#god if youre up there stand down last warning. i am not your strongest soldier sir i will end it all.

[acridblood]

They should exterminate the inventor of AP classes and weekend homework. Anyways rant in the tags bye.

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Trust

main masterlist | the boys masterlist

summary: soldier boy doesn’t realize just how scared of him you truly are

pairing: soldier boy x female reader

rating: R for language, mature themes

word count: 5.2k

warnings: please read! language, mentions of sexual assault, attempted sexual assault, drugging, violence, forced purging (to prevent possible death), briefly mentioned nudity (not in a smutty way), much darker than anything i’ve published before

author’s note: this started out as a small idea but i got really carried away lol.

another note: sorry for kinda ghosting after uploading the last fic, my brain hates me 🙃 i can’t promise i won’t “disappear” again like immediately after uploading this so thank you in advance for any/all feedback/comments 💞💞

It was late at night (more like early morning) when you were arguing with Butcher at the door. 

“Don’t you dare leave me here alone with him!” you seethed.

“C’mon, love, the old cunt’s gonna be asleep the whole time I’m gone.”

Your teeth clenched at the idea of being alone in the house with Soldier Boy, but if Billy didn’t go now to “run an errand” he’d probably have to go later that day anyway.

“Fine,” you sighed. “But if ‘the old cunt’ lays a fucking finger on me I swear to god Butcher!”

“I’ll be back by nine.”

**

A loud knock on your door woke you up.

“Hey! Sweetheart!” Soldier Boy’s voice shouted from the other side. “You up?”

“I am now,” you mumbled to yourself angrily. 7:26 your clock read.

“I heard that,” Soldier Boy said. 

Shit, you thought. “What do you want?” 

“The stupid TV isn’t fuckin’ working, I need you to come and work your magic for me.”

You sighed. You couldn’t ignore him at this point, that’d most likely just anger him further. If he wanted to he’d just break down the door and drag you out to the living room.

“C’mon toots, don’t be a bitch about it,” he exclaimed.

“Screw you,” you mumbled.

“Hey!” Soldier Boy exclaimed. “What’d I just fuckin’ say!” He tried opening the door but you’d obviously locked it. 

“I-I’ll be out in a second,” you told him. 

“That’s more like it,” he mumbled back.

You quickly got out of bed (whole outfit still on, just in case Soldier Boy had tried something in the night) and hurried to the door before you opened it. There he stood, the strongest man alive. You gulped nervously as he didn’t move and stayed blocking your way out. 

He eyed you up and down obnoxiously, smirking at the sight and making your heart beat faster.

“Same outfit as last night, I see,” he said. 

“S-So?” you asked, trying to mask the pure fear this man instilled in you. “I just like these clothes, is all.” He didn’t say anything, just kept smirking at you. “You’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday, too, you know!”

“So you have been checking me out.” He nodded a little, the smirk still on his face.

“Did you want me to help you with the TV or did you just wake me up to be a dick?”

“TV,” he grumbled, “but would it kill you to be polite once in a while?”

“Would it kill you to move out of the way so I can head downstairs?”

He furrowed his brows before he rolled his eyes and stepped to the side; “After you, princess,” he mocked. You left your bedroom and he followed you downstairs to where the perfectly functioning TV hung on the wall.

You hated the way Soldier Boy eyed you as you took the remote out from the cabinet beside the TV and turned it on.

“It seems to be working fine?” you said, wanting to take his attention off of your ass. “What were you trying to watch?”

“Uh…how bout you pick something for us?” he offered.

“Excuse me?” you practically scoffed.

“C’mon, sit down and watch with me,” he said. You turned around, expecting to see him sitting on the couch, but he was now standing about a yard away from you. “Butcher seems to be gone…” He took a step towards you. “We’ve got the whole house to ourselves…” Another step. “Why don’t we have some fun?” He reached out and lightly touched your cheek, traced down the side of your face, and tilted your chin up to look him in the eyes.

“Soldier Boy—”

“I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me,” he interrupted you. “I know your heart starts racing when I walk into a room, I know it beats even faster when I get close. I know you want me, don’t even try to fuckin’ deny it.”

“P-Please—”

“Oh, I like a woman who knows when to beg,” he chuckled lowly as he bent down to kiss you.

“Please don’t hurt me, please,” you said quickly, tears stinging your eyes as they threatened to fall. “I-I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch to you, I-I didn’t mean it! Please don’t kill me!”

“Kill you?” He stood up straight, pulling his hand up off your face and putting it up in defense. “Kill you?” There was a moment of silence as he intensely looked at your reaction to him getting so close. “You…You’re scared of me, aren’t you?”

You nodded slightly, worried you might upset him as his face fell. He seemed almost saddened by the fact you didn’t want him near you.

“But…I’m a hero,” he scoffed slightly. “Why would you be scared of me?”

“Please don’t take it personally,” you said. “Just let me set up the TV for you and go back to my room…please?”

“You’re fuckin’ terrified right now, aren’t you?” he asked and again you nodded, again he scoffed.

“Can you blame me?” you asked. “I-If I rub you the wrong way you could snap my neck like a chicken bone without breaking a sweat.”

“But I…” He continued looking at you with confusion that seemed to be laced with curiosity. “I wouldn’t. I mean, I know I get angry sometimes but I’d never hurt you?”

“You wouldn’t be the first hero to turn on me,” you told him quietly. Soldier Boy paused and thought about what to do next. He’d never been in a situation like this before; standing alone with someone who was genuinely scared of him, someone that didn’t trust a hero like himself.

“Just uh… Just turn on a movie and you can go,” he said before he took a seat on the couch. “Another one from my time, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” you said; a small, forced smile on your lips. You found a movie you thought he’d like and pressed play for him before tossing the remote on the couch and leaving.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he called out, making you stop in your tracks. “I’m sorry you don’t trust me, but I need you to know that I’d never hurt you.”

“O-Okay, Soldier Boy,” you said before you hurried out of the room, up the stairs, and back into your room. “Billy Butcher I am going to fucking strangle you,” you mumbled to yourself.

**

“You’re up before noon,” Butcher remarked, seeing Soldier Boy in the living room. “And you got the TV workin’ on your own! Atta boy, gov’.”

“Actually, Y/n set it up for me,” Soldier Boy said.

Butcher sighed at that, “So, you’ve talked to her today then, huh?”

“Yeah, why?” the Supe asked before Butcher left to see you. 

He knocked lightly on your door before you opened it. 

“Hello—” Butcher started but a swift slap to the face shut him up pretty quickly.

“Fuck you, Butcher!”

“Did he hurt you?” Butcher asked, holding his cheek.

“No, but he almost fucking did, asshole! How dare you leave me alone with him like that!”

“Oh come off it! If you’re still in one piece then all’s well that ends well, am I right?” he said with a smirk and a shrug. 

“You ever do something like that again and I swear to god William!” You stared daggers at him.

“My ‘errand’ didn’t go as planned anyways, love,” he told you. “I’ve gotta figure out another way to find where they’re hiding Homelander.”

“Or whatever’s left of him,” you mumbled.

**

“Alright, I’m off,” Butcher announced, a full duffle bag in his hand as he headed to the door.

“What?” you exclaimed from the kitchen as you hurried to get between him and his destination. “What’re you talking about?”

“Everything okay?” Soldier Boy asked from the couch near the TV.

“Everything’s fine, gov’, you keep watching your movie,” Butcher said.

“Can I talk to you outside for a minute?” you asked Butcher, you didn’t want Soldier Boy to hear what you were about to say. 

“After you then, love,” Butcher obliged.

The second the door closed behind the two of you, you let him have it.

“Don’t you fucking dare leave me here alone with him again, I cannot fucking take it!”

“It’ll only be for a little while, you’ll be fine!” Butcher said.

“Then let me come with you!”

“What, and leave the cunt here alone? He’ll burn the house down trying to make himself a fuckin’ sandwich,” Butcher exclaimed. “He needs a fuckin’ babysitter and that’s you.”

“Why me? Why can’t you call Hughie? Or Frenchie? Or, better than all of us combined, Kimiko?” you asked.

“Hughie’s outta state, Frenchie and Kimiko are both knee-deep in shit sussing out another lead on Homelander’s whereabouts.”

You sighed heavily, you saw his point but the thought of being trapped again made your stomach hurt; “Please don’t leave me alone with him, Butcher. You know how much he fucking terrifies me, and you know exactly why.”

“I’m sorry I gotta do this to you, love, but you know he’s our only shot at killin’ Homelander once and fucking for all.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Only a day or two.”

You again conceded, against your better judgment, and let Butcher leave you with Soldier Boy.

“What was that all about?” the Supe asked when you walked back into the house and locked the door. 

You forced a smile; “Nothing, Soldier Boy,” you said, “dinner will be ready soon.”

You didn’t know Soldier Boy heard everything you and Butcher had said.

**

“Looks great, toots.” Soldier Boy walked up behind you in the kitchen, not missing the flinch you threw when he got a little too close. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled. 

“You still that scared of me?” he asked, leaning on the counter and trying to get you to look up at him.

“If you can hear my heart, I’m sure you’ve got something that can smell my fear too.”

“I know I make your heart race, your breathing becomes slightly quicker when I get close, and I’ve noticed your pupils tend to change when you notice I’m next to you.”

“So why is my fear such a fuckin’ surprise, then?” you scoffed.

“I guess I didn’t realize it was fear making your heart race and your pupils dilate slightly.”

“What, you thought I was into you or something?” you asked half-heartedly before you looked over at him and realized that was exactly what he had thought. “Oh.”

“So, yeah, I was surprised when I realized you didn’t like havin’ me around,” he admitted. You almost felt guilty for a moment but it quickly disappeared as you remembered why you were scared of him in the first place. “Can you at least tell me why, though?” he asked as you shoveled his food onto a plate. “Why are you so scared of me? I get that I’m stronger than you but, no offense, isn’t Butcher too? Isn’t like… almost every man out there?”

“One, I trust Butcher. I’ve known him for years and he’s been nothing but good; he’s an asshole, sure, but he’s good when it counts. And two, I don’t spend time alone with ‘almost every man out there’ so that does not help your case at all.” You handed him the plate. “Here’s your food.”

“Thanks, dollface.” He took it from you and you started getting your own plate ready. He watched your every move and his brows knitted with confusion as he did so. 

“You can go sit down,” you told him. “You don’t need to watch me like a hawk.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just still tryin’ to figure you out I guess.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you scoffed.

“You know I’m a hero, right? I’m a superhero, and I would never hurt you?”

“Look, no offense, but the last time I trusted a Supe it really didn’t turn out well and I’m not gonna let myself give you even an inch of trust because you are even stronger than the last guy.”

“What happened? What’d he do?” Soldier Boy asked and you didn’t respond. “C’mon, you owe me that much! I’ve been nothing but good to you, yet you’re treating me like I did whatever this other Supe did to you!”

“I don’t owe you shit, Soldier Boy,” you snapped and you could’ve sworn you saw genuine hurt flash over his features. “If you must know, it was The Deep. I trusted him, let him be good to me, and it all blew up in my face in the most awful way I could’ve imagined.”

“I’m sorry, honey.” He reached out to touch your shoulder but you flinched away from him.

“Please, don’t touch me. I get that you’re trying to be sweet or whatever but please don’t. It’s not doing what you think it’s doing, Soldier Boy.”

He nodded and backed away slightly.

“My name’s Ben,” he told you. You looked at him with a sense of shock. “My real name’s Ben, you don’t have to say ‘Soldier Boy’ all the time, you can just say ‘Ben’.”

“Okay, Ben, while we’re on the topic of names, you could ease up on the ‘toot’s and ‘doll’s and ‘dollface’s and ‘honey’s and ‘sweetheart’s you know. Or at the very least stick to one pet name.”

He smiled at your honesty, hoping it was a sign you might be scared of him just a tad less.

“Think I’ll just stick to callin’ you sweetheart, then,” he replied.

“Thank god, I was really starting to hate dolls.”

That made him laugh deeply before he walked to the table and took his seat.

Don’t you fucking dare, you thought to yourself when you felt a feeling of almost-not-absolute-fear-and-disgust wash over you for a split second. 

**

“Look, I’m sorry, but—”

“You’re sorry?” you scoffed into the phone. “Butcher get the fucking hell back here!”

“I can’t, I’ve gotta spend another night over here. Apparently—”

“I don’t give a rat's ass why you have to stay, I am begging you to please get back here now!” Tears were stinging your eyes as your voice cracked.

“I’m sorry—”

“If he does anything to me, anything at all, I’ll never fucking forgive you for leaving me alone with him, Butcher. You understand me, William? Never!”

“He’s not gonna hurt you,” Butcher sighed. “Just keep your distance and be nice to him. He does have a bit of a temper, maybe he just needs to relieve some tension…”

“That’s not funny!” You gritted your teeth as a few tears slipped down your cheeks. “When are you getting back here?”

“A few more days,” he replied. 

Before he said another word you hung up on him, furious that he thought it was okay to leave you alone with Soldier Boy.

Though the Supe was in his own room upstairs, he still heard every word you said. He’d never admit it, but his heart clenched at the thought of how scared you were right now. 

**

It had been over a week since you’d seen him when Butcher finally got back with some new information on Homelander’s location. He had a plan to find the exact coordinates and he wasn’t going to let his morals get in the way.

“Well, well, you clean up nice,” Butcher commented when you stepped out of the bathroom.

“Shut up,” you grumbled. You were wearing a short royal blue dress with a deep v-neckline and almost no back, the silver heels and necklace tied the otherwise seemingly plain outfit together nicely. “If this stupid plan of yours gets me killed I’m gonna come back and haunt you for the rest of your fuckin’ life.”

“Wow,” Ben beamed when he walked out of his room and saw you standing in the hall with Butcher. “You look incredible, sweetheart.”

“I look like a damn hooker,” you said. 

“That’s the idea, love.” Butcher smirked.

**

A high-ranking Vought employee had been seen at a certain bar almost every night for the last two months and it was now your job to get him to trust you. If he trusted you enough, he would take you back to his place and you could find out any and all information he had on Homelander. 

The plan seemed simple enough, yet Ben seemed more anxious about the situation than you were. 

“Are you sure this is safe?” Soldier Boy asked when you were all seated in the van outside the bar.

“No, but if this helps us get Homelander then it’s safe enough,” you told him. 

“Besides, you’ll be in there with her,” Butcher reminded him. “And if you stay focused on keeping her safe, then I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“How ‘bout we come up with a code word or something?” Ben suggested as he put in the earpiece Butcher handed him. 

“How about ‘Soldier Boy’?” you said, Ben shook his head.

“And what happens if you need to say ‘Soldier Boy’ but you don’t need help?” he countered.

“How about…Ben?” You smiled a little when he nodded.

“I’ll be listening closely to the whole conversation, if you say ‘Ben’ I’ll come and get you outta there.”

“Sounds good.” 

“Alright,” Butcher interrupted, “Soldier Boy keep me updated and if all goes well, Y/n, we won’t be seeing you again til later tonight.” He winked obnoxiously.

“If this guy genuinely tries to sleep with me I’ll break his fuckin’ nose,” you said flatly. “Info or no info, I ain’t letting him see me naked.”

**

Ben had gone in about a minute before you did and found a nice spot near where he knew you’d be sitting with the target. The second you walked in his eyes were glued. He stayed true to his word and listened to every word you and the target said.

“This seat taken, handsome?” you asked the man who then smirked at you. 

“It is now,” he said. “And what’s your name, gorgeous?”

“Goldie,” you lied as you took your seat. “What’s yours?”

“Steven. Let me buy you a drink?” he offered and called the bartender over when you nodded. 

“Vodka martini,” you ordered. “So Steven, what do you do for work?”

“I work for Vought,” he said and you faked an impressed look. 

“No way!” you gasped. “Oh my god, do you know The Seven?”

“I do,” he said with a nod, clearly full of himself. 

“That is so cool,” you continued stroking his ego. You nodded in thanks when the bartender handed you your drink and you took a sip. “I’ve never met someone so important!”

“You wanna know a secret?” he asked, you nodded enthusiastically. He leaned over so he could whisper into your ear; “I’m actually in The Deep’s close, personal circle.”

Your eyes went wide for a split second before you got a hold of yourself and whispered back; “Really?”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “I could introduce you if you’d like.” You pulled away from him slightly but still tried your best to keep yourself calm.

“Oh, that’s alright,” you shook your head, “I’m sure he’s too busy for little old me.”

“I’m never too busy.” The voice behind you made your whole body tense up and Ben could tell you were in trouble. You hadn’t said the code word though and he knew both you and Butcher would be mad if he screwed up the mission.

“Butcher,” Ben said into the intercom attached to his jacket, “Deep’s here.”

Butcher paused for a moment before he answered; “Don’t freak out. Y/n can handle herself and unless she says ‘Ben’ you don’t make a move, you understand Soldier Boy?”

“Understood,” he replied.

“You know,” The Deep said, still standing behind you, “I’ve had my eye on you since you walked in here, gorgeous.”

“Y-You have?” you asked, wondering if he recognized you or if your face just blurred together with all the other women he had assaulted. You took another sip of the drink in your hand and continued to keep a close eye on it to make sure it didn’t get spiked.

“I have,” he replied. “Now, why don’t you let my friend Steven here show you a nice time, then take you back to my place at Vought Tower?”

“S-Sounds good,” you trembled. “I-I’ll see you later tonight then, Deep.” You took another, smaller sip.

“Wonderful,” he said before he bent down and placed a kiss on your cheek. “Can’t wait to see this dress on my floor.” With that, he walked away and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Fish fucker’s left the building,” Ben told Butcher. “You gonna tail him or are we still focusing on Steven?”

“Stay focused on Steven, we can kill fish fucker another day,” Butcher said.

“So, you want another drink?” Steven asked you. “Or would you rather head over to the tower?”

“You know, I’d rather spend the night at your place, Steven.” You faked a sweet smile. 

“Really?” He raised a brow as a smirk returned to his face. “So, another drink, then?”

“How about I just let you take me home?” The moment you stood up you knew something was wrong. You instantly felt dizzy and sat back down. “Ben, help,” you whispered when you realized exactly what was happening. 

“Looks like we’re heading to the tower, Goldie,” Steven said. “Thanks as always, Pat.” He handed a couple hundreds to the bartender.

Ben came up behind Steven and pinned him against the bar with one hand, his other hand resting on the bar itself a few inches from where you were now slouched over.

“What the hell did you do to her, fuckface?” Ben seethed.

“I didn’t do anything! What’s your problem?” Steven yelled, drawing attention to the scene unfolding.

Ben took the back of the man’s head and brought it up half a foot before he slammed it back down onto the wood. 

“Tell me what you fuckin’ did or I’ll squish you like a bug,” Ben yelled as he applied more and more pressure to Steven’s head.

“Roofie!” Steven yelled. “Ask the bartender!”

“Ben don’t kill him,” Butcher told him through the earpiece. 

“He deserves to fuckin’ die, Butcher,” Ben replied.

“Yes he does but he still has information that we need. If you’ve gotta kill someone, kill the bartender who spiked the fuckin’ drink!”

Ben looked up from gravely injured Steven and saw the bartender cowering in the corner.

“Ben,” you whispered and reached out to touch the hand he still had on the counter. “Ben get me outta here.” His angered expression slowly faded as he looked down into your hooded eyes. “Please?”

“Yeah, I’ve got you,” Soldier Boy said before he quickly scooped you up in his arms and carefully kept your head resting on his shoulder. “Hey, barkeep,” he shouted and the man looked over at him. “Mark my words; no matter where you go or what you do I will find you and tear you limb from fucking limb for hurting her. Your days are fucking numbered.”

Ben hurried you out to the truck and sat you down on the seat next to his so you could lean on him if you wanted, or alternatively, you could lean against the window if you still didn’t want him touching you.

“Stay with her, I’m gonna go figure out how much they gave her and if we need to take her to the hospital,” Butcher told Soldier Boy before leaving.

“Ben,” you slurred, still barely able to open your eyes, “Ben what—what’d you do to me?”

“God fuckin’ damn it, Butcher,” he mumbled under his breath. He blamed Billy entirely for the operation going sideways and for you ending up in danger. “Fuck, you need to purge, sweetheart.” He positioned you so your head was hanging out the side door and stuck his fingers down your throat, ignoring your angered hits to his arms. “This is for your own good, stop fighting me.”

You hurled out the side door, Ben held onto you tightly and made sure you didn’t fall out or get hurt. 

“Please just let me go,” you whispered when he took his fingers out, satisfied with the amount of possibly deadly alcohol you were able to get out of your system.

“I know you’re scared right now, but I can’t let you go,” he told you. “I’m sorry.”

Butcher got back to the car pretty quickly, a worried expression on his face.

“How much did they give her?” Ben asked.

“Too fuckin’ much,” Butcher replied. “We’ve gotta make her puke it all up or she might not make it.”

**

You woke up on the couch to the sound of Butcher and Ben arguing in the kitchen, a splitting headache quickly made itself known when you opened your eyes fully.

“This is your fault, Butcher,” Soldier Boy yelled, “you and your stupid obsession to find Homelander. How dare you put her life at risk like that!”

“Hey I had the strongest man alive in there backing her up, so how the hell did you screw up so badly?”

There was a pause as you kept listing, a part of you was scared you’d start to hear punches being thrown.

Ben shook his head as he looked at his ‘boss’; “You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that? She’s been scared outta her fuckin’ mind and yet you just keep on pushin’ her and pushin’ her. And for what? To kill a Supe that’s probably dead already? You know Homelander ain’t a threat since I fuckin’ burned him, yet you still put someone you say you care about in danger.”

“‘Scared outta her fuckin’ mind’?” Butcher scoffed. “What’re you on about?”

“I know she’s terrified of me,” Ben admitted. “I know that you know she is, too. And yet you keep leaving her alone with me, why? Just to make her life worse? To make her feel less safe than she already does?”

“You sayin’ she’s got a reason to be scared of you, then?” Butcher asked. “Thought you were supposed to be some kinda hero?”

“Of course I’d never hurt her! But I’m still a Supe and I know you hate Supe’s. There’s no way in hell you trust me at all or you wouldn’t have her babysitting me every time you leave the fuckin’ house. What I don’t get is why you’re so comfortable leaving her here with the strongest man in the world when you think I’m a fucking monster.” Ben walked over to the fridge and took a bottled water out before he grabbed a cup and left the kitchen.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said quietly as he entered the living room. “I know you’re up, do you want some water?”

“What happened?” you asked as he squatted on the floor in front of the couch and made eye contact with you.  

“We can fill you in later, you should probably drink,” he said and held out the two items in his hands. “Would you rather the bottle or a cup?”

“Bottle’s fine,” you replied and you slowly sat up, putting a hand to your head before you took the water from him.

“You need some Aspirin or something?” he asked. 

“I’m sure Butcher ‘ll bring me some,” you said, making Ben’s brows furrow a little before he nodded with realization.

“You still don’t trust me much, do you?”

“Sorry,” you mumbled before beginning to drink the water. “What am I wearing, by the way?” you asked and gestured to the dirty, large black tee you had on over the blue dress.

“Oh, uh,” he scratched the back of his neck nervously, “it was on the car floor, I think it’s Butcher’s. I put it on you when uh, when you were kinda out of it and… your boob might’ve kinda… popped outta your dress.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I didn't… like I didn’t look or anything, I just saw the shirt and immediately put it over you.”

“Sure.” You nodded before you continued downing the bottled water.

“I’ll go get Butcher to bring you some painkillers,” Ben said before leaving the room.

**

You’d just gotten out of the shower and put on a new set of clean clothes when Butcher stopped you in the hall.

“How’s your head?” he asked.

“Better,” you replied flatly, still pretty frustrated with him.

“I’m sorry I was such an idiot,” he sighed, “I shoulda told Soldier Boy to get you hell outta there the second the fish fucker showed his ugly mug.”

“We needed intel on Homelander,” you reminded him. “My safety was just the price we had to pay.”

“And that was a fucked up currency for me to gamble with,” he said. “I’m sorry I’ve been so obsessed and I’m sorry for leaving you alone with Soldier Boy so much the past couple of weeks.”

You shrugged a little; “It’s no big deal.”

“I want you to know I’m done tryin’ to find Homelander.”

“Seriously?” Your eyes went wide and you furrowed your brows. 

“The cunt’s most likely down for the count anyway thanks to granny fucker downstairs and there are other Supes that are much bigger threats right now anyway. Like The Deep, for example, and the number of people he’s paying to help him get away with assaults like last night. I’ve been talking with Hughie and as it turns out, he’s already had his eye on a handful of other bartenders workin’ for fish dick.”

“So…what? You’re saying you’re gonna go back to your old job at Supe affairs and start hunting down these assholes in a more mentally-healthy way?” you asked.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

**

When you entered the living room you noticed Ben readjusting his position on the couch, as if to try and make himself appear less threatening.

“Hey,” you said quietly, a small smile on your lips as you sat down about two feet from him on the same couch.

“Hey,” he replied. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better.” You nodded. “You need help with the TV?” you asked, picking up the remote from where it sat on the coffee table in front of you.

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied. He watched you intently as you ‘worked your magic’ on the electronic contraption.

“I know I was completely at your mercy last night, Ben,” you said, focused on the TV and not looking over at him. “And I know you could’ve easily taken advantage of the fact I was out of it.”

“But I didn’t.”

“I know that, too.”

“But you still don’t trust me?”

“I want to,” you said. You reached out your left hand and gently placed it on his right one. He looked down at where your hands were touching and smiled softly. “I want to trust you, I just need time to get to know you.”

“You sayin’ you wanna get to know me?” he asked with a bit of a smirk before you nodded. The two of you stayed like that for a moment before Soldier Boy broke the silence; “So, where do we go from here?”

“How about we watch something together?” you suggested. 

“That sounds great, sweetheart.”

[hwanchaesong]

☞🍹Second Drink: Y'all bring gravity to shame because even with its constant pull of 9.81 m/s^2, it still can't put your drunken pieces back together. 🍸

🎧: The Weeknd - Hardest To Love

wc: 1.1k

genre & warnings: angst, fluff, renjun is hinted as an idol, cursing, themes of not taking care of oneself and break-up, reminiscing, exes to lovers, etc etc

a/n: this is a part of The After Hours Bar series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

"Thank you for coming, Y/N." Jeno opened the door of their dorm for you, greeting you with an awkward smile.

"It's no problem." you waved him off, going straight to the point, "Where is he?"

Jeno pointed in the direction of his room, thanking the man for his assistance and quickly going off to the ever familiar hallways of their flat.

It was like a routine at this point, you didn't even need to knock, entering the area that you promised not to step foot in again.

"Renjun?" you called but no response was heard, blindly reaching for a switch to illuminate the dark room. Once the light is on, the subject of your visit is now visible.

Thinner than the last time you saw him, tangled in his sheets and sprawled out on the bed, wearing a loose black shirt and an old yellow pajama pants, arms on his face and when the light disturbs his gloom, he lets out an annoyed groan.

"Jeno.. I told you, I'm not in the mood to eat." he grumbles like a child and it seems like he's so out of it that he wasn't able to hear you the first time.

"If you don't eat, you might get sick." you speak, and he zaps out of his mattress, eyes wide open.

