#and then this will either take its place or the other one I have will

[plutoswritingplanet]

Hand That Feeds (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female!Reader) pt. 2

a/n: this one's a bit shorter, next one will have smut, i am so fcking sleepy writing this i'll have to check tomorrow it this isn't a hallucination

Warnings: Horny Violence, Blood and Guts, Suggestive Themes, we're on a steady route to pound town

Summary: Cooper catches his prize, but an uninvited guest puts a strain on an already rocky relationship. Cross-Posted on AO3

PT. 1

You must be a Vault Dweller. Truly. There is no other way to explain the utter lack of self-preservation skills.

Cooper finds you almost immediately after the sun sets. He can see the flickering light of your small bonfire through the trees, and languidly, he stalks forwards, opting to stay in the shadows to observe you a moment longer. 

You're sitting on the ground, back leaning against a destroyed carcass of a plane. Hair pushed out of your face, Cooper can see the flames illuminating your focused expression with warm light. Once again, he's struck by this seemingly regal air around you. Like you've been raised in a castle, far from this fucked up place, that is now his home. A princess, stuck in harsh reality. Eyebrows furrowed, bottom lip tucked hard between your teeth, you seem to be pondering over something.

With quick motions, you take your messenger bag, opening it and dumping its contents onto the ground in front of you. It's somewhat hard to see, but the sound of small glass bottles knocking into each other is telling enough. 

Taking stock of your inventory, you begin to tuck everything back into the bag. Chems upon chems, RadAway, RadX, quite the little drug library, and Cooper's eyes immediately lock onto his most sought after, amber liquid. Why would a Smoothie like you need any of that stuff is beyond him. He hasn't seen any Ghouls in the small town you hail from. 

Perks of the job, he thinks to himself, as you stack away at least five vials.

At the last bottle, you hesitate, bringing it up towards the light, and looking at it with a worried expression. The liquid swirls inside, and Cooper watches from the shadows, as you press the cold glass against your forehead in a motion eerily reminding him of a prayer. Your shoulders shudder, and Cooper's mangled ears strain, as he sees your mouth move.

- Let me be brave - you whisper to the vial, like some ancient spell, and something new tightens in his chest, something he immediately brushes away.

Then, he sees you lift a very familiar piece of equipment, putting it on your wrist, and begin to tweak something in the controls. A Pip-Boy. Old and battered, but apparently still working. All his confusing feelings are wiped clean in an instant. Now, he's truly intrigued. The clasps seem slightly too big for your hand, and the device slides the length of your arm, as you move. 

You sigh, heavily, then press something, and the Geiger meter clicks to life, picking up on stray radiation. Cooper feels his muscles tense, knowing all too well, why the device has activated so rapidly. As a Ghoul, he leaves a trail of radiation, that follows him wherever he goes. He wasn't particularly aware, that a Pip-Boy could pick up on it, but he wasn't surprised either.

 The sound makes you freeze in your spot. Slowly, you scan the area, your hand extended towards the darkening outline of the surrounding trees. As your hand passes by the place Cooper has chosen as his hiding spot, the meter grows louder. 

Jumping to your feet, you raise the blasted thing in front of you, your other hand tugging at the waistband of your skirt, freeing your trusted kitchen knife. As if to double-check, you put your hand somewhere to the back, listening to the quiet cracking noise. 

You can't fully confirm your suspicions on time, as Cooper springs to action. 

A thick line of rope falls over your shoulders, and before you have the chance to react, the loop around you tightens. Your entire body is tugged with surprising force in the direction of the treeline. Loosing your footing, you collapse onto the damp forest floor, chin scraping in the process. The yelp of shock tearing out of your throat, rings through the surrounding area, before you literally, eat dirt. The force of the impact wrenches the knife from your hand, as it bends at an uncomfortable angle. The weapon lands somewhere in the grass, the blade reflecting the flames.

Wiggling like a worm, trying to free yourself from the bounds, you notice a pair of well-worn shoes entering your vision. They cross the remaining distance, stopping just short of your head. Knees crack as your attacker squats down, before taking your hair into a hard grip and lifting your head from the dirt. 

Your face twists in pain, neck craning uncomfortably, and with an overwhelming feeling of finality, your eyes land onto the face of a ghoul. The Ghoul. He turns his head slightly to the side with the meanes of grins, before letting go of your hair, your head falling back into the dirt. 

- Oh, motherfucker - you groan, pulling your legs up, and attempting to get up.

- Stay down - the Ghoul's voice is rough and biting, and sudden pressure on your back pins you to the ground. - Do you know how fuckin' stupid it is, to light a fire in the wilderness? Any unsightly character could pick you off in seconds. 

Spitting out stray clumps of earth and grass from your mouth, you scoff at his scolding tone.

- Thankfully, there are no unsightly characters here, huh? 

- Oh, I wouldn't say that, sweetheart. - the bounty hunter tugs the toe of his shoe under your side, and kicks up, turning your body.

You roll onto your back, throwing a nasty look at the Ghoul, as he secures the loop of his lasso. His eyes reflect the light in the most haunting of ways, and you squirm under his gaze, which drags itself across your body, stopping briefly at the tips of your breasts, peaking from under your shirt. Swallowing thickly, your muscles relax, in hopes of loosening the rope. It barely gives, but your limbs recover some wiggle room. 

Cooper blinks, his head jerking to the side, and only as he brings his hand up, do you register the gun in his hand. Making sure you can see it, he turns towards your messenger bag, grabbing it from the ground where you left it. 

He sits down, somewhere outside your field of vision, and you risk pulling yourself up into a sitting position. He doesn't seem to mind it now, too busy with rummaging through your belongings. Finally, he pulls out a vial of amber liquid, watching it swirl in the flickering light of the bonfire. 

- Now - Cooper starts, as he grabs the inhaler from his pocket, inserting the vial into it - Why would a backwoods healer have something like this on 'er?

Rolling your shoulders ever so slightly, the rope slides further down your arms, and you regard the Ghoul with a venomous rendition of a "are you fucking dumb?" look. Which he doesn't appreciate. His hands tremble, as he closes his mouth over the inhaler, taking a long hit, draining the entire vial. You try very hard, not to notice the low moan flowing out of him, as the drug enters his system. Or the way his eyes flutter blissfully for just a second. 

- You never know, who might be needing help... - you mutter, wincing at the biting pain in your limbs.

- Well ain't that considerate of you - he coughs into his gloved hand, before sighing deeply, his head reclining back against the plane's exterior, his eyes closed.

From where you're sitting, he looks weirdly handsome. Rugged and very much Ghoul-like, but handsome nonetheless. The skin of his neck is pulled taunt, and in the flickering light of a dying bonfire, you can see a myriad of scars, littering any surface of his skin that's visible. Still, there were other matters at hand, that needed your attention, and you try to shift in your seat as quietly as possible, slowly but surely sliding the rope down your body. 

- Next time you try to run away, I'll shoot you - your efforts are stilled by his warning tone, and by the way he waves his gun at you, you know he'll make good on this promise.

- Thought you needed me in good condition.

To that, he finally throws you a look from under his cowboy hat. 

- Good... - he confirms, his other hand slowly shortening the length of the rope connecting the both of you - Ain't the same as mint. 

The loop suddenly digs further into your flesh, and you grunt at the uncomfortable feeling of the rough rope scratching at your exposed upper arms. 

Unfortunately, he's right. During your time as the local healer, you've done many questionable things to ensure the well-being of the town. One of those things, was dealing with organ harvesters. You've only bought a limb or a finger, every once in a while, as if that was some consolation for your darkened soul. Those moments quickly taught you, that something being good was most certainly not the same as ideal. Or mint, as your captor has supplied. 

- You a Vault-Dweller? - the Ghoul finally asks, breaking the small spell of silence between you.

The question doesn't surprise you, and you lift the Pip-Boy as far up, as the lasso allows you. Which isn't a lot. 

- Nah - the flames dance on your suddenly melancholic expression, and Cooper drinks it all up, curiosity spiking with each new information - My mother was. She ran away from her Vault when she was a teenager and joined the Brotherhood soon after. 

- The Brotherhood doesn't recruit women - Cooper turns his body towards you, fishing for lies like a shark sniffing for blood. 

- Oh, it doesn't? - your lips pull back into a teasing smile, which perhaps isn't the smartest thing to do, but entertainment is scarce in the Wastelands, and you're determined to have some fun - She posed as a man for years, picked up a job as a medic.

Cooper hums to himself, inviting you to elaborate with an inclination of his head. 

- There, she met my father - you continue, looking over at the last glowing embers of the bonfire - They were discovered, court martialed for treason. They escaped together and had me somewhere along the way.

Your Pip-Boy still cracks, the radiation emanating from the Ghoul making the Geiger meter go haywire. With soft eyes, your hand traces the outline of the screen, watching the way green light dances on your fingers. 

- The forbidden love of the Wasteland - you sigh into the silence - Sounds like a title of some romance novel, no?

- Or a bad porno - Cooper grumbles, rolling his eyes.

- What's a porno?

His head snaps towards you in record speed, a myriad of emotions running through his mangled expression. It settles on deep annoyance, when he notices the sly smirk on your lips, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing. 

- Gotcha - your attempt at finger guns is pathetic at best.

- Oh, you think you're a fucking comedian, huh? - the bounty hunter asks, a slight amused tint to his words, which you consider to be a small victory.

- That's why they put a bounty on me - you giggle - I'm too damned funny. 

- Shut it.

The sudden change in his tone catches you off guard, and you cock an eyebrow at him, confused. The Ghoul looks much more tense than seconds ago, his hand tightening around his gun. One of his legs kicks up a pile of dirt, smothering the dying embers of the bonfire, as he leans forward, seemingly ready to jump. 

- Had I known you were such a buzz kill...-

You're not allowed to finish, as the Ghoul basically throws himself in your direction. Your yelp is cut short with a piece of flimsy cloth being shoved into your mouth. A series of muffled sounds, vaguely resembling "is this my robe?" escape you, and the Ghoul pushed against your head, until you fall back down onto the ground. 

His body is hot against yours, as he covers you entirely with his weight. It's quite difficult to breathe through the makeshift gag and the overwhelming scent of blood, gunpowder, and the sickly sweet undertone of rot. As well as the unfamiliar feeling of having someone so close. You were a hermit after all. 

- I said, shut the fuck up - he whispers harshly into your ear, and you shiver underneath him, as his chest rises and falls against your back. 

Then, a sound somewhere close to the forest line makes your head whip in its direction. Cracking of twigs and heavy footsteps, coming closer and closer with clear determination. 

- Healer? - your entire body stiffens, as a familiar voice rings out through the trees. - Are you alright, Healer?

Benny. The same Benny, which led this damned bounty hunter right to your doorstep is currently making his merry way towards the both of you. Your eyes follow the way the Ghoul's thumb loads the pistol with a click of finality, and suddenly new energy floods your system.

- Stop fucking moving - Cooper grounds down on his teeth, as you attempt to free yourself from both his grip, and the lasso's.

Images of Benny, bloodied and dead, flash through your mind, and despite your lack of any sympathy towards the man, you don't want to see it. So, you start to move again, violently shaking under the Ghoul, forcing the lasso to slide from your body. Your hips jerk from the ground, bucking into him like a wild animal, and somewhere behind your ear, you can hear him suck in a sharp breath. Which you have no time to dwell upon. Your tongue fights against the fabric of your robe, and after a second you're able to spit it out.

- Don't shoot him - you plead feverishly, hands gripping the Ghoul's forearm - I'll talk to him, he'll leave. Just don't shoot him, please.

Cooper looks down at you, his eyes hard on your face, as he watches out for any signs of deceit. Then, he presses his lips into a thin line.

- Make it quick, or I'll pop his head clean off his shoulders. - southern accent floods every syllable, and were you not fighting to save a life (again), you would've blushed.

- Yes, thank you. I'll be quick. Thank you. - words spill out of you like a broken faucet, whispered into the space between your bodies, as the bounty hunter tugs off the loop of his lasso. 

You take a moment to steady yourself, as he drags you up with him, hand twisted into the front of your shirt. Still a little stunned, you allow him to manoeuvre you, turning your body in his grasp, until your back is pressed flush against his front. 

Strong arm sneaks over your shoulders, hand clasping around the column of your throat, while the other one waits just outside of your vision. The barrel of the gun rests between your shoulder and your neck, and the coolness of the metal causes a myriad of goosebumps to erupt across your skin. 

- I'm here Benny - you call out, praying to anything that would listen, that your plan would work - Come out, slowly. 

To his credit, Benny has always been quite good at following directions. There weren't many attributes about him either way, a bit dim in the head, a bit too heroic. 

And definitely a bit too quick to pull out a gun.

Which is what he does as soon as he sees your peculiar situation. The Ghoul drums his fingers against your pulse point, and Benny approaches, a simple shotgun in front of him.

- What the hell...?

- Benny, I need you to listen to me - your voice sounds way too panicked, and you swallow hard to fake some illusion of control over this situation - I need you to turn around, and leave.

- But, there's a Ghoul with a gun behind you, Healer.

You nearly jump out of your skin, when you feel the hot breath of your unwanted companion on the back of your neck. You can almost imagine his chapped lips, so close to your skin.

- Time's a tickin', sweetheart - he whispers, and your blood runs cold in your veins. 

- He's a - you swallow, mouth going dry in an instant - He's my friend. Who's getting very anxious with the trigger, Benny, so please, just go home. 

Deep down inside you know there is no scenario, where the farmer leaves alive. He signed his death warrant the moment he stepped out of the shadows, yet for some unknown reason, that just makes you fight against the odds harder. Call it dumb optimism, perhaps you're possessed by your mother's spirit. Or perhaps the chems have finally scrambled your brains for good. 

- He's not looking very friendly - Benny's gun sways slightly, as he tries to keep it raised, muscles evidently straining against the weight - He's the guy that shot Pete.

Oh for fucks sake, your whole body starts shaking at this point, heart thrumming in your chest like a moth batting against a lampshade. You can feel the Ghoul smirk against the skin of your shoulder, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes. His thumb presses slightly into your pulse, feeling it run rampant against his finger. 

- Please - somehow you hope the desperation in your voice will be enough - Please, leave. Benny, please.

Benny looks between you and the Ghoul peaking over your trembling form. You can see his brain working overtime, scrunched eyebrows, smacking of the lips. You're only praying it's working in the right direction. Then, some idea flashes across his expression, and you know in the hollow of your stomach, that this is his end.

- If I save you, will you marry me? - he asks, looking at you with the utmost hopeful expression.

- ...what?

Confusion doesn't even fully register in your mind, as the deafening sound of a gun being fired nearly blows up your eardrums. At first you're not sure, what you're looking at. Where there used to be Benny, now there's a carcass, mangled and bloody. It's hard to figure out, where individual parts of his body are, some bones sticking out from the chunky mush. A spray of red falls onto your face like a morning mist, and the scent of iron and gunpowder is stunning your senses. 

You can't move. Eyes glued to what once used to Benny, you don't even notice, as the Ghoul removes himself from you, placing the lasso over your head and around your body. The loop is secured tightly, and the bounty hunter tugs on it a couple of times, just to test its durability. Then, lazily, he picks up your messenger bag, swinging it over his shoulder. 

- The first time he came to me for help, he tried to domesticate a rad roach - you mutter absentmindedly, not caring if your unwanted companion is hearing you - Wanted it to help with the farm work. I had to stitch half his left side. 

- Stupid life deserves a stupid death.

- You're a fucking monster - you spit out, the feeling of Benny's blood on your lips almost making you gag.

Apparently, the Ghoul takes offense to that, because almost instantly, he's in front of you, his hand gripping your throat, and pushing you hard against the metal plating of the destroyed plane. Stars erupt behind your eyelids, as your head knocks hard into the wall, pain barely registering under the confusion.

- I have been more than accommodating to you, little princess - the Ghoul snarls in your direction, but all you can focus on, is his other hand, grabbing your bruised chin - I've entertained your little medical escapade, I let you negotiate with that dimwit over there.

The warmth of his body suffocates you stronger than any hand around your throat. You can't decide on the color of his eyes, as they seem to shift between amber and green, and completely black. Your mouth opens just a smidge, as you try to defend yourself in any way, but before you can speak, the Ghoul shoves two gloved fingers into your mouth, silencing you in an instant. 

- I could be so much worse, darlin', and I don't think you would like that - his voice lowers itself barely above a whisper, and he watches your expression shift under his grip.

You can't help it, really, the way your body reacts to this rough manhandling. It's not like you could predict being pinned to a wall by a stranger would make your thighs press together. Cooper looks down. He smiles like a cat, that's just found the fattest of mice, when his eyes drag back up to your face. 

- Or perhaps you would - his knee presses against the middle of your thighs, just short of forcing them apart, and you gasp around his fingers.

As if nothing has happened, he pulls away, so suddenly, you nearly fall over. His gloved hand glistens with your saliva, and gracefully, he wipes it clean on your shirt. Blushed, panting, and very angry at this turn of events, you stare daggers at him, as he tugs at the lasso, forcing you to start moving.  

- What is your name? - you demand, blood running hot and defiant in your veins. 

Cooper stares for just a moment too long. The way you seem to bristle in rage, even though that farmer truly was stupid, and you know it too. He likes the way your eyes harden, the way your jaw sets, when you realize this is no longer fun and games. When you recognize, how dangerous he can be, how mean and ruthless. He'd be a fool not to admit it,  it makes him feel powerful, revered. 

And the undertone of humiliation running through the length of your spine is just such a delicious addition. Almost better than chems. Almost more addicting.

Lips tugging back into a nasty smirk, he appraises you with his gaze, surprised when your resolve seems to harden even more. 

- You, Healer - your title sounds wrong coming from his thin lips, worse than any other time you've heard it - Can call me "sir".

Something akin to disgust runs through your expression, and you turn away with a grumble. 

- Fat fucking chance.

[tomicscomics]

04/26/2024

It's a metaphor!

What's a meta for?

Nothin! What's a meta for you!

*wheezes for six minutes straight without taking a breath*

___

JOKE-OGRAPHY: 1. In this Bible story, Jesus describes Himself as a vine (like a grapevine), and His disciples as its branches. Branches can only bear fruit while connected to the main vine. If their connection is severed or tainted, they wither and die, and then they're pruned, suitable only for being tossed in a fire. Jesus is warning His disciples that their mission's fruitfulness depends on their continued, dedicated, healthy connection with Him and His Father. 2. In this cartoon, after hearing Jesus's metaphor, Peter declares that he and the other apostles (the "branches" in Jesus's metaphor) will "stick" with the vine. A "stick" is a long, thin piece of wood (like a branch), but "stick" can also mean "stay connected to." This is an inferior pun, because while the word "stick" has the two above meanings, only one of those meanings makes grammatical sense in Peter's comment (the latter). 3. Jesus replies that the vine (Him, in the metaphor) will be "rooting" for them. "Rooting" can either mean "laying down roots" (as in a tree growing its roots into the ground), or "cheering on" (like an audience cheering for a sports team). This is a superior pun to Peter's, because both meanings make grammatical sense in Jesus's comment. His declaration can be taken to mean either (1) that, as the vine, He'll provide the apostles with roots to nourish their fruitfulness, or (2) that, as their teacher, friend, and Lord, He'll be cheering them on and supporting them in their mission.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is another "Tomics Resurrection," where I have plucked the desiccated husk of an old cartoon from the withered branch of the past, and gorged it with so many steroids and hormones that it blasphemes nature but looks way more colorful! Also, it's been slightly reworded to flow better while maintaining the meaning of the passage; the disciples have been moved inside to the Last Supper, since this reading takes place either during or just after; and the image of the grapevine is in the second panel now, including a lush branch and a withered branch to illustrate what Jesus is saying. Tell me, how does it compare?

