at the top of the screen indicating the ongoing call as if it will suddenly give him visual input.

“I don’t know, something in the sky- Son of a b-”

The line goes dead.

The building shakes with a distant explosion.

Yusei’s heart leaps into his throat.

Abandoning the cart, he dashes out of the store. People are already panicking. He redials Ciandra twice with no answer before calling Akiza. She picks up on the second ring as he fumbles with his helmet.

“Yusei-”

“Are you alright?” he punches out on a single breath.

“Yes, I’m okay. That wasn’t near us.” Akiza’s voice shakes, no doubt with fear and empathy for those in the middle of whatever’s just happened.

“Stay there.” Yusei kicks the parking stand up and revs the engine one handed, peeling out of the parking lot well above the speed limit. “Ciandra’s not answering. She should be at the agency. I’m going to get her and come to you.”

Akiza sucks in a breath. “Okay. Good luck, and be safe, Yusei.”

Yusei stuffs his phone in his jacket pocket and ignores the way his hands shake against the handlebars.

Everything will be fine.

*

Robots are raining from the sky.

This is decidedly not fine.

The attacks started anywhere near Moment reactors and dueling stadiums before branching out to everywhere else. The ‘Mekklords’, as the someone somewhere in the media had dubbed them before almost all networks were lost, attack anything and everything that moves. Nothing survives a direct hit.

Hundreds went missing in the following chaos, all presumed dead. The Fudo family spends the following days searching through the rubble of Domino City for survivors and hiding them away in an underground bunker. It was all that was left of their father’s lab. The entrance is well hidden underneath the rest of the collapsed building, and the three of them managed to restructure the concrete with enough support not to spontaneously collapse on anyone entering or exiting.

They manage.

Days into weeks. The bunker becomes crowded. Supplies grow scarce. They create teams of fighters and duelists for supply runs. When they get lucky, everyone comes back uninjured.

No one knows where the Mekklords came from or why they’re here. Some proclaim that Judgment Day has come. They are mostly ignored in favor or surviving.

Weeks into months. The Mekklords still reign, picking off the survivors. This is their life now, for as long as they can hold on. They are not just surviving, they are fighting, anyone willing and able with weapons and duel disks. It’s probably the first time psychic duelists have ever been so accepted as to be revered. Yusei just wishes such change could have been under better circumstances. Watching his wife, he knows Akiza feels the same. But dwelling on a past that can’t be changed is futile; they have to focus on fighting for the future.

*

When the first Mekklord fell, they believed, they hoped. The tide was turning and they could reclaim and rebuild their lives. Each Mekklord that falls after is another declaration that they can win.

Then the second wave comes.

*

“Yusei!” Jonny coughs the dust from his lungs as he stumbles through the rubble. He doesn’t know if that monstrosity is gone and he’s not sure if he cares right now. How did it even get to this? They were supposed to be safe here. They were supposed to- “Ciand-” He trips over a protruding beam with yelp, a sharp edge tearing through the arm of his suit on the way down. His hands sting even through his gloves.

A crunch in the rubble. For one terrifying moment, Jonny believes it’s a Mekklord come back to finish him off. Would that be so b-

A cough. “Jonny, is that you?”

“Hiroshi!” Jonny gasps, stumbling back to his feet and clinging to the man. Oh thank god, he’s not alone, not the only one left, again.

“You’re bleeding,” Hiroshi mumbles, and Jonny finally realizes how stiff the man is in his grasp, how much Hiroshi detests physical contact.

“Yeah.” Quickly backing away, Jonny glances at the gash in his arm. It starts to hurt now that he’s paying attention, jagged at the edges but not very deep. Akiza won’t even need to stitch it. A weight settles back in his stomach as he meets Hiroshi’s eyes. “Have you seen anyone else?”

Hiroshi stakes his head, blond forelocks swaying and covering in dirt. “No one alive.”

The weight grows heavier. Jonny clenches his fists to hide the tremor and steals himself against what he’ll inevitably find as he walks forward. “Let’s keep looking.”

Hiroshi follows behind at a steady pace, but his eyes don’t roam the destruction. Jonny’s stubbornly do because one of them has to keep hoping, swallowing down bile every time he recognizes a corpse in the rubble.

They find Yusei cradling Ciandra’s bloody corpse.

Jonny can only stare, insides impossibly cold. Only feet away, another body lies crushed beneath a slab of concrete. The red hair is unmistakably Akiza’s.

“I’m going to fix this.”

Jonny almost doesn’t hear the cracked whisper, attention turning fully back to his friend. Yuei’s head remains bowed over his sister, face obscured by black hair, but those could easily be tear tracks in the dirt on his cheeks.

“I’ll stop it from ever happening.” A quiet sob. “I’m going to rewrite this broken future.”

Hiroshi inhales sharply, as Yusei finally raises his head. His eyes are that of a dead man, nothing left to lose and everything to gain.

“Will you help me?”

The past can’t be changed, but a fire still burns in those blue eyes, and Jonny will follow Yusei to the bitter end.

“Yes.”