#has lashed out at him enough times bordering on violence (and maybe reaching violence) enough times to traumatise him

[coworkers-office]

Colleague, you deserve better than being locked up in an elevator with that nasty jerk Antag.

>[An x-acto blade drops from the ceiling] Use that however you want!

>[Something sharply prods Antag to wake him up because Colleague can't have too much good lol]

"I-"

< Colleague doesn't know what to do. You woke up antagonist, and he's terrified. What will he do when he sees the knife?! Oh god, oh no, oh shit. Will he kill him??! >

< Tears begin to slightly well in his eyes; Colleague is terrified and on the verge of a panic attack. He doesn't want to die! But, he can't kill a man... Can... Can he? >

<...>

< He grips the blade a little harder, watching as antagonist wakes up and looks at him. >

[kishibei]

CONSUME — SUGURU GETO X READER (≤1k)

KINKTOBER DAY 3: olfactophila, cunnilingus, teasing, edging, (very mild/implied) body worship, 18+.

you don't deserve it. and you almost feel guilty with the way he's taking his time with you.

he starts slowly, just barely dragging the tip of his nose along the length of your leg. you're aware he's smelling you, the long inhales are primal, like he's trying to take in every bit of you before he's ready to pounce. the distinctive scent of arousal is just dripping off you, it’s deep and ambrosial, like nothing he’s experienced before.

you know it's coming, the part where he advances and stakes his claim over you. it gets your heart jumping, and the once steady thrum of your chest grows irregular when he pauses at your core.

the tension of the moment is thick and palpable. everything about the scene has you holding your breath, the sight of him between your legs alone makes your head spin. your heart is in your throat and the sound of blood rushing to your ears is so loud that you almost don't hear what he's saying. past your heavy lids and through your lashes you can see his mouth moving, but the words he's spilling don't quite reach you yet.

it sounds something like, "still with me, doll?"

he practically purrs it out to you, and you notice he licks his lips before he says it. you dont think too much of it at first but the way he's stringing words like honey and silk, it's clear he does it just to tease you. and knowing that simple fact doesn't help to ground you at all.

geto doesn't quite care for a response to his question and you're aware he doesn't expect one either. he was the kind of predator who liked to dress himself in sheep's clothing, asking silly things knowing he didn't even listen past his own voice. he plays his role well and if you were dumb enough, you'd take his false concern for what it looked like. but you’d always known full well what the things he said meant, even when he didn't state them explicitly.

your boyfriend doesn't play fair, and he never really has. except he's been dragging this little game on for over an hour, and now his usual teasing is starting to border along the foul lines of torture.

the small breaths he offers your glimmering sex have you writhing, and he laughs mockingly. you couldn't run from him and even if you wanted to, he knows you wouldn't. his normally sturdy hands ghosting over the flesh of your hips were proof of that. he inches closer and closer, stopping just when the tip of his nose bumps against your clit.

geto thinks you're desperate, he knows you'll accept just any bit of contact, so he immediately looks up to catch your response. as expected, you’ve halfway lost your mind at the action. bucking your hips wildly, you wordlessly beg the man for a small amount of friction. and just like that, he pulls away.

“suguru...” you cry, trying to pull him closer.

the whine you offer is pathetic. and when the sobs reach your ears, it doesn't even sound like your own voice. its really a shame how much control the man has over you, just how unrecognizable you become once he's split your thighs and situated himself between them. your patience has worn thin and any bit of pride you'd once had has dissipated with it.

the only thing that exists is him. only him and the need to be his perfect sacrificial lamb. to be patient and dedicate your body to him, maybe just then he'd give you what you'd so desperately wanted. and as if he’s read your mind, geto’s on you.

it's the complete antithesis to his methods before. his lips latch onto your cunt, pressing sloppy wet kisses to it before he finds the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top. the way his tongue explores your folds borders along violence, and when you finally build up the courage to look down, you immediately tear you eyes off the sight.

geto is fully a mess when he meets your gaze. his face is dripping with your fluids, so much so that the hairs escaping his ponytail have stuck to the sides of his chin like they'd been glued there on purpose. heat creeps up your body and you shut your eyes hard. its only the vibrations his deep laugh offers that has you opening your lids again.

"c'mon, look at me," he teases, readjusting to grip your chin, pulling it down to focus on him. "don't tell me you're thinking of someone else?"

"i'm not..." you manage to sputter.

"so look at me, or i might have to stop..."

his empty threat snaps you back to reality and you give him an affirmative nod, lifting your hips back to his face to push him to continuing.

geto's stare is dark, and once he goes back down on you, he makes a big deal of collecting what dribbles down from your cunt to your other pulsating hole. he's obnoxiously loud, and he's doing so on purpose. even as you cry, moan, and whimper his name, the embarrassing squelch of your pussy always seems to be louder.

intense eye contact, the assault of his tongue on your sore clit, and finally the feeling of him slotting his fingers into your sopping hole push you over the edge. shaking and wildly bucking your hips, tears begin to cloud your vision. before you realize it, you're violently coming on geto's face.

"that's it," he mumbles between licks. picking up on your cues, he quickly replaces his fingers with his tongue, beyond willing to savor every drop of your release.

geto doesn't let go until you're panting and gripping his head, pulling him off your poor overstimulated pussy with an exaggerated pop.

you're sure you're spent, but your boyfriend's next line has you ready to get back at it again. wiping his chin with a smirk, he looks up at you.

"so when is it my turn?"

©2022 HIROUIMI do not repost, modify, dist. or translate.

[amorousadepti]

❈ flood in my heart (childe x reader)

another belated birthday fic, this time for dear rat boy (*￣▽￣)b honestly did not expect to fall so hard for this bastard but here we are!! he’s an absolute fave and im not ashamed. actually Would have gotten this one out at the right time but my internet decided to quit on me so :^) sorry 

summary: childe has plans for you on his birthday. you have plans of your own. the day takes a turn neither of you expect, but you’re not complaining (gn!reader, no pronouns or anatomy descriptions)

warnings: loosely-described fight scene, vague violence, childe being childe

length: 2.7k

The letter is delivered first thing in the morning, sitting on your tray of breakfast and propped against your steaming teacup.

You take your time before opening it. When your belly is pleasantly full with crab roe tofu and you're sipping from your third cup, you finally deign to lift the plain envelope from the tray, studying it intently. Though it bears no name, you already have an idea of the sender; you'd never admit it, but you've been anticipating this day for a while. 

Your suspicions are proved correct when you slit the envelope and find a letter written in Childe's familiar chicken-scratch scrawl. It no longer occurs to you to wonder how he knew where you were staying - by now, you know that if Childe wants to find you, he will. Munching idly on a crisp lotus flower, you consider the invitation. 

If you have no special plans, how about you swing by my place? 

Was it just wishful thinking, or was he—

You shake the thought from your head, taking another emphatic bite of lotus crisp. The day is still young. You have plenty of time to bathe, dress, and then make your way to Liuli Pavilion. 

(And if you spend just a little more time than usual on your appearance, making sure to spray the perfume he'd once impulsively bought you on each pulse point - well, that's no one's business but yours.)

"Comrade!" Comes the customary greeting once you finally wander into the Pavilion. Childe bounds up to you with a vibrant grin, sweeping you into an embrace that lifts you onto the tips of your boots. "I was hoping you would come!" 

You hum, leaning into his embrace and desperately fighting the instincts that tell you to bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe deep in his familiar scent - saltwater and cold iron and the warm musk of his skin. You allow yourself to indulge only for a few seconds, then step back to a respectful distance (though Childe, disregarding the memo, follows and keeps an arm linked with yours.) 

"Happy birthday, Chi—"

"Ah, ah, ah!" He wags a finger at you, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. "It's my birthday, comrade - the least you can do is call me by my name, no?" 

"Happy birthday, Ajax." You squeeze his hand, his fingers moving to twine with yours. "And many happy returns." 

Childe beams at you, a faint glimmer in the usually dull blue of his eyes as he starts to pull you after him. "Now, I did say I have some plans for you—" 

"You don't want your gift first?" The way he whirls on his heel, clearly thrilled at the prospect of being lavished with gifts, is... endearing. You raise the bag in your free hand, wiggling it tantalizingly. "It comes in a few parts, actually."

"You spoil me, comrade," he simpers, unsubtly trying to swipe for your bundle of treasures and pouting when you withdraw. You roll your eyes in fond exasperation, pulling out the first part of your gift: a small white box that fits in your palm, bound with a delicate blue ribbon. 

"Open this first." You don't even need to tell him, really - he's quick to snatch the little box from your hand, though you notice he takes surprising care in untangling the ribbon. His expression softens when he holds your gift in his palm, rolling the little white whale between his fingers as he studies every intricately carved detail.

"It's made from a whale's tooth, too," you blurt, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. "It's from Inazuma - the merchant said she only had a few left, managed to snag them before the border closed. I thought of you when I saw it. Thought maybe it could be a good luck charm or something." 

"Coming from you, it has to be lucky," Childe says, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. He tucks the carving into a little pocket (just over his heart) and pats the spot where it rests gently, his smile small but honest. "Thank you. I'll take good care of this." 

You clear your throat, averting your eyes as you thrust the rest of the bag at him. "These, too."  

He peers inside, and you watch his brow furrow as he studies your prizes: an array of shackles and chaos cores and a few jars of slime concentrate to boot. The fruits of many battles, compiled over the past two months. Comprehension dawns quickly, his hands clenching into fists around the rucksack as he glances up to meet your eyes. 

"That bow of yours could use an upgrade, right? Especially if you want any chance of beating me today," you say demurely, a faint smile pulling at your lips. "Once you're done, meet me at the Golden House. But don't expect me to take it easy on you just because it's your birthday." 

The smile that curls his lips is nothing short of bloodthirsty. It makes your heart flutter. "I wouldn't dream of it, Comrade!" 

The sound of his laughter follows you through the streets, spurring you onward. Sneaking past the Millelith is easy enough - this is far from your first time, after all. Honestly, you're pretty sure none of them are willing to deal with the hassle of you and your Fatui opponent. You slip through the great door with only the faintest creak, stretching to loosen up your muscles as you amble down the sloping stairs to the center of the floor. Your favorite battlefield. 

You're still stretching casually when the hair on the back of your neck prickles, carefully honed instincts suddenly crying danger! You call your sword as you stand straight, rising just in time to bat away the Hydro arrow that would have caught you in the right shoulder. Droplets of water splatter your face, a cool spray that sets your nerves ablaze with anticipation. Your blood pumps quick as Childe steps into view, Vision glowing at his hip. 

"Oh, comrade," he sighs, almost dreamily. "You really do know just what I like!" 

His voice is drowned beneath a cacophony of water as he launches himself at you, barely giving you enough time to raise your shield before he crashes into it with a splash. Your muscles strain, a fine tremble in your limbs betraying the force of his blow. Your heart pounds with excitement, a grin twisting your lips in answer to his eager smile. 

He leaps back, dodging a slash from your dagger, and knocks you off balance with a Hydro attack to your knees that sends you staggering back. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to cook you a hearty meal after I beat you." 

"Don't get cocky, now," you huff, finding your feet. You move together in a predatory circle, each waiting for the other to strike. "You haven't beaten me yet."

"True! Which will make my victory today all the more special," he chirps, bouncing a little on his heels with glee. "Do I get another gift if I win?" 

"So greedy, Ajax," you breathe, digging your heels in as you weather another rapid onslaught of arrows. "The pleasure of my company isn't enough for you?" 

"I can think of more ways to indulge in your company, dear comrade," he purrs when your blade locks with a ridge of his bow, leaning close over your crossed weapons. His tongue, hot and quick, licks a trail across your cheekbone. 

You lash out with a sloppy swing of your blade, striking only air as the Harbinger leaps back with a gleeful cackle, twisting on his feet so he can fire another shot at you. You roll nimbly out of its path, grimacing as you scrub at your cheek with the back of your hand. 

Oh, you definitely won't be making this easy for him. 

It's impossible to tell how much time passes in the Golden House; whenever you're here with him, it's like the world reduces to only you and Childe, the clash and tangle of your bodies across the hallowed floor. It could be hours or only minutes. Whatever the case, you're both panting, dripping sweat, and sore by the time you see an opening in his guard, launching yourself towards him for the decisive blow. 

Except— 

His bow clatters to the ground, discarded from limp fingers. Childe stands still and quiet, arms hanging at his sides, and the expression on his face as he watches you charge, blade-first, is like nothing you've ever seen from him before. 

You lower your sword, your boots skidding on the floor - but not fast enough to stop your collision, and you faceplant into Childe's chest with a grunt. One arm wraps around your waist, holding you close; the other finds the wrist of your sword arm, extended carefully behind you. For a moment, it feels like an embrace, just as warm and affectionate as the one you'd shared with him earlier. 

Then he twists your arm hard enough that you cry out, your sword falling to the ground with a clang, and the next thing you know, you're flat on your back, Childe's hands encircling your wrists to pin you in place. 

The puff of each exhale fans over your lips, his narrow chest heaving as the two of you catch your breath. You test his grip and find it unyielding, strong as shackles. Childe watches you writhe beneath him with a quiet intensity that both unsettles and thrills you, something about the glint in his eyes making your heart turn over in your chest. Somehow, it feels as though you've lost much more than a friendly spar. 

"My," he chuckles finally, though his grasp on your wrists remains like iron. "I have to be honest, I wasn't sure whether you would stop!" 

You toss your head, glaring up at him without much heat. "That was a dirty trick." 

"I know," he says, releasing one arm to tenderly brush the hair away from your sweat-slick forehead. You don't take advantage of the moment of weakness. He does not apologize. That's good - you think you'd be more annoyed if he said sorry without meaning it. "But it seems that it's my win, comrade." 

You sigh through your nose, exasperated but unwilling to fight. "That it is." 

He hums quietly, still studying you with that strange look - you feel oddly naked, pinned beneath his gaze. The hand that remains around your wrist squeezes gently, gloved thumb grazing your pulse point; you try to restrain a shudder, but from the way his eyes sharpen, you doubt you succeed. 