[sunderwight]

SV AU where Shen Yuan transmigrates into a dragon.

It's not so bad, at first. He's an extremely magical sort of dragon so he can easily take on a humanoid shape, and he has dominion over an entire mountain, with a magical gate that leads to his palace. Said palace has a fully stocked treasury, a library, garden, etc, with the only real downsides being that the place is kind of huge and very difficult for a neet with limited housekeeping or landscaping skills to keep up with. The original dragon had enslaved a bunch of fairy spirits to do it for him, but since Shen Yuan has moral objections to that, he'd let them all go and they'd run off before he could even think to offer to hire any of them as paid employees instead. Not that he can blame them for being in a hurry to get gone.

He does his best, and generally enjoys being a dragon lazing on his mountain, or wandering the beauty of his palace and investigating the books and scrolls kept there. He doesn't actually seem to need to eat or drink, so that's not really an issue, and nobody looks keen to bother him. But after a few months the dust starts to really pile up, and trying to figure out how to do his own laundry without modern equipment leads to several disasters, and even though he doesn't need to eat he's starting to think it would be quite nice to have a fancy sit-down dinner and enjoy it for its own sake anyway. He has an enchanted larder but his food prep skills aren't up to much.

So, Shen Yuan ventures away from his mountain. He keeps to his human disguise when he's not traveling, and at first tries to hire on some help from a nearby city. But when he explains that he lives on the mountain, he realizes the difficulty, because everyone in the area knows that only the dragon lives there. So they all think he's either a liar or a fraud, or some servant of a nefarious supernatural creature angling to trick and possibly devour them.

Shen Yuan tries approaching another town in his dragon form, to see if anyone will actually deal with him if he's being upfront and honest about the situation, but the townspeople just panic. He returns to his mountain to rethink his strategies, and in the meanwhile the alarmed locals hire a swordsman to go after him. The guy gives him a few very painful cuts before Shen Yuan mostly-accidentally sends him careening into a boulder. One broken arm later the swordsman is gently persuaded that the pay he was offered isn't worth the effort on this job, and leaves.

Discouraged, Shen Yuan decides he's gonna give this one last try. He picks the second closest city, flies up, and is like yes hello, yes I am indeed a dragon, no I'm not trying to burn down your walls, yes it would be excellent if you stopped shooting arrows at me, look they don't even get past the scales? It's kind of silly? Okay, yes, thank you very much. Good. Now, the thing is, I'm looking for some people. I want to take them back to my mountain with me, to my incredibly nice palace, and -- what was that? A princess? No no I don't want a princess, what would I even do with one? If anything I'm looking for the complete opposite of a princess!

Anyway, the locals take this to mean that the dragon is demanding a sacrifice in the form of a pretty boy of no particular pedigree, and Shen Yuan takes this to mean that he's finally made his case clear and they're going to dig up someone who is willing to overlook his being a dragon in exchange for free room and board and fair wages out of his massive treasury.

SY's a bit disheartened when the entire city could only apparently turn up one such person -- an underfed teenage boy who looks at Shen Yuan like, despite the situation, he is still expecting to be eaten at any moment. Poor thing! But at least having one servant means he can potentially get more, especially if it all goes well. The lad can tell others that working for a dragon isn't so bad! Well, provided that he doesn't give up in alarm at the state of the mountain palace.

For his part, Luo Binghe at first thinks he's definitely going to get eaten, and then that this dragon is weirdly nice about planning to eat him, and then that maybe the dragon has other (even less savory!) plans for him, until finally he sees the state of the dragon's laundry and the foot-thick layer of dust in the corners, and gets completely distracted. Mortal terror forgotten, those floors should not be that filthy, Lord Dragon respectfully that isn't how anyone should prepare rice either, but oh Binghe has never seen a kitchen so nice before in his life...!

Anyway, needless to say, it works out just fine.

[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 6

Azriel x Reader

Description: Azriel would give anything to hold you one more time.

Warnings: Violence, Torture, Gore

Word Count: 5550

Notes: This took me a bit longer to write than I anticipated but I wanted to make sure not to forget any details. Hope you enjoy!

Part 5

The sun was already shining high in the sky when you finally stepped out of the dungeon. Feyre had arrived with Cassian and Amren a few minutes earlier, ordering her mate, you and Azriel to go and get some rest while they took over for a few hours. Rhysand could only use his daemati powers for so long and the strain was starting to become visible on his face, so she likely could feel his fatigue through their mating bond. His efforts were starting to be in vain anyway, you needed to wear Norris down a lot more physically before his mental walls would start giving in.

You didn't want to leave at first, completely unwilling to take your eyes off Norris for even a second, but both you and Azriel had been forced to go take a bath and eat something, maybe even get some sleep and only come back later in the day. Logically this made perfect sense, but you'd rather stay with him until he told you everything you wanted to know. You believe them all to be more than capable of handling this but you also know Norris, if anyone could find a way to escape from the Night Court's dungeons it would be him.

Still, you knew it was going to take a lot longer than a few hours to crack Norris so you needed to keep your strength, you wouldn't be any help at all if you exhausted yourself. Apparently the same wards around your memories were also present in Norris' mind, meaning Rhysand was only able to knock him out in the forest but not read through his thoughts, the same way he wasn't able to reach your memories before. This meant he was the one in control of said wards, both his and yours. Amren was quick to explain that since they had been done with the help of a witch's tool, he had to have it with him to keep up his wards since it wasn't his own magic that was keeping them in place.

It also explains why he risked becoming your handler even though letting you know him could lead to this exact outcome. He needed to strengthen your wards every once in a while to make sure no memory slipped through them. Unfortunately, even without his checkups the wards were strong enough that simply time wouldn't give your memories back in full, at best only letting you see some fragments. There was also no way of knowing what they could do to your mind when left unattended so your only option was to keep pushing him until he told you everything you needed to know.

The tool he used couldn't be far, he either had it on his person or hid it somewhere close before meeting you in the forest. You've searched through his belongings more than once, as did everyone present in the cell, including Azriel's shadows, but came up empty. He likely had a powerful glamour cast on it, one you had to make him break. Getting your hands on that tool meant you could break both the wards around his mind, which would grant Rhysand access to any and every piece of information he wanted, and the wards keeping your memories hidden inside you. One simple object could set you free.

Azriel winnowed you to the middle of the mountains surrounding Velaris, right behind the House of Wind, making sure no one in the city could see your bodies drenched in blood but unable to winnow you straight home. Having a house protected by wards that didn't allow for any winnowing, even by its inhabitants, was really good in theory, you've never seen a safer place really, but in practice having to fly up every time was more than annoying, especially when you don't have wings of your own.

The air was strangely awkward around the two of you since you hadn't spoken a word to each other after the short argument in the forest. Most of your annoyance had worn off at this point, got redirected at your smug handler chained up in the dungeon, but you still wanted him to be the one to come to you and explain himself. His attitude earlier had seemed completely different from everything you'd experienced until then, you know there's a reason for it but you're too prideful to ask him about it.

The only plausible reason you could think of is that he's been using you to get to an assassin with a higher up position in the guild, but something told you immediately that wasn't the case, it seems like a part of you balked at the thought that he'd betray you like this. Even putting your annoying phantom feelings aside, it didn't make sense considering the High Lord has followed his word on letting you help in interrogating Norris. Your mind was fresh out of ideas, and much too tired to analyze that small argument. He'll tell you what happened eventually, and if he doesn't… Well, then it's a good thing you didn't get your hopes up even more.

“I'll fly you up to the House,” his voice was scratchy from not being used in so long, making it deeper as he almost whispered beside you, not wanting to disturb the quietness in the mountain. Azriel had done most of the cutting and breaking but he hadn't even asked Norris any questions, content in letting you and Rhysand take over the interrogation while he carved out Norris' skin. You can't be sure if it was because of your fight or just the grueling last few hours but he didn't seem to be in the best mood anyway.

You nod up at him, simply walking closer and letting him pick you up into his warm embrace, strong hands careful as they handle your body. You've only flown once - from what you can remember at least, you can't imagine a version of yourself who wouldn't ask her husband to take her flying regularly if he had wings - and, given the circumstances, you didn't really have the chance to stop and truly enjoy the moment. It would be the same now, even worse given the fact that you'd rather not deal with the shadowsinger, but the breeze hitting against your tired body sounded heavenly, and so did the big bathtub and soft mattress waiting for you up in your room. There was also no energy left in your body to even try to argue with him, if there was you would have been using it on your handler.

His body relaxes slightly when you simply slip your arms around his neck, his wings stretching and flapping a couple of times as he got ready to take flight. He looked like he was expecting you to refuse, as if there was any other way to the House besides flying and he wasn't the only Illyrian here.

The actual flight doesn't take long, within a few moments Azriel is gently setting you down back on your feet at the top of the stairs, hands lingering on your body as if moving on their own, a habit he can't quite break himself out of. You meet his eyes, briefly wondering if you should say something, debating if you have enough patience in yourself to extend a small olive branch to the male who is covered in the blood of your enemy.

He beats you to it, looking down before speaking as if he couldn't hold your gaze for top long - yet another way he's acting out of character. “You're free to do what you want. I'll meet you in your room and fly you back to the dungeon when it's time. I won't bother you before that.” The professional, detached tone in his voice makes your annoyance want to rise up but you swallow it down, realizing how tired you really were as soon as you had stepped foot inside the house.

“Alright,” you tell him before turning around and walking straight to your room, never looking back to see his reaction or the way regret flashes in his eyes as he watches your every step away from him.

Azriel stayed true to his word, only coming to check in on you right before it was time to return. You can't even be sure if he stayed in his room the whole time, if he truly spent these few hours resting as he was ordered since there was no sound coming from his room or around the house at all. Curiosity had gotten the best of you a couple of hours ago, when you woke up from your nap feeling strangely alone, like a piece of you was begging to go find him. This feeling was clutching at your heart for long enough that you actually considered going to find Azriel, but held on since you didn't fully know your way around the house and you had no idea where he could be. You didn't really know what to say either.

Luckily it wasn't long until you heard his footsteps getting closer to your room before a soft knock sounded at the door. He always does this, makes sure to let himself be heard before knocking. Sitting up at the edge of the mattress, you call out to him, wondering if he'll tell you anything now or simply fly you back to the cells.

As soon as his form comes into view you can tell he hasn't slept much if anything at all, dark circles prominent under his eyes. He's at least taken a bath, the sullied leathers were now replaced with new ones, the stench of blood not clinging to him anymore. You're wearing some yourself, your old ones as you've been told. Your clothes were ruined and putting them back on would defeat the purpose of the bath you took earlier, but it feels weird to wear a version of what you always see Azriel and his family in. He takes notice of this as well, hazel eyes raking over your form, lingering around your waist long enough for you to start feeling self conscious, standing up and taking a step closer to him almost involuntarily.

“Is anything wrong? I thought you left them for me to wear.” Since he had given you the leathers along with your old belongings you had assumed you were allowed to wear them, but, at this point, these clothes were more his than yours. Maybe he was scared you'd ruin them and he'd lose his memories of you.

“No, that's not it. They're yours,” he assures quickly, eyes widening slightly before a conflicted expression takes over his face. “The buckles are done wrong,” his observation makes you look down at yourself, there were more straps and buckles than necessary for any piece of garment and you'd taken a bit longer to figure it out than you cared to admit, apparently you should have taken even longer.

Your fingers reach for the straps around your waist, tugging at the leather before he continues, “I can help you with them. They can be hard to put on if you're not used to it.” When you look up from the confusing clothes and your eyes move to meet his, you find him watching your hands hesitantly, his own flexing at his sides. You end up agreeing without even thinking it through, something you almost regret when he walks closer to you and suddenly all you can see and smell is Azriel.

He looks into your eyes before reaching out to the buckles around your waist slowly, giving you a chance to push him away, almost expecting you to. You drop your hands at your sides awkwardly, not knowing what to do with them or yourself when he starts working on your leathers. Expert fingers undo the buckle before pulling on the straps, unexpectedly tightening your armor in the process which pulls a startled gasp out of you. His hands move to grab your waist, surprised by your reaction. Wide hazel eyes meet yours at the sound, a heat spreading within them the longer he holds your gaze, hands frozen around your waist.

All your senses are overwhelmed with him so close, staring down at you like that. The only thing you can think of is the kiss you shared a few nights ago, your entire body begging to repeat the action as he looks down at you with the same passionate look he had worn then. He seems to be reminded of the same, perhaps of similar moments from your previous life, even more scandalous ones surely.

Thankfully, some of your common sense finds you before you could do something stupid like pull him down to you and taste him again, the thought making you look away from him and clear your throat, hoping he breaks from the spell and lets you pretend it didn't happen. This prompts him to keep buckling the leathers, with an urgency he didn't have before, and you look down with him, following his movements even though your mind isn't actually registering any of them as you try to calm your breathing and not think of the way his hands feel around your waist. You'll likely need his help fastening everything tomorrow as well.

“These are meant to cross so the leathers are molded to your body and there are no openings,” he tries to explain as he finishes and moves back, but you can tell he's as affected by your little moment as you were.

You nod at him, “There were a lot of straps, I wasn't sure which ones belonged where. Some of them don't even look like they have a purpose,” you finish as you play with the straps around your wrists, the ones you really couldn't figure out.

“Those are for your gloves,” he explains, a somewhat endeared look crossing his face. “I didn't think you'd need them but you can put them on. Though I'm not sure how they will behave with your powers now.”

“Did I not have these powers before?” You hadn't thought of the possibility but if the spell could erase your memories maybe Norris could have found a way to give or take powers. Just the thought of it brings a chill down your spine.

“You did, but you've gotten a lot stronger,” there was a hint of pride in his words, though the somber meaning hung between you. No matter how hard you practiced and how well they could have trained you here, the results wouldn't be as fast or maybe as clean as the ones resulting from the guild's harsh training. The guild had no problem pushing you past your limits, you either adapted and got stronger or you'd die and be replaced. You suppose you never had to use your powers to torture people before either.

“When this all ends we could spar together,” you sound hesitant even to your own ears, “Maybe I'm even stronger than you by now.” You haven't talked about what will happen after all of this, you can't know for sure what you'll want to do when you recover your memories. You also keenly aware you had just been telling yourself you wouldn't make it easy on him, but ended up seconds away from kissing him and inviting him to spar with you as soon as you saw him.

“I'd like that,” he nods, a reddish tint rushing to his ears. He makes it unbearably hard to even remember why you were upset with him in the first place. It takes everything in you not to lean into his genuineness and forget it ever happened. You bite your lip and give him a small nod of your own, “Are you ready then? We should go.”

“I wanted to talk to you before we left,” his voice takes on a serious tone, regret peeking through every word.

“Maybe this is not the right time. They're probably waiting for us,” you offered, not really sure how to go about having this conversation after what had just happened, even if the curiosity was killing you. It was clear you couldn't keep a level head when it came to Azriel.

“No, I can't…” he cuts himself off, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh, a heavy sound coming from deep in his chest as if he’s been pushing it down for a long time. He looks scared somehow, his wings pulling in tighter to his body and his shadows crawling up his shoulders as if comforting, or even encouraging him. You let him find his composure, find the right words to explain the situation. This feels bigger than a silly argument when adrenaline was pumping through both your veins and that gnawing feeling in your chest comes back, getting stronger with every breath, making you think this might be something he's carried on from the time you were still married.

Azriel opens his eyes after a few moments, the emotions swirling in them enough to make you breathless, and reaches his hand out to yours, waiting for you to accept it and then squeezing it tight as if he needs the reminder that you're real.

“I need you to know I wasn't trying to keep any secrets from you or order you around as you said,” he starts lowly, shiny hazel eyes alternating between watching your hands clasped together and staring deep into your eyes, “We've had this conversation many times before. I know you don't remember but I need you to know I never meant to make you think I want to have any sort of power over you.” He brings your hand up to his chest then, spreading your palm right over his beating heart as he continues, eyes never straying from yours, “I know you can handle yourself, and I know you want to be there when Norris tells you everything. I wasn't trying to keep you away from the dungeon because I didn't think you could handle it.”

“Then why?” Your voice is but a whisper, not wanting to disturb the vulnerable moment.

“I never let you see me down there before, know the monster I have to become. You tried, many times, but I never allowed it. I've always been too afraid of what your reaction would be,” he presses his hand down on yours a little harder as his heart beat picks up, “It would kill me if you were ever scared of me, if you couldn't love me anymore after learning who I am. I was so scared of losing you. Scared that you would ever look at me with fear in your eyes instead of love.”

You let your gaze fall to the way he presses his and your hand to his chest, letting his heartbeat lead yours. It takes a moment for you to process his admission. From what he told you before you thought you had been open with each other throughout your marriage, but it seems there were parts of him he kept hidden even from you, especially from you.

Moments like these always leave you in a weird position. You can't speak for the old version of you, as much as you want to believe that you wouldn't leave him, would never feel scared of him, when your love for him transcended your memories as if it was written down into your bones, the truth is you don't remember her at all. Maybe she would have been scared, maybe his worries hadn't been completely unwarranted then. The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

You turn your hand around, your palm no longer pressed against his chest in favor of holding onto his hand, your other hand joining in as you massage the rough skin and let them fall between you two, needing something familiar to ground yourself while you think of what to say. You twist his wedding ring around his finger once, closing your eyes at the tremble that runs through him at the motion, the way even his wings droop to the floor. The fact that he lets you touch him like this makes things so much harder sometimes.

“I've seen a lot of monsters. You're not one of them, Azriel. Far from it,” you start carefully, “and… I'm not sure how I was like before, if seeing you down there would have really been too much for me to handle but if I truly loved you like I think I did, then I know it wouldn't have mattered. There's nothing about you I see as unlovable.”

“Loved,” a broken mumble between you, not a question. This makes you look up at him. You want to deny it, tell him you still love him, but you can't make sense of the feelings inside you, can't say for sure what will happen to them when you regain your memories. Most of all, you don't want to hurt him, give him hope when he already lost so much, when you already hurt him so much.

You drop his hand, taking a small step back. “I'm not the same person you used to know, and recovering my memories might not bring her back either. Most of what's left is just my body.”

“It doesn't matter,” he says so matter-of-factly it almost makes you want to believe him.

“Azriel-”

“No,” he brings both of his hands to hold onto your face gently, giving you no option but to look into his eyes, “I love you. That didn't change when you died or over the century that followed, when I didn't think I would ever see you again. It didn't change when I saw you in the townhouse or even when you stabbed me. And it won't change whether you get your memories back or not, if you choose to stay or not.”

“I don't love you,” the words stumble out desperately, tears gathering in your eyes, “I don't even remember you, Azriel.”

“That doesn't change it either,” he smiles, thumb caressing your cheek softly. You know he means it then, know there's no way to change his mind even if for his own good. You can only pray to the Mother that your memories don't give you any unpleasant surprises. You're trying so hard to keep his heart safe, why must he keep offering to rip it out of his chest for you?