He was frozen for a minute before he squinted, rubbing his lids and staring at your standing frame.

"Am I dreaming? Am I dead?" he asks, confusion written on his features and you hold in a chuckle when you saunter towards him, pinching in his cheeks that caused him to whine out of pain.

"See, I'm very much real." you assured, sitting down on the side of the mattress, watching him realize what is actually happening.

When his brain finishes processing the situation, he immediately avoids eye contact, head hung low as he questions why you're here.

You answered honestly with a gentle smile and tone, and it made him feel small. It reminded him how much of an asshole he was back when he can still call you his .(which is only for 3 days, dramatic af)

What the fuck do you mean that you came here solely for the reason of persuading him to take care of himself.

Stupid Jeno for snitching on him, but he's also kind of thankful of his friend's yapping, because he got to see your beautiful face again.

On the other hand, he thinks that it's unfair for you. He is not your problem anymore, yet here you are, giving him the time of your day that he doesn't deserve.

You loved him with all your heart, even so, he wasn't careful when you handed him your fragile purity. His negligence broke your delicate heart into tiny chunks of glitter.

He did watch you pick the pieces up, gluing it desperately because you wanted to stay with him, and that made him an enourmous shit ever for taking you for granted.

The forgotten dates, nonchalant words and actions, not giving you enough time, and the list goes on.

You gave him your everything and he gave you nothing in return.

Still, you always have that angelic smile on your face throughout the dying relationship. You're acting like everything is okay even when the household that you once called your home turned into a graveyard of past happiness.

You did your best to salvage whatever flame is left in your relationship, but inevitably, even God's strongest soldier does get tired too.

Thus, you let him go.

And the freedom that you gifted him brought nothing but misery. Renjun is willing to pay the price for his thoughtless actions, and he kicks it off with a mega sulking episode.

His friends just got sick of his childish tantrums, given that they are merely concerned for his well-being, they had no choice but to use their last resort. You.

"You do not need to do this." he utters, heart fluttering when he sees the bracelet that he gave you on your birthday last year on your wrist.

"I want to." you insist, plopping a plastic bag of food in front of him, "Now eat, you need to replenish your strength. Jeno said that you haven't been eating well for the past three days."

Renjun feels like crying... oh? His cheeks are wet? The fuck, it's salty too?

Ah, he's crying.

Your eyes widened at his tears, heart clenching painfully inside your chest yet you made no move to console him, because you are grieving as well.

"Renjun..." you trail off, staring at the teardrops falling onto his sheets,

"Y/N, why? Why are you this kind I- don't you regret l-"

"I don't." you cut his sentence short, not wanting to stain the flowery memories you have with him with his next words. "I don't regret anything when it comes to you. If anything, I should be thanking you for teaching me how to love, even if you prove it to be difficult to do."

He shakily reaches out for your hand, and you wince at the contact but make no move to stay away from the sudden intrusion.

"I don't deserve you." he whispers, finally looking up to peer at your sullen expression, "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry but I want to be selfish again. I want you back."

Your features soften, "Yeah, it's true you don't deserve me... Yet."

He is the biggest, fattest jerk of a boyfriend. But you won't be able to shake how caring and attentive he was during the short duration of your relationship. He just doesn't notice it because he was too busy dwelling in his mistakes.

He compliments you everyday, even when you look like bird shit. He cooks for you, helps you with your schoolwork even if he's tired from practice. Renjun is not a grand person when it comes to affection, but his little yet meaningful actions speak louder than words.

He showed you that love works in mysterious ways, not exactly perfect but magical nonetheless.

"Improve for me, Renjun. Be the man that I deserve and I will stay by your side while you go through that journey." you say, landing a comforting palm on his cheek and wiping the tears away.

Renjun hums, putting his own hand over yours, grabbing it and kissing the knuckles one by one, "I will."

He'll willingly cross the moon back to earth this time, make up for his mistakes and he'll ensure that he'll love you right this time around.

Loving Huang Renjun is as hard as letting him go, but for you, it’s the opposite. For you, loving him is as easy as breathing, a natural part of the life you’re living, and that is given because it is everything but a sham.

taglist:

@sunghoonsgfreal @yeosayang @mystverse @shakalakaboomboo

[brave-and-gentle]

Risk: Reader x Jean Fluff Part 5

Welcome to my land of delusion - where I keep saying this is the last chapter, and then it's not <3 (also is this even fluff anymore?? idk)

If this is your first time here, please check out Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 and Part 4.

If you prefer reading on Ao3, check it out here.

Pairings: femme reader x Jean

Summary: You deal with the aftermath of Jean catching you avoiding him. You contemplate if telling him the truth about your feelings is worth the risk.

Warnings: Alcohol??

Word count: ~6.7K

Three hours later, you've downed nearly three glasses of pink wine. Three very full glasses of wine, so maybe closer to four. Your senses are fuzzy. Gilmore Girls is playing on the TV – you don't even like Gilmore Girls that much, but the familiarity is comforting. Your eyes can't quite focus on the TV, and you're not sure if that's from your drunken state or the tears streaming down your face.

With one hand, you sip the last bit of your third glass and while your other hand holds your phone. Not for the first time, you reread the text messages you've sent to Sasha – and the one she finally sent you.

Sasha. I'm an idiot. I'm the world's biggest asshole.

Jean hates me now. And I deserve it.

God, Lorelei is toxic as hell. Also why isn't anyone shipping Lane and Jess?

I can't show my face anywhere in Trost now.

Shasa, are yo u coming home soon?? :(((

Oh babe. I'm so sorry. Be home soon. Stay strong, soldier xx

You sink deeper into the couch cushions and place your empty wine glass on the side table. On your phone, you open Instagram to make sure Jean hasn't blocked you. Thankfully, you can still see his last photo – a winter sunset with a Dylan Thomas poem. It's pretentious as hell.

“I'm acting like a psychopath,” you mutter to yourself and wedge your phone in between the cushions, lest you drunk text Jean. You heave yourself off the couch and grab your wine glass, ready for round four.

You're standing practically halfway inside the fridge, mid pour, when Sasha bursts through the door.

“Sasha!” You exclaim and run over to her, wine glass still in hand, and attack her with a hug.

“Hey,” she chuckles and takes the sloshing wine glass away from you. “Easy there.” She pries your leaden arms off her and glances at you with concerned amber eyes.

“What's wrong? What happened?”

“I – I ruined everything!” You collapse onto the floor in tears.

You haven't been this drunk since your college boyfriend broke up with you. When that happened, Ymir drank all night with you and the next morning, you were throwing up in the toilet upstairs and she was throwing up in the toilet downstairs.

Sasha sits down on the floor with you and crosses her legs.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Only if you give me that glass of wine back.” You point an accusing finger at her.

“No can do, sorry,” she wags her finger at you.

You pout, but you know she's right. God only knows what a fourth glass of wine would unleash. Or is it fifth by now? You're losing track.

“We can talk about it tomorrow when you're sober – if you want,” Sasha says and takes a swig of your wine. “Ooo, thanks for getting the pink wine!”

“You're welcome,” you mumble, head down.

“Do you want to take tomorrow off? Maybe you should call in now. Or I can call in for you.”

You sigh. “Probably should. I am not humanity's strongest soldier.” You take out your phone and open up your email for Sasha to send a message to your boss calling in sick. She types away and hands it back to you.

“You're off the hook for tomorrow. Let's get you to the bathroom – you'll kill me in the morning if you haven't washed your face.”

“Alright, alright,” you concede.

Sasha helps you up off the floor and guides you to the bathroom. After she makes sure you do your skin care routine and brush your teeth, she grabs snacks and watches another two episodes of Gilmore Girls with you. The two of you doze off on the couches, only to awaken when the winter sun streams through the living room curtains.

Your mouth is bone dry. Your neck is stiff from the couch. You sit up carefully, testing the waters. No dizziness. No aches, aside from your neck. And your stomach feels fine, albeit hungry. You let out a sigh – hangover successfully avoided.

Sasha remains dead asleep on the other couch. Her warm brown hair is strewn all over her face. You smile, grateful that she remained with you all night. You don't know what you've done to deserve Sasha Braus's friendship. You grab your phone – it's 9:30 am. Relief floods your body when you remember that you're “out sick” today.

But Sasha's not.

Shit.

You fly over to Sasha and shake her shoulder.

“Sasha! Sasha!!”

“Ugh . . .” A bit of drool hangs out of her mouth. Her eyes remain closed.

“Sasha! C'mon Sash – you're late for work!” You shake her shoulder harder.

“No – I dun't,” she mumbles and rolls over onto her back. “Called out.”

“Huh?”

“If you're out, I'm out. Now go to. . .go to. . .” Sasha unleashes a massive yawn, followed by gentle snores.

While Sasha sleeps the morning away, you clean up your wine glass and blanket fort from last night, tackle your disaster of a room – and try not to think about Jean.

And fail, of course, because everything reminds you of him.

You know he'd be horrified to know that you downed at least three glasses of cheap pink box wine. When you organize the scattered papers on your desk, you know Jean would ask what you've been working on. As you throw your clothes in the laundry basket, you wonder if his favorite sweatshirt smells just as good as him.

Guilt simmers in your stomach. Or maybe it's your stomach telling you to eat. Either way, you're torn between the need to find Jean and apologize, to explain – and to run far away from your feelings for him.

When Sasha reawakens an hour later, you two head to the restaurant Niccolo works at for brunch. It's a classically-styled diner, complete with red and white checkered tile and shiny red booths.

“Mimosas? On a Thursday morning?” Niccolo asks as he places the two drinks in front of you and Sasha. “Must be a celebration. Or a really rough day.”

“Definitely rough,” you grumble and take a sip of your mimosa. Niccolo raises an eyebrow at you, but you don't offer an explanation. The sweet citrus floods your taste buds.

“Can you bring us your brunch specials? Your super-extra-special specials? Pleeeease?” Sasha clasps her hands together and gazes at Niccolo with her best puppy dog eyes. “It's a most dire situation.”

“Dire?”

“Men,” she whispers and waves Niccolo away.

“Say no more.” He salutes and returns to the kitchen.

“So,” Sasha begins and takes a gulp of mimosa. “Spill. What happened?”

You don't particularly feel like rehashing the embarrassing scene, but like Niccolo, you are not immune to the effects of Sasha's amber brown eyes. So you spill it all – how you found out something did happen between Jean and Mikasa (as per Marco's request, you're vague about it), and how your solution was to avoid – and how you got caught with your boxed pink wine.

“Damn. Who knew my hankering for pink wine would get you in so much trouble?” Sasha asks and places her chin on her hand.

“It's my fault – don't blame the pink wine. She didn't do anything wrong.”

“As far as I'm concerned, the pink wine is on probation. We'll see how she does for the next week. Now,” Sasha pauses to take another sip, “the question is – what are you going to do?”

“I don't know,” you groan and run both your hands through your hair. “Jean ran out before I could even explain. I can't blame him. I wouldn't even want to talk to me now.”

“Explain what, exactly? What would you tell him now?”

“I – I – um,” you swallow, mouth dry, heart thundering. If you can hardly explain yourself to Sasha, how can you expect to explain yourself to Jean? Pathetic. You wring your hands together and stare at the floor.

“I get it,” Sasha sighs and sits back in the booth. “You know what happened when I told Niccolo that I liked him?”

You shake your head. The two of them had started dating shortly after Sasha moved into the duplex with you.

“I was sick for a week. I'm talking head-in-the-toilet for days.”

“Wait a second,” you say as you recall that Sasha was in fact in the bathroom for hours at a time shortly after the move. “That's why you were sick??”

“Love sick, that is,” Niccolo interrupts and places two plates containing what can only be called Sasha Braus's Bagel Monstrosity in front of you. The two slices of everything bagels are minuscule compared to, well, the everything in between them – a fried egg, shredded hash browns, cheddar jack cheese, Swiss cheese, two slices of bacon, tomato, avocado, lettuce, pickled onions, and a special sauce Niccolo refuses to disclose.

“Sasha, how the fuck-”

“Eat now, talk later,” she says and somehow manages to open her mouth wide enough to take a bite without cracking her jaw open.

“I can finish the story for her,” Niccolo says and plops down next to Sasha. She gives him a thumbs up without taking her eyes off her plate. “Sasha was a regular here for months. We even came up with her Bagel Monstrosity together. Then one day when I'm bussing her table, I see that her receipt has something written on it – her cell phone number. I text her as soon as my shift is over, but I don't get a response that night. I thought okay, no worries, maybe she's working or something. But the next day, I still don't get a response. Or the day after that. After three days, I start to think maybe it was some sort of prank.”

Mouth full of food, Sasha rolls her eyes.

“So what did you do?” You ask and in contrast to Sasha, you use your fork to take a bit of hash browns.

“I couldn't do anything,” Niccolo shrugs. “She was usually here every couple days, but not seeing her for a full week? I was going crazy trying to figure out what I did wrong, why she wouldn't respond to me.”

“Tho then I cah huh,” Sasha breaks through her feeding frenzy, albeit with a mouth full of food. Niccolo smiles at her – even with the small chunk avocado on her chin and her hands smothered in melted cheese, Sasha is his sun.

“So then she came here,” he translates and wipes the avocado chunk off her chin with his thumb. “She demanded to know why I hadn't texted or called. Turns out she was so nervous that she wrote one of the digits wrong.”

“You've gotta be kidding me,” you laugh and dig into Sasha's Bagel Monstrosity.

“No joke. And I'm forever grateful Sasha showed up to set the record straight.” Niccolo squeezes her shoulder, but Sasha remains utterly focused on her breakfast. “Seriously though,” he turns to you with earnest blue eyes, “it's so much easier to just be honest with each other and to ask the burning questions.”

“Yours was pretty low stakes though,” you point out.

“I suppose it was in the end, but I didn't know it at the time. You don't know until you ask. Or until a feral, hungry woman bursts into your kitchen.”

“And beautiful,” Sasha adds and licks her fingertips for the last remnants of her breakfast.

“Correct,” Niccolo says and hands her a napkin. “I gotta get back to the kitchen – oh don't worry about the bill, it's on the house!” He waves and walks toward the kitchen.

“Thanks, Niccolo!” Sasha beams.

“So what would you have done if Niccolo didn't text you because he didn't want to go out with you?” You ask.

“Hmm,” Sasha pauses and looks at the ceiling in thought. “I probably wouldn't show my face in here for a while. Or ever. Which would've been such a disappointment because it's one of the best spots in Trost. But,” she holds up a finger, “I wouldn't have regretted it for a second. Because at least I would've known. So what's the worst that can happen if you tell Jean how you really feel?”

Your stomach churns at the thought – or is it the Bagel Monstrosity? “He says he's still in love with Mikasa and I have to change my name and enter witness protection.”

“C'mon,” Sasha says your name and face palms. “If he doesn't feel the same, yeah it'll be awkward for a bit, but there's enough of us that it wouldn't be too bad. Connie and I got your back no matter what happens.”

The tension in your shoulders loosens slightly. “Thanks, Sash.”

She's right and you know it. In the worst case scenario, your new friend group is big enough that you wouldn't need to interact with Jean. Plus, none of them are the kind to give either of you a hard time about it, though it might give Eren more ammo against Jean.

“Also remember,” Sasha continues, “he literally kissed you. Jeanboy is not the type to just kiss people he doesn't like.”

“I would hope not.” Your toes curl inside your shoes as you remember the night at the ice sculptures. Was it false hope, or was it evidence?

“I'm thinking about this too much – let's get out of here,” you say and slide out of the booth.

“Done and doner.”

~ ~ ~

Despite Sasha's pleas, you don't go to Thursday night trivia later that evening. You're not quite ready to face Jean – you need more time. Instead, you Facetime Historia and Ymir and catch up with their new adventures on the west coast.

As soon you get home from work on Friday, your phone buzzes in your parka pocket. You grab it, hoping that it says “Jean” at the top.

It's Marco.

Ready to be released from stitch jail?

PLEASE.

Haha, great! I'm home now if you want to pop over and we'll take care of it.

Be there in a few.

Since you still have your parka and hat on, you immediately dash over to Marco's place – which is also Jean's place. Shit. Will he be there too? He probably still thinks you're avoiding him because you didn't show up to trivia last night.

Your heart pounds, sending numbing waves cascading down your arms and legs. Or is the numbness from the bitter cold outside? You penguin-walk to their apartment and fly up the stairs leading to their building entrance – and nearly slide on some ice on the middle step. Marco buzzes you in and you sigh with relief as the building heat floods your body.

When you reach their apartment door, you tentatively knock. What would you even say to Jean now? This isn't exactly a great time to try to explain yourself – not while Marco's removing your stitches.

“It's open!” A familiar voice shouts. It's not Jean or Marco.

You open the door, it creaks, and you find Eren on the couch. He's munching on flamin' hot Cheetos.

“Don't tell Jean I'm eating Cheetos on his couch, he'll kill me,” Eren says as you hang up your parka.

“Your secret is safe with me.” All too easy, considering you're not talking. “So,” you rock back on your heels, “Jean isn't here?”

“Nope,” Eren crunches on Cheetos. “He bounced as soon as Marco said you were coming over.”

“Ah.” Your feet are frozen on the floor. You look around for Marco.

“Completely ruined our drunk Mario Kart game.” Eren points to the paused screen (it looks like they were just about to start Rainbow Road) and dusts off his Cheeto-covered hands. The orange flakes swirl around like dust motes. You attempt to stop yourself from smiling – because you know Jean would in fact absolutely throttle Eren for getting Cheeto dust on his couch.

“Wait a second, is Marco-”

“I'm not drunk!” Marco's voice calls from the bathroom. “I'm just getting set up in here for stitch removal – I'll let you know when I'm ready.”

“Okay, sounds good!” You respond.

You shuffle awkwardly by the door, unsure of how to behave around Eren. You've never been alone with him before.

“Care to join me in the waiting room?” Eren gestures to the couch cushion next to him. “You can take over for Jean since he jumped ship.”

“You sure?” You sit down next to Eren and grab the abandoned controller on the coffee table next to half empty red solo cup. The controller is still warm from Jean's hands. You wonder if his palms were sweaty.

“Abso-fricken-lutely. He went to go hang with Reiner and Bert for the rest of the night, and I need to finish our last race. You game?” Eren gazes at you with his familiar mischievous green eyes.

“You're on.” You nod and turn your attention to the screen. Eren chose Donkey Kong and Jean chose Bowser. Somehow, this tracks. “You're really ending on Rainbow Road? Masochists, the two of you.” You shake your head in disbelief.

“On the contrary, it's the best way to test our drunk skills. You ready?”

“Ready.” You grip the controller tighter, as if that'll help you. You haven't played Mario Kart since you were what, 15? Maybe 16?

The timer, ticks down, 3. . .2. . .

“So what's up with you and Jean?”

Startled by Eren's invasive question, you miss your jump start and several characters run you over flat. You grit your teeth.

“Damn it Eren, you distracted me!”

“Sorry not sorry,” he says as he cruises right into first place. “But for real – you two went from eye fucking each other every week at trivia to avoiding each other like Annie avoids Reiner's hugs. What gives?”

“Anybody ever tell you how blunt you are?” You narrowly avoid careening off the edge of the rainbow and then throw a red shell at the next character.

“Every once in a while. Now answer the question.” You two complete the first lap. Eren's still in first, and you're solidly in sixth.

“Nothing.” You slip on a banana peel. “Fuck.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nothing for you to be concerned about.”

“Jean and I may fight a lot, but he's my comrade – now what did you do?”

You catch up to Eren, but he slams into you and sends you flying off Rainbow Road.

“For fuck's sake Eren!”

“Did you think I'd take it easy on you?” he asks with glee.

“Definitely not,” you huff under your breath and wait to get placed back on the road.

“Did you fight?” He presses.

“Not exactly.” You speed back up to reclaim your sixth place. “We're just. . .not really talking right now.”

“Yeah yeah, we all know that, but what's the tea?”

“My god, can anyone have a private life around you?” You'd rather pitch yourself off a real life Rainbow Road then have the whole group know your feelings for Jean.

“Hardly. Everything gets out in our group eventually. Especially with Annie – you wouldn't know it, but she talks mad shit.”

“Really?” You accurately aim a green shell and temporarily send Eren spinning. You overtake him as you begin the final lap. “Ha! Gotcha.”

“Agh,” he groans. “Oh yeah, she knows everything about everyone, so better to tell me now before Annie finds out and tells everyone.”

You sigh with resignation, but you still hesitate to tell Eren since he's indirectly involved per his relationship with Mikasa. “I just. . .” you pause as you fight off Koopa Troopa, “don't know if he actually likes me the way I like him. So I started avoiding him. And it blew up in my face. Happy?”

“Hmm. Well take it from me. . .goddamnit!” He yells as he tries to crash into you, but ends up spinning off the edge of the road. You smirk in victory – you're closing in on the last bit in first place. “If you like someone, you should tell them. Before it's too late.”

“And you have personal experience with this?” You press, wondering if he'll reveal what went down between Jean and Mikasa. You speed up closer and closer to the finish line with Eren right on your heels.

“C'mon, c'mon,” he says and leans forward.

“Damnit!” He yells at the same time you yell “Got 'em!”

The familiar ending chimes – you've won Rainbow Road. “You're good.” Eren admits defeat and places his controller on the coffee table. He places his hands behind his head and leans back into the couch. “To answer your question – yes. We've only got so much time here. Best to tell the truth and take the risk.”

“And what risk did you take?” You cross your legs and shift toward Eren.

“Telling my childhood best friend I was in love with her.” Mikasa, obviously. You heard how Eren and Mikasa's parents were family friends, so when her parents died in a car accident, Grisha and Carla didn't hesitate to adopt Mikasa.

“And what would you have done if she didn't feel the same way about you?”

“Honestly?” Eren places a finger on his chin. “I can't imagine I would've taken it well, not at first at least. I really would've kicked myself for speaking up too late – and I almost did.”

“What do you mean?”

The bathroom door squeaks open. Marco calls your name.

“I'm ready when you are,” he says with a smile.

“Oh, sure.” You stand up and join him in the bathroom.

“So how was the past week?” Marco asks as you sit down in front of the sink.

“Shitty.” You place your hand on your chin and turn away, just like last time. “I'm sure you know he's not speaking to me. Has he. . .you know, said anything at all?” You can hardly bring yourself to even say Jean's name to his best friend.

“Oh, uh,” Marco stutters as he puts his gloves on. Tools click together, but you don't dare turn your head to see what. A tugging begins on your thumb, a familiar sensation from last week. “I was asking about the stitches.”

“Oh.” Your face heats up like a lizard under a lamp. “Um, in that case, not quite as shitty. It hurt for the first two days but the last few were better. Pain in the ass to keep the stitches out of water.”

“For sure, stitches on the hands are tricky devils.” A few moments of silence pass. You stare at the aqua tiled bathroom floor. There's a small dot of toothpaste on the floor. You smile, imagining a sleepy Jean trying to squeeze toothpaste and not realizing he's missed. His hair probably sticks up everywhere in the morning.

Stop thinking about him.

Stop

stop

stop

“And no, Jean hasn't said much about you. But I figured something happened since he's been in a mood the past two days.”

“Does everyone know?” You groan.

Marco chuckles. “There are no secrets here. Though it doesn't help that Jean unintentionally wears his heart on his sleeve. He was picking fights with everyone at trivia last night, and he kept looking at the door.”

“Yeesh.”

“Almost done. . .” Marco trails off. “Are you going to talk to him soon?”

“I know I should. I just don't know if he's going to want to hear what I have to say.” And you're not sure if you want to hear what he might say – that he's still holding a candle for Mikasa.

“Give him a little time. Jean really appreciates honesty. He'll come around soon.”

“I hope so. I feel horrible about us avoiding each other like this.”

“Aaaand, done!” Marco proclaims. “With the stitches, that is. You're a free bird.”

You turn to examine your thumb. Marco holds it with tender care as he gives your wound a closer look. “It's not quite as healed as I'd like it to be considering I just took the stitches out, but you should be good. Just keep it clean and make sure none of Sasha's snacks get stuck in there.”

“I'll do my best,” you laugh. “Anyways,” you stand up. “Thanks a ton, Marco. I owe you.”

“No problem.” He beams back at you with a freckled smile. “You can pay me back by returning my roommate to me a little less grumpy.”

“No promises.” You raise your eyebrows. “But I'll try.”

~ ~ ~

The next night, you're loitering outside of an upscale apartment complex closer to downtown Trost. Hitch invited all of you to a party at her penthouse.

Penthouse, you think to yourself and shake your head. How Hitch could afford to live in a place like this was a mystery to you. And so was how Connie's booty call and turned into a – well, none of you were quite sure what this had turned into for the couple. It seemed to be more than a booty call, less than a serious relationship. More than friends, less than lovers. Regardless, Sasha was thrilled that Hitch invited you all to a party at her penthouse. Allegedly, you could see the Mitras skyline from her windows.

The bitter Trost wind picks up and you shiver in your leather jacket. You weren't sure what was appropriate to wear to an upscale penthouse party, so you ended up in dark jeans, your favorite blouse, and a leather jacket.

Despite the harsh February wind, you don't budge any closer to Hitch's apartment complex. The thought of arriving alone and more than likely seeing Jean is spinning your head. Plus the fact that everyone probably knew by now that things had soured between you two.

You pull out your phone and text Sasha.

Hey, can you come down and walk me in?

What are you talking about? You know everyone here.

But I don't know Hitch that well. And Jean's probably there. Please??

Oh my god. Babe. You're ridiculous. Jean's not even here yet. Just get in here!

Maybe I'll just go home then.

GIRL. Okay fine. I'll meet you halfway. Just come up the elevators and I'll meet you there.

That's not halfway, but okay.

You groan to yourself and hop up the stairs inside. You know you're being ridiculous, but Sasha has become your emotional safety net.

The ceilings inside the lobby are way higher than code. Golden chandeliers dangle from the ceiling. The marble floors reflect your unnerved reflection right back at you.

“Rich people,” you mutter to yourself and hit the up button on the elevator. It dings immediately. You step inside and hit the button for the top floor.

“Wait for me!” An all too familiar voice shouts.

Shit.

Fuck.

Fuck me. Not literally. Maybe literally.

Despite your best interests, you place your arm in front of the elevators doors to hold them.

Jean rushes in, face flushed from running and the cold. His ash brown hair is sticking up everywhere, like he tried to style it but it immediately fell apart when he stepped outside.

“Oh.” He screeches to a halt, but he's already inside the elevator.

“Hi.” You give a soft wave and an awkward smile.

The doors shut and the elevator rises.

You and Jean look anywhere but at each other. The marble floor – why the hell does even the elevator have a marble floor? Your reflection in the walls. The ceiling. Your boots. Anything.

You shove your hands in your jacket pockets and purse your lips.

It's dead silent, aside from the god forsaken elevator music. Actual elevator music.

You wrack your brain for any moment more awkward than this.

But this is more awkward than when your shorts split in volleyball.

It's worse than when you presented for speech class in 10th grade and accidentally said “orgasm” instead of “organism.”

And far worse than the one time you walked in on Historia and Ymir.

It's less than 30 seconds by the time the elevator reaches the top floor, but it's the most agonizing 30 seconds of your life.