"Now, now..." He sighs in a show of exaggerated thoughtfulness. "What should my next gift be?"  

You grumble something vaguely along the lines of not having agreed to another gift. Childe ignores you steadfastly, snapping his fingers in realization. "How about a kiss?" 

You snort, prepared to brush the request off as another bit of harmless flirting, but the look in his eyes is not one of jesting. Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and you wet your lips with your tongue before you speak again. The way his cobalt eyes flicker to watch your mouth does nothing to help your focus. "Seriously?" 

"Why not?" He says, shrugging as though he hasn't just knocked your world off-kilter. Your mouth opens, but before you can speak, you feel his fingers caress your jaw, his thumb resting on the pad of your lower lip. The leather is blessedly cool; you feel feverish in comparison. He's looking at you like he could swallow you whole, and you think you would let him. "A kiss from my most beloved comrade... now that's a gift I would really treasure."

You inhale, a ragged, gasping thing that sounds more post-coital than post-battle, and lay still beneath his hand. The thought that you have yet to actually respond fails to occur to your fogged brain - until suddenly the contact is gone, the loss of his touch echoing in your chest, and something in Childe's expression wavers before he's sitting up, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes on his lips. He's shutting himself off from you. Again.

"Ah, well, it was only a jo—mmph!"

Huh. If you'd known a kiss was all it took to stop his rambling, you might've given into your desires earlier. 

His lips are a bit chapped but pleasantly warm against yours, and his breath smells surprisingly sweet - it seems you weren't the only one indulging in Liyue's traditional snacks today. He hadn't been prepared for you to pull him down, and for a breathless moment his full weight rests upon you; there's a guilty exhilaration in feeling the length of him pressed against you, his long legs tangled with yours and strands of his hair tickling your cheeks. Your fingers knot tightly in his red scarf, holding him so close you think you can feel the pounding of his heart in your own chest. When your tongue flicks against the plush of his bottom lip, he moans sweetly, a shudder wracking his lithe frame as he opens for you, a gloved hand cupping your cheek. You taste blood in his mouth and can't tell whether it's yours or his. The thought excites you, your heart hammering as your blood grows hot. 

A strand of saliva, tinted pink with blood, connects your mouths when Childe pulls away with a ragged gasp. His lips are swollen from your kiss, a deep flush coloring his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and his eyes are wide and startled. They almost—

Shine. 

"Comrade!" Childe exclaims, reeling back on his heels. You've never seen him so... off-balanced, his hands twitching helplessly in the air. You decide you like him this way. "H-How bold of you!" 

You blink, lazily propping yourself up on your elbows. "You were the one that asked for a kiss in the first place." 

He seems to fluster even more at the reminder, hiding his mouth behind his wrist. "I didn't think you'd actually do it!" 

"Aw, Ajax," you coo. Much to your delight, the blush on Childe's cheeks grows even darker, a red glow creeping down his neck. "Is the big bad Harbinger flustered all because of a little kiss? What would Scara say if he saw you like this?"

Childe grimaces. "Don't mention him right now, please." 

You laugh, loudly, until Childe's hands clamp down on your shoulders, pinning you to the ground once again. Your breath stutters as you look up at him, finding him watching you intently; that same strange, searching look as before, but mixed with something darker. 

Hungrier. 

"You should be more careful, offering a gift like that so freely," he murmurs - a breathless purr like you've never heard before, the promise of danger in his voice making your thighs clench. One hand moves to gently nudge the band of your shirt off your shoulder, the brush of his fingers against your bared skin sending your nerves sparking. "I might want you to give me even more."

The words spill from your lips easily, without thinking. "Then take more." 

Childe stares down at you wordlessly. He's barely breathing, lashes fluttering when you reach out and catch his hand, slipping your fingers under the tight line of his glove until you can peel it off his fingers. He says your name, soft and wondering. 

"You said that this was a gift you'd treasure..." You guide him to the tie of your blouse. Unprompted, his fingers curl around the loose knot. "So make sure to take good care of me, Ajax." 

Your blouse falls open with a gentle tug, and Childe falls upon you, locking your lips in a messy kiss as his hands roam your body wildly, seeking out every scrap of bare skin he can find. You're pulled onto your knees to straddle his lap as he sits back and pulls you atop him, breaking from your mouth to trail bruising bites down the length of your throat. The force of his desire crashes down upon you like a wave, filling your lungs with only him. 

You're glad to drown. 

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Only For A Moment Ch. 42

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: Physical violence, smut, feelings, yeeeah.

A/N: First off let’s just acknowledge that I would be nothing without @wonderlandmind4​‘s support. Literally. Nothing. Like, she gets me y’all and just straight up deserves partial credit for literally the rest of this series for how she’s hyped, supported, brainstormed, and beta’d for me. Actual earth angel. Go love on her immediately. 

Ok. Now. Thank y’all for tolerating that teaser-ass chapter last time. I’m making it up now with this big(ish) boi. There’s a little bit of everything here and a lot of gearing them up for what’s to come. 

Also, y’all know me by now (hopefully), I live for feedback. Don’t care if you send it in an ask or add notes here or what. I just love hearing from y’all! 

Tags are open!

A metal left arm wraps around your throat applying enough pressure to be a problem. 

“Sloppy form today, baby doll,” Bucky purrs into your ear making you shiver despite the heavy spring heat.

“Get off me,” you croak. 

He releases you with a laugh. Lifting the hem of his white tank he wipes the sweat from his forehead revealing a taste of that defined and ridiculously enticing body. 

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip to keep your jaw from hanging open as you hunch over, hands resting on your knees. You were attempting to catch your breath, how dare he make it that much harder. 

“Enjoying the view?” He asks, a dark brow raised above a good-natured smirk. 

Reaching out with invisible hands you push him to the ground, pressing his shoulders down so he can’t immediately rise. You stride over to him, legs flanking his torso. 

“If I am?” You ask, staring down at him. 

Mischief sparks in his blue-grey eyes. “Couldn’t blame you I guess.” You adored him like this—confident, maybe even bordering on cocky, and above all, happy. 

He reaches up, taking hold of your knees he knocks you off balance sending you toward the ground too. Your power reacts faster than your mind, cushioning the fall so you land soundlessly sitting lightly on his chest. 

“Hmm…” His chest vibrates under you as his fingers hook into the waist of your leggings. “What if I just-” Without effort the stretch fabric gives way to his whim, tearing along the front seam and down the crotch.

“These are a problem too though,” he presses his fingers against your quickly dampening underwear. Holding your gaze he shrugs a little and with a tug, they’re in shreds too. 

Grabbing your hips he tugs you forward forcing you up on your knees before threading his arms under you. Bucky takes firm hold of your ass and lifts his head, placing a kiss against your pelvic bone. Desire floods your veins causing you to shiver. 

The look of hunger in his eyes sucks the breath from your lungs before his tongue even finds your clit. When he languidly tastes you all you manage is a low rasp, air sucking back into your chest. 

His lips and tongue tease you, strong fingers move from your ass to your thighs, gripping them tight. You tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him against you as your head falls back, your eyes closing against the blue of the sky. A rumble of satisfaction from him is felt beneath you rather than heard. In response your hips lift up, desperate and wanting. 

“Bucky,” you croon looking down at him. Playfully he nips at you eliciting a deep moan. He keeps up until your breath is ragged, your lashes flutter, and you take in a sharp breath. 

You’re on the razor edge of an orgasm when he stops cold. A second later you’re on your back, the grass tickling your neck. 

Bucky hovers over you before kissing you hard. He breaks the kiss, leaving you panting, his lips tracing a path to your ear. 

“You want this, baby?” His voice all smoke and gravel as he presses his covered cock against you.  

“Yes,” you barely manage. 

“Gonna have to get the drop on me first.” He moves so fast you’re almost in shock—that only lasts a moment though. 

“What the fuck?!” You scream after his retreating form. All you get in response is a bellowing laugh. “You mother-” cutting yourself off you bolt after him at full tilt, your whole body running on unreleased tension, desire, and just a bit of pure annoyance. 

Of course, your damaged leggings start to fall from your hips forcing you to wind a bit of your power around them to keep them from tripping you up as you pursue him. All you’re focused on is catching him, he’s so fast though… 

It happens without you thinking about it—your power snakes down from where you’re attempting to keep your clothing together, wrapping around your burning legs all the way to your feet. Suddenly each stride sends less of a shock through you, just your toes landing on the earth, and then you jump. 

Your power pushes against the air with force, propelling your body further than your sheer strength could ever manage. Sailing above him you spin around to look back at his shocked face. Despite your frustration with him you can’t help but laugh. 

Smiling, he pivots, clearly challenging you. 

All you’re really focused on is him and your body reacts accordingly, cutting him off with a speed that surprises even you. Every turn he makes, you counter, hovering consistently about eight feet from the ground. 

For a moment you take him in as he stops moving, assessing his new, and unexpected position. He looks so frustratingly sexy with strands of his hair falling from his ponytail, sweat making him glisten, and his eyes glittering with both awe and desire. You want him, more than you’ve ever wanted anything and anyone. 

Once again your power acts seemingly of its own accord to give you what you want, coiling around him. He tries to fall out of it by moving past your range as he’s done in the past only to find himself fully cocooned in a gentle yet firm embrace. 

Suddenly, you drop about a foot as a flash of pain shoots through your head. May be stretching things a bit thin, you think. Not wanting to plummet the rest of the way you lower yourself to the ground in front of him. With one last pulse of power, you pull him to you, lifting on your toes to kiss his slightly agape mouth. 

“Got you,” you purr, pulling the hair tie from his already loosened ponytail. Feeling the tingles of another shock of pain you release him before it hits. 

Bucky smiles down at you, “Guess you want your prize?”

“Damn right,” you grab him through his shorts, squeezing firmly. His lids flutter a bit and he presses back into your grip. 

A small noise slips from you as he lifts you into his arms before kneeling. Tenderly he lays you in the soft grass, covering your neck and chest with kisses. Your legs wrap around his hips and he pulls himself free of the shorts and boxers. 

You make love under the blue spring sky. Every movement unhurried, every kiss slow and sweet. When you both cry out in pleasure as you come there’s no one to hear for miles. In this moment you feel like the only two humans on the planet. It feels like heaven. 

Even the ride back into the city and the press of people near the pizza place couldn’t ruin the high you were both riding. 

Back at your apartment Bucky finally says it. 

“Y/N… you fucking flew today.” You shove a bite of pizza in your mouth and shrug. “That it?” His expression incredulous. 

“I mean,” you swallow, “it wasn’t quite that… I just, well…” You look past him, trying to think about what it felt like. “It was like when I float. I use the air as leverage—there’s always something to push against, dust, moisture. For some reason I was able to do it faster today is all. I didn’t focus on doing it just focused on you.” 

He raises a dark brow, “Guess we know what motivates you.” Leaning back in his chair he glances down at his lap. 

“Don’t be smug,” you toss a balled-up napkin at him earning you that ringing laugh. 

When you walk into the shop on Wednesday you’re a little bruised and very sore. You don’t mind it though. After every long weekend spent training hard at the farmhouse you feel stronger, more in control. 

The morning is filled with your standard tasks around the shop and discussing the reason you find Shakespeare’s histories exhausting with Mr. Goldstein. A few customers wander in, Victor lounges in the open door enjoying the warm air. It’s the kind of day that sometimes lets you forget your past and just be present in this life. 

Mr. Goldstein sits behind the counter in the early afternoon, contentedly sipping coffee and reading while you perch in the store window, your own book set aside to keep your hands free for the cat purring in your lap. Music hums from the radio on the counter. A contented sigh winds its way through your lips as your eyes slide closed. 

Mid-song the DJ cuts in, “We interrupt the broadcast for an urgent report. An unknown attacker has taken Sokovia. It… We’re receiving reports that the city is…” The man’s voice shakes, “The city is—I can’t believe I’m saying this—Sokovia seems to be under attack by some kind of… robots? The American force known as The Avengers is said to be at the scene.” 

Much to Victor’s disapproval, you shoot up at the last bit. The Avengers meant Steve, could mean- Before you’re able to finish your thought your phone vibrates in your pocket. Bucky’s text is short, but you feel the weight hidden in the words: Home. Now. 

Ice fills your veins, rendering you immobile for a few seconds. 

“Zeeskeit?” The term of endearment drips with concern.

“I… I gotta go. Will you be ok to close up?” 

“Of course,” he rises slowly. “Do you have people in Sokovia?” 

“Sort of,” you look back at your phone, hands beginning to shake. Sokovia was close, too close. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

“Ok.” He sets your backpack on the counter, a hand extended. You grab the bag and take his hand, “Take care of each other.” 

All you manage is a nod and a tight smile before running out the door. 

When you burst into the apartment you’re hit with the smell of smoke. Bucky sits at the kitchen table a cigarette that’s more ash than anything else in his right hand. He doesn’t even look up at you, his eyes glued to the laptop screen in front of him. 

“Bucky?” You call softly. 

With noticeable effort, he drags his gaze to you. In all this time you’ve never seen him like this. His eyes red-rimmed, scared, hurting. A muscle ticks in his jaw as it does when he’s angry. His brows knit like they do when he’s concerned, and his shoulders slump in a defeated posture, while his left hand is in a tight fist resting next to the computer. 

Dropping your bag you close the distance between you quickly. He doesn’t move just turns his eyes back to the screen as you pluck the cigarette from between his fingers, stamping it out next to four others on a plate. 

You don’t try to get him to speak or explain as you move behind him. Wrapping what you hope are reassuring arms around his neck, you place a kiss on his cheek before resting your chin on his shoulder. 

It’s impossible to not be horrified by what you’re seeing. Four different feeds play on the screen. All of them show something that’s difficult to believe. 

Bit by bit an entire city rises from the earth. Another shifts every minute or so, revealing various views of a city being flooded with terminator rejects. The other two seem to be live feeds from people in the city, running, shaky, the sounds of screams providing a steady soundtrack to the horror show before you. 

