#he would crawl his way out of the grave before he lets himself be doomed by the narrator

[mrmorganswoman]

no grave can hold my body down, ill crawl home to her

summary:

arthur morgan knew he was the type of man that shouldn’t risk falling in love, but jesus she just made it so hard NOT to

a/n: first fic!! inspired by work song by hozier lol. hope y’all enjoy it Xx 💗

‘Arthur Morgan, you fool’ He thought to himself, mentally swearing for catching himself staring at their camps newest member yet again. But he just couldn’t help it. He knew he shouldn’t indulge in this. It was stupid really, any attempt at love in the past had failed him. All because of this life he chose to live. One that wasn’t easy to leave behind. Though Arthur knew, if you asked him to he’d throw it all away. God this man would do anything for you, he practically worshiped the ground you walked on. He didn’t know why he was so captivated by you, maybe it was your honey sweet voice, or the kindness you showed him right from your first day of knowing him. He couldn’t stop himself from loving every little thing about you, to him you were perfect. A goddamned goddess. He thought you deserved someone better than him. A woman such as yourself deserved to live a good life, one where the law isn’t out to get you. One where people could be out to hurt you because of your husband’s line of work. You deserved to feel safe and secure in your life. Nothing like the chaos you were living through now.

Little did Arthur know, you were feeling the exact same way about him. You had deep feelings for Arthur Morgan, you were as sweet like sugar on that man. You loved everything about him, but most of all how he treated you. He made 100% sure you felt safe and were taken care of all the time. You were one of the first people he’d check up on when returning from a job. Or you mentioned something you needed and the next day he would just so happen to need to run to town and what do you know, the exact scarf, seasoning, hair ribbon, you name it would be included in his haul. And if he was around at meal times, he would not so subtly make sure you got your portion. All of this and yet, he rarely said a word to you. It confused you to no end, it felt like he cared about you deeply but he rarely paid any attention to you. You were a lost soul before you started riding with the Van Der Lindes, and because of the Blackwater situation it was hard for the gang to let in a new mouth to feed. But ever since the beginning Arthur made you feel so welcomed. You don’t know what you did do deserve his kindness but it was deeply appreciated. Mary-Beth was CONVINCED Arthur was sweet on you, so we’re Tilly, Molly, Abigail, Karen, goodness even Susan Grimahaw herself made a comment about it you once. You wanted to believe it so badly, but he didn’t talk to you!! He could just be a kind man of little words and you’re reading into the situation all wrong.