Jean clears his throat as the elevator dings to signal that you've reached your destination.

But the elevator doors don't open.

The glowing button signaling the floor number shuts off. You rock back and forth from your toes to your heels.

“What the hell,” Jean mutters and hits doors open button. It dings, but once again, the doors don't open.

Refusing to accept that for an answer, Jean steps forward and reaches his fingers inside the doors and pries the doors apart. He's strong, really strong, and almost has them open, but the elevator dings and the doors begin to shut on him. Jean rips his hands away at the last minute.

“Shit,” he says and wipes his hands on his pants.

He repeats his actions, but to no avail. The doors open slightly, but then the elevator automatically shuts them every time.

It's no use.

You and Jean are stuck in the elevator together.

“No way,” Jean grunts as he pries the elevator doors open for a third time.

“Jean,” you say, his name now a strange feeling in your mouth. He ignores you and continues prying open the doors. “Jean.”

“What,” he snaps as the door close on him for the fourth time.

“It's stuck.”

“Yeah, no shit,” He takes a step back from the elevator.

You huff in response.

“I'll call Sasha.” You pull your phone out and thankfully, she responds.

“Hitch is running downstairs to the front desk to get help,” Sasha says. “It might be a while – I'm so sorry! Do you have food with you? Are you hungry?”

“I'm alright,” you lie. Your stomach rumbles in response, and Jean tries and fails to suppress a snort. “Jean's here too, by the way.” He whips his head in your direction at the mention of his name.

“Oh. OH. Oh.”

“He can hear everything you say. In case you were wondering.”

“Hi, Jean boy! We'll hurry, Hitch is so sorry!”

“Text me updates?” You clutch your phone like a life line. Sasha's voice is the only force strong enough to break the tension, but you can't keep her on the phone forever.

“Absolutely. Gotta go now, Hitch is calling me – good luck in there!”

Sasha hangs up before you get a chance to say goodbye.

You sigh, lean back against the wall, and slide down to take a seat on the ridiculous marbled floor. “It might be a while.”

“Yeah, I heard.” Jean says in a neutral tone. He remains standing and rubs the back of his neck.

The elevator music continues its loop for the third time. Your palms sweat even though it's quite temperate in the elevator. You stare at your black boots. Jean stares at the wall.

Your stomach rumbles again – it practically echoes in the elevator. You bring your knees up to your chest.

This is somehow worse than a few years back when you got your period during a restaurant shift – unbeknownst to you until a customer pointed out the blood on your pants to you.

Jean digs his hand in his pocket, ruffles around, and brings out a protein bar.

He clears his throat. “Hungry?” He takes a step toward you and hands you the protein bar.

Is this a peace offering?

“Oh – thanks.” You accept Jean's offering, unwrap the bar, and take a bite.

It's like you swallowed a spoon full of sawdust. You choke and cough.

“Jean – I'm sorry,” you cough again and sputter, “but the hell is this?”

“Oh, they're Reiner's protein bars. I haven't tried them yet. Are they bad?” He bites his bottom lip in effort to keep himself from laughing, but his hazel eyes are apologetic.

“ArE tHeY bAd?” You mock as you gulp down the last remnants. “Reiner must have burned off his taste buds. Here.” You hold out the unwrapped protein bar with a single bite taken out. “You try.”

Jean obliges. He accepts your offering and takes a bite.

His eyes bulge immediately.

“Oh shit,” he coughs. “What the actual fuck-” He coughs harder.

You grab your bag and rustle through the contents to find your water bottle.

“Here.” You toss it to Jean, who skillfully catches it with one hand. He takes several gulps. You can't help but watch his Adam's apple bob up and down.

This is not even sexual. What is wrong with you?

Stop it.

Stop it.

“Thanks,” Jean sighs with relief and hands your water bottle back to you. “I think you're right – someone's gotta cut Reiner off from boiling-hot coffee. That was awful.”

“No problem.” You grab your water bottle and take a sip, and try not to think about how Jean's mouth was just in the same place as yours.

He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms. “Any updates from Sasha?”

You pull our your phone and find a text from her saying that the maintenance team is on their way. You relay the message to Jean.

“Guess it really will be a while,” he huffs and sits down criss-cross applesauce. With his height, he looks like an over-sized kindergartner. You nod in agreement.

The elevator music begins a fourth loop. You nod your head to the beat and wonder how long it will be until you lose your mind from the music – or from Jean sitting five feet away from you.

“Hey, um. . .” Jean trails off. You jerk your head up, but he's looking down at his feet. He bites his bottom lip for a second. “Did I -” he raises his head to look at you and you instantly wish he didn't. Jean's hazel eyes water ever so slightly. “Did I do something to you?” He asks, his voice wavering.

You suck in a breath. Your stomach ties itself in several knots. You grip your knees tight, dying to curl inside yourself and disappear. Your heart pangs.

“No.” Your voice shakes. “Well, not exactly. Not really. Um, I'm not sure how to explain -”

“It's okay. You can be honest with me,” Jean says while holding steady eye contact. “I'd rather you be honest. Even if it hurts.”

You suck in a deep breath. Inside an immobile elevator is not exactly where you imagined this conversation happening. You wring your hands together. You curl your knees tighter to your chest.

If Jean says he's still hung up on Mikasa, you're still stuck in this elevator with him.

But when else are you going to have a chance to explain yourself alone with him like this?

At least there will be alcohol after. Connie always says “win or lose we booze.”

You take another deep breath.

Maybe it's worth the risk.

“Alright.”

You clear your throat, making way for your word vomit.

“When we kissed after the ice sculptures, I thought there'd be more of that. The kissing that is, uh, not the ice sculptures. But weeks passed by, and it was like that night never happened. And then you painted that picture of me. And I know that doesn't necessarily mean anything, but still.” You know you're beginning to jabber, but there's no stopping this meat soup. “But then at the brewery, you insisted we were just friends. And that's fine, if that's how you feel, really. But then we almost kissed after the wine bar – and I got so confused, Jean. Then I noticed, um, you get in a mood when you see Eren and Mikasa. Together. I mean your fist was literally shaking under the table at trivia and so I asked Marco and he said you two went on a date once. Um, you and Mikasa that is, not Eren.” Jean chuckles softly at this, but you refuse to meet his gaze. You pause, unsure of where your word meat soup has led you.

“What I'm wondering is. . .is if you still like Mikasa. That would – that would suck. For me. But I'd understand. Oh,” you pause, collecting yourself as you realize you haven't addressed Jean's question in the slightest. “But that's why I bailed on you. It wasn't because I didn't like you or want to hang out with you. It was because I was nervous that you were still hung up on her. I'm really sorry, Jean.”

You take off your jacket as heat flushes your body head to toe. As a writer, you're mortified by the steaming garbage that spewed out of your mouth.

The elevator music begins a fifth loop. You stare at the marble floor.

A low rumbling echoes from above the elevator. The maintenance team must be here.

“And why,” Jean begins, “would that suck? If I liked Mikasa?” His tone is neutral, but when you glance up, Jean's hazel eyes tell a different story.

They're shimmering with hope.

“Because,” you swallow, even though your throat is still chalky from Reiner's nasty ass protein bar, “because I like you, Jean. More than friends. I miss our coffee shop time.”

A soft smile spreads across Jean's face.

“Yeah, I miss you too,” he says your name. He scoots closer to you so you're inches away. “I'm sorry for being so confusing. I know what it's like to feel second best, and I never meant to make you feel like that.”

“So then what was going on?” You ask. Jean is so close you're breathing in his cologne – cedar?

He sighs. “I let my fear get the best of me. And my pride. That's why I backed off. I wish I didn't. But to answer your question,” he scratches the back of his head, ruffling his hair up even more, “no, there's nothing between Mikasa and I. Nothing more than friends.”

Relief floods through your body, though you still have more questions.

“So, where does that leave us?” You prod. You trace your kneecap with your finger, waiting for an answer.

“I'd like to make it up to you. If you'll let me.”

“And how would you do that?” Your heart skips a beat.

“By kissing you. And telling you how I really feel about you.” Jean turns to you and hovers his face closer and closer to yours, until you're making direct eye contact. “May I?” He whispers.

“You may.” You smile and lift your chin.

Jean leans forward and cups your neck with his hand. He presses his soft lips against yours. You breath him in, the stuck elevator forgotten.

He presses his forehead to yours. He keeps on hand in the space between your neck and shoulder, while his other hand holds yours, lacing your fingers together.

“I like you,” he breaths your name.

He likes me.

Jean likes me.

Until the elevator doors ding, startling both of you. The doors open to reveal Connie with his arms thrown up in victory. Eren lingers behind him. A few maintenance workers wave at you as they clean up their tools.

“Hey, you guys kissed and made up! Literally!” Connie yells.

“For fuck's sake, Connie,” Jean grumbles as he stands up. Your hand remains in his, so he pulls you up as well.

“You're free!” Eren chimes in. He stares at your hands and smirks as you and Jean.

“C'mon,” Connie says and waves you to follow him down the hall. “Hitch has a full bar set up. I can't believe you two were stuck in that elevator. . .that's like, seven minutes in heaven for adults!”

“Connie,” you chastise him. “Maybe you and Hitch should get in there and see what you can do before the elevator reaches the bottom floor.”

Jean coughs down a laugh.

“Actually,” Connie pauses, eyes widening. “That's a great idea.” He darts down the hall before you can get another word in. Eren winks at you with mischievous green eyes as he follows Connie.

Jean sighs. “So that's the kind of night it's going to be.”

You raise an eyebrow, asking for further explanation.

“I'll be cleaning up after Connie tonight. Don't be surprised if you end up holding Sasha's hair back.”

“I suppose I owe her a favor. Shall we? ” You point to the door leading to Hitch's penthouse.

Jean smiles – it's a smile that could melt all of Trost in mere seconds.

“We shall. Together?”

“Together.”

[onecanonlife]

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 7,998

Chapter Warnings: swearing, blood, violence, injury, threatened death, sui.cidal ideation, mind control, manipulation, victim blaming

Chapter Summary: In which Wilbur makes a desperate choice.

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Twenty: dark into the heat

No. No, no, no, he needs to ignore it. He knows better than to listen, knows better than—

He can feel it. He can feel it poking around in his mind. He can feel it again. And it knows he can feel it. It knows, and it’s smug about it. It’s smug because it knows he hates the sensation, feels violated by it, and it likes that, likes the power it has over him. His stomach lurches, and he staggers. Purpled watches him, advancing slowly.

But no. No, he can’t give in, can’t let it distract him. He can’t.

“What’s it offering you?” he gasps out. He tries to stand straighter, but the world around him wavers and ripples, and not just in the heat. He can feel it, feel it still, though it has not yet spoken again. It is going to. It is going to, going to speak to him with honeyed words and dripping promises, going to coax and persuade and worm its way inside, and knowing that it’s coming doesn’t make it any easier to bear.

Only time will tell whether it makes it easier to resist.

Purpled shrugs, still approaching. Once he attacks again, he’s done for. He can’t fight off Purpled on a good day, much less now.

“Money,” Purpled says. “I mean, what else? It’s a job.”

And the way he says it is as if—

“It’s not controlling you,” he says, and wonders how he didn’t realize it before. Purpled looks completely unchanged. No part of him has faded to white or deepened to red, and his voice holds none of the fanatic edge that the Egg’s followers possess. “It’s just paying you.”

“I don’t like the thought of being mind controlled,” Purpled agrees. “But I do like being paid. So, like I said, sorry. But I’ve taken the job.”

“I’ll double whatever they’re paying you to switch sides,” he says. “Or not even switch sides, if you don’t want. Just stay out of it. Don’t attack me and mine. Leave.”

Purpled tilts his head. He’s listening. Good. His grip on his sword does not relax, but he pauses in his approach.

“How do I know you’re good for it?” he asks.

“I’m good for it because my brother is Technoblade,” he says. “You know, the Blood God? Nigh on impossible to defeat in combat, one of the richest people on the server? He honors the agreements he makes, and I, as his brother, can make one for him. You’ll get your money.”

“So the money’s not even yours,” Purpled says. “But—Technoblade, you say? And you just want me to stay out of it?” He pauses. “Triple it and you’ve got a deal.”

“Done.”

And just like that, Purpled nods. There may be some measure of relief in his face; Wilbur isn’t sure. But perhaps Purpled was never all that comfortable taking orders from the thing, money or no. But Purpled nods, and Purpled moves toward the exit, and Jack, at least, notices, and shouts, “Traitor!” Some of the vines spring to life, attempting to stop him from leaving. But Purpled slices through them easily enough, with a practiced and steady hand, and then he’s vanishing up the corridor.

He didn’t expect it to be that easy.

(but at the end of the day, mercenary or not, isn’t Purpled still a child, too? a teenager caught up in forces beyond his control, just trying to make it through to another day? perhaps he was looking for an out all along, and if that is the case, he is more than happy to give him one, and not just for his own sake)

You have always been clever, the Egg says, always been quick with your words and quick to spin a deal in your favor, quick to have them all dancing to your tune, so very quick to use whatever power you have, so very quick, but you know better than to thank yourself for it, know better than to believe that it lends you superiority, and you know better than to believe that this is a victory at all, know better than to believe you have accomplished anything. What is your plan, Wilbur Soot? What blow do you seek to strike against me?

He shakes his head. It’s digging deeper, like a swarm of stinging hornets crawling in his skull. He takes a few clumsy steps forward, begging his blurry vision to resolve. It doesn’t, not quite, but he can see well enough to know what’s happening, to see that Jack and Niki are concentrated on their attack, that Tubbo is vicious in his counters and Tommy is halfhearted, and Fundy—where is Fundy—?

There, a few feet away, crouched on the ground, hands on his ears. The whites of his eyes are visible, and he rocks back and forth slightly. “Shut up,” he says, barely audible, “shut up, no, no, I’m not listening to you, leave me alone—”

He sees red for a different reason.

“Stop it,” he rasps. “Stop it. Leave him be, leave them all be.”

They are with me because I give them everything they want, everything they dream, and if your little wonder, your little champion joins my ranks then it is because you have failed him, because you cannot give him the love he deserves, and that is no one’s fault but yours, ash child, the Egg says, and he nearly doubles over with the force of it, with the truth of it.

(no, no, not truth, not truth, because here before you is a true monster the true villain the true enemy and it lies and manipulates as part of its nature and you can feel its claws in you and you should not think that just because it agrees with your own warped perception of yourself that it is right because you are just beginning to learn that perhaps you are not right yourself not right about yourself and remember what Phil told you, about healing and deserving)

But then, the Egg keeps on, isn’t that better to think about, isn’t that nicer than to imagine his blood spilling across my roots, for I am hungry and I will be fed, and if not with your boy’s blood then with that of someone else but is it not better to imagine him becoming one with me and mine, for is it not better to offer him up to me than to lose him?

(no)

“I’d lose him either way,” he says. “Don’t fuck with me, I’d lose—I’d be losing him just as surely.”

And perhaps he’s already lost him. Perhaps his son no longer wants a father at all. But even if that is the case, he will be damned before he allows the Egg to take him. So he lurches forward again. Draws his bow from his inventory. Fires off a shot. He’s not even thinking about it, really, but he fires off a shot, and he aims it for Jack Manifold

(and he can’t remember the last time he saw Jack Manifold, but he vaguely thinks that he may have taken one of his lives as well, maybe, in the heat and the rush of things, and he can’t remember whether it was a mistake or on purpose but neither matters right now)

and it flies wide. He doesn’t see where it lands. He nocks another arrow to the string. His hands shake. Niki drives Tubbo back with a ferocious flurry of attacks, and Jack is on Tommy, and if he doesn’t do something about this, there will be blood spilled here. Blood watering the roots.

You know you could stop this, the Egg says, you know that it is within your power, for I have offered you everything, everything you desire, and I shall give you fire and I shall give you rest and I shall give you your brother’s safety assured and he will not be harmed by me and mine and we shall look after him, for now and for always, he shall be mine as all creatures must be or perish but he shall be safe, and you can rest knowing you have done everything and have everything you want in the end, and it can all be yours and you know this.

“Shut up,” he says. “Shut up.” Just a few more steps. Why does he feel so far from them when he’s only a few steps away? Just a few more steps and he can join the battle, can drive them back and away from those he’s sworn to protect,

(but these were his countrymen and he swore to protect them too and now look at them all children in a war that spiraled out of their control and never ended the soldiers never coming home because there was no home to return to and so the soldiers keep on marching on and they cannot learn to put their weapons down because there is no place to let them rest and no assurance of safety and the war continues whether seen or unseen and the soldiers keep on marching on)

and he can draw his sword even though his swordplay has never been his strongest suit.

Except, no, he needs to use the sword for something else, needs to—the Egg has to be the priority, because if he destroys the Egg, then this will all come to a close, and—

Then you have a choice to make, child of flames and of destruction, the Egg says, and it sounds terribly, horribly amused, and he can’t help but clutch the side of his head as it seems to laugh at him, awful and grating, like his skull has fractured and the shards are being driven into his brain. You have a choice to make, and shall you try to save the ones you hold dear and shall your efforts be fruitless, or shall you raise your hand against me, shall you defy that which you know you seek, that which you know you love, shall you raise a hand against me and fail again, shall you call yourself child of failure and lay your impotency bare.

And then, the Egg stops.

I see, it says. You have a sword.

He inhales sharply.

(it’s in your head and it knows it knows it knows your mind is its for the taking and now it knows)

Niki draws back from Tubbo, face twisting. Tubbo comes to stand beside Tommy again, protectiveness screaming in every line of his stance. Even Jack pauses, and Fundy looks up at him, tears in his eyes, shoulders shaking.

Tommy is staring at him, on his face a dawning dismay.

A sword blessed by the universe and granted by the shell of what was once a god, the Egg says, and suddenly, Wilbur can feel—something else. Something through the Egg, something else looking at him, aware of him. Something that feels like the Egg, but isn’t quite, and he thinks—it’s Dream. Dream is watching, though Dream is blocks away, fighting a battle of his own. A sword meant to destroy the void stuff, the darkness, the corruption, a sword you believe will avail you.

It speaks, and the whole room can hear it. Its voice reverberates in more minds than just his.

You are a thing of dust and ash and soot, and the name you chose for yourself was a prophesy, the Egg says, and you may pretend to have the strength to raise your steel high and drive it against me, you may pretend, but I know you better than you know yourself and I know that even if you had the strength, you would fail, because you have a choice to make and there is only one correct path, only one way out for you, only one way, and you will see it, and you will take it, and what use will your sword be, then?

“You talk a big game for something that the universe itself has sided against,” he says, rather proud of himself for stringing such a coherent sentence together, even while he desperately searches for what the Egg means, what it’s talking about. Because this is a trap, he knows. Likely intended for him. But what the Egg means by a choice, he has no clue, unless it means the choice it’s been trying to get him to make all along, but—

And then, as one, Niki and Jack move. Jack dives for Tubbo, catching him off guard, and there is a terrible snap as Tubbo hits the ground, and Tubbo screams. Tommy shouts, and Wilbur curses, trying to aim for Jack, but there’s too much movement, too much that could go wrong if he misses, because Jack has got Tubbo pinned down, still screaming, each scream interspersed with curses, and Jack doesn’t look like his weight could possible keep Tubbo there, but somehow, all his struggles accomplish nothing. And even as he and Tommy both move forward to help, and even as Fundy seems to be shaking himself out of his stupor, Niki launches herself forward and puts her blade to Tommy’s throat.

And everything goes still.

A choice, the Egg repeats. And Wilbur understands.

“I want to kill him now,” Niki says, her eyes locked on the Egg. And then she scowls, whatever the Egg tells her not for the ears of anyone else, but while she presses the blade further against Tommy’s bare throat, drawing a thin line of blood, she does not cut down. “A choice, then,” she repeats, shifting her gaze to him, and her expression is something like anger and something like defeat. “I wonder if you even know how to make the right one.”

“Let me go,” Tubbo is saying, between sobs. Something is surely broken, but Wilbur can’t get a good enough look to see what. And moving closer may very well spell Tommy’s demise. “Fuck you, let me go, let him go.”

“Just, fuck, just settle down, would you?” Jack demands. “This’ll all be over soon.”

Niki is still watching him.

You have no control here, no power, and here is the choice.

“Wilbur,” Tommy says. His voice trembles. He swallows, and the action pushes his skin just slightly closer to the blade’s edge. More blood trickles down. “Wilbur, you—what is it asking you?”

But he says it like someone who already knows.

(and his brother has a sword to his throat and still seems more concerned for him than for himself and it breaks his heart  just as it always does again and again and again)

You may strike your blow, you may take your shot, and no one here will impede your path, and if that is your choice then so be it, the Egg says, but know that should that be, your brother will fall and his blood will sustain me, and behind you his life will fade away even as you toss him aside to strike at me, but it does not have to be this way, void seeker. It does not have to be this way, and you can make the right choice, and the peace you want will be yours, and your brother will live.

He draws in a breath. The beginnings of a plan hatch in his mind. Desperate, crazy—but then, what up to this point hasn’t been? He’s out of options, has let himself be outplayed, and he can’t even let himself think about this too hard, or else it will pluck the idea straight from his mind and it will all be for naught. But he has to try.

There really is only one choice to make.

Tommy’s expression changes.

“No,” he says, “no, no, no, whatever you’re thinking, don’t you fucking do it, don’t you—it’ll be alright, it’ll be alright, I swear, just kill the thing, just kill it, don’t, don’t worry about me, don’t” —He takes in a shuddering, gasping breath, and when he continues, he’s no longer talking to Wilbur— “don’t hurt them, please, you can have me, you can, but don’t hurt them, you can’t, and, and Tubbo, Tubbo, it’s gonna be okay, ‘cause, ‘cause you’re still yourself without me too, and it’s gonna be, it’s gonna be, just, please, Wil, please don’t—”

“Tommy,” he says, and Tommy falls silent. Tubbo does too. They’re all looking at him, and he can’t look at any of their faces for too long, Tubbo’s scrunched up in pain and anger and Fundy’s open wide, almost childlike in his—disbelief, perhaps. He can’t look at their faces, because that makes it hurt worse.

The Egg doesn’t say anything. Nothing he can hear, at least. But it’s waiting. And it feels victorious.

“Tommy,” he says again, “Tubbo. Fundy.”

He breathes in. And out.

“Sometimes things are never meant to be,” he says, and he doesn’t know where the words are coming from, but he lets them flow. “Sometimes things are destined to end even from the very beginning.”

“Wilbur, please—”

“But not this. Not us.” He pauses. “Do you trust me?”

Tommy’s face crumples. He doesn’t respond. Fundy takes in a long, shaky breath, and for a moment, that’s all he can hear. No one really answers him, and he supposes that in the end, that’s an answer in and of itself.

But that’s alright.

He turns to the Egg.

“Our deal,” he says. “The one you offered me. I want it extended. I want everyone in this room alive and safe.”

Everyone in this room. That includes Niki. That includes Jack. Because they were his countrymen, and he owes them this much. Owes them his best effort, even when his best effort once meant their destruction.

(because they were once his countrymen and they were once his friends, and what a picture they make now, and what a picture they made then, back in the summer heat with the walls high and proud around them, as they messed with a camera in their military uniforms, smiling and laughing and free, and it is easy for him to forget that L’Manberg was something beautiful once but it was, it was, it was, and they were beautiful too, and the world was laid at their feet, and they took that photo and he wonders where all the copies went, whether any still exist or whether they all went up in flames, and they were six then and they are six now, the same six, and how bitter and twisted they have all become, how far from that hazy memory of peace they all are)

(and how fitting, perhaps, that it should be the six of them here and only these six, here where it all will come to a close one way or the other, ending just as it began on that sunny summer’s day)

“Wilbur, stop—”

It is nothing to me, the Egg says, and he can feel it, still, can feel it pressing in around him, ready to swamp him, ready to pull him under, and he can hear the whispers, too, just the same as they have always been, whispering fire, whispering death, and he can feel himself begin to lean into them already, can feel himself tempted, can feel his own longing.

And he can still feel, beyond the Egg, Dream watching. Waiting. Considering.

“Fine, then,” he says, and traps his last apology under his tongue. “A deal.”

And he lets the static claim him.

It rushes in around him, and the red dives in eagerly, filling out all the corners of his mind, all the spaces and all the cracks, and he remembers this, remembers this sensation from before, remembers how the Egg coaxed him, persistent and careful, and this is not quite like that, because then, it was like a siren singing a victim to a willing drowning, and now, it as if the entire ocean has opened over his head, a red sea.

There you are, and it is a homecoming, isn’t it, the Egg croons, and his breath stutters in his chest, and I know what you want, I know you long for the fire’s murmurs and the explosion that you once caused and the end of your symphony, forever unfinished, and you were wrested back to this world so cruelly and without your permission, and you do not want to be here, you long for the darkness and the rest of the void, you wish for it with every fiber of your being and you only need listen to me and you can have it.

Yes. He’s having a hard time remembering why he spent so much effort on resisting. Why he resisted the drumbeats that now ring out in his head, a rhythm of war, of blood and of fire, a rhythm that will send him to sleep, if he lets it, and he wants to let it, because the Egg says it is so, and he has let it in, has let it take him over, and the Egg is right. The Egg is right.

(the Egg says it is so, and the Egg must be right, feels right, right like nothing he has ever felt before, but so then why does he)

Come forward, then, and let me grant to you what is yours, the Egg commands, and his feet step forward, once, twice, three times, taking him closer. Behind him, someone is sobbing.

“Wil,” someone whispers, and it sounds like his son. He doesn’t turn around.

Your mind is laid bare to me, and all that you are is mine, the Egg says. I can read your plan, and you thought you could fool me, could take yourself close with none the wiser and break free of my guidance, break free of me and strike before harm could befall your brother, but you cannot be free, because you do not want to be free, because I am giving you everything you want. Did you think you could do as you did before and claw yourself away from me using thoughts of your brother? There is nothing there to use, for I have assured his safety, and you know that.

He does know that. He’s pretty sure that was indeed his plan,

(was it?)

but why shouldn’t the Egg know it now? The Egg is going to give him everything, is going to give him what he could have had before if he was not taken from the room as he was, and now that he is with it again, beating in his mind, a consistent pounding pulse, he feels that jubilation fill him, a hot, heady joy, settling sickly sweet in his gut.

This is right. This is how it was always going to happen. This was meant to be. And the Egg is right; it will be a homecoming, in more ways than one. The void awaits him, and with the Egg curling around him, almost smothering him, he remembers how badly he wants to answer the void’s call, how badly he wants to be dead again, because he made himself an ending and never asked for the story to restart, and it’s unfair that more has been demanded of him.

You played your part, and they were fools to think that you could ever be anything better than what you were, the Egg whispers. You have not changed from the bitter thing you became, and they could not have expected more from you, should not have thought that this would end in any other way, because the void hums like a siren and you want to go, and I will take you there, and you will bleed out before me and feel peace at last and nothing more will be wanted of you. Drop your totem.

Ah, yes, his totem. The one that Techno gave him. He summons it from his inventory, feels its weight against his palm, cold and solid. Its emerald eyes gleam up at him. And then, he goes to drop it, as the Egg says. Somehow, he ends up tossing it over his shoulder instead, rather hard. He’s not sure where it lands. He doesn’t look.