Every now and then there’s a flash of that signature shield, a moment of movement laced in dirty red white and blue—easy enough to miss if you’re not looking but you notice them, their appearance signaled in the way Bucky’s body tenses every single time. 

Soon it becomes clear someone has managed to rally forces to evacuate the civilians judging by the enormous helicarrier seen from a ground shot of the now impossibly high city. You feel relief until Bucky speaks. 

“They won’t all make it. Too many targets…” You know that there’s only one he’s truly concerned about. There’s nothing to say, all you can do is hold him tighter. 

After a bit only feeds from the ground play on the screen. In horrified silence, you stare as the city quite literally explodes in the air and the feeds go dark. 

For a moment neither of you move or even breathe. All you can think is that there’s no way to know, not yet. 

Bucky explodes from his chair, sending both you and the table skidding back in opposite directions. His body shakes, fists balled up at his sides. Desperately you want to pull him close but you know it wouldn’t be welcome affection. Instead, you stand back, unsure of what to do. 

You think he’s going to scream, slam a fist into the wall, something, anything other than what happens. One second he’s a pillar of potential rage and the next he hits his knees with a thud. 

Not caring about what may or may not be welcome any longer you rush to him. Lowering yourself to the floor in front of him you pull his hands into yours, forcing them to open from the fists he still holds. 

“He may be fine. We don’t know.” He doesn’t look at you, just keeps his gaze fixed on the grain of the wood floor. 

With all those cell phones someone had to have eyes on the carrier. You pop up and immediately begin putting your own skills to use. They’d be trying to keep as tight a lock as possible on things but if you know what you’re doing… Your fingers fly across the keys, your breath held, hoping against all there is that you find what he needs. 

It takes a minute longer than you’d like but, finally, you’re able to dig up something. The image isn’t the best, it’s of a family clearly sending out a photo to let loved ones know they’re ok, but in the background, you can see him. Alive. 

“Buck!” His name bursts from your lips. “Look,” taking the computer you bring it down to him. Meeting you halfway up he takes it from you, staring at the screen. “He’s ok. He made it.”

“Goddamn punk,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. Hands shaking, he passes the laptop back to you before running his right hand over his face. 

Despite his clear relief that Steve was one of the survivors of the battle, the tension doesn’t leave Bucky over the next several days. 

You stop by the shop each day to check in but you don’t linger, not wanting to be away from home too long with Bucky in this state. Mr. Goldstein, as always, doesn’t pry, accepting your vague reassurances that you’re both ok and offering kind words every time. 

Conversation is sparse; which isn’t uncommon with you both, silence is easier when you’re wrestling with something, and you’ve each taken to given the other space when they need it. However, this is different. He keeps following the happenings in Sokovia, with an intensity that worries you, never saying a word as to why. 

The Avengers hadn’t been spotted in the region since the battle, all that was left now was clean up. Because of this, you couldn’t wrap your mind around why his focus was so drawn to the situation. 

Saturday morning you awake without his warmth next to you. It was something you expected, though knowing didn’t make his absence ache any less. He hadn’t withdrawn like this in so long. 

Before you call out his name the coffee pot lets out an exasperated gurgle. With a yawn you pad into the kitchen where a note beneath your coffee mug informs you that he’d stepped out, he’d be back later. You try and fail, to drown your worry in caffeine spending the better part of the next hour restlessly shuffling around the apartment, unable to focus on anything. 

When the door finally opens it takes all your resolve to not rush him. 

He kicks the door closed behind him, arms laden with groceries. Your brows knit in confusion, this was a Sunday thing. 

It had become your routine—Sunday morning load up on supplies and head to the farmhouse, then the rest of that day and Monday and Tuesday you spent training. The other days of the week you’d work at the shop and he’d do odd jobs as they came up. There was comfort for you both in this steady, yet unofficial, schedule, for him to break it made your heart kick up an uncomfortable rhythm. 

“We’re going to the farmhouse,” he says. 

It isn’t that you’re against the idea but you withdraw from the note of command in his tone. “Oh? We are?” You ask, hands settling on your hips as you watch him lay out groceries on the table. 

“Yeah. I stopped by the shop and let Mr. G know.” You say nothing, challenging him silently to turn and look at you, he just continues, “May be a few extra days.” 

“Huh. Guess I must have blacked out when we made this decision.” Your emphasis on we, doesn’t go unnoticed judging by the way his shoulders visibly tighten. It does, however, go unacknowledged. 

He pulls the last few things from the grocery bag before resting his palms flat on the table, head hanging, shoulders drooping. Despite your urge to do so, you don’t place a comforting hand on his back, don’t softly call for him. You know him well enough now to know he’s about to drop the act, he’ll apologize and you’ll talk it all out. He just needs space. 

For a minute, you watch as he takes in deep breaths, getting a grip of himself. You’re comfortable waiting, knowing this is about to be over, finally. 

“Get packed,” he says without throwing you even a side glance before grabbing the packs by the door. 

You don’t move. All you can do is stand a little slack-jawed at his behavior. When cold grey eyes finally look at you a shiver climbs down your back. 

He picks up your duffel as he walks back to the kitchen, pressing it to your chest. “I said pack,” his eyes bore into you until you grasp the bag in your hands. 

“We leave in forty,” he tosses over his shoulder as he begins to load up the packs with groceries. 

Too shocked by his demeanor to protest you numbly head into the bathroom and shower quickly. He’d never spoken to you like this, not even at the beginning when he’d been so scared… 

How could this be the same man who, just a few days ago, had been brimming with playful confidence and charm? The answer you didn’t want to acknowledge is that, just maybe, he wasn’t. 

You try but you can’t shake that thought on the journey to the farmhouse. It makes you antsy, causing the ride to be almost unbearable. As soon as he pulls up to the house you bolt from the bike anger and anxiety causing a storm to roll in your chest. 

You pay him no mind as you stalk toward the back door, effortlessly avoiding the trips and traps. All your focus is on quelling this emotion, on keeping it together, that you don’t hear him come up behind you. 

In an instant, he has you in a headlock, metal arm tight around your throat as it was the other day. This time though… he’s only holding back enough to not snap your neck. You slam your power slams back into him. It’s not enough to break his grip but it’s enough to allow you a few precious gulps of air before he’s on you again. 

He says nothing. No explanation, no taunt, just silence. Even his breath is measured and steady. You’ve never been afraid of him… until now. 

You force another wave of your power back using it to gain enough leverage to send you both to the ground. Jabbing your elbow into his ribs a few times he lets go gasping and you bolt away from him. 

Bucky doesn’t run after you, his pace is steady, determined. He told you before to only run when you have to, it tires you out too fast and that’s energy that can be better spent elsewhere. Taking a deep breath you slow, turning back to face him not too far from where he’d taken you in the grass a few days ago—a lifetime ago. 

The day around you is another bright and beautiful one, it’s almost offensive. 

He stops a few yards from you, cold stare chilling you despite the warmth. A few moments stretch into what feels like an eternity as you assess who will move first. 

Steeling yourself you go for it, heading for him at a dead sprint. Bucky doesn’t move—a few feet away you feign to the left before kicking away from the ground and veering right. It’s too fast for him to correct and you take advantage, landing a kick to his right shoulder sending him stumbling. 

Moving to land another blow he catches your calf in his metal grip flinging you away. 

This whole flying thing is new and you can’t get your bearings as you hurtle through the air. Who knows how far you would have gone had your back not met the old immovable wood of the barn with a crack. 

You can’t even cry out, can’t breathe in. Your ribs ache, your head is spinning, and there he is stalking toward you.  

Crumpled on the ground looking up at him feels like a nightmare, one you know the ending to already and you brace yourself for impact. 

No, you think shaking your head in an attempt to clear your vision. You have no idea what is happening but he is not this man and you won’t be so easily beaten. 

As he approaches you steady yourself. Just as he’s in range to strike you slip beneath his fist sliding around him landing a blow to the side of his neck then pull his knees from under him. He falls forward just a bit. Before he’s able to catch himself you spring back wrapping your power tight around his shoulders to slam him with all your force into the ground. 

Bucky cries out in pain causing your chest to constrict. But as he arches his gaze back there’s no tenderness in his eyes. 

This shakes you. Your hold on him wavers just enough for him to break free. Taking advantage he flips and rushes you. Barely, you manage to deflect his right hook at full force, your forearm screaming in pain as you do so. Pushing his body back a bit with your power you kick him with all your strength in the solar plexus. He gasps stumbling back. 

“Enough!” You scream. The wave of energy from you cocoons him as it had before but instead of tender you squeeze like a boa constrictor and press him to his knees. He struggles against you with all his strength sending shock waves through your mind and body. Still, you hold tight. 

“I said enough.” Your voice a low resonant growl as you force him from his knees to his back. Standing beside him, staring down, you meet his cold eyes with your own burning rage. 

“Good,” he sighs, all the fight flooding from him. 

“What?”

“You beat me. That’s good.”

Shaking your head you step back from him, your power releasing. Your breath comes in rapid, shallow gasps, doubt and anger and anxiety flooding your system. 

With a groan he sits up, rubbing the side of his neck where a bruise is already forming before slowly rising to his feet. Finally, he looks at you, and it’s him, it’s your Bucky staring at you with regretful eyes. 

It doesn’t soothe you though. This wasn’t an outburst, wasn’t some repressed trauma or lapse. This was calculated, planned. 

Fuming you close the small distance between you. With every ounce of your strength you slap him across his face, palm stinging. His head flies to one side and then the other as you slap him once more. He does nothing, just stares at the ground as he spits blood from his mouth. 

“Fuck you,” is all you can manage through clenched teeth as you raise your hand again. This time he catches your wrist in his right hand, holding it firm, as his eyes meet yours. 

“I had to know,” he says as though that explains everything. You shake your head, not trusting yourself to open your mouth. 

“If I had given you any warning it wouldn’t be the same… I had to know that you were ready if you needed to be.” 

You pull your wrist from his grip, “And if I’d lost?” A part of you already knows what he’s going to say. You swallow the lump in your throat, steeling yourself.

“We’d just need to work harder.”

Blinking at him in disbelief, once more fully thrown by his behavior, you open your mouth but nothing comes out. Based on how he was behaving, you had expected him to pull the same bullshit he had months ago and tell you that he couldn’t be with you, that the danger was too great and other drivel. Surprised or not you’re still furious.

“Let’s go inside,” he turns toward the house. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you spit. 

Bucky’s breath audibly catches. He runs a hand through his hair and turns back to face you. Sighing he sits cross-legged on the grass, rubbing his chest where you’d kicked him. 

“That’s fair,” he looks up at you, eyes desperate. “Can we talk here then?”

You shake your head looking away, “I think I’m past talking.” Your whole body begins to shake, “You…” The words stick in your throat but you force them out, “I was afraid of you. I’ve-”

“Good,” he says softly. “There are parts of me you should be afraid of, Y/N. I needed to-”

“Remind me?!” You explode turning to him once more. “Do you really think I need a fucking reminder of what you’re capable of when I know what I’m capable of?!” 

The energy flows from you effortlessly. You reach your arm out to direct it with pinpoint accuracy, just an extension of your body. Your fist tightens and you can feel the fabric of the neck of his shirt even though you’re at least six feet from him. 

“Do you?” You ask once more in a low rumble before lifting him up, his feet dangling, and tossing him back. He doesn’t fall flat, righting himself and landing in a crouch. 

“No,” he says, staying low, only lifting his face to yours. “I needed to be sure that if I came at you full force, you’d be ok. I needed to know that you’d kick my ass if necessary.” The corner of his mouth ticks up in an attempt at a smirk. 

“Why?” Your voice cracks, and you lower yourself to the ground. 

“Because,” he walks over and sits directly across from you, “The government’s of the world and the goddamn Avengers just descended less than a thousand miles from here and all of them have a reason to want my head.” Your brows knit and you look away. Tenderly he reaches for your hands and you let him take them. 

“Please look at me, Y/N.” You do. 

He gives you a sad smile, “It’s easy to try and pretend that this,” he raises your right hand to his lips leaving a lingering kiss, “is all there is. That we could build a life without fear… But Sokovia reminded me that it’s not real.”

“No,” you shake your head like a child denying an obvious truth. “We can be happy. We can-”

“We can be. Hell, with you I am.” His thumbs rub soothing circles on the backs of your hands, “But we have to be smart. We have to have a solid plan. Because…” He stops, his eyes squeeze shut. 

When he opens them he looks down at your clasped hands continuing, “Because, if someone comes for me I… the chances of them taking me in to try me… Well, weapons don’t usually get due process, they get put to use elsewhere.”

“You’re not-”

“I am. To them I am.” 

You hate this, hate everything about this. You hate it because you know he’s right. Both of you had been existing day to day for the last seven months on the thin hope that the worst you had to worry about was your own ghosts. 

Sure you’d been training but even that was laced in a certain kind of intimacy. Other than passing mentions of the great vast ‘they’ who could come for either of you at any time, you didn’t discuss particulars. It was a Pandora’s box of fear neither of you wanted to be responsible for opening. Once you laid out a plan of escape, of attack, a worst-case scenario, then you were letting them into this life you’d built. You hated it, but it needed to be done. 

“If someone comes for me the likelihood of them turning me back into him is higher than anything else. If… If I’m that I won’t be able to keep myself from harming you. That’s why I needed to know.” The shame on his face makes your heartache. Still, you’re confused. 

“Do—do you think they’d send you after me? That they’d really take you in just to send you ba-”

“They just need the words.”

You shake your head, “I don’t understand.” 

“You didn’t have…” His breath is ragged suddenly, hands shaking in yours, “There are… wo-words.” You give his hands a reassuring squeeze, “Say the right words in the right order and… I’m not… I can’t…” You nod letting him know you understand, even if only a little bit. 

“Maybe… maybe they won’t work… maybe I’m strong enough but…” His eyes are wide, “I won’t risk you on a maybe.” 

“Ok,” you breathe out. “Ok.” 

“Do you… did they have words for you?” You shake your head. “That’s good.”