His expression changes abruptly as you're lost in thought and soon after you feel a presence in your mind before Rhysand's voice comes through. I hope I'm not interrupting anything. Azriel's hands drop from your face then, a scowl overcoming his features. You can only imagine the words he's throwing at his brother in his mind, but Rhysand's voice returns, noticeably more amused, Our break is over. It's time to meet them back at the dungeon. I take it you'll fly our captive back? The answering growl that comes from the shadowsinger actually makes you hide a chuckle behind your hand. His gaze softening once again when he notices the gesture.

Despite the timing and the way he insisted on addressing you as “captive” to rile Azriel up, you could actually thank Rhysand for breaking you away from the moment. He's right, you've rested more than enough and it's now time to go back and finish what you started. You only have the luxury of dealing with your marriage after Norris is gone and you could actually remember your husband.

The flight to the dungeon is a lot easier this time as your prior annoyance was replaced with strangely welcomed awkwardness and a tinge of bashfulness. As much as you tried to deny it, you can't pretend Azriel's admission hadn't made your heart want to leap out of your chest. You don't think anyone could have remained impartial to such a confession, especially coming from a male like Azriel, but as soon as you step into the dungeon, you feel yourself morph back into the cold assassin. You could even feel Azriel's mask fall over his face as well, ready to resume what you'd started before.

This same routine is repeated for a few days, slowly but surely wearing the formidable assassin down. It wouldn't be long until Rhysand or Feyre could read through his mind completely even if he didn't willingly tell you anything. This sentiment was felt among all of you, it's like you could all taste how close he was to breaking.

You came back from one of your mandatory breaks to see Cassian leaning by the cell door, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at your prisoner as Amren stood in the middle of the cell covered in blood, a wicked grin on her face as Norris looked the most unsettled you'd ever seen him. She was told to hold back in the first days but since Norris insists on resisting, Rhysand had allowed her to toy with him. You truly hope you never cross her, just the thought of the things she could do makes every hair on your body stand.

Everyone stays in the room this time, knowing it's only a matter of time. Azriel takes over once more, every slash of his knife meant to give Norris unimaginable pain, completely focused on making the short remaining of his life as miserable as he can.

The difference between the male who had confessed his undying love to you, held your hand as if you were the most precious thing in this world, and the one expertly carving out your former handler's body was almost unbelievable. Azriel's face showed nothing but anger, and even then you knew it wasn't even a quarter of the seething fury burning inside of him. This wasn't your doting husband, this was the Spymaster.

You feel Rhysand's dramatic show of power before you see him walk into the cell, hands in pockets as if he was walking into his kitchen instead of a seedy dungeon reeking of blood and sweat. He passes by you and joins Azriel in tormenting Norris, letting sharp black talons run across the mental walls he's been so desperate to maintain. The smirk on his mate's face, who leans against the table calmly by your side, tells you they might even be teaming up on him.

Fatigue was starting to eat away at everyone the longer you spent inside the windowless cell, but, as Norris smirks lessened and his bared teeth stopped being enough to hide the obvious grunts of pain, his skin paling considerably as his blood pooled at his feet, it was clear that you were on the right track, only needed to keep pushing.

Your handler had started answering more questions too, if only to keep you distracted and away from any blades long enough. It's hard to believe that the male you've been frightened of for a century is the same one chained in front of you. If it weren't for the stubbornness and the pride he's managed to keep somehow, you wouldn't have believed it at all.

“This whole mission was a gamble. We couldn't know for sure if they'd written you off their wards even if they thought you were dead. When you walked in so easily I thought it would be a piece of cake from there. Seems I was wrong.” You had guessed as much. At the time, being sent to an unknown place on such short notice seemed strange and sloppy for how usually crafted the guild's plans were, but knowing what you do now, it makes sense. Not only were you written into the wards as he said, but if it hadn't been for the strange nostalgic feelings inside you, Azriel would have let you escape, you would have even killed him to do so.

“The spell should have sealed your memories and feelings tight,” Norris continues as if sensing your thoughts, “I'm not sure what is trying so hard to claw its way out from behind those walls.” He tilts his head to the side and pauses as if he found the answer and that self-assured smirk reappears on his lips. The sight makes your skin crawl, your powers reacting with you and sending an icy chill into the room. Temperature dropping as his smirk only widens even more and Azriel looks at you with a worried expression before catching himself. “Maybe I just messed up the spell,” he dismisses.

“What do you mean?”

“It is a tricky spell,” he shrugs nonchalantly, knowing that's not what you asked. Azriel moves before you, Truth Teller slashing across his skin for the millionth time, but Norris seems intent on keeping at least this last piece of information to himself. There's more to this, you know there is, but the interrogation moves on to matters of the guild. Rhysand is still worried that they will come for you now that you've deserted, and that they will bring harm to his beloved court.

Within the next few hours, Norris' healing stops being able to keep up with his injuries, even his voice losing strength. It seems like he was focusing the remaining of his energy on keeping his mental walls safe, but it's not long until you see Rhysand's smirk grow, a satisfied wicked thing on his face.

You watch as Norris' head goes limp, unfocused eyes dropping to the ground as the High Lord searches through his mind, probably making it as unpleasant as he possibly can. Your heart starts beating faster in your chest, anxiety building up at the thought that this could have all been for nothing, that Norris might not have the answer after all. You feel a hand on your shoulder but don't even have the mind to look back and check who is trying to comfort you.

When he finally steps back, he simply gives you a nod and a breath of relief escapes you as you stare back into Norris' eyes. You watch Azriel and Rhysand share a look in the corner of your eye, never daring to look away from Norris' defeated face. Within moments everyone starts clearing out of the cell in silence, leaving you and your shadowsinger standing over the prisoner.

It's only when Azriel's hand reaches for yours, tugging on it to get your attention that you look away. His eyes don't give away much and he doesn't say the words, but as he places Truth Teller in the palm of your hand, you know exactly what he means. He nods at you once and drops your hand, taking a step back and giving you space.

You look down at the dagger in your hands, the same one you had held to wound the male who now handed it to you, the one you'll now use to set yourself free. Describing the feeling running through your body is impossible, you always thought you'd die in the guild, as an assassin. Never even dared to think you could be more, never thought it would be possible to get out alive and find a life for yourself. You thought you'd be scared at the prospect but you can only feel excitement and relief.

Not wanting to waste any more time, you walk to Norris and pull on his hair to lift your face to his, so he can see all the hate and anger in your gaze before you stab the knife through his right eye slowly, making sure to get it through his brain, deep enough that no amount of healing or any trick he might have had up his sleeve would be able to save him, and twisting it around. You don't move for a few moments, listening for his heartbeat and paying attention to the blood seeping out of the wound. It's only when you're sure he's dead, that his heart is completely quiet and enough blood has poured out, that you pull the knife out with a squelching sound, flicking it down to get rid of most of the blood and any pieces of flesh stuck to it.

You hesitate for a moment before turning back, meeting Azriel's eyes. As much as you'd told him there was no need for him to worry of your opinion of him changing after witnessing what he did to Norris, of ever being afraid of him, you had hypocritically been scared of letting him see you like this, of seeing the cold blooded killer you had become, so far detached from the wife in his memories.

All your worries are proven baseless however. The only thing you can distinguish in his eyes is relief, at having the answer to getting your memories back and having the person responsible for your pain killed. You can't help the smile growing on your face, not caring for how it must look against the blood covering most of your body, and wrap your arms around Azriel's neck, pulling him down into a hug as a sigh of relief escapes you, tears rising to your eyes and flowing down your cheeks. His arms come around you immediately, tightening his grip on you and burying his face in your neck, tears of his own wetting your skin.

You're finally free.

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[queen-of-hawkins-why-ler]

Am I the only one who thinks that the thematic and narrative climax of s5 (and low key the whole show) will be almost a direct parallel to the "You said yes" scene from s2?? Like same exact narrative and cinematic setup of Will being controlled by Vecna to the point where he's nearly gone or on the brink of death, and Mike being able to bring him back to reality with words of love???

Like I low key feel like that scene in s2 was supposed to serve as a precursor and foreshadowing to the climax of Byler rather than just standing on its own as an isolated event. We always talk on here about how Mike's monologue to El in s4 was supposed to directly contrast that scene and demonstrate how false and unnatural Milkvan's supposed "love" is, but we never really talk about just how awkward of a placement it is for the true and "authentic" love confession (Byler s2) to precede the clunky and false one (Milkvan s4). Like, imo it kind of leaves things on an awkward note and kind of hanging.

The only way it wouldn't be awkward or unfinished is if there ends up being a followup scene/parallel to the "you said yes" scene, and I think this is what's going to happen. I think Mike's monologue to El comes after the more romantic, authentic confession not only because it's supposed to contrast it but because the show is serving us two different "choices," two different options for Mike, two different scenarios. Not just for the sake of his character arc but in a meta sense as well, kind of like asking the audience, "which choice makes the most sense for Mike given the events up until now and the themes of the show? Can he be his most authentic and happiest self with Will or El?" And the natural followup to posing this dichotomy would be to answer this question for us by showing us in no uncertain terms why Will makes more sense for Mike as a long-term love interest.

The other reason why I believe this to be the case is because of the blocking of the s2 scene and the way it's set up: with Will being unable to move, unable to say anything or regain any control, and with Mike opening up and being vulnerable about his true feelings for Will [here comes the most important part lol] IN FRONT OF the other characters like Jonathan and Joyce (I can't remember if it was the entire rest of the cast in this scene or just those two?? I think it might've been everybody bc weren't they trying to get Will to communicate with them using morse code? I don't remember lmao) but anyways, I don't think it was a coincidence that Mike gave his grand "Do you remember the first day that we met?" speech not only to Will himself but in front of the other characters. Remember as well that Mike also confessed his "love" for El in front of an audience, and I don't think that's a coincidence either. I think it's leading to a final confession from Mike that will also take place in front of an audience and will serve as the "choice" that Mike makes between El and Will as well as the "choice" the Duffers present as being the correct narrative and thematic choice for the show. It's important that Mike's initial two confessions took place in front of an audience and also that his final one will, because this will also serve as Mike's "coming out" moment to the rest of the characters and to the audience. I think that Mike is going to have a second speech to Will that isn't just "I love you I love you I love you" over and over again like it was to El. It will be sweet and unique to Will and Byler's relationship except this time it will be explicitly, undeniably romantic so that no one will be able to even think that what he feels for Will is anything short of genuine, passionate, romantic love.

I wouldn't even be surprised if what Mike says closely parallels what he said to El except basically the opposite, alluding to the fact that it wasn't "love at first sight" for him but a slow, gradually building and gradually cultivating love that blossomed over the course of his entire life. Instead of "I knew then and there that I loved you" like he did to El, he could say something like, "I didn't realize it yet when I met you, and I'm not even sure I know when it happened, but I think I've spent my entire life slowly falling in love with you." And he says it with tears in his eyes and in front of all of the rest of the characters, who will also be crying (especially Joyce lol). And of course Will will just be sobbing even through Vecna's control over him, but it will be Mike's love that ultimately frees him from Vecna's hold over him. This would make sense, because unlike El, Will's story has never been about independence and breaking himself free, but about him and Mike breaking themselves free through teamwork a la "I think that we should work together. I think it'll be easier if we're a team."

[enwonz]

safe and sound | n.rk

in which a stranger tells you the things you want to hear most.

pairing — academic overachiever reader x stranger ni-ki, hurt/comfort

w/c — 1.4k

tw — reader’s kinda depressed and has terrible self-esteem, mention of throwing self out a window

the ink burns red, red, red.

you’re fighting it, fighting yourself. eyes stinging as everyone around you mills about asking for scores. tests like these are everything, to overachieving students like the ones in your class.

except you, that is.

your friends come over, but their hands on your shoulders are icy even though it’s the middle of april. “how’d you do? it wasn’t as bad as i thought, but you never know with those teachers.”

“you first.” stalling for time, you force your lips into what has to be the most strained smile ever. miracle they don’t see through it. you pray they never will.

your friends rattle off a few scores. not stellar, but good enough. not a disaster, like you-

no, no. you can’t do this here. not now.

subtly you turn your paper over so they can’t see the score, grinning again. “that’s pretty good.” do they get the hint? maybe not, but eventually they move on to find someone else to bother. you thank god for that little mercy they’re giving you, at the very least.

unfair. unfair, unfair, unfair-

the bell rings, and the others start picking up their bags to leave. and if your friends try to drag you to the mall, you shrug and whip out some random worksheet that isn’t even due in the next week. or maybe you don’t. it’s hard to remember when you’re using up any energy you have left trying not to throw yourself out the window.

pretty soon it’s just a few girls left, but it’s not for another twenty minutes that they all leave. and you just sit there, letting the crimson burn into your fingers, your colourless cheeks, your chapped lips. red is shame. red is failure. and you let it stew in your stomach and pray it gets digested before any custodian comes to check on you at the end of the school day when he comes to lock up. god forbid anyone see you like this, the resentment roiling and turning in your gut.

the silence is deafening. blood roars in your ears, even as the school bell chimes and you hear the last of the footballers outside cheer. how the hell is anyone happy at all, and you’re just sitting there withering away in your own self-made prison? you can’t even cry, god knows you don’t even deserve it, because this really is your fault. your fault for being too hesitant, too panicked, while everyone else goes on with you still hanging in the balance grasping for just one chance.

maybe now you’ll never prove yourself. maybe this is it, the final nail in the coffin that destroys everything you’ve ever worked for. three failing grades in the same day. screwed up all your interviews this week. it’s as though you’re cursed to defile everything you touch — damned if you hope, damned if you don’t.

the classroom door must have clicked open, because before you can scramble to your feet to leave, there’s a boy standing in front of your desk. he’s got this weird look in his eyes, all calculating and scrutinising. it’s as though his line of sight is a laser that pierces open everything you try to stuff under your skin. twirling between his fingers is a little key, presumably for the classroom doors. “didn’t expect anyone to be here at this hour.”

you’ve seen him around before. he’s in the class next to you - what was he, their class rep? either way, you can’t quite place his name, but his presence alone is enough to get you on your feet. “s-sorry, i’ll get going now.”

but as you haphazardly shove your things into your backpack, the test paper flutters to the ground in slow motion, landing right as his feet. oh no no no don’t pick it up don’t-

but of course it finds its way into his hands, and you can tell he’s trying not to peek but he sees anyway. that awful, awful 12/25 on your paper. and you avert your gaze as you take it from his grasp, because how could you possibly expect anything but pity from a complete stranger?

and gosh, do you detest pity.

“wait.” before you can run off, his hand wraps around your shoulder, the unexpected warmth stopping you in your tracks. he’s studying you again, trying to read what you imagine must be an impossibly despondent look on your face. it would be rude to shrug him off, and you almost do, until he gestures out the window. “it’s…raining,” he gulps out. and what do you know, it is. just your luck.

you shiver, tightening your grip on the straps of your backpack. “i’ll be fine.”

“at least take my umbrella. i’ll walk you to the gate.”

“…okay.”

so you walk in silence down three floors, each step sending tingles shooting up your previously-numb legs. maybe the boy can tell, because he swaps sides with you so you can grab onto the railing. maybe you wanted the company a little more than you’d like to admit.

as you finally reach where the shelter ends, you look away. “keep your umbrella, i’ll be alright.”

but there’s a strange grimace on his face as he pushes the umbrella into your unclenched hands. “no, you’re not. at least, you won’t be. not unless you keep yourself safe and dry. wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

you can’t help it. the words slip out before you even realise they’re on your tongue. “why do you even care?” oh shit, that came out ruder than you’d intended, and you want to slap your hand over your mouth and apologise a hundred times over, but it’s too late for that now.

the boy pauses, his silence unreadable as he eyes you once again. it’s starting to be a little more than unnerving, the way he sees through barriers you didn’t even know you had up. "because i don’t think you deserve to sit in an empty classroom alone trying not to cry…? you looked awful.”

“...thanks.”

he slaps his palm over his head. “no, not like that. i meant that you looked like your world had come crashing down. it…it hasn’t, okay? you’ll be alright. one step after another, and you’ll get wherever you wanna go. you’re trying as hard as you can and you should be proud of yourself for that.”

how can a complete stranger know exactly what you’ve always wanted to hear? your chest aches with the affirmation of a nameless boy, who’s smiling at you with a softness that makes you want to throw your arms around him and sob, decorum be damned. he’s so good. too good.

at last, you take hold of the umbrella, an inexplicable warmth blossoming in your chest and throat. you can feel the flood of tears you’ve been holding back the whole afternoon threatening to surface, but this time it’s triggered by the gentleness with which he opens the umbrella with a soft click, grinning at you as he gives your shoulder a light squeeze. “go on. don’t worry about returning the umbrella, okay?”

“i’ll see you around, y/n.”

and with that, he sprints off into the pouring rain, the file he’s holding over his head almost comical. the giggle that escapes you startles you out of your stupor, and it’s only then that you realise you’ve been staring, watching him go.

but he’ll be back. maybe not tomorrow, or the day after, but you’ll see him again. and you’ll wait.

you’re so lost in thought that you don’t even think to question why nameless boy knows your name.

with a crash, nishimura riki bursts through the front door, hair dripping water all the way along the corridor.

“riki! you’re making the whole place wet! where’s your umbrella?”

he sighs, shaking off his waterlogged shoes. despite his sister’s constant nagging and the rainwater soaking through his clothes, there’s a giddy smile on his face. “lent it to a friend.”

“...it was a girl, wasn’t it?”

at this point, he doesn’t even care anymore, flopping to the ground as his wet clothes slap against the wooden floors. “you don’t understand, nee-san. she’s the girl. i finally, finally got to talk to her. I’m-”

“GET OFF THE FLOOR ALREADY BISCO’S LICKING UP THE RAINWATER!”

a/n — hi pookies it’s been a while…i’m not built to be an academic weapon lololol. my final exam of the term’s next thursday, so i’ll probably be able to churn out more stuff after that. immediately after i type this im gg to pomodoro my way thru life again send help-

ALSO NO THIS IS NOT A CRY FOR HELP okay goodbye lovelies (@stariikis consider this a thank you for the jw fic)

[ladykailitha]

Well Met By Moonlight Part 13

Hey, guys do you all remember that period of time when I was working on this story but refused to show you snippets of it on WIP Wednesdays? Yeah, this is that chapter. (I'm pretty sure, anyway. Because this shit was super spoilery.)

We finally get what happened to Steve and why he didn't grow up as Pack. This chapter does get a little dark in its themes so be careful when you read and if you need specifics, DM me and I'll fill you in.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

****

Eddie and Wayne landed in front of their trailer with a deft touch. Eddie still wasn’t over the joy of being able to fucking fly. Like sure when he was younger, Wayne would take him for flights occasionally, but nothing beat banking on a breeze as the wind lifted him higher and higher.

“Your boy’s got a mouth on him,” Wayne said gruffly as he walked up the stairs to their trailer.

Eddie chuckled. “Always had. Even in school.”

Wayne huffed out a laugh. “True enough.”

As soon as they were safe inside, Eddie asked, “Hey, do you remember that couple who took Stevie in when his parents died?”

Wayne frowned. “You mean the Franklins?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

Eddie snapped his fingers. “Yeah, them. Why was Steve placed with them? And not, I don’t know, the pack?”