‘Oh well…’ You thought with a sigh, flicking your eyes up from the needle work you had long been neglecting because of your thinking. To your surprise, you found a pair of beautiful blue eyes already looking in your direction…

~~~~~~~

“Shit!” Arthur swore under his breath, god dammit you were still as a staute for ages before this why’d you have to look up now?? Arthur begrudgingly tore my eyes away from t and started walking to his horse- where he was supposed to be already. Hosea wanted to take him into town for some reason he had yet to say.

“Arthur!” Hosea said warmly. He then raised an eyebrow. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble getting here?”

‘Oh I this is NOT goin’ there.’ Arthur thought.

“Course not.” He said flatly. Hosea smiled a knowing smile, before long they mounted thier horses and were off.

The ride to Valentine was thankfully silent and quick. But Arthur knew that was going to change as soon as Hosea informed him that he was taking Arthur to the saloon to “Chat over a drink” With such a grin on his face that Arthur knew he was nothing short of doomed.

After getting situated at the bar with a neat whiskey and a beer, Hosea start talking to Arthur, though it felt more like he was speaking AT at him. Making little remarks about love and what it does for people. Sharing little stories of “the joys of marriage.” …..very sneaky, Hosea.

“Hosea…. Please get to whatever point it is yer tryin’ to make here.” Arthur said, cutting into his rambling.

“Arthur….” He cooed, sounding like he was talking to some schoolyard boy. “I’ve been watching you pine over (Name) for MONTHS.”

Arthur said nothing. Nothing but a silent prayer that his cheeks weren’t burning a fiery shade of red.

“I know you’re sweet on her, it’s as obvious as a wolf standing in a pack of sheep!”

Arthur ran a hand over my face and let out a tired sigh. Hosea sipped his beer, waiting for him to respond.

“What ‘m I supposed’t say?” Arthur grumbled, crossing his arms over my chest. ‘God, what a pathetic fool I am.’ Arthur thought. “Not like she’d want an ugly bastard like me ‘nyway.”

“On the contrary! Hosea chuckles. “I was walking by the women’s tent last nigh- couldn’t sleep. Wanted to walk a bit to clear my head- and my boy you should’ve heard the things (Name) was saying about you!”

At that, Arthur sat up a little straighter. “What things…?” He asked, slightly wearily. Hosea smiled.

“Son, she’s fallen for you head first! If only you’d start speaking more then 2 words a week to her! You do so much for that girl Arthur, would it be so hard to do that too?”

He didn’t say anything. Learning that, by some fucking MIRACLE- the woman of his dreams has fallen for him was making his head spin. Could this really be happening?? Could this work?? A stab of pain shot through him as he remembered Mary, and how things ended with her. But this could be different, after all you were with the gang. You didn’t care about his life, you loved him despite it all…Arthur hadn’t dared let himself think that a love with you could possibly work out. The thought made him giddy. He felt dumb as rocks, feeling so strongly for you without ever saying a damn word to you. But he couldn’t let himself get to know you- he couldn’t bare to hear your silky voice say his name more then you already do. With such kindness, such love.He wanted to talk to you, to love you, to cherish you and worship you like you deserved to be, but-

“Hosea, I’m afraid.” Arthur said quietly. “Look at ‘er, I can’t drag this woman down the path I’m on. She doesn’t deserve a man like me.”

Hosea pushed Arthur’s untouched whiskey towards him, Arthur took the glass and downed it all in one go. He listened to Hosea’a next words at the fiery liquid settled in his stomach.

“Are you going to risk making that decision for her?”

~~~~~~~

You sat on the cold ground in front of the dying out campfire, grateful that everyone had fallen into their cots for the night. You loved the solitude of nighttime. It was so nice to be by yourself, enjoying the quiet peace of the stars above you.

Before long, your thoughts (as they always did) turned to Arthur Morgan. Hosea has returned to camp hours ago, telling you that Arthur should be back shortly. It’s been hours and still no sign of him. You knew it was normal, but you couldn’t help but worry while he was out of camp. Which was stupid really, you weren’t his girl. Just because he was kind didn’t mean you had to get your knickers all on a twist over him.

‘Damn your mysterious-ness Arthur Morgan….’

You only know you dozed off when the familiar sound of a horse whining woke you up. And then an even more familiar voice soothing the distressed animal.

“Easy girl…. Y’know I can’t spend all my time with ya’ don’t you?”

You stretched your arms out and listened to the sweet interaction. Despite him being the gang’s toughest enforcer, a wanted dead or alive outlaw, Arthur truly was a sweetheart. He treated all the women of the camp with the utmost respect and was such a help to any soul in need of. If only he knew how badly you needed him.

You from your spot on the ground, drawing the outlaws attention. He approached with a small smile.

“Glad it was jus’ you..” Arthur said, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. You on the other hand were absolutely over the MOON at the fact that Arthur had finally decided to talk to you.

“Oh I hope you’re not too disappointed Mr. Morgan!” You said with a light chuckle. Arthur, not sensing your sarcasm through his nerves, panicked.

“N-no! Not at all, ma’am! I apologize if I came off that way-”

“I’m just teasing ya’ Arthur. It’s quite alright.” You said and smiled. A smile so sweet and bright Arthur could’ve melted on the spot. Your sweet smile, the way his name rolled off your lips. Arthur wasn’t a religious man, but he might as well have been in heaven.

“(Name)….” Arthur said, his sweet southern drawl when he said your name making you blush. “I’d like to apologize. For how I’ve been treatin’ you.”

“Oh Arthur! You’ve been nothin’ but kind to me since I’ve been here- whatever are you sorry for?” You asked him, genuinely shocked at the man’s statement. Were you talking to the same Arthur who took care of your horse for you, bought you ribbons to put in your hair, and watched over you like a protective hawk? Sure he didn’t speak to you much, but you knew he was a man of few words. Even if it hurt sometimes, could live with it. You didn’t need him to love you back for you to love him all the same. You’d almost accepted it. Almost.