Good, you think as you take in this man before you. How many years had it taken them to break him? How much effort did they have to extend to make him the monster they wanted? Was it really good that you had broken so easily that they didn’t need more creative methods to bend you to their will? 

“I’m sorry,” his voice pulls you from that line of thought. He looks broken, “I know this is hard. But,” he takes a deep breath, “seeing Steve reminded me—reminded me of what I can do to someone I care about in that state.”

He’d never spoken about what happened at the Triskellion but you knew enough. After you got free of Hydra you’d needed to understand what led to your opportunity to escape--scouring the Hydra files and any information you could find for weeks. You knew Bucky was a tool they used in the attack, you knew Steve Rogers was found on the banks of the Potomac beat to hell but still breathing. 

“I almost-”

“But you didn’t,” you cut him off. “You didn’t kill him. I have no doubt you could have but you didn’t.” 

You take his face in your hands, his eyes close, “I understand why you did this. I do. But I want you to remember that you held yourself back then. And I’ll remind you until the end of my days that you were able to break through and save a woman you didn’t even know too—knowing what they’d do to you for defying them.” He opens his eyes and searches yours. “You are always in there, no matter what.” 

He sighs, “Sometimes. And sometimes I get control too late to matter.” 

“So what’s the plan?” You ask, not wanting him to linger on that particular slice of darkness.

His lips curl in a half-smile, “We’ll figure that out.”

“No more orders and surprise attacks?” 

“No. From here on out we do this together. I promise.” 

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[flowers-creativity]

Bad Luck (chapter 19)

Fandom: The Musketeers Characters: Porthos du Vallon, Athos (Comte de la Fere), Aramis (René d’Herblay, d’Artagnan (Charles), Jean Tréville, Flea Warnings: Violence, whipping, racism, slavery, abduction, minor character death Summary: Porthos rarely had bad luck at the card table. But when he hit a streak of really bad luck, it was only the beginning …Soon, the other three Inseparables were desperately searching for their missing friend while he did his best to get back to them.

Notes: Angst, thy name is Aramis ...

AO3 link

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18

Chapter 20

The atmosphere in the small room had changed with Porthos' first awakening. The routine that followed in the next few days was no less familiar than that of their earlier days but much less tense. He was still sleeping most of the time, but now they could relax and leave his bedside more, catch up on sleep themselves and get fresh air, though it went without saying that one of them was still there whenever he woke.

Two days after he had come around for the first time, they said goodbye to Marcel and Fadil. The two men had sent word of their survival and freedom to their families when they had originally arrived at the small inn, using the same carrier Athos had sent to update Captain Tréville, but they had refused to even entertain the idea of returning to Paris while Porthos' fate was still uncertain. Now that he was no longer in danger and on the mend, the call of home was too strong to ignore any longer, which none of the Musketeers could fault them for. They left exchanging smiles and firm handshakes, and the promise to call at the garrison in a few weeks to catch up and check with their own eyes that Porthos had fully recovered, of which Aramis was convinced.

At least his body. His mind and soul, now, might be a different matter.

Aramis tried to push back that niggling worry and stretched, working out a kink in his back. He sat back on his chair and propped his stockinged feet up on the edge of the bed, contemplating the still form of his sleeping friend. Porthos was on his belly, one arm loosely curled around the pillow. His bare back was a network of dark scabs, the infection finally gone from the wounds so that they were healing. They had opted to leave the wounds open to the air for a while to aid in healing, and Aramis could see the first patches of shiny new skin and scar tissue between the scabs. They would have to work on keeping the skin of Porthos' back flexible, and he would bear the scars to remember this experience for the rest of his life. But still, it was the best possible outcome they could have hoped for, Aramis supposed.

As for his state of mind, it was harder to say. He had been quiet whenever he was awake, but how much of that was due to the lethargy of a body sapped of strength by fever and lack of nourishment and the discomfort and lingering pain of healing wounds, was difficult to tell. They had caught up on what had happened while they were separated, but that had been mainly Athos, Aramis and d'Artagnan talking. Porthos had little to contribute they hadn't already heard from Marcel and Fadil …

“Stop thinkin' so hard,” a voice broke into his thoughts, and his head snapped upwards to meet Porthos' eyes. His brother was blinking at him lazily but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Porthos,” Aramis breathed, and as had happened every time he had woken since the first time, he felt another bit of tension leave his body at seeing his eyes clear, hearing his voice speak freely and without confusion. Porthos didn't reply, just cocked an eyebrow at him, and Aramis laughed tiredly and sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand through his messy curls. “I was just woolgathering,” he said.

Porthos hummed and shifted onto his side, grimacing slightly. “Nah, you're worryin',” he said. “Stop that. I'm alright.”

Aramis snorted. “Says the man who's barely able to stay awake for more than an hour still,” he returned.

Porthos narrowed his eyes at him. “Gettin' there, at least,” he insisted.

Aramis nodded, conceding the point. However, he reached out and took Porthos' hand, interlacing their fingers. “You know you don't have to be,” he said, “alright, I mean.” He looked at him intensely, trying to read what was going on behind these dark eyes. “What you went through--”

On most days, he could read Porthos like an open book. Today, however, he could literally see the shutters closing, the walls being built, and he was left disconcerted and helpless on the outside. Porthos' hand twitched in his grip as if he was fighting down the urge to withdraw from him physically, too. His voice was flat as he said: “It's over. I survived. That's what counts.”

“Porthos ...” Aramis' voice was imploring, one step above pleading. “Don't shut me out. You know what happens when you don't deal with things like that. It will fester and turn sour.”

Porthos' brows drew down in a deep frown. “Nothin' to it,” he objected. “And if there is, I'll deal with it.”

“Let me help. And d'Artagnan and Athos – let us help,” the marksman insisted.

“Dammit, Aramis, let me be! I don't want your help!” Porthos ripped his hand from Aramis', scooting back in the bed until his back was to the wall and pulling his legs up. His face was contorted with anger but beneath that, Aramis thought he saw something else, a tremble at the edge of his lips, his eyes a bit too wide and wild.

Aramis raised his hands in a placating gesture, ruthlessly pushing away any hurt feelings that were welling up in him. He knew Porthos was just lashing out. Still, it felt like somebody had reached into his chest, grabbed his heart and squeezed, seeing his brother shy away from him like that. “Hey, it's alright,” he said soothingly. “I'll stop pushing. Just … Please, if you need somebody, come to one of us, yeah? None of us will be judging you.”

Porthos stared at him, his eyes narrowed and his heavy breaths loud in the silence. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he answered grudgingly, his tense body language relaxing slightly. “I know.”

Aramis exhaled and returned the nod. “Come on, lay down again,” he asked. “Sitting with your back against the wall like that can't be pleasant.”

Porthos grunted but shimmied downwards until he could lay down on his side again, propped up on one elbow. He was still looking at him with something bordering on mistrust in his eyes, and Aramis ached from it. Silence settled over them, awkward and heavy. Porthos shifted a few times to find a comfortable position, then closed his eyes, and it did not take long until his breaths evened out into sleep, and Aramis was alone with his thoughts again. He bit his lips, running his hands through his hair and tugging at it, using the minor pain to ground himself. Had he just made things worse? Suddenly, he could no longer stay in place. Surging to his feet, he strode from the room – Porthos was fine, or at least fine enough to be left alone for a bit.

He had barely closed the door behind him and turned when he nearly collided with Athos, drawing up short in the nick of time. A small “Oh!” escaped him.

Athos' eyes immediately narrowed. “Aramis?”

Aramis looked from him to d'Artagnan who had appeared behind their leader, his arms laden with their lunch. “I'm sorry, you just startled me,” he tried to play it off.

Athos' eyes stayed on his face, and he knew that the man could read him – not perfectly, maybe, but enough to notice that something was off. Without looking, he reached past Aramis and pulled open the door. “Go on in, d'Artagnan,” he ordered. “Get everything set up, we'll be along in a minute.”

The Gascon's gaze bounced between them, eyebrows raised, but the lad didn't ask, just nodded. “Alright.” With that, he disappeared into the room, and Athos shut the door behind him. Then he turned to Aramis and asked: “What's wrong?”

Aramis pasted a smile on his face. “Nothing,” he replied while at the same time wondering why he was doing so. Athos was not a fool.

Those cool blue eyes narrowed, torn between concern and annoyance. “Aramis.” It was a talent of their leader that he could say whole paragraphs with only one word, only a bit of inflexion and his accompanying expression. This word clearly said Who do you take me for? and Talk to me, or I'll make you. To underscore it, he reached out and clasped the marksman's shoulder, conveying the sympathy his tone lacked.

Aramis sighed. “Porthos just woke up,” he said, “and I tried to get him to talk to me – about what he had gone through. He … didn't want to. He made that very clear.”

Athos raised an eyebrow. “It's all very fresh for him. He may just need some more time,” he pointed out.

Aramis nodded, flexing his hands to keep himself from them running through his hair again and making even more of a bird's nest out of his curls. “I pushed him too hard,” he confessed, “and … The way he reacted, it felt like he was no longer seeing me but someone who was trying to hurt him. What if--” He broke off, biting his lip. “He has blocked me out before but never like this,” he ended on a whisper.

Athos squeezed his shoulder, his eyes calm as they held Aramis' gaze. “Stop thinking about what-ifs,” he advised. “And I know it's hard that he is closing himself off to you when you want to help him so much. But I'm afraid that the only thing you can do right now is being patient.” He patted his shoulder and let go. “You two always figure it out. Trust that your bond doesn't break so easily – nor does Porthos. He'll get better, and he will talk to you when he is ready.”

The medic took another deep breath, taking strength from Athos' certainty and firm determination. “You're right – thank you,” he said.

Athos gave him a shadow of a smile. “Always, brother,” he replied. “Now – lunch?”

Aramis laughed tiredly. “Yes, please.”

[areluctantsblog]

My first fill for the starker bingo is ready! It's for the young!Tony square. You can read it on ao3.

Today we escape

Summary: Tony and Peter's lives change forever when they are outed as gay and as a couple.

Warnings: homophobia, mentions of violence and blood

Words: 1.5k

***

"Tony!" It's his boyfriend's voice but barely recognisable. It's breaks as soon as he gets his name out and he can hear him sobbing.

Tony jumps up in the middle of robotics lab and runs out to the corridor, his chest tight with worry.

"What happened? Peter? Talk to me," he pleads.

"It's… It's…" Peter hiccups, unable to form words.

"Where are you, baby?" Tony asks, whispering.

At that Peter only cries harder. Anguished, Tony waits.

"It's Flash," Peter chokes out. He takes a few deep breaths and manages to continue. "Took my phone. Posted a picture of…" his boyfriend's voice breaks again, but Tony doesn’t need him to say anymore to figure out what happened.

"Where are you?" he asks in a firm voice.

"Home," Peter whines.

"Pack your bags. Lock your door. I'll pick you up in ten minutes," he says, already returning to the classroom for his bag.

As soon as he opens the door every eye turns to him. They saw. Tony doesn't react in any way. He packs up his project, grabs his backpack and walks out without a word.

"You still there?" he asks as soon as he's out of the classroom.

"Yeah," Peter breathes. He seems to have stopped crying but he sounds shocked.

"We've got to go," Tony says hurrying down the corridors. "You know that, right?" That photo is going viral in their town as they are speaking. Maybe it's already reached the sheriff's office. Even if it hasn't, they have very little time to escape.

"I… Yes, yes, I know…"

Tony isn't mad for the hesitation in Peter's voice. Their life as they know it is over. Tony remembers the paralysing fear and shock that comes with it. He felt it when they did what they did to Harley. Tony knew ever since that he was only biding his time, waiting for high school to be over and to leave this town and never look back.

"We'll talk about it, I promise," he says, revving up the car.

"Are you driving?" Peter asks. "Let's hang up."

"Nevermind that. I'll talk to you if you need me."

"I'll be seeing you soon. I… I need to pack anyway," he says in a trembling voice."

"Fine, baby. I'll be there in five," Tony promises.

***

Tony doesn't have any trouble climbing up to Peter's window in the middle of the night, so broad daylight only makes it easier. Peter is waiting for him just inside. He looks a right mess. Tony pulls him into a fierce hug as soon as he's inside.

"I'm here, I'm going to take care of you," he whispers soothingly.

Peter breaks down with sobs again but by the time he pulls back, he's got it under control. He points to the two packed bags on his bad.

"Are you sure?" he asks Tony in a pleading voice.

"You remember Harley," Tony says.

Peter sighs and nods.

"I do."

"It's horrible that it's happening to us, but I can't risk them coming after you," Tony argues.

"And you."

"They wouldn't stand a chance. Sheriff Stark would lock me up before they could get their hands on me," he says bitterly. Then he adds in a more pleading voice. "Peter we have to go. We have to get out of this jurisdiction before he closes it down. We'll stop and talk this through as soon as we are safe, I promise."

Peter straightens himself and nods, picking up the bags.

***

"My mother is in the living room, sobbing," Peter says in a distant voice, staring back at the house as Tony pulls out of the driveway. Tony reaches out to hold his hand and gives him a reassuring squeeze.

They drive in silence for a few minutes, when Tony's phone buzzes. It's his mother. He only hesitates a second before picking up.

"Sweetheart?" she asks, sounding out of breath.

"I'm here," Tony croaks, mouth suddenly dry.

"Where are you?"

"On my way," he says with a hint of defiance.

"Good," she says. "Which way are you headed?"

"Best if you don't know."

Silence. "Can you make it to the old gas station by 86?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm your mother and you can't run away without any clothes or money."

Tony's throats tightens and he lets out a shaky breath. It's enough for his mother.

"I'll meet you there," she says before hanging up.

Tony chances a glance at Peter. He's watching him with tears in his eyes.

"I wish I got a chance to say goodbye."

Tony's heart breaks and he can't find anything to say, so he just laces their fingers together and keeps driving.

***

The sirens of the approaching police cars in the distance do nothing to lift their spirits even though the county border is already behind them. Tony wonders what story his father cooked up to warrant his persecution. Everyone must have seen the picture by now and yet the good town folk will lap up the lies their beloved sheriff tells them.