“Ah.”

Wayne went to the kitchen and pulled out a six pack of beers. “That’s a bit of story. Drink up, you’ll need it for this.”

Eddie opened up a can of beer and settled in for story time.

Wayne downed an entire beer and wiped his mouth off with his sleeve.

“Hopper had gotten bad,” Wayne began. “Like real bad.”

“You’ve mentioned that before. That was around the time I came to live with you, right?”

Wayne nodded. “It wasn’t just drinking. It was drugs, too. And not just weed, either. I’m talking the heavy stuff.”

Eddie nodded. He had sold said heavy stuff to Hopper just before he cleaned up with El coming into his life. When Wayne asked him why, Eddie told him that he had no idea what he was doing with it and honestly didn’t care.

Knowing what Eddie did now, he regretted it, but he was so close to being able to afford his Warlock that that was all he cared about at the time.

“Steve’s dad Clint Harrington was getting ready to challenge Hopper for the position of alpha,” Wayne continued. “He knew that he might kill Hopper, but at that point it probably would have been a mercy.”

Eddie nodded solemnly. Maybe if Clint Harrington had lived, lived to be the alpha, the town wouldn’t be experiencing the troubles it was now.

“So what happened?” he asked gravely.

“Allison’s father died out in New York,” Wayne said. “The timing of it was so suspect, Ed. Like, you know I hate conspiracies with every fiber of my being, because there rarely is one. But this smelled rank from the get go.”

“You think whoever had the Harringtons killed,” Eddie said, “you think also popped off Granpappy, too, don’t you?”

Wayne glared at him, but conceded the point. “Whatever happened to the Harringtons was bad, boy. Like their bodies were savaged–”

He stopped and his eyes went wide. “It was exactly like this morning. I couldn’t tell the scent then, just like I couldn’t now.”

Eddie nodded. “As near as I could tell, there wasn’t a scent to be had. Whatever it was who killed the Harringtons and attacked Patrick, didn’t leave behind a scent.”

“There are very few things in this world that leave a scent so minuscule I could barely detect it,” Wayne said.

Eddie nodded. “So what happened with Steve after they died?” He was interested in the other thing, but he was really worried about his boyfriend.

“The old mayor, Larry Kline and I,” Wayne said amused, “made the decision that the pack wasn’t safe for Steve. But despite what Steve thinks the Franklins weren’t human.”

Eddie frowned. “They weren’t?”

“They were Were too,” he said with wary tilt of his head. “Were-bat. We figured that with them being at least Weres would be able to teach him how to shift and how to shift back comfortably.”

“So what went wrong?” Eddie asked, moving closer to Wayne on the sofa. “Because holy hell, pops, if Steve had been human CPS would have been called and fast.”

Wayne drank more of his beer and then rubbed one eye with the other hand. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. There were no indications that Steve was anything other than a kid who’s parents died and was adjusting to it. Yeah, he wasn’t exactly happy, but we didn’t expect him to be, you know?”

“So what changed?”

Wayne drank the last of his beer and set it on the coffee table. “They were away on a trip and I don’t know if they forgot, didn’t care, or planned it... but Steve wolfed out for the first in his entire life when he was eighteen.”

“What?!”

Weres were supposed to shift for the first time when they hit puberty. Early teens for most of them. But to not shift until you were eighteen was just begging for the Were to go insane.

“Fucking hell, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie groaned. “Whoever this is is playing a long ass game. Jesus Christ. They were hoping he would go crazy, ending the Harrington line for good. So what happened?”

Wayne licked his lips. “Steve ran to me. He was frightened. Terrified out of his mind. Old Mack nearly shot the poor bastard as he came tearing through the trailer park.”

“Jesus H. Christ...” Eddie whispered.

Wayne chuckled. “It wouldn’ve done shit, it was just a regular bullet, it wouldn’ve even slowed him down.”

Eddie breathed a sigh of relief. “So what stayed Mack’s hand then?”

“You’ve seen your boy in wolf form,” Wayne said, “can you imagine how beautiful he looked then? The cream of his under belly blending with the warm brown of his back and face as he tore down the gravel pavement?”

Eddie could imagine it in fact. Steve was gorgeous as a human, but as a werewolf? He was exquisite. It came from his mixed breeding of being born from another born werewolf and his turned wife. Born werewolves tended to be more timber wolf in their appearance. Almost dire wolf-esque. Big, with course fur and fierce. Bitten werewolves tended toward the smaller red wolves. Quick, slender, and cunning as hell.

Steve was a mix of these two breeds and it made him the most beautiful thing on four legs Eddie have ever scene.

“To fire at something so majestic would have been a travesty,” Wayne was saying when Eddie came back from his revery. “So Mack just stood there, rifle in hand as Steve made straight for my door.”

Eddie frowned. “Where was I? I don’t remember this.”

“You and your friends had gone to Indy for some concert or another,” Wayne said. “I don’t rightly recall.”

Eddie’s frown got deeper, he’d only gone to one concert with his friends in Indy because one of the ‘85 Hellfire Club members had gotten tickets for graduation and had taken all of them.

“Is that why you weren’t home when I got back into Hawkins?” he asked. “You were dealing with Steve?”

Wayne nodded and popped open another bottle of beer. He held one up to Eddie, but he shook his head. Eddie held up his still mostly full can. Wayne licked his lips.

“You’ll want to drink more of that,” he muttered.

Eddie did as he was told and it took the edge off of his anxiety but settled sour in his stomach.

“After I got Steve sedated,” Wayne said, “and yes it was fucked up I even had to in the first place, I went a paid the Franklins a visit.”

“That sounds ominous,” Eddie said flatly.

Wayne grinned. “They tried to tell me that they were frightened of Steve. That as a wolf he was much bigger than they were as bats. That all it would take was one snap of his giant jaw and they would be but a morsel to the boy.”

Eddie blinked at his uncle in confusion. “What now? His first change would have been a literal puppy. He wouldn’t have even been able toddle after them, let alone get within biting distance.”

Wayne huffed. “Right in one, boy. And if they had been teaching him from his first change on, he wouldn’t have thought of them as prey at all. Not even on moon nights.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“And then they tried to attack me,” Wayne continued.

“They did what?” Eddie squawked.

“They probably would have succeeded, too,” he said, “but apparently Steve is a hard wolf to keep down and followed me like a lost puppy. When he saw Dick Franklin raise a fucking yew stake to stab me in the back, Steve leapt on him.”

“Where the fuck did they get a yew stake?”

Wayne just shook his head. “The hell if I know, kid. But in comes this wolf and just snatches the damn thing out of Dick’s hand. He runs off with it Ella Franklin hot on his heels in bat form. Bats are fast and she catches up quickly. The problem is that in or out of bat form she knows she no match for Steve, so she tries to blind him by going for his eyes.”

Eddie’s hand covered his mouth as he listened to him go on about this horrible night.

“But despite what a lot of people think,” Wayne continued, “your boy ain’t dumb. He keeps his head down and makes right for the Creel House. He tosses the thrall on duty the stake and suddenly a werebat is face to face with Tammy Thompson, now holding a yew stake as Steve just continues running past the Coven.”

Eddie blinked. “I didn’t realize that Tammy’s family were thralls.”

“Just like the Perkins, Buckleys, and Hagans are hereditary keepers,” Wayne said with a nod, “the Thompsons, Carmichaels, and Bensons have always been hereditary thralls.”

Eddie was starting to think that he really should have paid closer attention to the hierarchies in school, they were a lot more important than he knew.

“Anywho,” Wayne said with a shake of his head. “Ella flies back to their house to find me beating the hell out of Dick. She manages to distract me long enough for Dick to get on his feet, but now it’s two against one and they’re still strong in their human forms, but wicked fast. I was able to take out Dick, the coward that he was, but Ella was proving to be too fast. She was going to get away.”

Eddie drank the rest of his beer and popped open another one. He leaned forward so that he was on the edge of the sofa, and his knee began to shake.

Wayne put his hand his knee to settle it, but Eddie stared at him wild eyed.

“I don’t have to finish if this bothering, Ed,” he said warmly. “I can give you the Cliffnotes.”

Eddie shook his head. “What happened next?”

“Just as she took flight, the thing they had always feared happened,” he said softly. “Steve’s jaws came down on her with a sickening crunch. Dick started spewing all sorts of curse words and things I didn’t understand. Something about how werewolves were a plague among the Weres and that they had to be exterminated and how if Steve hadn’t had my protection they would have drowned the bastard in the bathtub.”

“What. The. Fuck?” Eddie asked, can crumpling in his fist as it tightened on it.

“It didn’t mean anything until the events going on now,” Wayne said with a heavy sigh. He crumpled his can one handed and stared at the twisted mass. “But I think whoever it is who is trying to tear this community apart is getting desperate. They’re starting to make mistakes. And I think one day soon, this is all going to blow up in our faces.”

Eddie gulped, but nodded.

****

Tag List:

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie

@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

@goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

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@birbsauce @acingthecounts @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars @kultiras

[jazzyblusnowflake]

I've got one for ya. What were the first kisses in the N/V/Uzi relationship like. Uzi and N first, Uzi and V's first, and V and N's first.

(Bonus points for V and N's first kiss at the manner for some bittersweet angst)

Also, good golly gumdrops, love your stuff, even if you don't answer this one, still gonna keep enjoying

oh oh i love these kinds of ideas :"D tho it takes a bit of brain power to think of a good scene uhm.... lessee....

Ok so first up, although im still waiting for a canon first kiss for NUzi- since they are a thing now, i still like to think of something separate for my own version- [since obviously the main show isn't going towards a poly dynamic lmao]

See, we all know that the show is fast paced and its hard to find any empty spaces between each event, hell it almost feels like earth was blown apart and the DDs were on copper 9 the next day, Liam we need a fucking timeline order. 🙄 soooooo i personally like to imagine that there's a lot more time between events than is shown in the actual show. like- lets maybe put a few days between Uzi administrating N and V and the arrival of J and Cynessa- like.... maybe lets put a few NIGHTS between that??? what's the freaking rush 😭

But anyway yeah- i would put the first NUzi kiss somewhere around betwenn the camp and the flashback eps probably :p my idea would be that since the camp incidents, Uzi would be having a lot of bodily changes to deal with, one of which being her inability to tolerate the sun much anymore. other things would probably be the growth of literal flesh and blood and bones inside of her and lets make this morbid by adding her throwing up blood but keeping it a secret from everyone :p she may sneak back to the other two at night and stay with them- clearly shaken up- [V probably also being shaken up because on one hand she's terrified of seeing this transformation take place- but at the same time, she clearly cares enough about Uzi AND Ns happiness...] asking for help and advice- and the 3 grow closer during this. They practice with her for flying or controlling her tail- maybe some stuff on her control on oil hunger too. she probably also gets some fighting, sneaking and sparring practice with V-

//insert one of those cheesy moments where V riles up Uzi enough to tag her on the snowy ground but then realizes its the same position she got V in her solver!mode and starts panicking and pushing herself back- V getting back up and asking what the heck was that and Uzi just saying she doesn't want to hurt her and V is an insensitive jerk for making her spar with her in the first place and tries to fly away to calm down-..... which probably just ended with her falling face first in the snow and a lecture from both N and V.

overall they all started subconsciously getting even closer. tbh there's so many things i could add here but i gotta keep it a few NIGHTS not a few MONTHS until the next event 😭

either way during this i guess N and Uzi could have maybe ended up alone at some point- maybe after a flying lesson having gone right and they were a little too happy on top of a building or upturned bus or something lol- i imagine after a hug maybe Uzi asks if she could kiss N but quickly backtracks saying nvm it was stupid or something but N softly says its okay- //probably picks her up too, adding to her embarrassment- cuz she's short lmaooooo// and Uzi just decides to give a small unsure smooch- but decided to make it not too long. they decided to just hug after that to not let the other see them blushing like hell 😭 [also they didn't really decide anything after this cuz they are idiots????😭😭😭]

but anyway for the Vuzi first kiss i have no idea if or when V would return if she's been set to remain alive in the canon- but for me its probably when she appears again in her normal form, as herself. not a clone. Alice isn't alive to take the cores and make them sluggish with heat and the sentinels wouldn't have a chance against the solvers centipede lookin ass form.

Anyway if we consider that one way or another Uzi, N and V will meet up again, [and N and Uzi preferably get to share a better kiss this time-] the first thing Uzi is doing is landing a swift punch in Vs face and then kissing the daylights out of her- //confusing herself and everyone in the area in the process including V herself...// overall she would scold V on the whole "i trust you" shtick and leaving them alone- but yeah :p [ keep in mind that im also considering a few nights between when J and Cynessa show up and when they decide to actually go and find and search the labs, because PLOT REASONS :D ]

as for the first Envee kiss- ill do you one better and make it more angsty and say that N and V used to always spend time with each other and do silly things like hold hands in secret or send internal chat messages to eachother, draw and read books together- maybe N used to put flowers for her sometimes. But at some point a certain little corrupted drone started feeling possessive of her favorite "big brother" figure not spending time with her anymore...

one time, N had asked V if he could kiss her and at that they were both blushing messes but before V could respond they get interrupted- maybe by someone giving them orders or maybe by Cyn. either way, V quickly whispers to him "later, i promise" with a smile, making N happy and giddy. but the later never comes... V becomes comatose soon after... N sadly reading books to her and sometimes whispering to her to wake up and that she still has to keep her promise...

anyway after all things are said and done in the future and the solver is defeated- whether they are still living on copper 9 or any other planet idk- N, V and Uzi are all close, but since both N and V are close to Uzi, they also start spending more time with each other too. maybe one time on a walk or going out and about N was able to catch up with V and they reminisce about old memories they can now remember; and when V was finally able to open up a bit to N, he mentions that he still remembers the promise and asks her if he could kiss her again and she lets him.

and thaaaats all the brain power i have for tonight... i think... hope it made yall smile or cry or idk something lmao. :")

[tokyo-debunkers-headcanons]

ya know how jin usually wears his jacket uniform around his shoulders? my brain literally does not shut up abt this so would it be possible to request a romantic headcanon/drabble with frostheim and vagastrom boys where they give their jacket to the reader (and ur reasons for why you think they do) :’)

Thank you for sending in a request!

JIN KAMURAI

he doesn't give his jacket up easily, just be aware. And as stated before He's not big on PDA but I think he'd get a little jealous if they were out and about together. If they were really cold He'd give it up, but he'd absolutely complain about it first. (CAPTAIN! DRABBLE SPOTTED ON STARBURD SIDE!)

Jin glared around at the dirty Vagastrom pit. If it wasn't for MC being there for a mission, he wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this for fun. He didn't trust those thugs to make sure MC got back to their dorm okay. When he finally spotted them, he made a B line for them, noticing some general students getting too close for comfort. He stepped in, using his powerful voice and stigma, saying,

"Stand down you thugs!"

Jin swiftly walked up to a shocked looking MC, taking off his jacket and throwing it over their shoulders. He placed a hand on their shoulder, glaring daggers at the general students and guiding MC out of there. When they were out he grabbed their hand and started leading them. Without taking his eyes off of where he was going he said,

"From now on, whenever you come to this shit hole. You take my jacket, is that clear?"

TOHMA ISHIBASHI

Okay, Tohma would give them his jacket if they were cold but I think it would be more of a shield from others if that makes sense. Like to cover them up or to comfort them when something is happening. (WELCOME TO THE DRABBLE DOME!)

Tohma narrowed his eyes as he watched MC leaving Frostheim for the day. He had spotted some general students milling about and getting closer to MC. He stayed where he was until one of the students had tried to grab their arm. In what seemed like a flash, Tohma was there with his typical smile. He held on to the offending students wrist tightly, his composure never cracking. After a moment he let go of the students wrist, and slipped off his jacket, placing it over MC's shoulders. He looked down at them saying,

"Please do forgive them MC. It seems I will have to teach them proper guest etiquette"

KAITO FUJI

Kaito would TRY to give MC his jacket like he's seen in movies and magazines. But he would get WAY too worried about if there was some sort of stain on it from lunch or if it smelled weird. Like if its raining, he'd be too worried about the condition of the jacket to realize MC either ran for cover already.....or is already soaked from the rain. (WE ARE LIVING IN A DRABBLE WORLD! AND I AM JUST A DRABBLE GORL!)

Kaito took a deep breath and shifted his uniform jacket as he walked MC back to their dorm. He saw on his phone that it was supposed to rain today and he purposefully 'forgot' his umbrella. As they were walking it started to drizzle, before quickly turning into a downpour. Kaito thanked whatever diety was out there for this chance. He swiftly took off his jacket, draping it over their shoulders and grabbing their hand to run back to MC's dorm. He laughed along the way, picturing what it looked like to MC. what he thought was a cute scene from a movie.....was really him dragging MC by the hand in the pouring rain. When they finally DO make it back to MC's dorm, they're both sopping wet and MC says,

"Thanks for lending me your jacket and all Kaito.....but i hope you know there's a hole in one of the sleeves."

Kaito died a little inside when MC told him that.

LUCAS ERRANT "LUCA"

Luca, being the lovely English gentlemen he is. He will always give MC his jacket even if it's just a little windy. He would beat himself up if MC got sick when they were with him. (EXTRY EXTRY! DRABBLE FOR ENGLISH BOI!)

Lucas had sent MC a message to meet him in the library to do more research on both their curse and demons. He was making his way to the library, when he spotted them. He waved and jogged up to them, a small smile on his face. He grabbed their hand and gently squeezed it. Keeping their fingers interlocked while they walked together.

MC was mentioning something that happened in one of their classes when Luca felt a drop of something hit his nose. He looked up, noticing clouds overhead. Without hesitating he took off his jacket and placed it on top of MC's head to shield them from the rain. He pressed his hand against their lower back gently guiding them into the building. MC fussed over how he was wet, but he brushed it off with a smile and a soft hand on their cheek, saying,

"I'll be fine MC. I was more worried about you. I wouldn't ever want you to get sick. I promised to protect you after all"

ALAN MIDO

Okay to start with, Alan doesn't wear his jacket. He HAS one, he just doesn't wear it. He has a vest though so its CLOSE ENOUGH! But with his vest, they HAVE to tell him that they're cold AND ask him for his vest. He has no objection to give it to them if they're cold. But his mind is on other things, he's not gonna get the hint if they just tell him that they're cold.

Alan was on his back, working on one of the cars in the Vagastrom garage while he waited for his partner to show up. Tonight was supposed to be date night and they agreed to spend some time together doing seperate things (its called parallel play for those who don't know!). He rolled out to grab a drink of water and a different tool when MC walked in. They were holding their arms and shivering slightly. He greeted them and went back under to work on the car.

MC sat down on the couch and cleared their throat. Alan rolled back out and asked them what was wrong. When they told him it was cold, he offered to get them a blanket or something. When they refused that offer, he didn't know what else to do and went back under. MC sighed and got his attention by calling his name. He rolled back out and asked,

"Did you change your mind on that blanket?"

MC had not and just asked him straightforward,

"Alan sweetie, I'm cold. Can I please borrow your vest?"

He thought about it for a moment before telling them no, then getting up and walking away. MC sat there SHOCKED. For a moment they were upset, but after a minute or two, Alan came back with a uniform jacket, tossing it towards MC, saying,

"Wear that. It'll look better on you than me anyways"

SHOHEI HAIZONO "SHO"

I feel like Sho would hand MC his jacket whenever he's either about to cook, or about to fight. He'd give it to them if they were cold sure, but he'd complain about them not being prepared.