Arthur sighed a deep and nervous sigh, his thoughts blurring and the several whiskeys he had in him were NOT helping. Not a bit.

“You see- well it’s, it’s just-” Arthur stammered- god he was making a complete FOOL of himself!

You stepped closer to Arthur, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. You looked up at him nervously. The two of you had never been close as this. Arthur looked down at you, you had concern laced in your eyes. Concern for him. Your long hair was falling out of its messy braid, the loose strands framing your face beautifully. He could see the nights starts reflected in your eyes.

‘How beautiful..’ Arthur thought. He was completely captivated by you. ‘How could a woman like this be allowed to roam the same earth as someone like me..?’

Without even realizing what he was doing, Arthur pulled you flush against his chest, one arm wrapping around your waist and the other reaching up to cup your chin. His touch was feather light as he stroked his thumb over your face.

“I ain’t never felt like this before Miss…” Arthur mumbled, leaning his forehead down to touch your. He didn’t have time to wonder (or thank) whatever divine force gave him to courage to do this. “You got me makin’ a fool outta myself…”

You let out a soft gasp at the a sudden touch from Arthur. You had only ever been like this in your sweetest dreams, was this really happening??

“Arthur…?” You whispered, questioning him. “Wha…What ‘re you d-”

That’s it. He couldn’t take it anymore. To hell with the risks, the past to hell with it all! He had come to love you more than life itself. You were exactly what he needed in his painful and cruel life.

You were such a loving soul, treating everyone and everything around you so kindly it was heartwarming. You give and give and GIVE to everyone around you. You never judged anyone around you for their actions- past or present. You picked up chores from the other women when they needed a break. You sung little Jack to sleep when Abigail was too exhausted to lift her head from her cot. You put braided flowers into your beautiful long hair whenever you had a moment to yourself. You smiled at him every morning when you left your tent to begin your day. You always kept the pink silk scarf he picked up for you and left in your tent with a note in the pocket of your skirt. You picked at nails and hummed when you were nervous. You loved staying up late, gazing at the stars and admiring the universe. He had pages upon pages of you doing exactly that sketched in his journal.

You were heaven sent. You were perfect. The world didn’t fucking deserve you.

Arthur slammed his lips down onto yours without wasting another moment. And he shuddered at the feelings of your lips finally being against his own. You kissed him back just has hard, standing on your tip toes to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. You felt his tongue slide against his bottom lip, and wasted not a moment opening your mouth to let him in.

Months of longing, tension, were fought out as your tongues pushed against each other. Of course Arthur won, you could barely contain the moan that was building in the back of your throat when you felt his tongue exploring your mouth like a starving man. If he hadn’t been holding you so tightly, you would’ve fallen over. The sheer want and desperation of the kiss made your knees go completely weak.

Unfortunately, you both needed air and had to pull away. Arthur rested his forehead against your own. The both of you stood there, panting with closed eyes. Neither wanting the moment to end.

When you eventually opened your eyes, you looked up at Arthur. And couldn’t help the giddy smile that spread across your face. Arthur wrapped both of his strong arms around your waist, and he smiled sweetly back at you. You both stood there for a moment, swaying gently back and forth as you embraced each other. The silence that fell between you both was comfortable and welcome as you gazed into each others eyes, both sharing the same look of love and adoration.

Arthur was the one who finally broke the silence between the two of you, and you will never forget his next words.

“Please darlin’” He whispered. “I’m beggin’ you… I want you to be my girl. I’m sorry I was a fool for such a long time-”

You leaned up on your tip toes and silenced him with a gentle kiss.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way, Mr. Morgan.”