Tony looks at Peter and feels a surge of hatred for Howard at the sight of his tortured expression. After a moment's deliberation, he pulls over.

"What are you doing?" Peter cries.

Tony gets out of the car, walks over to the passenger side and opens the door.

"Come here," he says, extending his hand.

Silent tears start running down Peter's cheeks, but he goes.

"I'm sorry," he sobs into Tony's shoulder.

"It's not your fault."

"He came over to borrow a book and as I turned to fetch it…"

Tony tightens his arms around Peter. He's always seen Flash as an annoying, obnoxious douchebag and wanted to kick his ass oh so many times for bullying Peter. But now, now the things he would do to him… He shudders.

"Shh, baby," he whispers, aiming for a soothing voice. "You've done nothing wrong," he adds more firmly.

"I love you, Tony," Peter says after a few minutes.

"I love you, too. And I'll take care of you, no matter what."

"And I you," Peter glances up at him, tears glistening on his lashes.

"I know, baby," Tony says, cupping his face and kissing him.

They get back on the road in a few minutes. The sirens are still not far enough.

***

Peter dozes off soon after. At least that what it seems like, but Tony can't see his face. When he stirs he looks around in confusion.

"86 isn't this way," he exclaims.

"No, it isn't," Tony says grimly.

"Why?"

"He could have been there."

"Oh, Tony…" Peter whispers, reaching out for his hand.

Tony swallows hard to steady his voice.

"I have a separate bank account that they can't control. I don't have too much on it, but it will get us through the first week. We'll have to find jobs."

"Of course," Peter says. "But where are we going?"

Tony made this decision a long before today but he's never shared it with Peter. He told himself stuff like waiting for the right time and seeing how things between them work out, even though he knew he loved Peter and he knew that Peter would understand. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath before speaking.

"New York."

"What?!"

"We can disappear there. Get jobs, make our own way."

"But it's so far. And it's not safe! Is it?"

"Right now it's a hell of a lot safer than any place where we have a chance to run into the same people twice."

Peter doesn't reply just stares out of the window.

They keep driving for almost an hour in silence.

"My aunt lives there," Peter says as if continuing the conversation they were having.

It's Tony's turn to be surprised. "What?"

"We are not in touch. Some trouble between mum and her, I guess," he shrugs.

"Can she be trusted?" Tony ventures.

"I have no idea," Peter admits.

It would be so much safer to have an adult to turn to, even though they are both eighteen, but Tony is very reluctant to trust. He has no idea what to say, so they slip back into silence.

"Harley is there, too," Tony whispers hours later in the middle of the night. He clings to the memory of his best friend as he fights his exhaustion. He drives, so that he can see the bright smile Harley used to wear on his boyfriend's face again. So that they can be free like Harley wanted to be.

"Do you want to visit him?" Peter asks and Tony's surprised that he's awake.

"I never want to see him again," he says, the first drop of tear that day running down his face.

He's fought against the memory of Harley's blood stained face for years. He never wants to see his best friend paralysed and comatose. He keeps him alive within him and hopes that it's enough.

"We'll thrive," Peter affirms. He sounds older than this morning. "For Harley," he adds, voice cracking, "and for us."

[xellychan040]

DBZ Fic Saiyan History: An Overview by Daokin, 3rd Class

Fandom: Dragon Ball (Z, GT, Super) Characters: Yamoshi (mentioned), The Vegeta Lineage (mentioned), Bardock (mentioned) Word Count: 5704 Warnings: Character death. Referenced violence and warfare, Massively AU, Canon vs Fanon, Akira Toriyama Has No Sense Of Scale (And I foolishly try to fix it)

Summary: May Rutaba and Yamoshi guide our race to glory among the stars.

Notes: I wrote this in around three days motivated solely by spite. Did you know Saiyans only ruled planet Vegeta for, like, half a decade? And the Vegeta line only stretches back TWO generations? I did. And now I'm filled with nerdish anger.

I always felt slighted that DBZ never really had a space traveling arc outside of the Frieza saga and maybe GT, and any time space was talked about in show the scale was ridiculous. You could reach the edge of the universe in a day, in one of the movies.

Anyway, this whole silly endeavor started because I wanted to write a Planet Vegeta never explodes/The Saiyans don't work for the PTO AU. And when I went to research the Tuffles and Yamoshi's legend I stumbled upon the official Daizenshuu timeline and had my very delicate suspension of disbelief shattered utterly. And thus...... This. It's all fanon and conjecture on my part, with a dash of abusing sub/dub inconsistencies (like yamoshi appearing either 1000yrs ago or 3000yrs ago), but for my purposes, it works. Take it all with a grain of salt.

Final note. I'm ignoring all the time patroller stuff for the most part. So Xenoverse and Heroes don't apply to this au. Read it here or on ao3 for better formatting

Salada Golden Period(circa. 3000 years ago)BCA 2240

Modern, pre-space faring period.

In terms of advancement, it’d probably be half a century or so more advanced than humanity’s current society on Seeded Planet 359, colloquially known as Earth. Incidentally, there are some similarities with Earth’s ancient pre-space faring cultures, namely Roman and Greek city-states in terms of infrastructure and politics.

At this point, there's no central government. Large clans absorb smaller clans in a complex fiefdom of constantly rearranging territories.

BCA 1840

Some 400 centuries after, Overlord Yasai conquered and unified most other clans and their territories after a prolonged period of infighting. It pacified the infighting for several decades, but Yasai’s brutal, totalitarian policies caused their own internal problems.

BCA 1790

An upstart Warlord named Rutaba challenged Yasai for change. It’s not clear if he won, but his actions contributed to a unified central government in which Saiyan citizens could participate.

Salada and Saiyans

Brief overview

Modern evolved Saiyans have been on Salada 400,000 years. Civilization, as it was known before their mass exodus of the planet, was around for an estimated 12,000 years.

Salada native, pre-Dark Age Saiyans had long life spans, with particularly powerful, healthy Saiyan’s living to at least 800. Loss of information and vital data archives makes it unknown if lifespan estimate can be lengthened.

It was during the last 3,000 years of Salada’s existence that many advancements and cultural shifts took place.

In the Saiyan home solar system, Salada was the perfect distance from its parent star to reflect a perfect amount of Blutz waves from the moon. Adding to the rarity of full moons, coming once or twice every century, Saiyans transformed into Great Apes retain all sense of self. Though naturally and culturally conditioned to seek improvement and challenge through battle, the balanced intake of Blutz waves made Salada Saiyans less aggressive overall than compared to their Planet Vegeta and post-Dark Age descendants.

Planet Salada itself was naturally abundant with resources and wildlife. Its large size supported a plethora of climates, regions, and a diverse terrain. Even during population and technology booms, along with massive Saiyan appetites, Salada remained able to support its occupants.

Birth of Yamoshi

BCA 1540

Not enough information remains in Data Archive to accurately confirm, but Yamoshi seems to have come from a distant branch of the Yasai Clan tree. Possibly related to Overlord Yasai.

A hypothesis from historians posits Yamoshi’s lineage also includes a link to the Rutaba Clan

Separating Fact from FictionAccounts of a Golden Warrior from the post-Golden AgeFrom the files of Daokin, 3rd Class Historian. Age 729

Little is known about Yamoshi, despite his long, varied life. In the chaos of Salada’s last few decades, not all historical accounts made it into the Saiyan Ark’s data bank. Time, distance, and outside influences have corrupted certain data files and entirely lost others.

What data has survived bolsters certain empirical evidence from witness accounts, though possibly somewhat embellished with folklore elements.

Considering his possible lineage, Yamoshi is hypothesized to be the son of lesser royalty. Though there are many accounts of his varied travels, it’s impossible to determine if he was an Ambassador of sorts or merely a renegade aristocrat looking for adventure.

What is known, however, is Yamoshi’s actions gained him five companions, each powerful Saiyans of note. Much of their backgrounds are lost to time, but what survives suggests they were all from varying clans and castes, but extremely respected in their endeavors.

There are many testaments to Yamoshi having an honorable disposition, yet a few accounts hint at a mischievous and determined personality.

During Salada’s most turbulent years, Yamoshi and the five other Saiyans are the ones responsible for managing to suppress the initial aggressive outbursts from Blutz wave infected Saiyans.

Space EraTechnological Boom (200 years later)BCA 1590

Evidence of an Advanced Race is found. Further investigation reveals Advanced Race as possible Seeders, releasing their DNA on viable worlds in hope distant descendants will evolve there.

Saiyan spacefaring begins to close-by neighboring planets in the solar system and star system. Scientists work to learn more about their Seeder Precursors.

Cosmic Disturbance Looms

Renewed civil unrest

BCA 1240

A neighboring sister sun in the closest solar system begins to give off an unprecedented amount of energy. Solar flares and emissions begin to have disastrous effects on Salada’s home solar system, shorting out technology and disturbing the delicate Blutz wave output.

Any plans to colonize planets in the current solar system and star cluster is put on hold.

The unpredictable surge of Blutz waves creates an uptick in aggressiveness. Pockets of infighting begin away from capitals. Fear for the future spreads.

A massive lash of solar energy during a rare lunar event sends the 1/4 of the population into a berserker state. Mass casualties. Panic and anger sew the seeds of a civil war.

Attempts to pacify populous is met with mixed results.

Exoplanet colonization plans are reopened when scientists discover a star map left behind by Advanced Seeder Race. Locations of viable, possibly genetically compatible, evolutionary similar life-supporting planets are found. As the civil unrest grows and star system situation worsens, a new plan for a large, race saving Ark is drawn up.

The scramble for resources to construct an unprecedentedly large starship capable of voyaging through unexplored dark space begins just as war breaks out.

Certain individuals of strength from various walks of life band together to stifle the fighting. As the Blutz wave influx gets stronger, their efforts become less effective.

The Saiyan Ark is finished just at the peak of fighting, which is beginning to have a disastrous impact on the planet. Scientists estimate the neighboring sun’s next massive energy outburst will have dire consequences for the entire cluster, Salada will not be spared, even if it survives the fighting.

The rush to fill the Ark with a varied populace begins. Resources and gear to survive the long voyage and subsequent landing on Seeded planets are loaded.

A direct Yasai clan successor is among those chosen to go into cryo.

Ascension in DeathYamoshi Becomes LegendBCA 1190

Yamoshi, leader of the pacifying group is nearly overtaken by Blutz wave affected Saiyans. To protect the Saiyan Ark while finishing preparations, he had led a full assault on the devolved, berserker state Saiyans infected by overexposure to Blutz waves. By now, most of the population not protected by Salada’s capital were afflicted by Blutz waves, the odds Yamoshi was up against were astronomical.

Many of Yamoshi’s pacifying group were killed in the conflict, but he and his five companions managed to lead their soldiers into pinning back the aggressive Saiyans far from the capital’s borders, holding the line far away from the Ark.

The standstill did not last long, a break is formed in the protective circle as several Saiyans reach an unnatural Great Ape transformation through the Blutz waves despite no full moon. With no other alternative, Yamoshi and his five companions return to the Ark and warn the remaining unaffected Saiyans to take off while they launch another assault with no hope for survival.

Determined and set on course for what is almost assuredly a suicide mission, Yamoshi and his companions band once more together to buy as much time as they are able.

Just before take off, Blutz wave infected berserker Saiyans nearly destroy all hope of take off for the Ark. It is saved only when Yamoshi unlocked an unprecedented level of power, ascending forms into a Golden Warrior that the Ark can safely leave Salada.

A 787 Year Long Voyage BeginsUncharted Dark Space, Salada Home System Destruction, and Near ExtinctionBCA 1180 - BCA 403

Though Saiyans had been beginning to explore their solar system and star system with a fair degree in success, they were nonetheless ill-prepared for a venture such as this. Even with revamped FTL engine designs based on Seeder Precursor technology found and the translated star maps, without any warp gates or reliable knowledge of what lied in wait in the darkness of the stars, there was slim hope they’d all survive the centuries-long drift.

Harsh galactic elements, dwindling resources, and other obstacles make space travel fraught with chances of utter failure. Even running on revolving skeleton crews while the rest of the population sleeps, there was little that could be done in the event of a disaster.

Even with lengthy lifespans and hearty physiologies, Saiyans skeleton crews were not mentally or emotionally equipped for prolonged, comparatively slow space travel. With much trepidation, they eventually set the Ark on autopilot, following the preprogrammed charted path towards the nearest seeded planet. The Ark’s population monitoring programs were also adjusted; in the event of critically low supplies, life support will cut off non-critical persons and redirect resources to both younger civilians and important crew.

This turned out to be a wise choice when several centuries in the Ark collided with space debris and lost valuable resources along with a batch of sleepers.

Anomalous Energy Detected Est. BCA 975

About 200 years into the voyage, the Ark’s sensors pick up a massive explosion of energy originating from Salada. The cause of the energy is unknown, but consensus says the unstable neighboring sun wasn't the culprit.

Point of No Return, Saiyan Home System is Destroyed Est. BCA 844

Unstable Sun gives off another dangerous flare, the energy readings far eclipsing previous outputs, triggering a chain reaction. Entire star system takes massive damage. In the unlikely event Salada managed to survive the infighting and previous energy emissions, there was little hope the planet would survive that final pulse.

Planet Fall on Planet Plant10 years after reaching Tuffle Home SystemBCA 393

Destination reached at last. The Saiyan Ark has finally made it to a Seeded world, there was hope for survival after centuries of strife.

However, the landing had its own complications. The Ark had sustained massive damage on it way into the system, losing several hundred sleeper pods, some housing leaders and Saiyans in positions of authority or holding critical knowledge. Though pre-take off designs had implemented each sleeper pod with its own nav system towards the Ark’s destination and its own limited resources, there was no guaranteed chance of survival. Of the pods lost, only 34% made it to Planet Plant intact. Of that number, only 28% of their passengers survived.

