#don’t be fooled by the blank expression he is *not* friendly unless you are a Fowl/Butler you *will* get your head bitten off

[fowlblue]

what came back is not what left you…

After the Fowl Star sinks and Fowl Senior is murdered on the cold shore of the Bay of Kola under the watchful eye of the full moon, the rest of the family is devastated. With no survivors found, they are left fearing the worst-

And Fowl Senior did die. Britva saw to that. But when the Mafiya man’s mangled body is found torn to pieces several nights later, the scene stinking of salt and seawater and fresh blood, Artemis gets a strange and sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something tells him to go to the shore, and wait- and eventually, his father surfaces upon it, changed. Scaled and split-gilled and finned in bloody red… and that’s just the beginning.

Fowl Senior has been brought back to life by magical forces beyond understanding, warped by the anger and fear of his death into something one could best call ‘siren’- and he has a monsterous appetite to match.

Some debts can only be paid in blood.

[fukurodianthus]

Cotton Candy Kisses

Synopsis: Let’s get one thing straight, confessions aren’t Ushijima Wakatoshi’s cup of tea, and the same goes for you when it comes to dealing with rejections. But then, your crackhead friends (who are done with watching two emotionally constipated fools pine for each other for two years) decide to take matters into their own hands. 

 Its a recipe for disaster, topped off with cherry coke and cotton candy.

Genre: Fluff, (a light sprinkle of angst thrown in), friends to lovers AU, mutual pining

Trigger warnings: Just a smol makeout scene lmao (not explicit), swearing(meanwhile, my mom: *disappointed brown parent noises*)

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x fem! reader

Word count: 3k+

Author’s note: I planned to release this on valentine’s day, but my exam schedule said “no❤️”. N E ways, didnt get time to proofread it, so excuse the painful amount of errors it may have. (More unnecessary rambles notes at the end!)

𝐈

“Toshi, Terushima asked me out on a date.”

“Terushima as in Terushima Yuuiji from Johzenji? The one with piercings?” Ushijima sat on the gym floor, busy tying his shoelaces.

“Yeah.”

He sat facing away from you, so you had no way of telling how well he was taking this news.

Not like it mattered anyway.

For the last two-years, you had kept dropping subtle hints that you liked him. Hell, if baking heart-shaped red-velvet cookies for him every valentine’s day hadn’t given him the slightest hint that your feelings for him weren’t exactly platonic, probably nothing could make the stoic ace aware of your feelings.

Unless you directly said it to his face.

Wakatoshi, I like you.

Four words. There were just these four words standing between Wakatoshi and your undeclared feelings. Four words could free you from the shackles of this unrequited love that had been weighing you down for the past two years.

But what was the point anyway? He’d reject you, just like he rejected Ririka. The Ririka Hirai, captain of the girls’ volleyball team, the ace who wielded magic in her hands. Let alone the guys from Shiratorizawa, even boys from other prefectures were totally whipped for her. He didn’t even bat an eyelid before a firm ‘No’ rolled off his lips. She hated crying in front of others, but the redness in her eyes and her swollen eyelids made it obvious that her spirit had been crushed by the rejection. Her previous outgoing, warm and friendly nature had vanished within a few seconds as she withdrew herself into her shell.

If this is what rejections did to people, then you were fine with being crushed under the weight of unrequited love. And you didn’t have a Semi Eita in your life like she had, so there wouldn’t be anybody to help you out of your wallowing self-pity.

Your mind wandered back to your interaction with her yesterday, how she had pulled you into the locker room, firm hands wrapped around your wrists with no intention of letting go. You were reminded of her disastrous plan, and how you’d stupidly agreed to go along with it.

𝐈𝐈

(𝟐 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨)

“You love him, don’t you Y/N?” she asked you, cocking her head to her side as she twirled the green roots of het bubblegum colored hair. Why was she so oddly insistent on dying her hair like a meth-addicted oompa loompa? And the bigger question was, how the fuck did she look so good?

“I don’t know, Riri.” What did she expect to hear? How could you say that you weren’t half as brave as she’d been? You’d rather tend to the wounds that unrequited love caused than deal with the empty-black void of self-loathing, insecurities and embarrassment that rejection left behind.

“Y/N, I’m not a fool. I can see the way your eyes light up when he’s around.”

“So what? What the fuck should I do? Confess my feelings and get rejected? I’d rather wither under the weight of my undeclared feelings than have my soul crushed by a rejection from my best friend, thanks.” You knew you were wrong; you knew you should let go of these useless, painful feelings by confessing. Hearing him reject you would put the nail in the coffin of your one-sided love and you’d finally be free.

But you didn’t want to be free. Cowardice had this odd feeling of comfort attached to it, and you’d gotten used to it.

“Y/N, I’m not here to fight with you over a stupid himbo of a guy. It just hurts me to see you go through the same pain I had gone through. I’m just here to look out for you. I’ll give you my advice whether you want it or not, and its up to you if you’ll take it.”

You looked away. You knew that whatever she was going to say would probably make sense, she was such a smartass after all. She was never wrong, as much as you hated admitting it. Why was she such a good friend, why did she have to be so nice? It pissed you off.

“Ushijima is bad at this entire thing of love and friendships, its probably not big news to you, is it? His parents’ divorce ruined his faith in love.” She cleared her throat, trying to hide the tremble in her voice. “He doesn’t know how this entire thing of love and feelings work. Loving him is difficult, it’s like expecting an iceberg to provide you with warmth. But…” her voice trailed off.

“But what?”

“I think he likes you. He’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. He never saved a seat for me at lunch the way he does for you. He acts...weird around you.”

“That’s bullshit Riri, he does that stuff for me because I’m his team's manager, you know?”

“You’re just as dense as him. Perfect! You’d make a great couple” she giggled, fluttering her long, black lashes.

“Why did you confess to him if you thought he liked me?”

“Oh, I was coming to that. You see, I was a hundred percent sure he wouldn’t like me back, so I thought I might as well get these stupid feelings of my chest and move on, you know? It still hurt a lot for a few days, though. Rejections sucks, that’s nothing new. And I kind of liked Semi, so it felt like I was emotionally cheating on him if I still liked Ushijima. So, I finally confessed to him after getting rid of my feelings for Ushiwaka.” She pressed her lips together and looked away, a faint blush blossoming on her cheeks.

“You and Semi are…”

“We’re a thing now, yeah.”

“I’m so happy for you Ririka!” you practically squealed, squishing her reddened cheeks.

“We had a talk yesterday and we decided that we can no longer bear to see you two emotionally constipated dummies pining for each other anymore, so we’re taking matters into our own hands.”

“What?” Your stared at her with widened eyes, praying she didn’t come up with any stupid plans to make the situation worse.

“Do you know Terushima from Johzenji?”

“Yeah, kinda, that tongue-piercing dude with an undercut, right?”

“He’s my friend and he has agreed to helping us.”

“Oh hell no.”

“I don’t take no for an answer, I’m sorry. Babe, you can come out now.”

You choked on your own spit as you saw Semi climbing out of Ririka’s locker.

“How the fuck did you even fit him in there? Was he there the whole time? What made you think sneaking your boyfriend into the girl’s locker room was a good idea?”

“Honey, that’s too many unnecessary questions, I ain’t answering them. And there’s nobody around. So, I don’t think we’ll get in any trouble as long as you don’t snitch.”

“I’m not going to snitch.”

“That’s what I thought. Now babe, tell her about our plan.”

Semi went over with the details of their plan.

Needless to say, it was a recipe for disaster, you were sure of it.

Having an affinity for all things disastrous, you agreed to their plan.

*flashback ends*

𝐈𝐈𝐈

(𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭)

“Y/N, you there?” Ushijima was done with tying his shoelaces a while ago and now stood in front of you, his tall frame cowering over you.

You snapped out of your trance.

“Yeah, I was j-just busy thinking about some stuff.” You smoothed out your skirt and gripped your bag tightly, and looking down at your feet. You could feel his gaze on your face, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye.

“Stuff as in…Terushima? Were you thinking about him?”

You were taken aback by his uncharacteristically direct question and looked into his eyes. His gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips; his brows furrowed together in…concern?

Your imagination must be getting better of you.

“Yeah, I was thinking about our date, tomorrow.”

His eyes seemed duller than usual, lacking its usual lustre.

“He doesn’t have a reputation for being loyal, you know.” His words seemed long-drawn, forced, painful. As if it physically hurt him to get these words to roll of his tongue.

He ran his fingers through his greasy olive-brown hair, his gaze still fixed on you. You became painfully aware of the silence in the empty gym room. Why was your heart beating so loudly? Was his heart beating just as loud?

His breath hitched as you stepped closer to him. You noticed the way his sweat-drenched shirt clung to his body, highlighting his well-built frame, the way his lips glistened when he licked his lips, the way his tousled hair stuck to his forehead. You almost brushed those stray strands off his face. Almost.

You spoke in a low tone, almost in a whisper. This moment seemed fragile, like treading on thin ice. It felt as if you both were in a trance and any loud noise would snap you back to reality. You wouldn’t mind being stuck in this trance for a few eternities. “Terushima is a player, a heartbreaker. You think I don’t know that? Maybe I just want to have my heart broken, Toshi. Isn't it better than loving someone who will never love me back?”

He stared at you with a blank, unreadable expression. You noticed how his adam’s apple bobbed up and down when he gulped, his neck and collarbones glistening with sweat.

He had no business being this hot, godamnit.          

“I just remembered, Coach Washijo wanted to have a talk with me-“ he took a step back, breaking eye contact with you.

“Coach Washijo is on a sick-leave for a week, Toshi.”

“Ah okay, right.” He turned on his heels and stormed out of the gym, the tips of his ears covered in a faint red glow.

How long will you keep running away Wakatoshi?

𝐈𝐕

(𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐲)

“Yeah, chocolate will be fine.”

Terushima handed you the ice-cream cone, flashing his iconic toothy grin at you.

This park of the amusement park was quieter and calmer than the other parts. You were seated on a bench beside a  mermaid shaped fountain. Behind you, far off in the distance was a Ferris wheel, lit up in pink and red neon lights, a classic decoration that was put up in this park every valentine’s day.

“Want anything else, babe?” He sat down beside you on the bench, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“Dude, you don’t have to put on such a show, you know? You don’t have to make it so realistic.”

He threw his head back and let out another one of his irritating laughs. It was pretty cute, even though you’d never admit it aloud.

“Y/N who said I’m pretending? When Riri asked me to take you out on a fake date to make lover boy Toshi jealous, I thought this would be a pretty good opportunity to score a date with a cute girl, it doesn’t matter if the date is fake or not.”

“You even bought a couple’s ticket, huh?”

“This amusement park has a special valentine’s day offer for couples, fifty percent off for each ride, aint that crazy? I was just saving my coins princess.”

“I swear to god, call me that one more time and you’ll find my foot up your ass-“

“Ooh, kinky!”

It physically hurt you to not punch him and wipe that cheesy grin off his face. “I can’t handle you Terushima-” You hungrily bit down on the ice-cream, gobbling it up in a matter of a few seconds.

Terushima's nose scrunched up in disgust. “The fuck Y/N, who bites ice-cream like that! Are you a caveman or something?"

“Aw babe, didn’t you know? I’m not like other girls.” You dramatically flicked a stand of your hair, as your pretentious, catty tone drew a chuckle from him.

“C’mon now, fake date or not lets a have a good time! I’m done sitting around on this bench, we’re in an amusement park for fuck’s sake Y/N!” He took his black leather jacket off, flinging it around his shoulders, his white shirt clung to his skin. He looked like a stereotypical bad boy out of a wattpad book written by a 16-year-old. You bit down the urge to make a sarcastic comment about his appearance.

“Get up now, you lazy butt.” He offered you a hand.

You slapped his hand away and stood up, brushing the small remnants of the ice-cream cone off your plaid yellow dress.

“Damn, you feisty.”

“Serves you right, pisshead.”

He was about to make a snarky retort when his eyes suddenly landed on someone standing in the crowd beside the ferris wheel. “Looks like lover boy is here.”

“You sure its him?”

“A hundred and twenty percent ma’am! Now go get your man!” He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead before winking at you. “That’ll get him riled up enough.”

“You’re such a little shit-”

“Shut up, he’s coming here, go talk to him.”

You turned around on your heels to see Ushijima making his way towards you.

“Hey! What you doing here Toshi?” You tried putting on a surprised expression, but after seeing how Terushima snickered at you, you understood that you probably overdid it.

“Uhm, did I interrupt your d-date?” Ushijima looked painfully flustered. His eyes searched your face, looking for signs of annoyance or anger.

He was surprised at how happy you looked. Didn’t girls get annoyed when someone interrupted their dates? Ah, women, such complex creatures, all mysteries of the world seem irrelevant when compared to the mystery of a woman’s psyche.

“No, not at all! Do you want to tell me something?” You cocked you head and batted your eyelashes at him playfully.

But he remained silent, lips tightly pressed together as his eyes kept flickering between Terushima and you.

“Hey Yuuji, I’d like to talk to Toshi in private, maybe you could…you know-“

“Ah that was stupid of me! I’ll leave you two to yourselves. I’ll be at the Haunted Mansion if you need me, a friend of mine works there as a part time zombie.” He pointed finger guns at you and winked. "See ya later sweet cheeks!" You saw his silhouette fade into the distance.

It was only you and Ushijima now.

The golden glow from the setting sun and the faint pink lights from the faraway Ferris wheel illuminated his face in a rose-gold glow. He sported a red flannel shirt, more specifically the one you had bought for him while shopping with Tendou last summer.

He looked ethereal.

You cleared you throat. “Toshi? You wanted to tell me something, right?”

He looked started, unsure of himself. You looked at him with anticipation, your heart almost leaping out of your ribcage.

“Y/N, for the next match Yamagata will replace Akakura as the libero because he twisted his ankle in in the hallway today.”

Unbeknowst to you, Ririka and Semi hid behind an ice-cream truck in the distance, keeping an eye on you both. They could hear small excerpts of your conversation. So, when they heard Ushijima saying something about ‘match’ and ‘libero’, they let out frustrated groans. “That dense fucker messed up yet again.” they whispered under their breaths in unison.

Disappointment flashed across your face. Was he serious? How dense could a guy possibly be?

“You came this far, interrupted my date to tell me this, Toshi? You could just have messaged me, you know?” Your voice trembled, vision blurring with tears.

So much for love.

You felt stupid, you wanted to slap yourself across your face for being naïve enough to believe that Ushijima Wakatoshi could ever reciprocate your feelings.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

You started to walk away, wiping your eyes with the sleeves of your dress, when you felt a strong arm coil across you waist.

Wakatoshi pulled you close, and in an instant his lips were on yours. You didn’t spare a second thought before kissing him back, your lips hungrily melting into his. You grazed your tongue across his lower lip as he pushed you against the fountain, one hand placed on the small of your back pulling your body closer and the other under your dress, grazing your thigh. Your fingers aimlessly hovered over his chest before gently tugging him by the collar of his shirt.

When he finally pulled away, you both stared at each other, panting breathlessly, hair drenched from the light spray of water cascading down the fountain. The warmth of his lips still lingered on your mouth.

The sound of his voice snapped you out of your dreamlike trance. “Tendou and Semi told me that I wasn’t worthy enough of being Shiratorizawa’s ace if I chickened out of professing my feelings to the girl I’ve liked for two years. How could I sit back and watch that guy from Johzenji steal you away? I like you Y/N, and I'm tired of pretending that I don't."

You were about to respond when Semi’s voice rang out from behind the ice-cream truck.

“Oh my god Riri! Did you see that? They kissed! I’m so proud of my miracle boy-”

“Keep it down you dimwit, or they’ll hear us-“

You let out a soft chuckle and took Ushijima’s hand in yours. “Wouldn't it be very surprising if Semi and Riri suddenly popped out from behind that ice-cream truck, Toshi? But that's totally impossible right? Not like they'd ever eavesdrop on us-"

Semi and Ririka slowly made their way towards you, eyes downcast with guilt.

“We didn’t mean to intrude-” Semi started to explain.

“Shut your trap, you shitheads, we wouldn’t be together if it weren’t for you.” You chirped, drawing them into a tight embrace.

“What do you mean Y/N?” Ushijima stared at you, confused. You stifled a chuckle.

“Well, we actually made a plan…” Ririka started explaining.

After Semi, Ririka and you explained your entire scheme to him, he stared at you, confused, open mouthed.

“You could just have told me, you know? All this to get me jealous?”

“I was scared of getting rejected, Toshi.”

“I’d never reject you!”

“And how the fuck was I supposed to know that? You never showed any signs of recognition at my hints, how was I supposed to know you liked me? You huffed.

“Well, I suppose I…nevermind.”

“No, finish your sentence!”

“Would you like to ride the Ferris Wheel, Y/N?”

“Thought you’d never ask. But first, buy some cotton candy for your lady love.” He took his hand in yours, interlacing your fingers with his. "Anything for my girl."

𝐕

Ushijima’s lips softly grazed you neck, his hot breath fanning across your collarbones.

The soft pink light from the Ferris Wheel lit his face up.

Wiping a piece of leftover cotton candy from your lips, he suddenly asked, “Why do you love me, Y/N?”

You thought of the times he saved extra bento boxes for you after lunch when you refused to eat properly, how he’d stayed awake, sitting in your bedside chair, taking care of you as your body burned in fever, how he’d laugh at your stupid jokes even though they weren’t anything close to being funny, or how he’d show up at your door with cotton candy and cherry coke whenever you were under the weather.

You pressed your lips against his before whispering,

“What’s there to not love, Toshi?”

Author’s rambles notes pt. 2: Ririka Hirai isn’t a very well-known character, but I decided to add her anyways because the girl’s volleyball team characters deserve some love too! You can find more about her here (if it very isnt obvious already, I find her character absolutely adorable!)

N E ways, I hope you enjoyed reading this fic(which has absolutely 0 grammatical errors and i totally didnt write this while overdosing on an unhealthy amount of coffee at three in the morning)

Reblogs would be highly appreciated!

[trashmenofmarvel]

Always Will Be - Ch 2

Pairing: Loki x TVA Agent!Reader

Series Warnings (18+ Only): Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Violence, Time Shenanigans, Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Chapter Summary: You interview Laufeyson for his crimes against the Sacred Timeline. 

AO3

The journey from the elevator was uneventful as you led the variant down the long hallway. Other employees of the TVA also walked the hall, alone or in pairs, and they paid attention to the two of you only to make sure you weren’t in their path.

You kept Laufeyson firmly in your periphery, more to keep him from wandering than a belief that he would attempt to escape. You didn’t doubt that would come at some point, but it was a little too early for him to play that hand.

“Where are we going?”

The casual candor of his voice didn’t fool you, not when the sharpness of his gaze was heating the side of your face.

“If it’s to my execution, I would rather know ahead of time,” he added with false friendliness. “It’s just polite.”

“We don’t kill people, Mister Laufeyson.”

“I can’t suffer a liar.”

You stopped before a heavy double door, two Minutemen standing guard on either side of it, and turned to the variant.

“I don’t lie. That’s your department.”

His eyes darkened and genuine anger flashed in their depths, but then it was gone so fast you would have questioned it was there in the first place if you hadn’t known better.

But you did.

Both Minutemen opened the doors, and you led the prisoner into Time Theater 25. It was the same beige color as the rest of the wing, and the only pieces of furniture were a small, round glass table, two metal weave chairs, and a control monitor.

You indicated the seat to the left and said, “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“I would be more comfortable with this collar removed.”

Out of the corner of your eye he moved, quickly and without warning. You slipped the remote out of your sleeve and thumbed the pad. In the blink of an eye, he vanished and reappeared where he’d been two seconds previously, as if he hadn’t moved at all.

“You’ll find time works differently here at the TVA,” you informed him. “Please, sit.”

He said nothing, the animosity wafting off of him in waves. You ignored him, setting the files of paperwork down onto the table before taking your own chair. He took his own, albeit more cautiously, his eyes narrowed in dislike.

“Let the record show this is the entirety of Loki Laufeyson’s life recording,” you began. “Formerly of Jotunheim, formerly of Asgard—“

“—and formerly of Midgard.”

His smile was sharp.

“I did spend quite some time there. Both in my youth, and well, more recently.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Just wanted to be sure you’re thorough in your interview. That is what this is, isn’t it? My intake interview?”

You ignored the curious tilt of his head, as well as his question, and turned to the control monitor. It was rather small, round and orange, almost reminiscence of the gumball candies invented on Earth.

You flipped a switch and the room dimmed just as a rippling image of light appeared on the wall, powered by the holoprojector.

“We will be very thorough, Mister Laufeyson, and we shall start from the beginning. This is your home world. And that is you.”

The image focused on something small, blue, and wailing. The prisoner as a child, dying and abandoned.

You had seen the reel hundreds of times, had scoured most of this variant’s life. So while the film played, you watched him out of the corner of your eye. It was curious that Laufeyson didn’t flinch at the sight of his infant self being left to die. His face was carefully blank, unreadable, and his eyes barely moved.

But there was a shift when the King of Asgard entered the scene. When Odin lifted the lost babe into his arms, his nose slightly crinkled at the corners.

It was the only obvious tell he gave for quite a while. Laufeyson was closed off, appearing almost bored as his adolescence played out on the wall. The two royal brothers had rowdy, adventure-filled childhoods, though Laufeyson often acted as his brother’s second shadow. He only excelled when given magical lessons by his adoptive mother.

He gave an eye roll or two during Thor’s coronation, and he actually yawned during the fight on Jotunheim. But his boredom fell away when blue stretched across his skin for the first time, inflicted by the touch of a Jotun. And he replaced the carefully constructed mask over the confrontation with his adoptive father, and the truth was revealed that his very identity had been a fabrication.

When the scene was finally over and the King had fallen into Odinsleep, an inexperienced and uneducated person might have believed Laufeyson was unaffected. That all of the events of his childhood were little more than entertainment for his amusement.

But it wasn’t. Having to relive those moments would linger in his mind, and that was the point.

He smirked whenever the scene changed to him displaying power over Thor and his companions while holding the temporary throne. He seemed to enjoy his adoptive brother’s exile to Earth, and there was no shame given for these childish displays. That’s what they were, the product of a child throwing a tantrum.

His mask started to slip again, but not at the timestamp you expected. Laufeyson flinched at the point of violent contact between the Destroyer and Thor, knocking him back and nearly killing him in the process. Would have, if not for Thor’s returned power.

You wondered if Laufeyson had wanted to murder his brother intentionally, or if he had underestimated the Destroyer’s strength.

You picked up a notepad and scribbled down the question. Unfortunately, the chronological record could only display events as they happened, not the motivation or intention of the actors involved. It was a relevant question to ponder later.

“What are you doing?”

You lifted your head to find the variant staring at you. You clicked your pen closed and put it on the table, keeping the notepad firmly in your lap.

“You needn’t concern yourself. Please, pay attention to the screen.”

His gaze narrowed but said nothing. It was a look you were familiar with, though not one aimed at you. It meant Laufeyson would also ponder the question for later, though with an agenda bent toward scheming and manipulation.

You would need to be careful, but not as careful as he needed to be. After all, he was the Time Criminal.

The battle between Laufeyson and Odinson drew a few chuckles and smiles from the variant, as if he were recalling fond memories. His expression flattened into boredom when the King arrived to prevent Loki from falling, and his face remained blank as he let go, falling into the wormhole the unstable Bifrost had created.

It was a show, all for your benefit. Proof that he didn’t care about those he had harmed, that he was above all of his past decisions.

Because of his put-upon apathy, you let the record continue to run. You knew what came next. He did too.

Laufeyson watched his past-self float amongst the stares, frozen and immobilized in the vacuum of space. He didn’t perish, Jotuns and Asgardians were too tough for that, but it wasn’t pleasant. The subzero temperatures, the negative pressure, the absence of air and light, all contributed to his silent suffering.

It was a pleasure compared to what happened after.

A massive, dark ship appeared on the horizon, pulling him onboard. Laufeyson barely had time to defrost (even Jotuns had a freezing limit) before he was fixed with an electric collar and thrown into a cell.

Laufeyson was left in the dark for days with no food or water. He was brought out only to be strung up by his wrists, asked questions he refused to answer, and then he was electrocuted until he was barely conscious.

He was returned to his cell, given nothing for warmth or sustenance, and the process began again several days later.

The present-day Laufeyson didn’t blink. Didn’t seem to breathe as he watched. His eyes were glazed over, skin pale under the harsh lighting.

Another round of torture, but this one was different. It was inflicted not by electricity, but by a blue stone. Not the stone he would use to splinter the timeline. This stone was actually yellow, and it commanded minds rather than physical space, but Laufeyson didn’t know that at the time.

All he knew was agony, delivered by the hands of the owner of the ship. A warlord from Titan that would not stop until Laufeyson begged to be allowed to serve.

And beg he would. It had already happened, was recorded with perfect clarity, and it would happen within just a few short hours of being exposed to the Mind Stone.

Laufeyson made a small noise, quiet compared to the distant screaming of his former self.

“What was that?” you asked at normal.

“I said stop.”

When you craned your head in his direction, he refused to meet your eye.

“I don’t want to see this.”

You put your pen down on the table and fully faced him, folding your fingers in front of you.

“Do you verbally acknowledge that you wish to skip the contents of your time with Thanos the Mad Titan?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“A yes or no response is required.”

“Yes.”

He drew out the word in a growl.

“Do you verbally acknowledge that the Time Variance Authority is under no legal responsibility for memory gaps or incorrect memory recall for the time skipped during this interview process—“

“Yes.”

“Do you verbally acknowledge the contents that lie herein are accurate and complete—“

“Yes!”

He jerked his head toward you, his eyes reflective and bloodshot, teeth bared in a quiet snarl.

“It’s accurate, as you bloody well know, so unless you derive sick pleasure from the tortured screams of others, would you be so kind as to fucking skip it!”

His chest heaved, skin dotted with sweat, and he was half out of his seat with fingers clawing into the table hard enough for hairline cracks to splinter down the glass.

You had witnessed the variant become aggressive and hostile before, mostly against his adopted brother. Having the force of that fury directed at your direction was a much different experience.

You dropped your eyes and smoothed your tie, giving him a moment to collect himself. When you heard the shuffle of him retaking his chair, you lifted your head but kept your eyes on the monitor. With a few knobs turned and a switch flipped, the image on the wall, currently depicting Laufeyson kneeling before Thanos, supplicating him with promises of whatever he wished.

What Thanos wished was now being shown on the screen: the variant arriving on Earth to steal the Tesseract and prepare for Thanos’ full force to arrive.

Replaying the events of Earth Incident 327-A (colloquially known as the Battle of New York by Earth residents) garnered less of a response from the variant. He watched impassioned as his past-self led the Chitauri against the Avengers, and subsequently lost that battle.

“I really don’t see what all the fuss is about,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the screen as it displayed all of the Avengers seemingly threatening the audience. “A few humans perished. It’s what they do. Nothing to get excited over.”

You ignored the comment. He wasn’t, after all, under scrutiny for the lives he’d taken while under Thanos’ control.

No. The reason for his current incarceration came next.

The holoprojector displayed Alexander Pierce stopping Thor Odinson and Tony Stark, demanding Laufeyson and the Tesseract be remanded to his custody. The argument was interrupted as Stark went into a mild cardiac dysrhythmia due to Scott Lang sabotaging his Arc Reactor.

Lang then kicked the case containing the Space Stone towards another variant of Stark.

The only occupant of the room to notice was Laufeyson. Bruce Banner (as his Hulk persona) created the chaos needed for the Tesseract to be freed from its case, tapping lightly against Laufeyson’s boot.

You fully turned to the variant just as his past-self picks up the Tesseract, disappearing into a spacial rift and vanishing off the screen.

“On May 4th, 2012 at 11:39AM local time, a nexus event occurred.”

The variant rolled his eyes. You continued.

“Loki Variant L1130—“

His eyes narrowed.

“—by using the Tesseract to escape the Avenger’s custody, you created an unsanctioned timeline, and therefore have been deemed a Time Criminal. This timeline has been course-corrected by the Time Variance Authority, and it is my duty as your handler to determine whether you are to be assigned to a Time Cell or pruned.”

“Pruned?” He wrinkled his nose. “I believe the term you’re looking for is killed. I arrived at the same time as another man, and he refused to cooperate. Those goons melted him without hesitation.”

You slightly leaned forward, speaking concisely so there would be no misunderstanding.

“That ‘man’ was a variant, as are you. A being whose existence should never have come to be, and therefore, your life is null. Forfeit. It is by our grace that you even draw breath, and it’s my job to ensure you continue breathing from behind the walls of a cell.”

You leaned back and shuffled your papers in front of you.

“As I said before, we don’t kill people, Mister Laufeyson. Variants are not people.”

Something flashed within his eyes. You only caught a glimpse of it before it was gone, and then his expression was back to one of hostility.

“I deny the charges.”

You blinked.

“You cannot deny them.”

“I just did.”

“It is an irrefutable fact that you stole the Tesseract—“

“My apologies, but,” Laufeyson interrupted, not sorry at all, “did we not watch the same act of the play? Because I distinctly remember seeing a very tiny man stealing the Tesseract first, handing it off to what appears to be a second Tony Stark, who then tried to make off with it before a certain green monster deprived him of his ill-gotten gains.”

Laufeyson spread his hands, giving a toothy smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You may as well charge the Hulk with spoiling the timeline—it certainly wouldn’t have happened without his helpful input. In fact, bring in all the Avengers for crimes against the ‘Sacred Timeline.’ They’re just as guilty as I am, unless that goateed chap I saw happened to be Stark’s long lost twin brother.”