Dream watches. Dream feels—smug. He ignores him. The Egg is what matters.

People are still talking to him. Crying, maybe, but it’s all fallen away, become white noise. There is him, and the Egg, and what the Egg will give him, as long as he does exactly as it commands him. It is as a god, and he is as its vassal, and that is what he’s always striven for.

You love to be useful, the Egg agrees, will abase yourself to anyone to earn your worthiness to live.

(Phil’s voice, steady, sure, and loved: you don’t need to do anything to be worthy of love, you don’t need to do anything to deserve to take care of yourself)

And I know you, the Egg continues, better than you have known yourself. You wanted the fire, wanted to see it all burn around you, and the glee that filled you when you pressed that button was like none you had ever felt.

(no, that’s wrong)

And that same glee again, when you had your father run your sword through your chest, and how eager you were to die, and how eager you are now, how eager, how eager, and you are the same creature you were then, at your core.

(wrong, something about what it’s saying is wrong because these are thoughts he’s had himself so very often but)

A few steps more, and he’s standing next to the Egg. Close enough to touch it. He almost wants to, but doesn’t, something holding him back.

His head pounds. Throbs. Each breath comes as a struggle, though why he’s trying so hard, he doesn’t know.

And you are mine, the Egg croons, my creature now, and I can do with you as I will, but I will give you what you seek so desperately, can you feel it?

He can. He can feel it, the red, soothing as it always has been, and every inch of him cries out for it, cries out for what he

(but does he?)

wants.

And you shall have it, the Egg says. You shall have it.

They’re all calling to him. All of them, but Tommy most of all, calling his name, begging him to stop. He doesn’t turn, even now. Part of him wants to, but when he thinks about it, the Egg pulses in his mind, burning him, expressing displeasure, and he won’t go against what the Egg wants, not when it is about to gift him everything, not when it understands him so well. So he does not turn, and—distantly, he thinks that this was the idea. To use Tommy to pull himself out again, just as he did before. But it won’t work this time, because Tommy is going to be safe. The Egg has sworn that he will be unharmed.

You never had a hope of resisting me, the Egg says, as I know you as no one else does, and I know what you want, and you shall have it now.

Vines creep around his ankles, slide around his legs, his arms. And one rests around his neck, lightly, but he can feel the thorns. They’re a caress, an embrace,

(but you know what an embrace is like and this is not that you know that this is not that because en embrace is Phil’s wings or Tommy’s face in your shoulder or Techno gripping your shoulders and pulling you in and you know better you know better)

a promise.

(but something isn’t right and your mind stirs and there is disquiet hesitation that even the red cannot drown out)

You wanted fire and to let it all burn down around you, and you wanted it all to end, and if you cannot have the fire again, your fire you so love, if you cannot dance victorious on the wreckage then you will have the dark.

The vines tighten. And through the red, Wilbur realizes what’s wrong.

(because here is a secret you keep locked away: you love the fire not for what it is, but for what it granted you, for the ending so desired, but the fear has never left you, the fear instilled in your veins the first time your country went up in a blaze and your people fell around you and it was no game, and here is the second secret: you fear the fire, and at the last, you decided you deserved to die afraid)

(it all comes down to deserving)

It’s difficult to think. Difficult to wade through the red haze, but this—this is important, because the Egg is going—is going to give him what he wants, so why does it—it’s supposed to understand him, so why—

(it all comes down to deserving, and what he thinks he deserves, and the Egg is in his head, and what is the Egg drawing from if not his own thoughts, but the thing about his thoughts is that they might be)

“That’s not what I wanted,” he whispers. “It’s not what I want.”

The Egg presses in further, and he can feel it in his head, pulling at his thoughts, at his emotions, telling him that he is wrong, that this is what he wants, but he stands his ground, because—his head’s a mess, but he—he doesn’t—

(Phil’s voice again, careful and sad and gentle and kind, because for all his father’s faults he has never doubted that he loves him, and Phil’s voice says, remember that you do deserve better things, and there’s an implication in there that Phil thinks that what he believes he deserves is wrong, and he hasn’t really had time to think that over, but)

The vine tightens around his throat. The thorns dig into his skin. Not breaking it, not yet.

“You’re offering me what I think I deserve,” he says, and it’s like coming up for air, if only for a moment, and finding that the sky is still blue. For a second, he exists outside of himself, outside of the hooks the Egg has dug into him, and he can experience its presence for the horror that it is. And then the red takes him again, and he’s drowning, suffocating, his lungs full of syrup, and the Egg is unhappy, and part of him wants to grovel and apologize and do anything to be sure that he receives his due, and the Egg speaks again and rakes its voice across his body, and he shudders violently.

Then what is it that you think you want? it asks, and it is angry and it is patronizing, and it is pushing up against him, twisting him, forcing him to agree with it, to believe its words, and half of him does and the other half comes up for air again, bobbing in the open ocean, sharks circling, and that gives him just enough room to consider the question, to truly consider it.

What does he want?

(freedom, once, freedom and choice and a place to call his, a place where he and his loved ones would be safe, and he built the walls as both practicality and symbol, and he wanted to protect, wanted to lead, wanted a land that was good and a land that was free)

If he could have anything, anything at all, what would he—

You want rest, the Egg hisses, and you know it, know that you are the villain and you deserve death, and you want rest and you want peace, to be released from this world that is cruel and corrupt and full of darkness, to be released from your responsibilities, you want rest and I will give it to you—

Yes, perhaps, but

(Tommy smiles at him with sunlight in his hair and in his eyes and Tubbo grins sharp and sure and Fundy is with him and no longer regards him with hatred and Techno has a book in his hand and his voices are quiet and Phil stares on and his posture is straight and not bent with guilt and with pain)

(and he is with them, and he has so far to go, but he is happy)

(and if he puts all of himself aside, puts aside his self-loathing and his fears, puts aside all the harm he knows he has done and all of the punishment he knows he still deserves, then that is what he’s always wanted, isn’t it? his family with him, the days stretching on, and here is a realization, breaking like the dawn itself: he hasn’t ever thought that he deserves to be happy, but he wants it, he wants it, he wants it, just as he wants to be a better man, he wants to be happy again, he wants, even if he doesn’t deserve he wants)

he has always wanted rest. Since coming back, he has wanted rest. But he is still here.

He decided to be better, and perhaps he’s not doing a very good job of it in any sense of the word, but he decided, and he’s sticking to it, and that is what he wants. More than death, he wants another chance.

He wants to stay. Not only for other people, but for himself, too. He wants to stay, and he wants to stay more than he wants to die.

Admitting as much lifts a weight from his chest, one that he hadn’t known was there at all.

Then I shall give you that, as well, the Egg says, and for the first time, he hears it: desperation. Slowly, surely, the red begins to clear, leaving him with shaking limbs and a headache that makes it difficult to focus, but the Egg’s voice is no longer so welcoming, the red no longer so appealing, and he hurts, and he hears Tommy’s broken protests, Tubbo’s sobs, Fundy’s whimpering, he can hear them, and they tug at his heartstrings where only a moment before, he ignored them, so sure of his course as he was, so sure of his course as it made him.

He’s pulled himself out. He pulled himself out, and he did it himself, with shaking, bloody fingers, and he hasn’t climbed back over the top of the cliff yet, but he’s hanging on. He’s hanging on. He’s stopped his fall.

(and he doesn’t know what healing is doesn’t know what it is to be better but perhaps here, now, he can admit to himself that being better includes being better to himself, too, and he has never allowed himself to think as much before but perhaps it is truth, and perhaps he can let himself hope, and what a time it is to finally come to this conclusion but something of truth rings in it and he knows that this is right)

They will be happy, the Egg says, and they will be alive, and I will keep them safe, and you will be happy as well, and you will have what you desire.

The words are like hands, pulling on him. But he can recognize as much. Recognize the sensation, slimy and insidious, of something else trying to change his thoughts, trying to reach in and change him. The ground beneath his feet feels more stable now, his footing found at last. He almost let himself slip. Almost, but he’s found footholds, handholds, and he did it himself, and that feels important.

“You and Dream are the same,” he murmurs, and he can feel it paying attention, feel it wanting to know what he’s about to say. And beyond it, somewhere further away, he thinks he can still sense Dream looking, too, Dream watching him, listening to them. “You’re always so eager to talk. So certain that you’re right. But you’re too prideful, and that’s the end of you.” He summons his best glare. Plants his feet. Playing his hand like this is not wise, but somehow, he knows that the Egg will let him finish, will let him get to the end of his speech before trying anything. It wants to know. Even now, it is prideful, sure it can contain him, that he will not be able to harm it. “Even knowing what my plan was, you let me get close. You assumed you could overwhelm me. You thought I’d be yours. And for a minute, you did. I was. But do you want to know what your biggest mistake was?”

The vine around his neck tightens.

“Even when you knew you were losing me, you still let me talk,” he finishes, and in one movement, drops the sword into his hand

(and he can hear the universe again, can hear it humming, vibrating against his skin, and he burns with it)

and slices through the vine before it can strangle him. In the next second, he drives it forward, putting all his weight behind it, and shoves it into the Egg.

It slides in like a knife through butter, and several things happen at once.

Behind him: chaos. Chaos that he can only hear and not see, but several people shout, and then Jack Manifold cries out, and there is another clash of metal, and then Tommy shouts, not in pain but rather a loud, wordless denial, and there is a great cracking sound, like the air tearing itself apart, and the golden flash reflects off even the Egg’s surface, and the room crackles like ozone, like a bend in reality, and it is the activation of a totem, and he can only hope that it will be enough.

And the Egg screams.

It is like a thousand voices crying out in a thousand discordant notes, like several hundred orchestras all out of tune in different ways, like a shriek of violins and a moan of tubas and the drums stutter and falter and tap out infinitely different rhythms until it’s all a clanging, howling mess of static and white noise and still, something screaming, something old and powerful and terrible in its death throes.

He screams too, he thinks. He can’t hear himself anymore. Can barely feel himself, though he tries to tighten his fingers on the hilt of the sword.

At the edge of his perception, the universe encroaches. Humming, humming, and for a second, they harmonize with him, and in that second, the universe says,

(you did well, and now look, look upon your adversary and know what they are, know the darkness and the corruption and the rot and the sickness)

And he does look, and he sees

(the Egg indeed is not an Egg and for this second, for this one moment in time and out of time, he sees it for what it is, something incomprehensible, something existing against all the laws of the world, all things natural, a blight, a bug, a twist in the code that makes up all things, a virus, and even despite that, it was not done growing, not done gathering strength, and one more sacrifice would have done it, glutted as it was on Dream’s shared power and the blood of the Blood God, one more meal would have done it, and he was close to being that meal, inches away from dying and giving it what it needed to hatch, and perhaps it would have kept its promise, perhaps it would have allowed his loved ones to live, but it would have been no life, no life at all, under the control of a thing that at its core sought to devour worlds)

But the universe says,

(but it is well, it is well, for your strength was enough and you are stronger than you know, and you are worthy and you have come to the beginnings of understanding, and you realize now that you are deserving of the world, that you deserve to live, and you want to live and to make yourself better, and you are deserving of time, and we are with you, and you are not alone, and you have freedom now to make it all right)

A million stars twinkle in his vision, and then, he comes back to himself. There is no more screaming. No more whispering. His head is quiet.

He still holds the sword. But the Egg itself is shriveling, blackening, twisting, collapsing in on itself, and as he watches, it and all its vines become husks, dark and small. He draws the sword out, and the area around it crumbles to dust.

It seems so small. So small, so impotent. But it is a corpse now, he supposes, so that is only right. Relief floods him.

It’s over. At last, it is over. The Egg is gone.

The sword no longer shimmers, no longer shines. The runes are only shapes, now, not glowing, not humming. It has served its purpose; it’s just a sword, now, like any other sword, and he’s tired of holding swords. He never was much good with them anyway. So he puts it back in his inventory, and turns

(and as he does, he catches a glimpse of something in the husk, in the shriveled shell, something impossibly blue, but that can wait)

around, and in that motion, his heart stops beating.

Only for a moment before it starts up again, but its rhythm is stuttering, weak, too quick and too slow by turns. He wonders if that’s something he should be concerned about. He feels no pain, though his body seems rather numb, now that he’s thinking about it. What’s important now, though, is the scene in front of him, because they’re all alive. All of them, alive. Tommy is hugging Tubbo, tightly, like he thinks he’ll disappear, and Tubbo himself glitters with gold, shimmering all around him. He had to use the totem, then.

He tries not to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t thrown it behind him. He’s pretty sure that he was trying to give them a failsafe, even under the Egg’s thrall as he was, but he can’t be sure. Can’t trust his memories of only a few minutes ago, probably.

Niki and Jack are both on the ground, surrounded with dust from the crumbling vines. Their eyes are closed, but their chests rise and fall. They’ll be fine, then, and relief mixes with sorrow; they’re not under the Egg’s control any longer, but he knows better than to think that means all is fixed. Fundy has staggered to his feet, is hovering by Tommy and Tubbo, face still tear-stained.

But he’s fine. He’s okay. They’re all okay.

He lets out a breath, and takes a step forward. It’s more difficult than it should be. Pain flares in his—flares everywhere, actually, his abdomen and chest and limbs, and his head is still killing him, though that much, at least, doesn’t surprise him. But then, it dies down, replaced by the numbness again.

Tommy pulls back from Tubbo. “You ever do something like that again, I’m killing you myself, Tubbo, fuck,” he says, and Tubbo laughs, a little tearfully. And then, Tommy rounds on him. “And you, what the fuck did you think you were doing? How stupid are you?”

“A bit stupid,” he agrees. The words come out slurred. He frowns, and so does Tommy. Or at least, he thinks that he frowns. He can’t feel his face. Tommy is definitely frowning, though, and then Tommy is walking toward him, or stumbling, more like, and then all three of them are.

“Are you good?” Tommy asks. “You’re making weird faces.”

“That was a good throw, with the totem,” Tubbo says, almost at the same time. Where Tommy stands right in front of him, Tubbo goes around to stand at his side, looking him up and down with narrowed eyes, narrowed eyes that flicker with golden light. He’ll crash once the magic burns itself out, though it shouldn’t be nearly as bad as what Techno went through. He keeps rolling his shoulder, flexing his arm, as if shaking out a wound that is no longer there. “Saved my skin, there. But man, that was a risky play.”

“I can’t believe it worked,” Fundy says quietly. “I thought the Egg could read thoughts. I mean, I felt it in my head, man. It was awful. But how come it didn’t know you were pretending?”

“Pretty sure he wasn’t pretending,” Tommy says, and—he wishes he didn’t say that, because now still doesn’t feel like the time to talk to Fundy about any of this, even though he probably should, at one point, because if he’s going to be a better father, he ought to start by telling him things that he wants to know, despite the part of him that still screams to shelter him, screams that he’s not ready to learn about such terrible things, but—he’s grown. Fundy is grown. He needs to work on keeping that in mind.

“I just can’t believe it’s over,” Tommy continues. “Just like that? After the days we’ve had? Feels anti-climatic—”

“Anti-climactic,” Tubbo supplies.

“Oh, piss off. Anti-whatever, it feels all sudden, doesn’t it? Though I suppose there’s still Dream.” Tommy’s face darkens. “Guess we need to go see about everyone else.”

“Uh, Wilbur?” Fundy breaks in, hesitant, but not angry. Not too upset. Perhaps concerned? Is Fundy concerned for him? “Your, um, your nose is bleeding.”

Tommy and Tubbo go silent, and he blinks. Is it? He can’t feel it, can’t feel any blood dripping down, but he can’t seem to move his arm to check. He can’t seem to move anything, actually, and when he opens his mouth, intending to say something—though what, he has no idea—he finds his airway obstructed by something. He coughs, and their faces all go very alarmed.

“Oh, shit, he’s bleeding from his mouth,” Tubbo says, and at the same time, Tommy steps in closer, right up against him, and grabs his shoulders, peering into his face.

“Wil?” he says, and Wilbur would try to respond, he really would, but Tommy’s touch has chased away the numbness, starting at the points of contact and radiating outward and in its wake is—is too much, too much to think about, too much to describe, too much to handle, and he’s been stabbed and he’s been shot and none of that felt anything like this, because this feels like lava’s been poured down his throat and he’s burning alive from this inside out, and his lungs are having severe difficulty inhaling, and his chest is tight and he can’t feel his heartbeat so he thinks that maybe—

“Get him on the ground, get him down, get him down, oh, fuck—”

The world tips, and he’s lying down. The ceiling above is red, and dust drifts into his eyes. Dust from the vine husks, breaking apart as he watches them, crumbling into nothingness. It’s like watching ash fall. Like watching soot fall.

His chest constricts further, and he gasps for air. Air that doesn’t come. Air that doesn’t come, because, because—

They’re all talking over each other. He can barely follow the conversation. Dimly, he realizes that he’s quite panicked, though that fact itself has taken a backseat to the fact that he can’t breathe properly. Can’t breathe properly, because—

He thinks he might be dying, actually. He’d forgotten, how the Egg strikes back at those who strike it. He’d forgotten. He wonders if the universe did, too.

The vines aren’t burning, so there’s no ash falling. Not really. But there would be a twisted kind of poetry in it if they were, if it was flakes of soot tumbling down. Soot falling.

Soot falling.

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Brave Little Soldier Boy

Pairings: Zuko x Reader

Summary: When an attack on a Fire Nation troop goes awry, not everyone makes it out. 

Warnings: DEATH. Sad stuff y’all, Descriptions of blood and wounds

Word Count: 1880

A/N: General Eiri is an OC. That’s about it. Also I’m really sorry for this because I love Zuko with my whole heart and don’t want anything bad to happen to him but this has been in my heads for days. 

______________________________

The plan was simple. Just a quick guerilla style attack on a Fire Nation battalion that was headed towards one of the last Earth Kingdom cities that was not under the Fire Nation control. With a small militia of local soldiers and volunteers, most of which were benders, on top of having the avatar on your side, there was no reason it should have spiraled so out of control. 

But it did. 

It was obvious to you and Zuko that the battle would be much harder to win than initially expected the second you saw that General Eiri was leading the battalion. He was one of Ozai’s most trusted associates and one of the most revered generals in the army, known for getting results, regardless of the cost. His men were some of the best trained in the army. When you and Zuko saw him, both of you had a gnawing feeling of dread in the pits of your stomachs. By the time you knew it was his battalion, it was too late to tell the militia to change tactics. 

The cost of the mistake had been the most brutal battle you’d ever been in. 

Trees along the path were charred or still on fire. Bodies of Fire Nation soldiers and Earth Kingdom militia alike littered the ground. Everyone was soaking wet and had their fair share of bruises, cuts, and burns from the battle. The only reason you had won was because Aang’s avatar state was triggered when Katara was cornered by a group of fire benders who had her cornered, using their fire to suck the moisture from the air. Aang had sent nearly the entire river that flowed beside the path to sweep away the Fire Nation soldiers, leaving behind only the people part of your side. 

You were on your hands and knees, coughing and sputtering the last drops of water from your lungs as you pushed yourself up and surveyed the damage. You’d seen battles before, even fought in some. Being Zuko’s lifelong best friend turned girlfriend, you chose to travel the world with him while he was in exile. As much as you regretted it, you were there for the attack on Kyoshi Island and several others along with Zuko on his quest to capture Aang. You had seen and done things you regretted. The remnants of this battle felt exactly like it did when you looked back on those regretful times. 

When you looked around and saw the death and destruction, you couldn’t help but feel partially responsible. It wasn’t like you and Zuko knew beforehand that this was General Eiri’s army and even if you did, it wasn’t like you were going to just let them take the city. You knew deep down that there wasn’t another other way you would have handled the situation but you couldn’t help but feel irrationally guilty. 

“Y/N! Are you okay?” Katara jogged over to you. She was totally dry, having bent the water around her when Aang swept it across you. 

You nodded, “I’m fine. Where is everyone?” Apart from the cuts and bruises that everyone had acquired from being thrown around, you were alright. 

Almost on cue, Toph stood from the ground a few dozen feet behind Katara and wrung out her clothes, “Aang, I don’t know what you did, but that was awesome!” Aang was standing about fifty feet from your left, taking a second to see the damage that had been caused by the damage. 

“Did we win?” Sokka asked wearily, pressing his body out of the now muddy road and looking down in disappointment to see how dirty his clothes were. 

There was still one person missing. “Where’s Zuko?” You asked, anxiety creeping up as more and more members of the militia stood up and none of them were Zuko. 

“I haven’t seen him since the beginning of the attack.” Katara sounded apologetic as she answered, “We’ll find him.” Her eyes were reassuring but that that didn’t stop the panic from welling up in your chest. 

You had started walking off before Katara had even finished talking, almost in a trance as you searched the battlefield. People had begun to get up, regaining their composure after the wave swept over them but none of them were Zuko as far as you could see. 

“Zuko?” You called out, “Zuko?” 

A distant cough and quiet, “Y/N…” 

It came out as almost a struggling plea that shook you to your very core. “Zuko!” You looked around frantically, knowing you were close, until you found him, lying slumped over some gnarled tree roots that were partially above ground. “Oh my God, Zuko! What happened?” 

You ran over to him, practically sliding on your knees to him and doing a once over of his body. There was blood staining multiple spots on his clothing, bleeding together so much so that you couldn’t even figure out what needed to be fixed. 

“General Eiri-” He coughed and grimaced at his own words, his voice hoarse and strained, “Called me the Fire Nation’s greatest disgrace and-” Yet again, he broke down into a fit of coughs. He didn’t need to finish his sentence to piece together what happened next. 

You stroked his hair out of his face, “Shh, it’s okay.  Don’t hurt yourself.” You were trying with all your might to stay strong but this didn’t look good. What you couldn’t fathom was how in the world this could have happened. Zuko was the strongest person you knew- literally. You’d seen the man break doors with a single kick. He had been trained in fire bending, sword  fighting, and hand to hand combat since he could walk. There was no reason you could think of that he should have lost a fight but here he was. 

“Katara! Help!” You yelled out, tears brimming in your eyes. You swallowed hard, trying with all your might to keep them back. 

Katara came running to help, “Y/N! What’s wrong?” She noticed the large pool of blood immediately and gasped, “Zuko!” 

“You have to heal him!” It was more of a demand than a request and Katara’s wide eyes told you that you took her off guard with your words. 

“Let me try.” With a wave of her hand, Katara lifted water from the river and swirled it around Zuko’s various wounds. He hissed and gripped your arm weakly. 

“You’re okay. She’s gonna fix you up.” You cooed, shifting so that his head rested in your lap and you stroked his hair. 

Katara put all her focus into trying to heal the wounds but even if she could heal them up, she couldn’t replace the blood. “It’s not working.” She too was nearly crying, feeling like this was the ultimate failure, allowing a friend to die. 

Your eyes were nearly flaming when you looked at her, “What the hell do you mean!? Didn’t you bring Aang back from the dead?” Anger and fear were pronounced in your voice and Katara almost shrank back. She’d never seen you like this but she couldn’t say she blamed you. 

“I had special water from the Northern Water Tribe then! This water isn’t working. He’s already lost so much blood… I-I don’t know what to do.” Katara was nearly shaking. She’d never lost someone she was trying to save before. 

“Then I’ll cauterize the wounds.” A flame lit ablaze in your hand and you moved to untie his shirt and reveal the wounds. 

Katara just shook her head and matched your watery gaze, “I could close the wounds too without the pain of burning him but it won’t replace the blood.” 

“THEN WHAT WILL, MISS HEALER?!” You lashed out angrily, voice reverberating through the woods.  

Katara flinched back, eyes wide, but her eyes were watering as she looked down at Zuko, “I am so sorry. I wish I could heal you.” Her voice cracked as tears began to pour down her face. 

The world spun around you and the air felt crushing. The tears fell down your cheeks freely now as Toph, Sokka, and Aang all joined the group of you. 

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Zuko weakly squeezed your arm but you shook your head. 

“No! It’s not okay! You can’t leave me! Not after all we’ve been through.” It was as if your entire lives flashed in a slideshow. Your father was a Fire Nation official so you and Zuko had been friends from a young age, growing up together as best friends. Upon his exile, you’d gone against your father’s wishes and joined Zuko on his quest across the world. Somewhere along the line, you’d both figured out that your love for each other went deeper than just that of friends. You’d seen this boy live life with such determination and resolve that seeing him just give into death left you dumbfounded. 

“J-just don’t leave me,” Zuko pleaded weakly, his eyes focusing and unfocusing as he looked up at you, “I don’t want to go alone.” 

You stroked his hair aside and bent down, kissing him on the lips, “When have I ever left you alone, Zu? I’ve got you.” His skin that had always burned so warm was now unnervingly cool and clammy. 

“I’m sorry I let you down.” 

“Don’t you dare say that. You didn’t let anyone down. I’m sorry I let you down. I should have been there to help. If only I-” You sobbed, hot tears falling down your face as you gripped his tunic top, trying to keep him close to you.

“Please,” A few more coughs disrupted his speech, “Don’t do that to yourself.” You couldn’t say anything back. You didn’t know what to say. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to do. You wanted to win this war with him, to help resolve the unrest across the world, to eventually get married and have some little ones of your own, to grow old together. How could you possibly say anything that could suffice for a lifetime of never seeing him again? 

Zuko shifted in your arms, grimacing as he did, “It’s cold.” 

A small flame appeared in your hand once more, holding it just close enough for the warmth to radiate onto him without burning him. “I’ve got you, love.” 

“I love you.” He whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek, “And tell my uncle I’m sorry. For everything...” 

“He knows, Zuko. And I love you so much.” 

Sokka, Aang, Toph, and Katara watched as you fell apart, your body wracking in muffled sobs as you held Zuko close. Sokka and Toph stood quietly while Aang and Katara both cried silently. Following Aang, all four knelt down beside the two of you and hung their heads low, some choosing to hold his arm just to let him know he wasn’t alone. 

“Leaves from the vine, falling so slow,” You began the traditional Fire Nation lullaby low and shaky, rocking Zuko gently while you sang.

“Like tiny fragile shells drifting in the foam.” His eyes slowly fluttered shut, your voice almost morphing into his mother’s while he struggled to stay awake.

“Little soldier boy, come marching home,” Zuko focused on the feel of your touch one last time, feeling himself being drawn from this world and into the next. 

“Brave little soldier boy, come marching home.”

[spectraspecs-writes]

Leviathan - Chapter 101

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 100. Chapter 102.

Tw - swearing, torture

@averruncusho @ceruleanrainblues @chubbsmomma @strangepostmiracle thank you for reading, you get a tag. @skelelexiunderlord thank you for support, you get a tag.

———–

I don’t get to see Mission being carried off. All I hear is a cry for reinforcements. The troopers move me, Carth, and Bastila off pretty quickly. Rather than simply search us, they have us strip down to our underclothes and force us into individual energy cells. At least the heating is decent.

We wait. For what feels like hours. There’s barely enough room to sit in the cell but I manage. Bastila is meditating. Carth is pacing in his cell. As much as he can anyway. It’s hard to feel him through the cell, but I don’t need the Force to know what’s going through his head. He’s calculating. This was never the scenario he imagined he’d face Saul in. At the very least, I imagine he planned to be wearing pants. He has every confidence in Mission to get us out, of course. He’s working ahead of that. What happens next. What happens after that, what happens after that. All the way up to Saul’s death. But he keeps getting stuck there. How do we get out. How do we get everyone on the Hawk and away from the Leviathan. And what is, from my perspective, the most important question - does he survive this? How?