Upon atmospheric entry, the Saiyan Ark collided with the in-progress Tuffle orbiting Dyson band, inflicting damages and casualties to both races. The collision veered the Ark off course causing the massive starship to crashland in the arid red deserts of Plant, several Kilometers from a large Tuffle metropolis.

Saiyan Dark Age400 years of lost culture, costs of acclimatization.BCA 394 - BCA 3

The journey through Dark Space had taken its toll on the Saiyan Ark and its inhabitants.

Not only was a sizable percentage of the limited population lost, but electrical storms and the rough landing had damaged many of the starship’s computers, losing large chunks of valuable information. What resources were left that didn’t get used or lost en route was wouldn’t support the surviving population, even small as it now was.

Another unforeseen, problem was the effects of the latent Blutz wave overexposure. Combined with the prolonged cryo sleep and depleted nutrients meant generations of unprecedented Saiyan health problems that would linger at a genetic level.

Increased aggression, mental and hormonal imbalances, drastically shortened lifespans, and reduced fertility were among the most prevalent ramifications.

From a cultural perspective, many things were lost as well. A majority of lives lost en route to Plant had been older Saiyans through a combination of resource rerouting and other factors. 67% of the sleepers that awoke on Planet Plant were Saiyans in their early adolescence to early adulthood.

On top of the changes brought on by unbalanced hormones on a new planet, young Saiyans were left without enough elders in authority who could offer guidance through this turbulent period of settlement.  Few of the survivors were mature enough to help the younger or new generations cope with natural biological and emotional changes, let alone the unnatural changes brought on Blutz wave overexposure and prolonged cryo sleep.

An even greater detriment would be insufficient technically skilled Saiyans. While on Salada, many Saiyan’s had lived partly on the fat of the land, yet modern, technological convenience still played a major part in even the most simple aspects of society. The rough reentry had damaged part of the Ark hull where Saiyan’s most suited to help the population settle had been sleeping.

Though they had brought along DNA banks of viable food sources like livestock and produce, they had little means to produce them, even if they had landed in a more fertile area

While the surviving Ark crew attempted to salvage what they could, there was little to do for the star ship’s damaged computers and archive banks. Art, sciences, family trees and bloodlines, key documents, and various more would be lost for years to come.

Stripped of the advantage of several millennia's worths of knowledge, the Saiyan survivors would have to make do with word of mouth instruction, hard work, instinct, and the goodwill of their new world-mates.

Settling In and Continued Losses

Planet Plant was not kind to its new residents. For the Saiyans of Salada, who were used to an abundance of natural resources brought by plentiful jungles, the harsh, barren deserts of Plant could provide little.

Already weakened from the prolonged sleep, it didn’t take long for several Saiyans to go into critical condition due to starvation and malnutrition.

And still, others had begun having unexplained, violent outbursts. It was quickly discovered those with more moderate to severe cases of latent Blutz wave overexposure were susceptible to heightened ambient Blutz waves generated by Plant’s twin suns. Already pumping out an imbalance of aggressive hormones from the increased exposure back home, the surviving Saiyan’s biology had no time to slowly acclimatize to Plant’s sudden assault on their endocrine system. Over time, the increased Blutz waves would affect every Saiyan on Plant, continuing on to affect subsequent generations as well. It was an unideal outcome, but one they could do little about.

From insufficient food, shelter, and medical care, Saiyan numbers began to falter. Lifespan estimates soon followed.

However, Saiyans are resilient. They pushed on through by whatever means necessary, yet it would be generations before they could truly make Planet Plant a hospitable home.

First ContactForging RelationsBCA 394 - BCA 3

Tuffles were not unmoved by the plight of their new neighbors, yet they were still cautious. The average Saiyan stood a full head and shoulders above most Tuffles, possessed large predatory fangs, and were several times stronger, even weakened. Still, the Tuffles sent out aid in the form of food, water, and supplies.

Eventually, due to the Saiyan’s current inability to repair their Ark, the Tuffles negotiated a trade: Ark components in exchange for Tuffle technology (namely food processors, agriculture and livestock based genetic modification, and small-scale terraforming tech).

While the Tuffles had already mastered limited space flight, they’d yet to perfect FTL engines. The Ark along with recovered Seeder Precursor data would launch their technology decades ahead. So much so, that their ambitious Dyson band was completed in half the time of their previous best estimate. Within this time period, Tuffles would advance even beyond their own expectations, converting the singular energy harnessing Dyson band into two gigantic scale orbiting stations. If Planet Plant was viewed from their moon, it would appear to have two planetary rings.

In a show of good will, the Tuffles had used a combination of replication and cloning technology to salvage, and in some cases cross breed DNA of Salada life forms, slowly introducing it to Plant’s ecosystems. Several species of Salada livestock and plant life were once again made available to Saiyans, genetically improved to support Saiyan metabolism even while on emergency rationing. The Saiyan starvation epidemic was drawn to a slow halt now that they had a limited, but nutrition and calorie-packed food source.

It not only gave Saiyans a chance to be self-sufficient, but it allowed the two races to maintain a respectable distance from each other. There was much to do before either side would regain some semblance of normal.

Tuffle ExpansionReaching the StarsAge 217

While combing through the Ark’s recovered databanks, Tuffle scientists restored as information as they could. By orders of their King, they were to especially be on the lookout for references to The Seeder Precursors, seeing as they were possibly the Tuffles’ ancestors as well as the Saiyans’.

Seeing as their Technology Age was already far eclipsed many other sapient species around their current age, the Tuffles decided to combine the wealth of information they received with their advanced capabilities and literally reach for the stars. While certain aspects of the Saiyan technology were less advanced, the fact that only several generations ago Saiyans were once seasoned star voyagers and colonizers put the Tuffles behind several centuries.

It was a gap they were most eager to close, for various reasons.

With the completion of their two orbiting stations and the harnessing of near limitless renewable, clean energy, the Tuffles set their sights high. Close by, just beyond the solar system they had surveyed and marked several exoplanets with habitable atmospheres; each an excellent opportunity to expand.

Starships when under construction, routes were charted and teams underwent exceedingly difficult training all in preparation for the upcoming journey. It wasn’t long until the first fleets and Exploration teams left the safety of Plant in search of an expanded frontier. Every Tuffle left on Planet waited with bated breath as the Exploration team sent back data compiled from the journey as well as each individual landing.

While given longer to prepare under favorable circumstances, along with a much smaller distance between destinations, the Tuffles found colonizing new planets to be more of a challenge than previously expected.

Some planets had climates and terrains that, while technically livable, would be difficult to settle. When scientists back home got word of the slow progress settling, they got together with politicians, financial backers, and the Exploration teams to come up with a plan of action to speed things up.

The answer came in the form of the Saiyans.

Upliftment or ServitudeAge 224

Despite the unbelievable strife the Saiyans had gone through, they showed marked improvement. With Plant as their new home, both pre and post-Salada born Saiyans would never quite be the same as their ancestors, yet their eventual adaptation to their surroundings was nothing short of phenomenal. Due to the extreme climates of Plant’s vast desert areas and dangers associated, Tuffles never bothered to settle far beyond the natural borders of their plentiful oases, and yet Saiyans, once the starvation crisis was addressed, had managed to nearly adapt overnight. Blutz wave overexposure or no, all Saiyans were sturdy and survivalist, taming the harsh lands and building small if low-tech, villages that were meant to last.

That adaptability, along with their immense strength gave one Tuffle scientist an idea.

After the initial first contact and aid given in return for valuable data, Tuffles and Saiyans seemed to have come to a mutual, somewhat unspoken agreement of indifference towards one another. It was somewhat exacerbated by the races’ first shared full moon, many Tuffles made wary by the Saiyan’s large, imposing transformations. But it seemed it was time to once again open up methods of communication. Another deal was struck, the rerelease of reconstructed Archive Data from the Saiyan Ark in return for help on the expansion of the Tuffle Frontier.

With their powerful bodies and quick ability to adapt to various environments, the Saiyans would act as the heavy movers and shakers in paving the way to settle more unruly landscapes. As if controlled by muscle memory from another time, Saiyans seemed to slide right back into the motions of space travel and territory expansion despite most Saiyans having never even set foot on a starship before.

It was an exciting time for all parties involved. Once again, progress marched forward at a speed Tuffle scientists never dared dream of. As for the Saiyans, the chance to test themselves against new challenges and return to their place beyond the stars beckoned them forward with little hesitation.

Things were moving for the Saiyans who stayed in the desert as well. Even with the Saiyan Dark Age officially ending just over 200 years ago, the release of data files was the most effective balm on Saiyan culture. From technical blueprints and scientific dissertations to a surprising amount of literature and history texts, the Saiyans were awash with the rediscovery of their culture. In fact, the emergence of the Cultivar Historia— a data drive containing notable lineages and bloodlines or cultivars — would soon play a major role in the future of Planet Plant.

And yet, what goes up must come back down. Back on the expanding frontiers, the Tuffle exploration teams were being urged to speed up their already incredible progress. Much of their speed in settling frontier worlds depended on the skill and effort of their Saiyan counterparts once Tuffle teams finished time extensive terrain scanning to ensure the safest route of action. But at the behest of their superiors, the exploration team slowly began to lessen the amount of preliminary scanning on new worlds, sending out Saiyan teams without extensive knowledge of potential dangers or obstacles. In the end, Tuffle superiors got the numbers they wished for, exoplanets settled and viable at an exponential rate, but at the cost of dozens of Saiyan teams.

While Planet Plant, and in particular Tuffle cities, were being flooded with resources and myriad of cosmic treasures, the Saiyan death toll began to quietly rise.

A New LineageThe Rise of the First VegetaAge 276

Since their landing on Plant, Saiyans had adopted a more tribalistic way of life, with descending from a combination of modified military ranks and individual skill level. The higher in rank you were on the Saiyan Ark, the more likely you were to assume a leadership position after landing, with a similar outcome if you were equipped with skills that would help the population survive various obstacles during difficult periods. It was a lifestyle that more or less remained unchanged as the centuries rolled by on Plant, however, the appearance of the Cultivar Historia brought another, more obscure facet to leadership:

Bloodlines.

It was revealed that, barring a few cases, most of the Saiyans currently holding positions of authority were able to trace their family history to cultivars listed in the Historia. However, none would hold so impressive an ancestor to their name other than Vegeta the First, an off-world team leader on a particularly treacherous exoplanet. An exoplanet that had claimed the lives of at least half a dozen Saiyan teams in the process of settling it. When Vegeta returned home to Plant bearing the news of more losses, he was informed of his connection to Salada Royalty. Fitting, as his name was a modern translation of Overlord Yasai’s.

Burdened by the loss of many strong Saiyan lives and now in possession of this new information, Vegeta would formulate a plan for the future of his race.

Not even half a year later would Vegeta set his plan into motion, rallying both on-world and off-world Saiyans together under one goal: Saiyan Dominance.

Saiyan RevoltClaiming the PlanetAge 277 - Age 287

When news of a Saiyan in the frontier had been killed by a Tuffle after an unexpected complication during a routine mineral site survey, Vegeta used the resulting outrage to spark a mass protest against the Tuffles’ continued disregard for the Saiyans.

Leaving the deserts to march into the Tuffle metropolis where the Royal Tuffle family ruled, Vegeta, backed by the flames of Saiyan discontent from his large group, challenged the king to a formal audience to listen to their grievances. However, the Tuffles took this as an act of aggression and stopped their advancement with a large cadre of guards. Vegeta, out of patience and taking this as a refusal to hear his people out, decided there was no possible avenue for diplomacy and signaled his group for a preemptive strike.

That was the start of a war that would last ten years. Both sides would take heavy casualties, however, Tuffle cities and civilians would take the brunt of the carnage as the entire planet became a battleground. While the Saiyans had sheer power and increased durability to their advantage, the Tuffles compensated with their far greater numbers and technology.

Particularly detrimental to Saiyans were the Scouters, which the Tuffles used to avoid and prepare for sneak attacks or ambushes. Another crucial tool on the battle feild was Energy Siphons, technology that absorbed Saiyan battle energy in a limited radius and converted it to power barriers and heavy artillery.

Saiyans fought back with scorched earth tactics, targeting manufacturing facilities that weren't yet protected by the Tuffle military, either ceasing or slowing down production of arms and materials. They also employed pack hunting strategies to corral and guide Tuffle squads into pinned positions, after which they placed the Tuffles under continued fire, systematically destroying their Energy Siphons until they were stripped of all protection.

When word reached those who were stationed off-world of what was happening on Plant, there was an immediate divide between Saiyan teams and Tuffle Explorers, smaller scale battles ensued over the control of the outposts. There was a mixed bag of wins and losses on both sides, with the resulting winners taking command of the starships stationed on the exoplanets, loading it with resources and materials, before returning to Plant to aid their people.

The war waged on, both sides in a deadlock with contested territory constantly falling in and out of hands.

However, the stalemate wasn't long to last. Nearly 8 years into the conflict a major tide would turn as the moon reached its zenith, rising full in the sky and unleashing its full force of magnified Blutz waves, triggering transformations for Saiyans everywhere on the field. In a strange echo, Vegeta was once again en route to the Tuffle King’s encampment when the moon broke cloud cover. Breaking through the King’s protections, Vegeta slaughtered the guard station there, eradicated the royal line and took the crown. A decisive victory for the Saiyans and a death knell for the Tuffles.

Tuffle resistance became scattered and thinned out. With their king dead and a majority of their cities devastated, the Tuffle army began to lose all sense of cohesion as they were picked off. Finally, in another ironic echo, having lost all ground, the Tuffles scraped together as many survivors as they were able and made their escape off the planet in a fleet of starships. They ran to the far edge of the star cluster, to a small planet they had surveyed with long distance scan but were years away from any settlement plans.

Planet Plant now belonged to the Saiyans. Vegeta was hailed as the new King for his strength and roll in their victory and Plant was renamed in his honor.

It was now time to rebuild.

Neo Saiyan RenesainceA new culture is born from the ashesAge 337

From the day of the Saiyans’ victory, there came a 50-year long renesaince. As they rebuilt the planet and moved into abandoned Tuffle metropolises, the Saiyans also worked to blend rediscovered culture with their current culture.