[saphirered]

Hi! I have come to request an astarion x reader? How would astarion feel about a asexual reader? Maybe learning about it when the reader refuses to have sex with him? You can decide how it ends! Thank you! ❤️

This was an interesting one to write but I hope you like it! Angst with fluff of course. Hope you like it! 😘

Astarion has never struggled to find the right people to suit his needs one way or another. He also never struggled to wrap them around his finger. A little wink here, some charming words there, maybe even a brush of the hand or soft touch to sweeten the deal and he’d have anyone be putty in his hands to be shaped and sculpted for his every use. It’s easy. It’s always been easy. It’s been his way of survival, of safety and security. It’s been his weapon and his shield. He’s well aware he’s not exactly everybody’s favourite person right now. Especially not since he may or may not have tried to take a few drops of blood from his newfound companions and in doing so exposed his secret. Only the more reason to charm the de facto leader of this little group and keep you on his good side. Gods how he’s been trying and he’s sure he’s got you now! Just a tiny little push more and you’ll be in his arms and un able to let him go. He’ll gladly keep you there until you’ve served your purpose of course. 

He’s been having some of these pesky little feelings. Nothing he can’t cast aside. Nothing he can’t get over. It’s not like he truly cares you come to him when he’s hurt. It’s not like you really value his opinion or input even when you ask for it and consider it. You’re just that wrapped around his finger. Or so he keeps telling himself. He might be a good liar but he’s not that good. It’s the little things really. When you smile or praise him or simply offer him some form of comfort, he feels warm within when he’s only ever known the cold of the grave he crawled out of, or the dungeons he’d been confined in for so long. Were he an elf of theatrics, which he most definitely is, he would say you make him feel alive and that’s something no amount of gold can buy, yet more dangerous than any opponent he’s encountered. What has he gotten himself into? Nothing yet. He still needs you to comply, to remain on his side and for him to puppet you to his advantage. That’s your only use. That’s his only task, his only reason for getting involved with you; you are just like everybody else. He just needs to woo his way into your bed and you’ll be just like everybody else and he’ll just be his old self. He’ll use his body to achieve what he set out to achieve; your compliance. 

He got reckless. Astarion made the wrong call when he asked for but a few drops of your blood to deal with the hunger. You’d offered him your delicious neck and he almost lost himself in the closeness, almost forgot he had his teeth pierce your skin. It took every ounce of restraint to not kiss you right then and there, high on the taste of your blood and the energy- the life it gave him. He could feel every tremble, every skip of your heartbeat, every breath when he held you so close and in that moment he could imagine himself being with you. That very early morning he dreamt of being with you not because he had to for whatever reason but simply because he’d have you in his arms, you would hold him in return. For the first time in perhaps forever he desired to know what it felt like to be held, to be cared for and loved. For the first time he desired to be close to someone far beyond the false proclamations of love he had told so many right before he lead them to their doom. He couldn’t do that to you. He couldn’t let himself. Not anymore. He had to, if he wanted you to be his tool in taking down Cazador. 

You sat there in the glow of the fire basking in the warmth and glow. Astarion could only imagine what your skin would feel like right now, to hold that warmth, that soft and gentle touch but he couldn’t. He refuses to give into this petty little obsession of his, or so he’d tell himself. You sat alone, the others having gone to do their own thing before they too would retire. You simply kept watching the flames dance like a beautiful performance. You must have seen his shadow move from the corner of your eyes because when your gaze meets his and you smile he feels his feet push him forward involuntarily. You silently invite him to join you which of course he does. He sits down diagonally from you, far away enough from the fire but close enough to have you within reach. He gives you that look he’s trained so well, looks at you through his lashes, makes sure he looks as appealing as possible, not that he truly has to try because he knows he is magnificent. 

“Hello, Astarion. I hope you’re having a lovely evening.” You speak so gently, so unburdened. He heart clenches in his chest. A hand might as well have reached into his chest cavity and squeezed his slow beating heart. 

“Much improved through your simply radiant company, my darling.” You offer a smile and soft chuckle at his blatant flirt. He tries to once more school his features knowing the marks to hit just right, to make you make the first move, to catch onto the bait he’s been laying out. 

You slide into easy conversation. You enjoy Astarion’s company but you’ve caught onto things you’d hoped not to see. It’s no secret he is a massive flirt and will make use of that silver tongue with anyone who even shows the slightest interest. Rarely have you seen him be genuine about any attraction, about anything mutual. You don’t even know if you’ve ever seen him be genuine in his advances, to not have that wall separating himself from whoever stands on the other side. You’d dare argue that same wall separates his mind from his body. You’ve seen it break too. You’ve seen him ease into the need to be physically close to someone yet the moment he realises what’s happening he either removes himself from the situation or that wall goes back up again in the blink of an eye. You’d like to say you’ve caught on when he does. Whatever he puts forth, whatever act it is it never quite reaches his eyes. He’s far away when he furthers advances and the further in he goes, the more removed he becomes. You count you could ever reach him. 