Laufeyson sat up straighter, staring you down.

“You speak of Time Criminals? It’s they you should be after.”

Then just as quickly, he crossed his arms and leveled you with an amused tilt of his head.

“Perhaps you could provide me with a taskforce and resources, and I could return and eliminate them for you. No? Nothing? Cat got your tongue again, darling?”

You rose to your feet, bracing the palms of your hands against the table as you looked him in the eye.

“You picked up the Space Stone and stole it, breaking the timeline. You did that. No one else. It was your actions that brought you here.”

It was not this Loki variant those words had been spoken to, but the smile was wiped from his face just as quickly. Deep down, he may have sensed an echo of those words. A phenomenon known as déjà vu to the common layman, when in reality it was something variants experienced from the Sacred Timeline they were no longer a part of.

Laufeyson also rose to his feet, leaning against the table to meet you in a staring match. He had height on you, and he took advantage of it to lean uncomfortably close.

“You speak of my actions as if you can possibly understand them. You think you know me by watching from a safe, comfortable distance?”

His eyes looked between yours, boring into them with an intensity that was unsettling. And when he spoke, his voice was low and deceptively soothing.

“I know what this place is. Your organization is shrouded in mystery, more of a legend than fact according to Asgardian historians. But Frigga, she should sense your constant manipulations, echoing across time. She forewarned me of what should happen if I come across your ilk. She thought you one of the greatest threats of the universe, but I? I see an amusing sideshow. The Time-Keepers have built quite the circus.”

He leaned in so close you could barely keep him in focus, his warm breath puffing across your face.

“And I see the clowns are playing their parts to perfection.”

You didn’t budge, refusing to cede ground and give him the satisfaction he sought.

“And in this metaphor of yours, where do you see yourself?”

His lips spread into a sharp grin, and he hovered closer.

“In the center of the ring, of course.”

For a moment, you thought he would close the rest of the distance. The sudden aversion of what he might do was so strong that you looked away first, backing off and sitting back down under the pretense of organizing your files.

“It sounds as if you cast yourself as the ringleader,” you commented, still shuffling papers. “The smartest of us all.”

“I am smart.”

“I know.”

He went silent as he slowly sat down, his expression open with surprise. The only one who had ever acknowledged his intelligence without it being an insult was his adoptive mother. Those who knew Laufeyson personally knew how intelligent he was and saw it as a threat to their ego.

You had no such concern, nor did you have an ego to protect. Laufeyson was smart, smarter than you by all accounts, but he wasn’t in control. You were. And that was something he still needed to learn, for his own sake.

“I believe we’ve discussed all that is required,” you said. “This interview is over.”

You stood from your chair and closed your folders, picking them up and tucking them into your arms.

Laufeyson mirrored your movement, rising to his feet, the movement quicker to catch up to you.

“Now, hang on just a minute,” he protested. “We’re not through here, not by a long shot. I demand to speak to someone with actual authority around here, because this is a mistake. I don’t belong here, and you don’t have the power to—”

Pulling out your remote, you rubbed your thumb across the dial, and an internal TVA portal appeared underneath Laufeyson’s feet. He disappeared into it with a cry before the beige portal vanished.

You adjusted your files, straightened your tie, and left the time theater. You had just enough time to grab a bite to eat before the next stage of Laufeyson’s intake procedure.

Next Chapter

[nicknellie]

@fireflyingaway requested: willex + waffle house pretty plz

So I did have to do “extensive research” on Waffle House because I don’t have one near me and have never been to one, and that led me to find an incredibly good dessert place literally a ten minute drive from me so thank you for that lmfao. But anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this, I went with getting together (kind of) fluff because that’s my jam, so I really hope you enjoy it!

Smooth Like Syrup

Somewhere along the way, Waffle House had become Alex’s favourite restaurant. He wondered if it was the childhood memories it brought back, weekend brunches spent there with his grandparents who cared for him and loved him far more than his parents ever had. It could have just been the fact that he loved waffles, and with a name like ‘Waffle House’ they couldn’t really put a foot wrong when it came to serving him. Maybe it was just the familiarity of it all – Alex had always found comfort in routine, after all. Whatever the reason he loved it there so much, Alex went to Waffle House at least once a week, more if he had the time. And it was absolutely nothing to do with the adorable new waiter who had started working there for the summer.

If anything, he was ruining it all.

Because he’d been going to the same Waffle House every week for as long as he could remember, Alex was pretty friendly with most of the staff. A few of them had been working there as long as he’d been a customer, so they were on first-name terms and always took a moment or two to catch up with each other once Alex had ordered his food (which never took long because he always ordered the same thing and they all knew that by now). Seeing the same people working there and having the same generic chitchat with them each week worked perfectly for Alex. It was normal, routine, familiar, a social situation he knew how to navigate.

Then they’d gone and hired Willie. It shouldn’t have been a problem, but it was. A problem for Alex at the very least. Not only did it disrupt his routine and catch him unawares the first time he’d walked into the restaurant to see a new waiter, but the waiter had to look like that. Willie was all dazzling smiles and sharp cheekbones and luscious long hair and it was, quite simply, unfair. Alex came to Waffle House to eat, not get flustered over some ridiculously good-looking boy.

For a few weeks, Alex had taken the admittedly immature approach to just avoid Waffle House altogether. Out of sight, out of mind. The only reason it hadn’t lasted long was because he missed the waffles, and he couldn’t find anything to fill that extra hour and a half of his Saturday. So after not visiting for two weeks, Alex returned to Waffle House and resumed his routine, still flustered by stupidly attractive Willie, but most definitely working on a way to stop it being a problem.

His next plan of action had been simply trying to avoid Willie which was foiled the moment he sat down in his usual booth one Saturday afternoon. He had been hoping that his usual server would spot him and come over for a chat, but as luck would have it, Willie got to his table first.

“Welcome to Waffle House,” he had said, beaming down at Alex, who tried to act as if the sudden appearance hadn’t scared the life out of him. He wasn’t sure how well he pulled it off, but Willie had made no comment. “My name is Willie, I’ll be your server today. What can I get you started with?”

Two things had thrown Alex then. Firstly, it had been the first time he’d heard Willie’s name. It was strange to be able to put a name to the face of an angel and he was certain he would never have guessed ‘Willie’ if he’d been given a million tries. Secondly, the fact that Willie didn’t automatically know his order bewildered him. He was so used to the waiters coming over, confirming he wanted the usual, and slipping into easy conversation. This was new and unexpected, and if there was anything Alex hated it was new and unexpected things.

As such, his mind went blank and he completely forgot what he usually ordered. A plain waffle and a diet coke shouldn’t have been easy to forget, it wasn’t anything fancy, and yet Alex made it work.

“Um,” he’d said dumbly, looking up at Willie’s expectant face with his mouth bobbing open and closed like a mildly distressed fish. He could feel his cheeks heating in a blush and looked away as Willie raised a concerned eyebrow.

“Do you need a minute to decide?” Willie had asked sceptically.

Alex had shaken his head vigorously, aware that probably made him look as frantically flustered as he felt and was trying to hide, which only made him more flustered. He took several shallow but slow breaths before forcing words out of his mouth because that was how conversations worked and he refused to lose the ability to speak over this boy.

“No, no, I know what I want,” he had said eventually. “Just a plain waffle and a diet coke, thank you.”

“Is that everything?” Willie had asked, jotting the order down on his notepad.

Not trusting himself to speak any more than that, Alex just nodded. Willie had shot him a bright smile and disappeared off to get his order prepared. The moment he was certain Willie couldn’t see him anymore, Alex’s head flopped onto the table and he let out a long, exhausted, frustrated groan. He felt like an utter mess.

For the rest of that visit, he’d kept it together by simply not talking to Willie unless it was absolutely necessary. Had he been a more confident person he might have found a better way to handle it, but Alex had been cursed with social awkwardness from the moment he’d been old enough to socialise and it wasn’t suddenly going to fix itself just do he didn’t make a fool of himself in front of Willie.

As time went on, things got simultaneously worse and better between Alex and Willie, enough that Alex both dreaded and looked forward to his weekly Waffle House trips. For one thing, he and Willie had got to know each other a bit better – Willie could anticipate Alex’s order now, Alex could just about talk without tripping over his words or saying something slightly embarrassing (which always felt to Alex like something utterly mortifying and worth overthinking because his brain hated him), and if both of them were in the right state of mind they could manage a very brief chat.

But on the flip side, Alex hated Waffle House now and it was Willie who had ruined it for him. Not for any sane reason like being a bad waiter (because he was actually a very good waiter, which Alex thought had something to do with the fact that he always wore Heelys so he could glide across the restaurant which was much faster than walking). No, Willie had ruined Waffle House for Alex because now he couldn’t go in there and see Willie without getting butterflies in his stomach and a giddy grin on his face.

Now that he knew Willie better, it wasn’t just his beautiful brown eyes and gorgeous smile that Alex liked about him. He was talkative, he was funny, he was sweet. He was extremely considerate – when Alex came in one day, Willie met him at the door, walked him to his usual table, told him they’d run out of diet coke and that he had just popped to the store and bought some just for Alex, knowing he would order it. And he laughed at Alex’s terrible attempts at humour, he drizzled the syrup onto Alex’s waffles in the shape of smiley faces, he made sure Alex’s usual booth was always free of people for when he came in. Everything about Willie made Alex’s heart beat too fast and his breath catch and it was starting to make going to Waffle House a very stressful experience.

So Willie was the reason that Alex loved going there and was also desperate to find somewhere else.

But Alex, despite his many worries about life, wasn’t the kind of person to give up on something just because someone else made it difficult. Sure, that rule had usually applied to very different situations, and he actually liked Willie so it wasn’t as if seeing him was a bad thing, but it helped Alex to remember that he’d always powered through things like this and that was what kept him going to the restaurant.

One day, he arrived to Waffle House later than normal. He had come straight from band practise which had gone on longer than normal because they’d spent the first forty-five minutes arguing about the dangers of fiddling with electrical equipment in the rain and decided to make up that time at the end. As such, Alex arrived almost twenty minutes after he normally would have left.

He didn’t spot Willie immediately as he came in and couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Nowadays, Willie nearly always greeted him at the door, knowing exactly what time he arrived. He supposed Willie had long ago given up waiting for him to get there – he had a job to get on with, after all. Alex tried not to feel too sad about it as he made his way over to his usual booth; Willie was a waiter, not a friend, not anything else, and Alex shouldn’t have expected him to wait forever or be there whenever he wanted.

But when Alex came to his usual seat, he was surprised to see someone already sat there. Even more so when he noticed that person was Willie.

Willie looked up as he approached, expression changing from bored to delighted in a second flat. The grin on his face was more than enough to snap Alex out of his sudden bad mood, lifting his spirits and bringing a smile to his face in an instant.

“Alex!” Willie greeted. “You’re here! I thought something had happened to you, man, you had me worried.”

Alex laughed and sat down opposite him, trying to keep his eyes wandering so he didn’t end up just staring at Willie. “Nah, I’m alright. Band practice ran over, is all.”

“I’m glad it’s nothing serious,” Willie said with a small smile. “But if it happens again can you text me to let me know you’ll be late? Just so I know I don’t need to worry about you and I can still keep your table free.”

“Sure, but I don’t have your number,” Alex said, ignoring the persistent fluttering of his heart and the alarms blaring in his head. It seemed as if his mind had pressed its panic button at something Willie had said but Alex was too distracted to figure out what.

“That’s easily fixed,” Willie replied. He dug his phone out of his back pocket and slid it across the table to Alex. “If you put your number in there I’ll text you so you can save mine.”

Heart hammering, cheeks hot, and smile so wide it hurt, Alex nodded and entered his contact information into Willie’s phone. He tried to act nonchalant as he slid it back across the table afterwards, but in his flustered state his aim was off – he pushed too hard and it fell over the edge of the table, right into Willie’s lap. That was one of those slightly embarrassing moments that Alex’s subconscious would likely rub mockingly in his face for days to come and he couldn’t help but wince at the thought.

“Thanks, man,” Willie said, beaming. “It’s just for peace of mind, you know. I really like you and when you didn’t show up earlier I just… well, I wondered where you were.”

Willie wasn’t meeting his eye all of a sudden. In fact, he apparently found the table top very interesting because he was staring at it like it held the secrets of the universe. Alex knew the signs well enough to guess how Willie was feeling then – nervous. But what did Willie ever have to be nervous about?

“Hey,” Alex said gently, lowering his voice in an attempt to calm Willie’s nerves. He leant over the table a little though so that he could still be heard. “I’m here, aren’t I? Nothing bad actually happened. You don’t need to worry about me, Willie. I promise.”

A small, bittersweet smile fluttered across Willie’s face. “Yeah. You’re here.”

The short silence then felt charged, electric, fierce. Why, Alex had no idea.

But Willie broke it, his usual bright smile back on his face as he said, “I hope you don’t mind me eating with you, by the way. I’m on my lunch break and I’d kept this table empty for you anyway so I thought I might as well sit here.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine by me,” Alex insisted. It was a half-truth. Was he happy to have longer to chat with Willie than normal, eat together as if they were friends rather than just a waiter and a customer? Yes. But did this feel too much like a date for Alex’s anxiety to handle, even though it was very clearly not a date? Also yes. He half wanted to ask Willie to sit somewhere else, but that would have been unthinkably rude, so he settled for trying not to be awkward.

Not long later, another server came and brought their food out. For a moment Alex thought it was weird because nobody had even come to take his order, then he remembered that everyone who worked at Waffle House knew what he got so it would have just wasted time if they’d asked. The two of them ate in silence for a while, Willie enjoying his break and Alex enjoying the first food he’d eaten all day.

Their conversation started up again when they were about halfway into their meals. Willie asked about Alex’s band practise, how things were going, what they had lined up. Alex was more than happy to talk about Julie and the Phantoms for hours on end and the way Willie engaged with his waffling on so enthusiastically only fuelled that fire. But in return, Alex made sure to ask how Willie was, how he was getting on preparing to start college, whether he’d had enough free time to skate lately.

It was weird, he thought, that this was their first proper conversation and yet they already knew so much about each other’s lives that it flowed as easily as it would have if Alex had been talking to one of his closest friends. Perhaps he and Willie were closer than he had realised.

He only stayed until Willie’s break ended, which was painfully short. They said their goodbyes, Alex jokingly promised he’d be on time next time, Willie laughed that beautiful laugh of his as he took their plates away, and Alex left the restaurant. He couldn’t shake the odd feeling in his mind, still wondering what had panicked him at the start of their conversation.

It hit him as he was crossing a road, stopping him dead in his tracks and causing an irritated driver to beep his horn at him: Willie had been worried about him.

It felt so much more personal than it should have. If Willie worried, it meant he cared, and if Willie cared then it could have meant any number of things. It could have meant that when he looked at Alex he felt the same featherlight giddiness that Alex did when he saw Willie. It could have meant that Willie spent his days wishing Alex was more than just a regular customer. It could have meant that when Willie asked for his phone number he was actually asking for more than that.

Alex had no idea what inspired him to do it, what unusual burst of courage gave him the ability to go through with it, but a moment later he had whipped his phone out and opened Willie’s contact. There was only one message between them, the one Willie had sent so Alex could save his information, but Alex quickly typed out another and hit send before he had time to regret it.

I know you said I only needed to text you if I was going to be late, but I figured I could text you about other stuff too. Like the fact I’m free next Friday if you want to hang out.

Something like that ordinarily would have stressed him out but he didn’t have the time for that because Willie’s response was almost immediate.

Sure! I hear Waffle House is pretty great, how about we go there?

Alex laughed at how dorky and cute Willie was even over text and replied quickly with: It’s a date.

Willie replied with three emojis – a smiley face, a heart, and a waffle. Even just from that, Alex knew Willie had understood him and that next Friday they would be going on an actual date together. He didn’t care whether it was actually at Waffle House or they tried somewhere completely new; as long as he was with Willie, nothing else mattered.

[sleepingcrisis]

*Ahem*

AU where Kojiro, Ainosuke, and Tadashi are con artists who are trying to Con famous calligrapher Kaoru Sakurayashiki out of his fortune.

They underestimate his witt and soon the calligrapher has all three of them under his thumb.

Bonus:

Kaoru doesn't really want them around but they won't leave until they have conned him (at least that is the excuse they come up with (and by they I mean Kojiro and Ainosuke)). Anyway he puts them to work watching over children that he is the godfather to.

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

"Read the fine print sweetie," Kaoru hummed as he set his brush down since the three storming in had caused a mistake in his brushwork. Damn idiots.

"What?" Ainosuke snatches the paper from Kojiro and Kaoru stared up at the three with boring golden eyes. His chin in the palm of his hand as he takes in their presence. Kojiro is a brute to put it simply, but Tadashi and Ainosuke are much more put together. Perhaps he can make this work after all.

"So now that you three have effectively signed your lives away to me unless you can come up with the money, I suppose you three can leave me alone now instead of playing this game? I can put you to work but I don't need three filthy criminals working for me—"

"Criminals?" Kojiro cut him off with a glare.

"Yes. Criminals," Kaoru sighed softly. "Carla?"

The small hologram projects over his table as he begins to put away his supplies. He wasn't in the mindset to practice his art anymore.

"Nanjo Kojiro: failed business owner. Criminal record including; theft, tax evasion, assault.

"Shindo Ainosuke: Former politician. Criminal record including; theft, tax evasion, assault, money laundering, traffic violations, DUI, Fraud.

"Kikuchi Tadashi: assistant to Shindo Ainosuke. Criminal record; possession of a weapon, associated with other crimes but never convicted." Her voice robotically supplied.

"Do you three think I don't do research on who I let into this building? Your phoney names gave you away for too easily and I honestly thought I would have more of a challenge with trying to find your actual identities but that didn't take very long either," Kaoru explained as he got up from where he was sitting and carefully adjusted his dark gray yukata. "So you three try and get me to sign over my fortune just like that? I expected more out of you three," he rounds his table and pulls out his fan from his sash and carefully tilts Tadashi’s head over. The green eyed man was always looking at the ground.

"Especially you, thought you were smarter since the brains has to come from one of you," Kaoru hummed. He countinued to walk past them. Tapping Kojiro and Ainosuke on the cheek with his fan not too gently.

"So what do you want us to do?" Kojiro asked.

"I just said I want you three gone? No need to work for me—"

"No. We will stay and work," Ainosuke agreed and stifled his grin into a polite smile. Kaoru’s eyes narrowed before he realized what they were up to.

"Ah. You still wish to steal from me? Okay fine. You three may work for me, but if you don't con me from my wealth by the time you have worked off the money you owe then I want all three of you gone and if you arent then I will make you three disappear got it?" Kaoru asked with a polite smile.

"Understood," Kojiro and Ainosuke replied.

"Understood," Tadashi agreed in a much softer voice.

"Wonderful," Kaoru hummed.

•••••

"What are we doing here?" Kojiro asked. They were at a school to be precise. An elementary school.

"Babysitting," Kaoru informed. "I godfather three children and if any of you touch a hair on their heads I will kill you," Kaoru’s voice deepened slightly.

"Why do we have to be here?" Ainosuke clarified Kojiro’s earlier question.

"Because you dimwitted fools insist on following me around."

"I meant at the school," Ainosuke clarified.

"Because they wanted to be picked up today," was all the explanation the three men recieved before Kaoru took a step forward when two boys came shooting out of the building with a third trailing behind and demanding that they slow down.

They make an effort to bulldoze Kaoru down by hugging him and Kaoru simply holds them close and leaves space for the third.

"Kaoru! Kaoru! Kaoru! Can we get ice cream today? Pleeeease!" The red haired one whined and clutched onto the fabric of Kaoru’s yukata as the third boy finally joins them in their puppy-dog-eyed begging.

"I suppose that would be okay," Kaoru said and gently ruffled the red haired boys hair.

"Mutts, introduce yourselves," Kaoru said and turned to the three older men with a very serious expression. They weren't sure if they should be using false names or not, but they supposed Kaoru would have mentioned a preference if he had one. Besides if they swapped between the two it was only a matter of time before a fuck up occurred.

"Nanjo Kojiro," the green haired male grumbled and nodded in their direction.

"Oh uh, Tadashi," the black haired male gave a friendly smile.

Ainosuke rolled his eyes before he kneeled down to he eye level with them and extended a hand. "Shindo Ainosuke, but if that is a mouthful then just Adam is fine," he said with a smile.

Kaoru smiled slightly when the three boys eagerly went to shake Adam’s hand. "Take notes," Kaoru mentioned and it was clearly directed at Tadashi and Kojiro. "You three, don't be rude," he tacked on.

"I'm Reki! This is Langa and Miya!" The red haired boy performed introductions for them and pointed to the blue haired boy and then the black haired boy.

Well Kojiro certainly couldn't let himself be one upped by Ainosuke of all people.

"Well aren't you three cute—"

"I am not cute you asshole—"

Miya's cussing was cut off with a smack to the back of his head with Kaoru’s fan. "Should I tell your mother about your mouth?" He asked and watched Miya's face quickly morph to some sort of fear before he spouted out apologies. "No harm done, he is a gorilla after all. Let's just get going," Kaoru said and ended up having to hold Miya and Langa's hands as Reki skipped ahead.

"So we are actually doing this," Kojiro muttered.

"I'm not sure what you two expected from this," Tadashi muttered and began to follow along. Keeping his distance as they were instructed to even if Kojiro and Ainosuke never listened to instructions.

They ended up getting ice-cream. Well the kids did and Kaoru got a smoothie. After that was the park where it was found out that Kaoru couldn't really play tag in traditional attire and instead made the other three pick up the slack for it. Turns out Tadashi wasn't a very fast runner and Kojiro was a lot better with kids then initially suspected.

"Damn con artists," Kaoru muttered from his spot on the bench.

They spent the day running around, well everyone but Kaoru ran around, until eventually the sun was going down and Miya was curled up in Kaoru’s lap.

"Okay let's head home," Kaoru eventually decided and lifted Miya up as he got up.

"I want to be carried, my legs are tired and I'm hungry and I think I'll starve!" Langa whined dramatically.

"Oh you are fine, besides I can't carry both of you at the same time," Kaoru mentioned. "And your mothers have food at home."

Either way Langa looked to the next most reasonable option before whispering to Reki briefly and soon they were both trying to get onto Kojiro’s back who huffed and stumbled forward.

"Hey you-"

"Nanjo, watch yourself," Kaoru mentioned as he walked.

Kojiro rolled his eyes and gently adjusted the kids and soon had both of them hanging onto his back with his arms holding their legs. It was uncomfortable as hell but they seemed happy.

Kaoru insisted on walking each of them all the way home so it took awhile but eventually they had every kid dropped off.

"Well two out of three of you did well today," Kaoru mentioned.

"Oh such high praise, and which one of us blundered," Ainosuke asked sarcastically.

Kaoru pivoted to turn around and began to head towards the three before he grabbed Tadashi by his jacket and tugged him forward. He reached into his jacket and pressed a hand against his chest before searching around and pulling a small hand gun out. Tadashi seemed relatively unfazed the entire time even as the other two watched. "Kikuchi? If you ever bring a weapon around my family ever again I'll make sure that it is the last time you ever have the honour of being around them," Kaoru whispered dangerously low before he put the gun back and adjusted Tadashi’s jacket to fix him back up into his pristine condition.

"When did you notice?" Kojiro asked. The tone of his voice gave way that he supposedly was unaware of this.

"At the park. You can't do that much running around and expect me not to notice. Miya pointed it out though," Kaoru explained and turned to countinue walking.

"You three are my dogs, bound to me until you can prove to be intellectually superior or work off your debt. Now you do as your master commands you and not bring weapons around my loved ones. Do we understand each other?" Kaoru asked and tilted his head to look back at them.

"Understood," each spoke with varying degrees of frustration or anger in their tone. Ainosuke with gritted teeth, Kojiro with a fake smile, and Tadashi as blank as always.

"I'm glad we understand eachother my pets," Kaoru turned and countinued down the sidewalk. Pink hair swishing gently behind him and the fabric of his clothing swishing with each step and each breeze that passed by as the sun set in ground of him and highlighted the edges of Kaoru’s figure.

They followed after him anyway, for they were the dogs and he was indeed their master.

They had the contract to prove it.

[fangirlinglikeabus]

blue sky (doctor who)

summary: something’s been worrying victoria. the doctor wants to talk about it. jamie is very bad at pretending he has a reason to leave them alone together. (gen, general audiences; warning for internalised homophobia but it’s hopefully not too heavy and it works itself out in the end)

you’ll just have to take my word for this that this is also on other sites because last time i posted with links it didn’t show up in the tags. i’ll reblog with them later

It was a beautiful day; hot but not too hot, with a clear blue sky framing the tops of the buildings. No threat of rain whatsoever, which had pleased the Doctor when he'd first peered, cautiously, out of the TARDIS, umbrella at the ready. 'England' and 'August' were two words that placed together didn't inspire him with much confidence as to the state of the weather, but today had thankfully proved him wrong. So far, the dry spell had held.

They'd parked the TARDIS a few streets away and wandered through the town, the three of them together - Jamie, Victoria, and the Doctor - until they'd arrived at the café. The Doctor had suggested they stop for some food - lunch, he'd said, although it was probably only about eleven o'clock, local time. Something was on his mind, some reason he had for wanting to sit there rather than continue walking, only it wasn't clear what it was.  That concerned Victoria, but she tried to console herself; if it was really serious the Doctor would surely have told them already. Anyway, there were no monsters around that she could see, no aliens climbing out of the cracks in the pavement to attack them, to make this beautiful day miserable and fraught with danger, so for once maybe it wasn't anything to do with that, and they were safe.

Victoria tore her eyes away from the sights of the street - the girl about her age that she'd made eye contact with suddenly and alarmingly - to look at the Doctor. He was playing a game of patience, the cards placed haphazardly on the table in front of him. Every so often he looked up and cleared his throat loudly at Jamie, who kept leaning too far forwards, casting a shadow over the game. Each time Jamie would say 'eh?', realise what he was doing, and sit back in his seat with an embarrassed cough and a look which seemed to say, 'I'm only doing this because I want to, not because you told me to'.

It had a comforting familiarity to it, as did much of what the two of them got up to, like the friendly arguments about the Doctor's ability to fly the TARDIS, or the attempts to explain some technological development to Jamie which usually ended up with him saying 'oh, aye', his code for 'I still don't understand this, but I don't care enough to try'. The Doctor apparently hadn't managed to decipher it yet, since he still made the effort each time, and Victoria hadn't the heart to tell him.

Then again, maybe he knew, and it was just a game the two of them played, another steady part of their friendship. They'd known each other much longer than either of them had known Victoria, had rhythms and rules to their relationship, some of which she might not know about even now, and as a result of it seemed inseparable. She could barely imagine Jamie without the Doctor, or the Doctor without Jamie; they'd probably travel together for the rest of their lives, if they could.

Which just left her. Victoria.

It was easy to think she'd stay with them, with that funny little man and his Jacobite friend, in the light of the sun. They had taken her in when she was lost, and shown her kindness, and she loved them for that. But the trouble was that they weren't always in the light of the sun. They were in the London Underground, fleeing yeti - or in a future Britain in the grips of an ice age, escaping towering Martians.

Occasionally the Doctor would look up and meet her eyes, and she would glance away. There was something contemplative about his expression today, something in the way he regarded her that worried Victoria. Worried her because he seemed worried, on her behalf, and she hated the idea of concerning him unduly. Of course, it was nice to have someone care about you in that way, and she was grateful that it was the Doctor who cared for her, but it did make her feel self-conscious, especially because in this case there was really nothing to worry about. She'd talk to him about it if there was something, except for the ongoing problem of what she would do in the future, which for now she wouldn't bring up with him, because anyway she hadn't really decided what she intended to do with it or what her own feelings were yet. As he finished the card game (cheating, she was sure, backtracking on his own moves when he decided he didn't like them or when he realised he'd reached a dead end, but she didn't point it out) Victoria wracked her brains on what could possibly be bothering him about her. Her mind came up blank. Unless -

No, he couldn't possibly have noticed that. She'd hidden it from him very carefully. And if he had he would have brought it up already. Victoria was struck with a terrible vision of the Doctor looking horribly severe, all appearances of the fool or the father wiped from his face, ordering her out of the TARDIS.

She hadn't initiated it! That had been the girl - the girl they'd met a few stops ago, Liss. She'd been the one to take action, leaning in to kiss Victoria, who had fled before anything else could happen, hoping that no evidence of it appeared on her face. Maybe it had. Maybe it was a bit like that story the Doctor had referenced offhand once, about the man whose sins appeared on his face, in a portrait.

In the meantime, as her thoughts wandered down that path, the Doctor had begun to look panicked, patting down his pockets with increasing desperation.

"Oh my word!" he exclaimed finally. "I forgot to bring any money with me!" Casting around, his eyes fell on Jamie. He took on a placating tone. "Jamie, would you mind terribly if I asked you to go back to the TARDIS and fetch me something to pay the bill with?" He delivered the line very naturally, and Victoria wouldn't have suspected anything at all if Jamie hadn't then looked very deliberately between the two of them, said stiltedly, as though he was reading from a script,

"Oh, aye, I can do that,"

and moved off with the gait of someone who fully intended to take as long as humanly possible in carrying out the task he'd been set.