First order was establishing the royal court with the newly crowned King Vegeta at its head. Those that proved themselves in battle were made generals and commanders of the newly made official Saiyan Army. Those with impressive Cultivars were also given impressive titles, such as advisors or councilors with wide jurisdiction. Still, more Saiyan individuals would make names for themselves as they repurposed Tuffle technology or updated designs on Salada blueprints.

Outside of the court, many common Saiyans began to explore a wealth of new opportunities.

Even with the long war, the material and resource surplus from off-world remained in decent condition, and Saiyans from all walks of life took advantage. The newly named Planet Vegeta was once again flooded with unceasing progress.

As the skylines rose higher, quality of life became comparable to Salada during its Space Age. Birthrates and life expectancies were also on the rise. It wasn't long into his rule that the next Vegeta was born, thus setting the stage for the new Saiyan royal line.

War on the Frontier The Start of 200 Years of Conflict Age 339

Of course, the animosity between the Saiyans and the Tuffles would not be so easily forgotten. Far off in the edges of the star cluster where the Tuffles had been forced to run, they came into contact with roving bands of unaffiliated space mercenaries. Trading what they could spare for new technology and expendable men, the Tuffles began a slow campaign to reclaim their lost exoplanets and the resources there. The aim was to build a stockpile of material in hopes of sieging Planet Vegeta to reclaim it in the future.

During the time spent rebuilding on Planet Vegeta, the Saiyans hadn’t paid much attention to their claimed exoplanets, only sparing a handful of soldiers to be stationed on each outpost to continue mining for resources. But as the Tuffles began to make their way back to their home system, the lightly guarded outpost turned out to be excellent listening posts. The stationed Saiyans sent back word of incoming hostiles, after which generals sent back reinforcement towards the various outposts.

This would be one of the first opening volleys of a series of prolonged skirmishes. The Tuffles and their occasional mercenary allies would keep the Saiyans on high guard but would fail to make any decisive wins against them. Any and all plans to launch an orbital bombardment, while occasionally working on an outpost, failed when it came to Planet Vegeta. Vegeta the Second, now a decorated general himself, had commissioned the retrofitting of the Tuffle Dyson Band into serving as the Saiyan Space Fleet’s barracks and deploy station, but also an anti-orbital defense turret.

Once again, Saiyans and Tuffles came to a deadlock in the form of a series of back and forth ground wars on various exoplanets. The Saiyans growing stronger with each battle as the Tuffles raced to make their technology more devastating, building prefab military bases with ginormous Energy Siphons that stifled battle power in large, kilometer-wide radiuses.

Though the less bloody than the first Saiyan-Tuffle war, it was no doubt costly.

ArmisticeBrokered PeaceAge 709

During the birth of Vegeta the Fifth, the intergalactic community could no longer allow things to continue as they were. Merchant and civilian class starships were being caught in the crossfire, dealing millions of credits in damages and loss of uninvolved lives. The fighting was beginning to seep outside of the star cluster, causing major disturbances in the progress in construction of a warp gate.

After an unfortunate incident in which a cruiser class starship carrying an important figure was blasted over the atmosphere of a Tuffle controlled exoplanet, the Galactic Patrol was called in to negotiate a ceasefire.

Though several generals and advisors called to show the full force of Saiyan might against the Galactic community at large, the King and his moderate members of court worried over an extented war theater while they were already locked into a   conflict. Finally, after months of tense negotiation, an Armistice was declared.

At least in an official capacity. Unofficially, the Tuffles and Saiyans still fought small, undeclared skirmishes, but only on exoplanets not belonging to either side or isolated dogfights between starships.

Current Era

Age 710 - ongoing

On Planet Vegeta, progress still marches forward but at a much slower, organic rate. School and military training are heavily linked, with young Saiyans receiving a general education until their 12th year, after which from the onset of puberty onwards far into adulthood, most continue on into the military.

Birth castes factor into a Saiyan’s individual projected career path within the military, with 3rd classes typically filling in as infantry or leading small infiltration squads. 2nd class Saiyans are usually promoted to officer rank fairly soon, with the 1st class and Elite typically groomed and trained to become generals and councilmen from birth.

Should a Saiyan decide not to follow a military career, there’s some light stigma against the individual not being “Saiyan enough”, but as time lowers the genetic aggression brought on by Blutz wave overexposure, the stigma has lessened into generally light-hearted teasing. There’s also a practical reasoning in that a society would function very long with no other infrastructure beyond a military arm. And thus various other careers and academic ventures are offered elsewhere.

As our Saiyan society stands now, we are at a precipice of joining the galactic community at large. Though some argue for continued isolation from the Intergalactic Government, other say it’s only a matter of time.

Author Notes and Dedications

Daokin, 3rd Class Historian. Age 716

Well, this textbook has been a long time in the making. Since before the birth of my son Bardock, even. He’s five now, and a handful, just as brutal as his mother ( haha ). Not a day goes by that I don’t need my mate to rescue me from his roughhousing.

Speaking of my mate, thank you Commander Parsni for putting up with me as I whined more than our toddler when my deadlines loomed. I know more than once you were tempted to ( and nearly did ) frag me out my misery. Yes, but even this un-Saiyan recluse has something to live for, and my passion has always been our lost history. I hope it serves our next generations well.

May Rutaba and Yamoshi guide our race to glory among the stars.

Resources

The Salada Canticles, Vol. 3

Conflict Chronicles: An overview of notable wars in the cosmos, Argus Nox

Tracking the Past: Ancient Civilizations, Dar Ech

Cultivar Historia, Potaro, 2nd Class

Beyond Our Reach, Straba, Tuffle Scientist

[cawnvictofmurder]

Gold Forever- Chapter 6 (AO3)

Chapter 1: (tumblr) (ao3)

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei

Summary: Being a Demon isn't what Kei had expected but he thinks he's settled into a decent routine- sleep, work, maybe read a book if he feels like it, and repeat. Then he gets called back into the field and a messy haired Angel makes him feel things he hasn't in years.

Rating: T

Tags: Alternate Universe- Angels and Demons, Violence, Magic, Fantasy, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Friendship, Reincarnation, Blood, Mentions of Death, Partnership, Slow Burn, sort of, slow build at least, Pining

Word Count: 4,451

Kei steps around a moss covered tombstone, a ball of magic in hand to light his way around in the dark.

It’s a moonless night and, despite the lack of light, it would have been pleasantly cool if it hadn’t been for the unnatural frost layered over the ground. It chills the area and he’s surprised his breath doesn’t show in the frigid air.  

The cemetery is mostly quiet though he can hear Tetsurou shuffling around by the graves on the lower level. Kei glances down the hill from where he’s standing to see Tetsurou’s ball of light and softly shining wings revealing where his location.

Many tombstones are tainted green with moss and discoloured with rainwater, showing their age. Trees border the cemetery, almost enclosing them off from any potential witnesses. The light in his hand washes the nearby tombstones with a pale glow, reflecting off some polished stones and items that had been left in front of the graves.

Something rustles.

Kei whips around, wings barely visible in the dark and spread out for a possible quick escape. The light in his hand darts forth like a firefly, revealing broken branches and leaves scattered over some tombstones.

He reaches out with his senses, searching for anything- any magic, any movement, any sounds- and something flickers, like a candle that had been blown out. It’s absurdly silent, the air is still, and it’s only when Tetsurou’s wings flare brighter than a full moon that he notices it.

There’s a stretched out, smudged, human silhouette made of shadows towering over Tetsurou.

One of its hands is recoiling from Tetsurou’s wings- as if they burned white hot. Despite the physical reaction to pain, it makes no sound.

Tetsurou warily uncurls his wings from where he had instinctively went to protect himself, arching them behind him in a way that would allow him to defend himself again if needed.

The ghost-like creature is a spirit, an Onryo- a spirit that holds grudges and seeks vengeance.

Kei extinguishes the light in his hand. Tetsurou’s wings were providing more than enough lighting and carefully makes his way down. The spirit, double their size, sluggishly turns to stare at him. Its eyes are two blazing holes in the haze of black.

For a moment, he thinks they might be able to eliminate the spirit peacefully but, as he steps closer, its eyes digs deep into him and burns brighter.

As if it had foregone all its previous subtlety, the wind picks up and howls. Kei and Tetsurou both plant their feet and fold in their wings before they could get blown away, arms raised to protect their faces from the stinging gale.

It lashes out with a hand, sharpened fingers aimed at Kei.

Tetsurou shouts a warning and it’s only because of the glow of his wings that Kei is able to pick out the difference between the spirit and the harmless shadows around them. Kei darts to the side, lashing one hand at the spirit as he moves.

A blade of magic slices into the black layer around the spirit, revealing tattered clothing and spiderweb scarred skin under it. They disappear under another flood of black and the spirit screeches.

It’s not loud, sounding very much like a shrill whistle, but it’s loud in pressure- a hand on their heads and forcing them down. Neither of them buckle under it, moving as easily as ever.

Tetsurou defends against its next lash at Kei, motioning as if he were snatching something from the spirit, despite their distance, and the black covering its hand bubbles. As the spirit flinches back, the bubbles burst, sending shards of its black cloak flying. It reveals the skin and clothing underneath that area, stark against the black.

A shard of it embeds itself next to Kei’s foot before dissipating into the air.

He spares it a single glance, just long enough to make sure it had entirely disappeared, before he moves. He’s tensing to jump, wings spreading when Tetsurou repeats his hand gesture, forcing him to stop before he collides into the burst of magic Tetsurou had just released.

The spirit’s chest bubbles and bursts, sending more shards of its black armor flying and Kei immediately lunges for the exposed area.

He weaves a thread of magic through his fingers and solidifies it, grasping the charcoal coloured rod as he approaches and jams it in as deep as he can. As soon as his momentum fades, he lets go and jumps away- now out of the range of a flailing hand.

The rod bursts, shattering the black armor into numerous shards that rain down into the cemetery. Without it the spirit takes on its original appearance- a young man with singed hair and angry red electrocution scars that show through the ragged clothing he had once worn.

There is rage sharpening his face as he wordlessly shouts, mouth moving and the wind howling louder than before. His eyes no blaze like miniature suns, but there’s still an all too real burn within them as he spreads his arms.

The black shards that had once been his cloak rise into the air, spinning until all their sharpest points are directed at Kei.

“Holy- Kei get over here-” Tetsurou nearly curses, his wings shining brighter as he rushes over.

Kei hesitates.

Why would he retreat? He could take out the spirit the moment it let those shards go. They were its only defense and he’s confident in his ability to dodge majority of them. Any he couldn’t- Tetsurou.

Any he couldn’t dodge would cut him at best and impale him at worst. He no longer had the type of defense he was so used to working with at his back.

“Kei!”

He ducks down and into Tetsurou’s protective hold, feeling as if something had been left behind- torn out of him.

Tetsurou grabs him by the shoulders, hunching them down as his pale wings curl over the both of them. They light up the small space with their soft light. Kei can feel both their breaths, steady- if not a bit rushed- and he presses his own wings as flat as possible against his back. He can feel feathers brushing his own, shielding his back.

He avoids eye contact, staring at the wall of feathers surrounding them- they’re almost ghost-like, wispy and pale. As he watches, the edges of all the feathers bleed silver- as if they had been dipped in moonlight.

Through Tetsurou’s wings, he can see the approaching shards as spots of faint shadows. They clink off of his wings without any damage at first but eventually he grunts and his grip on Kei’s shoulders tighten.

Kei futilely tracks the shards, sensing for the spirit. Through the heat and sunlight veil around him, he can just barely sense the smear of ink and turbulence. The moment there’s a short pause in the barrage, Kei pushes at the shoulder in front of him insistently.

Without a word, Tetsurou flares his wings open.

Threads of magic raise from the ground and twines around Kei, shimmering gold and alive like snakes. In a mimicry of the spirit’s own attack, Kei sweeps his arm towards it as he turns and they shoot off.

Like arrows, they strike dead on and pierce through the spirit- and within the spirit, they burn.

The wind dies down to a soft breeze as the spirit is swallowed up in a golden fire, slowly scattering like ashes in the wind.

Tetsurou’s oddly quiet and Kei glances over to see him rubbing his shoulder with a grimace. “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” Tetsurou tears his eyes away from where the spirit had once been standing, flicking his eyes over to him and away. “Oh, yeah, don’t worry that was nothing. Anyways….”

A warmth radiates from him, a welcome contrast to the chill in the air. Tetsurou’s practically beside Kei as he calls up a blessing, washing them both in the pale light of his magic.

This close, he can hear Tetsurou’s soft inhale and exhale, focused as he cups his hands in front of him. The spark of magic ignites and Kei is helplessly raptured as it swells within Tetsurou’s fingers, watching as they gently pull away. It swells, releasing the blessing- releasing magic that’s filled with Tetsurou’s own feelings and spirit.

And Kei remembers every single time he has been within this very same blessing, the warmth and lightness and peace, but this time- it doesn’t have the same effect.

It feels flatter, lukewarm, and not at all settling.

The magic fades from the air and the chill returns, only, after the weak blessing, it feels freezing. Tetsurou closes his eyes, wings fading and dropping them into the dark.

“Ah...sorry.”

“....I do recall you saying your blessings were shit,” Kei murmurs as he summons a ball of light in his hand. Tetsurou laughs weakly. “If a blessing failed then the spirit’s tied to something here. Let’s find it.”

“Yeah, okay.”

They search the cemetery again, scanning for the thing that had tied the spirit to this area. With all the magic that had been used and thrown around though, it’s harder to sense anything let alone a spirit’s focus- it’s like trying to see through thick fog.

To make things better, there usually wasn’t any physical evidence of a spirit or ghost’s focus- or any origin of unfriendly magic really, not until someone touches it.

With their ability to sense the focus hindered, they were playing a hard game of find the needle in the haystack and hoping they don’t get poked by it.

“I think I got it,” Tetsurou calls from the row of tombstones on the top. When Kei joins him, he’s staring at a white tombstone, clean and newly carved, between the other worn down stones around it.