You see it now too. He’s slipping and falling back and forth into this habit at this. It’s been happening with you before. What used to be playful flirts have turned into a bit more and he’s been making advances and when he does the life disappears from his eyes when you respond a certain way so you’ve taken to simply going along with the flow. You won’t play into his traps. You don’t pretend to know his reasonings. He is a complex individual that definitely has secrets wrapped in secrets and you know it’s a cruel world that closes off someone like he does. You know he has a reason for keeping these things close to his chest and that is his choice. You are not entitled to his life and neither is he to yours. The difference is that if he asks, you will share most if not all even if you know better than to fully trust him, even if you’d wish to know. 

He lays it on thick. You don’t bite. No matter what he does. Every time he thinks he has you, he can push you to where he needs you to be. He needs you to fall in love with him, to be addicted to him but you seem utterly oblivious to him, or maybe it’s wilful. Dammit you’re so difficult to read. He supposes he’ll be blatant then. 

“We’ve been dancing around for long enough. Let this unspoken thing finally be spoken.” He begins and the more guilt sets in his heart, the more difficult it becomes. He simply decides to squash the little pesky feeling until he can ignore it fully and continue. The way you look at him just makes that terribly difficult. Why do you have to be so difficult? He continues at your request. 

“I like you and you clearly like me too.” His cold heart skips a beat and the flush to your skin he manages to classify as that interest, that desire you must hold for him or so he tries to convince himself because when he looks into your eyes he sees a spark of concern and pity. “I could feel it when I got lost in your neck.” He reaches out, still far away enough not to touch you. A gesture to the faint identical puncture marks along the side of your neck. You subconsciously reach out to touch them. How he wishes those fingers were his. He could but not yet. Not if he wants to play his cards right. 

“Astarion…” His name from your lips. Were he not so far removed from himself he might have melted. He’s pushed away his pesky feelings and once more removed mind from body. He has an objective and so he must see his plan through. He can’t back down now. He presses a single sultry finger to his lips and shushes playfully. He’ll ignore the frown beginning to form and your downcast gaze for a second. 

“Shhh. You don’t have to say a thing. I already know how you feel. Because I feel it too.” He takes your hands in his. Your skin might as well have burned him like the sun for your touch truly does hurt and that pain pierces straight through the wall, right where it hits most true. He feels it crumble but he has to hold on. “We could take an evening to ourselves. Get away from camp. Get some privacy. I know somewhere quiet, somewhere intimate.”

You take a deep breath. You see what he’s doing. You see that desperation to hold on whatever he tries to keep together. You just feel bad for him. He’s not wrong. You truly do like him. Perhaps you could be something more but not in this way. That’s not how your mind, body or soul works. You’re not his usual audience. You don’t dissolve under his so called interests. You don’t desire to share a bed with him in that way, like so many others do. You’ve seen how they look at him and how he basks in it all. He wants to be desired, to be wanted but the moment it comes to reciprocating, something is lacking and that’s what you see here. He’s struggling. He’s conflicted between the way he’s known and what he finds within himself. 

“Somewhere we can indulge in each other. I promise you a night you’ll never forget.” Still holding onto your hands he rolls onto his knees so he is in front of you, in your space too and gives you the most charming look that would have anyone be begging for his attention in an instant, to be jumping at the opportunity. But not you. You pull your hands from his ever so gently it almost breaks him into pieces. He might have had further thoughts was he not appalled by the rejection. Rejected. Him? He’s the one who rejects. This is not part of the plan. His plans come falling down. What is he supposed to do now? 

“While I’m flattered- and you are a wonderful individual… Don’t take this the wrong way but I’m not interested in spending a lover’s night with you and no amount of convincing is going to change that.” There go his hopes. There goes his true protection and shot at killing Cazador. It slips between his fingers like ashes in the morning sun. He hasn’t even the mind to cover it up; the hopelessness and desperation, the pain and suffering and fear.  “I’ve never been sexually attracted to anyone.” 