When our interrogator comes, I know by the way he carries himself, it’s Saul. We all stand and face him, readying ourselves. He speaks to Carth first, with the words of a father but the tone of a scoundrel. “Carth, it has been far too long since we last spoke,” he says, “I see the recent months have not been kind in your case. I barely recognized you.”

Carth is cold. I haven’t seen him like this in a while. “But I recognized you, Saul. I see your face every night even as I promise myself I will kill you for what you did to my home world.”

Saul shakes his head. “Did you learn nothing in your time under me? As a soldier you should understand that casualties were unavoidable. This was an act of war.”

“It was a cowardly act of betrayal!” he exclaims, “Your fleet bombed a civilian target into oblivion without warning or provocation. And the blood of those innocent people is on your hands!”

“In war even the innocent must die.” Always a justification. “The Sith would not accept me until I proved I had truly turned my back on the Republic by bombing the planet.”

“My wife died in that attack, Saul,” Carth says softly, “And for that, I swear I'll kill you.”

Saul sighs. “You used to be a man of action, not of empty words,” he says, “Cling to your lust for revenge if you must, but spare me your tired threats. I've heard them all before.” He turns. Starts to pace a little. “You are an insignificant part of these events, anyway. Lord Malak is far more interested in your Jedi companions.” He crosses in front of me and Bastila and stops. “He has great plans for them.”

“We will never serve Malak or the Dark Side!” Bastila says firmly, “The Sith will be destroyed, Admiral Karath… as will you if you don't turn away from this path.”

Saul smiles. “Your words are brave, Bastila, but the lure of the Dark Side is hard to resist - or so I've been told.” He looks at me. “I wonder if your companion is as devoted to the light as you are?”

I scoff. “Seriously? You guys have sent Dark Jedi, a bounty hunter, and a Sith apprentice after me, and I’ve killed every single one of them, you think after that the Dark Side has any allure? I’m not exactly fond of working with people who’ve tried to kill me.”

“Your wit is as sharp as ever,” he says with a smirk. Which is a weird as hell remark to make given we’ve never met. “I’m certain Malak will find your loyalty to the Jedi amusing.” He runs his fingers along a control panel, while the Sith trooper who mans it watches him closely. Waiting for a command that hasn’t yet come. “The Dark Lord would probably reward me if I just killed you once and for all. But he may want to question you given the trouble you've caused him… and the history between you.”

History? “Unless Malak was a scout, you’ve got the wrong girl.”

Saul cocks his head. “You mean…” he says slowly. Calculating the same way Carth does. “… oh, this can't be true, can it? You really don't know what's going on here, do you?”

“Being questioned by a dickhead? I think I’ve got an idea what’s going on here.”

He laughs a bit. “Well, I won't be the one to deprive Malak of the pleasure of telling you himself.” I glance at Bastila and Carth, but neither of them show a flicker of awareness, either. Saul moves to the center of the room, facing us all. “The Dark Lord will no doubt torture you for information and for his own twisted pleasure. Eventually you will tell him everything. The Sith can be very persuasive. However,” he says, “Lord Malak is in another sector. It may be some time before he arrives, so I suppose I will have to fill in for him until then.” He turns to the trooper at the control panel. “Activate the torture fields.”

Oh fuck.

It starts with a small shock that intensifies over and over. It’s almost like my mind goes away, just to survive. I hear myself scream, but I don’t feel it. It’s surreal. Until the field turns off and I feel it all at once. My muscles collapse from under me. Worse than Force Lightning. But I have to stay strong. I can take it. He won’t kill me. Whatever the reason he’s far too interested in me. I can take the torture. I can take it. “I don't want them to pass out before I question them,” Saul says to the trooper, “Malak will appreciate any information I can give him when he arrives.”

“Don’t waste your breath, Saul!” Carth says, breathing heavily, “We won’t answer any of your questions!”

“I'm sure you won't,” Saul says with a grin, then he looks at me, “However, we both know your friend's loyalties have proven in the past to be somewhat… flexible.”

I manage to stand up, which is hard because I have nothing to push up against. “What are you talking about?”

Saul rolls his eyes. “I am interrogating you, not the other way around. You will answer questions, not ask them.” No need to be snippy. “It is time to put your loyalty to the test. I doubt torturing you will gain me your true cooperation. Your will is too strong to be broken that way.” So what? That torture earlier was just for fun? Definitely a dickhead. “However, even the strongest of heroes has trouble watching those they care about suffering.” I don’t like where this is going. “The interrogation will begin now. Each time you refuse to answer or give me a false answer, Carth will suffer.”

Oh God. It’s happening. Over and over again, I’ve thought, “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to Carth.” And it was always a worst case, “this will probably never happen” scenario. But now it’s real. This is happening. I… I don’t know what to do. I can take it. But I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt him. What do I do? Carth sees me. Sees my frozen reaction. He knows my face like I know his. “My pain is meaningless!” he says, “Tell him nothing!” Okay. Okay. I’ll do my best. I’ll try.

“I tire of these games,” Saul says, “Now I want answers! On what planet is the Jedi Academy at which you were trained?” No. Don’t answer. I won’t answer. Don’t say a word, Rena. “Very well,” he says when I don’t answer, “This is the price of your resistance.” He nods at the trooper.

Carth screams, and my head screams with him. My heart, my chest, my whole body. I couldn’t feel it when he tortured me before, but it’s like… I feel what Carth feels. In this moment, every sensation that ripples across his nerves sends a signal to mine. And that… watching him in agony! I can’t do it! I can’t do it, I’m so sorry!

“Enough!” Saul says, and the pain stops. I can’t do it, I can’t bear to do that to him, not again, no matter what he says, I’m so sorry. “You see what happens when you try to defy me?” He shakes his head. “This first question was a test. Obviously Malak knew the Academy was on Dantooine, and it has since been destroyed by our fleet! Dantooine is an empty graveyard now. Nothing remains but a smoking ruin and the charred remains of your former Masters!”

“No!” Bastila exclaims, “You’re lying! It isn’t true!”

“It doesn't matter whether you believe me or not,” he says, “The fact remains that the Jedi on Dantooine have been eradicated, along with any hope of someone coming to rescue you!” He turns back to me. “Now… tell me your mission. How were the Jedi planning on using you to stop Lord Malak and our Sith armada?”

I look at Carth. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I can’t do this. I can’t, I’m so sorry… “We were looking for the Star Forge.”

Bastila looks furious. I don’t give a shit. I don’t give a damn what she thinks. But Carth looks… a little disappointed. “Fascinating,” Saul says with a smug grin. I hate him. I hate him! “Tell me, how did you find out about the Star Forge?”

“Rena, for the sake of the Republic don't tell him anything!” Bastila shouts.

“Don't listen to her!” Saul snaps, “Tell me what I want to know or watch Carth suffer!”

I can’t. I can’t do it, I’m so sorry. “Bastila and I, we saw Revan and Malak searching for it in our dreams.”

“No!” Bastila exclaims, “How could you betray the Jedi like this?”

Saul grins his smug grin again. “I find your willingness to cooperate pleasing, though it seems your answers are quite upsetting to Bastila.” I hate you, I hate you so much. “Not to worry - we are almost finished here.” Then a communicator in his pocket beeps. He doesn’t look at it, but it changes his direction nevertheless. “The information you have given me has been most useful, but I fear our session is over,” he says, “Lord Malak will want to continue with this line of questioning himself.” He glances at the trooper. “I will leave you here in your cell with a small taste of the horrors you will suffer when Lord Malak arrives.” The trooper presses the control panel once again.

This is almost undoubtedly the worst day of my life.

---

I must have passed out at some point. When I come to, everything hurts. I almost feel like I’ve been burned, but worse than any burn I’ve had before.

Bastila stops me before I can sit up. “Don’t try to move too quickly, you might not be fully recovered yet.”

“I think I can handle sitting up,” I say, but I still go slowly. I feel a little dizzy. “What happened?”

“Admiral Karath had his guards continue to torture you even after you passed out,” she says.

“They tortured all of us,” Carth says, “though you got the worst of it by far. Saul wanted them to make us suffer. He's become some sort of sadistic monster.”

“The Dark Side has perverted him, Carth,” Bastila says, “Once you start down the tainted path it leads you ever further into the depths of evil. I fear he is forever lost.”

“Once a dickhead, always a dickhead,” I grunt, trying to stand up, “Dark Side, hell. I’ve never met anyone who stopped being a dickhead.”

“And Dantooine…” she says, clearly mourning, “To hear that it’s been destroyed…  First Taris, now the Academy... is there no end to the killing?” She sighs. “I'd like to believe that Saul was lying to us, but even as he said the words I knew they were true. The Academy is gone. We should have felt a disturbance in the Force when the attack came. The fact that we did not is a bad sign. I fear the Dark Side is growing stronger, casting shadows our vision cannot pierce. I can only hope that some of the Jedi escaped. Vrook, Vandar, Zhar… I cannot imagine all of them being gone.” She takes a deep breath. “In any case, we have lost our one place of refuge in the galaxy.”

“None of this will matter if we don't get out of this prison before Saul gets back!” Carth says.

On my feet now. Still a bit dizzy, but on my feet. “Where is he now? Do we know?” I ask.

“He mentioned that Lord Malak was on his way,” Carth says, “I think the Admiral left to prepare for his arrival… and to report the results of our interrogation.”

Bastila sighs at me. I hate it. “I only wish you had been able to resist the Admiral's questioning,” she says, “I hope the information you revealed does not bring the entire galaxy under the dominion of the Sith.”

I scoff. I can’t believe her. “So what? I just should have let him be tortured? That’s what you think I should have done?”

“I appreciate your… feelings… for Carth. But you can't let your feelings override your judgment. Remember the Jedi code: There is no emotion, there is peace.” 

Peace? Peace? I am so goddamn sick of her peace.  “How dare you judge me? How dare you? You have no idea what it’s like to be put in that kind of position! What if it was Canderous being tortured?”

“I know if I had been in that position I would not have betrayed the Order and the Republic!”

“So you would have left him screaming in agony, is that right? You have no idea! I felt it! That first question? I tried to stay strong, but when he tortured Carth I felt it! I decided I could never put another person through that again, and you’re telling me that your vaunted Jedi Order means more than an actual person? How can you ever presume to have the moral high ground if you would let even one person suffer and die for an idea?!”

“Stop it, both of you!” Carth shouts at us. For him. Only for him will I let this drop. “Bastila, you-you can't honestly say how you would have reacted in that situation - nobody can! Besides, Saul already had all the information. I could tell. The interrogation was a sham. Saul was toying with us. He didn't care what we told him. I think it was just an excuse to torture us before Malak arrived.”

Suddenly Bastila picks her head up. “Did you feel that?” she says, “A disturbance in the Force.” You’re a disturbance in the Force. “The Admiral has sent his message, the Dark Lord knows we are here now. Malak is coming.”

“Well, then we better hope Mission busts us out of here before he arrives.”

[timenesttales]

Lotus, Godly Saiyan Might: Chapter 1

Racing down the hallway, Kolrabi could almost feel the cold touch of Frieza’s wrath on the back of his neck. He knew the tyrant’s men were hot on his heels, but he was determined to see this through. Almost missing his turn and slipping on the floor of the med-bay, he quickly input the code on the door’s security panel. Immediately upon entering he made sure to close the door behind him and wait for the stampede of Frieza Force soldiers to pass. He needed all the time he could get before they realized what he was doing.

As the footsteps faded, he could finally exhale and wipe some of the sweat from his brow. No matter his physical prowess as a Saiyan warrior, the threatening presence of the Frieza Force was enough to make any low class Saiyan tense up. “There!” he exclaimed as he looked over at the Saiyan space pod at the back of the garage. Putting in the coordinates as fast as he could, Kolrabi began to realize that this sinking feeling in his stomach was a foretelling of his demise. He paused for a moment at this realization, and took the infant child out of the bundle carried on his back. Moving away the blanket, he looked into her piercing silver eyes as she opened them to the dull, blue light of the garage. “I know you will make me proud. I knew it from the very beginning. I hope you find her one day. Tell her I sure miss her,” Kolrabi spoke to her. This feeling of tenderness was foreign to him, but very welcome in this moment. He put her in the pod and closed it. With the final code input, Kolrabi stepped back and watched the pod begin to rise. “Goodbye, Lotus. Take care.” 

No sooner than the pod could leave the garage and shoot into the stars, Frieza’s men surrounded Kolrabi. “By order of Lord Frieza, you are hereby-” The henchman’s words were cut short by a ki blast through his gut. “To hell with you and Frieza! Saiyan power is too much for him to handle, is that it? Well, I will show him and all of you creeps that the Saiyans aren’t to be held in prostration!” Kolrabi exploded as he powered up for one final battle.

Meanwhile...

“Again, and this time, make it somewhat interesting.” Frustrated and feeling humiliated, Beerus rose to his feet and clenched his fists. How could she still be besting him? He has trained with her for years now. Surely he is closing the gap between their power. But here she is taunting him. This is certainly not befitting a warrior of his status! He is the strongest mortal in the universe! Whis even told him that! He would not stand idly by and wait until his “training and mentorship” was complete. He wanted to finally show her that he has what it takes to take on that mantle, that of the God of Destruction. Besides, she was just a Saiyan. How could such a savage group of people be so much more powerful than he? He began to channel his ki once more, filled with more determination than ever before. Amaranth could tell a switch had been flipped within her apprentice, and she began to smile once more. 

As Beerus readied his charge, Amaranth sensed something. Her eyes widened and she looked up to the sky behind her, completely bewildered. Something terrible has happened, and she knows exactly what it was. Without breaking her gaze, she caught her apprentice’s fist, the pure power behind it creating a crater beneath their feet. Caught off guard, Beerus stepped down and looked to Whis. “Yes? What do you feel, Lord Amaranth?” Whis asked calmly. “Something... horrible has happened...” Amaranth’s words trailed off into a melancholic astonishment.  Whis sighed, “It certainly is a tragedy, Lord Amaranth, but this was hardly unforeseen. That Frieza is too short-sighted and arrogant to let such an extraordinary being to exist. Thus why I suggested this to never happen in the first place... but oh who am I to judge? Oh ho ho ho!” Amaranth growled and dug her fingernails into her palm in anger, “You don’t have to remind me, Whis. And now is hardly the time.” “Oh yes, of course,” Whis’ tone quickly changed to an understanding and heartfelt one before quickly becoming cynical as he looked away and, under his breath, whispered, “But I did warn you of meddling with your former mortal companions a while ago...” 

As Amaranth’s silver eyes were transfixed on the salmon sky above, she couldn’t help but imagine what came of her love and their child. She felt Kolrabi’s ki flourish and instantly vanish like a flickering candle being put out. She could see in her mind their child darting through space, the child whose very existence could challenge the powers of the gods, including her own. Amaranth was fully aware of the risk of a Saiyan child with divine blood. Whis made sure to remind her of that fact at every opportunity... But still she could not help that she had a life as a Saiyan warrior before her ascension to godhood, that she had a Saiyan husband. Her victory over the last God of Destruction had not been planned, after all. He threatened to kill her, Kolrabi, and the rest of their squad when they ran into him on a mission on some low level planet. She had hidden potential that she nor anyone else could have foreseen, and that potential was unlocked as she became something even greater than the legend of the Super Saiyan. She had to protect them. But defending her husband and friends came at a price: becoming a god and leaving her old life behind, but gaining tremendous power in the process. Either way, that is her child hurdling through space, destined to live a hard life in hiding from a galactic tyrant. 

“I hate to ruin such a tender moment, but can we please get on with this training already?” Beerus interrupted. Amaranth shook herself back to reality, “Of course, Beerus. Now, come at me with all you got.”

[the-omni-princess]

Frozen Heart [Chapter 11]

Author: @the-omni-princess

Summary:  After the war against Hydra, King Bucky comes home to take what has been promised to him since he was young, you. But he is not the same person as the young boy that you grew up with. Can she break through his tough shell and bring back the young man she once fell in love with? Or will she be forced to marry the monster everyone thinks he’s become?

Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: King!Bucky x Fem!Reader (Royalty Au!)

Warnings: Torture, violence, mentions/suggestions of sexual harassment/assault, language, guilty!Bucky, ANGST

A/N:

this sucks. For a rundown, pm me and I'll spare you the details and give you the things you should know

[Series Masterlist]  [Masterlist]

----

You woke up with a dull pain radiating in your head. You tried reaching towards it, but cold harsh metal stopped the movement, pulling a groan from the back of your throat.

"Looks like the Princess is finally up," a familiar voice said just behind your ear. You shuddered, struggling to open your eyes, knowing it was Rumlow. The past night's events slowly came back to you. Bucky had blood on him. Why did he have blood on him? You hoped it was the assassin sent to keep you in line and that Bucky wasn’t hurt.

"Good, she'll do nicely," a new voice joined in, sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes finally responded to your brain, opening them gingerly to take in your surroundings. The first thing you noticed was how little light there was, and that you were chained up in a metal chair which you saw was screwed to the ground. Then you were flooded with light, making you hiss as your eyes struggled to adjust. You finally were able to look up, you took in the face of your newest captor. You swallowed hard, definitely recognizing the face in front of you. Armin Zola. The man who experimented and tortured Bucky. You felt a snarl grow on your lips, your face showing noticing but pure distaste for the man in front of you. "Ah, you know who I am? Do you know what we'll do to you to get what we want?" You took your chances and spit at his feet, growling up at him. Rumlow laughed behind you, a knife suddenly appearing into your eye line. You tensed, watching their every move.

"You see, it's not all about you, Princess despite ruining our original plan, you still fit perfectly into our new plan. We want the power you hold. One accident and you're suddenly Queen of the South, and even if you're not crowned, that baby inside you is the future ruler of the North. Your Lil ole Brother, and your good fuck buddy Bucky, will both be abdicating their thrones, handing them over to Hydra." The knife came closer and you snarled, baring your teeth at the men as they came closer. Eyes watched you from the shadows, and as the man stepped into the light, you realized it was King Pierce, yet another man you despised.

"It's simple dear Princess. If they refuse, we stab one easy knife into that stomach of yours. Two birds, one knife." You felt your heart drop, your dry throat unable to come up with words to express how much you loathed the men in front of your eyes.

"You're making a mistake," you coughed out, locking eyes with the so-called king in front of you.

The knife flew down, stabbing straight through your palm, making you cry out. You bit your tongue hard, desperate not to show these monsters that they can affect you. You tasted bitter copper as you cut your tongue, holding onto the little self-control you had left. "How so, little princess?" Brock was the one to say it, the words makings you grimace.

It was then that you noticed the small red light of a camera in the shadows. They were recording this. Of course, they are. You thought, these monsters wanted to torture your family into submission. You looked dead into the red light, coughing up a laugh, "You underestimate them."

Pierce gave off an odd-sounding chuckle, like a man who knew he had already won. "What? We underestimating their love for you? That's what we want dear Princess," he nodded to Rumlow, who ran the knife across your collarbones, nicking you slightly with a hiss.

You looked up at the men in front of you, giving off a wicked grin. "No. You underestimate their fury."

-

Meanwhile, up in the mountains, Bucky was pacing around the strategy table in the war room. Aurora paced beside him, whining softly as she sensed his distress. Dark circles under his eyes, hands running through his hair for the millionth time, he looked like an utter mess. Everyone else around the table looked virtually the same.

The first thing he had done the second you were gone was trying to run after you. The shattered glass of the door didn’t do anything as he nor Aurora could fit into the steel spaces left by the door, leaving him to watch as they dragged your unconscious body away. Hydra had covered your scent as well as the raging snowstorm so not even the wolves could find you. He then practically ripped open a new one with the guards. Most sung like canaries and it was long until he had every undercover Hydra agent in a line, bruised and bloody, one already dead when his wrath got the best of him.

He wrung his hands, bruises blooming on his right hand, the hand currently gripping onto the constellation necklace he gave you, the one ripped away from you like you were ripped from him. Now, he and the few people left he trusted, were in the war room. A room left unused in over a year, and one of the only rooms left without your little touch of love. He couldn't stand looking at anything you had done to bring life into the castle, he didn't deserve that love. He only deserved the guilt he felt when he would look at the shattered necklace in his hand and the parchment slip beside it. A broken necklace, his broken promise.

The doors to the room flung open, a beaten-up Sam forgoing formality as Steve walked in, followed by only a few trusted advisors and soldiers. Steve was ready to punch Bucky, but one look at his long-time best friend and he knew he couldn't beat him up, the man was already doing it to himself. He sighed, wordlessly pulling Bucky into his arms, acting like a lifeline to a flailing kite in a tornado.

"We'll get her back, Buck, you know she's strong, she can handle them," he spoke softly as if speaking to a wounded animal. Most of the people around the table were a little uneasy at the sight, their Kings breaking down in front of them, broken, afraid. Lost.

"I broke my promise, Stevie," Bucky's voice sounded hoarse, hours of tears being held back hiding just beneath the surface.

"We'll get her back, both of them back," the blonde replied, holding the brunette closer as both started to cry.

Bucky pulled away slightly, shaking his head as he managed to open his hand, right beside his broken necklace was his broken promise. Steve recognized it immediately, the distinct parchment used for special occasions in the South, the piece of paper Bucky borrowed from Steve specifically when he told him he wanted to officially court you.

"You didn't just break my promise, you broke your courtship promise," Nat suddenly spoke, the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place.

He nodded, eyes red with tears, cheeks puffy. "’I promise to protect you, love you, and never let anyone harm you. Until the end of the line, until the day my soul no longer exists,’" Steve quoted in a soft voice, the only other person to have seen the writing.

Shuri, who had come in an hour before Steve and was sitting beside her brother, stood, rage in her eyes. "Then let's get her back, she is the strongest woman I know but she cannot survive forever in those Savage's grip," she slammed her hands onto the table, earning the attention of the four Kings around the table. "We need a plan. There are four Kings in this room, why don't you act like it!"

Prince Loki then spoke up, "I have spies in Hydra's Kingdom, they shall report anything to me, especially a kidnapped Princess."

"My forces are closest to the Hydra Borders, they will defend the border and push their men back, as well as join your forces," T'Challa spoke up.

Steve nodded, "This is an act of war against the South, my men are already gathering together to fight. They will be ready by dusk fall tomorrow."

Nat opened her mouth to speak, before Squire Peter ran in. He looked pale, eyes shot, shaking, holding up a flash drive. "This was just found outside the palace gates, right in a spot we could find."

Wanda shot forward, taking the flash drive. On the opposite side was the red symbol of Hydra, making her shudder. "Let's see what they want," she was terrified. The last time the North had seen a flash drive like this, it had came attached with Bucky's arm, a fact not lost by him as he stared the tiny black device down.

He paled as he saw it, pulling himself from Steve's arms. "Play it. Now." His voice cracked, the only emotion visible in the cold face starting to appear once more.

Shaky hands plugged it into a projector, which lit up into the middle of the table, everyone having a front-row seat to what they were doing to you. You sat in some gods-awful metal chair, shivering from the cold, unconscious. Your eyes fluttered, and you reached for your head, only to be stopped by the rusted chains around you. Bucky noticed the dry blood that caked your hair in the exact spot Rumlow had knocked you out, making him start to see red in his vision. Speaking of the dog, his voice rang out just as you groaned softly, "Looks like the Princess is finally up," his face appearing behind yours.

Another voice rang out, "Good, she'll do nicely," and Bucky felt his blood run cold.

"Zola," he mumbled softly, eyes locking onto the image of you in front of him. Steve shuddered beside him, everyone in the room was well aware of what that man has done. Your eyes had finally opened, just for Rumlow to hit the switch behind you, making you hiss as you adjusted to the new light. Once you looked up at the man, you snarled, and Natasha cracked a smile, proud of your courage. "Ah, you know who I am? Do you know what we'll do to you to get what we want?"You spit at his feet, and Bucky felt a sense of pride filled him, that's his girl.

"You see, it's not all about you, Princess despite ruining our original plan, you still fit perfectly into our new plan. We want the power you hold. One accident and you're suddenly Queen of the South, and even if you're not crowned, that baby inside you is the future ruler of the North. Your Lil ole Brother, and your good fuck buddy Bucky, will both be abdicating their thrones, handing them over to Hydra."Both men in question shared a look, letting the realization that they just might actually do it to save you set in. Bucky would do it without hesitation, to him, there was no life worth living without you.

As King Pierce stepped into the camera's view, Bucky's grip on the wooden table tightened, the metal of his hand starting to make the wood creak. His flesh hand gripped the necklace and parchment tighter, feeling his heart fall at the next words spoken. "It's simple dear Princess. If they refuse, we stab one easy knife into that stomach of yours. Two birds, one knife."Shuri looked over towards Bucky, taking note of the fire starting to burn in his eyes. The cold king of the North was looked ready to kill everyone in his path.

As you spoke, Shuri noticed a crack in the King's composure. "You're making a mistake." Steve leaned forward, hanging onto your every word. Wanda visibly paled as they stabbed you, and Natasha could see how hard you were trying to not cry out in pain. Too focused on you, they missed what the men said, only hearing your response. "You underestimate them."

You coughed up blood as you spoke, the trickle of red down your lips made Bucky tense. "What? We underestimating their love for you? That's what we want dear Princess," Steve felt sick, they were using you only as a means to get to them, he visibly winced as you hissed from the next cut on your body.

"No. You underestimate their fury."Your wicked grin made Natasha smile sadly, she knew you'd hold onto whatever you could to save them, and she knew how stubborn you could be when it came to family.

"Let's challenge that," Zola took a step forward, and everyone in the room tensed. The video couldn't be more than a few hours old so whatever they did to you was already done, but they couldn't look away.

Rumlow ran the knife down your side, cutting away the fabric, leaving you in tatters, barely covering your skin. He pressed the knife harder, and you shut your eyes on the screen, visibly shaking as the knife cut into you. This went on for almost twenty minutes, simple cuts and knife jabs, determined to simply tease you and whoever was watching. You bit your tongue, hissing out loud only when Zola stabbed a syringe into your neck. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, as blue liquid dripped out of your nose and eyes and mouth as you passed out. "How long do you think my patience will last before we have our way with the precious princess? Such a shame she's already pregnant, my men would probably love a turn with her," Rumlow knelt, the camera now directly staring into his eyes. "This is only the beginning Barnes. We'll break her, just like we broke you." The screen went black, the room quiet.

The wood splintered around Bucky's hand, shattered as his anger got the best of him. He had a growl building in the back of his throat, deep in his chest. Every knife flick, every word uttered, every second they had you, he felt his fury grow. He knew, without a doubt, he would kill them for even thinking they could touch you.