Neither of them touch it but when Kei crouches down for a closer look, his hair stands on edge and his skin crawls.

He traces a circle around the grave, stepping lightly around it, and the line of red magic sparks the moment it’s closed. Kei pours in his magic, with a force not unlike a waterfall, and steps back.

It erupts like a geyser, engulfing the tombstone in a pillar that reaches the top of the surrounding treeline. Slowly, it dies down before flickering away. The tombstone hasn’t changed in terms of appearances, but Kei feels like it does look renewed compared to before.

The chill is still in the air, but it’s less insistent, only evident when the wind blows.

“I guess we can request a follow up for this,” Tetsurou says, running his fingers through his hair for the fifth time tonight.  Kei pretends not to notice.

“Yeah.”

Later that day, Kei finds himself in the rec room just as the sun rises, filling out the paperwork for their investigation assignment.

Usually, he would be doing this in his own room, alone and without the distractions in the rec room- with people coming in and out and trying to talk to him. However, Tetsurou had somehow convinced him to fill out the follow-up request together. In the rec room.

“Too bad we didn’t catch the sunrise on our way back,” Tetsurou muses, gazing out the window by their table. Kei taps a pen on the paper with a noncommittal hum. “Have you seen the sunset or sunrise from the air before?”

Kei quirks a brow at him, barely glancing up from where he was summarizing their actions. Tetsurou continues, turning from the window to watch him. “The view is really nice, not something you can do when you’re human, y’know. Though it can be sort of awkward…”

Kei hums, double checking the form.

“Hey, Kei...uh.” Tetsurou scratches his cheek before looking away. “So...what do you feel about pets?”

Kei looks up at that, brow furrowed. “...we can’t have pets.”

“I know that! I mean, just. In general. Did you have a pet before?” Tetsurou scrutinizes him. “You seem like you’d be a cat person.”

“I wouldn’t remember.” Kei looks back down at the form, signing it off. He then hands it over to Tetsurou before starting on his own report. If he was going to be here, he might as well get that finished and hand it in.

“Okay, but would you get a cat? Or a dog?” Tetsurou pauses for a moment to read over the form, add a few words and signs his own signature at the bottom. “Maybe a reptile? Turtles, snakes, lizards?”

“None.”

“Mice or rats? Rabbits? How about hamsters- they’re cute.”

“No.”

“Do you like parrots? I’m not sure if I can see you with a bird.”

Kei rolls his eyes and doesn’t even bother replying. Tetsurou pouts. “I’ll take that as a no then.”

Tetsurou stops for a moment, resting his chin on his hand as he regards him. Kei glances up, catching his stare, his report quickly forgotten.

What are you thinking? Kei wonders, staring straight into those amber eyes. He’s not sure he wants to know.

“Oh, good! You two are here!”

Oikawa ambles up to them, suit perfectly arranged and his hair looking as good as usual.

Kei swallows a snicker, his shoulders hitching as he recalls the image of Oikawa sprawled on the floor and the literal opposite of the image he’s presenting now.

“I’ve got good news.” Oikawa shoots Kei a confused look but continues without a hitch, “You both have been cleared as an official Strike Team as of a few minutes ago. You’ll have to pass your assessments later this year to keep that, but that should be no issue for you two.”

Any humor Kei had felt evaporates instantly, replaced with a cold finality

“That’s pretty fast, I expected it to take years.” Tetsurou marvels. “Did you sell your soul to someone?”

“Ha, ha, like I’d sell my soul for you.” Oikawa harrumphs, “Do you know how much paperwork I went through for this?!”

Tetsurou sticks his tongue out at him. “Don’t be a baby, you’re the one who went through with this.”

“Hmph!” Oikawa gives Tetsurou one last venomous glare before moving on. “Well, I’m slating you two as the first responders later this week- are you two ready?”

Tetsurou considers the question before quietly answering, “Yeah, can’t wait…”

Kei looks away. “Mm.”

There’s a heavy moment where Oikawa surveys them, where neither of the two really meet his eyes.

“Alright then...I’ll see you two soon.” He slowly leaves them, joining up with another team and speaking with them.

Kei goes back to his report, pen digging into the paper. He’s not entirely sure he’s writing everything he needs to on it- the letters are blurred out, unfocused.

Tetsurou looks up from where he had been staring at the table, mouth opening- and he stops. Looks at Kei. And swallows his words.

Instead, he leans back into his seat, gazes out the window and rambles.

He talks about the sun and the clouds, about the process of evaporation, the atoms that make up water and the chemical reactions of potassium, about the various types of reactions, the periodic table, the ocean and the fish- anything he could think of.

Kei doesn’t remember finishing his report nor does he hand it in that day.

It’s beyond obvious to Kei when Oikawa has scheduled them for a strike.

The amount of assignments they had been getting regularly for the past month or so died down, and eventually they got only one assignment, compared to their previous back-to-back assignments.

Once two days had passed without any new alerts, Kei just knew that the next alert they would be getting would be the one for their strike.

It was agony, being on call and anticipating it like a knife to his back.

He rearranges his bookshelf for the first time ever, cleans the entire apartment and had started pacing before he sits down and lays on his bed. He doesn’t get up, watching as the room grows darker and is eventually lit up by the moonlight instead of sunlight.

His pager never once beeps.

Without the regular assignments, Kei no longer has anything to occupy his mind anymore.

Being on call had once made him restless with a sweet, eager anticipation.

Now, he dreads it, feeling as if someone’s holding a blade to his neck- loose and entirely unthreatening, but when the moment strikes, it would dig into his neck and bleed him out.

And Kei doesn’t have much to bleed out without losing it all.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

‘US10-STRIKE’

Oikawa isn’t waiting for them this time and Kei heads straight to the Portal Room, heart pounding in his ears.

“I’ve got it- I’ve told you I’m sending U10 on it- Will you just-”

Tetsurou steps into the room, softly closing the door behind him, and joins Kei in watching Oikawa argue with someone through his headset. Oikawa, once he sees the two of them, rolls his eyes and removes the headset with a, “I’m sure, Suga-chan, don’t worry, don’t worry.”

“Right.” Oikawa moves towards the door frame, hand reaching out and opening a portal. “We’ve got an alert for a large creature in a populated neighborhood. Last known status was not hostile, but keep your head up.”

The portal swirls like Kei’s stomach, growing. The green is sickly as it fills the frame, shimmering and reflecting light that hurts his eyes. Oikawa steps away from the portal, an expectant smile plastered onto his face.

Despite his feet being as heavy as lead, Kei steps forward without any hesitation, magic veiling him like a second skin and wings folded tensely, ready to spring open. Tetsurou’s right behind him, a searing spot of heat at his back.

The portal swallows them and Oikawa’s smile falls.

“Good luck you two.”

The large baboon-like creature is lounging on the roof of a house, hands and mouth tainted red as it blearily watches its surroundings. Its large flapping lips smack together and it shifts to pick at the bush of black hair on its head.

It pays absolutely no attention to the portal that opens up on the street.

The street is thankfully empty this late at night, clear of any witnesses and possible casualties. It, however, doesn’t eliminate the fact that the neighbourhood is filled with houses. The tiniest mistake would bring the entire neighbourhood, and then some, crashing down on their heads.

“A Hihi,” Tetsurou quietly identifies. “How did that get all the way out here?”

Without waiting for a reply, he lays a hand on the wall of the street beside him and raises a ward. It shoots off into the distance, bordering the street and the house the Hihi is on. Once it closes them in, he quickly weaves additional wards onto it- ones for misdirecting attention, fortifying the ward, containing magic and soundproofing.

That gets the Hihi’s attention and it blinks the sleepy fog out of its eyes, pinning them with an intense stare.

Tetsurou cautiously takes his hand off the ward, letting it fade into near invisibility. The Hihi does nothing, blinking at them. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Guide it to-”

The Hihi lets out a shriek- shrill and laugh-like. Part of the roof under it starts to crumble as it shifts its weight and pounces.

“I think we need a new plan!” Tetsurou shouts as they scatter to opposite sides. He takes the opportunity to shift his wards, cutting the house out, and trapping the Hihi with only the length of the street to move.

Now truly cornered, the Hihi whirls on them, a large and heavy mass of anger and aggression. It’s in between Kei and Tetsurou, separating them.

It gives them an advantage.

As it swings its palm at Kei, Tetsurou meets his eyes from down the street.

Kei stands his ground as the hand barrels towards him, undoubtedly able to break bones. Just before it impacts him, a ward springs up between him and the hand, meeting with a thick, echoing pound.

Kei’s hand zips up, silk and electric thrumming at his fingers- and he pulls up short.

His magic dies at his fingers as he pulls it back. Tetsurou’s ward wraps around his body, like a curved shield. It prevents him from taking a shot at the Hihi.

At least, not without shattering the ward first.

Frustrated, Kei runs out from behind the shield. The Hihi is readjusting his balance from the recoil, tracking him with sharp eyes. It lets out a raspy bark, reaching to snatch him up but Kei doesn’t stop, running down the street and it chases after him.

He can see, and feel, Tetsurou raising another ward, right in front of him, and it’s curved again- perfect for redirecting the Hihi’s blunt but hammer-like fingers. Kei’s certain they would hurt much more than hammers though.

He pivots on his heel and spins, right beside the ward, tracing a circle around him with his other foot- resulting in a harsh grinding sound. He then slaps the ward and merges his own sharp-silk with the heat of Tetsurou’s magic before forcibly unraveling it.

He jerks his hand back as if it had been burnt, but the ward unravels, and he takes off down the street again.

The circle he had traced into the ground shines faintly and it flares when the Hihi crosses over it. The Hihi is fast though; fast enough to only be caught by just a few of the spikes that erupt from the circle.

It howl-barks with pain and a raspy rumble leaves its chest.

The few spikes had impaled its hind legs and it stumbles forward and it uses the momentum to lunge for Kei again.

Kei stumbles back, arms and wings flailing to recover his balance as its hand smacks down into the ground just in front of him. It creates a crater and he’s quick to back off the moment he gets his footing.

“Kei, be careful!” Tetsurou ducks under the Hihi’s arm as it scrambles upright, hopping over the large crater. His wings help him over it and he grabs Kei’s shoulder, careful to keep an eye on the Hihi. “Don’t take risks like that!”

“It got a hit on him, didn’t it? I don’t see you doing anything.” Kei shrugs his hand off with a scowl. Tetsurou recoils, turning to face him directly.

“You completely disregarded my help.”

“You didn’t help,” Kei counters, squaring his shoulders and glaring. “You prevented me from doing anything.”

“If that was a problem, I’m sure you could have found a way around it- it was a ward, to protect you.”

“I could have gotten a shot in-”

Tetsurou cuts him off firmly, “You can wait until a better- safer- opportunity comes up.”

“We would never get anything done before it makes a mess of everything.”

“All that is fi-”

Kei practically tackles Tetsurou. “Move!”

A fist slams into the ground like a wrecking ball, sending bits of concrete flying. Kei rolls off of Tetsurou, staggering upright and shaking out the rocks and dust in his wings.

“And you think I’d ever get a chance to counterattack something like that by waiting?” he asks. “That’s never going to work.”

“It’s not just waiting!” Tetsurou shoots back, jumping to his feet. “It will work. It’s waiting and when the opportunity comes you take it- you’re taking way too much risks right now!”

“And your way won’t do-” The two of them leap to the side again as the Hihi swipes a hand at them. “-anything! Slow and steady isn’t that helpful!”

“And heading straight into a fight will end up with both of us killed!” Tetsurou yells, looking past the creature and staring at Kei. “Would you stop and think?”

“Think?!” Kei barks, sharp as a blade. “I am thinking- are you scared?” Kei can sense the Hihi behind him, feels the wind shifting with its movement, but he still pushes with a sneer, “What, are you afraid of sinning?”

Tetsurou balks at him. “What?!”

“Too afraid of getting dirty? Nothing should taint your pure, innocent hands- is that it?”

“Damn it, Kei! I don’t care about that!”

“You’re not even able to kill are you,” Kei snarls, a piece of white hot coal burning in his chest. Tetsurou’s wings are raised threateningly, his face blank and angled stiffly. Kei hears the whistle of something forcing its way through the air.

He jumps back just as the Hihi plants its fist where he had been standing. It hovers over him, red stained teeth exposed and body blocking out the sky.

The burn of his anger and frustration curls in his chest and he grabs onto it, letting it sear through his veins, and slices up at the Hihi with a curt gesture. His magic loses its silky edge, becoming an electrified blade- it’s sharp enough for him to tense up at the feeling as it burns its way out.

The Hihi roars, the gash on its chest spraying vivid red blood.

Kei spins on his heel, retreating as the Hihi jerks back. It gives another screech as a tumor bubbles from its thigh, bursting and scattering the ground with more blood.

Tetsurou jerks his fingers again, a sharp and curt movement. It reflects the anger Kei can sense from him.

Another tumor forms on the Hihi’s arm, only, it doesn’t burst- it multiplies.

It bubbles until its entire arm is swollen and the Hihi is stumbling around, screaming like a raspy child. They all burst simultaneously, showering the area with blood.

Kei turns his face away, feeling the fluid spatter onto his cheek. He turns back to see the Hihi clutching its deflated arm, roaring at Tetsurou. It jerkily stumbles in his direction, teeth bared and very bit intent at fighting back.

With a gesture that reminds Kei heavily of his own attack, Tetsurou slashes through the air with his hand.

The wards flicker into view for a split second, bright enough to sting his eyes.

The Hihi’s screaming growl dies as it falls to the ground. The ground shakes under its weight and there’s a steady pool of red gathering under it. The ground is staining red and Kei feels a fleeting dose of pity for the clean up crew assigned to this.

Kei himself is spattered with blood and Tetsurou…

Tetsurou is staring straight at him.

He’s miraculously free of blood on his body, only a few drops on his clothes, but his pale wings are practically drenched in the red fluid- dripping down the feathers smoothly.

Tetsurou’s tone is hard and low.

“Who says Angels can’t kill?”