"Victoria," the Doctor began - almost as soon as Jamie was out of earshot, in case there was any doubt that it had been a deliberate plan between the two of them. She braced herself for the conversation to come. But then he stopped, apparently unsure of where to go from there. Victoria waited, her heart hammering away in her chest.

"Is there something on your mind?" the Doctor eventually settled on.

Victoria ran briefly through all the things that were on her mind. If she wanted to stay with Jamie and the Doctor; where she would go if she didn’t want to stay with Jamie and the Doctor; whether or not they'd be suddenly thrust into mortal peril in this nice English town; the kiss that she didn't want to think about and everything wrapped up in that; consequently, her father, who she had an uneasy feeling would have been disappointed in her, although she had no specific evidence for that because of course it would never have been something they'd have talked about together, not in a million years, not in 1866 or any date that followed in what should have been the ordinary course of her life.

"No, there's nothing," Victoria said. Nothing she could tell him, she meant. Although the Doctor was very old, and very strange, and seemed to know a lot of things that other people didn't, she couldn't imagine ever sitting down with him and explaining that a girl had kissed her, and because a girl had kissed her she was now unable to stop thinking about anything apart from whether she'd liked it, and whether she wanted to do it again, and whether she'd been like that all along or if it was some sort of disease, some sort of situation where once you'd fallen, you stayed fallen, like Adam and Eve taking a bite of the apple in the garden of Eden and being cast out forever.

She looked away from him. She didn't like to tell lies to the Doctor. In an ideal world she could have told him everything; they could always talk like they had near the very beginning, in the cybermen's tomb. But they couldn't, not with this.

Casting about for something to distract her attention, some excuse not to look at the Doctor, Victoria's eye fell on two girls walking on the other side of the street. They were making slow progress, ambling along as though they had nowhere better to be in the world and were taking joy from that. They were holding hands, swinging each other's arms back and forth while they walked.

As Victoria watched, one of them said something and the other laughed, leaning forwards for a kiss.

"Victoria?"

"Hm?" Her head jerked back towards the Doctor, as suddenly as if she'd been caught doing something criminal, not just letting her eye wander.

The Doctor didn't immediately pose the question he'd been meaning to put to her, but instead gazed after Victoria, at the two girls.

"A charming couple, aren't they?" he said, sounding pleased.

"Couple?"

"Oh yes, that sort of thing is quite normal by this period," the Doctor replied, cheerfully and entirely without artifice, as though he had no idea whatsoever how this was affecting her. "Not without some struggle, I might add, but your country sees the light in the end."

Victoria felt, suddenly, like she was about to cry. Which was silly - she hadn't even cried when her father had died, except a few times in her room, when the only people who might notice were the Doctor and Jamie if they happened to be in the vicinity, and definitely not in such a public place as this, where anyone might walk past and see her. And it was over such a small thing as well. She'd faced down monsters before, big scary hulking things, so why -

"Oh, Victoria," the Doctor said gently, fumbling in his pocket and pulling out, in turn, a pack of top trumps, tickets for Casablanca, a bag of sweets, and at last a clean white handkerchief, which he handed over to her.

That was the last straw - that small gesture, the ridiculousness of the contents of the Doctor's pockets, which now lay strewn across the table. Victoria began to sob. She buried her face in the handkerchief, hoping that no-one would hear, hoping that she would run out of tears and then she could stop feeling so miserable.

At last she recovered enough to speak. "I'm sorry," she said wretchedly. "I've ruined the nice day out you wanted for us all." But when she looked up at the Doctor he didn't seem annoyed. He smiled and reached across to pat her hand.

"That's quite alright, Victoria," he said. "It's more important to me to know that you're happy than anything else."

This threatened to make her well up again, but she composed herself. "You said - it was normal now."

"Hm?"

Victoria forced herself to go on. "Those two girls, I mean."

"Oh, yes." The Doctor was about to launch into an explanation of the history that had led up to the time period they were visiting, but he caught the expression on Victoria's face and thought better of it. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know."

She looked down at his hands; at the table; at the top trumps, a battered old set with a picture of a t-rex emblazoned on the first card and the whole thing clumsily kept together by a rubber band, which almost made her smile, it was such a Doctor-ish thing for him to carry around. "I know."

"Good." The Doctor paused, although whether to gather his own thoughts or wait for her to say something was unclear.

"There was a girl -" Victoria began, but fell silent.

The Doctor smiled encouragingly. "Go on."

"Never mind." She couldn't talk about it just yet. The Doctor had said it was fine, and she trusted him, but she was still walking on untested ground, unable to quite shake the sensation that she'd done something horrible.

The Doctor, after waiting for a few moments, said, "Naturally it will take some time for you to get used to."

"Yes," Victoria said. Her voice shook more than she wanted it to, and it came out much too quietly. She wished she could sound stronger - but then, she reminded herself, this wasn't some terrifying creature that she had to stand up to, but the Doctor, who was looking at her as a compassionate father might look at a daughter.

That brought with it another pang, and Victoria came very close to crying again.

The Doctor smiled at her, and pulled his chair closer. "Listen to me, Victoria. It will get easier. I know it might not seem like it now, but I promise you it will. Falling in love with another woman, and acting on that feeling, is no more inherently good or bad than if we were talking about the same situation with a man. It has just the same potential to bring you great happiness, if you'll let it. Do you understand me?"

Victoria nodded. She didn't yet trust herself to speak.

The Doctor smiled and patted her hand again. "Brave girl. Ah, and here's Jamie back with the money."

Victoria turned around. Sure enough, there he was, approaching the table cautiously.

"Is everything alright?" he asked once he was close enough, glancing uncertainly between the two of them.

"Oh, yes," the Doctor said, beaming, "I think everything's quite alright now, isn't it, Victoria?"

"Yes," she said, and even managed a smile of her own up at Jamie. She was surprised to realise that it was true, at least temporarily. For a moment even the worst of her worries seemed perfectly manageable in the face of the beautiful summer day. Everything was absolutely calm and normal. But then -

"Oh, Jamie, you picked up the wrong purse!"

"Well you didn't tell me what I was looking for! You just said fetch something you could pay the bill with, an' that had money in it, so -"

"But Jamie, these aren't even from the right planet!"

"An' just how was I supposed to know that? Next time you get it, an' don't go bothering me if you're going to complain -"

Well, she supposed that was normal too. Victoria started to laugh - laugh uncontrollably at the two of them, being so ridiculous over something that barely mattered. They stopped arguing with each other, shocked into indignation by her laughter.

"Now, really, Victoria, I do think that's quite unfair -" the Doctor began.

It was a beautiful day; hot but not too hot, with a clear blue sky framing the tops of the buildings.

Maybe things would work themselves out after all.

[jackidy]

If You Let Me: Chapter 1

Rating: T Pairings: Demyx/Zexion, Demyx/Ienzo (Eventual/Slowburn) Characters: Various, Zexion/Ienzo Centric Setting: BBS to KH3, Canon compliant mostly 

Warnings: Canon Character Death (Temporary)

Summary:  “It’s almost a shame really, that you probably won’t survive this.” Only he did. Spending the prelude to adulthood as a nobody, a supposed empty husk of a being was never an option any of them considered, least of all a newly named Zexion who would be living every last one of them.

Note: I’ve been wanting to write this since KH3 came out, finally got round to planning everything after a recent stint in hospital haha. I’ve not written Multi Chapter in a while so lets hope I can keep going with it. 

Chapter One | Next Chapter

---

Year 0

He’s half asleep when the shouting begins, Even shaking him awake with a panicked look on his face and Ienzo doesn’t understand it, not fully, blinking slowly as he attempted to register what was going on. Panic. Shouting. Even holding his arms, a little too tightly with a frantic look in his eyes that does nothing but scare Ienzo. Why was he so scared?

“I need you to hide for me, hide for me and don’t make a sound. Can you do that, Ienzo?” Ienzo doesn’t get chance to respond, Dilan shouting something outside catching Even’s attention, something hissed under his bis breath that’s drowned out by the noise outside before he turns back to Ienzo. His expression softens, hands brushing hair from blue eyes as a kiss is placed against his forehead. “Go on now, go hide.”

The child does as he’s told, ducking under Even’s desk, curling up in the corner. Hands slide over ears as there’s a scream, something thudding against the door. Was Dilan hurt? Shouldn’t they help? He doesn’t understand, why are they hiding when they could help? Even could heal Dilan and then they could find everyone else and leave before whatever attacked Dilan attacked them all too.

He doesn’t want to lose his family. Not again.

The office door doesn’t slam open so much as creak, eerily quiet and somehow more terrifying than if it had slammed, Ienzo clamping his lips together to stop himself from letting out a shuddering breath. Even had told him to be quiet so he would be quiet, he’d looks so serious, so afraid. What was scary enough to make Even scared and Dilan shout?

Where were Aeleus and Braig?

“Where is Ienzo?”

“Not in here, what do you want?”

Static seems to build in his head, setting his brain alight as his heart rate spiked. He knows that voice, the new member of the family who didn’t speak to him much unless he wanted something. The one who told him to ask Ansem for the lab where the bad things always happened.

“Research.”

The pressure on his ears grows as he hears them fight, clamping his eyes closed and counting to ten and then back again in his head, the static almost painful when he feels it. The desk pushes against him as a thud echoes above him, eyes flying open to look above him then to the side as a hand comes into view. Pale, weathered, almost as familiar as his own.

Why wasn’t Even moving?

Hands clamp over his mouth as a whimper leaves his lips, pacing footsteps stopping before coming closer, slowly as if the owner didn’t know he was here and he didn’t, right? He’d behaved, he’d been quiet. Even wasn’t going to be mad with him when he woke up, he stayed quiet like he was supposed to. He’d behaved. He’d been good.

The creak of wood beside him makes him jolt, eyes flicking from the hand to the side of him. The static stops. Everything stops bar the impulse to run, wanting to desperately to move but paralysed as blue meets orange, a tanned face flickering between a lack of surprise to something almost feral and beast like. Lips curve up into a smile, in no way friendly, the need to run growing larger and more desperate as Xehanort leaned forward.

“Found you.”

Ienzo bolts, not making it far before he’s grabbed, a scream ripping from his throat as he’s dragged, over Even’s crumpled form, the grip ever tightening the more he tried to pull away and he knows. He knows he’s not felt fear like this since he lost his parents and now, he was losing them all over again, desperately reaching for Even before being thrown to the floor.

“I really should thank you, if you hadn’t convinced that old fool, we’d never have reached such marvels.”

It was his fault? He’d caused all this? Ienzo looks from Even to Xehanort, another whimper escaping his lips as the tears welled up. It was his fault Even and, most certainly Dilan, were hurt. Were Aeleus and Braig hurt too? What about those two strange boys who kept wandering in and bribing his silence with ice cream? How many people were going to be hurt because he convinced Ansem to build a new lab?

“It’s almost a shame really, that you probably won’t survive this.”

He only sees the glint of light on the keyblade before he succumbs to the darkness.

---

Year 1.

“You need to focus!”

He hates the lessons, Zexion swallowing back a retort as Vexen’s voice cut through his concentration once more, the image of what he was trying to manifest crumbling into nothing, leaving nothing but the dark space of the lab once more. As Even he’d been warmer in voice and spirit, he’d lectured him enough when he’d misbehaved but his voice was never as cold as ice when he did it, never cutting in the way it lacked encouragement.

“I’m trying.” Zexion responded, training the anger out of his voice least he be admonished for expressing emotions as well. We don’t have hearts, we’re not supposed to feel, he’s been told this time and time again yet each one of his mentors has exhibited something close to the human range of emotion. Was it one rule for them and another for him?

Letting out a deep breath he tries again, taking his time as he tries to picture what Vexen wants. A Shadow Heartless. This should be easy, there were thousands of them outside in the city below, Zexion furrowing his brows as he focused on the image, managing to drown out Vexen’s ever helpful criticisms.

It’s then he feels the shift, staring in confusion at the blank space before him before looking up to Vexen who was quiet but not mad. Why wasn’t he mad? He hadn’t don’t as the other had asked, there was no Shadow Heartless, just the blank white floor of an overly white castle.

“Not what I expected but impressive all the same.” Vexen mutters, scribbling something down on the clipboard he held, Ignoring Zexion in favour of recording whatever feat Zexion had apparently performed. Looking down at his hands, Zexion falters, expecting gloves hands but instead finding small black claws.

He hadn’t made the heartless, he’d become it.  

---

The library is the safest space to hide, Zexion has found, heavy book in hand and a secluded corner to hide from the other seven but someone will find him eventually, they always do and, as always, he can only hope its Lexaeus as opposed to Xigbar or Axel, the latter of which continues to look at him like everything was his fault.

Maybe it was, Xehanort had stated as much before he became this husk and now, now someone who wasn’t there joins in the conviction.

The guilt gnaws at him, book abandoned on the floor beside him as he tries to remember the smell of the gardens in spring, when Kairi’s grandmother would bring her to visit whilst she talked with master Ansem. The ever-present rain around the Castle the Never Was fades away, replaced by a gentle breeze and a shadow of the feeling of sunlight on his skin.

Was Kairi okay? He can barely remember her voice now but he remembers the red hair, how she’d pull him round the gardens, telling him about the different flowers how one day they’d go on an adventure today. How she’d make sure to keep him safe from monsters. He’s not sure how she could do that now, since he had become the monster.

“Do you think we could still be friends?” He mumbles to his silent illusion, watching her run amongst the flower beds, picking one or two and always bringing them back to him as their guardian and protector until she’d finished collecting one flower seemingly of every colour and every type. “I think she’ll love them; she always does.” He replies to her mouthed question of if he thinks her Grandma will like her make shift bouquet.

He’s not sure how long he lingers in this illusion of his own memories, all most lost in the sea of flowers and warmth when he smells it. The scene shatters into nothing as fire and ash fill his senses, swallowing thickly and curling up as the smell got ever closer. It hadn’t worked before when he was under a desk, why would it work now?

He’ll be shouted at. He doesn’t want to be shouted at. Tears already pricking at his eyes when the smell of a forest fire becomes too much, he has to become smaller, has to disappear. He needs to hide. He needs to hide. HE NEEDS TO HIDE. His body screams at him to move as the footsteps finally round the bookcase, a click of a tongue and the sound of a hand hitting another body.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the li- Oh shit, are you crying?”

Two bodies press against him, fire on one side and something almost beastly on the other, Saix had joined Axel then, Ienzo finding some comfort in the sudden warmth and pressure but it was still not enough to fully dampen the sudden spike of anxiety. The silence isn’t as tense as he first believed, Zexion slowly calming down to the point he could look at the pair who had joined him only to find Saix glaring at Axel who at least looked sheepish.

“I feel-“ A clearing of the throat interrupts, Axel glaring at Saix before sighing. “I have misplaced anger towards you, I’m sorry for snapping at you. You’re a kid, I don’t see how you could be involved.”

He wasn’t expecting an apology, Zexion looking between the pair again, knowing he was missing something important in the discussion but perhaps not something to ask about. The last time he’d tried to help it had inevitably ended with an abyss for a chest and a spreading darkness. Perhaps this time, this time he doesn’t ask, he doesn’t intervene with his help only to ruin the result later on.

It would be better that way.

---

Safety also came with Lexaeus, Zexion decided, sitting on the stool by the counter as the other prepared food, Zexion easily loosing himself in the smell of the raw ingredients, legs swinging idly as he sat simply watching. Lexaeus doesn’t expect too much from him, doesn’t look at him as if it’s his fault, he treats him almost the same as he did when they were both human.

It’s nice, comforting.

“How have lessons been going?” His deep voice is soothing, Zexion hesitating vocally but his face spills all, a look of distaste and annoyance twisting his features, causing a chuckle from the taller man. “That good, hmm?” He’s teasing, Zexion knows this, but still feels somewhat told off, blowing his hair from his eyes and crossing his arms. It’s childish, he knows but, memory serves, he was only nine regardless of his ability to feel emotions or not.

“I’ve discovered more things on my own, he wants me to do things I don’t really want to.” He receives a hum in response, both in agreement and encouragement to go on, as if genuinely interested in what Zexion had to say about his lessons with Vexen. But would he share these thoughts or keep them to himself? Was it worth the risk?

Apparently so, words spilling from Zexion’s mouth before he could really stop himself. “They’re boring, if not that he tells me to concentrate and then speaks halfway through and ruins my concentration.”

“He says that you mimicked a heartless.”

“Yes, once.” It’s all Vexen wanted him to concentrate on now, it seemed, the blonde growing more frustrated with him when he couldn’t, a blessing in and of itself as it usually meant Zexion would be left alone for a little while until Vexen came back and the rigorous routine of failing to become a replica would start all over again. He should probably practise more without his mentor present, Zexion thinks, knowing things came a bit more naturally when he didn’t feel under observation.

The conversation ends there, the comfortable silence settling back over them again. Zexion has always found it a wonder that someone with such large, strong hands could be so gentle with food, wrinkling his nose at the sting of onions in his sinuses but staying silent otherwise. Maybe he should learn, free up time for Lexaeus whilst also add a task to his schedule that extended beyond lessons with Vexen and the frequent trips to the library.

“I can show you what else I’ve learnt.”

Lexaeus stops working then, turning to the child Nobody with an almost confused yet utterly curious look, raising an eyebrow at the young boy who feels almost giddy for once. He hadn’t shown anyone else this, not even Axel and Saix when they would now occasionally join him to, in Axel’s own words, make sure he grew up with a sense of humour.

He gets no prompt to continue but Zexion does anyway, taking a deep breath before twisting the landscape of the kitchen into something more friendly and familiar. The white floor fades away to stone, the walls swallowed by the landscape of Radiant garden, an autumnal breeze in the air as the sun offered little to no warmth from its rays.

The flower beds have mostly withered away, the sea of colour now replaced with muted browns and greens, the brilliant oranges and yellows of fallen leaves offering the only real splashes of colour in the imagined gardens. What smells, what smells, Zexion racking his mind for anything before landing on spices. Cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and pepper, warm and hearty, comforting and familiar. The kitchen is no longer the kitchen but the gardens of the old castle they called home.

Sounds. It needs sounds. Zexion furrowing his brow as he concentrated, eyes screwing shut as the sound of water trickled in, accompanied by bird song and the sound of the town below. It’s perfect, his breaths coming a little harder from exertion as he looks to Lexaeus for a reaction, hoping for happiness only to receive concern.

“Did I do something wrong?” His voice is quiet, insecure, mind running a mile a minute as he tried to go over what he did to cause such a reaction only to snap out of his thoughts as a hand comes down on his shoulder, gentle yet firm, grounding him as he nearly sent himself spiralling into another downward trajectory of ill thoughts.

Lexaeus offers a smile, small but still there, not as warm as it used to be but Zexion was growing used to the changes in his other apprentices now. “No, it’s beautiful.” There’s something else there, something the giant wants to add on but is seemingly fighting with himself over admitting before sighing, inhaling sharply and seeming to regain his apparently fleeting confidence in his words. “Let’s keep this a secret for now.”

“A secret?”

“Yes, a secret for just us.” He doesn’t fully understand the need for secrecy, biting his lower lip as he thinks for a moment before nodding, wondering if it was a touch more serious than he first thought as Lexaeus relaxes, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Taking a deep breath, Zexion lets the illusion of Radiant garden fade away, the grey blue sky replaced by stark white, metallic walls as the patchwork of stone dissolves into nothing. There are no more birds, or breeze, the warm smells of autumn fading away into the smells of whatever dish Lexaeus was making this evening.

He could keep a secret. Axel and Saix had a secret, Xemnas also had secrets. What was another secret after all that?

[rebelcourtesan]

Horde Prime is a Tactile Villain

It’s been a while since I did one of these so here I am back to form with this.

Another thing about Horde Prime that is discomforting about him is he’s very tactile - of or connected with the sense of touch.  

Long Post Below

In most animated shows (actually all because I cannot recall such like Horde Prime) the villain is not handsy unless its done in violence.  Occasionally, you might see a handshake or a comradely pat on the shoulder if they are trying to fool or lull the hero into a sense of safety.  Horde Prime is more open about his intentions, but is still prone to touching his victims that are non-violent, but no less discomforting.

First, we’re going to compare him to another Dreamworks villain who also considers himself Lord of the Known Universe.

Zarkon is a cold tyrant who rules the Galra Empire with an iron fist and obsessed with gaining power and strength.  The only time we see this man touch anyone is with violence.  Whether it’s fighting Shiro in another realm or his own son, Zarkon is never openly affectionate, not even to his own wife and son.   

He sits straight back in his throne giving orders to underlings from afar or via long distant communications.  The only one who can stand close to him is Haggar and even then there’s no physical contact.  Zarkon is an Emperor who doesn’t allow anyone close to him physically or emotionally.  

However, while Zarkon in intimidating and isn’t someone I would want to angry with me, it is Horde Prime who sends chills down my spine and unlike Prime, he actually smiles.

When we finally see Horde Prime in person for the first time, he’s sitting aloof similar to Zarkon with his valets standing on either side of him like blank dolls.  He’s looking down upon both Hordak and Glimmer from his perch until he does something that we have never seen Zarkon do.

He leaves his throne, approaches Hordak, and kneels down to be on his level.  No, he didn’t have his clones bring Hordak to him, HE went to HORDAK.  Not in the way that he’s the sort that isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, but he’s accustomed to invading other people’s personal space.  This is revealed even more so in the next bit.

He touches Hordak’s face.  Yes, it’s to strengthen the mind reading connection, but why the face?  Why not take his hand instead?  

No, Horde Prime takes the face because someone’s face is everyone to them.  It’s how we communicate, see, express ourselves, and attract others.  Our face is who we are as a person, but Horde Prime doesn’t see Hordak as a person, but an extension of himself.  He looks into Hordak’s face, he’s seeing a piece of himself rebelling against him, like a tumor or cancer.  

And how he handles Hordak also shows how much Horde Prime loves himself.  

The Greek myth of Narcissus is a hunter that so loved himself he fell in love with his own reflection in a pool of water.  Horde Prime is narcissist  

Narcissism is the pursuit of gratification from vanity or egotistic admiration of one's idealised self image and attributes. This includes self-flattery, perfectionism, and arrogance.

People say that his touching Hordak like this is a hint of possible past sexual abuse and I do agree that this alludes to it, but I also see it as Horde Prime admiring himself.  Instead of a pool of water, he’s seeing himself in the face of a clone that adores him.

Unfortunately, for Hordak, he is a reflection that dared to think itself separated from Horde Prime.  And like a cancer or tumor, he is removed.

This is the first time and only time thus far we have seen Horde Prime being angry.  All because Hordak had the audacity to think for himself and build his own army.  As much as Horde Prime loves his reflection, he will not allow it to grow any stronger to usurp him as he is, in his mind, the most perfect being in the Universe and there shall be no contender.  

One thing to point out.

This bit right here leads credence to the sexual abuse history.  We have Horde Prime’s hand on Hordak’s throat, a very controlling and dominate hold, while a cord from Horde Prime’s hair tendril plugs (penetrates) a port at the base of Hordak’s neck.  

What’s noteworthy is that Horde Prime could have his clones take Hordak away right then or knock Hordak out with a punch to the solar plexus.  He’s clearly stronger than Hordak and could easily overpower him, but no, he does the deed himself and in a way that’s jarring.

As soon as the cord plugs in, we’re given an organic wet sound like flesh is being cut or torn.  It’s disturbing and does damaging to Hordak.

Zarkon, as abusive as he was to his own son, Lotor, has never done anything that made fans cringe like this.  

And once Horde Prime is done with Hordak, he drops him like litter on the pavement.

I like how zen or meditative Horde Prime is here.  Like he’s shrugging off being angry and he’s trying to calm down.  Being angry means that something has gone wrong and nothing should ever go wrong in his Universe.  

Then we come to his interaction with Glimmer.

He notices (or sets his sights on) Glimmer.  His words are polite and friendly, but the look on his face says otherwise.  It’s not a threatening look, nor angry or disliking.  It’s intrigue, curiosity, and even with what one could call a leer.  He’s interested in Glimmer and even interacts with her by speaking and helping her to stand.

He’s playing the part of the gentleman and he very likely sees himself as one, but the eyes are windows to the soul.  The body language is there.  He bends down, helps her up with hand to hand contact, and speaks with his eyes on her face.  

Look familiar?  From the Secret of Nimh, when Jenner turns on charm to manipulate the court into aiding Mrs. Brisby to give him an opportunity to assassinate Nicodemus?  He’s really putting on a show for the rats to coerce them into agreeing to helping her, but there’s something in it for him.  

It’s possible I’m reading more into this than I should, but I can’t help feeling that this is an abuser who is staking out a potential victim.  However, for Horde Prime, it’s the opposite.  What need does he have to manipulate Glimmer?  He has all the power so why turn on the charm for her?  Why bother lulling her into a false sense of security?  What does she have that he would want?

That’s a deep question with multiple answers.  For one, Horde Prime seems himself as the perfect being and being a gentleman to royalty would paint him as he sees himself.

Secondly, narcissists love having their egos stroked by impressing others.  This could be a means to satisfy himself by impressing Glimmer or drawing her close, which leads to the third possibility.

Grooming her to be his next prey.  

From the moment he drops Hordak like used cigarette, and sets eyes on Glimmer, he turns on the charm.  He looks at her with predatory eyes and his maintains a close distance while locking eyes with her.  If he was dismissive of her, he would be looking away, standing away from her, or even turned away from her, but everything seems to scream being closer to her.  

Watch what happens next.

Glimmer is hopeful that they’ll resolve things peacefully.  

Notice how Horde Prime doesn’t seem happen for a moment here.  She rejected him.  It’s small and blink and you’ll miss it, but I love the subtlety that you have to think to catch it.  

Then you’ll leave us alone?  

He laughs at her and calls her a child in a means of ‘putting her in her place’. Building himself up by cutting her down, he reasserts himself as the main power mover in this exchange.  He’s unhappy because Glimmer isn’t playing the part of being thankful for the ‘order’ he brings. 

Glimmer backs away once Horde Prime becomes threatening, and he’s moves forward to maintain that close proximity to her.  See how his head is bigger than her body in this shot?  Every shot he’s in, he imposing compared to the other characters.  

Then this happens.

The infamous face touch.  As I mentioned before, most face touching in She-Ra is done between between intimates such as friends and family.  It’s used to control and manipulate others, but it’s always done between those who were already close. 

This is different.  This is a touch that Glimmer does not want and it’s from a stranger who is threatening to hurt her.  Look at her face and think back to Hordak’s face.   

Another thing I want to say is that I’m still not sure if he was going to do away with Glimmer right then and there.  I’m sure that Catra interrupted something bad that was going to happen, but I don’t think it was what we’re led to believe.

His words were threatening, but it’s never clear of how he was going to do away with her.  He doesn’t summon guards, doesn’t pull a gun or a knife, nor does he summon some power to blast her with.  He simply and intimately touches her face and it’s how Horde Prime touches her face that sounds off alarms.  It’s gentle, even tender.  Listening to the SFX is a soft little pat and not one second later, Catra speaks up and interrupts whatever was going to happen next.  

If this was an adult show that isn’t afraid of darker themes, then honestly, I believed he would have proposition her if not inconveniently interrupted by Catra.  

And even while Catra tells him about the weapon, he keeps a hand possessively on Glimmer’s face throughout.  Also, notice how he doesn’t seem happy to have been interrupted.  And doesn’t move his hand until he comes to a decision.

Glimmer has been upgraded from a plaything to a useful tool.  So he removes his hand and goes back to playing the charming gentleman again.  How long will this charade last?  And what happens when he doesn’t get what he wants?  Does Glimmer go back to being a potential plaything again?    

This analysis is based upon observation of the five minutes this character has been on a show.  It tells a lot, but also gives us more questions.  I am really looking forward to season 5 so we can see and learn more about Horde Prime.  

[dewitty1]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley Additional Tags: Identity Porn, Undercover, Case Fic, Polyjuice Potion, Flirting, Mild Dubcon Due To Secret Identity, Minor Character Death, Drinking

Summary:

When Draco Malfoy returns to the public eye by purchasing a run-down little antiques shop on Knockturn, Harry is convinced that he is up to something. It turns out that Harry is both very right and very wrong about that.

Excerpt:

For the dozenth time, Harry lamented the fact that Ron had won their coin toss for which one of them had to come downstairs to Evidence and deal with this. 

They’d busted an illegal potion lab the week prior, and still had yet to receive the itemised list of everything that had been seized in the raid. He’d hoped to see Hyacinth, who reminded Harry uncomfortably of Madam Pince, but was otherwise all right. She wasn’t exactly friendly, but she was about as down-to-business as they came, and Harry was always in and out of here in a flash when she was handling his requests.

But he knew his luck, and had been disappointed but not the least bit surprised when he’d walked in just as Hyacinth left on her afternoon break. Which left Patrick watching the front desk.

Patrick was young, only just out of Hogwarts, and he stared at Harry like he’d personally hung the moon and pinned all the stars in the sky to boot. He did the same thing to Ron, to a somewhat lesser extent, the way he did with anyone who’d fought in the War. He also took for-fucking-ever to do anything, and both Ron and Harry agreed that he probably took his time on purpose to spend more time basking in their heroic presence, as Ron liked to put it.

But Ron had won the coin toss, just as he’d won the last four. Harry was convinced he was cheating, but fuck if he could figure out how.

He sighed and slouched against the counter, watching as Patrick very slowly sorted through paperwork, carefully initialing each item on the list. There were a lot of items on the list. The illegal potion lab had been set up in an abandoned warehouse, and the warehouse had been very full. Harry watched Patrick slowly initial his way down another page, slowly blot the ink dry, and slowly set it aside, and wondered whether there was a way for him to order dinner and have it delivered down here, because at this rate they’d be here until tomorrow.