-

It was a week. At least you think it was a week. Time was hard to tell when you weren't able to move from your cell, which was dark, cramp, damp, and had no windows. They would tie you down and force an IV into you every few days, barley keeping you alive. A bucket in the corner was the only place to relieve yourself, and as the days went on, you started using your own pajamas as bandages for your major wounds. Two stab wounds, multiple cuts, and scrapes, your wounds weren't as terrible as you thought they would be. You knew you had the beginnings of a concussion, having seen similar symptoms in others before, but what worried you was the electric blue liquid they pumped into your veins. It made your veins burn, like a fire coursed through them. It kept you weak and dazed, and to your displeasure, they would pump it into you every other day. Of course, you were bothered by the pain of it, but your instincts only flooded to one thing. Protect. Protect the baby inside you and protect the man they could have grabbed instead. You figured they needed the baby in you to have a claim to the North, so they wouldn't hurt it. But your nutrients were dwindling, everything you had was being sucked up by the life growing in you. You wouldn't be able to fight back soon enough.

As time went on, they tortured you more. One sharp punch to the face and you think you had a black eye. You knew they were recording every time they strapped you to that chair. You only clung to the thought of Bucky one day coming through that door, ending the misery you were in. You clung to your family, your parents who always had the best intentions yet we're a little confused as to how to act upon it. Natasha, Wanda, Sam, even Tony, and Clint. Your brother, who was probably getting ready to fight all of Hydra by himself. And then, Bucky. Your Bucky. That's the thought that made you smile. How angelic he looked in the early morning, hair mused, body calm, peaceful. His giddy smile when you accepted the conch shell from him, you smiling back when you placed it on his desk. His dorky smile when Aurora and Rainecurled up against you one night by the fire. His groans as you tugged on his hair playfully. The charming smile you could see in the mirror as he learned how to braid your hair with the metal hand. Lounging and naming stars with your own goofy nicknames just to hear him laugh. Yeah, you thought. Him. You'd cling onto him. Your own Northern Star.

-

Tags:

Frozen Heart Tags:

@jsmith509 / @lumar014 / @littlemissporter / @kaylaphantomhive  

@damnbuckyishot / @aveatquevale- / @booksbeforebois  

@marvelgirl7 / @minetticatinwonderland  

Bucky Tags:

@cassandras-musings  / @darkness-doughter / @novaddictx / @thedancingnerdmermaid

For a tag, just reply/comment, if I don’t see it, just message me. Tell me what you think! Literally, any comment makes me happy! Like, comment, reblog, interact <3

[hwalovs]

Humanities Wings | San

Pairing; San, Reader Warnings; Mentions of gore and death, Attack on titan Au! San’s a baby boy, You’re a fat bitch oops Genre; Angst, fluff Word count; 2k Summary; San decides to drop in while you’re doing paper, taking it upon himself, he decides to bring up an event from the recent expedition. 

A/n; i wrote this randomly while re-watching attack on titan edits over bts’ Not Today. 

The sun from the large window behind you wasn’t casting light in as it once was, and the soldiers once in the training grounds below were inside the mess hall eating the same boring food they got everyday. 

Your back and neck hurt, pains shooting down to your legs and hands cramping from the continuous paperwork Hongjoong insists you have to do as the captain. Commander Hongjoong was a great guy, the perfect person to be called Commander, truly. He had a stern gaze, did what was best for the rest of the regiment, and always knew when to call it quits while on expeditions outside the walls. 

You were the captain of the Special Operations squad, a squad containing soldiers that were more talented than the others; stronger, faster, more intelligent during expeditions. Your squad was the first made, you always picked between the top two from the top ten soldiers fresh from training. It wasn't a surprise that you’d lose one or two members from your squad every expedition. Always having to add a new person or two every spring after the most major expedition in the winter. Between the 5 members on your squad, one was never killed, always making it back by your side with only a scratch or two. His name was Seonghwa, top of his class and extremely skilled in all categories. 

Being said Captain of the Special Operations squad, it made you extremely important in the regiment. Being dubbed ‘Humanities Wings’ and Hongjoong’s closest friend. 

The other squad leaders didn't mind not being on top, they were all ranked by talent, the lowest being Squad Wooyoung. Wooyoung and his squad focused solely on experimenting and collecting data on the titans that lurked outside the walls surrounding the cities. Above him was Squad Yunho, Yunho was a quiet, gentle giant. Being one of your close friends and always giving the best hugs, he always lost the most squad members while on expeditions, some leaving a mark on his heart more than others. 

Last but not least, the man that came a close second to you, was Squad San. San was dubbed ‘Humanity's Strongest Soldier’ and with good reason, he was once a criminal in the underground city, fighting everyday to live. You were the only one that was able to beat him in hand to hand combat, which made his ego deflate just a little every time. His squad barely had any casualties, maybe once every two years. He got to choose his squad members just like you did, but got to choose from the top ten, not the top two like you. 

Glancing to the top of your desk, there laid a large bulky yellow envelope. Inside contained the two patches from the fallen in your squad, you reached up and grabbed said envelope. Opening it and holding the two bloodied patches in your hand while leaning back in your chair. One belonged to a new recruit, she looked scared before the expedition, and screamed bloody murder while being chewed in half by a titan. She hesitated going to kill it, causing her own doom. The other belonged to a boy you picked a few years ago, you didn't think he’d die, you blocked off how he died in your memory. 

Leaning down and opening the last drawer on your desk, you dropped the patches in, letting them lay with the other patches that already occupied the space. Sighing, you grabbed an empty sheet of paper and began writing a letter to their families, saying how they served humanity strongly and bravely. 

A knock at your door took your attention away from your writing, saying a quiet and rough “Come in,” before looking back down. 

The sound of the door opening echoed throughout the room, clicking of the uniforms leather boots against the floor coming closer to you before you heard them sit down in a chair in front of your desk. 

“You’re going to permanently form your neck like that if you continue to sit like that,” You sighed, looking up and meeting eyes with San. 

“I cant write sitting up straight like you can, you idiot. Now, what do you want? I have paperwork to sign and letters to write and send out before dinner,” You replied back, looking over his attire. The light brown cropped jacket every soldier is required to wear is nowhere to be seen, most likely propped up on the back of his office chair down the hallway. The cravat he wears around his neck blends into the crisp white shirt he wore. Contrasting deeply against his pale, yet healthy, skin. Usually after expeditions, every squad leader is assigned a mountain of paperwork, taking their attention away from social events, like meetings with their squad, and food, causing the usual glow they give off to fade into a pale color. 

“Just came to check on you- after all, you are my favorite squad leader,” he says while giving you a wide smile. His pearly white teeth on display, you glared at him, lips turned down into a sneer. 

“I’m your captain, higher ranking, you better remember that.” 

“Oh, I remember. I just really, really, like to tease you,” he said, arm coming up to drape over the back of the chair, leg coming up to cross the other. You shook your head slightly, sighing out softly before leaning back down to continue writing. 

Some days, San would bring in a book and sit down on the sofa, which was positioned along one of the walls in your office. He’d sit and read until you were ready to go eat, you always thought nothing of it. Other days he’d come in with arms full of packaged sweets and two cups of tea, exclaiming how you needed to cook off and to replenish your sweet supply so he wouldn’t have to worry about his own supply. He’d drop all the sweet on your desk abruptly, yet carefully put down the two elegantly decorated cups filled full tea. Each time he brought a cup, it would be different for you, yet the same for him, always black tea for him. 

“I was worried about you this time, you know,” he broke the silence, speaking softly. The pen scratching against paper stopped suddenly, breath coming short. Never, ever did you like talking about expeditions. It was a waste of time thinking back to how your comrades died gruesomely, grieving over people who you weren’t close to. San notices when you stop, not bringing your attention back to him.

“You shouldn’t have gone after him, you know, you both couldn’t die. Seonghwa would’ve been fine-“ 

“He would’ve died if I didn’t do what I did, he would’ve been torn apart and devoured if I didn’t push him,” you glared hard at him, he knew he shouldn’t be talking about it, he knew that you always get harsh and close yourself off anytime he brings up a close death to young Seonghwa, you always managed to save him. 

“How do you know? Maybe he was luring it so he could make a clean kill, maybe-“ you cut him off once again,

“Wooyoung checked his gear when we came back, it was broken, must have locked up when he went in for the kill. If I didn’t do what I did, he’d be dead right now. My best- my top soldier would be dead, and I cannot have that,” you stressed out, finally looking up to San. His lips pursed, looking down to the floor and grimacing slightly at how dirty it was.

“I know you did what you thought was right, but it would’ve cost you your life. Don’t you see that? The regiment would’ve lost their best soldier,” San said, his voice rising slowly as he continued. You narrowed your eyes, leaning back once more. 

“And what if It did, hm? I bet you’d be damn happy if I was gone, at least you wouldn’t have to fight for my title anymore,” you sneered, voice staying level. Sans featured morphed then, eyes narrowing and mouth opening slightly while scoffing. He rose from the chair, slamming his hands down on your desk, a loud ‘bang’ resonating around the room.

“My god, (y/n), you really think this of about some damn title?! I almost had a heart attack when I saw you go after him, I almost lost you. And for the love of god, I am not fighting for your title. I think you rightfully deserve it, not me. I came in here to tell you that I was worried and I was happy you’re alive, but you’re always that bitch aren’t you? Making everything about everybody else,” he yelled, you sat in shock, San never yelled at you like this. 

“Let me worry about you for once! Let me care about you because I want to, not because we’re comrades.” He stated, pushing up from your desk. He ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back from his eyes. 

You felt your chest contract then, heart dropping at what he was saying. Your stomach did a few flips, taking in how his eyes were full of hurt and anger. Have you taken it too far this time? 

Silence filled the office, his gaze casted to the floor. Either he was trying to find something to say, or waiting for your reply. 

“You know I don’t want anybody to worry about me, not with our line of work, San” you said softly back, finally finding your words. He chuckled softly, hands finding his hips. He looked back at your, red beginning to rim his eyes. You felt a bolt of worry shoot down your body, mind blurry and feet getting cold from blood loss. 

“Then I guess I should’ve found a different line of work, huh?” He sounded so hurt, so lost. 

“What did you come in here for, San, really,” you spoke softly, the thought of being any louder scared you, for the first time something scared you. 

“I came to talk to you, about this,” he gestured between you both, ���but it seems like you don’t feel any type of way I do,” voice cracking, San takes a step back. You stand suddenly, and his eyes shoot up to yours as if you suddenly screamed out. You rounded your desk at the speed of light and wrapped your arms around his middle. You could feel his breathing stop, he didn’t move. 

You and San, captain and squad leader. There were unspoken feelings from between you both, you did take note in it all, in all of his hints. From the way he glanced at you during meetings, the way he sorted the candy so that you got all the good kind. How his brows furrowed when you took it too far during training, how he seemed close to tears when he saw you get smacked out of the air like a fly on an expedition years ago. How he would be the one waking you up when you slept in, making sure you got the best looking bread and the hottest soup during meals. How he would offer to take some paperwork so you didn’t have to overwork yourself.

“You never know what another person feels, San,” you began, cheek pressed against his chest. 

“I didn’t say anything since I wanted to protect us both, I didn’t-don’t-want to start anything if it means one of us will get hurt in the end,” his check collapsed with a sob, taking in your rejection hard, beginning to pull away. You quickly tighten your grip, fear lacing your veins. 

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything for you, because I do. I feel for you as strongly as you feel for me, but the last thing I want is for you to grieve over me,” finally he wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly against his chest. 

“I could protect you, we could protect each other, we could make it work,” he pleaded, tear dropping from his nose to your cheek. You felt your eyes get hot, you never cried. 

“I just don’t want to lose you after this,” he whispered softly, leaning his chin on top of your head. 

You knew it was wrong, wanting to start something with him when the possibility of death was inevitable, but the never ending thought of having him, holding him, finally basking in the feelings you kept locked away in a cage so long, felt too good to let slip away once more.

“Okay” 

A\n; oops

[planetsanswer]

Is Cloud Abusive?

Recently, there was a bit of a drama in the Final Fantasy VII fandom over at the other social media network, Twitter. It was about a scene in the original game, where Cloud beats Aerith after giving the Black Materia to Sephiroth.

There was two sides to the argument. One, that Cloud was mind controlled by Sephiroth to do that. The other, that Cloud did that out of his own accord. I have a very strong opinion on this, based on my knowledge of the game and mental health. I’m no mental health professional, though. And also, we are talking about mind control magic. So this won’t end up being the most scientific piece you read in your life.

That being said, I must add that I have no bad feelings towards the people who disagree with me on this, that Cloud did do it on his own will. I just disagree with them, and I will explain my views in this essay. 

And before we start, some trigger warnings. This piece contains the following: violence, physical abuse, physical violence, mental abuse. At the end, I draw comparisons to situations where we are forced to do things we don’t want, and situations we are taken advantage of (like manipulation and/or forced to take drugs). Please don’t read this if any of that makes you uncomfortable. If it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, I hope you enjoy the essay. So, buckle up. Is Cloud abusive?

JENOVA is the calamity that fell from the sky and destroyed almost every living Cetra on the Planet. She had the power to take the likeness and memories of someone else in order to fool and manipulate her victims. And just like that, she spread an illness that basically consisted of inserting her own genes in her preys, transforming them into monsters.

When JENOVA’s parts are separated, they want to reunite with the core. That’s the Reunion Theory, when all victims with her ‘virus’ are influenced by her genes to reunite and become one once again. That’s how JENOVA has control over her victims.

Five years before the events of the original game, after the Nibelheim Incident, Cloud and Zack were tested on by Shinra scientists. Zack was a SOLDIER member, so his body was used to having JENOVA cells implanted on him, as SOLDIERs would have to deal with that. Cloud, on the other hand, was no SOLDIER member and was not used to the treatment. That’s why the testing took a bigger toll on Cloud than it did Zack.

So, both Zack, Cloud and any other member of SOLDIER would participate in the Reunion and would’ve been able to be manipulated by JENOVA. Sephiroth is her biological son, so obviously he has the virus within him, thus making him someone manipulated by JENOVA, correct? To an extent.

Sephiroth's will is much stronger than the average person, and stronger than JENOVA’s. Sephiroth is able to control JENOVA, who is able to control every person with the virus. In short, Sephiroth is able to control anyone with the JENOVA cells within them. That includes the clones, the people tested in Nibelheim and, obviously Cloud. Even Zack if he were alive.

...I'm not wild about the failure part, but the Jenova Reunion Theory has now been proven. You see, even if Jenova's body is dismembered, it will eventually become one again. That's what is meant by Jenova's Reunion. I have been waiting for the Reunion to start. Five years have passed, and now the Clones have begun to return. I thought the clones would begin to gather at Midgar where Jenova is stored. But my predictions were not entirely correct. Jenova itself began to move away from the Shinra Building. But being a genius that I am, I soon figured it out. You see it was all Sephiroth's doing. Sephiroth is not just content to diffuse his will into the Lifestream; he wants to manipulate the Clones himself.

— Professor Hojo, Northern Crater (CD2)

So now we know who was in charge of the manipulation: Sephiroth, through his mother JENOVA, was able to mind control Cloud throughout most of the story. It’s arguable that for most of CD1, that’s why Cloud was chasing Sephiroth with all his might. Not to set the score, but because he was manipulated to do so. Because his JENOVA cells wanted to attend the Reunion.

Now that we know how Sephiroth manipulated Cloud, we must dive into why. Sephiroth’s plan goes as the following:

Get someone with the JENOVA cells to find the Black Materia and take it to his body;

Harness the energy from the Black Materia in order to revive himself (Up until this, the Sephiroth we see running around is actually JENOVA taking his likeness. Sephiroth is controlling everything from the LIFESTREAM);

Again using the Black Materia, summon the Ultimate Destructive Magic: Meteor. This would leave a crater bigger than when JENOVA fell from the sky;

Sephiroth would, then, stand in the middle of this new crater;

The Planet, in an attempt to heal itself, would send an enormous amount of energy to the crater;

Standing in the middle of this, Sephiroth would then absorb all the energy from the Planet;

The Planet would die, Sephiroth would reach god like power;

He then would most likely use the remaining of the Planet to travel to other Planets and repeat the process, it’s not very clear.

There are two things standing on the way to his goal: not having Black Materia in his hands, and the power of the last living Cetra, Aerith. Even if Sephiroth successfully obtains the Black Materia, Aerith can still summon Holy through the White Materia and protect the Planet from Meteor’s impact.

How does he fix this? Well... When Cloud, Aerith and the rest of the party successfully obtain the Black Materia, Sephiroth bends Cloud’s will and mind controls him into handing it over to him. 

I will be using screen-shots from the scene Cloud hands over the Black Materia at the ruins of the Temple of the Ancients to illustrate my point. For further enlightenment, I would recommend watching the video after reading my analysis.

We, as the player, lose all control of Cloud. We are Cloud, what he does is our choice. What he says in some dialogues is our choice. Who he takes on the date is our choice. The fact that we, as the player, can’t control Cloud anymore shows that Cloud is being controlled by someone else. He is moving on his own towards Sephiroth.

While he’s doing that, we have control of a tiny version of Cloud. His 6 year old self, that later in the LIFESTREAM sequence with Tifa, we learn is ‘the real Cloud’. The fact that we can control this specific Cloud confirms he is the real Cloud. The Cloud the player has control over is the Cloud we choose the dialogue, who he dates, everything. That’s the real Cloud. And through the whole scene he is screaming ‘no!’ while trying to avoid the ‘delivery’ from happening.

We now know that having baby Cloud on the same scene as regular, adult Cloud, symbolizes that Cloud has lost control of his body and is forced to see the actions of someone else using him as a vessel. This is very important to the next scene.

Mind-controlled Cloud hands over the Black Materia to Sephiroth. At that moment, Sephiroth was very close to reviving himself. The plan he was scheming for over 5 years was finally bearing fruit. All he had to do was take that Black Materia up North and there was nothing that could stay on his way from summoning Meteor and achieving his gol.

Except for Aerith, and Aerith was right in front of a mind controlled Cloud. At that very moment, Sephiroth has an idea. An idea of having Cloud’s body beat Aerith to death.

Upon Sephiroth’s (well, technically JENOVA with Sephiroth’s likeness) leaving, Cloud regains control of himself. How do we know that? Baby Cloud is nowhere to be seen, so we can assume he is back in control of Cloud’s body. We are back in control of Cloud’s body.

Cloud falls to the ground, and Aerith consoles him, telling him what happened was not his fault. She is aware of what Sephiroth is doing.

Cloud stands up, and the moment he pushes Aerith to the ground, adult Cloud and baby Cloud are separated again. We learned in the previous scene that when that happens is because Cloud has lost control of his body once again. This is when ‘Cloud’ starts beating Aerith.

Baby Cloud disappears once again when whoever party member you brought with you climbs down and knocks Cloud out, in order to get him to stop beating Aerith. Everything turns white, and the scene ends. Just like when he handed the Black Materia over, Cloud does not remember what he did.

Taking these facts into consideration, paying attention to the scene once again and analyzing these details, it is impossible to say Cloud did any of this in his own accord. Something that further proves that he was being mind controlled, and that it was Sephiroth’s intent to have him kill Aerith, is that Sephiroth tries to mind control Cloud into killing her once again in Forgotten Capital.

Cloud himself is very well aware of what Sephiroth is trying to make him do. He voices this when he breaks out of Sephiroth’s control (for the first time!) and says: “Ugh... what are you making me do.” He knows these violent actions towards Aerith are not his, and after talking to Aerith in his dream, he is now able to break out of Sephiroth’s control. After all, the only plot scene about his mental health between these two scenes is their conversation in his dream. He mentions being scared to Tifa and Barret, but it was Aerith who told him to ‘really worry about it’.

When Cloud breaks out of Sephiroth’s control in Forgotten Capital, Cloud’s will is stronger than Sephiroth’s or JENOVA’s. That’s why Sephiroth decides to murder Aerith himself (technically JENOVA), instead of insisting on Cloud doing the job. Because it ended up being easier to do it than to battle Cloud for control over his body.

Cloud not wanting to do more harm to Aerith is what breaks Sephiroth’s mind control. This means that, with Aerith’s help, Cloud’s will to remain in control of his body was the strongest it would ever get. Sadly, Aerith’s death, his past and finding out his memories were all wrong weakens his mind and will, making room for Sephiroth to be able to control him more times throughout the game.

So, in conclusion, Cloud was never abusive. He was never violent towards Aerith, Sephiroth (with the control of Cloud’s body) was. The real abuser here is Sephiroth. He violated Cloud’s mind and body, and inflicted physical abuse on Aerith in two separate occasions, one leading to her death.

This is not “making excuses” to an abuser, this is understanding what happened in the scene. We can’t compare it to real life because there is no magical mind control powers. But there are drugs that can alter your behavior or make you unconscious. We should compare JENOVA cells being implanted on Cloud against his will, and this resulting in someone else taking advantage of him to a real life scenario, where people are drugged against their will so their assailants can take advantage of them and the situation. 

Both Cloud and Aerith were victims of Sephiroth’s abuse.

[xmarveled]

Just You

Pairing: Thor x Reader

Summary: Thor gets hurt in battle, but he’s too ashamed to tell you. You console him, and helps him realize that he doesn’t always have to be the hero.

Request: Requested by my girl @bxcksdoll. Can u do a Thor x reader (obvs) where he gets really hurt in a fight and he’s embarrassed of the reader seeing him cause he thinks she sees him as weak.

Warnings: Just a giant pile of fluffy fluffiness. (And some angst to match.)

A/N: Another Thor fic!! In this one, it is set during the battle of Wakanda in Infinity War, but let’s prêtent that we won it. If you guys have any other requests, don’t hesitate to message me!! :)

Y/N POV

The world has become only blood, mud, and the screams of the dying. Battle was no neat, orderly thing. There were no grand, heroic duels, only sword against sword and the bang of bullets as they met flesh.

Shield to shield and shoulder to shoulder in the rolling fields of Wakanda, we met Thanos’ army head on. I fought besides Nat and Okoye, manipulating the energy around me to kill. We’ve fought back to back for hours, only stopping for a drink of water or to check if any of the bodies littered besides us had familiar faces.

Against the brute force of Thanos’ army, many of our troops fell. Still, we pushed on and on, for our freedom, for our future, and most of all, for the lives of those we love.

Thor POV

In all my years of fighting, I’ve never seen a battle quite like this. Thanos’ monsters appeared out of nowhere, killing dozens and dozens of soldiers. I spotted another one harassing Rogers, and Stormbreaker quickly found its place imbedded into the monster’s neck.

Here on the battlefield, this is where I belong. Not on a throne, but here in the blood stained grasses of this strange, beautiful country as I unleashed Stormbreaker again and again. Thunder bellowed as lightning erupted around me, taking out all the enemy soldiers within 20 meters.

I looked around for a minute, panic settling as I didn’t find the one I was looking for. I was just about to call for Rogers when I finally spotted her. Hair falling out of the braid she always wore when she fought, with a determined expression on her fierce, beautiful face, she took on the soldiers rushing towards her.

I watched, mesmerized, as the soldiers were blasted apart with one motion of her hands. However, more and more soldiers were starting to converge on her, so I sent a blast of lightning towards them, killing them where they stood. No one touched my girl.

Not stopping even a split second, you launched yourself at the monster harassing Natasha. I continued watching, transfixed by the way you moved, until I heard the sound of metal slashing through air. I turn around, but was too slow to move out of the way as the sword pierced my chest, barely missing my heart. Stormbreaker caught the man in the neck, decapitating him.

I could barely stand, and my lightning grew weaker as blood steeped through my armor. Rogers ran towards me, and swore when he saw the wound. He half dragged me away from the battle, and the last thing I said before my vision faded to black was “tell Y/N that I love her”.

Y/N POV

The battle was finally over. After the Mad Titan’s defeat, the surviving soldiers celebrated, and the Avengers were no different. I hugged Sam and Bucky as tears streamed down all of our faces, even Bucky’s. All of us were exhausted, having fought since dawn, and there was nothing I wanted more than to take a three day nap. But first, I have to find Thor.

There was no sight of him anywhere on the battlefield, and I approched Rhodey, Bruce, Wanda, and practically every single face I recognized, but none of them seemed to have seen him.

I was worried, but I thought that if anything had happened, someone would have seen something, right? I walked back to my room in the palace, unable to shake off the feeling that something was wrong when I bumped into Steve.

Like with the others, I asked him if he had seen Thor. I caught the brief look of hesitation in his eyes before he told me that he was fine, and that he just had something to take care of. Still anxious, I got into bed and contemplated Steve’s words, but exhaustion took over and I slowly drifted off.

I woke to the sound of the door creaking open, and groggily opened my eyes to the sight of Thor trying to sneak into the room. Relief crashed into me like a wave, and I asked him “Where have you been?”

“Just dealing with some things. You don’t have to worry about it, my love.” He said, trying to play it off. I sat up on the bed and narrowed my eyes at him. Thor’s never been a good liar, and he was clearly hiding something.

“What did you have to deal with, my love?” I asked.

“Oh, I just had to talk to his highness what was his name... T’Kaka about some things.” He said, cheeks turning pink.

I snorted. “So what did this T’Kaka want to talk to you about?

“Uhh...” He stuttered out, flustered.

I signed and climbed out of bed. Walking over to where he stood fidgeting, I peered into his handsome face, still bloodied in a few places, and said “Don’t lie to me Thor.”

He tensed and shook his head, “I’m not.” He stammered out. Growing frustrated, I pulled his arm towards me, but didn’t miss his wince of pain as he clutched his chest.

In an instant, all of my irritation was gone as I looked at him while he tried to compose himself.

“Thor... Are you-are you hurt?”

“What? No-” I ignored his protest as I gently moved his jacket aside and lifted up his shirt. I was greeted with bandages that barely concealed his wound, and Thor flinched again as my hands probed the injury.

“Oh Thor...” I removed my hands from his body and sat down on the bed as I tried to fight the tears that were threatening to fall from my eyes.

“Darling please-please don’t cry.” His arms came around me, as he pulled me in his chest.

“Why-why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady.

“I... I didn’t want to worry you.” He said, faltering when he saw the expression on my face.

“Worry me? You didn’t want to worry me?” I scoffed. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

After a minute of silence, he said “Alright, I-I just didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“What?” I whispered.

“I-I just, I’m supposed to be the fighter. I’m supposed to be the strongest Avenger, hell, I’m supposed to the fucking God of Thunder.” He scoffed at himself. “I wanted to be able to protect my people, to protect you, but I couldn’t even manage to not get myself killed. I’m not a genius like Stark or Banner, nor am I a worthy king... I’m not-I’m not even a hero.

“You don’t need to be a hero for everyone.” I say.

“I don’t care about being a hero for everyone.” He whispers. “I just want to be a hero for you.”

I look up at him, but his eyes were averted. Slowly, I turn his head around to look at me, and the shame and the self-disgust in his eyes broke my heart.

“Thor... I don’t care if you’re a hero. Damn it all, I wouldn’t care if you couldn’t move, couldn’t stand on your own. I love you, for the way you make me smile, make me laugh even on a bad day. For those cheeky little smiles you’d send me when you said something totally inappropriate to Tony at dinner. And for the way you always make me feel strong, beautiful, and so, so loved. I don’t care if you’re the God of Thunder, or if you’re just Thor. You’re the one I choose.”

For a minute, he just looked at me, amazed, before pulling me into his chest and letting his tears fall into my hair. I could hear whispers of “I love you. I love you so damn much.” as he hugged me even closer. I reached up, brushing away a stray hair from his forehead and said “I love you, Thor Odinson, not your powers, not your crown, just you.”