Sho made his way back to the Vagastrom dorms with bags full of ingredients. He texted his partner MC to show up with an appetite. He was glad to see MC already at the dorms by the time he got back and parked Bonnie (his bike) properly. He raced past them into the Vagastrom kitchen, urging them to follow.

When they came in, they saw Sho adjusting his bandana to keep the hair out of his face and taking off his jacket. He held it out to MC saying,

"Hang onto this for me babe. I'm about to make a master piece"

Seeing the fire in his eyes, MC gladly took his jacket, slipping it on and sitting down at the kitchen counter. They watched as he expertly cooked: cutting vegetables, frying and double frying meats, even his plating was mesmerizing to watch. When he was finished he set the hot plate down in front of MC with a smirk.

LEO KUROSAGI

Leo would NOT give them the jacket he wears. Its a very expensive jacket that he got from a brand deal. The only time he would willingly give MC his jacket is if something happened and they were really really upset (not at him though)

Leo sighed as he walked to MC's dorm. He didn't bother knocking as he came into the old cathedral. He looked around calling for MC. He eventually found them curled up in bed, sobbing. He cringed a bit, not entirely comfortable with such intense emotions. He took a minute to think before sighing dramatically. He sat down on the edge of the bed and threw his jacket over their sobbing form. He put a gentle hand on their back, saying,

"Just try not to get any tear streaks on it, okay?"

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

How to Writing multiple characters in a scene!!

Writing tips w/ Sunny (part 1, because I ramble and im positive ill end up doing this again if people want or for my own satisfaction)

This is just my methodology put in a way I think makes sense, if this doesnt apply to you thats okay everyone has different stradegies that work for them <33

SO lets begin.

"Rules" of writing multi character scenes + arcs, (First half is how to add them into a scene, second half is maintaining and not letting them vanish)

AHEM- Well there are four ways to place a character in a scene

Narration POV Aka the protagonist, this is the perspective ever present unless you CLARIFY the story is now through the lens of another character (Take for example my fic, while I play with multiple perspectives- a bulk is from Tims POV)

Secondary POV This is the character that DIRECTLY interacts with the narrator aka their "first point of contact" so to speak, they ground the narrator in the scene as not alone and is actually interacting with other people. (This DOES NOT have to be a speaking role, it can be purely observational if need be- but its the character that gets the most attention via the narrators perspective SIDE NOTE- THIS CAN SWITCH AS WELL)

Interactive POV Now we get to the "filling"- since Secondary doesn't need a direct tie to the narrator, you can have another character interact with the secondary character. But since they are not the focus of the scene its good to have a REASON they "Enter" or else if you spend so long giving the narrators perspective on #2 then you risk having someone "Materialize" in thin air. (This isnt really a concern unless you wait too long into the scene to go "Oh this guy exists-" you have time as you paint the reader a picture of the new enviornment/scene)

Enviorment POV Last but most certainly not least (and the one i've seen people struggle with the most) is the character that is PRESENT A N D NAMED- But serves no plot importance/relevance (to the narrator) during the opening part of the scene.

To put in better perspective- think of being in a room, The Narrator is you observing your surroundings (depending on POV style how "into the mind" of the narrator we go)

Secondary is the person you focus on, you hear their conversation, see their body language, expression, clothing, etc. They are the personal "focus" (there can be multiple as well)

Interactive is people SURROUNDING the focus, those who still play a semi active and visible role. They can either be within your line of sight interacting with the enviorment or speaking to a secondary/narrator character.

Enviorment is the person in the back of class that you know, but don't really register unless they do/say something- but you are still AWARE of their presence. CAREFUL NOT TO INTRODUCE THEM TOO LATE, OR ELSE YOU HAVE THE "MATERIALIZE" PROBLEM AGAIN

Now into a scene(aka recycling an old one)

Tim starred ahead silently from his side of the couch, watching Jason fidget with the soda tab on his shitty off brand Doctor Pepper he always insisted on getting. Around and around over and over, it was giving him second hand anxiety.

Thankfully they weren't forced to stay in the moment as Dick leaned over and pressed his shoulder into Jasons with a beaming smile "Oh come on it'll be fun"!

"Says you golden boy" Steph teased, half hanging off her chair and a foot almost knocking over Cass chip bag, only stopped by the fact Duke snatched it and moved it further along the table.

Well at least Damian seemed to be reacting rationally, seeming intent on slouching in on himself the more Dick tried to pull him and Jason together into a "group hug". It was a wonder his arms could even reach that far- even more so that they were still intact.

But Jason, like the rest of them, was weak to Dicks puppy dog eyes. Tim saw the moment he gave up a losing battle and his shoulders slumped in defeat, though his scowl ever present. "If I say yes will you fuck off"

"Ah ah language, we have children here"! Dick gasped, placing his ears on Damians ears which only earned him a snarl in return.

"I don't think Damian counts as a kid- and I just turned 16 which is basically an adult" Duke tried to defend, but his 'fierce glare' had less effect with his hand stuck in a bag of gummy worms.

Tim huffed- if Dick kept it up, they would end up with "family night", and he doubted all of them would come back alive.

(END SCENE)

Now to break down- Tim was of course the "Narrator" perspective that was viewing the scene, we get his insight even while not directly interacting with the characters just by his description tone.

Jason was of course the main "Secondary"character (though Dick was a mix as well) where the scene introduced by Tims perpective and tone by someone else in the enviornment.

Then you have Dick who is a perfect mix of Interactive character (how he entered the scene via movement, placing himself in perspective to the established other two) while shifting to have the most "scene impact" whilst still not being Tims focus.

Finally you have everyone else serving as Enviornment characters, with either a simple Line-action (ex-Steph) or a name drop in general placement (Cass) or establishment through movement, and only relevent later in the scene (Duke).

Damian kind of floats between, he is introduced via a reaction + Narrator observation, but then is mostly just an eviornment character. He is THERE but not really awknowleged beyond that.

NEXT- If that doesn't help much you can rely on "Environment rule"

Aka everyone is always doing something in any space they occupy- apply that to your characters. It can be as simple as when you have one character speak loudly to the narrating POV, another character shifts away or laughs.

They didn't need to speak nor did you need to detract from the tension/pacing of a scene by describing in detail their expression, positon, etc.

BUT in that moment your reader just clues in to "Oh okay x is here-" that is established, and whether or not x plays a role in a future scene within that enviornment doesnt matter much.

This is also the PERFECT oppertunity to give characterization. If a tense moment is going on you can have the narrator notice another character stiffen/flinch (aka affected by the conflict, even if not an active participant)

FINAL PART- MAINTAINING

This is where shit can hit the fan f a s t- getting a bunch of characters in a scene is one thing but keeping them there?? Hell at times.

But once again this all relies on "Narrator perspective" and unless you are switching narrators, you need a "cone of vision" to determine what is or isn't important unless you might break the tension of a scene.

Methods include-

Reactions

Two+ background characters interact (verbal or not)

Interact with enviornment

Enter/Leave a space (of note)

A sound registered but not explored (a chair creaking back, a glass dropping, snack bag rustling, or even my favorite which is the sudden absense of sound implying an audience)

"Incidents" (Someone drops something, attention goes to them for a sec- apology/oneliners, then switch back)

Check ins from NON NARRATOR, (or narrator, but usually works better to keep track of who is focused on who)

Characters don't need to be "ever present" just remind your reader they exist somewhere generally in the scene (and keep them in your back pocket)

But The best possible tool at your disposal?? BANTER.

Let characters interact, feel out their dyanmics- If you dont know how they interact in non tense situations, how does that change when tension amps up. Have a background character throw in a one liner- or the narrator observe a conversation they aren't a part of.

LET PEOPLE BE PEOPLE- And they basically write themselves

Last but not least- if you feel stuck or lost?? Treat EVERYONE like a narrator.

Who are they paying attention to? What are they seeing? How do they REACT to that? Do they speak up, do they tense, do they try and slip away or stay strong?

You don't need to know this for EVERY scene- but sometimes it helps out of a rut moment

ANYWAYYSS- This is my rant and personal methodology of how I place/maintain multiple characters. I hope this helps for anyone interested, if not find what works for you!!

My Asks are open if anyone wants me to give any other advice, tips, or just general ramblings about writing.

Otherwise,

Happy writing!!

[klutzyroses]

Sorry to bother I adored your panuck attack headcanons and was wondering plesse van you do it for the other suitor as well ? 🙏 Thank you Have a wonderful day 😍

I wasn't entirely sure which suitors you wanted in particular so I picked 4. Have a wonderful day~

IkeVamp HCs: Panic Attack pt.2

Suitors: Arthur, Isaac, Comte, Vlad

Arthur

As frivolous as one may have the impression he is, when the time really calls for it, he will step up.

When the woman started to get anxious, he picked up on it immediately. Being as observant as he was, he noticed the telltale signs.

Jittery movements, agitated breathing, flushed face, all the signs of an incoming breakdown. The mystery author has had anxious patients before, it was nothing all that foreign to him.

Stopping a panic attack as it begins is no easy feat, so he knows its better to either prevent it, or damage control.

He would gently guide her away and sit her on his lap, rubbing her arms as he whispered soothingly to her.

"Let's breathe luv. Deep breaths, there you, my darling..."

He cupped her face and encouraged her to focus on him. When she calmed, he praised her and made sure she was alright, having her drink something warm and keeping an eye on her mood afterwards.

He would basically be the best comfort.

Isaac

Okay...he is a bit hopeless here at first...

He genuinely felt at a loss when she started to hyperventilate and quivering, behaving like a cornered animal ready to attack and defend herself.

To be honest, he had half the mind to find Napoleon, he always knew what to do but...

He couldn't allow another man to take care of his woman.

So, to the best of his ability, he tried to handle the situation himself. He took her to his room and sat alone with her, holding her hand. He hoped the quiet place would sooth her frayed nerves, drawing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.

He kept this up until her hand tightened around his, indicating she was regaining her control.

"Are you...okay now?"

He hesitated to tell her that seeing her like that had been scary, he had thought for a moment she was having a heart attack.

From then on, he would be just a tad more wary about things that could frighten or unsettle her.

Comte

He had seen so many tragedies, disasters, horrors that had jaded him to that sort of anxiety, to the point he nearly forgets that his cherie was not quite of the same metal.

When she started to fall apart, he reacted immediately, taking her in his arms when her legs gave out, shielding her in his embrace.

He had her listen to his calming voice, tenderly brushing her hair from her face as he pressed his forehead to hers, bring one of her hands to his lips.

His eyes never left her teary, wide ones as his presence started to ease her anxiety. Her vulnerability both hurt and touched him at once, feeling a surge of protectiveness.

"Mon diamant, your tears make my heart ache, tell me what can I do for you?"

Once he had her breathing calmly, he asked her if she wanted to leave, quick to comply when she says she does, cradling her to him as he wrapped her in his coat. As soon as they were at home, he has Sebastian make her a relaxing tea.

He would not leave her side until he knew she was completely at ease again.

Vlad

If he were to be honest, he himself was no longer familiar with the concept of panic and anxiety. Perhaps, after living so long, through the things he had, he was numb to that sort of thing.

That didn't mean that he wasn't quick to react when his love started to succumb to fear.

Trembling, whimpering, labored breathing, erratic movement.

Behavior that reminded him that his beloved was just a human being. She seemed to fragile and breakable.

Leaning down to her, he brushes her forehead, using his abilities to fill her mind with pleasant sceneries, flowery meadows and mesmerizing lakes, anywhere to take her mind away from what so frayed her nerves.

When she was calmer, he pressed his lips on her forehead.

"I am here, my flower, don't be afraid."

He would shower her with love long after the attack passed, simply because he felt she needed that extra bit of doting.

🌸

[mikashisus]

Abandon Ship

"had i told the sea what i felt for you, it would have left its shores, its shells, its fish, and followed me."

— nizar qabbani

summary: With one of the Remurian fleets hot on your tail and stolen treasure of the crown on your ship, you were ready to take to the Eastern Seas.

When one of your crewmates catches a mermaid of all things on the outskirts of the Dark Sea, you finally think you’ve hit the jackpot when it comes to treasure.

In the end, however, you come to a startling revelation: is all the treasure in the world really worth more than a life? And suddenly, you have to make a choice… either a huge sum of gold, or the man you’ve fallen head over heels in love with.

pairing: mermaid!neuvillette x fem!pirate!reader

content warnings: angst, slight mentions of traff!cking (not detailed, dialogue centered), foul language, mentions of alcohol, violence, mentions of trauma, mentions of torture (not detailed, dialogue centered), blood and injury, and suggestive themes

other disclaimers: very canon divergent, takes place a few hundred years before the archon war, mc would have a pyro vision if this was post-archon war, mentions of other characters, use of ocs for plot purposes

regula solis epoch masterlist

ch.1 wc: 5.7k

author’s notes: it was about time i made a pirate/mermaid au, and who better to do it with than neuvillette.

originally, this was also supposed to include wriothesley, but after awhile of deliberation, i decided not to. instead, one of my ocs is gonna be a second lead to fill in the love triangle.

if u get attached to my oc, im sorry. dw tho, he also appears as a second lead in one of my venti fics ;)

CHAPTER 1

The Remurian ports were exceptionally busy in the late afternoons, when the sun was falling slowly over the ocean’s horizon and the cerulean waves lapped roughly against the wooden docks of the harbor. Deep oranges and enchanting pinks filled the sky as the sun cast a golden glow upon the faces of the passerby.

Merchants shouted eagerly, their voices overriding one another as they fought to ring in new customers. People from all walks of life filled the harbor, stopping briefly to awe at the wares being sold at the vendor stalls. The lively chatter echoed through the late afternoon air, accompanied by laughter and the occasional discord.

A family passed by, their thick accents revealing them to be desert folk from the lands ruled by the Scarlet King. They gawked at the gorgeous, finely handcrafted Remurian jewelry a vendor was selling. The vendor welcomed them with a warm smile and a friendly wave. Despite the language barrier, the two parties grew to understand one another through mere gestures and patience.

The heat from the bodies packed together in the vicinity and the warm Summer air did not help to alleviate your growing frustration. As you shuffled through the tight crowds of the busy harbor, someone shoved their way past you. You sent them a sneer and returned their sentiments with an elbow jab, before tipping your hat over your eyes and upping your pace.

As you walked, the golden feather on your belt jingled loudly, joined by the sound of the tiny silver bells adorning your boots.

A cool, refreshing evening breeze blew past, knocking your hat up. The sky was beginning to fade into a wondrous blue. The wind of the North appeared ever-present, causing a smile to break out onto your lips at the thought.

Wherever you were in the world, her protection hovered over you like a safety net.

The heels of your boots clacked against the cobblestone as you turned your attention back to the task at hand. All you needed was a few tools to fix a cannon.

The last ones you owned had been tossed overboard after one of your crewmates broke them in half due to his rather hardy grip. The matter was not one of utter importance, but you preferred to have working cannons at all times.

Thankfully, you knew someone in the harbor who would be more than willing to give you the tools you needed. Your eyes wandered the harbor, searching for the shop with a wooden fist as its logo. The tools shop could be easily visible during the day, but not so much at night. It was a relatively small shop; It branched off from the well known blacksmithing shop in the city.

One too many times have you paid a visit to the forgery owned by a man who was old enough to be your father. You spent way too many Summers in that forgery, hacking away at iron with one of his hammers and wiping the sweat from your brow.

The forgery was always scalding hot, putting even the most blazing Sumeru summers to shame. The heat always made you feel dizzy and dehydrated, as if you would melt into a puddle right where you stood. Stepping outside after a long afternoon’s work always felt refreshing. The fresh breeze felt like icicles on your scorching skin as you dumped a bucket of ice cold water over your head.

You were lucky you never suffered from a heat stroke.

Absentmindedly, you kept a hand steady on your scabbard. Upon reaching the tools shop, you loosened your grip. The blade at your hip had not been pulled for quite some time, though you always kept a hand resting on its hilt.

After years of carrying it with you, you adopted a habit of staying on guard. It was a mere precaution your father taught you to take during your childhood when he first let you pick up a sword.

The excited chatter of the harbor began to dwindle as the sun fully faded over the horizon and the sky was cloaked in a blanket of blues and purples. The crowds that once took homage on the docks severed like the late afternoon breeze. Vendors packed up their wares for the night, and the loud hustle and bustle hushed into idle whispers.

The loud clacking of your boots against the pavement came to an abrupt stop as you eagerly greeted the man standing behind the counter of the tools shop. A warm smile graced your lips.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that this young man was the one manning the shop at this hour. The gods seemed to be on your side of the sails as of late.

“Mory!”

You tipped your hat in greeting and leaned your elbow against the wooden countertop. Your other hand came to rest in a fist on your jutted out hip. One of your legs crossed over the other as you let the counter support half of your weight. The golden chains on your hat jingled with your movements, as did the golden feather hanging from your belt.

“Business boomin’ today, I presume? Sure looks like it did.” You motioned to the small amount of tools missing from their display, and the diminishing crowd behind you.

The harbor was closing for the day. You were awfully lucky you arrived when you did.

The young man before you scoffed. “Not much, ‘m afraid, Cap’n.”

Mory Maye was a young man of only eighteen years old, with tousled dark brown curls on his head and striking hazel eyes that bore directly into your soul. His skin was perfectly kissed by the sun, a testament to the years of working harsh summers in the openness of his father’s forgery, as well as a depiction of his mother’s Sumerian genetics.

It was the very same forgery you worked in before your father taught you the ways of the sword.

His father, a kindhearted and deeply compassionate man who was undeniably loyal to those he considered his family and friends, was Tyler Maye; or, “Ol Ty” in the streets of the harbor. Due to the man’s ailing health, he assigned young Mory to take over the forgery for him in a few months’ time, when he would be leaving the comfort of his home to go stay in a hospital where his health would be monitored constantly.

His declining health and your time out at sea hindered your chances of visiting him. The man treated you like his own daughter, yet you would not be able to see him from here on out. Your status as a criminal blocked out any chances you had at possibly paying him a visit while he was in the hospital. Although it saddened you, there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

As for Mory, he occasionally worked at the forgery with his two brothers, Lear and Nicolas. When he was not working under the blazing sun at the forgery, he was manning this tools shop and selling wares to the same few customers who stopped by— one of them being you. It was practice for when he would take over both businesses.

His work at the forgery was evident in the calluses on his hands and his bulging muscles. Anyone could spot that he was a hard working boy that spent long hours refining weapons since he was ten years old. Many were more than impressed with his handiwork and physique— namely, the girls in the city that walked in circles around the shop just to watch him hack away at iron with a hammer you once used during your time working there.

One of those girls was the daughter of a nobleman that stopped by everyday to start idle chatter with him. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that she was deeply infatuated with him and was desperately trying to get his attention. She was akin to a lovesick puppy. However, she was incredibly soft spoken, and it did not help that Mory failed to realize her shy flirting time and time again. He was a little dense when it came to love.

“How long will you be ‘ere, Cap?” He questioned, watching as you placed a small bag of coins onto the countertop.

A sigh escaped your lips. “Not long, I’m afraid. Plannin’ to leave Remuria and head off towards the Eastern Seas pretty soon.”