“—and of course we apologise for any inconvenience,” Auror Fitzgerald said as he pushed into the room.

“That’s quite all right. I’ve cleared my schedule for the day.”

Harry had barely noticed when the door opened—Evidence was busy and people had been in and out constantly—but the sound of Malfoy’s stupid posh voice had his head snapping up.

The sight of Malfoy for the first time in nearly six weeks sent Harry’s heart jolting against his ribs. For the briefest moment, Malfoy looked similarly shocked to see Harry. Then his expression shuttered and his features settled back into that haughty look that made some stubborn little part deep down inside of Harry want to punch him in his stupid pointy nose.

Auror Fitzgerald looked around. “No Hyacinth?” he asked.

“On break,” Patrick said. He did a comical double-take when he recognised Malfoy, and then looked at Harry like he expected him to leap into action and, what? Arrest him? Unfortunately, it wasn’t a crime to be a complete and utter tosser, so Patrick was out of luck there.

Harry stared at him, face blank, until Patrick went back to perusing his paperwork.

He waited a minute before risking a glance over at Malfoy, and could tell from the stiff set of his shoulders and the perfectly neutral look on his face that Malfoy had definitely been watching Patrick.

“Shit,” Harry muttered to himself, the idea of what he needed to do next blossoming in his mind all at once. He turned on his heel and strode out of Evidence.

“Auror Potter?” Patrick said, perfectly baffled.

“Contact Auror Weasley,” Harry called over his shoulder. “He’ll finish up with you!”

He broke into a jog once he was through the doorway and out of sight. Too impatient to wait for a lift, he took the stairs, bolting down them two at a time. He didn’t know how much time he had to get to Diagon and back, but he thought it best to hurry.

When Harry arrived back at Evidence just ten minutes later, Malfoy was nowhere to be seen and Hyacinth was back at her post behind the desk. Harry rushed up to her, ignoring the way Patrick gaped at him.

“Did you help Draco Malfoy?” he asked breathlessly.

Hyacinth looked at him over the tops of her half-moon spectacles. “Are you asking in an official capacity?”

“No,” he said. “But it’s important.”

Hyacinth’s mouth pursed into a thin line as she studied Harry. Whatever desperation she saw on his face had her shrugging. “He just left.”

“Thanks!” Harry called over his shoulder as he rushed out, and ignored the way Patrick called after him.

He hurried down the hall. He hadn’t encountered Malfoy on the stairs so if luck was on Harry’s side, he might catch him at the lifts. They’d been running slow all week. And—yes! There he was, standing in front of the grate.

“Malfoy!” Harry called, and Malfoy’s shoulders went tight. He jabbed the call button for the lift several times in rapid succession.

The lift didn’t arrive before Harry caught up to him, and Malfoy exhaled slowly without turning around. “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” Harry said. “Well, almost nothing. Just to give you this.”

Malfoy hesitated, and for a moment Harry thought he wasn’t going to turn. That the lift would arrive and Malfoy would step inside and Harry would be left here, standing in the corridor like a fool.

But Malfoy did turn, and Harry’s heart beat just a little bit faster. “Here,” he said, thrusting the paper bag at Malfoy.

Malfoy took it as cautiously as if he expected to find it stuffed full of live scorpions. He gave Harry a suspicious look, then unfolded the top and opened it up. The suspicion slid off his face, and his eyebrows jumped in surprise. “You…”

“I just thought, you know,” Harry said with a shrug, as the tantalising scent of fresh-baked chocolate croissants filled the air between them.

“I don’t know,” Malfoy said, folding the bag shut again. “Why don’t you tell me what you thought?”

Of course, the lift chose that moment to arrive, slamming to a halt before them. The grille clattered back, and just in case either of them had managed to miss all of that commotion, a second later the lift gave a cheerful little ding! to announce its arrival. A harried-looking witch clutching an enormous armload of scrolls squeezed between them and hurried down the hall, and every word Harry had practiced over and over in his mind on the way back here dried up.

“Well?” Malfoy prompted.

He said it impatiently, but there was something more in his voice, the faintest hint of pleading. And that gave Harry the courage to go on.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he blurted out.

Malfoy’s expression remained terrifyingly blank.

“And I know this isn’t what either of us would have chosen,” Harry went on. “But I liked D_____d. Really liked him.”

“D_____d doesn’t exist,” Malfoy said curtly. “He never did.”

“Not on his own, no,” Harry said. “But he was still you. And I want to find out whether all the things I liked about him are things I might like about you too.”

“It was one night, Potter,” Malfoy said scathingly. “It didn’t mean anything.”

His words were sharp, but Harry didn’t miss the way his hand had gone white-knuckled where it clutched the top of the paper bag. He was afraid, and Harry wasn’t going to let him fuck this up for both of them.

“It did,” Harry said. “It means that I want to find out whether we could have that as ourselves. It means that I want to get to know you. I means I want a chance.”

Malfoy studied him for long moments, and said nothing.

“And I think that you want the same thing,” Harry said. Because he remembered how Malfoy had kissed him. You didn’t kiss someone like that unless you wanted more. “All I’m asking for is a chance.”

*this excerpt was slightly edited for spoilers

[screamingatanemptyroom]

I Can’t Eat Love  pt 20

We get to see Lenora’s response to the Prince! 

Master post linked here. 

Enjoy!

_______________________________

I stared at the prince in shock. “Pardon?”

Obviously not expecting this response, his expression turned quizzical. “Are you hard of hearing? We’re getting engaged!”

I dug a finger into my ear, as if cleaning it out, muttering to myself. “I swore I heard you say ‘engaged.’”

“I did...?”

“But that would be impossible!” I shook my head, before staring at him intently. 

“Unless you were an idiot.”

He sputtered with rage. “What did you call me?!”

“Idiot. Fool.  Moron. Buffoon….” I paused. “Give me a moment, I’m sure I’ll think of more.”

Standing up, his face turned red. “HOW DARE YOU?!!”

 I stood up to face him, slamming my hands on the desk.

“NO! How dare YOU? How dare you step into MY HOME and insult me like this? A week after you cut off your engagement for another woman ‘that your heart belongs to,’ you waltz in here and expect me to fall at your feet?” I laughed.

“You’re even stupider than I thought. Self absorbed, idiotic, obsessed with hunting, horseriding and anything that isn’t facing the responsibility of your future leadership responsibilities!”

“I- I…” 

“Even if I were only to give it HALF my effort, I would still be an infinitely better ruler than you are.” I sighed, rubbing my head. “Luckily for me, and unluckily for the kingdom, we are not getting married, and that will never be put to the test.”

“I’ve never been…!” He tried to shout, but I simply cut him off. 

“You’ve never been so insulted?” I chuckled. “Get used to it. You’re a pathetic boy who will be a pathetic king. The only useful thing you’ve ever done is break the engagement, freeing me from the horrifying destiny of marrying you.”

I sat down, catching my breath. I had gotten more emotional than I expected. After so many years had passed, I thought most of my bitterness at how I had been treated in my first life was gone.

Apparently not as completely as I had hoped.

Prince Ronan glared at me. “I should have known you wouldn’t listen to reason!”

“What reason…?”

“Edith warned me that you were petty and held grudges!” He threw up his hands. “She cried for so long, scared that you would hate her for the crime of falling in love with me, and now I can see she was right to be! You are just as bitter and angry as she said you would be.” 

I smiled. “I don’t hate her, idiot prince. I pity her.”

“Liar….”

“After all, what did she say when you told her you were dumping her to resume our engagement?”

“…” His face was sullen, but he remained silent. My smile widened.

“I thought so.” I let out a long dramatic sigh. “Poor girl, betrayed by the man who claimed to love her and you didn’t even bother to let her know. Turns out your promises were just as worthless as your brain.” 

“I DID NOT BETRAY HER!” He yelled, slamming a fist against my desk, scattering the few papers that were left.

“Really? Then why are you here, proposing to me?” I was genuinely curious as to how he had thought this through.

He sat down, looking tired. “Look, we have to marry for… political reasons. But I will continue to remain faithful to my beautiful and wonderful Edith.”

“So you will plan to keep her as a mistress.”

“As my true love!” He insisted.

“She’ll never stand by your side, never have your name and all her children will be bastards with no claim to the throne.” I wanted to hit him, but kept my fists clenched in my lap. “You would take from everyone, even those you CLAIM to love, never giving back. Your only care is for what YOU want!”

 “Why shouldn’t it be?!” His face was stubborn. “I’ll be king!”

“That’s not a king.” I shook my head. “That’s just a selfish and foolish person. The crown only makes it all the more obvious.”

I stood up, nodding to Hallers who appeared, out of breath at the door. He quickly straightened, forcing himself into a professional stance despite obviously having run clear across the property.

“My answer, in case you didn’t understand, is ‘no.’ I will not now or in any other lifetime marry you.” Tapping my chin, I felt a smile form once again. “In fact, you bursting in unannounced and hassling me so has caused me significant emotional stress and suffering.”

I held out my hand.

Recognizing the gesture, he stood and started to back away, his face pale. “No, not again! I have no reason to…”

I pulled out a piece of blank parchment and began writing.

“…wh-what are you doing?”

I continued writing without pause. “Writing a letter to the king.”

“What? Why?”

“Just telling him how you bumbled this proposal, insulted me, declared your intentions to have a mistress, nothing much.” I looked up and grinned. “I’m sure he’ll be very understanding.”

“No, YOU CAN’T…”

I held out my hand, palm up, once more. 

Silenced, he sadly began rummaging through his pockets, bringing out his money. 

Once I had cleared him of all his cash I looked over to Hallers once more. “Please escort the Prince to his carriage, his business is finished here.”

“Right this way, Sir.” Hallers’ eyes gleamed with ill-intent as he stared at the prince. 

The prince walked towards the door, turning to glare at me. “You’ll regret this!” He snarled, his hands balled into fists as if he wished to strike me. “I will destroy everything you love, and you will BEG for mercy by the time I’m done with you. BEG!” 

I stepped closer, noting with amusement that he increased the distance between us, as if afraid. 

“Go ahead.” I spread my arms wide. “Do your worst. Whatever you do to hurt me that I’ll return the favor ten-fold. “

I turned away, walking back towards my desk, tired of looking at him. “I’ll be waiting, Your Highness.” 

“…” After a few moments, the sound of his reluctant footsteps moving away could be heard. I sighed with relief, and sat down in my chair, thinking.

_______________________________

“… You can come out now.” I called out.

THUD. Nate and Henry fell from their hiding spot in the hallway. Nate had the decency to look slightly ashamed, but Henry simply shrugged, brushing himself off. 

“We heard the prince was here and we were curious.” He explained. 

“And your curiosity justifies you both spying on a private conversation?” 

Nate hung his head. “I’m sorry, I thought you might need backup.” He looked up briefly, smiling. “I can see now that I was very mistaken.”

Henry simply shrugged again, but Nate elbowed him until he rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry too.”

“You’re both forgiven.” I motioned for them to sit, and they did. “That was…interesting.”

“Aren’t you worried though?” Nate’s brow furrowed. “I mean, you weren’t very nice… not that I blame you! But what if he tries to get revenge?”

“Let him. Armeny has never been stronger. Besides, the public knows that HE broke off the engagement. The more he tries to push the issue, the more he’ll suffer in return.”

Henry spoke up, “So he’d be a fool to try anything?”

“Which is why he definitely will.” I grinned. “But don’t worry. I’m ready.”

“Well, I’m here if you need any help.” Nate stood up. “And I’ll arrange the paperwork you need for the two people coming to Tilendria. Just send me their information and it will done as soon as possible. “

“Are you leaving already?” I frowned, unsure of why that idea bothered me. “Can’t you stay for dinner?”

“Yes, she’s right! You can’t leave now, we’ve barely even looked in the herb section of the greenhouse!” Henry spoke up, dismayed.

“I’m sorry to both of you.” Nate smiled. “But I’m afraid the Queen has requested my presence at dinner tonight. Apparently she wants to question me.”

I reached out, patting him on the arm. “Good luck.”

His face turned red, as he glanced down at my hand on his arm. Worried that I had offended him, I retracted it, and he shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts. “Well- yes, um… thanks! That was nice… I mean!” He slapped a hand to face. “Never mind! I’m going now!”

Awkwardly he walked out, replaced by a satisfied looking Hallers.

“Did the prince leave?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid His Royal Highness did not have an uneventful exit.” An evil chuckle resonated from him. 

I couldn’t hold back my curiosity. “What happened?”

“Somehow, the prince slipped on the step into his carriage. It was unexpectedly slick... almost as if a small amount of oil had been smeared on it.” He spread his hands helplessly. “And even more mysterious was that he was boarding the carriage right next to the stable manure pile!” He shook his head. “How unfortunate for the prince of our kingdom to fall into horse dung on my watch. How shall I bear the shame?” He looked even more pleased than before.

“It will make a lovely new verse to your song, Hallers.” Henry spoke up.

“I have no idea what you mean, Sir.” His face a professional mask once more, he turned around. “I will get you both some more tea.”

Henry and I stared at each other once he left. “Do you really think we’ll be okay if the prince comes after you?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sure of it. I can handle the Prince.”

He didn’t look convinced. “That’s all well and good, but... what about the King?”

“The king?” I paused at that. “He’s a different story. Hopefully he’ll be content to let his son run things.”

 “Hopefully.”

 We waited for our tea in silence.

_______________________________

 A few days passed and there was not a word from the prince. With each uneventful day, I wondered a few times if he had changed his mind regarding revenge. Finally, having cleared through much of the week’s work with Henry, I headed out to the main branch of Prosperity, hoping to check in with Marile while I was there.

 Most of the time she brought the financial reports to me and we would discuss plans together, but every once and a while I liked going to the shop and seeing for myself how things were being run.

“Welcome!” A cheery greeting rang out as I walked through the doors. The whole store was light and friendly, with clear displays and helpful staff. I nodded silently with a approval to myself. Marile ran a tight ship, even when I wasn’t around.

I headed to the back room, greeted by the sight of Marile sitting in a chair, humming while she sewed. It was so achingly familiar but strange all the same. How many times had I sat with her in a room like this, sewing and humming along? How many days did we chat for hours while working, talking about our hopes and dreams for the future, even if we avoided speaking about our pasts that were too painful to dredge up?

Hearing me walk in, Marile looked up with a smile.

 “Welcome back!”

_______________________________

“Welcome back.” Marile waved a hand, tired from a long day work. “What took you so long?”

I shook my head. “I can’t find him this time.”

“Your father’s still missing?” She frowned. “Maybe he’s staying with friends?”

“He kept gambling at the clubs, no matter what I told him.” I was shaking, and sat down in the chair opposite her. “He hid it from me, but I think he’s in more debt than he let on.”

Marile’s expression was grim. “And not with the right kind of people?”

“No.”

She reached out, patting my shoulder. “I won’t give you false words of comfort, girl. What I will say is that I’m here for you, even in the case of the worst.”

I wiped the forming tears from my eyes, looking around for the dress I had to finish. “Really?”

“Yes.” She grinned. “And I’ve been working with Mr. Haggot. He’s going to sell all my designs and with that money you and I can open up our own shop!” Holding out her hand towards me, she asked with a smile. “What about it, want to be business partners?”

I reached out, clasping her hand. “Deal. One day, we’ll run a shop together.”

_______________________________

 I shook my head, stepping into the sewing room and sitting near her. “How’s business lately?”

“No change. Should there be?” She must have sensed my nervousness, as she reached out and handed me a project. “Hem the sleeves. Sewing will calm you down.”

I grinned, taking the dress and settling into a familiar rhythm next to her. “Well, I worry that the prince in his desire for revenge might have struck here.”

“It’s still somehow a secret that we’re business partners. No reason for him to strike out at a random dress shop.”

I sighed, already feeling better as I worked with my hands. “I suppose you’re right.”

“No need to be so worried…” Marile faded to silence as we heard to women start to talk to each other near the back room, obviously not realizing they were being overheard.

“Did you hear the rumor going around about Lenora?” A high pitched nasally voice spoke up, sounding excited.

“The Duke of Armeny’s daughter? Yes, her engagement was broken, that’s old news.” A deeper, bored voice answered.

“No, no no! Of course everyone knows about the engagement break up! I’m talking about why it happened!”

“Why it happened?” The bored voice sounded slightly more interested. “I thought the Queen said they parted ways because they didn’t really connect well?”

 “Apparently she was just hiding the truth!” the nasally voice giggled. “I heard from a close friend of Lenora’s that the young woman was actually running around with other men!”

“Cheating on the prince?”

I sighed, leaning back in my chair and focusing on my sewing. Different life, same rumors. I had wondered if this would repeat itself. Apparently this time it took telling the prince what I thought about him before he and Edith tried to ruin my reputation. I wondered if he bothered to tell her the whole story of proposing to me, and that’s why she was helping. It seemed unlikely that he would be honest with her, though.

“I don’t know…” the lower voice continued, “I’ve met her, and she seems very nice. And she has a sterling reputation in the duchy…”

“Which makes this rumor all the more exciting!” The nasally voice raised, almost a shout. She had apparently forgotten her concern about being overheard.

“SHH… this isn’t right to speak of!” The other girl obviously tried to quiet her, growing nervous. “I feel wrong talking about her behind her back like this. She seems very kind, even paid for a small debt I owed this store once.”

“Who cares if we talk badly about some cast-off of the prince?” The higher voice laughed. “Lenora is washed up, we can talk about her all we like.”

“NOT IN MY STORE YOU WON’T!” Marile, her face enraged, stormed out of the back room to confront the two.

“I- I’m so sorry!” The lower voice spoke up first, “it was terribly rude…”

“HOW DARE YOU QUESTION YOUR BETTERS?!” The nasally voice shouted. “I’ll speak of whomever I please, or you’ll lose my business!”

“I would hope so!” Marile held her ground. “From this moment forward, your account with Prosperity is canceled. You will not be able to purchase any of the newest fashion. Your debt will be sent to your family for immediate payment.”

“YOU- YOU CAN’T…” she sputtered in return.

“I can, and I will. Lady Lenora is our biggest patron, and our most respected customer! No one will slander her name and be welcome in our store.”

 The nasal voice rose to a shriek. “You’ll lose your business!”

“Perhaps.” Marile sounded unconcerned. “But more likely the other young women would rather be kind to the woman they owe so much too rather than risk being the least fashionable in the room.”

The loud sound of the girl running away in tears could be heard, followed by a brief silence. Marile spoke up, much more softly this time. “Thank you for defending the Lady Lenora. I’ll handle your gown myself.”

 “Really? I don’t deserve that… but if you mean it, I’ll gladly take you up on it.”

“Just please tell your friends what I’ve said here.”

The remaining girl laughed. “Oh believe me, in a few days there won’t be a noblewoman in the kingdom left who would dare slander Lady Lenora lest they be banned from the best dress shop around!”

Marile stepped back in, her face calm. I stared up at her, my sewing forgotten.

“Thank you.” I whispered. She seemed to sway in my vision as tears filled my eyes.

“What a silly girl!” Marile stepped forward, giving me a tight hug. “Of course I won’t let that nasty person tell lies about you! Not while I have breath in this body!”

_______________________________

“YOU’RE AN EMBARASSMENT!” My mother screamed, throwing her now empty glass towards me. “YOU DESERVE EVERY TERRIBLE WORD THEY SPEAK ABOUT YOU!”

_______________________________

“You don’t…”

 “Shush!” Marile handed me my sewing once again with a smile. “Finish your work before you go home. We’ll sit together.”

And so we did.

[vegetalass]

Chain Smoker Robin Hood

Happy Birthday @phen0l!! Sending you all my love and wishes to you for this year! 

this is honestly such a mess…….. but i hope it makes sense and you enjoy regardless! 

i really enjoyed writing an MP reader that was almost caricature-like, as this is a super interesting dynamic i was barely able to capture…. 

i just thought of all the dialogue first and was like… time to rip off someone else’s idea!!!! *sunglasses emoji* 

but whatever lol…… please @ me

posted on AO3 here 🌈

Warning: contains sexual themes and drug mentions!

Prostitute!Levi/MP!Reader - 2279 words

Time seemed a lot slower back when Levi was a little boy. Not that he can remember every single day of his childhood with clarity, but back then, his life seemed to consist of only two things. 

His mom, the first. Her job, the other. 

In fact, one of the first things he remembers understanding was his place amongst all of it. Her love, their home, and then, between all of the men.

When he was at his smallest, he figures that it must’ve been easy enough to stash a baby away in a closet cradle, at least for a few minutes at a time. A toddler is a lot harder, though, and he knows this from memory; it being that most of the few memories Levi has of his mother consist of being told to be patient and quiet. 

He was a good listener, though, and soon enough, as the seemingly endless streams of men began to make sense, so did the rest of his tiny world. 

Is there somebody else in here? 

Despite the time Levi spent curled up in a closet, and the way his mother was never a guaranteed constant, she never failed to make it known how much he was loved despite the constant facade she had to put on during most of her working hours. 

As though the person he thought his mom was and the woman Olympia were two separate people, and the world was divided between fucking things and living. 

He knows now that’s not the case, but sometimes it still feels like the world really is that simple, especially when he’s forced to face the smiles of people who have never had to struggle to survive. 

That’s always when he thinks of his mom the most; her death seemingly meaningless to people who do not care that she got sick and died, even though they are the same people who paid to fuck her. 

Part of him wishes that he could’ve done her right… as if he could go back and change the past, but he was young when he knew her, and he’s not sure what doing right by someone really means. Not in a whore house, at least, because violence was something he found for himself later. After, of course, following in her footsteps. 

Sorry, Mom, he often finds himself thinking, the image of her gaunt and lifeless frown one of the only things he has left of her. 

That, and his fucking job. His job as a prostitute and lackey for his no good uncle Kenny, who has never once hidden his hatred for humanity under his ugly smirk and a cigarette. 

What is he called again? The Ripper? 

Levi thinks that Good-for-Nothing Shit-for-Brains fits even better, which is funny, because he was the one to bring Levi to the Military Police, and then to you, in the first place.  

Shut up, Pisshead. Go back to fuckin’ the Police for all I care.

He can’t say that you are the worst of them… but it’s a really low bar. 

The Military Police all look the same to him, regardless of how they treat him. 

Your face blurring into something, someone, he has seen one thousand times; your cynical smile one of privilege, or luck, and also of hatred, for a military who cheated you out of serving a country you used to love, because since enlisting to fight for it, you can no longer say that you do.

At least not here, and not with him.

Because for all the times he has offered to fuck you in the way that your people have fucked him, you have always laughed and said no. 

Fucking things is out of the question, you told him once, while enthusiastically showing him around the Military Police station, which he supposes he has to appreciate. The freedom that you’ve allowed him, that is, and the fact that you’ve been good to him.

Kind, even, despite your awful peers. 

That’s ironic, he had replied, the dust on every windowsill a cruel reminder of his home. 

Because before you, he had no semblance of hope that he’d ever get to leave the Underground, and now, here he is running from it. 

It would almost seem surreal, this whole world that you’ve spun up for him, and that there’s still the possibility that you could easily take it all away; but part of him knows that you have better things to do than fuck weak boys from the Underground. Things like... stealing military gear, or running off to roll and smoke funny things with the rest of the shitty Military Police boys. Things that he knows aren’t police related, though these were all just guesses, since nobody really knows what is it that the Military Police actually do with their time. 

It’s also guaranteed that he won’t find out while sat across from you on the plush down of your Military-Police-grade issued bed, or during any other time at all, because you are still hardly an exception. 

And while he could almost strangle you for it, you don’t seem to notice his discomfort, too busy sprawled out on your bed next to him, busy lighting a cigarette. 

“What?” you start, cocking your head to the side when you notice his grimace, the newly-lit joint between your lips doing nothing to stifle your grin as you stare at him with dark, half-lidded eyes. 

“What?” he parrots back, confused, if not mostly irritated by your unending and sarcastic cheer. 

“You know, if you’re worried about all this…” you wave your hand in the air, fresh smoke curling under the light of the candle on your bedside table, “Don’t be.”

He glances at you, still disgruntled from being ripped from his daydream about the past, and sighs, “I’m not.” 

He knows what you’re referring to, what it is that Kenny’s talked you into, and that the only reason you’re even doing a favor for him by keeping his prostitute nephew in your quarters is to keep your relations with the underground on the friendly side of business casual. 

But Levi isn’t a fool. He knows that good things don’t last, and that there’s not a single Military Police elite who has ever said what they mean.

Even at your nonchalance on the issue of housing the likes of him in your room, it doesn’t matter. Soon he will end his stay with the military and return back to the Underground. He will go back home to the brothel, and will return to days spent watching the whores’ kids and waiting for the next well fed member of high society to request him to take his clothes off. And after your transaction with Kenny comes to a close and you run out of shit gear to sell, he will have no chance at returning to the surface unless the world fucking ends or the Military Police forget about their sworn duty of lying to the poor. 

He’s honestly not sure which will come first. Not with the Titans that he’s heard so much about, which you’ve already provided enough basis for him to understand, and what that means for everyone who fights them and everyone who doesn’t. 

It’s a life of luxury… or not, and for Levi, he has never experienced the former. 

Maybe that’s a good thing. 

“I can do illegal things...” you begin again, staring at the ceiling in thought, and Levi can’t help but roll his eyes at the fact that you are just someone who will not quit.  

He knows all too well the kinds of things you mean, and though he is the outlaw-and-whore from the Underground that you agreed to house, he rolls his eyes anyway. 

“You shouldn’t.”

There’s not a single lavender candle you could light for him to make him feel comfortable with you, and he feels empty when he finally does look at your unchanging, pleased expression from where you lay on the bed. 

“But I can,” you tease, your cigarette dripping blue ash on the sheets when you shrug. 

He grimaces, before glaring at you, but you only laugh when you peek at him, finding it easy to recognize the street rat in him. 

“Oh, c’mon!” you sit up, beginning to crawl to him from your side of the bed, the collar of your white night shirt dipping below your chest. Levi curses himself for noticing… and then for thinking about the fact that you are someone who has never had to starve. 

“We’ll put you in a nice outfit, add the cape and everything.” You say as you reach him, brushing your fingers over his hair, the cigarette now between your lips, “You’ll look so handsome.”

He is reminded of the many women who call him that back home. 

Don’t frown, Levi!

“And then…?” he asks, one hand reaching for his neck to halt the downward creeping of your fingers. If it were before… when he was still that boy in the brothel, he’d know what to do with your hands. He’d know how to hold them, and move them in such a way that allowed him control of a situation, and a body, that he was being paid to please. 

But you are not that person, and he doesn’t want to be that boy anymore. When he does manage to catch your fingers in his, he drops your hand at least to spare himself the pain of thinking about the fact that he does not want to succumb to the same fate of his mother. 

No matter how much he wishes he could’ve saved her.

He blinks the thought away, as yet again, you don’t seem to acknowledge his distress, laughing as you blow smoke toward the ceiling, “Then ship you off to, I don’t know, wherever you want to go.” 

He pauses, and turns to face where you still kneel behind him, the only thing left between his face and your body a thin strip of silk. You raise an eyebrow at his blank eyes, before realizing that he has nothing to do with his hands since he managed to put yours down.

You purse your lips at his hesitancy to respond, “That’s what you want, right?”

He remains quiet. Contemplative. Always has been, and you can tell, always will be. 

It’s not as if he doesn’t have things to say. He does. He will. But you are not someone who really inspires him to talk, because you are the police, after all, and old habits really do seem to die hard. 

It would make Kenny laugh if Levi were ever able to tell him that. Not that he wants to speak to him anymore than he already has to, but if he’s really honest, you are right. This is what he wants, and he can’t even ask for it.

You’re no longer frowning by the time you take another inhale of your cigarette, and when Levi glances at you, you offer the stick to him. When he does take it, he realizes that he doesn’t plan on giving it back. 

Besides, the warm smoke feels good in his chest.  

He remembers the first time he picked one out of Kenny’s pockets, and he thinks of every time he shared one with a customer. The thought doesn’t seem to hurt as much anymore, not when he’s smoking with you, at least, and for some reason, he doesn’t seem to know why. 

You begin again, because by now, Levi realizes that you always do.

“Erwin likes you, you know,” you say, finally aware enough to remove yourself from his side of the bed to shuffle through the papers at your tiny desk, “which means that I can finally say I did right by someone.” 

Levi scowls at your words, “What the Hell does that mean?” 

He has never been a man of many words, but he cannot help the outburst. 

“It means that you can go to war for me.” You are laughing again now, any remainder of your frown gone just as quickly as it appeared. “You know, join the Survey Corps and all that shit.” 

His sour face falls soft at the thought, and you smile from your seat, not realizing the weight of your words as you begin to gaze off into the distance of your candlelit room. 

“Maybe I’ll even go with you... Leave this shitty burg for once in my life.”

Levi isn’t looking at you, though. He he hasn’t been for a while. 

He thinks about being a kid again; about the way that the world still seems to be divided into two things, fucking people and living, and how there is only one thing left that he wants. 

It’s great up there, Levi. I’ll take you to see it one day.

He takes another drag of your, no, his cigarette, the smoke now clouding his side of the room, and looks at you… but thinks of his mom, and the way not a man in her family could do her any justice.

“Isn’t that romantic, little Robin Hood?” you laugh when you look at him, the familiar smile on your lips suddenly more weary than he’s ever seen it. He wonders if you know what it’s like to make a sacrifice for love, and if you’ve ever had to fight just to live. 