“So you were all just playing a game?” There’s frustration in Astarion’s voice but it seems directed solely at himself. 

“No! Not at all. Astarion, I have loved our little flirts and banter and you’re not wrong. I truly do like you. You’re amazing and wonderful albeit a bit of an ass most of the time. I like you for you and not for what you have to offer or provide. You are so much more than you give yourself credit for and I would continue if I didn’t know this would inflate that ridiculous ego of yours beyond divine proportions.” 

He process your words. You’re not attracted to him? At least not in that way. You care about him, like him and you haven’t been playing him like he began playing you. It was genuine, same as he had found himself become more genuine in his advances. Every time he set out the bait for you to pursue him, for him to share your bed and you didn’t bite, it was because you truly had no interest in using him like that. Your feelings are not driven by desire and sex. You just care. He’s so caught in his mind he nearly jumps when he feels you take one of his hands. He’s pulled out of his mind and back to reality. For the first time someone cares about him for more than his body or what he has to offer. For the first time he might actually be loved truly. And to know he almost ruined that… And you knew all this time. You’d seen through him and his motives but you hadn’t called him out. You’d let him find this out on his own. 

“I-I don’t know what to say.” He speaks breathlessly. He doesn’t shy away from your touch instead he relishes in it. 

“The things I offer you are not some payment plan or a way to have you be indebted. I offer them because I see you suffer and if I have the means to make a difference then I will because you matter to me. It’s okay if you don’t feel that way about me. I’m not asking you to care about me at all. If I was just a means to an end, someone to help you find whatever you’re looking for, that’s okay. I want to make a difference and if you need my help my aid is yours. It is regardless of my own or your feelings. You fight demons far greater than your ego so let me help you.” 

Were he another man he might have cried. Instead he feels a shattering quiet right after the pieces hit the ground. In all his plotting he did not consider this outcome. All he had to do was not fall for you but he had. All you had to do was fall for him. You had, in your own way. Just not in the way he thought to be the only way you could fall for him. You’d figured it out without knowing the details and even still now you know, still without those details you offer to he his shield and weapon simply because he needs you. He feels horrible. Yet he feels elated. 

You didn’t expect a response. You don’t get a verbal one. Instead he just gently clasps his hand over yours and holds on like you might fade beneath his touch. You don’t and once that reassurance is there he deigns look you in the eye. His hand slides up your arm ever so carefully until it goes up your neck, over those bite marks and settles upon your cheek. You give him a reassuring smile. 

“I truly don’t know what to say… Except-Except thank you.” 

[nekohime19]

Heart behind the lie # 1 : Wounded beast

Let's go, I'm going to repost all chapters of this fic on Tumblr. It's gonna be a ride.

For those who don't know the fic, it's about Wukong becoming feral after LBD possession and Macaque having to take care of him even if he's at first unwilling.

TW : blood and injuries

There was a time, long ago, when he was feared. A time when he was the enemy hiding in the shadows, the killer capable of roaming every nook and cranny of this earth. Capable of hearing the deepest secrets of gods and demons alike, and brought them to his King's feet, whispering long forgotten truth in his golden ears. 

A time when the sun still loved him enough to share its warmth with him, to give purpose to every pump of blood flowing through his veins. He had been naive then, too young to see beyond what was given, beyond the kind smiles thrown his way. Satisfied to be nothing more than the shadow of a fool, the silhouette of a King not deserving of his throne. 

He wondered if the men that feared him would still be struck by terror if they saw him again. Chained and battered, a mere puppet at the service of a witch fooling herself with dreams forever unachievable. Would they fear him, or would they pity him, seeing him as what he truly was, and perhaps what he always had been : a broken fool. 

When he crawled out of his grave, digging through layers of piled dirt with broken claws, he promised to never let himself fall for kindness again. He picked his shattered heart, giving it as much tenderness as he could, and stuffed it in his chest. He appeased his crying, bleeding heart with whispers of vengeance, and an oath to never trust again. It didn't soothe the pain tearing him apart, it didn't soothe the memory of him. It only gave his heart a reason to beat, and not die pitifully seconds after his rebirth, if you could call this wretched life a rebirth. 