A sound akin to a disgusted grunt left his mouth. His tone dropped down to a serious one as he made eye contact with you. “Better watch those seas, Cap. They ain’t kind… ‘specially since they’re close to that ‘Dark Sea’ the sailors keep talkin’ ‘bout.”

He wrapped a small set of tools in a bag made of cloth and took the gold coins you gave to him. He stopped short as he finished counting, “You gave me twice as much the price, Cap.” He sent you a confused glance.

A hand reached forward to ruffle his hair, messing his curls up further. A smile graced your lips. “Buy yourself that nice broadsword you been eyein’ from Idostin. Consider it recompense to Ol Ty for all that he’s done for me all these years.”

A small pink tint appeared on his cheeks, hardly visible due to his finely tanned skin. A bright smile broke out onto his face, revealing his pearly white teeth. He nodded curtly. From his relaxed shoulders and his giddy expression, you could tell he was more than thankful. “Thanks, Cap. I reckon I will.”

You nodded and sent him a pointed look. “And talk to that girl, while yer at it.” You took the bag of tools and tied it to your belt. “Ol Ty’s gonna start pesterin’ you ‘bout a partner soon. Hop to it before the naggin’ begins.”

Knowing that old geezer, he was more than likely already bothering Mory about the matter of marriage and finding a partner. Your own father used to do the same when you were Mory’s age.

The young man rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. A frown made its way to his face. “I know Pop’s wantin’ to see me married before he goes, but I don’t wanna force myself. Plus, I got my whole life to find the right person. I…” he sighed, “I think I already have.”

The look he sent you said it all. For many years, you have known of his obvious crush on you. The time spent together in the forgery and in your father’s backyard refining your swordsmanship spoke of years of longing glances tossed your way and standing way too close for comfort. His jokes and laughter that permeated the air as you slacked off instead of working, his invites to the beach, and the gifts that he brought you— they all told of his feelings for you.

But you were too old for him, and he needed to know that.

Turning the boy down was never easy, but you felt as if you had to shout it in his face now for him to actually get it through his thick skull. The way his face fell, filled with heartbreak and despair, was also never easy. But it had to be done.

He shut his eyes tight, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. His brows furrowed together in hurt. As his hazel eyes opened to glance up at you with the look of a kicked puppy in them, you felt the guilt well up inside you.

“I know, Cap.” The hurt in his cracked voice did not help with the guilt you were already feeling. “I’ll talk to Lady Madeline the next time she stops by Pop’s forgery.”

Through your guilt, you mustered up a small smile and clapped him on the shoulder. For a young man with experience working in a forgery and muscles bigger than most boys his age, he winced at the impact of the smack. You didn’t hit him that hard, did you?

“Glad to hear it. I’ll see ya when the sea brings us back to Remuria.” You bid him farewell, the guilt from before leaving your veins as you began to leave the shop.

He returned your warm smile and waved high into the air. “May the North Wind bless your sails, Cap!”

The ship rocked carefully along the incoming tides on the edges of the shore. The sun had completely fallen over the horizon, long replaced by a blindingly white moon high in the dark sea of stars.

It was a quiet night. The sounds of water dripping from the ceiling of the cave and the soft chatter of sailors on the ship were a welcome melody. In the distance, a bird chirped as it flew through the cloudless sky.

Taking a seat on the edge of the ship and dangling her feet over the side, she listened to the soft gossip of the sailors working on the ship behind her. Before the captain returned, lots of work had to be done. The ship had to be thoroughly cleaned, everyone’s clothes were to be washed, a new import of fresh food and water had to be picked up from the harbor, and the small boy on board had to be fed and babysat.

She recounted the day’s events.

Before the captain left for the harbor, she helped in thoroughly cleaning the ship and fixing the cannons. The captain also helped out with retrieving the fresh goods from a friend of hers nearby. After all of that work was finished, she gave a few final orders to her crew, and disembarked on a small trip to the harbor to buy new tools to fix one of the cannons.

Leni let out a content sigh as she closed her eyes. It was the perfect night for a stroll. She had taken one earlier during sunset. It was a quick stroll, as she had to return to the ship and carry out the captain’s orders in her stead. Though it was only a few minutes, she was thankful for the respite from the constant rocking of the ship.

Although she had gotten used to being on a ship, there were times when she missed being on land and on stable ground. Months out on the sea were quite tiring. A small break from it to take in the Remurian Summer breeze was very much needed— not just for her and the captain, but for the rest of the crew as well.

In the distance, she spotted a familiar figure making their way towards the cave. She squinted, trying her best to make out the figure in the darkness. Upon seeing their hand wave high into the air to greet her, a bright smile erupted onto her face. She jumped up from her spot.

The sand was damp in the cave, causing your boots to sink as you walked. Due to the criminal record The Night Howler’s crew possessed, you had to dock the ship a safe distance away from Capitolium, Remuria’s capitol. That was why the ship had to be hidden in a grotto behind a waterfall. It was a safety precaution.

You walked up the sturdy wooden ramp leading onto the ship and greeted your crew with a tip of your hat. You placed your hands on your hips as

you began barking orders around the ship.

“All hands! We take to the seas in ten minutes!”

Letting out a sigh, you untied the bag of tools from your belt. Vincent, your main handyman on board, walked up to you. You placed the bag of tools into his large, callused hand.

He was a rather large man, with scars all over his biceps and a full beard that made him look older than he was. He was taller than most of the crew and acted as everyone’s big brother. Any heavy duty work was passed to him to handle. Out of the entire crew, he was one of the most reliable.

He took the bag and let out a heavy sigh. “‘M rather sorry ‘bout the tools again, Cap’n.”

He had a thick South Remurian accent that most of the sailors in the royal navy possessed. A majority of the South Remurian population had this accent, as did you and your late father. However, your accent was not as thick as Vincent’s.

A reassuring smile made its way to your lips. “No worries, Vin. Those ones were old anyway. We needed a new set.”

Some of your crew was idly standing by, chatting amongst each other as they prepared the ship. The loud clapping of your hands drew them out of their stupor, making them flinch. You sent them a pointed look as they turned to you.

“We leave in less than ten minutes! Do you lot not know the meaning of ‘get to work’? Or do I have to show you?”

They vigorously shook their heads and picked up their pace, preparing the ship faster than before.

“No, Captain!”

Your brows narrowed. “Then get to it!”

The sound of your yell prompted them to move faster. They scrambled along the deck to do as they were told. You turned back to Vincent with a sigh and an expectant look that told him to get moving. He did not need to be told twice. He cleared his throat and excused himself before shuffling his way down below the deck to fix that stubborn cannon.

A smooth voice permeated the air as your first mate sauntered up to you with her hands on her hips. “Look who’s back from the port!” She let out a giggle, “You sure know how to make an entrance, Captain!”

Leni, your first mate, had luscious black curls that were currently tied up into a high ponytail with a bandana. A few stray strands of hair fell to frame her round face. Her copper skin shone like bronze under the light of the lanterns littered around the ship. Her viridescent eyes were a welcome sight after the hours you spent in the harbor.

The sleeves of her tattered white blouse were rolled up to her elbows, exposing a few of the cultural tattoos dancing along her forearms. Two of the top buttons of her blouse were undone, and a beaded necklace lay flat against the curvature of her collarbone. A few golden bangles adorned her left wrist.

As she stopped in front of you, your shoulders immediately relaxed at her presence. You let out a huge sigh of relief and brought her in for a tight hug. The smell of saltwater and Sumeru roses wafted off of her person. They were a contrasting combination, but it comforted you nonetheless.

The two of you met during your days of working in Ty’s forgery, when the sun beat down harshly on your damp skin, and the heat from the furnaces made you dizzy. At that time, she was only a visitor to Remuria. She claimed to have been on vacation, but appeared to be by herself with no one to accompany her. With what little money she had, she asked you in her native language to repair her mother’s old polearm.

You didn’t quite understand what she said at first, but you could tell from her hand gestures alone that she wanted the weapon repaired.

With careful and precise work, you dutifully restored the weapon. You admired the finished work, complimenting the original craftsmanship of the handle, and the cultural symbols engraved into it.

Leni, with as much effort as she could muster, thanked you for your work in Remurian. To your surprise, she picked up the language quite quickly by listening in to the conversations happening around her in the city. You offered to teach her the language in its entirety, and she gratefully accepted.

You learned more about her family when she moved in with you.

Both of her parents had been born into a tribe in the Sumeru Desert. There, they were dancers who carried dual swords and practiced a sacred art passed down through many generations. At the time of Leni’s thirteenth birthday, her parents had passed away unexpectedly due to reasons that were unknown to you. However, with the way she spoke, you knew it most likely had to do with matters within their tribe.

In a hurry to escape, Leni fled the desert and sought refuge in Remuria, where she began anew after meeting you and your father.

Despite whatever she may have faced before you met her, you were more than grateful that she was here, standing tall in front of you with a blinding smile on her face and filled head to toe with enthusiasm. Her smile was always a welcome sight when you harbored any stress or worries.

Whenever she smiled, her eyes would close and crinkle together, dimples would dent her cheeks, and her small nose would scrunch up. She always showed her teeth as well, where you could spot a small gap in between two of her teeth on the upper left side of her jaw— supposedly from a time when she got a tooth knocked out of her mouth. She had freckles, too; They were just barely visible, but if you focused hard enough, you could see them.

Vincent returned from below the deck, wiping the sweat from his brow. He walked towards you, his hands covered in grease and the smell of gunpowder wafting off of his person.

“We’re ready for departure, Cap’n.” He told you. Before you could ask, he answered your unspoken question with a hearty smile. “Tha’ stubborn cannon is fixed, too. No need ta worry ‘bout it anymore.”

You returned his smile and let out a relieved sigh. “Good. Make way for the Eastern Seas!”

At your command, the ship began to take off, slowly rocking as it gained speed and disembarked from the cave. As it passed through the waterfall, freezing water poured over your head, drenching you head to toe. You let out a small laugh.

The cold water felt refreshing on your hot skin after spending your afternoon in the blazing sun. The nighttime air was brisk, though it was not cool enough to fully get rid of the sweat forming on the brows of your crew.

The ship picked up speed as it left the mainland, easing into a steady pace as the waves passed gently underneath. The ocean was calm tonight. It was a stark contrast to the raging storm you faced upon entering Remuria two months ago. The sails of your ship were blessed with a fairly serene voyage this time, it seemed.

As the wind blew, ruffling your hair, you noticed a look of contemplation on Leni’s face. She stood shoulder to shoulder with you, her hands on her hips and her chin held high. An aura of confidence radiated off of her. It was one that dared others to challenge her. The crease in her brow made you wonder what was on her mind. There was a subtle movement in her thin lips that looked almost like a tug at her bottom lip.

She had a habit of biting her bottom lip whenever there was something troubling her. That, and she would begin playing with the gold bangle on her wrist. At that moment, she reached for the bangle on her wrist and began fiddling with it. Immediately, you knew that something was worrying her. Before you could open your mouth to ask what was on her mind, she spoke.

“Where are we headed now, Cap?” She questioned, gently jabbing you in the side with her elbow.

“Inazuma.” A smirk appeared on your lips as you watched her verdant eyes go wide in mixed horror and surprise. “The land of the Narukami is a frightening one, but we’ll conquer it like we always do. Plus, I know someone within the merchant’s guild that would be more than willing to take that bounty off our hands.”

The wooden deck creaked under your boots as you retreated into the captain’s quarters. With a bit of hesitation, Leni followed. She allowed the door to slam shut behind the two of you. The cabin was encased in a brief silence, the only sound being the splashing of the waves outside your closed windows.

The bounty you mentioned sat on your table in the middle of the room, the pure gold and vibrant emeralds glittering in the light of the moon that filtered in through the glass window to your left.

The stolen crown of Queen Catalina weighed heavy on the ship like an anchor. The prized possession was worth more than the entirety of Mondstadt and King Remus’ treasure vault combined.

Next to you, Leni sent you an uneasy glance. “(Name)... is this really going to sell for a high price? It’s not even from Remuria… it’s from Western Mondstadt’s god king.”

Unlike you, Leni did not know much about the gods of other lands. She had been born into a tribe that worshipped The Scarlet King and the Goddess of Flowers. They did not have much knowledge on other gods— besides Morax, but that was an entirely different story.

As you approached the table, you reached for the crown and picked it up, being careful not to touch the emeralds embedded into the gold. This crown was the real deal, with authentic emeralds carved expertly to fit into the base, and a special engraving on the inside that spelled out the queen’s full title:

The god of memories, Queen Catalina Elizabeth Blair.

“It’ll sell for higher than the price we require,” you reassured Leni. “Do ya know how famous Mondstadt’s Queen is? She’s the firs’ god to ever roam the icy, Northern plains. The Thousand Winds themselves answer to her. Celestia favors her. That god king has the whole of the world an’ the heavens wrapped around her finger. Her stolen crown will land us a heap of gold— more gold than we’ll know what to do with!”

An exhausted sigh escaped Leni’s lips as she closed her eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What beats me is why the crown was in King Remus’ treasure vault. Why is it in Remuria if it belongs to a god of Mondstadt?”

You let out a small scoff and gently placed the crown back onto the table. You shrugged and leaned back against the table. “Who knows? The gods are always at war. It was probably stolen by one of King Remus’ royal fleets after the Daybreak War that lasted a hundred years.”

The Daybreak War landed itself a spot in the history books in the wake of its aftermath. It was a notorious war spanning over an entire century, involving two relentless god kings: King Remus and Queen Catalina. It was said to have begun at daybreak, and ended a hundred years later at the very same time.

Historians claimed that almost half of Teyvat’s general population had been wiped out during the war, and that Celestia itself had to personally intervene before the two gods called a ceasefire.

It all began when King Remus attempted to invade Queen Catalina’s territory and disturb the peace and tranquility of the Northern icy plains of Mondstadt. He took half of her people under his rule, proceeded to treat them poorly, and took away any rights they had to their prior freedom. This act of defiance and unfairness severely angered the Queen of the North.

Talk that spread in the streets of every nation spoke of how the Queen’s wrath towards King Remus was enough to bring down the heavens, rip open the sky, and shake the very core of the earth. Her undying love towards her people and desire to regain their freedom was incredibly admirable. It was also extremely rare for a god to have that much kindness and compassion in their heart.

The Queen of the North called for reinforcements from the Thousand Winds, upon which they answered her calls. She emerged from the war as the victor. Her power and her strength was a force to be reckoned with, and the gods that roamed the lands of other nations were well informed not to pick a fight with the Queen of Mondstadt— lest they face retribution from the endless whipping winds.

Even Decarabian, the god of storms who resided in the opposite direction of the Queen’s territory, knew better than to test her patience. However, in recent years, he slowly began inching towards her land, and soon enough, he would begin to cross the border.

You awaited any news from the friends you had in Mondstadt regarding any signs of potential war. If another war were to unfold, you would be called back to your mother’s homeland to fight alongside the Queen and her knights.

The Queen of the North had your utmost trust and loyalty. If she commanded you back, you would go without hesitation.

The Night Howler, the ship you inherited from your late father, was a fugitive ship in Remuria. It was not only because you had stolen directly from King Remus’ vault, but also because you pledged loyalty to Her Majesty, his sworn enemy. However, you had no intention of returning the crown back to her.

You did not harbor any guilt, as you were already aware that she did not care for the item in the first place. You were free to do whatever you pleased with it. You could even keep all the money you received from selling it off.

A worried call from one of your crewmates drew your attention away from the conversation.

“Captain!”

You shared an uneasy look with Leni, before she rushed forward to swing open the door to the captain’s quarters. You followed her out onto the deck. The crewmate that previously called out to you handed you a spyglass. You took it without question and adjusted it as you held it up to your eye.

An involuntary groan of frustration left your lips. On the horizon, encased in a thin layer of fog, was a Remurian ship belonging to the navy. Its sky blue sails billowed in the wind as it sped across the restful waters. The intense glow of the moon passed over the shimmering golden crest of Queen Iris.

A chill ran down your spine as a breeze passed by. It served as a warning of the upcoming chase that was likely to occur.

A scowl formed on your face. Of the entire naval fleet of Remuria, the ship that had to be tailing The Night Howler was one of Queen Iris’. It seemed your luck was starting to dwindle.

Leni sent you an expectant look, to which you placed the spyglass in her hand. After a moment, a small gasp escaped her lips.

“Queen Iris. Of all people.”

A scoff left your best friend’s peach colored lips. She tossed you a glance filled with exasperation. “She wants the crown back for her King.” You couldn’t help but agree with her.

The infamous Queen Iris was the Southernmost ruler of King Remus’ territory, overlooking the Irenian Sea that connected Remuria and the ancient land of Natlan. Among King Remus’ four lords that were given a snippet of his power, Queen Iris was the most feared and wealthy.

The woman was strong-willed, strategic, and witty. She possessed the largest naval fleet of the four lords. Currently, the estimation stood at ten thousand men and women alike. She required the best of the best. Those who wished to join her ranks could not be seen as mediocre. They had to be perfect— no more and no less.

That said, the expectations and pressure she held over their heads was an inexplicable amount. Any sailor was lucky to not work under the devilish lord of the South.

And to be on opposing forces of Queen Iris was to be doomed with a fate worse than death itself. Lucky for you, you were smarter than the scrawny, brainless men she sent after you time and time again. You, on countless occasions, out-witted her fleets and sent them running with their tails between their legs.

Needless to say, you haven’t seen the same men twice. You could only assume they were disposed of after their failed attempts of dragging your ship and your crew back to their beloved Queen.

Instead of treating this like a life or death situation, you treated this like a game of cat and mouse.

Queen Iris liked to believe you were the mouse simply because your ship was smaller than her fleets, and your crew was not made up of trained soldiers. Trained soldiers or not, your crew was some of the finest swordsmen you have ever met. They outclassed Iris’ royal fleets anyday.

If Queen Iris wanted to play another round of this seemingly endless game, who were you to not entertain her? After all, you were used to being on wanted lists. She could try her scare tactics all she wanted, but you were well informed on her battle strategies by now. You had the upper hand.

Although she was given power by a god, it did not scare you in the slightest. She was not even half of what King Remus claimed to be. Neither he, nor his four lords scared you. The only god that did was the wrathful god that was Queen Catalina’s lover.

“Full speed ahead, men!” you yelled. “If it’s a game Lady Iris wants, then it’s a game the devil will get!”

The sound of laughter filled the air as the crew rushed around, preparing the ship accordingly as it lurched forward at the highest speed it could possibly go. You placed your hands on your hips as a smirk made its way onto your face.

Leni let out a sigh. “You’re enjoying this too much, Captain.” Her verdant eyes were glossed over with a tinge of annoyance for your behavior. You simply nudged her with your elbow.

“Am I? Come now, my dear Leni. The Queen is gracin’ us with her attention once more! This is more attention than any of those snotty royal navy boys will get from her in their lifetimes!” You wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into your side.

Another sigh escaped her lips. This one was filled with exhaustion. A smile tugged at her lips. “I have no doubt in your abilities to outsmart her, Cap. Lead us to victory once more.”

author’s notes: i know what you're thinking ... "ray you haven't finished your other fics yet!!!" I KNOW IM SORRY I PROMISE I'LL FINISH THEM 🙏 anyways, welcome to volume one of the regula solis epoch!! this is a fic series that takes place a few hundred years before the archon war and is very canon divergent. however, i'm going to try to stay true to the lore of remuria to make this more realistic!!

taglist — (open) ;

divider: @/cafekitsune

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[scoobydoodean]

what the FUCK is wrong with sam fans . this is kind of a genuine question .