You don’t really seem like the type.

And although you remain in your daze, as you raise a new, unlit cigarette in his direction as if to say Cheers, even Levi can admit that he’s just a little bit excited at the thought of finally being free. 

[imagineredwood]

Request: Bobby’s biological daughter that he didn’t know he had until she shows up with CPS because her mom and stepdad were abusive. She has to learn to let people in again.

Pairing: Dad Bobby x female reader 

Warnings: Abuse, allusions to PTSD symptoms, trust issues 

Word count: 1,569

“Who the hell is that?”

The Sons all looked up at the security camera as they saw a vehicle pull in and park and well-dressed man and woman stepping out from the driver and passenger seats. Clay watched the screen with furrowed brows as they looked around the complex, the man going to the backseat and opening the door, a teenage girl stepping out of the bar. She held a large bag in her hand that had everyone confused, Jax looking towards Clay. 

“Feds?”

“With some teenybopper? I doubt it. Let's go check it out.” 

Clay and Jax both stood, making their way outside while the rest of the Sons stayed, most of them stubbing out their joints just in case they were feds and came in with a warrant. The rest of the Sons including Bobby watched their President and VP walk out and exchange words with the two people before Clay took a paper that the man held out towards him. Clay read over it and Jax did as well over his shoulder. They both stopped to look at each other before nodding and motioning for the three of them to come into the clubhouse. Tig cursed, taking the ashtray with the roaches to go flush them. 

“Goddamnit. That must be a warrant.” 

Juice ran over to light one of Gemma’s candles and hide the rolling papers while the rest of the Sons stayed sitting nonchalantly and acting normal. Bobby wasn’t paying much mind. At his age, worrying was not something he enjoyed doing and he wouldn’t unless it was something really bad. So he kept his wits about him as Clay, Jax and the kid with the other two walked in, Clay motioning towards Bobby. 

“That’s him.”

Bobby’s eyes squinted at the words. What the hell could these people want with him? 

“Mr. Munson?”

Bobby tried to keep his expression neutral as the man and woman eyed him. You and he locked eyes though and he could see a sense of awe in them. Why, he wasn’t sure.

“Yeah, that’s me. Who’s asking?”

The man stepped forward this time, swallowing drying as he felt the eyes on him and handed Bobby the papers. Bobby took them from his and being reading over them, none of the words really making sense until he saw the file about the police report made after the cops were called for a domestic dispute. It was there that he saw the name of your mother. They had never been overly close, the relationship more of a complicated one night stand that turned into something else entirely. She had been unstable and inherently violent. It was for that reason that he had called it quits, and also why he recognized the name as soon as he ran his eyes across it. His heart stopped then sunk as he saw that the spot for the father on your birth certificate had been left blank. He knew quickly what this was about then. The man verbalized in case he was confused though. 

“This is Y/N, she was taken into the system and given to us to look after a call was received about a disturbance at the house. The investigation is still new but we have enough evidence that the home was abusive so we removed her from her mother and step father’s care. The mother tells us that you are her father, she just never made you aware. If that’s true then you now technically are her legal guardian. We can arrange to have a paternity test if you’d like the certainty...”

The man trailed off as Bobby shook his head, looking up at you. The age gap between the two of you didn’t allow there to be many characteristics that showed resemblance, but your eyes and curls were enough to convince Bobby that it was all true. You were his kid, no doubt. He had a rush of emotions run through him. Anger at missing out on knowing you, guilt at not having been there, sadness that you were now one more child of his that he’d fucked up on. He clenched the papers in his hand and blew out a shaky breath as he looked at you. Your eyes held worry and emotional exhaustion but even still, you tried to smile at him softly. 

“So you are my dad?”

Bobby stayed quiet for a second or two, still slightly in shock at how drastically his day had changed in such little time. 

“Seems like it kid.”

The woman nodded and smoothed her hands down the front of her blouse, giving you a soft smile as she put her arm around you, hand squeezing your shoulder. 

“You do have some family, after all, see?”

You nodded and looked back at your now father and the rest of the men who sat around him wearing wide eyes but small smiles as well. Bobby slowly started to tune out the sound of the social workers talking to you as he looked over the rest of the file, pictures of bruising along your body, hospital bills for stitches, an x-ray of a hairline fractured cheekbone. Whether he’d known you for a day or for his whole life, you were still his kid, and the thought of you being abused was enough to get his blood boiling, an angry huff coming from him as he tossed your file roughly to the side on top of the bar. 

The sound and action of annoyance caught your attention though and made you jump and swallow, thinking it was directed at you. 

“I don’t have to stay with you if you don’t want me to. They were saying I could maybe go to a foster family or something.”

Bobby quickly shook his head, cursing himself for not thinking before he threw the stack of papers. He knew that your background and what you’d been through was going to be difficult to deal with and he knew it was going to take some adaptation on his part. Everything happened in a blur after that, Bobby accepting legal guardianship as your father, signing a paper stating he would take you in, taking the near inch thick packet of paperwork associated with any legal proceedings and the works. 

Gemma had come in at some point and caught the tail end of the interaction. It was enough for her to understand what was happening though and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see you were uncomfortable bordering on fearful at the new environment and people. She stepped up slow, having seen the picture in the file as well, a warm smile on her face. 

“Hi baby, I’m Gemma. I’m his mom,”

She pointed over to Jax who smiled as you looked back over at him. 

“Why don’t you come with me to the kitchen, we’ll make something to eat?”

She kept her distance, giving you your space, allowing you to make your own decision. You hesitated at first, eyeing her. She seemed friendly enough but you knew better than to be fooled by that. Even still, you nodded and placed your bag down. She held her hand out for you to grab but you shook your head, stuffing your pants into the pockets of your jeans. Gemma didn’t seem to mind, her smile not wavering as she walked with you into the kitchen.  

“This is good. Thank you.”

Both Gemma and Bobby looked up from their own soup as they heard your voice. 

“There’s plenty more if you want another bowl.” 

You nodded in acknowledgment and looked back down at your lunch.

“Im not really used to eating actual meals like this. Like that are warm and cooked.”

Neither of them responded to your comment directly, not wanting their anger to come out. Instead, Gemma smiled, reaching over to lay her hand atop yours. She didn’t miss that flinch that came but this time you didn’t pull away. 

“You’ll always have a warm, home-cooked meal with us, baby. Anything you need or want, you’ll have here.”

Bobby looked over as well, his eyes holding yours. 

“You ain't never gonna have to worry about needing anything ever again. I promise you that. I know you weren’t being taken care of back there with your mother, but you will be here.” 

He saw the small beginning of a smile tug at your lips and you nodded before looking back down at your soup.

“Thanks...Bobby.”

He smiled back, not having expected you to start calling him dad. He knew the police report and the pictures were only scraping the surface of what you had gone through and he knew you weren’t going to start trusting everyone overnight. He would be damned if he didn’t make sure he tried to make you feel safe. He knew in his age he wouldn’t be able to do everything a younger dad would do not would he have the time, especially with the club, but he knew in time the younger Sons would become like big brothers to you, Gemma providing you with a mother figure, the club becoming your family. He would do everything in his power to give you a place to belong.  A home where you would feel safe and protected. That would come in time though. For now, he would start slow and make up for lost years. 

“So, you like ice cream?”

[fallout4holmes]

Journal 32

Valentine and Hancock took the opportunity to catch up on each other's respective cities as we walked to Goodneighbor. Danse was silent at first, encased in his armor, but after a while asked, “Holmes, the ghoul - er, Hancock - mentioned you traveled with a super mutant?”

I explained how I met Rex Goodman and Strong. Danse was incredulous. When I went on to explain that Strong was now travelling between Minutemen settlements with a seamstress, he was nearly furious.

“You assigned an unarmed civilian to accompany a delusional abomination?!”

“Of course she’s armed, and Strong isn’t going to eat her, Danse. If he tires of humans, he’ll just leave.”

“You can’t be certain of that! How can you trust a super mutant?”

“He was stationed at the Castle without incident, and then in the western settlements after. He never attacked any human that didn’t attack him first. Hancock and I traveled with him, and I am certain he is blindly dedicated to his quest for the milk of human kindness, which means he can’t go around killing every human he sees.”

“This is insane.”

“It’s not as though I’m opening the gates to any super mutant who wants in. Strong is an exception. He is an… aberration among his kind. He likes Macbeth, for heaven’s sake. He is brutal and barbaric, but not an immediate danger to any human. He has no qualms about fighting his ‘brothers.’”

“Brothers?”

“That’s how he refers to other super mutants.”

“Speakin’ of Strong’s brothers…” Hancock said.

Sure enough, the sound of automatic fire and super mutant shouting could be heard over the blast of a laser rifle in the distance. Danse moved forward, “I’m on point, you three fall in behind and to the sides. Stick to the shadows; I’ll draw fire.”

No one argued, though Hancock cursed when he saw who the super mutants were fighting.

A Brotherhood Scribe tended to a fallen Initiate while a Knight fired upon the mutants across the street. The cavalry came in the form of a vertibird, quickly shot down to crash between skyscrapers, its pilot crawling from the wreckage, miraculously alive for the moment. Danse and I didn’t hesitate, attacking the mutants directly and creating a second front. Valentine made his way toward the pilot, shooting at a mutant hound before it could finish the wounded man. Hancock joined us, firing his shotgun point blank at every mutant he could, leaving a bloody mess in his wake. The Brotherhood Knight continued his attack with deadly accuracy, though I suspect he also wasn’t too concerned with not hitting us as well.

When the last mutant fell and the dust settled, the Knight was less than thrilled to see who had lent a helping hand. “Thanks for the assist… what the hell?”

A panicked cry came from the pilot. Valentine was on a knee beside him, his hands up in an attempt to be non-threatening. “Easy friend. I know the face ain’t comforting, but I promise I’m only trying to help. You’re in bad shape.”

The Knight stormed toward him, “Get away, you abomination.”

“Well, good afternoon to you, too,” Valentine stood slowly. “He’s bleeding out and both his legs are broken. You gonna let me give him a stimpak or leave him to suffer?”

“We don’t need help from freaks,” the Knight said, turning to encompass Hancock in the insult.

“Watch your mouth, friend,” Hancock snarled, “it's getting you in trouble.”

Danse knelt by the pilot, to everyone’s surprise. Valentine handed him the stimpak, which Danse promptly used to stop the man’s bleeding. “Does your Scribe require assistance,” he asked in a quick monotone.

“He’s keeping Initiate Nelson alive,” said the Knight.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“Unless you’re a doctor, there’s nothing else you can do here.” The Knight surveyed the soldier before him as Danse stood up. “Didn't think Minutemen use armor.”

“I prefer it. The General approved.”

I stood beside Danse, “Indeed, why shouldn't any Minuteman who can salvage a suit put it to good use?”

The Knight looked at me. “Strange coincidence, an armored soldier joining the Minutemen after the synth you were supposed to kill is conveniently disintegrated.”

“Are you suggesting that Elder Maxson is a fool, or a liar?”

“Ooh,” Hancock chuckled from his position behind us, “dissension in the ranks.”

The Knight was unamused, “He doesn't have to be a fool to be fooled. It's no secret he and the traitor were close. If a devious false brother planted the evidence he wanted to see, he might not look as closely at the lie as he would any other time.”

“Awful lot of ‘ifs',” Valentine lit a cigarette, “not to mention a pretty clear picture of who that false brother would have to be.”

“Why do you find it so much more likely that I faked Danse's death and ran,” I challenged, “rather than the fact that Danse is dead and I couldn't stomach Brotherhood philosophy any further? Paladin Danse was a loyal soldier to the end. He did nothing to betray the Brotherhood except exist, and confronting him about his true nature was one of the most difficult things I have ever done. Maxson was there; he followed me because he doubted I would finish the deed. Either I am the best liar in history, or your Elder himself would have to be complicit in this ridiculous conspiracy. If you haven't any proof to support your paranoia, we have nothing further to say to each other. Shall we, gentlemen?”

We made it a few paces before the Knight shouted, “Danse!”

“With you?” Hancock called back, “No way I'm high enough for that!”

Once we were a few blocks further, Hancock nudged Danse's arm, “Shit, crew cut, they really got your number. What the hell did you see in a bunch of racist bastards anyway?”

“Hope for humanity and a chance to make a difference in the world.”

Hancock scoffed, “Don't see why hope for humanity means killing all the freaks like me - or you.”

“It made sense at the time.”

Hancock paused a moment before he said, “Look, brother, I get that ain't you anymore. I just can't wrap my head around it. Plenty of folks wanna make life hard for people just tryin' to survive. I'm not willing to stand for that kinda shit.”

Danse was skeptical, “Does that extend to your own citizens?”

“Got a real simple policy in Goodneighbor. If someone needs help, I help 'em. If someone needs hurting, I hurt 'em. It's not hard. Folks know what they're getting into when they walk into my town, and if they don't, then they learn real fast.”

It was nearing sunset when Goodneighbor’s neon sign greeted us. Danse stared at it a moment and said, “With all due minimal respect, Hancock, what the hell?”

“I know, wasn’t my first choice for colors, but do you have any idea how hard it was to rig that thing?”

“I was referring to the fact that there is a giant sign announcing the presence of your den of criminals in the first place.”

“Hey, not all of ‘em are criminals. Drifters, outcasts, freaks, anyone who doesn’t have a home to call their own. Besides, who the fuck are we supposed to be hiding from? Someone wants to take us out?” He smiled sinisterly, “Just let them try.”

We went inside, and Hancock sighed, “Home sweet home. Oh, crew cut, friendly tip. Security here is strictly ‘do it yourself’... but I'm guessing you won't have to worry about that. Everyone’s welcome as long as they play nice. Goodneighbor is of the people, for the people, you feel me?”

Though it was impossible to tell, I'm certain Danse was scowling at his surroundings. “Understood,” he said.

“I'm gonna head up to the office, take care of some ‘pending mayoral business.’ Look around, I'll catch up to you later.”

As Hancock went inside the State House, I said to Danse, “At the very least we should restock on ammunition and supplies. Then there's a friend of mine I'd like to check in with.”

“Affirmative… a friend? Here?”

“More of a former business associate. First things first, for ammunition you'll want to talk to Kleo, and for everything else see her neighbor, Daisy.”

Daisy was more than happy to meet the man who put Trashcan Carla in her place for insulting a ghoul, and pleased to hear Al, “the Vault-Tec ghoul,” was doing well. Apparently gossip travels among the caravans. Kleo unsuccessfully flirted when Danse expressed interest in some of her heavier weaponry, but ultimately he decided to simply stock up on fusion cells. Our supply needs met, I led the way to the Memory Den.

The proprietress was lounging in her usual position. “Good evening, Irma, is Kent in?”

“Where else would he be?” She smiled, “He’ll be happy to see you, sugar…” she stood as her attention drifted to the two men behind me, “... well, well! Hello, Nick.”

Valentine grinned, “Irma. Let me introduce the Lt. Colonel of the Minutemen.”

Danse removed his helmet, “Ma’am.”

“Welcome. And call me Irma, dear. Of course, if the rest of what's under the armor matches the eyes, you call me whatever you want.”

“I… appreciate the compliment. Exactly what sort if establishment is this?”

Irma laughed, “Relax, sugar, I'm harmless.”

“Wouldn't say that,” Valentine muttered.

“Oh hush, Nick,” she playfully scolded.

I left her to the explanation of her business while I looked in on Kent. He’d just finished introducing an episode where the Silver Shroud encounters a villain called “The Mechanist,” and greeted me with a smile. “Shroud! Long time no see. How’re things?”

“Doing well, Kent. Remarkably busy.”

“I bet. After destroying the Institute, being a General and all, and a detective, I bet you don’t have a bit of spare time.”

I laughed, “Some days it seems that way. Word has spread about the Agency?”

“There was a story in Public Occurrences a while back, that’s how I knew. Sometimes Diamond City Radio mentions you too. What brought you back to Goodneighbor?”

“Passing through, escorting your wayward Mayor home.”

“I sure do appreciate you stopping by. Is the suit still working ok? Oh, but I guess you don't use it a lot these days.”

“I do not, but it is still perfectly intact and functional. You did some impressive work, Kent.”

He smiled, “Thanks.”

We heard Hancock's voice from the other room, “There's two of you. Where'd Trouble get to?”

“Mayor Hancock,” Irma intercepted. “I don't often see you in my parlor.”

“Nothin’ personal. Just not my kind of high.” I could imagine; dwelling on the past held no appeal for that man.

“A moment, Hancock,” I called and turned to Kent. “I should be going. It was good to see you.”

“Sure thing Shroud,” we shook hands, “same to you.”

I joined my companions, we bid a good night to Irma, and followed the grinning Hancock out the door. “Come on fellas,” he said, “drinks are on me.”

“Which means they're on the house,” Valentine said.

Hancock shrugged, “Well, yeah, I own the joint, so same thing.”

As we descended into the Third Rail, Valentine said to Danse in a low voice, “Watch your caps in this place. Folks behind the bar are as likely to rob you as those in front of it.”

“You don't have to be a detective to see that much,” Danse grumbled back. Valentine chuckled.

An intoxicated patron made some comment about the “king of the ghouls” being back in town, prompting Hancock to smile, “It’s good to be home. What's worth drinkin' today, Chuck?”

The uniquely Cockney Mr. Handy behind the bar swiveled in surprise. “Mayor Hancock! I'm so sorry. I didn't know you'd be coming in today. We're out of your usual.”

“Don't sweat it, Chuck,” Hancock leaned against the bar. “Just gimme whatever tastes the least like it's been aged in a shoe.” He was handed a glass of something that might have been beer. “Here,” Hancock attempted to pay, but he was refused.

“Please, Mayor Hancock. I can't take your money.”

“Can't say I didn't try,” Hancock laughed, “Thanks Chuck. Oh, those three are with me.”

“What's the word, Charlie?” Valentine said as we joined the Mayor.

“Valentine. You actually gonna buy something this time?”

Valentine was amused, “It'd be a chilly day in hell before I buy any of your swill. So, anyone new in need of finding?”

“None that didn't want it or have it coming.”

This was clearly a routine between them. “Always the humanitarian, ain't ya, Chuck?”

“Set the humans up with whatever the hell you gave me is,” Hancock said with a grin, “and put it on my tab.”

You could almost hear a pained sigh. “Comin’ up.”

Danse, realizing he was taking up a large amount of limited space, moved to a corner to exit his armor. We joined him as Magnolia took the stage. Hancock and Valentine enjoyed the show while Danse and I spoke quietly.

“General, I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier. I didn’t mean to usurp your command. I shouldn’t have let my emotions override my duty.”

“You mean when we were fighting mutants? For heaven's sake, you are far better equipped than I to issue battlefield instructions. As for your reaction to Strong, I expected as much. You have every reason to hate mutants, and to doubt my admittedly questionable judgement concerning this one.” I managed a swallow of the poor excuse for beer I was holding before setting it on the table and switching to a cigarette. “Now. What’s really troubling you?”

“Is it that obvious?” he asked, chagrined.

“Only because I know you,” I assured him, and waited.

“… I used to sound like that. The Knight.”

“‘Get away, you abomination?’”

He nodded. “He didn’t react the way I expected.” 

It took me a moment to realize to whom he was referring. “Valentine? He’s had a century of practice maintaining dignity in the face of hate.”

Danse took a large swallow of his beer, grimaced, and set it next to mine. “It was difficult to hear, now that I’m one of those abominations.”

I put my hand on Danse’s shoulder, “As Hancock said, ‘that ain’t you anymore.’ And if he can see that, anyone can.”

Magnolia finished her performance to rousing applause. “Hey, Holmes,” Hancock grinned, “should we try to set the soldier up?” He nodded toward Magnolia.

Danse rolled his eyes. “No, thank you.”

“Not your type,” Hancock nodded, making mental note, “got it.”

“Hancock, stop trying to make me relax.”

“I’m concerned! Can’t be healthy having posture that good all the time.”

“The possibility that you would be at all concerned with what’s healthy and what isn’t is laughable.”

“Alright you two,” Valentine stood. I noticed he wavered a bit, the effort greater than it should have been. “Hancock, the humans are gonna need a place to sleep.”

Hancock scoffed, “Hotel Rexford belongs to Marowski. Not even my charm can crack those rates. Of course, there's always the couch in my office,” he leered at Danse. Danse didn't try to hide his disgust, prompting a wicked laugh from Hancock. As Danse entered his armor, he asked, “Seriously though, crew cut, when was the last time you got laid?”

“Five days ago, before I left Sanctuary.”

Hancock was thunderstruck. “Shit, seriously?” He chased after Danse as he left the bar, “A tin soldier is getting more action than I am?! That just doesn’t seem right. Course, I was on the road with your General…”

I held Valentine back a moment, “Are you alright?”

“Just a couple gears acting up…” he sighed at my frown. “I’ll be fine. Let’s catch up before Hancock annoys Danse enough to say something he’ll regret.”

We secured the sole available room at the Rexford (not even the Mayor dares push the patiencel of Ms. Hutchins, the elderly receptionist - a deathclaw would be cowed by her glare.) Hancock bade us goodnight and good luck on our journey to the Castle in the morning.

Valentine is running a diagnostic; it's taking longer than usual. He assures me he's perfectly capable of making the trip to the Castle and then Murkwater, but I can't help but worry. I have to put it from my mind and try to rest.

[sunlightdances]

Love Laid Down (Part Five)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Rating: M (This part) Words: 5K+ (this part) Summary: Dean and Sam are running out of time to do a summoning ritual and kill whatever’s hunting you down as you’re held captive. Dean also realizes he might be running out of time to tell you how he really feels. Author’s Note: This is it! The last part! This part was what I actually had written first, as a potential one-shot that ended up inspiring all five parts. I can’t thank you all enough for your continued love and support as I’ve worked on this. Thanks so much!

Catch up here: Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

.

When you come to, there are dark shadows moving around you, and instinctively you kick out, trying to free yourself. Your feet are tied together, and your hands are bound.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” A voice says, and you grimace, looking up at the harsh light, wiling your vision to calm down so you can see properly. You’re dizzy, and can’t piece together what happened to you. “You know,” the voice says, “we’ve never heard of the Winchesters. Hard to believe, right? A group of famous hunters show up right on our doorstep, and we never even blinked. You almost had us fooled.”

“What are you talking about?” You ask, deciding to play dumb.

“There were a group of us, in Burkitsville. Over ten years ago now. They prayed to a different sort of God than we do, sure, but the idea was the same.” The woman comes into view, her face angry. “Your husband and his good for nothing brother almost wiped that town out.”

You wrack your brains trying to remember Sam or Dean ever telling you about a case similar to this one, and you’re coming up blank. There’s so much about the brothers that you still don’t know. You only joined them a few years ago, and their backstory is so fraught with tragedy that you’ve tried not to pry.

“We’ve worked so hard to do this the right way,” the woman says, and you recognize her vaguely, having seen her with Melissa a few times. “We tried to just grow our crops and promote our tourism. But no one came, and a drought wiped out everything. What were we supposed to do? Abandon it? No.”

“So what.” You interrupt, your voice rough from lack of use. “You’re praying to some… some pagan God?”

“First of all,” she points at you. “I didn’t start this. I’m just trying to keep this place afloat. If Pastor Williams and his wife don’t want to take responsibility for this, then I will.”

“You’re sacrificing people.”

She shakes her head sadly. “Don’t think of it that way. They volunteered! It was only this month that people started to question things. Our own pastor questioned everything, just because his wife talked him out of it.” She smiles cheerily at you then, her mood changing on a dime, “But then you and your husband came to town! And you were so nice, coming to Church and being all friendly. We should have known what you were really up to.”

“Well, you didn’t.” You mutter, and then she’s right in your face, pulling your hair to yank your head backwards so you can see her eyes.

“No, we didn’t. But it doesn’t matter now. Because you and Dean are going to be the next couple to appease our Saviour.” A crazed look enters her eyes.

“He’s not dumb enough to come after me. We know it’s been taking couples. If he doesn’t come here, your plan won’t work.”

“We’ll just have to convince him to come, won’t we?” She says, and advances on you.

.

.

Dean’s entire body is tense with nervous energy. He fuckin’ hates this. This entire plan was put together on the hope that the three of you didn’t get separated, and now he has no idea what will happen if they summon this pagan God without you here. With only two people, it’s less of a chance that it’ll go off without a hitch.

Sam is just about to start the ritual when someone starts pounding on the door. Dean grabs his gun off the table and heads over, a storm brewing in his eyes, especially when he opens the door to see Pastor Williams there.

“You better have a reason for being here, or so help me--”

“You can’t do the spell.” The Pastor says. “Please.” Over his shoulder, Dean sees a short woman who must be Connie Williams, and he softens, just a fraction.

“Get inside before someone hears you.” He says, moving out of the way and checking down the street to make sure no one is following them. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Sam stands. “Why wouldn’t you want us to end this? Isn’t this thing after your wife?”

“The entire town will be decimated if we go back on our deal. If we stop praying… I don’t know what will happen.” Pastor Williams says, and Dean laughs, bitterly.

“You’re really going to put your wife’s life at risk?”

“To save the town. We’ll do what we have to do,” Connie says, finally speaking up for the first time since coming through the door.

“Look, no dice. Sorry, but this thing has my--” Dean catches himself, “-- my wife, and I’m not going to sit around waiting for it to try to kill her.”

“It won’t kill her. All you have to do is pray, and you can appease it.”

“You’ve been sacrificing couples this entire time! That’s the only reason the praying has worked! You can’t possibly be--” Dean trails off, seeing the stricken looks on the Pastor and Connie’s faces. “You didn’t know. You didn’t do it.”

Sam looks at Dean, confusion on his face. “What?”

“They didn’t know. They really thought their prayers were working.”

“We--” Pastor Williams interrupts, swallowing hard. “We knew we weren’t praying to our true Lord. But we thought-- we thought that by praying, we were doing what it wanted. We thought the disappearances were coincidence. We thought if we kept praying, we could keep the economy up and pray so no more people would go missing.”

“A coincidence? Really?” Sam mutters.

“We don’t have time for this.” Dean growls. “We’re going to summon this thing, and we’re going to kill it. No more people are going to go missing.”

“Dean, wait. If they’re not actively doing the sacrifices--” Sam says, ignoring Connie’s quick breath of air at the word, “-- someone is. All the lore I’ve found says that the prayers won’t be answered unless there is a sacrifice, and someone has to facilitate it.”

“If it’s not you two…” Dean says, looking at Connie and her husband. “Then who is it? Who else knows about this?”

“Melissa.” Pastor Williams says. “Melissa and--”

“Amanda. Her daughter.” Connie says, sounding like she could cry at any moment.

.

.

When Melissa finally comes into view, you could weep with relief. You suspected her from the beginning, but she doesn’t look like someone ready to make a sacrifice. She looks scared.

“Amanda--” She starts, “Maybe we should re-think this. What if he doesn’t--”

“He’s going to come,” Amanda says firmly. “They’re attached at the hip. Besides, he’s a hunter. He’s not going to waste an opportunity to make a valiant rescue.” She laughs.

“This is too much. These are strangers--”

“Aren’t you tired of losing people, Mom?” Amanda asks, and you jolt at the word. “Everyone that’s gone before her… they’ve been people we know. Friends. We don’t have to do that anymore! We found out it doesn’t care who the couples are, just as long as someone is sacrificed when we pray.”

“Pastor Williams--”

“Pastor Williams started this! It’s his fault that we’re stuck at the mercy of this--” Amanda says loudly, before she stops, trying to calm herself down. “It wants Connie and Pastor Williams, and they’re not willing. They don’t have to be. We can do this. We have to do this.”

“You know,” you interrupt loudly, “Trying to tell yourself that killing strangers will make you feel better about this whole thing won’t work.”

“Stop talking.”

“You’ll keep trying to tell yourself that because you don’t know me, it feels different, but it doesn’t. You’ll still have nightmares.” As you’re talking, you slowly start to twist your way out of the ropes. It burns like a son of a bitch, but you can’t just sit here while they bicker over how fast they want to kill you.

You hope you’re right - you don’t need Dean to play the White Knight right now. You need him to summon this thing and kill it, and then come and break you out of here before these crazy people try to sacrifice you to a god that doesn’t exist anymore.

.

.

The summoning went wrong. Dean doesn't know how, or why, but as far as he’s concerned, they’re all lucky that they got out of there in one piece. He’s so angry at himself because now this thing is out there, and if crazy Amanda has already started the sacrificing ritual, it’s only a matter of time before it gets to you.

He and Sam are speeding the Impala to the church, his knuckles so tight on the steering wheel they’re white. “I knew I should have gone after her the minute I saw her go missing.” Dean growls.

“You had the right idea. We didn’t know the spell would go wrong.” Sam says, trying to be reassuring.

“If we’re too late--”

“We’re not.” Sam says, firm. “We’re going to get to her in time. We always do.”

When they get to the church, Dean swears when he sees one of the doors half off the hinges. “It’s already here.” He says, and Sam doesn’t say anything this time.

.

Amanda’s crazed expression brightens when the rumble of the Impala can be heard over the noise of the lights flickering. “He came to save you after all!”

“Yeah, well. Too bad for you, I guess.” You said. “You’re not worried about all this?” You ask, gesturing towards the flickering lights. “Seems like the guest of honor is here.”