Omg that turned wayyy more angsty than I originally planned. Thanks for reading!! ^^

Taglist: @xxstarwalker @bxcksdoll

Message me if you want to be on the taglist! :)

[buffyversefanfiction]

Twisted Tristan

Chapter 7 - Buffy’s Boy (Volume 2)

Warnings: I do not own or claim to own the original content to “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”, “Angel”, the comics or any of the original characters from the “Buffyverse” all rights belong to Joss Whedon.

15 plus, displays of Violence, Gore, Torture, M/M, F/M, F/F.

Tristan Summers’ once again managed to escape death proving to be quite like his biological mother Buffy Summers in that sense but this time it wasn’t Drusilla who came to his rescue but instead two old faces from his past, his former best friend turned bewitching enemy Mandi Jenkins and his first love Lucas Brown.

Over the years in which he had become strained from them both they had lived quite an interesting life apart from each other before coming to meet each other.

Mandi returned to her hometown of Riverborn after overcoming her magic addiction fueled by Drusilla and Dante desperate to start afresh and make amends for the things she made happen under Drusilla, Dante and even Tristan’s influence while Lucas went from high school heart throb to full time member of a top secret organisation that Riley Finn had started which worked where trained soldiers worked with slayers, witches and werewolves to help protect the innocent.

Mandi and Lucas’ paths intertwined once again when Lucas was hired to track down the former evil witch only to learn she had reformed and from there the two rekindled their friendship before finding love with each other which luckily for them Tristan had no clue about.

Mandi and Lucas started off as friends of Tristan before becoming strangers after Tristan to becoming friends without Tristan then lovers and now they were the ones who saved him from the rubble and Tristan’s latest kidnappers.

“Where the hell am I?” An injured Tristan asked himself as he awoke to find himself chained to Mandi’s bed in her bedroom only to look up to see Mandi and Lucas stood over the bed staring at them. “Oh god kill me now.”

Tristan remained in chains bounded to Mandi’s bed completely silent as Mandi and Lucas watched over him for several minutes as he got his head around the seriously distasteful nostalgia happening before his eyes straight after his showdown with his parents Buffy and Angel.

“So, are you going to tell me why I’m chained to your bed?” Tristan asked Mandi.

“I can’t keep letting you just continue to hurt people.” Mandi told him. “It’s about time somebody deals with you.”

“Well you quickly turned coat from the evil witch whose kill count was almost as high as my own.” Tristan cruelly mocked her. “It’s a little too late for you to play heroine now.”

“Drusilla manipulated me she got me hooked on magic and then took advantage of that addiction just like she manipulated you.” Mandi tried to explain to him. “She got you hooked on some delirious idea of addiction and she’s been playing you ever since.

“It’s hardly Drusilla’s fault that you couldn’t hack it with the big guys.” Tristan scoffed at his former friend while noticing Lucas’ silence. “And she never manipulated me.”

“Tristan, we had a life before that she devil came a long it wasn’t much but it was ours and she took it away from us while she manipulated us into monsters.” Mandi snapped at Tristan. “I didn’t understand how deeply twisted the magic she got me into was until it was too late.”

“Oh god not another bloody sob story I’ve had my fill of those lately can’t someone just deal with their lives without constantly whining.” Tristan replied as he rolled his eyes at the brown-haired witch. “Redemption is for the weak is all I’ve learned from those talks.”

“Whether you want to admit it or not I know there’s some humanity left inside of you Tristan.” She responded. “And redemption is a path only the strongest people can walk.”

“Tristan Black died a very long time ago in fact he never truly existed this is the real me and the real me is going to kill you both the minute he gets out of these chains.” Tristan warned both Mandi and Lucas.

“I really hope you’re wrong but if you’re not then I’ll have to kill you.” Mandi replied coldly shocking Lucas in the process.

Buffy sat on the edge of her bed in her room at Riverborn’s only motel nursing her wounds from the recent explosion at her son’s former family home trying to come to terms with the level of hatred her own son Tristan had for her and his father while continuing to hope that hate hadn’t completely consumed her son fearing she would soon again lose him but this time to the darkness.

“I searched through the rubble high and low and there’s no sign of his body which means somehow he escaped and once again he avoided death.” Willow said as she walked through the door. “Guess he really is your son after all because death keeps coming for him and yet he’s still standing.”

“He was willing to kill himself as long as it meant killing me and Angel.” Buffy said while still trying to work her head around it all. “He knows we’re his parents and he still wanted us dead.”

“I know Buffy,” She replied as she sat down next to Buffy on the bed and hugged into her friend. “We will get through to him eventually you’re the one who taught me never to give up on the people you love.”

“What if I can’t save him what if he can’t be saved?” Buffy asked as tears began forming in her eyes as she hugged Willow tighter. “I’ve sacrificed so much time and time again to save the world so much so that I completely lost myself for a while by being the slayer and now the latest threat is my own child. Willow if he needs stopped, I can’t be the one to stop him I can’t be the one to kill my son.”

“We will find another way Buffy I promise it won’t come to that.” Willow said trying to reassure her friend while not completely believing her own words as Angel was next to walk through the door.

“I took a walk to clear my thoughts after everything and I happened upon Riverborn High School.” Angel revealed to them both as he walked over to stand in front of them. “Long story short I broke into the school searched the library for yearbooks and found our son.”

“You did.” Buffy replied as she dried her tears and attempted to pull herself together. “I’d love to see that yearbook.”

“I’ve got copies in my car one for you and one for me.” Angel said making Buffy smile at his thoughtfulness. “The point is he was pictured several times with this brown-haired girl who I found out was called Amanda Jenkins.”

“That’s good,” Willow admitted as she stood up from the bed. “If he’s still in Riverborn maybe he may have contacted her for old time’s sake.”

“Yes, and if he did then that proves there’s still some good in there.” Buffy said with excitement in her voice as she stood up. “If he still cares about this girl then there’s still something in him that can be saved.”

“Or he could try and murder her as a defiant act towards his past but either way she’s a good shot at finding him.” Angel revealed. “One way or another Buffy we are going to find our son and we’ll get him back.”

Tristan was now sitting up on Mandi’s bed which he was still shackled and bound to as he was left alone in Mandi’s bedroom with only Lucas watching over him which is when he decided was the best time to make an escape plotting to use their history together against Lucas.

“Judging by the fact you’re not entirely spooked by all this tells me a lot has changed since high school.” Tristan said to him.

“Well once you and Mandi vanished everyone assumed you killed your parents and that Mandi was either dead too or part of the crime but I knew the guy I went to school with would never kill his parents so I began amateurishly looking into their death which set me down a path with several turns until I wound up working for a top secret initiative that deals with this kind of stuff on the daily.” Lucas revealed surprising Tristan by how far he had come.

“Do you remember the last time we were together?” Tristan asked, already knowing the answer.

“Of course, I do it’s hardly a night I could forget even before you skipped town.” Lucas admitted. “I regret all the time how I handled everything back then you don’t know how many times I wish I could go back to that night and convince you to stay or helped you in some way.”

“Trust me when I say everything happened for a reason Lucas.” Tristan told him with a forced smile. “No matter what’s went down you will always be the first man I ever loved.”

“You were the only man I ever loved.” Lucas told him before going on to say. “I don’t know all the things that happened to you after leaving Riverborn, but I want to help you get back to that boy I loved all those years ago.”

“You could start by passing me over that glass of water.” Tristan replied while looking over to the bed side unit where the glass of water stood noticing the uncertainty on Lucas’ face. “If you’re going to save my soul you should probably start by saving my dehydration I promise not to bite.”

Mandi returned to her bedroom only to be left horrified to find Tristan strangling her boyfriend Lucas with the very chains she put on Tristan, Tristan’s hands firmly around his neck ready to snap the life out of him if Mandi made one move wrong.

“Humans are so beyond fragile it’s rather revolting,” Tristan said to her while applying more pressure onto Lucas’ neck causing him to groan in pain. “All it takes is one crack and the life just go right out them.”

“Leave him alone!” Mandi shouted at him.

“Don’t worry I will let him go the minute you release me from these chains and let me get the hell out of this backwards town.” Tristan blackmailed her knowing she wouldn’t let Lucas die.

“How do I even know you won’t just kill him and then me the minute I set you free?” She asked him clearly in fear for both Lucas’ life and her own.

“You have me there Mandi Jenkins, but it’s not really like you have a choice in any of this,” Tristan said with a sinister laugh. “You either set me free and risk it or Lucas’ death will literally be on your hands.”

Buffy, Angel and Willow found themselves walking down the streets of the quiet small town of Riverborn late within that night looking for Amanda Jenkins’ home hoping to get some more information on a certain Tristan not knowing they were just minutes late from watching Tristan’s escape from that very same home.

“I’ve got to admit this little town reminds me of Sunnydale a little bit.” Willow admitted to them both. “God I really miss Sunnydale sometimes it sucks that we can never go back.”

“It’s weird to think that Tristan grew up here almost mirroring our lives back in Sunnydale although I learned about vampires long before going to Sunnydale and my best friend was a red head and Xander Harris.” Buffy replied clearly reminiscing about the old days with Willow and Xander.

“I looked into Amanda preferred named Mandi Jenkins’ files and nothing particularly that interesting at least not in any database but then I stumbled across Lucas Wyatt who also went to Riverborn High School and just so happens to work with Riley Finn’s company so the chances on at least one of the two friends knowing something are pretty decent.” Willow revealed to Buffy and Angel as they found themselves stopping outside of Mandi’s home. “Oh, one more little thing I recovered from some high school gossip but this Lucas guy may or may not be your son’s ex-boyfriend and judging by Lucas’ records of investigative work on Tristan he may or may not still harbor feelings for him.”

“I can’t believe we’re about to interrogate our son’s boyfriend,” Buffy said to Angel. “I mean I always thought we would but not like this.”

“I also have to suggest no killing this one guys.” Willow butted in.

“Illyria killed the last to be fair,” Angel replied, “Let’s just hope his other ex is less of an evil psychopath.”

Following her recent ordeal with Tristan and narrowly escaping it with both herself and her boyfriend’s lives still in tact Mandi Jenkins was far from ready to open her door to find Buffy, Angel and Willow stood on her doorstep in search for none other than the man she had just reluctantly let escape.

“You’re Willow Rosenberg I’ve heard so much about you amongst fellow wiccans you’re quite the inspiration.” Mandi admitted upon opening the door.

“I would hardly say I’m an inspiration.” Willow blushed, clearly flattered by Mandi’s compliment.

“I guess you guys are here because of Tristan.” Mandi replied while looking Buffy and Angel up and down. “I had a feeling somebody would show up at my door because of him sooner or later.”

Mandi invited Buffy, Angel and Willow into her home before showing them into her living room making herself seem eager to divulge all information about her former friend which wasn’t entirely true.

“I heard rumors about Tristan coming back to town, but I never quite believed it until I heard about the explosion the other night but I’m sorry to say I’ve not seen or head from him.” She lied to them.

“So, I’m guessing your other old high school friend Lucas kept you informed on Tristan’s actions after leaving Riverborn?” Willow asked her.

“Actually, I left Riverborn with him briefly before I realized, we were being played by Drusilla I believe you all know who she is.” Mandi admitted. “I eventually came to my senses and managed to escape the madness with my life, but I guess Tristan never did.”

“Drusilla’s had contact with Tristan?” Angel asked in pure horror by the revelation.

“Drusilla is the person who created the person Tristan is today she’s the one that convinced him you were all to blame for his parent’s death and she even manipulated me into making Tristan a slayer.” Mandi continued to reveal.

“You made Tristan a slayer how is that even possible?” Buffy asked her.

“I went back to the very beginning back in time to when the first slayer was created and made them do their magics on Tristan he was already pretty powerful before the slayer upgrade but Drusilla wanted to follow some stupid prophecy in her head step by step.” Mandi told all three of them getting some respect from Willow in the process for being a fellow slayer creator. “What Drusilla put us both through changed us forever.”

“Trust me I understand magic taking you to dark places you could never have believed possible.” Willow admitted to Mandi making her know she wasn’t the only one once controlled by the magic they possess.

“I can’t believe Drusilla has been behind all of this I’m going to kill her!” Angel promised furious by the woman who he had sired actions towards his son.

“Not if I kill her first.” Buffy butted in clearly just as furious as Angel.

“Do you know what this prophecy was that was stuck inside Drusilla’s mind?” Willow asked Mandi eager for more information.

“Drusilla believed that Tristan and I guess still believes that Tristan would be the one to kill,” Mandi said reluctantly before turning to look Buffy in the eyes. “You.”

Several days later Tristan returned to New York returning home while he plotted his next move against the world in general only to find himself breaking down in tears upon walking into the ruins of his demonic dive bar.

He continued to walk through the pub clearly devastated to see the state it had found itself in as he walked through to the back and up the stairs towards the apartment he and Dante once shared together before walking into their bedroom upon which he let out an agonizing and broken scream before beginning to smash the entire room up with his bare hands continuing to destroy everything in his sight while continuing to scream like a banshee until his hands were red raw and bleeding from the damage he had created as he fell to his knees and continued to cry until he heard footsteps from downstairs in the bar.

He quickly rose back to his feet and calmed himself down as much as possible still looking completely defeated by recent events as he made his way back to the stairs and down towards his bar once more only to be left shocked to find Mandi stood in his bar clearly waiting for him.

“You really did love Dante didn’t you?” She asked him while noticing his bloodied hands and how his eyes were red raw from crying.

“Don’t make me regret allowing you and Lucas to live.” Tristan replied to her.

“I went around things the long way I know your not Tristan Black anymore I was there when you changed your name to Summers, so I know why you did it.” Mandi said to him “I should’ve never have tried reasoning with you or trying to get through to you instead I should’ve just spoken your language.”

“And what language is that?” Tristan wondered.

“Revenge.” She revealed before going on to drop her major bombshell. “All these years you’ve been blaming the wrong people for your parents’ death it was Drusilla who ordered that vampire to kill your parents and now Dante’s gone any loyalty you had to her can go with it.”

“I don’t believe you!” Tristan said to her defiant to believe Drusilla was to blame although having suspected it deep down for years.

“You and I both know it’s true.” Mandi simply replied. “Now do you want to get revenge or not?”

[pyropsychiccollector]

            It hadn’t been a short and easy battle. Irene Belserion was the strongest woman in Alvarez – and a dragon on top of that. Erza had done the brunt of the fighting, even in her weakened state, but her attacks had only been effective because Wendy had entered the fray to assist her with support Enchantments. On top of that, it took Sting stepping up when Erza got to be on her last legs, and when Wendy was endangered.

            Two Dragon Slayers and Fairy Tail’s strongest woman. And they still nearly lost that battle. If it hadn’t been for Gildarts’s timely arrival, they would’ve been crushed by a meteor that Irene summoned… The battle would’ve continued, too, if it wasn’t for August’s interference when the battle was winding down.

             “That’s quite enough, Irene. Stand down.” August ordered as he stood between Irene and her enemies. Despite being in her battered state, Irene glared at the Magic King ferociously.

            “August…!” The redhead snarled before clutching at her side painfully. She was bleeding profusely, the blood caked her gloved hand as she held her side and breathed laboriously.

            August merely shook his head.

            “The war amongst the humans is over, Irene. Despite the odds stacked against them, Ishgar has earned the right to live. It is not our place to cause them any more grief.”

            Irene clenched her bloodstained hand as it remained at her side; the glare she was sending August intensified by a lot.

            “It’s not over…” Irene hissed, taking one shaky step forward. “… until every last soldier on one side is dead…! We still outnumber these fools, and you alone could crush every last one of them like ants! Why do you hesitate in avenging His Majesty’s death?!”

            August didn’t answer right away, but when he did, he looked the redheaded Dragon Slayer dead in the eyes.

            “Because His Majesty desired death. Or did you forget that was one of his goals?” August gave Irene’s opponents a side glance. “Whether you admit it or not, we will need to ally with Ishgar to exterminate Acnologia. Neither you nor I have the power to kill him, and should I allow this fight to play out to the bitter end, we may very well lose potential resources because you are too proud to admit that you have lost. Humans stand no chance against a dragon… And Dragon Slayers have only marginally better chances; even God Serena was struck down in a single blow.”

            Irene quivered in rage.

            “With the Fairy Heart, I can fight Acnologia by myself…! We don’t need their help to win Ragnarok!”

            August closed his eyes and breathed out his nose exasperatedly.

            “If you continue to act so foolishly, I will let them execute you. With the blood you have spilled, you know they will not restrain themselves; they will kill you.” He looked to Erza and Wendy especially, both looking grieved and angered over Mira’s loss. He turned back to Irene with a stony expression. “This is your only warning. As Commander of the Spriggan 12, I am formally surrendering to Fairy Tail. If you make another move against them, it will be treated as an act of rebellion, and you will be ousted and branded as a traitor.”

            None of Irene’s rage subsided. She looked every bit as murderous as she did during the whole fight. Nevertheless, she did not attempt to call August’s bluff. With her body still tense, though, she did press for more information.

            “… And so? What is your noble plan for ‘cooperation’? The Spriggan 12 has been whittled down to just me and you. Fairy Tail has exhausted themselves to even reach this point. I can’t hold up Universe One forever, so Acnologia will most certainly be arriving very soon. If Acnologia could kill God Serena with a single blow, what chance do these far less experienced Dragon Slayers have? They are but children, taught by the husks of dragons that Acnologia slaughtered long ago. They have no chance against that malevolent force of nature.”

            “Not on their own, no.” August calmly conceded that point. “As of now, our only hope lies with them, because they are Dragon Slayers. You are correct that Fairy Heart would possess the power that we need to overcome Acnologia… But you are shortsighted in regards to who should be given that power.”

            Irene’s eyes narrowed into slits as she processed August’s words.

            “You truly are hedging your bets on them…” Irene muttered in displeasure.

            “You are no longer in a state where it would be safe to absorb the complete Fairy Heart.” August intoned. “We were fairly confident that His Majesty could handle the strain of that power, as he was immortal. But you are on your last legs, and are struggling to maintain Universe One as it stands.”

            “You planned this.” Irene accused with such certainty. August shook his head at her evident frustration and bitterness. Her misguided frustration and bitterness.

            “I had not planned for Invel to usurp control of the Twelve from me. You and Invel both brought this upon yourselves.” Seeing a waspish objection on the tip of her tongue, August cut her off. “I did stand aside to let you and Fairy Tail battle it out… Though it was more of a test for them. To see if they had the strength to stand beside us as allies.”

            Irene stewed in her spiteful bitterness, but did not challenge that assertion. Instead, deciding to challenge the plan itself.

            “… What makes you think they would stand the strain better than I could?”

            The answer surprised Irene, as well as the Fairy Tail Wizards and Dragon Slayers within earshot.

            “Because you are going to bestow portions of Fairy Heart onto each of the Dragon Slayers – not the whole of it on one individual.”

            ~*~

            The war had ended on that day, within a matter of a couple of hours. It was an uphill battle… and they nearly didn’t make it. There were more casualties, and Acnologia didn’t hold back in the slightest. He fought to exterminate dragons and humankind together, but in the end, he did fall. He fell to six Dragon Slayers that were far younger, far more inexperienced than him; and he was foiled by a woman that he had never known was a dragon until her final moments, when he slaughtered her in order to remove the “bigger” threats.

            Acnologia spread himself too thin, attempting to kill everyone that fell within his field of vision. He was destruction incarnate, a “grim reaper” far more terrifying than Bloodman had been, when he was brought back as a Historia. He left such a broad swathe of carnage in his wake, there were contingents of Fairy Tail Wizards and Alvarez soldiers set aside for evacuating Magnolia’s citizens while the battle raged on. Brandish, as exhausted as she was, minimized the death toll as much as she could, but it was a bloodbath regardless.

            Jellal… Jellal had been one of the casualties. He was the only member of Crime Sorciere to have perished in the final battle, but he had done so to buy some Fairy Tail members, as well as Kagura Mikazuchi, enough time to evacuate some civilians. His act of kindness was met with a claw piercing through his chest, heart and all. Though Kagura still never forgave the man for murdering her brother all those years ago, she did thank the man in death for his noble sacrifice.

            A mere day after that battle had ended, Fairy Tail took the time to mourn and bury their dead before they set about repairing all the damage to Magnolia. Natsu… Mira… Master Makarov… Macao… Wakaba… Droy… Warrod Sequen, as well as the other Gods of Ishgar… They lost so much in this war. They thought the war with Tartaros had been the worst that they would ever go through, but they were so, so wrong…

            “I can’t believe I lost my other sister…” Elfman’s voice cracked as he, Lisanna, Cana, and a few others stood huddled in front of the new graves in Kardia Cathedral’s cemetery. Natsu’s grave was right next to Mira’s, so it wasn’t uncommon to see such a large crowd paying their respects as the day went on. Both Natsu and Mira easily made up a large part of the backbone of the guild; it really hurt Erza to inscribe the names on those graves, but she wouldn’t have anyone else do it. That burden was hers alone. Laxus took responsibility for his Grandfather’s grave, after all…

            “I can’t believe she’s gone, either, Elf…” Lisanna’s eyes drooped mournfully as she rubbed his back consolingly. Now she knew exactly how Mira and Elfman felt, when they thought she died all those years ago.

            Cana rubbed her arm gingerly as she stared down at the grave, glancing at Natsu’s out of the corner of her eye.

            “It sucks… Out of everyone that could have died, why did it have to be them?” Cana didn’t even resist when Gildarts appeared out of nowhere and wrapped her up in a bone-crushing hug. She was too drained from crying, and for being there for Lucy, who cried enough for everyone.

            “It’s going to be a very different Fairy Tail, that’s for sure…” Laxus murmured from his place over by the Thunder Legion, which was close by Makarov’s grave. The Dragon Slayer had stepped aside so that others could pay their respects to his Gramps.

            “We’re going to need a new Master…” Freed breathed a heavy sigh. He looked to Laxus with a weary smile. “Laxus, perhaps you could…?”

            But the blond shook his head slowly.

            “No way I’m cut out for it. Even if you don’t count the stunt I pulled at the Fantasia Parade, I still wasn’t able to do anything to stop that knucklehead from running off and getting himself killed… And ironically, Mira ended up doing pretty much the same thing.” Laxus gave a long, tired sigh as he looked down at the ground, a hand gripping his elbow in frustration as he crossed his arms. “I hear Erza turned down the role, too… Though I can’t say I blame her.”

            Evergreen reeled back in shock.

            “Titania refused, too?!”

            Bickslow rubbed the back of his head as he grunted sourly.

            “I think you guys are bein’ too hard on yourselves! I mean, if any of the rest of us does it, we’ll be makin’ way worse mistakes!”

            Laxus gave a subdued smirk at that.

            “It’s not about being ‘qualified’… I mean hell, it’s not like I expect Happy to step up or something.” Laxus rolled his eyes at the absurd thought. “Besides, it’s not like me and Erza are retiring! I’ll always be happy to lend the new leader a hand in getting everyone to settle down, and I’m sure Erza will, too. Erza and I… we just won’t have the heart to keep it up for long. As selfless as we are, we’re not impervious to pain; we’re going to need time to grieve and make peace with ourselves. And considering what we lost this time… that may take a while. Especially for Erza.”

            The Thunder Legion grew pensive as Laxus brought up that point. It’s not like they didn’t know Erza had lost a great deal… they had all lost the same precious people, after all. To them, however, Erza had always been this unbreakable, indomitable knight that stood at the helm when everyone else needed time to recover. Recognizing that this would be one of those rare times when she just wouldn’t be able to bounce back and take charge… it was an eye-opener for them.

            Laxus carried on as they ruminated on that.

            “I can also probably guess that Gildarts isn’t going to accept, either… He’s gonna put up a front as best as he can, but he’s shaken just as much as me and Erza are. Natsu was like a son to him, and he always had a soft spot for Mira. Not to mention how close he was with Gramps… I wouldn’t be surprised if he hit the road tomorrow on another journey. He’s always been a free spirit, but this time it might be his way to cope as well.”

            That gave them even more food for thought… And it really begged the question, who was the next Guildmaster going to be? It was looking to be pretty slim pickings, at this point…

            ~*~

            Toward the back of the throng of mourners, Gajeel leaned against the wall of Kardia Cathedral as he stared at his fellow Dragon Slayer curiously.

            “You’re stickin’ around?” The iron eater asked, his voice betraying slight shock.

            Erik leaned against the gate to the cemetery, head tilted back as his lips twitched between a smirk and a grimace, eyes closed.

            “Not just me. I think Rich and Meredy are going to, as well… Macbeth is thinkin’ about it. Sawyer definitely wants to keep traveling, so he’ll be out of here by the end of today. Sorano’s gonna go join Sabertooth, where her sister is.” He cracked open his good eye and stared at Gajeel shrewdly. “Don’t get the wrong idea. We’re not indebted to you guys. You wouldn’t have won the war without us, so any debts went out the window ‘cause you had our backs, too. Still, can’t deny you guys lost a lot of powerful members, but that’s war for ya. Even if you were pulled in unwillingly, you should’ve been prepared for losses.”

            Gajeel grunted and stared out at the throng of people, packed into the cemetery. Based on the weather, it looked like it was going to rain soon. He wondered if it was brought on by Juvia, wherever she was in that crowd, or if it was just an uncanny coincidence that it was going to rain on such a day.

            “I get it’s not a debt thing… You guys are too proud for that crap. But still, why stick around? Figured you’d all be like Sawyer, wantin’ to keep your freedom.”

            Erik looked back up at the clouds blanketing the sky. It was faint, but he could hear thunder off in the distance. After a long moment, he summed up his thoughts.

            “Rich knows his brother will be stopping by sometimes, and he figures it’s a good a guild as any to join; he thinks Wally might warm up to the idea of joining up, too, since Erza’s here. Meredy’s buddy-buddy with that rain chick of yours.” He paused in his musings as he rubbed his chin. He stared at a head of purple toward the back of the crowd, but he did so in a way that Gajeel wouldn’t be able to catch it. “… And you don’t need to worry about me. I have my reasons.”

            “Huh. Didn’t know the Rain Woman had a friend in Crime Sorciere… I musta forgot all about that.” The Iron Dragon Slayer mirrored Erik in rubbing his chin, but turned his gaze and face downward. Eventually, he couldn’t help heaving a tired sigh. “It’s gonna be so damn different around here…Why’d that spitfire hafta go and be an idiot like that? Wouldn’t be nearly as bad if I could punch his face in for offing the Black Wizard… The most I did was help take down Acnologia. That Pyro took down Zeref all on his own.”

            Erik rolled his eye at the obvious aggravation. Misplaced though it seemed, Erik could tell that Gajeel was grieving in his own way right now. Gajeel was one of the ‘tough guys’ – he wasn’t “supposed” to show his more tender side so easily, much less to a former enemy. Erik respectfully didn’t call him out on the act, though he could have.

            “He was definitely a stubborn, scrappy bastard…” Erik cracked a small grin as a small memory came to mind. “He could be funny when he wanted to, though. Probably the only enemy I ever faced that got me to crack up, mid-battle at that… Might not have known him well, but it’ll be a shame not seein’ his dumbass get fried for the crap he pulls.”