I mean for some of them it's definitely connecting your personal life experiences with the experiences of a character from a TV show to a degree that is not healthy.

Identifying with fictional characters is completely normal and intended—it's what makes certain stories stick out to us over others. Using fiction to cope with and work through ones own personal trauma is not an inherently bad thing either—it can be therapeutic and perfectly healthy. But you can take this too far and reach a point where you totally lose perspective on a story being a story and can no longer interact in fandom spaces without being harmed emotionally. This emotional harm happens because you have begun to believe that the character is actually... you. Not only does this make you feel as if others speaking with authority on the character in a way that challenges your own perceptions is an invalidation of your own emotions and experience... it means you begin to receive any criticism of a fictional character as a criticism of yourself, and that is not a position you ever want to place yourself in.

Art is art. There are objective aspects to it (the medium, the colors, what it literally depicts) but what it means is subjective. Art can be personal to you, but it's also personal to everyone else who observes it and likes it. It does not exist just for you to interpret and identify with or to suit your sole sense of its meaning. You cannot impose the personal meaning you place on a piece of art on everyone else and demand they view it through your personal lens. To do so is to misunderstand the purpose of publicly shared and experienced art.

If you have reached a point where you find yourself claiming that others perceptions of art emotionally harm and invalidate you, you should not be viewing that art publicly. In fact, you should really be questioning whether you have a healthy relationship with the art itself and whether you actually... like it. Life is too short to spend it fixated on something that you think you like, but that is actually slowly sucking the joy out of your life.

[livrere-green]

I've been thinking about an omegaverse atla au a lot recently, so I'm gonna vent about it cuz it's getting tiring just to have it spiralling in my head ngl

So, the only thing that I need to mention now it's that the standard age at which someone presents is around 13 to 14 years old. Knowing that, lets talk about the main characters.

Aang (12) would be unpresented by the time of the show. Also, I don't believe that being the avatar makes him an alpha perse. I mean, there's a possibility he presents as one (but he could also be a beta), and it wouldn't have anything to do with his avatar status (historically there could be a higher rate of avatars being alphas/betas, but there are some important exceptions... iykwim). Well, I think he'd present at age 13 almost 14.

Katara (14) is one of the characters that confuses me the most in this aspect, but just to add fuel to her fury and her personality, I'll make her an omega, not the kind that rejects her nature but the kind that embraces it and doesn't see it as something that makes her inferior or helpless. Katara would fight against the life society wants to impose on her in the same way she does in canon, maybe even more. She would resent the people who doesn't respect her because of her gender (just make it double), and at some point, she'd get frustrated about it, but she would think that hating herself would mean letting them win. About her presentation, there's two option: 1. She presented some months before they found Aang, 2. She presented during the first months they were traveling to the NWT (in this case, I think the ideal place would've been Kyoshi Island, because there's people able to take care of her there).

Sokka (15) would be an alpha, he probably presented after Hakoda left (14), he fits the type and the stereotypical personality at the beginning of the show. But I think he would get over it sooner rather than later and he would learnt to respect and don't underestimate betas and omegas just based on their nature. Also, I think that Sokka would scent the Gaang to protect them and particularly to cover Katara's scent as they travel or run away from trouble.

Toph (12) would be unpresented by the time of the show. She'd present as an alpha some time after the end of the war (13). There's not a lot to explain here (talking about her at that age, except for the fact that even during her time with the Gaang, she probably hated Sokka's essence, just as an early hint about her gender). I consider that there's a lot to discuss about her as an adult and how she managed her relationships, but that's a discussion for another time.

Zuko (16) would be an omega, and also a late bloomer, probably presented a couple of years after his banishment (15).. Zuko would be determined to hide his true nature under any circumstances, letting only his Uncle know about it. Ozai would've been informed that his son is a beta, which was already a disappointment for the Royal Family (historically alphas), but it wasn't nearly as negative as being reduced to be treated as an omega. Zuko would end up causing himself a lot of damage in order to disguise as a beta, either by using too many suppressants or other medications, or even hurting himself physically and mentally. He would stop hiding he's an omega after joining the Gaang but It'll be complicated, since he'd be distressed all the time and even Aang and Toph would be able to notice (their senses are not totally develop, so it'll be kinda alarming).

Suki (15) would be a beta, presented at 14. In her case, the characteristics of its gender would be especially helpful to mediate conflict or get out of it. The scent of a beta has calming effects in both alphas and omegas, so she would use it with her friends, or even in battle, to make her opponents lose focus, particularly if their driven by rage. The fans are particularly helpful for that.

Azula (14) would present early as an alpha (12/13). At that age, one of the traits she would manifest the most is assuming the position of head of the pact with her friends, she'd probably scent them with the intention of establishing superiority and control over them. In this context, Mai would be a beta and Ty Lee an omega or a beta as well.

That's all for now, I still have some things in mind for this, but I'll share that later, and if you have questions, I'll be happy to answer!

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 24

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC A/N: Just want to say thank you to all of you who have joined in on this series in the last week. There is so many of you now! Hope you're enjoying it! This week is a smaller one, but I can promise you will not be disappointed with some of the stuff you will find out. Enjoy!

The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

It feels like I blink and December flies by. And with it, the return of challenges. We had been given a break around threshing. Giving us time to adjust to our dragons, the new training we had to take up, and any signets that might manifest. Which was probably a smart idea. There were plenty of signets amongst the first years that could have been deadly if they manifested in a challenge where no rules were in play. I hate to think what my signet would have done if it manifested during a challenge.

But now I had the challenge of not using my signet during the challenges. With a classified signet I was restricted in what I could show around the other students. The only place I was technically allowed to use my signet was around Carr. So far he seemed impressed with the progress I was making. Well the progress I was willing to show him. Which so far was moving objects and even him around. Controlling a human was way harder than an object. That night of the attack had seemed so easy, but Carr had informed me due to the situation I had probably delved deep into my power to save myself. I had made that cadet drop that dagger as if it was natural and something I had willed. Carr was a different story. He looked like a puppet. His movements were janky and rigid. I had to remind myself I was also going up against someone who knew how to shield very well. Another thing I would have to learn to break through he told me. Something I would have to practice with Xaden or Garrick in our training sessions after classes. Outside of Carr’s private sessions I now no longer needed to delve into my mind, into that courtyard to focus on someone’s mind and sense what they were feeling. I was starting to pick up on more their strengths, weaknesses and emotions. I was getting small glimpses into their mind. Nothing solid that I could pinpoint what it was, but it was progress. Progress I hoped I could turn into reading opponents intentions. Not that I needed it. Melgren’s training had taught me how to read my opponents movements and stances, to predict what their next move might be. But only time would tell.

As the rest of my squad head to another round of challenges, a round I could tell Violet and Liam were extremely nervous about, I walk through the door to Carr’s classroom. And it’s clear this lesson will be different to the last. Standing in front of Carr is Dain Aetos. The only other cadet in the quadrant with a classified signet. Dain turns as I walk in, his eyes narrowing, clearly not expecting me either.

”Excellent, you received my note.” Carr says with a smile. “You’ve proven you can handle a weapon without any issue so I thought we could use the time to strengthen your signet and test Dain’s.”

Dain turns his head back to Carr, confusion written all over his face. “And how do you expect to test me sir?”

Carr gives Dain one of the smiles that always sends a chill down my spine. “Miss Riorson here has a very very rare signet. The first of its kind. And if the tomes I have studied over the years are anything to go by, she should have a very powerful shield. One so powerful, it should be able to stop anyone from accessing her mind.”

Shit. He planned to see if Dain could access my memories. And if Carr was wrong, Dain would have open reign on everything I know. Everything from the rebellion. Everything from my time with Melgren. And everything that had happened since I had been here. Including the information I now knew about the weapons smuggling and the Gryphon riders. Shit.

Relax. You will be fine. He will not be able to get anything. Mealladh says confidently in my head.

So Carr is right? I ask, relief washing over me.

Yes. You have a very strong shield. Even before I chose you and you manifested your signet. It is one of the reasons I chose you. No one without a dragon or a signet should have a shield as strong as yours. The colonels son wont be able to make a dent in it unless you let him in. Which for you, can be harder than learning to shield for most cadets. You won’t have to do a thing.

Mealladh’s words fill me with confidence as I walk over and drop my bag next to Dain’s on the floor. Carr merely nods at Dain and motions towards me. Signalling to start. Carr had not uttered a word of Dain’s signet. He assumes I don’t know what it is. Probably hoping if he is wrong that I will have no time to stop what is coming. But Xaden and Garrick had known. I assume as those higher up in the Quadrant they had access to the information. I had never asked how they knew. I just knew to avoid his touch. But right now I had no choice. I just had to hope and believe what Mealladh said was true.

Dain turns to me and holds his hands up, hovering either side of my head. He’s nervous. “My signet relies on touch. You ok if i-”

”Just do it.” I tell him sternly, cutting him off.

Dain nods before placing his hands either side of my head, closing his eyes as if needing to focus. But I keep mine open and focused on him. I watch as his eye brows furrow in confusion, as if not expecting what he finds. Or what he doesn’t find. I can feel something faint, very faint at the edge of my mind. The sensation remind me of a feather being dragged across my skin. I hadn’t tried to put my shields up like Melgren taught me. It was like they we’re already there. Already solidified in place. Unbreakable. I feel the sensation again, as if the feather is trying to break through. I can see Dain’s face shift at the effort. As if he is trying to hammer through my shield with great force. But to me, its as if barely anything is happening. I do what Melgren had taught me, slamming up the shield. I watch as Dain recoils as if shocked, his hands leaving my head as his eyes fly open, his chest rising rapidly as he struggles for air.

”I-I couldn’t see anything.” He tells Carr, his eyes still focused on me.

Out of the corner of my eyes I watch Carr smile again. “And let me guess, you tried to put up an actual shield at the end there?” His question directed at me.

I nod. “Yes.”

Even as I keep my eyes on Dain who looks like he is still trying to figure out what happened, I see the joy in Carr’s eyes. The joy at being right. I know as soon as I leave this room he will send word to Melgren of this new discovery. I had no doubt I would be tested against other cadets in the quadrant who bore mental signets. But I knew none we’re as powerful as Dain. The only exception might have been Jeremiah. Could a full innistic penetrate my shields? I would have no way to know seeing as the quadrant killed anyone who manifested that signet.

”Excellent. You are both dismissed. Feel free to head to challenges if you so wish.” Carr says with a flick of his had before turning to his desk and grabbing a roll of parchment. Another note of Melgren.

Dain and I leave the classroom, Dain rushing off towards the challenges. I roll my eyes before following slowly behind him. Maybe I can catch the challenge Liam and Violet we’re so worried about. As I go to round the corner to the gym, a voice in my head stops me in my tracks.

Shit. He’s gonna kill me cause she got hurt. Shit.

A voice that is neither mine nor Mealladh. It sounds almost like-

I round the corner and pacing back and forth is Liam. Liam whose voice I just heard inside my head

Part 25 (coming soon)

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu @came-to-laugh-but-cried @onthewaytotimbuktu @daardyrnitta @lovemesomevesey @mxtokko @krowiathemythologynerd @callsign-blue @1islessthan3books

[baby-jaguar]

Lust by Nature {Part 4}

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

MDNI: 18+!

Warnings for this chapter: Drugging, hinted non-con but just a hair

Word Count: 5,777

Summary: He’d been used to the small messages telling him to make you simmer down, something not uncommon in the scope of you being, well, you.

A/N: There are a few POV Shifts and time skips in here, denoted by the "---". Work has been kicking my butt so sorry this is late. I hope ye enjoy

Waking up, you almost bit a medic’s hand off.

Wild and afraid. It was sudden and the place was seemingly so new that it triggered your fight or flight. You did not want them anywhere close and for far too long than you deemed necessary. Insistent on them leaving you to heal on your own even if you’re sucked dry of any magic at this point. Snapping your teeth like a wild animal when one medic tried taking your shirt off to get to the gouge on your side, before snarling as two were tag teaming you to keep you down. 

Something about their hands not feeling warm enough, not having the smell of tobacco leaves stained into their skin to leave a trail of smoke. Yet there was something lurking in the air. Something different; You knew the scent was familiar, it felt like it belonged in the medical ward yet it shouldn’t be here near you. It screamed danger, something clawing and scratching at your mind to remember.

The scent trails around the room like the smell of burnt clover, making your stomach want to recoil and throw up its acid with the lack of any substance in it. 

The lab.

Neurons fire off, and your hackles are raised. Literally. Hissing and ignoring the medics around you, yowling like a damned animal in pain when you realize what you’re smelling. Stuck in fear, now grappling with the sheets as your hands grab onto the bed rails, shaking the bed as you shift in short and shaky bursts.

---

Somedays Price’s office felt like a sanctuary, while others, it feels like his own jail cell. Head down, furiously scribbling his memories onto paper to prepare the after-action report while leaving a separate sheet blank and off to the side with your name at the top.

God, he had it in his head that he needed to be so fucking pissed at you. For the dream, for disobeying orders, for getting hurt. But he knows it’s irrational and can at least objectify his emotions enough to see them from a third-person point of view.

His head’s in his ass and he’s acting like a fucking boy.

Even Soap had earned a scolding from the Captain, taking it in strive to only break the berating with a smirk on his lips. He knew. Johnny knew, Ghost knew, and even fucking Gaz knew that you were getting underneath Price’s skin. Something no woman had ever done so easily and successfully before.

His cell rings, not his personal mobile but rather his work flip phone. One that either means business or trouble.

“Laswell.”

The number was unsaved, as all are since this was the one he toted around everywhere while deployed. 

“Captain. I’ve got some news for you. Now a good time?”

Leaning back, he takes this saving grace as a moment to rest his eyes and hand from writing. “Of course. Wha’s goin’ on?”

There’s shuffling on the other end of the line, sounding like she’s standing up to walk somewhere. Price presumes it is towards a window. Dramatic woman.

“We’ve gotten word that there's some unrest back in-”

Her statement is cut off when the phone begins vibrating again. “Laswell, hold on. I’ve been expecting this call, can I catch you in a moment?”

A scoff is his answer before cutting the call and switching to the new one.

“Yes?”

“Need you in Med, stat. Saint’s going-”

“On it.” Snapping his phone shut while moving to the door. He’d been used to the small messages telling him to make you simmer down, something not uncommon in the scope of you being, well, you. 

He can hear the commotion at the end of the hall before he’s near the door. Opening the door in a flurry, he finds you in a state he’s never seen before; Wide-eyed, backed into the back of the bed, and curled up to shield yourself. A second sweep of the room makes him realize you’re not protecting yourself from the medics. No, you’re looking towards him, but seemingly not at him.

“Saint.” The growl catches your attention, focusing on his mustache twitching as his eyebrows furrow. “Care to tell me why the medics said you need to leave the infirmary before you make one of the staff go to inpatient?”

“It's wrong. Doesn’t smell right.” In return, your head only snaps in his direction, eyes only keeping on his for a moment. “Don’t take me back, I don’t want to go back.”

The blatant stare you receive is more than enough to let you know he’s lost in whatever this whirlwind of emotions is. “You need to settle down, and behave.” The whisper is a promised threat, entirely off-kilter from what you need right now.

“I don’t want them touching me!” You hiss almost petulantly, being sure to restrain your voice for only him to hear. “I have to leave. Just let me heal myself, please-”

His hands move out of sight from your narrowed eyes as you beg; Coming up to capture your jaw with one hand as the other holds your shoulder. He steadily leans in to hold your face still.

“You need to stay and get checked out. You were hurt, sweetheart.” The harsh command battles with the softness of his palm cupping your jaw as his thumb stroking your cheek.

That’s when you saw him through the window. 

A man, dressed in square glasses and a white coat that seemed cheap and fake in material. A scam of a man. Dr. Deidrick. 

This man knows you well, as you know him. He was a constant in the lab, the person who oversaw all testing of blood, vitals, but most importantly testing the magic inside you. A large amount of scars on your body were because of him, always measuring your healing capabilities depending on your energy levels and what you had used as energy prior to the test.

Locked in a stare-down, Price only registers your change when you stiffen and stagger a breath. “What’s wrong?”

Looking at where your eyes are, he finds the man looking in through the small door window, glaring at your face, seemingly at where Price touches you gently. When he moves to glance at Price, he gives a small nod before entering. 

“Everything okay, Captain?” His tone is polite and neutral, speaking to Price while his gaze remains on you. “Is she having a little fit?” 

The clicks of his dress shoes make more noise of his entrance, your hands latching onto Price’s forearms.

“And you are?”

The doctor laughs, giving a smile more than forced. This you know for certain.

“My apologies, I am Dr. Deidrick. I came to visit once I heard our little demon was wounded.”

His possessiveness in the phrasing alone ticks off the Captain's mind, raising questions as to what in the fuck is going on. He can feel the slight tremor of your hold and, for more decency, the hand cupping your jaw moves to hold onto yours.

“So, you’re from the facility?”

“Yes, I was her previous caretaker in medical for the last several years.” Cockiness evident when his attention shifts to grab the chart at the end of the bed. “I hope you do not mind I came to check in on her healing and progress. Just a simple evaluation and report.”

He reads over the chart for a moment; Flipping the page while moving closer to your side, opposite of Price. 

“How are you feeling, Devil?”

Instead of quiping a sharp or actual answer, the response is enough to shock the Captain.

“Hello, Dr. Deidrick.” Speaking softly and politely, as if you were some nobel greeting a high priest. Don’t misbehave.

You’ve learned this lesson with him.

“Hello. Now, how are you feeling?” He digs in further with the question, eyes moving up from the paper with a weighted look.

“I’m fine. Sore. Tender. I told them I could heal on my own.”

"Mm..." Dedrick watches as you speak before moving to place the clipboard down, grabbing a pair of gloves.  "And you believe that you can heal yourself easily?" His voice remaining calm and civil.

That's one thing you’ve always hated. Even in the cruelest and inhumane moments when studying creatures and hybrids alike, he had the calmest voice.

“Yes, I’ve dealt with worse.” Spitting the answer at him in a quick snap, you can't help but let anger flare. “You of all people should know that.”

Dedrick's expression changes for the first time. His eyebrows raise and jaw tightening in warning with a sharp look.

"I know that you can heal, but that doesn't mean that you should." A hint of an edge to his voice bleeds through. "Your injuries are still serious. If you leave here before fully healed, that would be highly irresponsible."

“The medics already cleaned and sutured it. There’s nothing more to do.”

You can see the game he plays, yet you’re playing it too. Price doesn’t know, the entirety of your team doesn’t know. If for their sake or the sake of keeping yourself alive, it's not certain. 

Telling Price would solve this problem right here, right now. Screaming the horrors Dr. Deidrick has committed to others and to you could easily raise alarm bells through the whole base, yet you remain a perfect little actor. Just as you were trained.

“I’ll determine that for you, not you.” Deidrick retorts shorty, gaze shifting from your body to Price. “I will have to do an exam of the wound and her damage. Just to make sure there are no outliers to her magic or health.”