“I’m doing this for him.” She says, eyes narrowing. “Let’s not keep him waiting.” She advances on you, and for a half second, fear courses through your veins. You struggle against the bonds still on your ankles, and the door bursts open just as Amanda is about to take her knife to you, making her miss your chest. She still gets you, the knife sinking into your shoulder, and you let out a strangled scream as Dean and Sam run in, guns drawn.

“Put the knife down, bitch.” Dean’s voice makes a tear partly of pain and partly of relief slip out of your eye, and while Dean has his gun trained on Amanda, Sam rushes over to you, cutting through the ropes keeping you bound quickly.

“You’re going to be okay.” He says softly, “let’s get you out of here.”

“It’s a trap. Sam, it’s--” You say loudly, panicking when you see Melissa coming out from a shadowy corner behind Dean. “Duck!” You yell, and Dean does, just in time.

“Melissa!” You shout, “It doesn’t have to be like this.” You tell her, trying to be placating. “You said it yourself. This was never supposed to go this far.”

The lights flicker again, and Melissa meets your eyes with her own tear-filled ones. “I’m sorry. But he’s here, and he’ll be so angry. We can’t--”

“Too late,” Dean growls. “He’s already angry. Considering I tried to kill him fifteen minutes ago. So here’s how this goes. You let my friend out of here and we’ll try to get you out too.” He faces Amanda. “Even though you don’t deserve it.”

The steps to the basement creak ominously, and out of habit, Sam shoves you behind him, mindful of your shoulder. Dean lunges for his duffle and grabs the holy oil, pouring it in a generous circle around the five of you.

“You really think that’s going to work?” Sam asks, and Dean glares at him.

“We’re running out of options. The spell didn’t work, and last time I checked, we don’t have a pagan god-killing knife handy.”

“Just light it!” You hiss, “Or we’re all dead anyway!”

Dean lights the ring, and tosses an angel blade to you and Sam. “Closest thing we’ve got.” He mutters, getting inside the circle next to you. “Hang in there, sweetheart.” He says, eyeing your wound. You’re applying pressure, but the pain is almost unbearable.

“Wait.” Sam says, suddenly. “Dean, the Vanir in Indiana that we killed before. We had to find that tree, where it got its power from. You remember?”

“We lit it up.” Dean agrees. He turns to Melissa and Amanda, who look genuinely terrified. “What is it? What’s keeping this thing ticking?”

“I--” Melissa stutters, “I don’t know, we don’t know all the details--”

“Think!” Sam yells, “There has to be something. Something old, something that’s protected in this town.”

“The fountain.” Amanda says. “In town square. There’s a tree-- it’s planted in the middle and the fountain was built around it. It’s been there forever.”

“How are we going to get out?”

“A distraction.” Dean says, a grin on his face. “Gods love me.” He winks at you, and you shake your head.

“It’s a suicide mission, Dean.”

“It’ll get you out.” He says quietly, eyes locked on yours. Something is charged in the air between you, and he looks away, swallowing hard. “Let’s do this.”

Dean runs out of the room, up the stairs, and you hear something let out a ear-splitting screech. You cover your ears, and barely register Sam tugging on your arm, pulling you up the stairs behind him.

“Get in the Impala. I’ll take care of this. Dean will kill me if I let you fight with your arm like that.”

“I can handle myself!”

Sam groans, “I know you can, but--” A loud crash from the front doors of the church makes you stop your argument, and you turn quickly to see Dean running as fast as he can.

“Hurry the hell up!” He shouts, and Sam takes off, already dousing the tree with gasoline by the time Dean catches up. Dean’s got his lighter out, but before he can do anything, it’s knocked from his hands by an otherworldly force, causing you to swear as you watch from the curb.

“Goddammit.” You mutter, rifling through the trunk of the Impala quickly until you find some matches. Looking up, you see Sam and Dean in a literal wrestling match with this thing, and you run full speed towards the tree while they’re all distracted, ignoring the searing pain in your shoulder.

You light the match as you scramble over the fountain, uncaring about the hems of your jeans and boots getting wet, and you fling the lit match towards the tree. It takes a minute to catch, but when it does, you breath a sigh of relief when you hear another loud shriek, seeing it literally go up in flames before it disintegrates.

Dean and Sam look up at you as you all try to catch your breath, and you glare. “That’s why you don’t try to sideline me.” You say.

“Kid, come down from there before you--”

“I don’t feel good.” You mumble, the pain in your arm finally more than you can take. You see Dean and Sam both lunge towards you, but then everything goes black.

.

.

You wake up in the bedroom you’ve been staying in at the house, confused. Your arm hurts, and your head hurts, and you can’t remember the last couple of hours during the hunt.

“You’re awake.” Dean says from the chair next to the bed, and you look at him, taking in his two-day stubble and dark undereye circles. “You’ve been out for awhile.”

“What happened?”

“What happened is you ganked the monster, sweetheart. Kicked it in the ass, like you always do.” He smiles sheepishly. “Sam told me he tried to tell you to wait in the car.”

“Yeah, well. I passed out, so he wasn’t wrong.”

“Still. You saved our sorry asses.”

“How-- how’d you work out where I was?”

“I knew you were in the Church. I just missed you when I went to check on you during the service. We came back here figuring if we did the summoning and killed it, we’d stop it before they could hurt you.” His eyes linger on the dressing over the stab wound on your shoulder, and his face darkens. He clears his throat. “That part didn’t work out so well.”

“It’s not your fault.” You say, your hand landing on his on top of the blankets. A clink noise draws your attention to the fact that both of you still have your fake wedding rings on. The sight of them makes your heart rate speed up.

He tells you everything -- how Pastor Williams and Connie came to the house, and tried to stop Sam and Dean from doing the summoning, to how the summoning spell went wrong, and they had to hightail it back to town to get to you in time.

You frown. “I heard Pastor Williams with Amanda before they-- well, I assume it was them. Before someone hit me in the head and I blacked out. He was in on it, Dean. I heard her telling him about it.”

Dean’s face darkens even more. “He came here asking for our help. Tried to convince us not to do it.”

“Amanda kept saying that the Pastor and Connie weren’t willing anymore. Did they explain any of that to you?”

“Not really. They seemed to not know the extent of the ritual. I think they just thought that people were being taken to participate.”

“But Connie… her entire house was protected, like she knew it would kill her if it found her.”

“I don’t…. I don’t know the whole of it. I’m not worried about them anymore.” Dean says, reaching for your shoulder gently. “We killed the thing. It’s gone. Now we just have to get the hell out of here and get you healed up.”

You lay back on the mountain of pillows behind you, still feeling unsatisfied. You have so many unanswered questions, but you think Sam and Dean were right the entire time. These people were just doing whatever they could to keep their town afloat, and somewhere along the way, they stopped caring who they hurt by doing so.

“So this whole fake marriage thing wasn’t an entire waste of time, then.” You say, joking, but stop smiling when you see the look on Dean’s face. He seems… hurt.

“Not a total waste, no.” He agrees, quietly. “I’m gonna get more painkillers. I’ll be right back.”

He leaves before you can say anything else, or figure out why you want him to stay so badly.

.

.

Dean’s halfway to his bedroom to go through his bag and scrounge for some painkillers when he stops in his tracks. He’s tired of the act. He remembers the look on your face when they finally got to you, the relief that was gone in a split second as you were stabbed right in front of him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget that.

He turns around, heading back to your bedroom, steps determined, even though he feels shaky. This could make or break one of the most important things in his life… but he’s tired of feeling lost all the time. He’s tired of feeling like he has nothing and no one left. Cas is back, sure, but the pain of losing Cas, and his mother… it’s too much. He can’t let more time go by without you knowing how he feels and risk losing you, too.

You look up, startled, when he comes back in, but he doesn’t give you any time to say anything. He’s still worried he might talk himself out of this.

“Dean?” You ask, sounding like you know something’s up, and he thinks it’s just another thing to add to the list of why you’re it for him. You know him, like almost nobody else does, and he’s suddenly angry at himself for waiting for so long, for not listening to himself months ago when he first started to feel like maybe you were more to him than a friend.

“Look, all this -- almost losing you, I…” Dean takes a shaky breath. “I can’t pretend anymore. I don’t want to pretend anymore.” His stomach swoops and pulse starts pounding as he takes a half step closer to you, trying to get the words out as he continues talking, his voice hoarse. “I can’t go back to the bunker and wake up every morning and pretend that I don’t want you.”

Your mouth opens like you want to say something, and then closes again. He almost laughs, because he’s not really sure where to go from here, either. “You… kid, you’ve been with me through all the shit we’ve had to deal with over the last five years. I’ve--” his voice wavers, “I’ve lost everything. You’ve been there the entire time, and you didn’t run from me, not even when I was lost in booze, and…” he trails off. “I’m crazy about you, kid.” He says, smiling sadly. “I’m just tired of you not knowing that.”

You laugh, the sound making his insides twist, and he watches as your face transforms into a smile unlike anything he’s ever seen from you before. “I can’t believe you’re telling me this when I’m laid up with an injury.”

He grins. “Why, you gonna jump me?”

“Maybe.” You say, throwing his entire world into a tailspin. It’s one thing to know that you have feelings for him, but to admit that you’ve been lusting after him like he has for you… well, that’s another thing entirely. “Come here.” You say, your words quiet, but the order behind them clear.

Dean comes closer, sitting on the edge of your bed until he can reach out and touch you gently, tucking your hair behind your ears. He leans closer, hand sliding up until it’s cradling your jaw, his mind going blank with how close you are. “Kid--” He starts to say something, to reassure you somehow, but you stop him.

“Shh.” You say, before using your free hand to grab the hem of his shirt, pulling him down to meet you, your mouths fusing together like this is the only thing either one of you are meant to be doing for the rest of time.

Dean’s entire body goes taut with lust and love as he pours everything he’s been feeling for months into his kiss -- his arms shake with the emotion of it as he tries to hold himself up and keep his weight off your injured shoulder. You lost so much blood earlier, it’s hard to believe you’re able to kiss him like you are.

Your mouth meets his over and over again, opening under his until he slides his tongue inside, causing both of you to groan into each other’s mouths. He puts his left knee on the bed for leverage, causing you to arch up to meet him, the sight of you underneath him almost too much for him to handle. “Hold on, hold on…” he murmurs against your lips, trying to catch his breath. “We have to slow down.”

You frown up at him, the wrinkle between your eyebrows so endearing that Dean can’t help but place another sweet kiss on your temple. “Do we, though?” You ask, mischief shining in your bright eyes, and Dean groans.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not my intention, but I’m just saying… I’ve never known you to want to slow down.”

Dean runs his thumb along your full bottom lip, eyes zeroing in on the way your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, too. “Maybe slow is all I want right now.” He says, his voice a low rumble.

“Is that right?” You ask, voice coy. Dean wonders idly if he’ll ever be able to look at you again without imagining you like this - warm and flushed underneath him.

“Mmm.” He says, nose dragging up the side of your jaw until he can nudge your hair out of the way, pressing kisses to your ear. “Think I wanna take my time with you.” You shiver, a full-body shudder that has him grinning as he captures your lips again. “You like the idea of that, huh?”

“Want you any way I can get you, Dean.” You admit, blush forming on your cheeks.

Dean shakes his head in wonder. “You’re perfect.” He whispers, “Should have done this months ago. Should have taken you to bed as soon as I admitted to myself that it wasn’t just your brains I liked.”

“Oh yeah? What else do you like?”

Dean chuckles, hands slowly undoing the buttons of your flannel shirt. “You want a list?” He hums absently. “Well, I like the way you don’t take any shit. Not from me, not from Sam, not from anyone. I like the way you take care of me, even when I don’t know I need it yet.” He finishes undoing your buttons, slowly sliding your shirt off your shoulders, being careful of your bandages. “I like the noise you make when I touch you right here.” His fingers drift over your collarbone, feather-light, and you let out a moan that he swears he’ll be hearing in his dreams for years.

He stops talking for awhile, content to kiss you and touch you and let you do the same to him. Both of your hands are wandering until the kisses ratchet up in intensity, leading to your legs parting to make room for him as he settles between your thighs, your hips bucking into his when he hits a particularly sensitive area.

At some point the two of you roll over so you’re on top, and he stops for a breathless moment to stare up at you, and take it all in.

.

.

Dean is almost frozen underneath you, and the way he keeps looking at you is sending fire through your veins every time you catch his eyes. He looks at you like he never wants this moment to end, like he’d be content with letting the foreplay go on forever as long as it meant you’d be here with him.

It’s almost too much, but it’s perfect. It’s Dean. You’ve never seen him as vulnerable as he was when he came to you earlier to confess how he felt. His admission of having lost everyone was too much for you, and you hope he never has to feel like that ever again. Not while you’re around.

You take his clothes off slowly, admiring every single shift of his muscles and the way his slightly tanned skin looks in the evening light through the single window in the room. You laugh lightly when your breath tickles his stomach, causing his muscles to jump, and your heart races as the predatory look in his eyes when he sees you laughing.

“Do something, sweetheart.” He says, not quite begging, but the words hit you heavy regardless. Your entire body tightens, listening to him, and you don’t say anything as you scramble off the bed to rifle through your bag to find some condoms. You come back to the bed as fast as you can, quickly rolling it on him before you can feel nervous. “Hey,” he says gently, hand on your jaw, “It’s just us here, okay? Nothin’ to worry about.”

You nod, and kiss him quickly before lowering yourself on top of him, the drag of him inside you enough to make you see stars as your head tilts backwards. Dean lets out this half-groan, half-moan, and you immediately want to hear the noise again a hundred more times.

“Move, baby. Please, move.” He says, and you listen to him this time, quickly finding a rhythm that has the both of you panting in a few minutes. “You’re so tight. So, so tight.” He says, almost to himself, and you groan his name, hands finding purchase on his shoulders as you pick up your pace.

“Dean…” You say, warning him, knowing it’s not going to take long before you���re spent. You’ve wanted this for way too long.

“Me too,” he groans, “Let me feel you. I want it, sweetheart. Come on.” He whispers, encouraging words lighting you up from the inside out until you’re left feeling nothing but euphoria from the tips of your fingers all the way down to your toes.

Dean keeps you upright, despite him struggling to catch his own breath, and slowly you both come down from your high. Eventually, you pull off him, laying down next to him, happy when he immediately pulls you close to his side, his arm going around your uninjured shoulder.

His left hand finds yours, holding up your fingers in the dimming light. “You should keep this.” He says, thumb rubbing over the ring still on your finger. Your pulse spikes, and he’s quick to elaborate, “Just… you don’t have to wear it. But keep it, okay? It’s… it’s been in the family for a long time. It’s good luck.”

“I can’t--”

“I want you to have it.” He says, and there’s something there again, that vulnerability that you know no one but his brother has ever seen. You could weep with how special you feel that he’s picking you to be the one he shares it with.

“Okay.” You whisper. “What are you going to do with yours?”

You feel him smile against your hairline. “I don’t know. I used to wear it. After a while I didn’t want to anymore. Felt like… I don’t know. Felt like all the extra weight I carried around, I didn’t need this thing too.”

“Still… seems handy.” You say, tilting your head up so you can see his face. “At the very least, you could open up a couple beers with that thing.”

Dean tilts his head back as he laughs, tugging you closer. “A girl after my own heart, truly.” He says, leaning down to kiss you again. “Things are going to be tough, you know.” He says, after, somberly. “Things are going to come after you once they get wind of us.”

You roll your eyes. “I can handle it.”

“I know you can. I’m just saying… you’re sure you want to?”

You flip over onto your stomach so he can see your face. “I’m in it for the long haul, Dean. Try to get rid of me. I dare you.”

He smiles at you, green eyes blazing. “I think I’ll keep you around, kid.”

“Good.” You say, linking your hands together again.

“Good.” He echoes, before kissing you, igniting the fire between the two of you once more.

.

.

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who’s stuck with this! I truly had the the best time writing this and hold this story really close to my heart. Please check out my masterlist to see everything else I’ve written - and leave me a note if you’d like a prompt filled or have any questions! Thanks again!

Tags: @pickupthatamulet, @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels, @martraidor, @castianityislife02, @blue-eyed-devil, @whatareyousearchingfordean, @pureawesomeness001, @letsgetyourdeanon, @littlemexicanscorpion, @angelicc-bliss, @carryonmywaywardcaptain, @mecca814, @shipinthedesert, @ashrey95, @deanssweetheart23, @nerdwholikesword, @wise-words-of-a-dumb-brunette, @graceis-lost-at-last, @kmt03010, @jnhforlife, @ultrafandomcat, @emmazach, @ginasellsbooks, @blackcherrywhiskey, @sylverminx, @faithfullpanicmoon, @nrx7, @cassburger215, @kbl1313, @abmariexo, @sneaky-midnight-adventures, @dramaqueenrolf

[heather1815]

My little test subject: Chapter 11

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, and Chapter 10

Angsty Tomtord fic with slight Paultryk on the side.

Warning! This fic contains: Foul language, scenes of torture, use of medical tools, drug use, self-harm, suicidal tendencies, violence, self-neglect, blood, and a little bit of stockholm syndrome and force feeding. Viewer discretion is advised.

Time flew by swiftly, and before long the green foliage of trees have decayed; turning into various shades of brown, yellow, and orange. They fell from their branches, leaving the trees barren, as they fluttered down to scatter among the other dead leaves covering the ground. Summer is gone, and autumn has arrived.

Although the temperature dropped considerably, today was one of those rare days when the rain would cease its rampant assault, and give the townsfolk a moments rest to leave their homes without the worry of getting wet, and enjoy the beautiful, dry sunset that without a doubt wouldn't last for very long.

A hand steadily ran over soft gray tabby fur, low purrs rumbling from the feline curled lazily over her owner's belly. Edd laid down, sprawled out on the sofa as he continued to stare up at the ceiling with a blank expression on his face, and petted Ringo for comfort. For weeks, he refused to leave Tom's apartment; anticipating his friend's return every single day. Now he is practically living here. Today, much like the previous ones, went about the same way. He would pace around the room, glancing at the clock every now and then, until the day neared its end and he would space out on the couch for the rest of noon.

So here he was now; doing absolutely nothing while his cat enjoyed the attention. Turns out petting Ringo makes for a good stress reliever. Edd sighed softly, his hand continuing with the motion, making Ringo purr loudly in content before nuzzling into his chest. Edd chuckled at his cat's actions, before his expression turned void again. He was thinking about Tom. He grew the tendency to do that over these past few weeks. Where could the eyeless Brit be? Was he okay? Was he taking good care of himself? When would he come back? Did he ever think of them? What if he is still angry with them?

Edd hoped Tom's okay, wherever he is.

He stretched his arm out to grab the remote control, lying on the table between the couch and the television, and he turned on the TV. The screen flickered to life to show that Professor Why was currently going on. Edd was too lazy to change the channel, and truly he wasn't seeking to distract himself. He merely turned on the TV because he was tired of the silence hanging in the air, and wanted some kind of noise to fill it in. Edd stared at the screen numbly; not paying attention to what was going on in the show, but simply watched stuff happen as his mind jumbled into thoughts.

I remember watching this with Tom. Edd recalled, a faint smile appearing on his face. He remembers when they were sitting on the couch of their old home, watching the show with annoyed expressions. They complained about every little thing wrong with the program, shouting out curses, which then escalated into cracking jokes and making fun of the show. They were hysterical! Laughing their asses off as they could not believe what they were watching! It had been a very entertaining evening for them.

The little smile vanished, being replaced with a frown as his heart clenched at the thought of Tom. Oh, how he wished he could go back to simpler days. To a time where the three of them went on silly adventures almost daily, avoiding near-death experiences at every corner through sheer, dumb luck, and Edd's biggest concern back then was whether there would be sufficient cola waiting for him when they returned home.

But those days came to an end, when he returned.

Everything was great before he showed up again into their lives, spewing smooth lies and deceit from his mouth as it was in his nature. Edd, naïve as he is, had been so easily fooled by him. But not Tom. His eyeless friend ironically managed to see what he couldn't and he fended the Norsk away.

But the damage had already been done, and in more ways than one.

And to think that he nearly replaced Tom with him, was just another hit to his gut. Tom had more than proven himself then, and Edd valued his friendship all the more. Too bad that wasn't enough to stop Tom from leaving though. But Edd had vowed to better himself, and once Tom returns he will make it right with him.

He was so busy with his thoughts that Edd almost failed to acknowledge the sound of keys sliding on the lock of the apartment's front door. Ringo sat up with pricked ears, staring at the door in surprise. Edd followed his cat's instincts and immediately stiffened when he heard shuffling behind the other side of the entrance. Hope soared in his heart, though he kept his expression the same. Could it be-? He longed to see his dear friend in the blue hoodie, spiky hair, and empty eyes stroll in and casually greet him; just so he could hug him tightly, tell him how sorry he is and just how much he missed him.

Needless to say, Edd wasn't at all surprised when it was revealed to be just Matt. Edd frowned and laid his head back down, already used to being disappointed.

Although he was still kind of mad at Matt for saying all those dumb, stupid things about Tom, the ginger haired man insisted in being around him at all costs. Edd avoided and ignored him at first when Matt would go back to saying those ridiculous things. Edd had made abundantly clear to Matt that he would not speak to him, unless he dropped the subject and accepted the way things are. Thankfully, Matt was quick to take the hint for once and never brought up the subject again unless it was to confirm Edd's beliefs. It may not be ideal, but it was better than to listen to Matt ramble on some nonsense about Tom never coming back.

He is coming back. Edd echoed firmly.

"Hey!" Matt greeted him softly. The ginger haired man looked awfully pale, and instead of his usual attire he is wearing a long, dark coat over his purple hoodie. Edd did not greet him directly. Ringo, however, was quick to jump from his lap to welcome Matt by purring loudly while rubbing herself against his knees. Traitor. Edd narrowed his eyes at his cat, watching as Matt bent down to pet her with a chuckle. "Oh, hello there friendly chump! How are you?" He asks, moving to scratch beneath Ringo's chin. She mewed contently and coiled her striped tail around one of Matt's legs.

The ginger haired man glanced up, hoping to meet his friend's gaze but Edd had adverted his attention to the television with his arms crossed; electing to ignore him yet again. Matt tried not to feel hurt by the lack of response. He cleared his throat and stood up. He said nothing as he walked past the couch and made his way deeper into the not-so-abandoned apartment.

Edd's gaze followed Matt as he walked by. He scrunched his eyebrows in a mixture of confusion and curiosity. Just what was the ginger up to this time?

The purple hooded Brit made his way into his late-friend's bedroom. His eyelids felt heavy, and Matt wished he could simply fall over and get some rest; leaving all the problems of the real world behind. It didn't help that Tom's bed looked so tantalizingly appealing to his tired eyes. Matt shook his head, snapping out if his fatigued daze. He cannot rest yet. There is something really important that he must to do; something that he wished he could avoid doing but ultimately knows that it has to happen.

Since his first "confrontation" with Edd and seeing what became of his grief-stricken friend, Matt tried everything to make him see to reason but to no avail. It only caused him to shut Matt out further more. In order to keep himself from being shunned away completely so that he could still have a chance in helping Edd, Matt changed tactics and started to go along with his friend's hopeful rants and beliefs. It was the only way he could remain close to him, but whenever he had to pretend Matt always felt… Awful. He felt like he was using Edd, somehow, or taking advantage of his current condition. It left a bitter taste on Matt's mouth, to say the least.

Now, he will just have to go along for, hopefully, the last time. After this, things can finally run their proper course and they can move on from this overall terrible experience. Unfortunately though, things will never be the same ever again between them.

It's only Edd and him now.

Matt breathed out a sigh and walking into the pristine room. He had to admit, Edd made a great job in cleaning this place up. True, he's never been into Tom's room before… But he'd imagine it wouldn't be in the condition that it is now.

Reaching the foot of the bed, positioned right next to the window, Matt bent forward and grabbed the dishevelled looking plushie that laid with half its body underneath the covers, leaving only the head out and resting against the pillow as if the plushie itself was napping. Matt carefully stuffed it in his coat's pocket, cautious not to damage it any further than it already is.

Hearing footsteps stepping closer, Edd turned his attention back to the TV and pretended to be watching the show as Matt re-entered the living room. Through a quick side glance, Edd noted the way his friend had stuffed both his hands into his coat's pockets, and was shuffling on his feet with clear discomfort.

Edd raised one curious eyebrow at him.

Matt sighed. "Come on, Edd. Let's go out for a bit." He suggests, fumbling with his pockets. "It's the perfect weather right now to get some fresh air, and stretch your legs for a bit before the bloody rain comes back."

Edd shot him another quick glance, but did not turn to acknowledge him. "What for?" He prompted, kicking his leg up to lay it lazily over the coffee table. "I am fine with where I am, and honestly I don't feel like going out right now…"

"We're going to see Tom."

Not even an entire fraction of a second passed by and Edd had already bolted upwards from his position on the couch, and was staring at his friend with huge, wide eyes. Did he hear him right? Edd blinked, feeling confused and shocked at the same time. Surely this must be some sort of joke on him? He searched Matt's gaze, expecting to find humour in them, but was instead surprised to discover his blue eyes staring back at him with something akin to solace and warmth. "Y-you found him?" Edd stammered anxiously, feeling his heart hammering against his chest. "B- bu-but how? W-where? When? I-"

Something flashed within the ginger's eyes, but it came and went by so fast it was hard to even notice it happen to begin with. Matt nodded slightly and gave him a brief, reassuring smile. He extended his hand out towards Edd with a tiny chuckle. "It's alright, Edd." He told him softly once he noticed the brunet's spiralling emotions. "We'll get through this together."

Edd stared at his stretched-out hand, hesitant to take it. Don't get him wrong; Edd wants Tom back more than anything. However, would it really be that easy? There were so many things he wished to ask. And yet, even with doubts being thrown around in his head, Edd still couldn't help keep the joy and hope from swelling up inside of him, to the brink of making his heart burst. Although he felt tears pricking in his eyes, a smile stretched across his features as Edd wiped them away before they could properly form and he grabbed Matt's hand; hauling himself off the sofa.

"W-well what are we waiting for then?!" Edd exclaimed, his voice wavering with barely restrained excitement. "Let's go out and see him already!"

Shoving his shoes on, the brunet hastily got himself ready. He hurriedly re-filled Ringo's bowl of food, turned the TV off, and gave his hair a quick fix before grabbing Matt, and leaving out the door.

Stepping outside of the building they were immediately hit with a cold breeze that chilled their core. Matt shuddered at the bitter sting, and hugged himself for warmth. Puddles of water, formed by the extensive rainstorms, were scattered around the street and pavement. Cars passed by and rolled over the ponds, splashing water as they drove away. Small droplets of water that had gathered on the few remaining leaves, fell on their hair once in a while, as they walked down the street.

"So where is he?" Edd asks with enthusiasm. His green eyes brighter than they have ever been in these last couple of weeks. "Is he at the police station? The hospital? The bar?"

"Tom is, well… he is waiting for us at Winchester park." Matt replied, albeit uneasily, as he led the way.

The name rang familiar in Edd's ears but he could not recognise it. He brushed the sensation off and kept walking, making sure to fall in step with his ginger companion to not lose sight of him.

"Have you seen him? How is he?" Edd bombarded Matt with anxious questions, not noticing him visibly wince.

For reassurance, Matt placed his hand inside his coat's pocket and squeezed the soft plushie he carried. "Yeah, I've seen him a couple of times." He sighs. "I know you'll find selfish of me to bring you to him only now after everything, but-" Matt paused, his words getting choked in his throat as he tried to recover.

A hand was gently placed upon his shoulder, taking him by surprise. Matt glanced behind him to lock gazes with Edd, who stared up at him with a sad smile. "It's okay. I understand." He murmurs softly. "You wanted to talk to Tom on your own, and sort things out between the two of you. It's alright." Matt winced again. He isn't wrong. He thought.

"Y-yeah." He replies; voice wavering for a tiny fraction.

"Matt?" Edd spoke up, adverting his gaze toward the ground. Matt stopped walking and turned to face his friend with a raised eyebrow, beckoning the brunet to go on. "I- I just wanted to tell you th-that I'm sorry." Edd continued. "I'm sorry for the way things have turned out, and for the way I have been… Treating you. You have always looked out for me, and in return I was ungrateful."

Despite his heart clenching even tighter inside his chest, and the cold static growing in the pit of his stomach; the ginger haired Brit still managed to give his friend a small, and yet reassuring grin. Matt bent forward and grabbed a hold of Edd's arm, gently tugging him along as they resumed walking. With every step they took, getting increasingly closer to their destination, the heavier the pressure became upon Matt's chest; to the point that even breathing was getting to be a struggle. But he still pressed on. I don't want to hurt Edd. He kept on insisting over his own contradicting worries. But I have to do this. Sad as this may be, and no matter how hard Edd might take this; this has to happen. And then we can both move on!

Unaware of Matt's troubling thoughts or of his newfound determination, Edd skipped after his friend. He took the time to admire his surroundings. The orange lighting of the setting sun made the town shine in a whole new light in Edd's eyes. Possibly because of his uplift in spirit at the prospect of seeing his dear good friend again.

However, his little excited steps progressively slowed down as they neared a large, open metal gate with the name: Winchester park; engraved on top of it in a morbid font.

Edd stared at the gate dumbfounded. A sick realization beginning to dawn on him as Matt kept on walking, making his way through the decaying grass field. Edd felt an uncomfortable chill crawl up his spine in apprehension as he froze at the very edge of the park's entrance, trembling and clenching his fists tight as sweat ran down his forehead. "M-Matt?" He tried to call out for his friend to come back, but his voice was merely a whisper against the howling wind whipping his hair around in the air.