            Gajeel cracked up a little as he returned the grin.

            “He was definitely a dumbass. … But he was our dumbass, I guess…”

            At that moment, a drizzle started to fall down from the sky. The grins dropped, and Gajeel turned his head away; but Erik didn’t miss the tears that were mixed in with the rain. Considering that Salamander was the one to kick his ass back when Phantom Lord was making war with Fairy Tail, Erik wasn’t all that surprised at the Iron Dragon Slayer getting emotional over the Pyro’s death. Makarov’s, too. They were both pretty instrumental in how Gajeel ended up in Fairy Tail – at least, that’s how Erik perceived the grief rolling off of Gajeel in waves.

            No wonder he was toward the back like this, avoiding everyone. Gajeel was a wreck. And it didn’t look like that was going to get fixed anytime soon…

            ~*~

            A week passed by.

            “It’s really too bad Invel won’t play nice…” Dimaria sighed as she supervised a contingent of Alvarez soldiers. Nearby, Brandish was reducing the size of rubble so that it could be easily disposed of. “He’s better at this organization crap.”

            “I don’t really care…” Brandish grunted. It wasn’t hard to see why she was bitter towards the now former Chief of Staff. He used her as a tool, and she murdered indiscriminately because of it.

            The Ice Mage was very lucky August decided he would be put on trial and punished back home. Extremely lucky.

            “He really was just fighting so that we could win the war, Randi.” Dimaria lightly chided her friend, though it lacked any real heat behind her words.

            “A war that Grandpa decided was over…” Brandish caustically reminded the blonde, knowing Dimaria harbored her own grudge against the Ice Mage, but still needed to vent her frustration. Well-intentioned or no, Invel still controlled Brandish, and that pissed Dimaria off like no other.

            “Randi…” Dimaria sighed again. She wasn’t going to get into it with the mass mage. She didn’t even want to squabble over beliefs and ideals. After His Majesty passed, there was a quick and dirty fight for leadership over their forces; at the time, August had submitted to Invel because Irene backed him up, but now August was the undisputed General of the Spriggan 12 once again.

            Lady Irene was gone now. Invel was screwed, and everyone knew it.

            In another area of Magnolia, Neinhart was being made to work alongside a number of Alvarez soldiers. He didn’t like grunt work. His Historias were so much more proficient for menial labor, and he rather missed the respect and glory that came with being a top-ranking elite.

            … But he’d brought it upon himself, really. Apparently sentimentality outweighed resourcefulness, when people saw loved ones returned and forced to do construction work, amongst other chores.

            He’d been immediately demoted, and forced to dispel the Historias… well, except for one, and that one was taken away to speak privately with Lady Irene’s daughter. Which irked him, because that meant he had to keep channeling Magic to a Historia that was just talking…

            “Oi, you just gonna stand there all day, Neinhart? Get back to work!”

            Said purple-haired man twitched at the taunt. Jacob was up on the rooftop of a two-story building, supervising all of the soldiers. Ajeel was also nearby, filling holes in the ground with sand, as well as making sandbags. Neinhart knew that the real reason they were stationed here was to keep an eye on him… Not that he really cared to try anything. He was not going to end up like Invel. If that meant toughing it out and putting up with his demotion, so be it. He would follow all his orders and climb back up to his elite rank; it’s not like they would be able to deny him it for very long – Alvarez lost half of its elite fighting force and its Emperor, so he would be needed for managing all of their guilds and people back home. He belonged in administration!

            That’s what the proud knight told himself, anyway. Repeated in his mind like a mantra. He had to keep himself from attacking Jacob, somehow.

            Jacob, meanwhile, grinned at the clear displeasure etched on Neinhart’s face as he went back to carrying crates around. He should probably sympathize more with his fellow countryman, but Neinhart was a well-known layabout. The little git had this sort of thing coming.

            … That said, Jacob was also well aware that August could have stripped him of his rank, as well. He hadn’t stood against Invel – none of them had, except for Brandish, who Invel disciplined. Jacob knew that the only thing keeping him from being punished like Invel or demoted like Neinhart was August’s mercy. The man had decided Jacob was loyal enough that he had only been following orders when Invel took temporary control – it wasn’t a personal attempt to defy the Magic King on Jacob’s part.

            And Ajeel was a similar case. True, Ajeel had wanted to destroy Ishgar and Fairy Tail all by himself, but he had since gained perspective on wars. It wasn’t a certain thing yet, but August was at least considering naming Ajeel the next Emperor. He wouldn’t be ready for the role right away, but if August decided to make him the successor to Emperor Spriggan, August would be acting as the surrogate Emperor until Ajeel was fully groomed for the role.

            The biggest change for Alvarez would be the peace treaty they would be enacting with Ishgar. That would ensure no more wars between the two continents, at least not in the near future. But more importantly, trading would increase between the two continents because of Alvarez’s changes in international polices. Though it would be a strange shift, Jacob would respect August’s decision and help ensure the others fell in line, too. If August said not to start anything, Jacob was going to make damn sure the Magic King’s vision was carried out. Alvarez needed stability right now – they were in turbulent enough times as it was.

            They didn’t need a bloody revolution like the kind that Invel seemed to crave.

            ~*~

            Despite everything that had happened, Mavis had survived the extraction of Fairy Heart from her body. The intense magical power had been split amongst the six remaining Dragon Slayers, and had for the most part been used up in the fight against Acnologia. Nevertheless, trace amounts remained in the Dragon Slayers and kept their respective Magics intensified. It really was a miraculous power.

            Still, surviving didn’t mean Mavis was in perfect health. She was actually quite drained, and felt more mortal than she had in decades. She was also emotionally impacted by the deaths of Warrod, Makarov, Natsu, and Mira; she’d cried and wailed mournfully for days. All in all, it just left her feeling tired. So very tired.

            … Which was probably why she had agreed so easily to meet with August in private, a week after the war ended. If he tried anything, at least she’d be reunited with her precious loved ones.

            … And with Zeref, who she still felt the need to resolve matters with.

            “You’re my… what?!” Mavis’s voice rose as she stared at the Magic King in shock. August stared back at her seriously, making clear this was no joke.

            “Many decades ago, when Precht was trying to study your condition and save you, he discovered you had another life growing inside of you. He safely delivered the baby from your womb when it came time for him to be born, yet Precht was troubled by how much magic power that babe possessed. Precht abandoned him, sending him down a river… No one took that baby in, so the child eventually wandered. And as fate would have it, the child eventually found his father, who took him to a faraway land and taught him how to control that immense magic power…”

            A wealth of emotions passed through August’s eyes as he regaled Mavis with his story. And Mavis, too, was caught up in the maelstrom of emotions that came with the implications of the story.

            “That child never experienced love from his parents. Both father and mother were unaware they had a child; and so that child grew up, watching countless families lead happy lives, but never knowing that form of love from either of his parents… never understanding what familial bonds were, and why they were so powerful.” August shook his head remorsefully. “… But even so. Even if it was just one time, the child at least wanted to meet his mother. To experience that love for himself. That part may be an impossible dream now, after all that has happened… But I still at least wanted to tell you while I had the chance to… mother.”

            And as if that broke the trance Mavis was in, fresh tears sprang anew, and she barely held herself back from running right up to her son and embracing him. The only thing holding her back…

            “I… I want to hug you so bad…!” Mavis sobbed, using the back of her hand to wipe at the tears in one eye. “But I’m cursed by Anksheram, too…! I kill people just by caring about them!”

            Mavis shook her head mournfully, doing her best to stop crying in front of August. She stiffened when she found herself swept up in a comforting embrace, anyway. She looked up at August with glistening, shell-shocked eyes.

            And despite the potential danger he was in… August smiled softly.

            “Not even death will stop me at this point… Because I do not know if I will ever see you again, and I will not let this chance slip by.” Slowly but surely, the conviction in August’s voice calmed Mavis down. “I have caused you much grief, helping fulfill father’s ambitions while he was alive. But now that he rests in peace… now that I have a choice… I wish to do everything I can to repair all the damage that has been done. Perhaps together, Fairy Tail and Alvarez can build a new future together. It is an ideal to work toward, but not one without merit.”

            Slowly, Mavis closed her eyes, squeezing them shut nervously as she returned August’s embrace.

            … Nothing happened. No fatal outburst of Magic. They stayed locked in that tentative yet firm embrace, each of them silently promising to not let the other go.

            Mavis didn’t think she had the heart to just let her son return to Alvarez, alone. And after everything she lost… she didn’t have the selflessness within her to stay here in Ishgar, working to rebuild Fairy Tail.

            It was her guild. The one she founded with Yuri, Warrod, and Precht. But even so, it was a resilient guild; one that didn’t need her to stand upright. And in a way… she wasn’t defecting or abandoning them; by going to Alvarez with August, she could help stabilize the peace between Alvarez and Ishgar. Fairy Tail wouldn’t have to worry about history repeating itself.

            And she could… have a family. Fairy Tail was her family, too, but August was her flesh and blood that she never knew she had. Mavis felt like she needed this, that she deserved this much at least!

            Mavis was going to miss seeing the daily life of her rowdy guild… But she knew they were going to be just fine.

            ~*~

            Natsu couldn’t help sighing with exaggerated exasperation after Erza had dragged him off from the work Neinhart had him doing. He had already said everything he needed to say to the scarlet knight, back when they defeated Neinhart… so why drag him off now? Was she really so clingy? He told her she’d have to live without him! He knew Erza had that strength, so why was she clinging onto him?

            … It was only when she reunited him with Happy and all their friends that he understood her intent. It wasn’t for herself… Erza already had her last moment with him, but everyone else hadn’t. And they’d all wanted to say goodbye to him, this time. Even people like Laxus, Gajeel, and Erik – they all wanted to see him off. Lucy and Wendy cried. Gray vented at him for being a suicidal moron, but eventually caved and cried as well… Happy and Erza were the only ones who could muster up smiles when he’d muttered his final goodbyes.

            “Y’know? As long as someone lives on in your memories, they’re never truly gone?” Natsu told Erza with a disarming grin, feeling himself begin to fade as Neinhart cut off the Magic circulating to his Historia. “I had to learn that when Igneel died. And I know you’ll learn that, too, Erza. Take care of everyone.”

            Erza took a deep breath as she held back the tears as best as she could.

            “… I will. I suppose I’ll leave Master and Mira to you?”

            Natsu just laughed.

            “Gramps is just glad to finally be retired! And Mira says you better not follow us so soon. She wants ‘alone’ time with me.” He snickered at the scarlet knight’s sour expression. His expression softened as he kept smiling. “I got to see Igneel again. I might not have meant to die, but I don’t have any regrets, Erza – you shouldn’t either. Take care of everyone, but also take care of yourself. I’ll be watchin’.”

            Erza managed to keep herself composed until Natsu fully faded away for good. She’d cried plenty when she first heard about his death, but now only a single tear rolled down her cheek. Because she was going to honor his request. She was going to remain strong and watch over everybody left behind.

            If Natsu embodied the will of Fairy Tail, she was going to carry on that will. They all were.

~*~

Author's Note: I suppose you could call this an epilogue to that "Natsu dies" AU I cooked up. I left a lot of things open for me to write about later, if I wanted to come back to this AU; the battle with Acnologia, how other certain characters are faring after the war ended, the next FT Guildmaster (personally, I'm leaning toward Cana being the next Master in this AU, but I left it open for now), and even Mavis going over to Alvarez. Lots of ideas I could dink around with, but I dunno if I will do that in the near future. Just felt like getting this epilogue out, at least. Hope you enjoyed it a little. :3

[dogbearinggifts]

Secret Alphabets

Umbrella Academy: Klaus/Dave

Author’s note: After reading this awesome post  calling attention to Dave’s obvious infatuation in the club scene, I thought about it for a while, especially about Klaus as the object of desire, the one being pined for rather than the one doing the pining (which, as @greenandhazy points out, is quite the departure from what we usually see when a main character meets their love interest. So, that’s what informed this oneshot here. 

Also tagging @lovinglydiego—if I tagged the wrong blog, let me know and I’ll change it.

“So there I was, chocolate pudding all over my cheeks, all up my ass crack, and all I could think was God, I am so fucking hungry right now.” 

Dave laughed. Not the insincere laugh of a pseudo-friend waiting to see how useful he’d wind up being, not the silence and rolled eyes of his siblings—a real one that tipped his head back toward the ceiling. Klaus had been smiling before, but he found himself laughing too. 

“So what’d you do?” 

“Waited for it to dry, peeled it off.” Klaus took a sip of his drink. Alcohol didn’t quite keep the ghosts at bay, not as well as drugs did, but it could quiet them enough to hear his own thoughts. “And let me tell you, that is not something I’d wish on…okay, maybe I’d wish it on a few people.” 

Dave laughed again. “No, I mean, did you?” 

“Did I….oh! Did I eat chocolate pudding off my own ass?” 

“Yeah. You said you were hungry.” 

“Nope. I learned an important lesson that day.” 

“Which is?” 

He took another sip. “That I do have standards after all.” 

“Really.” 

From Luther or Allison, that would have been an insult, a small verbal slap to remind him that what he’d said was a lie. But from Dave, it was the same sort of good-natured jab he might level at any other soldier in their platoon. “Sure I do! I mean, they’re low, but I’ve got ‘em.” 

“Well,” Dave said, leaning against the wall, “glad they’re not too high.” 

Klaus’ stomach fluttered, then twisted. Three different responses, ranging from flirtatious to borderline pornographic, popped into his head, but he didn’t dare voice any of them. Not for any uncertainty on his part—the looks Dave had given him, the ease with which he’d linked his arm through his, the way he stood close enough that Klaus could feel the warmth of his skin through his sleeve, left little doubt toward Dave’s preference. He could retort with any of the three quips he’d thought of—or the far filthier fourth one he’d just come up with—and had a feeling Dave would reply in kind. 

That was the problem. 

Klaus knew he’d let the silence go on too long, filled though it was by the music and mingled hum of dozens of conversations and dancing feet. Part of him would have been content to stand there beside Dave, feeling the closeness of him and drawing comfort from it, but he’d a hunch that any more silence would invite Dave to fill it with a more overt remark than his last. 

“Still no word from home?” 

Klaus gazed down at his drink, tried to resist a sip, and took one anyway. “If they did send me something, it’d probably just be a picture of them all flipping me the bird.” 

“Huh.” 

Letters from home weren’t common, but each man in Klaus’ platoon had received at least one since being shipped out—a few after that briefcase dropped him into their tent, most before that point. Klaus had made the mistake of mentioning that he’d never gotten a single letter since arriving in country, and while he’d had the good sense to be vague about how long that had been, he’d still made himself an object of curiosity for the others. 

No. Not curiosity. Pity. It was quiet, the sort that didn’t often surface in scattered remarks or louder exclamations, but he felt it all the same, pressing around him like the humid heat of the jungle whenever the topic of families surfaced. Each man in his platoon projected it to varying degrees, but it was always strongest coming from Dave. 

“What about your brother….Diego?” 

“Ah, c’mon. Guy’s got a busy schedule, pretending he doesn’t have a family.” 

Not that Klaus could blame him; he’d done much the same. Then again, if Diego vanished for weeks with no word, no one would assume he’d OD’d for the last time in some seedy backroom or alley or coded in an ambulance accompanied by exasperated paramedics unable to revive him. 

“Tell you what,” Dave said, and Klaus looked to him, saw him with his elbow propped against the wall. “I’ll tell my mom to meet us both once we get back to the States. Let her know I’m bringing a friend.” 

Klaus smiled. The notion of returning at the same time as someone you’d met out in the jungle—let alone knowing you’d return at all—was a dream. His first brush with enemy gunfire had been enough to tell him that, even without the mangled ghosts of former brothers in arms to scream the same warning. That first spray of bullets alone had made the notion of dashing for Hazel and Cha-Cha’s briefcase at the first sign of serious trouble look like the world’s worst joke. 

But unlike some dreams, this was one he liked. The thought of being shipped back with Dave, of sitting beside him on a train or whatever else he’d take back to the city from which they both hailed—it was one he could entertain for hours, one he’d hold onto long after the many rips and tears in the logic of it threatened to swallow the daydream whole. 

“No, I’m serious. I’ll let her know you’re coming, make sure she’s waiting. Tell her to bring more cookies.” 

“Fresh ones this time?” 

Dave laughed again. Klaus could listen to that laugh for hours. “If Mom saw the state of those cookies when they got here, she’d buy a ticket to the White House and give Johnson a piece of her mind.” 

Johnson. Right. Old Lyndon B. was president here in 1968. “Didn’t you say you wrote her already?” 

“Ah, yeah. Forgot about that.” Dave grinned. “Now that she’s good and mad about what the Army did to her cookies, the war should be over any day now.” 

The cookies had been little more than stale crumbs and broken pieces when Dave opened the package from home. Even so, the box had summoned every man in that tent like moths to a light bulb, set them hovering around awaiting their turn to snatch a handful of cookie pieces. Klaus hadn’t expected Dave to call him over, too—he was the new guy, after all—but after weeks of legendary Army food and tepid water flavored with iodine and grainy with the bodies of insects it had killed, those stale crumbs had tasted like heaven. 

He noticed Dave moving closer without raising his head, didn’t flinch as he ran a hand through his hair. The thought of what he should do occurred after that first touch, and by then Klaus could only close his eyes. 

Dave’s hand cupped the back of his head, pulled him closer. Not forcefully, not with any sort of coercion, but softly, in invitation. 

“Nobody’s gonna catch us.” 

Klaus opened his eyes. Dave’s voice was just audible over the somewhat muffled music, but it was the note of consolation that got his attention. His smile had turned gentle, comforting. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, and it wouldn’t take much to finish the job. 

“It’s okay.” Dave moved a few inches closer, not quite close enough to press his body against his but close enough for Klaus to imagine how it would feel. “Or we can head somewhere a little more private, if you want.” 

Klaus bit back an eager reply. “Dave, I….” 

Fingers brushed through his hair again, and Klaus resisted the urge to trace the line of Dave’s jaw. 

“What?” The question was gentle, like one of those breezes just strong enough to cool the air. “Klaus, what’s wrong?” 

“Why?” 

Dave’s smile had faded a bit, but it curled ever closer toward a frown and Klaus spoke quickly. 

“I mean—why me?” 

“What do you mean, why you?” 

Klaus blinked. For a moment, he nearly brought all the unspoken things out into the light, but he didn’t know where to begin or what Dave had guessed already, if he was still wrapped up in the Maybe he has a problem stage or if he was already on his way to Even a fucking war zone can’t keep this guy clean. Whatever the case, he’d know sooner rather than later. 

Back in the present, or the future, or whatever the hell it was, Klaus wouldn’t have cared. He hadn’t cared with Antonio, or Alessio—he couldn’t recall which name he’d been given at introduction; all he remembered was a pretty face and a place to sleep, delicious osso bucco and a decaying sense of optimism—a belief that there was some good in him, good that Antonio or Alessio or whoever he was could fan into greatness once Klaus stopped longing for the next high. 

Three weeks. Three weeks under his roof, in his bed, and Klaus couldn’t remember his name. 

“Why not you?” 

Klaus could have offered a list—alphabetized, or in order of importance—but the look in Dave’s eyes kept the list in his head, kept any further words there too. 

There was tenderness in that glance—a tenderness he’d seen before, but never so pure, unmitigated by any flicker of disappointment or longing. It wasn’t the kind of look that tried to stare past what he was, what he’d depended on since his teens and what he’d done to get it, to see a few sparks of beauty and kindness underneath. No, from the way Dave looked at him, all of that alleged goodness was all he saw. He looked at Klaus as if Klaus was fun and joy and love and everything else he deserved. 

Dave leaned in closer, and Klaus knew he ought to pull away. Duck out of his embrace, head back out into the club and leave Dave alone. A little disappointment now would save him from far more heartbreak down the road. 

Dave touched his lips to his. 

It was a gentle kiss, so soft and subdued that for an instant all Klaus felt was the pleasant warmth of Dave’s lips; but soon he was aware of nothing but Dave, the scent and taste and feel of him, of being pulled closer and closer but still not close enough. He didn’t want it to end, didn’t want the moment to pass, wanted to freeze time and stay forever if it would keep Dave there. 

Too soon, Dave pulled back. Klaus watched that same smile tug at his lips, breath trembling as Dave’s hand brushed his hair, his cheek. For an instant, just an instant, it looked as if Dave might say something; but soon it faded back into a smile so warm Klaus had the sudden urge to cry. 

Love. The word sprang to mind with an ease that surprised him. He hadn’t heard it often, hadn’t said it often, yet there it was, written all over Dave’s face, in his touch. He didn’t understand it. Couldn’t explain it, couldn’t guess at why it existed. He could only return it….or reject it. 

Without a word, with scarcely a thought, Klaus pulled Dave close and kissed him again. 

[msvanillaice]

Photograph

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: The avengers raid a hydra base and find Bucky’s fiancée from the 40s. Unfortunately this isn’t the reunion he’s expecting because you can’t remember him.

Warnings: bomb mentioned, miscarriage, a lot of angst but then fluff

Bucky’s POV

“Cap, what’s your twenty?” Tony says through the comms.

“We’re entering the north side of the building. Be ready to move on my signal,” Steve replies.

With the news that hydra was still active years after the war we’ve been trying to keep track of their movements. On a hunch I mentioned some old hydra bases which were smaller and kept hidden. Turns out I was right. Natasha was able to use her powers of persuasion to get the locations. Thanks to this tidbit of intel (and Steve) the team decided to allow me onboard.

I was finally free from hydra, at least physically anyway. But the freedom lifted the fog and brought back my memories, memories of my life before and the victims I took as the winter soldier. The strongest of them being about a girl. In my dreams I would see flashes of her, in a park, and a diamond ring. My heart ached for her but I had yet to remember who she was.

“Buck, anyone on our six?” Steve asked snapping me back into reality.

“Uh, no,” I say peering slightly around the corner.

He gives me a look but is interrupted before he can say anything. “Cap, you got incoming on your left,” Sam warns.

In a split second, Steve had thrown his shield around the room knocking out several guys. I shot my gun covering us as we head into the east wing of the building. Shutting the door behind us we take a second to catch our breath.

“Captain America. Or should I say Steve Rogers?” Our heads snapped to see a scientist with a detonator in hand. Next to him stood a woman figure dressed in tactical gear and a mask similar to what I wore as the winter soldier. I aim my gun at him.

“Ah, ah, I wouldn’t do that unless you want your team to be sent six feet underground,” he says with malice in his voice.

We step back. “I’m twenty seconds out keep him stalling,” Sam says over comms. Before we can get to stalling the woman knocks out the scientist and slides the detonator over to Steve.

“Thanks?” he says as he picks it up delicately, shocked at her actions. Her eyes though remain stoic.

Suddenly Sam comes crashing through a window and knocks her down. Her mask falls off and I see her face for the first time. Memories come flooding back. It’s her. It’s (y/n). I proposed to her at the park the day before I was shipped off. God, I never realized how much I missed her until now.

“(Y/n).” Her name leaves my lips for the first time in years. Steve stands beside me almost as shocked as I am. “(Y/n),” I say her name louder this time but she doesn’t respond, not even glancing my way.

“Falcon, stand down,” Steve commands.

She pulls herself up and looks at each of us. When her eyes reach mine they remain blank giving no indication of recognition.

That aching in my heart was replaced by despair. What little hope I had was gone. She doesn’t remember me? How can she not remember?

“Are the vibrainium handcuffs really necessary?” she asks once in the compound. “Afterall I told your team the location of the bomb and how to disarm it.”

Tony locks the cuffs. “Until we know hydra’s female snowflake isn’t a danger then yes.”

“I found her file while raiding the base,” Nat says handing it to Steve.

He takes the file from her. ”Thanks, you guys mind giving us the room?”

I turn to leave with everyone else but Steve tugs at my arm. “You gotta know.” I sigh, despite knowing it’s not what I want to hear he’s right.

He opens the file on the table. “Solider #13945... says here that you’re skilled in hand to hand combat and weapons. And that you were injected with the serum but it... failed?”

My head snaps up, I stood next to him so I could see the file. Sure enough...

administered serum: failed

We stared at the paper puzzled. “How did it fail?” I asked.

“I got sick, really sick.” She looks down and her expression softens. “The harsh conditions you live in make you feel even worse when you’re pregnant.”

I checked the dates in the file. She was pregnant? With our baby?

“Even if they knew it wouldn’t have made a difference. They knew I was having a miscarriage but they still carried on with the infusion.” As much as she tried to hide it I could see the tears forming in her eyes. My heart broke for her. All I wanted to do was wrap my arms around her but I couldn’t.

“When they saw I wasn’t yielding the results they expected, they labeled me as ‘failed.’ Then they shipped me off to the base where you found me.” She scoffed, “but they can’t just kill me because they couldn’t possibly waste an asset.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. The despair, the aching, the sadness, the anger, it all bubbled over.

“Bucky,” Steve says softly attempting to calm me but to no avail.

My metal arm sent the table with the file on it flying to the other side of the room. My back slid on the wall until my body hit the floor defeated. All the pent up emotions I had been holding back transformed into tears. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there to protect her. I wasn’t there to protect our baby. I never wish what happened to me on anyone. And yet it happened to her, the one person who did absolutely nothing to deserve it.

She walks over to the scattered contents of the file. A small envelope catches her eye. She opens it and pours what’s inside into her right palm. I jump up immediately recognizing the contents. It was the photograph we took moments after I proposed, and the engagement ring I had slid onto her finger as I promised to marry her as soon as I got back.

Her brows furrowed as she tried to put the pieces together. A minute passed but she stayed the same. She couldn’t remember and the longer I stayed the harder it got. I walked to the door defeated.

“I wouldn’t stop crying,” she says barely above a whisper.

I stopped a step short of the door and spun around to face her again. “What?”

She held the photograph up. “It was the happiest day of my life and so I dragged you to go get our picture taken so I could keep it while you were away.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” I stepped closer to her with different kind of tears brimming my eyes.

“But as we were getting our picture taken all I could think about was how you were leaving in the morning and I couldn’t stop crying.”

Another step closer.

The ends of her lips began to curl into that beautiful smile of hers that I had ached for. “You kept telling me jokes so that I would smile and have a happy picture of us to keep even though you were just as sad as I was.”

We both choked back tears. “J—James? Is it really you?”

My thumb wiped away a stray tear as I caressed her cheek. “Yeah doll, it’s me,” I smile.

She collapsed into my chest and I wrapped my arms around her. “Everyone said you were dead,” she sobbed.

I placed a kiss on her forehead. “I’m right here and I am never ever leaving you again. I love you.”

Her breathing calmed and she looked up at me. “I love you too.”

We leaned into each other and our lips met for the first time in years. All the hurt, all the pain just faded away. I got my girl back and I’m never letting her go again.

“Wait a second,” she pulled away abruptly and looked over my shoulder at Steve. “Stevie, did you get taller?”

I chuckled at her. “That question was so important for you to break away?”

She shrugs, “I’m just saying, last time I saw him a kitten could knock him over now he looks like he could stop a train. I guess Little Stevie isn’t appropriate anymore, you look more like a Steven.”

He laughs and shakes his head at her. “I missed you too, (y/n).”