There isn't room for argument here, seeing as Price is a Captain and not a fucking Doctor over mystical creatures and beings.

“Well, I can be in the room with her. That be an issue?”

The most Deidrick can muster is a forced grin, narrowing his eyes to Price’s presence. “Yes, that is perfectly understandable for you to oversee the process, Captain.”

A swift silence ensues as Deidrick walks to the medical cabinets and the end of the room, looking over his clipboard and grabbing medical tools- the kind that isn’t even needed but instead for show. All for the sake of Price.

The velcro cuff of the sphygmomanometer wraps around your arm before the manual pump begins from Deidricks hands. The cold stethoscope in the crook of your elbow, silence as he measures your blood pressure. Just as he is about to speak, the sharp ringing of a dial tone sounds out.

“Shit- I have to take this.” Price’s hand retrieves the phone from his pocket, confirming the caller. “Be right back.”

“No… No, please.” Unabasidly begging, your hands on your Captains arm to try and anchor him to you. “Don’t go.” It's a quiet plead, begging if that, but the wild look in your eyes makes him stiffen for a moment while caught between two choices.

“I’ll be right back. Be good.” The faint squeeze of your hand registers in tandem with him leaning down to place a reassuring kiss on your head. Before you can beg again, he’s out the door.

---

“Laswell.” Price speaks quietly into the phone, moving into the hallway near the medic’s station, a few idling around on their computers to input vitals.

“Said you were gonna call me back, John. Got worried your old mind forgot about me.”

A small scoff out of courtesy for the woman's harsh humor, yet he doesn’t say anything back.

“Anyway, I need to tell you where your group has been assigned to. You’re headed out to-”

“Do you happen to know if any personnel relating to Saint's previous facility can be on base?”

Cutting off Laswell would usually end with a sharp reprimand akin to an elementary school teacher. Yet this question is well worth her thought. Even she can recognize that.

“Not without warning and an established confirmation of visitation. It’s the normal protocol for off-site visitors to that level. Why?”

He chews the side of his cheek, nodding in thought as he confirms what he previously knew. His eyes flit between your medical room’s door, the window to the outside, before settling on a whiteboard with various patient names.

“There’s a doctor in the med unit with her right now. Say’s he found out she was wounded and came to check on her… That’s just downright unnatural when she was wounded three days ago for fuck sake. How’d he even find out?”

Silence greets him in response, but it's a sign of her thinking. A tussle of paper sounds out before typing on her keyboard. “There was no agreement or discernment of their medical staff being on base. Only the executives and her previous commander. He shouldn’t be there nor even have access.”

It only confirms Price’s simmering anxiety, eyes stuck on your door from afar.

“What did you say his name was?”

“Dr. Deidrick. Said he’d be givin’ her an exam of the wound-” The words die in a sharp crumble on his tongue when you scream his name.

“Was that-”

“Send the boys my way, I’m dealing with it.” Hanging up the phone, his body already shouldering the door at a moment’s notice.

It doesn’t budge.

Looking through the window, he’s met with your wide eyes, brows arched up, while your body tries to scurry off the bed yet you’re not even moving. The sight of brown leather tied to your wrists becomes glaringly obvious. 

“Somebody get this door open, right fucking now!” The bellow echos in the hallway, sending a fluttering panic around the staff while he continuously tries to shoulder the door and get the handle down.

“John! Help me!” Your howling meets his ears to send a shiver down his spine. I should have listened, I should have stayed, I should be in there.

I should be protecting her.

Shifting his stance to the left, he can see Deidrick at the counters, holding up a small brown vial while extracting its contents into a syringe. Only after he deems it filled, pushing the air bubble out, does he look to Price. 

“It’s just to settle her down, not to worry.”

God, he wants to throw up. He wants to murder this man with his hands and rip each artery from his body to hang up as vines growing onto the wall. He wants nothing more than to soothe your crying face in his arms away from whatever torture is going on right in front of him.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS THE KEY?” He shouts again, sparing a glance towards the staff as five of them look in drawers around the main pod of their stations.

Movement from the room demands his attention, the footsteps ringing out in heavy weighted clicks on the floors. You can’t even look back to Price, struggling like an animal caught in a metal trap.

---

“They already know, just fucking run while you can.” The guttural hiss is uncontrolled as it leaves you, voice raw from lack of water in your mouth accompanied by the panting of your breath. Eyes only set on Deidrick, you can’t focus on anything but keeping the needle away from you.

“This is your exam, my dear. There’s no harm in that.” He chastizes, tsking you with a mocking voice. Fully seeing his old self alights your body and magic, trying to strum out of you like a whip, yet so dulled into yourself with nothing to thrive on.

“I can see how weak you are. Have they not been taking care of you?” The coldness of his hand dawns upon your face, grabbing roughly on your jaw to pull you towards him. “You know I can give you what you need.” The green of his eyes makes you sour, having only ever seen them as a rancid mix of piss yellow and barf green to match his existence.

“You’ll settle down and be a good girl for me, yeah? Just like old times.”

“I can’t wait to torture you in hell.” 

He laughs, a genuine smile lighting his face up as he leans in closer. “The sweetest promise of eternity, devil.” 

Moving back after giving your jaw a far too firm squeeze, his bony fingers bring the needle up to the light to double-check before gripping the meat of your bicep. “Dont. Move.”

You couldn’t hear anything over the commotion outside, thus, when the metal door slams open, you jump.

Right into the fucking needle.

A shocked cry leaves you, eyes now stuck in fear to watch for the amount he pushes through. 

Half of the dose goes into your arm.

It would have been more, save for the body that immediately pulls him and the needle away from you, throwing him onto the ground.

Price stands, heaving and shaking with a snarl lighting up his face while looking down on the man. 

“When I put you under, it will be six feet under the god damned ground.” His hands are on the man in a flurry of movements, checking his waistline for any other surprises, and when finding none, he throws a punch at him.

Then again. And again. And Again.

You don’t realize you’re stuck in a trance of watching him until warm hands find your wrist on the opposite side of the commotion. You’re startled until being met with warm brown eyes that match his skin, his smile calming.

“Hi, sweetheart. I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?” Gaz’s hands work quickly on undoing the straps of your wrists, letting the sounds of the fighting echo in the room while rushing footsteps come from the hallway.

Ghost and Soap enter the doorway, a quick survey before getting to Price and doing god knows what to the man- you can’t see anymore as Gaz cradles you into his neck. Tucking the blanket around your backside before carrying you away in a bridal carry, he shushes you when his scent and warmth break you into a sob.

“Shh, it’s okay. We’ve got you now.” Vaguely registering his lips on your head, your eyes dim into a barely open gaze while the world moves too fast around you. Hot tears track down your face and onto his shirt.

“You’re with us now. Not gonna let that happen ever again.”

The sound of a whimper mixes in when you call out his name. Raising a hand to grasp his shirt in a weak fist as you register him moving you to somewhere through the hallways. Somewhere familiar; the team’s common room.

“Gonna make you nice and comfortable right here. Not gonna leave you, Saint.”

And in the most ironic series of events, for a second time, your world goes dark.

---

The sound of the TV playing a god-forsaken soccer football game makes you stir. Muscles stiff and tired, a feeling of something on the back of your hand makes you wince. Groaning, you move the other hand to paw at the intrusion, before someone else’s touch halts you.

“Hey now, none of that.” The soft voice from earlier speaks out, with an almost hint of authority as he moves your hands away from each other. “You’ve got an IV in you, Need to keep that in for a bit longer.”

Stirring, the world comes back into view when your eyes open slowly and try to blink the yellow overhead lights away. “Gaz?” His name is slurred in your drowsy speech, head lifting up to look around before finding him face to face with you.

“Good morning, Princess. How’ya feelin?”

Stiff, sore, like you just got run over by a train. 

“Not too bad.” Sitting in his lap, now in a pair of sweats and a shirt that you recognize isn’t yours, you both sit under a fuzzy blanket pulled from your room. “What happened? Where is-?”

“Hang on, let's focus on you first. Does your side hurt right now?”

It does, a constant stinging that radiates into a dull thrumming. It feels bulky, the firmness of tape keeping down what you presume to be gauze while it pulls at the peachfuzz on your skin. Your arm, the one that took the injection, feels sorer than after a full mission. 

“Feels fine right now, would like some meds maybe later.” Quietly responding before looking up to his brown eyes. While Gaz usually has enough snark to serve his entire country, his gently and nurturing tendencies highlight in the soft and intimate moment.

He holds the qualities of a leader, and possibly be concerning at his young age. But seeing as he’s grown under Price’s wing, being a favored candidate from the beginning, maybe his weight was a shouldered experience to lighten the Captain's load. Maybe he won’t be able to fully take his place until the gentleness withers away into hate and bloodborne desire to bark and bite under the pull of a leash.

Maybe he’ll get sick of it and decide to have a family, leaving this life behind when he feels his hands have turned far too dirty.

He turns his gaze to the TV for a moment, drawing a long sigh in before releasing, a small frown on his lips. “You remember anything?”

You’d rather not. Had you still been in a sterile environment, you’d have woken in a panic just as before. 

“Yes. The… yes.” Glancing away, you can feel the shift in your eyes focus. “I remember something happening when I saw Price’s face then you were there.”

You miss the look of worry on his face when the game on TV catches your attention as someone scores. “Where are the others?’

“Price and Soap dealing with the brass. Ghost was here a second ago but will be right back.” Gaz’s head tilts back behind him to check around before reaching up to the IV bag behind you two. “You’re just about finished, you fine if I take this out?”

Offering him your hand, he removes the tube and tape before placing a gauze square and bandaid over it. “Not supposed to take it out until you’re completely done, but you’ll drink your water, yea?” Inadvertently speaking close to your ear while he clamps the IV line shut, a chill runs down your spine.

“Mm, I will. Thank you.” Silent gratitude for him being sweet enough to let you off the tether, you take it as a signal of freedom and try to get up. Before being interrupted.

“Stay down, Saint.”

Ghost enters the archway of the common room; Dressed in baggy sweats and a T-shirt that shouldn't be as form-fitting as it is. A black gator mask hides the lower half of his face. He makes his way to a spot on the couch adjacent to you and Gaz.

“Your stitches are barely holding from earlier. Not allowed to be moving like that.” 

Underneath you, Gaz squirms while clearing his throat once you settle down. “Ah, actually. Ghost.” He starts, voice now sounding reluctant with trepidation. “You mind taking over for a bit? Haven’t eaten and need to piss.”

A mix between a laugh and worry crosses your mind as you pout when realizing he’d been here the whole time with you. 

“Sorry, Kyle.” Whispered as you give his shoulder a pat, looking to Ghost for whatever his plan would be. “How long was I out?”

The lieutenant scoots next to you, arms brought out to grab underneath your legs and back before gently transferring you into his lap. You can feel Gaz getting up behind you, a soft squeeze on your shoulder before he leaves. “Bout an hour ‘n half.” 

The difference between Gaz and Ghost is definitely in size, but the lieutenants body is firm and demands that you accommodate to him rather than how Gaz’s size lets his boldly mold to you. You’re still blinking slowly, sluggishly trying to reintegrate your mind into full speed. A grunt acknowledges the statement.  

“Didn’t know you had blond hair.” 

Ghost is pretty, not even in his own way, he is just simply pretty. Brown eyes contrast the lightness of his hair, some spots missing where scars trail over his scalp. His forehead also having lines from stitches done too messy, wrinkles from years of fighting, and a few freckles decorate the top bridge of his nose. A second scan shows a hairline scar over his left eyelid, a group of eyelashes being blond where the scar ends.

“You wouldn’t ‘ave known.” A huffed laugh makes his chest puff up, only looking down at you for a moment before watching the game. 

Before you can even ask another question, he voice muted. “That… doctor. He wasn’t supposed to be on base. Not even from what he did, but there was no agreement to have the facility’s medical here. Not even the command can get on here without clearance and a schedule.” 

The clench in your jaw halts your words, growing almost distant in the eyes as you digest the information. “So how did he get on base? Just lie his way through everything?”

Ghost sighs, watching one of the teams score a goal before turning back to you. 

“Yes. Fucking skunk lied his way through, altered some ID and got into medical. They say he was watching over your file and once he saw your name ping in as a combat injury, he was acting as your attending and case manager.”

It really should send more of a chill down your back than the small amount it does, rather, a sluggish feeling churning in your stomach. You’ve been through horrible things. Having eyes on you stopped phasing you a while ago.

Letting the conversation drop, you both turn your attention towards the football game to watch the halfway point. You find a place for your face to rest on his collarbone, laying yourself to use his chest like a pillow. He doesn’t react, yet in moments where the visiting team comes close to scoring a goal, his knee bounces in anticipation. 

“Did you ever play any sports?”

His knee settles before responding. “Hockey. Short time, but ‘s fun.” 

“Hm, was gonna take you for a rugby kinda guy.”

“Nah, that's more John’s style. The both of them.” The mental image of a younger pair of Johns conjures in your mind, a soft grin twitching the corners of your mouth at the thought. “Sometimes they’ll play when we’re together on leave.”

“Leave?” A pause as your eyes blink open slowly. You don’t remember closing them. “Like you guys just… Leave?”

The feeling of his large, warm, hand moving to hold your back comes when he shifts to look down at you. “Leave. When we get a break from duty.” It comes out as a question more so, his brows furrowing down.

“Oh.” Matching his confusion. “I didn’t get to have those. Nowhere to just, go.” You didn’t have a home, lost that long ago. Sadness was gaslit into happiness by telling yourself you didn’t have to pay rent, and bills, and not worrying about the economy.

Something shifts in his eyes, Ghost himself looking like a kicked puppy now as he takes in your implications. Softness emits subtly in his eyes and the way he slightly rests you on his chest when pushing you into him. 

“I’m sure you can ask Capt’ to fix that.” A soft scratch of your scalp leads you to settle down, and when you keep breathing in the smell of him, you fall asleep.

---

“... lost it by a point. Bloody coach looks like a muppet.”

“Won’t be able to show his face for the next year. Damn bloke.”

The voice sends enough of a spark to take you out of your REM cycle, now taking stock of where you’re at. From the smell of it, you’re on the couch but now lay on it instead of a body. There's a few more steps of shuffling before it stills.

“How is she?”

The warmth next to you grunts, shifting to leave the couch. “Seems fine, but fell back asleep quickly once Gaz left ‘er with me.” The new set of footsteps have a distinct gait, trying to be silent but failing with the TV no longer being on. “How’d your side go?”

“Almost got me on excessive force.” The croaky voice makes your mind wake up more, realizing its Price. “Almost knocked the brass out hearing that. Had to make sure he saw the vials and needles he snuck in.”

“Was he going to… do anyth-”

“No.” Price cuts Ghost off immediately, something lying in the tautness of his voice. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know, else I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘em.”

Exhaustion covers your body and mind, fighting it to the point where it feels like you have to unstick yourself from the couch but tingling makes your body want to still. You pull on your muscles enough that Price notices.

“Hey, pretty girl. Can you hear me?”

The groan that leaves you is enough of a signal that you can. One of his hands moves to pet your hair down as the other adjusts the blanket on you. Footsteps elsewhere fade away, signaling Ghost’s departure. Your eyes open to watch Price squat down in front of you.

“There she is.” He coo’s in a hushed whisper. Part of you wants to cry at how good it makes your heart feel. All you can manage is a whimper.

“Still tired?”

“Mhh. Yes.” Croaking makes you realize how thirsty you are, somewhat regretting not staying up to drink your water like you’d promised Gaz. “Where were you?”

Blue eyes leave the depths of your red ones, tracing over your face to your neck, down to your body, and how you lay on your uninjured side. “Taking care of business. Nothing to worry about.”

His hand comes back to your arm, making you flinch as he presses onto the tiny spot of dried blood. The small twinge of pain from his softness makes you want to scream at him, cry at him while crying for him to hold you. To give any emotion clearly while silence eats away between you.

“Did I mess up?”

The white of his eyes shows a bit more when he widens them in surprise, fliting up to hold your gaze. “No… No, Saint. You did not mess up.” In a moment, he moves to his knees, crowding you onto the couch while bringing your face closer to his. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have left you in there. Should have fuckin’ listened to you.” 

In a twisted sense, the couch seems like his pew, and you are the body he weeps over. Wrapped in a blanket is a far-off notion from any white to be buried in, but your open eyes just feel so tired and dulled from the last few days. Rightfully so. His hands cup your face like they would hold a bible open, finding scripture in the features of your face.

Price doesn’t cry. How much would it take to make him? Has he had a family? Did he lose someone he loved because of enemies? Did he have a tragic backstory that granted him an almost immortal sense of luck?

There’s certainly no angel on his shoulder because you’d have fought and killed it on the first day.

“You didn’t know.” Starting hoarsely, swallowing the saliva in your mouth. “I didn’t want you to know.”

There's dissatisfaction from hearing your answer, a pull at the corners of his mouth. “I need to know, Saint. I have to know. That’s not goin’ to happen again.” Leaning down to press his chapped lips to your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

The feeling of his hair in your hands is surprisingly soft, almost as surprising when you realize you’re bringing him in to kiss you. 

It’s soft, languid, and slow, yet anxiety boiling at the bottom of your stomach. His lips part yours, leading you to taste the tobacco you tried days ago. His mustache and beard scratch your face, prickling your skin in an added sense of feeling to grapple onto. Dragging you closer with an arm wrapped behind your back, his tongue teases yours before diving in deeper.

“While this is sickeningly romantic,”

The voice makes you gasp like a whore in her lover's shared bed, the drawl sardonic enough to know it is exactly not that.

It’s so much worse.

“I rather prefer a different type of scene.” 

The woman stands against the doorway, arms crossed while she surveys the scene. Dressed in black pants and a turtleneck, her blue eyes light up with the white overcoat that shields her from the coldness of desert nights.

“Kate-” Price backpedals, separating himself from you enough to sit up straight from his place on the floor. Stuttering, he glances at you before back to her, a blush fading into existence on his aged skin. “I- uh. What are you doing here?’

Kate Laswell, smirks before looking at you with a slightly softer expression. She’s still cocky through and through from catching her prestigious ally making out with his little demon. 

“After the shit show got up the ladder, I decided to make a quick trip to check-in. And, you never called me back, Captain.” 

Ok, now it is starting to seem like a lovers quarrel. Feeling out of place, you don't move until Price takes a moment to clear his throat, leaning forward as if to obstruct you from her view.

“Well, I’m assuming it’s more serious than a phone call let it out to be.” Standing his hand brushes your shoulder before he crosses his arms. Laswell watches, moving forward a bit. Her eyes glance towards you, a subtle nod in greeting.

“Pleasure to meet you, Saint. Sorry to interrupt.” Absolutely no shame eludes from this woman. Continuing on, she holds Price’s gaze;  “A base just got accredited for their first hybrid operator. Similar to our situation with Saint.” She takes a moment to look over you, briefly checking out the remainder of the IV bag on its stand. “Need you to go do didactics for our friends.”

“And which friends are you speaking of this time.” 

She pauses, a flicker of her lips turning upwards if only for a moment. 

“You’ll be headed back to Las Almas.”

As if watching a dramatic TV show, your eyes flit back to take in his reaction. If you had the energy, you’d feel bad for Price’s stress levels. With the sigh he lets out, you know that he can never catch a break.