His legs shook so much beneath his own weight due to weariness that Edd feared he would lose balance and fall over. Yet, he managed to keep himself steady. Swallowing the heavy lump that formed in his throat, Edd realized that Matt had stopped walking and was standing there; glancing over his shoulder and patiently waiting for him to follow. Edd wanted nothing more than to turn back and run away from this place, and never look back. But a tingling sensation in his mind popped up, gently prompting him to go forward. Hope fluttered back into his heart. Maybe… Tom really is waiting for us here.

Feeling slightly confident with his reassuring, and yet deceitful thoughts, Edd stepped through the gate and into the open field; making his way towards Matt, who shot him a sympathetic look.

They walked side by side in silence, trekking along a trail between the tall encrypted stones surrounding them. Edd refused to look directly at any of the slates or statues; holding on tight to his hopeful expectations. But with every step taken, his hopes would diminish away in tiny amounts. Not a lot, but just enough for him to notice that his denial of the whole situation won't save him for what he's about to encounter. Edd's mind is a whirling storm inside his own head. No. Not a storm. But a war. Two sides fighting each other for different outcomes, and only one of them is the true winner as anxious, and dreadful thoughts that are well aware of reality are trying to scream the facts out, but they kept being continuously drowned out by other thoughts of blissful ignorance to calm his ever-worrying mind.

Climbing up the slope of a green hill, a weeping tree came into view. A few more monuments stretched out ahead of them, scattered all over the place in neat files that extend as far as the eye can see. Edd and Matt walked past the tree, weaving their way between the tall slates. Edd kept his head down, his bangs covering most of his eyes as he stared downwards. From the corner of his vision he managed to spot various flowers left at the foot of the stones.

He gulped, a heavy feeling of dread and apprehension rising within him, and completely overpowering whatever's left of his rapidly diminishing positive thoughts. Edd clenched his teeth, his hands curling into tight fists on either side of his body. His legs started to feel like piles of sandbags, and with each step he felt his feet drag across the decaying grass. Suddenly, the thought of turning back now and never return to see this place again made itself known yet again in his mind; and the idea sounded very appealing too. To go back to Tom's apartment, and wait in vain for him to come back just to keep the illusion going for a while longer until he was properly ready to face the harsh reality.

And yet… Edd pressed forward. Despite his resurfacing fears and panicking urges, he kept going. All that… just for a proper sense of closure.

Edd was so involved with his own thoughts, he failed to realize that Matt had stopped walking. Edd turned to look at him, seeing his friend uncharacteristically quiet and solemn looking. Matt's blue eyed gaze stared downwards with an expression of deep sorrow. Edd gulped. He knows what comes next. Trembling, he followed his friend's gaze until his green eyes landed on a single, distinct shape standing right in front of them.

Tears begun to well up in his eyes at the sight before him.

A tall encrypted slab loomed over them. A neatly arranged bouquet of flowers was left at its base; yellow, blue, green and black roses. But it was the words embedded on the stone that made Edd's heart stop and his breath hitch.

In loving memory of…

Thomas Thompson

1990 – 2016

R.I.P.

It felt like an eternity went by with Edd just standing there and staring at the engraved words; memorizing every single detail, no matter how tiny or insignificant, until the image burned in his mind.

This isn't real.

Edd trembled, his vision blurring due to the tears in his eyes.

This can't be real!

Next to him, Matt fumbled around with his coat's pocket. Although Edd did not take his eyes off the tombstone, he managed to see the ginger haired Brit pull something out of his pocket from the corner of his eye.

How could this happen?

Edd's eyes widened at the sight of the teddy bear. But this wasn't any teddy bear… it was Tomee bear.

How could I let this happen?

He watched with quickened breaths as Matt stepped forward, bent down and carefully placed the old battered plushie next to the flowers by the foot of the slate. Taking a step back, Matt turned to face his companion. Edd's eyes are wide, glistening with tears and yet they were devoid of emotion as they kept fixated on their friend's tombstone. His mouth clenched, and his chest heaving rapidly.

I wasn't good enough to save him.

Edd fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. The grass and soil was still soggy due to all the rain from these past few days, and drenched his pants. He paid that no mind.

I failed to save my friend!

And with that thought, the heavily constructed dam that had previously been blocking the ever-growing flood of emotions he managed to neglect over the past few weeks; broke down and gave way to a furious torrent. Letting out a heart wrenching sob, Edd lurched forward and wrapped his arms around the tombstone. At last he faced reality and allowed himself to cry, letting go of his bottled-up emotions as he mourned the loss of his dear friend.

Matt stood little ways behind him, watching Edd break down before Tom's grave with great sadness. Despite having already mourn over Tom himself, Matt could not help the tears that pricked his eyes or the sniffles and tiny hiccups that escaped as he tried to swallow them down. In the end, he stood by as quietly as he could and permitted his friend to let it all out.

Little did they know; the two friends weren't the only ones in the graveyard.

From behind the weeping tree that they've passed earlier, a mysterious figure watched the scene play out. He kept his distance, but even from afar he managed to hear the heart-breaking sobs from the brunet. He felt a pang in his heart at the sound, but did not move away from his spot. The figure simply stood there. Hair swaying in the cool breeze, looking down the slope where the two Brits are.

If only they could know the truth about their friend… He shook his head at the silly thought. They'll only get in the way of his plans.

With every sob he let out, Edd's body would wrack with grief and more tears would gush out; trailing down his face until they reached his chin and fell to the ground. I'm sorry! He screamed internally. I never meant for any of this to happen! I should've done more!

A hand gently moved to rest upon his shoulder, momentarily snapping him out of his breakdown. Through teary green eyes, Edd glanced over his shoulder to meet with Matt's sympathetic blue one's. "We must be getting back now." He murmured, motioning towards the darkening sky up above; with clouds already gathering over the horizon, preparing to strike the town with yet another strike of rain. Edd opened his mouth, about to argue, but Matt beat him to it. "We can come visit him again tomorrow if you want. But it's getting late now." He gently added.

Though he wanted to stay longer, or better yet, not leave the grave site at all, Edd slowly nodded in agreement. He turned back to the tombstone. Clenching his eyes shut and tightening his grip around the slab, Edd tried to imagine he was hugging Tom instead. But it didn't have the smell of alcohol Edd grew so fond of over the years knowing Tom, nor could it hug him back awkwardly and reassure him that everything's gonna be okay. Tom is dead. Edd mused sadly. He gave the tombstone one last tight hug before letting go. I miss you. I miss you so much!

Goodbye Tom…

Rising to his feet, Edd cast the grave a wistful look before following Matt. He wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve, making a mess of things. Matt silently offered him a tissue, to which Edd gratefully took.

On their way back, when they passed by the weeping tree again, Edd stopped. The hairs of the back of his neck standing as he felt an intense stare burn his back. He knew this feeling; it's the sensation of being watched. Edd looked around, his eyes puffy red from crying so much, and his vision still somewhat blurred. There doesn't seem to be anyone else in the graveyard other than him and Matt.

"Edd?"

He turned back when Matt called out to him, gazing at him with curiosity and worry as he waited for him to follow suit.

Edd gave his surroundings another look, still finding nothing. "I'm coming." He sniffled, somewhat suspicious. He was sure he was being watched.

The two walked away, heading for the metal gate. The mysterious figure watched them leave from behind a statue of an angel. When he was sure they were gone, he stepped out from his hiding place. He stood still for a couple of moments, looking at where they had been previously standing.

Bowing his head in defeat and sighing, he slowly made his way over to the grave they were mourning over.

(Meanwhile…)

"Ouch!"

"Hold still!"

Wincing in pain, Tom obeyed Patrick's stern order as the Polish soldier applied an ice bag to his wounded head. After an hour and a half of just light exercises with Paul, Tom's limbs were painfully sore. They didn't do much, thankfully. Just a couple of stretches, jumping jacks, some failed push-ups, and a horrible attempt at the monkey bar that tragically, and yet admittedly comical, ended with him face planted to the ground and left him with the previously mentioned wound on his head.

Seeing the stunned Brit laying on the ground, barely moving, if at all; Paul panicked for a bit and called for Patrick's presence in the situation immediately. He soon arrived at the gym, calmed Paul down, and checked on Tom for any signs of a concussion. Thankfully, he doesn't have it, but the swollen wound on his head is really ugly.

"I can't believe you actually tried to have him do the monkey bar in the current condition that he is in!" Patrick complained, sitting next to Tom as he carefully applied the bag to diminish the nasty swelling.

"I didn't make him do it! I asked if he was up for it, and he said he could handle it!" Paul defended himself, still somewhat freaked out from the ordeal.

"You guys know that I am still here, right?" Tom spoke up dryly.

"Shush." Pat directed his attention back to him, narrowing his eyes slightly. "As for you; how could you have been so foolish to think that you could manage it? You know better!"

"I'm fine! Really, I am!" Tom exclaimed. "You're exaggerating. Besides, I had it perfectly under control!"

"Yeah, I can clearly see it by the tennis ball sized wound atop your head." Pat commented with dry humour in his voice, earning a small grumble of irritation from Tom. He let his eyes wander over the rest of the eyeless man's form.

Overall, Tom's appearance has changed for the better since he first arrived in the facility. His sickly pale skin is finally getting its proper colour back, the dark bags underneath his eyes had disappeared over time since he started using the Dreamcatcher, and Pat checked his weight weekly and was pleased to find that Tom has gained a substantial amount.

At this rate, Pat estimates that Thomas will be back to proper health in two months or so.

"Well, other than this nasty looking swell it appears that you are fine." Patrick deduced. "Are you capable of walking by yourself?"

Tom chuckled. "My head is hurt, not my legs. I can walk just fine." When Patrick shot him a doubtful look, Tom staggered to his feet and walked for a bit to prove his point; still holding the ice bag to his head. "See?"

"Fair enough." Pat crossed his arms. "But don't attempt to do that again, or I might just leave you lying on the floor with a possible concussion next time!" He threatened playfully.

Tom scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Pat!"

Across from both of them, Paul cleared his throat and rocked on his feet. "So, what do we do now?"

Patrick looked down at his watch. "I guess we can call it a day." He suggested. "Most of our tasks at the base are completed, the Lieutenants should have everything under control until lights out, and Tom's routine is done for today. So I guess it is one of those days."

Paul's eyes lit up like a child in Christmas eve. "You mean- ?"

Patrick nodded. "That's right."

The bushy eyebrowed soldier did a celebratory fist pump. "Yes!"

"Wait what? What's going on?"

Blurting out in confusion, Tom looked back and forth between the two Red army soldiers; waiting for an explanation.

"Oh forgive us Thomas! Allow me to elaborate." Patrick quickly says. "You see; on rare days such as this, when we complete all of our assignments under the time frame, by the end of the day we are left with a free window till lights out. So Paul and I usually use this time to do whatever we want until then."

"Huh." That was all Tom could say as he processed the new-given information. He blinked, and began to walk away with the ice bag. "Well, have fun you guys! I'm gonna be in my quarters, probably taking a nap or something, if you need me!"

As they watched him leave, Paul and Patrick turned to look at each other. For a couple of moments, they stared at each other in silence, realizing that they got the same idea in mind a smile stretched across their features.

"Hey Tom!" Paul called out, halting the Brit in his tracks. Tom glanced back at him questioningly. "Would you like to join us?"

Taken by surprise by the invitation, Tom reared back in shock and his empty sockets widened. "I- uh- what- I mean? I guess I could? - I mean? Uh…"

Paul and Patrick shared amused expressions as Tom continued to stutter in his attempts to make intelligible words. "Don't you get bored staying in your quarters and do nothing but sleep and shower the rest of the day?" Paul asks, raising one of his eyebrows.

Tom rubbed the back of his neck. He has a point. His daily routine mostly consisted of eating and sleeping, and not much else. Of course there are his sessions with Pat, and the physical workouts with Paul; but they aren't everyday occurrences. And Tom doesn't have much else to do other than simply sleep and shower to pass the time.

"Yeah, I guess I do." Tom admitted. "But, I mean… Am I even allowed?"

"Of course you are!" Paul assures, stepping up to stand in front of him with Patrick by his side. "You behaved the whole time since Tord left! Plus, we believe you could use a break."

"That's right. Regardless of how you may see this chance, a reward or a break, a change of pace would be great for you." Patrick added.

"Well, uh, okay then. I guess I could… Hang out?"

Paul beamed in excitement. "Splendid!" He tugged on one of Tom's bandaged arms and began to lead him out the gym and into the long hallways. Tom nearly stumbled and fell, trying to keep up with Paul's fast strides as he kept his strong grip on him.

"Slow down, Paul." Pat advised, coming up from behind. "He is still recovering from his fall. Not to mention his arms are in a delicate state."

"Ops! Sorry!"

Paul was quick to let go of Tom, and he walked at his own pace; rubbing his sore arm he gave a grateful nod at Patrick. They kept on walking. With Paul on the lead, and Pat at the back, Tom walked between the two of them feeling out of place and maybe even a little bit nervous.

"So, uh, what do you guys usually do when you get free time?" He asks.

"Watch movies or play video games, mostly!" Paul replies, glancing back at him over his shoulder.

"Doesn't Tord get mad at you guys for fooling around?"

He nearly jumped when Pat began to laugh. "Not at all! In fact, on the rarer occasion when he gets free time as well, he usually joins us." He responded. "It's not often that we get the chance to hang out together, so we make the most of the opportunity when it presents itself."

"And if Tord finds out about me hanging out with you guys, won't he be furious then?" The last thing Tom needs right is to cause trouble for them. Not that he cares for to them; they did kidnap him after all. But he much rather be in their company than in Tord's, additionally because they have been nothing but kind since the Norsk left, so Tom would be damned if he brings Tord's wrath down on them just because he was bored.

Bringing him out of his thoughts, Paul wrapped an arm around Tom's shoulder in reassurance. "Trust us; he won't!" He says. "Tord left us in charge of taking care of you and the whole base. As long as you are with us he won't mind at all."

"If you say so…"

They trekked through the long, empty hallways; with Tom occasionally asking them about their daily routine in the base and what it is required for them to do, and they politely answered him as best they could. At last, they reached the familiar looking oak door and turned the knob; entering Patrick's study where he and Tom usually have their sessions. They crossed the room over to the wooden door on the opposite side.

Paul led the way, pushing the door and keeping it open for Tom and Pat to walk through. The white tiled room Tom only caught glimpses of whenever Patrick would go in and out with his special drink, turned out to be a kitchen. A shiny, dark marble balcony on the left that stretched all the way from one wall to the other and curved into a small "L" shape at the end, with cabinets, and a dishwasher beneath it. Cupboards hanging off the wall, a tall ebony fridge standing across from where they entered the room, a glossy silver sink, and an oven in pristine condition. In the centre of the kitchen, a marble island with black cushioned stools, a fruit basket, and a wooden cutting board.

Looking at the fancy kitchen with awe, Tom turned back to the two soldiers. "So now what?"

They exchanged a look between themselves before Patrick clasped his hands together. "Well, usually we would cook up some tasty treat for us to enjoy while we entertain ourselves." He commented, walking over to the cabinet next to the fridge. "Any ideas or preferences?"

"Oh! I know! How about chocolate cake?" Paul suggests.

A hum was emitted from the Polish man and he shook his head. "Sorry Paul, there isn't any chocolate powder left. We're in need of restock." He glanced back at him apologetically. "How about we have apple pie instead? We do have all the ingredients we need for it…"

"Sure!"

"Are you fine with apple pie, Tom?"

For the second time that day, Tom glanced up in surprise. "Yeah, fine by me." He murmured, still somewhat taken back by the situation he was in. "I will eat just about whatever you decide to make."

"You don't have any allergies, do you?"

Tom shook his head.

"It's settled then. Apple pie it is!" Pat exclaims, grabbing the ingredients needed from the cabinet, and then proceeding to grab a bowl from one of the cupboards above. "Hey Paul, while I get things started here why don't you show Tom around our quarters?" He suggested.

"Alright! Come along, Tom!" Carefully tugging on the Brit's bandaged arm, Paul led the way out of the kitchen through the large opening on the right side of the room. "That was the kitchen, obviously. And here's the living room! It's where we usually hang out."

Immediately drawing Tom's attention as he entered the room, a 75-inch flat screen TV hung upon the wall and was connected to several different consoles and other equipment that were placed on the drawer directly beneath the TV. A long, beige couch stretched out in front of the television with burgundy pillows neatly placed over it, and a coffee table standing in the middle of the room over a white, fluffy looking carpet.

Looking around the room in awe, Tom's gaze met Paul's. "I take it your impressed?" He prompted curiously, raising one bushy eyebrow with a small smile; rather amused with Tom's silent astonishment.

"Woah! You guys have a great set up here." The eyeless man states, taking a few steps farther into the room as he observed his surroundings. "Man, I definitely underestimated the perks of being a test subject!" He joked sarcastically.

"Oh well, I'm glad that you liked it." Paul motioned towards a door, little ways behind them. "The bathroom is over here, if you need it." He headed down a small hallway that ended with another door. "And that's our room at the end there." He turned back to face Tom, and casually walked closer to him. "How's your head? Do you need more ice for that?"

"Nah, I think I'm fine." Tom shook his head, gingerly placing down the empty bag that contained nothing but cold water inside.

"Is it hurting at all?" Paul carefully grabbed a hold of his head, and gently tilted it downwards as he took a closer look at the wound on his head. Tom blinked in surprise at the unexpected gesture; more so with how delicately the Red army commander was handling him. For a moment, he thought of pushing the man away, but for some odd reason he couldn't really bring himself to. Tom shrugged, reasoning he was just tired after the long day and didn't want to ruin his chances of doing something fun for once now that he is there, at their invitation. After a few decisive moments checking up on him, Paul stepped back and took the empty bag from him, moving back into the kitchen. Not wanting to be left behind in the strange and cosy environment, Tom followed him.

"Ah Paul, do you mind grabbing some cinnamon from the canteen, please?" Patrick requested politely. Various ingredients laid out across the counter before him. "I have everything else I need except for the cinnamon."

Almost instantly, Paul's shoulders sagged and he frowned. "Is cinnamon absolutely necessary for the pie? I sure can live without it, and I think Tom won't mind either." He complained.

Pat threw him a stern look. "Paul…"

"What? Don't blame me!" The red army commander crossed his arms and pouted. "The cafeteria is so far away, and even when we are free of tasks the other army members keep pestering me about stuff I most likely won't know how to resolve!"

Shooting him a sympathetic glance, Patrick gave him a brief hug and a small pat on the back. He rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a baby." He teased. "It's a quick walk if you hurry; you'll be back before you know it. And then you can relax as much as you want!"

Breathing out a sigh, Paul backed away. "I guess I'll just have to use my amazing stealth skills and expertise to manoeuvre my way around the base to go unnoticed!" A cheeky grin stretched across his face, wriggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner towards Pat; who rolled his eyes in response, but a tiny grin formed on his face as he gave Paul's shoulder a light punch. "One packet of cinnamon coming right up!" And with that, Paul walked past Tom, whistling as he left the room.

Tom followed his movements into the living room, where Paul halted in front of a wall and pressed his hand against it. Confused by his actions at first, Tom blinked and emitted a barely audible gasp when the wall opened up to reveal a small elevator; where Paul walked in, pressed one of the buttons and disappeared as the wall closed up again.

"Why do you guys have another elevator here?" Tom asks incredulously. Although he was not allowed to use it, he had taken notice of the lift at the end of one of the immense hallways of the lab he was confined to during his many strolls around the facility.

"It's a short-cut, but it only leads to Red leader's office." Pat's response echoed from the kitchen. "Paul will have to make his way around the base to reach the canteen and back here. But at least the odds of bumping into people lessen this way."

Shifting his gaze back to the wall where the secret elevator resided, Tom's eyebrows quirked upward in surprise. And to think, Tord is usually just a lift away from where he resides. "Let me guess; he likes to be at a close distance to his experiments?" He questions dryly, walking back into the kitchen.

"Certainly! Our leader always holds a keen interest in the development of all his creations." Patrick replied, looking up from his work in separating the ingredients on one side of the counter while he got some apples. "But then again, it is a short-cut to hang out whenever he gets free time without being disturbed by people along the way. So there's that as well." He added, then turned his gaze onto Tom. "Would you mind lending me a hand with this?"

"Huh?"

"While we wait for Paul to return with the cinnamon, we can get started with the rest of what we have here." The Polish man calmly explained to him. "I'll peel and cut the apples, while you mix all of the ingredients together. Think you can manage?" He opened one of the drawers and handed him a whisk. "I've already taken the liberty of taking the right measurements of each of the ingredients, so that leaves you with the easy part."

Somewhat dumbfounded by the sheer scenario he was put in; baking an apple pie with the soldiers who kidnapped him while simultaneously hanging out with them, Tom stretched out his hand to take the kitchen utensil from Pat, but was interrupted when said man cleared his throat. Tom gazed up in confusion. "What?"

Tilting his head sideways, Pat motioned towards the sink and then pointed at his hands. Tom got the message, giving a low grunt of annoyance but complied with the request anyway. It's the least he can do after being invited here.

As he turned on the tap, and washed his hands under the freezing, cold water, Tom felt the sudden urge to burst into laughter. What the hell am I doing? He never could've imagined he would ever find himself in his current situation. Is this for real? Is this really happening? After all the hardships he had to endure thus far; cooking, seems so out of the ordinary from his usual painful routine. It felt like an alien concept being taught to him for the very first time.

He turned off the tap water, and grabbed a hold of a towel next to him; drying off his hands. Tossing the towel away, Tom stepped closer to the balcony where the ingredients were waiting for him. He began to pour them into the empty bowl; starting off with the flour.

"So, how are you holding up thus far?" Cutting the silence short, Patrick shot Tom a brief side-glance.

He shrugged. "I admit, this situation is very odd." Tom replied, pouring sugar into the bowl. "I never got to really cook before. I think the last time I did, I was helping my mom out in the kitchen. And I was like- what? 7 or 8 more or less?" Fond memories of his childhood flooded him. Being a pesky, and excitable little kid standing on his tippy toes as he watched his mom cook before offering to help her out.

"How about everything else?" Pat added, rinsing the apples in the sink.

Now it was Tom's turn to shoot him a quick side-glance, as he added butter into the mixture. "If you're talking about the wound on my head, it stopped hurting a while ago."

"That's not what I meant."

Tom's dark sockets drifted away from his task, and watched Patrick pull out a knife from one of the drawers from the corner of his vision before expertly peeling the apples. "Then what exactly do you mean?" He demands, fixing his gaze on the blade that cut through the fruits with such a masterful precision.

Blinking out of his focus, Tom paid attention to the current discussion as he returned to the task at hand.

"How are you adapting to your new life? You seem to have accepted your fate without too much of a fuss." Patrick elaborates, tossing the peels into the trash before cutting slices out of the apple in his hands.

"What? Are you disappointed I haven't tried to escape, or something?" Tom retorts, his voice all bark but no actual bite to it.

"No- no, of course not. I just mean that in a general term." Pat corrects, dropping the slices of apple into a separate bowl and throwing away the remains. "What you've done wasn't easy. Not for anyone. I am merely concerned with the side-affects that this type of transition; heck, this type of situation could affect you in."

Mixing the last of the ingredients together in the bowl, creating a dry dough, Tom clenched his jaw. I wonder who's fault is that! He wanted to say, but maintained himself quiet. Last thing he needs right now is to get kicked out and have a guilt trip about it later. Patrick is, after all, one of two people he gets along with in this base. Tom scoffed. "Don't take this the wrong way, or anything, but why exactly does it matter to you? If the Red Army gets what they need in the end, my condition shouldn't be important then."

"That may be so." Patrick soothed. "But that does not stop us from caring about you regardless, Tom. It is only natural to grow attached when you spent so much of your time with an individual that was put into your care. Even if it was by orders, and the circumstances are less than ideal."

The words that were forming in Tom's mouth evaporated into thin air right at the tip of his tongue. His black empty sockets are wide with bewilderment. Care? Impossible. The concept was strange to him. Not that Tom was incapable of caring, no, far from it. The truth is that he does care. He cares a lot more than he lets on. However, that isn't the issue here. The real strange thing to him was being in the receiving end of the care spectrum. It's not often, if at all, that Tom is placed in said position. Sure, there were many times that Edd and Matt showed comradery and affection for him. But even so… Tom fears otherwise. He does not blame them either; Tom hates himself too. And now to think, that Pat and additionally Paul, have grown attached to him in the short amount of time- Well, at least Tom hopes it's been a short time, he can't really tell otherwise, since he'd lost all sense of time from the get-go- is just unbelievable.

So how come Tom's heart is fluttering inside his chest with a small, warm, elevating tingle? Doing his best to ignore the fuzzy sensation, Tom suppressed it and turned his overall demeanour back to neutral. "Yeah right." He scoffed softly, padding the dry dough into the dish to create what would later become the pie's crust. "Don't be so dramatic, Pat. Or else I might just start to think you are getting soft on me."

Breathing out a small sigh, Patrick rolled his eyes. "If you're so sure about that." He murmured quietly. "And what about your friends? I'm sure you must miss them a lot even though you have, not once, mentioned them the entire time since you got here."

Grateful his back is turned, Tom flinched slightly at their mention. "Well, of course I-"

"ARGH! Shi- Kurwa!"

The sudden loud sound of a knife clattering against the marble balcony, along with Patrick's spontaneous hissed out curse of pain made Tom jump in alarm. He whipped around, only to freeze and tense up in shock. Blood was leaking and dripping down Pat's hand, as he clutched it tightly to his chest.

"God damnit." Patrick continued to curse, more in annoyance than so in pain, as he inspected his injured hand. He then turned away to the sink to wash out the blood.

With gaze locked on his back as Pat kept muttering to himself, Tom slowly backed away. His black empty eyes wide, and he trembled ever so slightly from head to toe. The copper, tangy smell of blood, hit his nostrils as Tom's breathing quickened, and it began to flood his senses. Tom's eyelids fluttered shut in a dazed state of intoxication, and for a brief moment there, he found himself relishing in the familiar scent.

Snapping out of the trance the smell of blood put him under, Tom slapped a hand over his mouth and nose, and hurried out the kitchen only to run into Paul.

"Oh, hey Tom!" He greeted the panicked looking Brit. "I brought the cinnamon!" He showed the packet in his hand, before his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he took a double-take on Tom's facial expression. "What's wrong?"

Gasping for air as he hyperventilated, Tom tried to conjure up proper words and explain the situation. But his mouth is dry and he's having a hard time maintaining focus. "I- pf- Pat- sh- I- uh" Tom shook his head. He suddenly grabbed a hold of Paul's shoulders and started to shake him with exasperation. "Patrick is bleeding!" Was all he managed to say, as he let go of Paul and resumed his struggle to keep calm.

Hearing a gasp from Paul, Tom watched him hurry into the kitchen. He did not stay long to watch what happens next, after that. Tom made his way into the bathroom; slamming the door shut, locking it behind him, and then having his back pressed against it.

He clenched his eyes shut, breaking into cold sweat as he attempted to bring his breathing back to normal. However, no matter how much he breathed his lungs consistently felt depraved of oxygen. Tom stumbled forward, grabbing onto the sink to keep himself steady, and leaning forward as he dry-heaved.

Tom kept remembering the smell. It was just a tiny cut, there wasn't even that much blood flowing out of Pat's hand; and yet, that small bleeding cut was enough to throw Tom off. Lurching forward he retched. Tom clasped a hand over his mouth, trying to contain from being too loud for any prying ears that might be listening out there. He continued to heave and gulp, nothing but drool spilling out from his mouth; sticky saliva coating his fingers.

Gagging and gasping, Tom turned the sink's faucet, and began to frantically splash cold water onto his face repeatedly. Stay calm. Keep cool. Get a hold of yourself! He kept telling himself, panting heavily while also slapping his own face. But in doing so, Tom glanced up and accidentally made eye contact with his reflection. He froze; black sockets staring back at each other through the mirror until Tom could've sworn he saw the flection form a sickening grin, consisting of razor teeth, and the previously aforementioned dark holes for eyes flashing a deep shade of purple for a brief second.

At once, his body shuddered with great intensity and Tom's heart turned cold; freezing it in place, and knocking all the wind out of him before it came back to life, and gave a massive leap into his chest. Moaning with pain, Tom clutched his chest and kneeled down, still holding on to the sink.

Tom panted, his head leaning forward as he stared at the ground wide-eyed. His vision was shaky, getting increasingly blurred with the familiar dark haze taking over his sight. It is one of these moments when Tom wished he was in possession of a sharp object right now…

An abrupt knock on the door brought him out of it.

"Tom? Are you okay in there?"

Tom gasped, feeling the effects cease and allowing him to go back to normal. Tom swallowed, his mouth and throat insanely dry. "I'm fine, Paul!" He replied, his voice hoarse. "It's just the withdrawal acting up again!" He lied, his breathing still ragged. "I'll be out in a moment."

Holding his breath, Tom listened for footsteps distancing themselves away from the bathroom. Once he was sure that Paul was gone, Tom went back to regaining his breath. He felt drained from strength, and when Tom tried to get up his legs buckled beneath his weight and he sat back down. Wincing with effort, he used the sink as support and scrambled to his feet. Tom was careful not to commit the same mistake twice, and he kept his gaze fixed downwards onto the rushing water of the tap.

Tom resumed washing his face, his thoughts troubled with dismay. That was a close call. Too close! Tears pricked the corner of his eyeless sockets, and he fought the urge to sob. I'm such an idiot! He seethed silently. And to think that I had any chance of being normal, even if for just a while! I'm a fool. Tom's heart rate steadied into a slow rhythm, and his breathing fell in a comfortable pace. Turning the faucet off, and dried his face with a towel. I can't do this. Clearly coming here was a mistake! He decided. I will go out there, and tell them that I'm not feeling so good. They'll understand, right? Then they can enjoy their free time without me.

Tom made sure his appearance looked adequate before he unlocked the door and left the bathroom. The excuse he had prepared died on his tongue at the sight he was met with.

Facing toward the TV and away from him, Paul and Patrick are sitting on the couch; awfully close to one another as they conversed quietly. Tom approached them wearily, unsure whether to speak up or not, but decided for the latter. He gulped, and took a tentative whiff of the air surrounding him; relieved to find that the scent of blood has been replaced with a much warmer, and pleasant salty smell.

"Does it hurt still?" Paul whispered worriedly.

Tom focused on the pair of soldiers on the couch, standing like a statue in the corridor as he listened to their conversation.

"Don't be silly. I told, it was just a little cut!" Pat chuckled soothingly. "I'm fine. Thanks for helping, Paul."

Even standing a few feet behind the couch, Tom could see Paul shuffle a little closer to Patrick. "Do you want me to kiss it to make it better?" Next thing he knows, Pat scoffs and throws a light punch at Paul, who giggles in return. "I can give as many kisses as you want, just to make you better!" He teased Pat, who had crossed his arms. For some reason, Tom imagined the dignified Red Army General adverting his gaze away from the Commander, and with a light pink tint flushing in his cheeks.

Paul laughed again, and he enveloped his arms around Pat to cuddle closer, who in turn bent down to give the top of his head a small peck.

Watching them interact this way made Tom's face heat up with embarrassment. He felt like he was intruding in on them. All the more reason to leave them alone. Tom stepped back until he was next to the bathroom door, to which he opened and closed again rather loudly to announce his presence in the room.

The two soldiers looked up at him in surprise.

"Ah Tom! Glad you're alright!" Paul greeted him. "Are you feeling better now?" Tom nodded. He was just about to speak, when Paul beat him to it. "You were looking awfully pale when I came back, so I was kind of worried for you."

"I- uh I'm fine now, thanks. But i-"

"Oh! And don't worry about the pie. Paul and I finished the remaining touches while you were in the bathroom." Patrick added, interrupting him. "It's in the oven right now. It should be done in in a few minutes."

"And we made popcorn!" Paul exclaims, picking up the overflowing bowl and handing it out to him.

Still shaken from the whole ordeal, Tom gingerly accepted the offer and grabbed a little bit in his hand. He turned his gaze onto Patrick, his sight landing on the injured hand. "Are you okay?" He couldn't help but ask.

"No worries. I am good as new! See?" Patrick responded by showcasing his bandaged hand. "Like I said to Paul; it was just a measly little cut. A stupid mistake of mine, if nothing else." He tsked. "Such a nuisance."

Paul clasped a hand on his shoulder. "Come now, don't be so hard on yourself." He comforted. "You were always a bit too cocky with knives anyway, you were bound to cut yourself sooner or later! You were just lucky that it happened while the boss is gone, otherwise you wouldn't hear the end of it." He teased, muffling a giggle as Pat faced him with a deadpanned expression.

"Cloudberg."

Paul snorted with laughter, while Tom simply stood there in confusion, and yet amused by their interaction.

"Anyways, now that you're here we can pick which game to play!" Paul announces, wiping away an invisible tear in his eye.

"Actually guys, I have been thinking and-"

"Here! These are all the games we have." Paul stood up from the sofa, and crouched down beneath the Television to open up the drawer. Peering over his shoulder, Tom was perplexed to find various types of games lined up in a neat roll. "You can take first pick."

"Huh?"

"Usually when we hang out, we sort ourselves to take turns in picking what we're doing. Whether it be watching a film or a game." Patrick explained, still sitting on the couch. "Since this is your first time here, you should get the honors of going first."

Tom looked at him with bewilderment, then turned his gaze down to the pile of games in the drawer. He wanted to tell them no. That he couldn't stay here any longer. For fear of accidentally hurting them. Tom blinked. Now where did that come from? Tom doesn't care about them… Does he? They kidnapped him! And just look at where he is now because of them.

However, with that said, Tom hasn't forgotten how they've shown him plenty of kindness ever since he got here. And in hindsight, there isn't any reason for it. And yet they respect his boundaries, and treat him with patience. They invited him to hang out with them. Surely this must mean something?

After a few more moments of hesitation, Tom analysed the collection of games. There were a few titles that he recognised among the selection, but in the end, he picked a random race game; the cover bright and colourful. He really needed something fun and uplifting after the recent episode he just had.

"I'll pick this one, If that's alright." Tom decided.

Paul nodded, taking the game from him and loading into the console. Tom sat on the far end of the couch, while Pat is on the opposite side. He offered the Brit some more popcorn, to which Tom gladly took. After inserting the game disc in, Paul skipped back to the sofa and sat between the two; handing a controller each. The main menu came on screen and they pressed start, choosing their characters and race track. At first, Tom kept mostly to himself. Staying silent with a few quips here and there. But as the game progressed, he found himself having fun alongside the two soldiers. They joked, laughed, cheered, cursed, and eventually ate the apple pie they made.

I want to pretend to be normal for a while longer. Just this once.

It was a very enjoyable evening overall, despite Tom's earlier issues. For the first time in a long while, Tom had actually found himself having fun.

(Meanwhile…)

It is another cold and rainy night in the English town. The city's residents aren't fazed by the bad weather at this point. They just went about their own, usual way with a shrug of the shoulders; maybe even uttering a curse or two of annoyance at the rampant storms.

Staring out the window, watching the heavy rain splatter the glass and the branches of a nearby tree swaying against the strong wind; a pair of tired green eyes blinked in the dark with only the lighting coming from outside to light the room.

When the duo returned from their trip to the cemetery, Edd had come to accept the fact that Tom is dead and he won't ever come back. Matt comforted him as best he could, even offering to stay the night with him. Edd appreciated the gesture but refused the offer. He wanted to spend one last night in Tom's apartment before going back to his own for good. Like a one last bid of farewell before he was ready and fully committed to move on with his life.

Despite the closure he had earlier, Edd's heart still ached with the loss. It had been weeks, and he could still detect a faint trace of Tom's scent lingering around the apartment.

It won't be long now for it to fade away completely.

Even when all was said and done Edd could not, for the life of him, settle down and go to sleep. He feels tired, and restless and the same time. Edd fears that if he were to close his eyes and sleep now all of his memories of Tom will disappear for good. A childish fear? Perhaps. But one he does not want to risk.

Ringo, his faithful feline companion, was curled up and pressed against his side and snored softly. Edd glanced at his pet with envy. He wished he could have that easy life. Edd stroked Ringo's gray tabby fur, earning a low purr in response.

Once again, Edd tried to close his eyes and go to sleep. He hasn't gotten a proper night's rest for many days now, so in theory this shouldn't be hard to achieve. Edd tossed, fidgeted, and turned around in the bed but nothing seemed to help.

Giving up on his failed attempts of going to sleep, Edd decided to do the next very best thing.

Walk.

He hopped off the bed and got himself dressed, putting on a dark coat over his green hoodie. Since he first received the news about Tom, Edd had taken the habit of taking long walks after dark. Sometimes he would search for Tom, in hopes of finding and bringing him home; but it was mostly to cope.

Ringo sat up, taking notice of her owner's warmth and presence that was previously laying next to her was now absent. She mewed questioningly, tilting her head as she watched her owner dress. Edd patted Ringo's head in a soothing motion, silently reassuring the cat that he'll be back.

With that, Edd grabbed his keys, pulled on the hood over his head, and walked out of the apartment.

(Meanwhile…)

Not far from where the duo resides, a humble looking bar stood in the street's corner. The sign flashing above read "Mustacheos Bar", with a few letters missing due to its cheap lights failing to turn on during the rainstorm.

Suddenly, the bar's doors swung open and a blonde man was tossed out roughly into the streets, being shoved to the ground next to some trash cans and bags. The man wore a dark overcoat and jeans, as he held a bottle of beer in one of his hands.

"And don't come back here again! You hear me?!" The bar manager shouted.

Wincing at the landing, Reagan took a swig of the bottle before throwing the man a glare. "I was just leaving. You didn't kick me out, I left cause' I wanted to!" He shouts drunkenly. "And guess what? I wouldn't want to come back to this sh#t hole anyway cuz the beer ain't all that special! It's too f#ckin' expensive for plain bottled up piss!"

"You drank nearly five bottles!" The manager angrily argues. "That's the sixth one you are holding onto, you slimy little pest!"

"Yeah? Good for me I guess. Hurray!" Reagan slurs, throwing his hands in the air in a lazy cheer. The manager grunts and storms back into the bar, slamming the door shut on the way in. Reagan scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Arse hole." He spat, taking another long swig at the bottle.

Next to him, a strange and sinister looking figure rose up from a trash can; wearing a red sweater, a brown trenchcoat, and fedora. The tramp also sports ginger hair, bushy eyebrows and heterochromatic eyes.

Reagan looked up, seemingly unfazed by the man's weird appearance.

"You stink." The beggar bluntly states.

Reagan stared at him. "Well, look who's talking!" He retorts. "As far as I'm concerned you don't smell like a pile of daisies either, so that makes us two stinkers."

The sinister bum blinked. "Got a dollar?"

"… No."

Scrambling clumsily to his feet, Reagan stood up swaying from side to side as he regained his footing. Chuckling and emitting a rather loud burp, he churned the bottle in his hand to take another sip.

He had arrived in town not too long ago to fulfil the designated task assigned to him; find five recruits and persuade them to join the Red Army. Reagan gladly accepted the mission, but he knows that Red Leader just wanted to get rid of him for a while. That's fine, Reagan can't say he blames the boss there.

The recruitment program takes a very long while to complete. From finding the perfect target, to slowly infiltrating into their lives, and then finally the big decisive moment that determines whether they want to join the army or not. However, Reagan may or may not have broken protocol by targeting multiple people at the same time. He detests wasting time and he lacks the patience to spend his efforts on one target at a time. So to hurry things along, Reagan cheated the system a little and already got himself four targets; whom he shadowed for a couple of days to observe their routine and have a better insight in their lives before fully inserting himself in it.

Things were looking up for him. However, he has yet to find the fifth, and final target. Reagan has walked through town from top to bottom, observing the people around him with a keen eye. He had stalked a few potential candidates, but they didn't meet the army's standards. So he kept on searching.

Heck, If the army wasn't so damn picky, Reagan would've offered the position to the creepy looking homeless guy next to him just so he could get the job done; but something told him that the man may not be completely stable.

Tipping the bottle all the way, Reagan drained every last drop of beer that it contained until it was empty. As he did so, Reagan hardly acknowledged a figure walk past him.

When he is in the beer zone, nothing else matters until he's done.

"Hey buddy! Do you got a dollar?" He heard the sinister beggar ask. Next thing Reagan hears is the sound of hands fumbling against pockets before the distinctive noise of wrinkling paper appears. "Oh wowee! This must be my lucky day or somethin'!" The tramp tipped his hat. "Thank yah good hearted fella!"

"You're welcome, I guess?" A soft voice mumbled.

Reagan was looking through the bottle, checking if there was any beer left, when he stiffened at the sound of the voice. It was… familiar. Reagan is sure he heard it somewhere before.

Turning around, Reagan only saw the figure of a man, wearing a dark coat with his hands stuffed inside the pockets as he walked away. Squinting his eyes against the drizzling rain, Reagan spotted a green hood over the guy's head.

The voice… and a green hood…

Reagan snapped his fingers as recognition flashed in his mind. He hasn't forgotten his favourite moment from the last mission he went to! No. Reagan would never forget such amusing reactions so easily!

He watched the man, Mr Gold if his wasted mind is right, walk away. Reagan observed his posture; noting the subtle way his head was slightly bent downwards. That's usually a sign of weakness, or at the very least means that he's deep in thought.

He probably hasn't gotten over it.

An idea popped up in Reagan's head as soon as the thought drifted away. Here he is, in the middle of the street, in the rain, without any beer left and with nothing else to do. Might as well take this opportunity to get back to work. Who knows? Maybe he won't waste his time with this one.

Tossing the bottle away, the glass shattering upon contact with the ground, Reagan adjusted his coat and proceeded to tag along; making sure to stay far enough not to be noticed but still sufficiently close so as to not lose sight of his target.

Edd continued to walk down the street, unaware that he was being followed. After several minutes, he finally arrived at his destination. Edd breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the open gate. For a brief moment there, Edd feared he might've had to break in.

He passed through the gate, and not so far behind, Reagan followed. The Irish man raised one eyebrow with curiosity as he observed the engraved letters on top of the entrance. Winchester park, eh? He mused. Sounds like fun.

Strolling through the cemetery in the dark of the night, Reagan hurried along the rolls of tombstones; reading some of them as he passed by. Looking up he was momentarily worried he lost sight of Edd, but through a quick scout of the area Reagan found him kneeling down in front of a grave.

He moved slightly closer, and quickly hid behind one of the tombstones. From this distance, Reagan could hear faint murmuring coming from the brunet. He peeked over the slate and observed the scene; a hand behind one of his ears to hear him better above the sound of rain.

"Hey Tom." Edd murmured. "I know I came to visit you earlier with Matt, but I couldn't sleep. I… I thought if I were to come and see you again, it would make things better." He paused, taking a wavering breath with a sigh. "I don't know what I'm gonna do without here, to be completely honest. It's only Matt and I now, and none of us are like you. Strong."

This is kind of depressing. Reagan frowned, and then shrugged with indifference. But pretty useful too.

Edd chuckled softly. "Out of all of us, you were always the one who kept calm no matter how dangerous the trouble we got in was." He went on, his eyes starting to water. "You were also the bravest. The way you faced off against… the- that giant robot. I wish I could be half as great as you were." He sniffled, wiping away some of the tears that were threatening to spill. "I want to move on, Tom. I really do. But I don't wanna forget about you either, you know? I promise I'll come visit you, but I don't think I can go on like this. For Matt's sake, I will try my best to get better from here. You understand, right?"

Listening in this rather intimate little moment, the gears inside Reagan's head shifted as he processed all of the given information; learning what he could solely based on the man's grieving words. Reagan grinned maliciously, and his vibrant green eyes glinted.

It would seem he found his fifth candidate at last.

[asktemmie-frisk]

Baby Steps (ゴッドモードアーク (Goddomodoaku)) (God-mode Arc)

As everyone stepped into the skele-brothers' backyard, they all felt somewhat tense. Chara was especially nervous because she was thinking of what could happen if she couldn't manage. Undyne and Sans started setting up some targets; Papyrus got some test dummies ready to strike. Asgore got Chara a present that he had waiting for her for years. "Chara, I know you want to be able to fight, but I wanted to give you this." Asgore said, handing Chara a gift. Opening it up, Chara was surprised. "Dad..." Chara started, taken aback. "I...this...is for me? Why?" "If you are going to learn how to fight, you will need the proper tools and mindset. I cannot prepare you mentally, but what kind of father would I be if I did not at least give you the tools to succeed? I am not going to give you a handout, but I will give you a hand." "Dad...thank you." Chara gave her father a hug, and he returned it with a smile. "Don't worry. I'll make you and mom proud of me. I promise." "Chara, there is no need to." Toriel cut in. "Really? Why, mom?" "You already have." Chara teared up a little happily. "Thanks, mom." After the small family moment, Chara turned her attention to the make-shift training grounds set up in the backyard. "Okay, so I gotta admit, I'm very nervous right now. That being said, where do we start? Blocking, striking, dodging? What?" "Straight to business. I like that, but since when have you gotten yourself ready for a scrap?" Undyne admitted. "What?! What do you mean 'get ready'? Aren't you just supposed to fight or something?" "Nah nah nah. You're training right now. Normally, you WOULD be right, but since you've never did this before, chances are your reflexes could use some work. We're gonna start by doing a little stretching first." "Ah, come on! I just wanna do it already!" "Sorry, kid. This is how I did it when I was the captain of the royal guard. You think I'm just gonna bend the rules for you?" Undyne said, while stretching and prepping herself for training. "Well, I was thinking th-" "Nope! Sorry, kid. Now get to stretching. We got a long, hard road ahead of us." "Fine." Chara gave up and did as Undyne said. Asgore and Toriel practiced on their aim with their fire magic. Asriel and Mettaton sat and watched on the sidelines with a bored look on their faces. "Your majesty, aren't you going to train too, darling?" Asked Mettaton. "I don't need to train, remember?" Replied Asriel. "Yes, yes. We know what you were capable of as a flower, sweetie. I can't remember how many times you trashed my body. What was it? 10 times? 20 times?" "50 times." "Ah. Yes. Of course." Mettaton vindictively grabbed Asriel and threw him to his parents. "Oh, your majesty! Your son would like to train with you!" Asgore almost stepped on Asriel by accident before he heard Mettaton. "Huh? Oh, well that's gre-oops! Sorry, son. Almost didn't see you there." Asgore said giving his attention to his son. "So you wanna train with me, huh? Well, that's good. You will probably need it. You are not a flower anymore, so you cannot rely on your old attacks anymore." Asriel got up with his head tilted down. "You mean my...'friendliness pellets'?" Asked the young, cocky boss monster. Asgore simply tilted his son's head up to his gaze. "DO NOT get cocky with me, Asriel. If the situation gets worse, you need to defend yourself. Do I make myself clear?" Asgore's eyes flashed cyan and orange for an instant. "Crystal, dad." "Good. Now then, it is time that we teach you about magic. Unless you can tell us?" Asriel had a bored expression with a monotone so grating, he could be mistaken for a robot. "Magic is the expression of a monster's soul. It is through magic that shapes our very bodies. As our bodies shift and develop, our magic shifts and develops alongside it. It's also normal for magic to show traits about ourselves that are both good and bad in nature. For instance, say you can wield water. Water is flexible and freeflowing, but with the right conditions, its will is easily shaped." Toriel stopped the second she heard what Asriel said. "My my." Toriel said, astounded. "My child. So you DO know. You remembered what I taught you all those years ago. I'm so proud of you." Toriel and Asgore both stepped back. "Now Asriel, you see that target right there? I want you to use your magic to strike it." Asriel tried to summon an attack, but he couldn't muster up anything at all. He even pointed his fists at the target, but nothing happened but him making himself look like a fool. "You could not summon an attack, could you?" "Mom! Why isn't it working?! I thought something would just...like poof, or something, but nothing's happening, ma! Why isn't it working?!" Asriel started getting agitated, confirming that Mettaton and his father were right. Asriel then threw aside his pride, fearful for what could happen next. "Mom, dad, will you teach me how to use magic, please?" "Are you sure you are ready to learn, my child?" "Yes! Please! I'll do anything! Just please how to use it, mama! Please! I don't wanna die, ma!" "It is okay, my son. Calm down. Your father and I would be happy to teach you." "Really, ma?" "Of course! Your father and I have been waiting for the day we could do this with you, anyway! As long as you are willing to pay attention, we will teach you what you need to know." Asriel hugged his mother in relief. "Okay, mom. Sorry for the crap. I'll listen." "Thank you, my child. Oh, and one more thing your father and I wanted to ask you and Chara." "Yes, mom?" Chara asked while stretching her legs. "SINCE WHEN DID YOU TWO START SWEARING?!" Both Asgore and Toriel boomed at their children. "I want to know now! WHO TAUGHT YOU THOSE WORDS?!" Toriel was not amused at her childrens' language. "We got it from you, mom and dad!" Chara spat back. "Yeah, mom. Who do you think taught us those words? We got them mostly from you when you yelled at dad when we were younger." Asriel agreed with an almost blank look on his face. "You guys taught us those words. Didn't think we were listening, did you?" "I never yelled at your father; you take that back immediately, young man!" "If I'm wrong, then why did dad have bruises when you finished yelling at him for buying that one abandoned building in Snowdin?" "Yeah, Tori. I told you it could've be-" "AND I TOLD YOU THAT 'WE WOULD NEVER NEED THE GODDAMN PLACE'! FOR WHAT REASON COULD WE POSSIBLY HAVE TH-oh. Oh...no. So I really am the reason. Dammit. I knew there was something wrong when you said the f-word at dinner one night. I suppose I am to blame for another thing of our past, am I not?" "So not just a killer, an abusive wife, too? Yikes." Sans said, thoroughly weirded out and spooked by Toriel. "Awkward." Papyrus quiped. Everyone else just stared at the former queen in shock. "Hey guys, you can stop staring at mom now." Chara said, trying to defuse the situation while stretching her legs some more. "Hey, Asriel, can you help me real fast?" "Huh? Oh! Yeah, sure. Whatever." Replied Asriel. "Thanks. Now I need you to just grab my leg, and push it back. I need to really loosen things up." Asriel obeyed, but in a standing up position. "No, dude. I need you to get on your knees, and push back." Asriel was not in the mood to being embarrassed, but he did it anyway. "Sis, don't you think this is a little weird?" "Nah, it's cool. You're just helping me stre-oop. There it goes. Yeah, my leg just popped. That's better. Now push a couple more times, and we'll switch to the other one." Everyone was looking at the two, just snickering to themselves, except for their parents. "Okay, that's good. Now let's do this one." "Okay." Asriel was started to get embarrassed...and aroused, admittedly. He was really not in the mood to get turned on by Chara, whether or not they were related. "Come on, put your body onto it, and lean in. I wanna really make this one pop like the other one just did." Asriel started sweating upon hearing this. "Yeah, right there. Just like that. I really do appreci-whoa. Hey, Rei, what's that I'm feeling on the b-oh." Chara tilted her head up at her brother, only to see he was flustered, but didn't realize why until she looked at her leg. "Oh, man. Sorry. I didn't mean to do that to you. You should let go now." Chara whimpered with a blush. "Yeah. Thanks." With her permission, Asriel got to let go of Chara while they both sat down. They both shared an embarrassed glare at each other, blushing even more when Chara and Asriel made expressions to each other, with Chara's seemingly looking like she was saying 'did you want to fuck', with Asriel's expressions looking like a response saying 'yes, but that's gross, Chara'. Clearly both of them were noticeably embarrassed and aroused by the situation, even separating themselves from each other. They had never been more weirded out by each other than in that moment. "Asriel? Chara?" Toriel said, trying to get their attention. "Yes, mom?" They mumbled, still reeling from the moment. "Not until you're both 18. Also, let's get back to training." Toriel schooled her own children, and everyone just laughed. "MOM! HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN?! I DIDN'T ASK TO BE AROUSED! CHARA AND I ARE SIBLINGS! IT'S FUCKING GROSS, MA!" Asriel screeched, blushing wildly. "Yes, it is. Or it would be if you were both related by blood. Good thing you're not. It would be so much worse if you were." Asriel started angrily shedding tears, and Chara put her creepy face back on, fuming at her mother's words. Why the fuck would mom say that, she wondered. Did she know when I flirted with Asriel that one time? Whatever. After the awkwardness passed after 10 minutes, they finally got to the core of training. "Alright, kid. I think you're limber enough." Undyne said, congratulating Chara. "Finally. I feel limber, too." "Awesome. Now you see my hands? I want you to PUNCH THEM AS HARD AS YOU CAN! Act like my hands are your worst enemies, and PUNCH THEIR LIVING DAYLIGHTS OUT! NNGGAAHHH!" Chara responded with a punch hard enough to almost leave a bruise. "Wow. Pretty hard punch for a human. Now those targets! Take that knife your old man gave you, and slice them up! NOW!" Chara let out a battle cry, and slashed wildly and swiftly, laughing maniacally while making her creepy face the entire time. She even jumped back, and threw her knife at one of the targets she decimated with a lot of force, enough to plant the knife enough to warrant force to get it back! Undyne was colored impressed...thoroughly. "Nice job." She admitted. "Thanks." Chara replied, catching her breath. "Now, if only those were real humans...then I would have...lots...of...fun." "You know, you remind me of how I used to be when you say that." "Oh, yeah. You used to hate them, too. With a passion. You and I would be best friends if you saw what they did to me. Makes me wish I wasn't one. That's why I love being with the monsters. Unlike those animals that call themselves humans, you guys have more humanity than my species is capable of." Chara shed a few tears in anguish, but snapped out of it quickly. "All right. Back to training." "Right! Now then..." Undyne said with an evil, almost murderous grin. "LET'S SEE HOW YOU DEAL WITH ME! FUH-HUH-HUH-HUH!!" "FINALLY! This is what I was waiting for! NOW LET'S GO, FISH LADY!" Chara roared, peeling out towards Undyne. "YOU GOT IT, KID! NNGGAAHHH!" They dashed toward each other without hesitation. Chara slashed at Undyne, but got blocked by her spear. Undyne countered with a spear blasting toward Chara, and it pierced her soul, knocking her back into the wall. Oddly enough, Chara only lost 2 hitpoints. "What the fuck?! Undyne, that...should've hurt more?" Said a confused Chara. "Come on, kid. I ain't trying to kill you. If I was, you would've felt a lot more pain. But you know what you will feel? THIS!!" Undyne motioned to the Skeleton brothers, and Sans levitated Chara up, only to slam her into the ground. "OW! Fuck, Sans! I felt that, you dickhead!" Sans didn't care as he lifted her again, but got her back on her feet. Chara then tried to sprint toward Sans, but found she couldn't move her feet. "What?! Oh, fuck." Chara noticed a green glow from her chest. "As long as you're green, you can't escape! Unless you face towards danger, you're going to hurt like hell." "Okay. What the fuck is that suppo-Ow! Oof! AHH! FUCK, THAT HURTS!" Papyrus and Undyne unleashed an onslaught of bones and spears at Chara. "Chara! When I said 'face towards danger', I meant FACE TOWARDS THE BULLETS!" "Oh! Well then, you got it! Now I'm ready! Go ahead and throw some my way; I'll block'em!" Chara wasn't just talk; she blocked the attacks well enough to the point where it was like they were never made. "Not bad! How about this!" Undyne said, returning Chara's soul to normal. Papyrus attacked Chara overhead, but she blocked it with her knife. She then got smacked in the stomach by some of his bones. As she was recovering from them, more popped up, but she ended up jumping out of the way. "Excellent, human!" Papyrus congratulated. "Now that you can dodge...you'll be taking me on." Both of Papyrus' eyesockets surged orange and yellow with his entire body gaining an orange aura, albeit faint. Chara got shaken, but snapped out of it before a bone could strike her again. She slashed through it, jumping around wildly, not knowing what Papyrus would do next. Then she heard a blast. A skull-like cannon burst a beam that headed straight for Chara. She couldn't dodge fast enough, but she only got grazed by her shoulder. "Dammit! Fucking..." She muttered to herself. She focused on the pain enough to forget her surroundings and got blasted again. She screamed in pain. She lost half of her hp, and fell to the ground. "Come on, human. You have to get up! You won't learn h-WHOA!" Papyrus got close to her, and let his guard down long enough for her to slash at him. She was injured, and she only had half of her usual hitpoints, but she stood up anyway. "Don't underestimate me; I can still keep going!" She managed, feeling the pain flow through her. "Oh! Still up to actually fight? GOOD! Still though, why do you say that?" Chara put a smug grin on her face, and pulled some candy out of her pocket. It was monster candy. "This is why." She put a piece in her mouth, and recovered 6 hitpoints. "All right! I'm back! If I gotta face you, that's fine, but I ain't hurting you." "Very well, then. It sure was a BLAST to train with you!" Papyrus said, aiming the cannon again, but this time, at Chara's face. She ducked out of the way before it could do anything else to her. Papyrus kept firing them more while she was jumping about, dodging the beams with an almost graceful tone to it. She then noticed the bones being used again in combination with the cannons, but jumped out of their way before they fired. "My, my! I suppose she is a match for me, the great Papyrus! But how? And where is she now?" Papyrus looked for her until she grabbed and subdued him. "To be honest, I don't know. Perhaps some of your greatness is rubbing off on me." Chara said with a smile. "Very well, human. I suppose you managed to defeat me this time." Papyrus said, admitting defeat. "I must admit, you seem to learn very quickly, and that could be useful, especially in combat." Chara got off of Papyrus, and helped him get back on his feet. "Nice job, kid." Undyne said with a sharp-toothed smile. "Looks like you take after your dad after all." "Thanks. Now Papyrus, what were those things you shot at me with?" "Those? Well, Sans and I call them 'Gaster Blasters'." Papyrus happily answered. "We call them that as a way of honoring our father because he was the one who created them. Sans and I have countless blasters at our disposal, but we don't use them unless we have no choice, for they are a strain to use on our end." "Then, when you stopped Frisk from...you know what, was that your special attack you were going to use on him?" "Yes, but it was stolen from me by that annoying dog!" "Yikes. Guess it's good that Frisk stopped before things got much worse."  "Yes. I suppose it is. Still, one thing eludes me. How did you manage to disappear like that before I blasted at you again?" "You shouldn't have closed your eyes a second before you shot it off like that. I only barely had enough time to get out of the way." "Well...in that case, I think we can consider your training done for the day. Everyone?" Everybody else agreed, especially after seeing the light show. "Good! You did well today, Chara. As for everyone else but Sans, you can all go home now." So they did. It was a long, tiring, eye-opening, emotionally exhausting day. But at least it was finished. Or at least that's what they thought. When everyone else got back home in the evening, what happened next was...unexpected.