He broke this promise when the kid asked him to be a warrior. All his will, his oath of vengeance, shattered before a trusting gaze. 

He fell for kindness, again. Maybe he was doomed to never learn, to never understand that trust was a lie, trust gave to him, at least. He was the shadows, the one you should never trust, the one you always betrayed. 

He betrayed his own heart, and took the hands of a child as naive as he once had been. Repeating, again and again, like a dog chained to a never ending circle, the same mistakes. Do not follow after the hero, this should be simple enough. Their golden steps were not made for you, you were not made for the light. But every oath, every promise, meant nothing in the face of his own weak heart. Hope was unkillable, he learnt, at least within himself. He couldn't help but fall for their tricks, for their soft eyes and their blinding kindness, for the hope of it being true. 

And there he was, fighting the great sage equal to heaven, the one he once followed willingly, and losing against him. 

It was bitter, to realize your own weakness, what you had become after eons of being a ghost. The Diyu shattered him, and the Bone Demon didn't take the time to collect all the pieces of his broken soul. His strength was a mere illusion, a trick he conjured up to fool the strong, a shadow of what he had once possessed. 

He was an illusionist, a great pretender. 

The only thing keeping him alive was his instinct, the sensations he forged in the midst of battle. Macaque had one been a warrior, his body, even ruined, remembered those times. He evaded the fists of the possessed King, wincing everytime death grazed him. He didn't need to win, he wasn't sure he could anyway, he only had to gain time. Enough for the kid to retrieve his weapon, and bring the King to his senses. 

Because he was the only one capable of doing it, wasn't he? Sun Wukong made him bleed without any speck of remorse, his grunts and cries were nothing to him, but a mere word of the kid, a human he knew only for a few months, was enough to break the witch's hold over his mind. 

He buried the thought before he could indulge it, envy wasn't something he should feel, especially for his killer's love. This was nothing but the echo of a long gone past. He was only surprised by Sun Wukong's quick fondness, nothing more. It had to be nothing more if he wanted to preserve his sanity, especially in the midst of a fight. 

Macaque rolled around, evading each of the sage attacks. He ran, claws ratting on the floor, ears erect, capturing each sound echoing nearby. His heart was beating against his skin, a traitorous thing that overflowed with fear. 

The King grabbed his tail and threw him around. Macaque crashed on sharp rocks, breath knocked out of his lungs. One tip pierced his skin, burying itself in blood and flesh, tearing his bones apart. Macaque slapped his hands on his mouth, smothering his cries, killing them before they could pass his bruised lips. He needed to get up. No matter the pain. He didn't have the time to let the suffering fester and poison his mind. 

The ebony monkey tried to slip in the shadows, in safety, but he didn't have enough magic for that anymore. The shadows melted under his claws, disappearing, forever out of reach. If he had more time, he would worry about this, after all his whole existence depended on his magic, life wasn't flowing in his veins anymore, magic was. But Macaque couldn't worry about this, not when the sage was running towards him on all four with fiery eyes and claws coated in his blood. 

The ebony monkey wheezed, blood dripping on his lips, and scrambled to rise. Death was approaching, he could feel it, he lived through it one time. And like the first time Diyu claimed him, the one putting him underground was a being coated in gold with eyes once familiar, and cared for. 

But Macaque didn't want to die, not again. Perhaps, his body remembered the torture it endured in the Diyu and was scared to live through it again, it acted on its own, gathering every last speck of strength he possessed and punching the King. His knuckles crashed upon golden skin, claws piercing pale blue eyes, and his last drop of magic pushed the sage away. 

Sun Wukong crashed a few meters away, before a sharp cliff. Macaque felt nauseous, without magic his body crumbled on itself, each beat of his heart painful enough to make him cry. He heard the sage groan, an animalistic cry piercing through the air. That wasn't normal, the sage never spoke while possessed by the witch, voice frozen by her hold. 

The macaque watched, still, the sage slowly rising to his feet. He moved strangely, arms and legs trembling, unable of holding his weight. He fell, and fell, struggling to stand up, like a puppet with cut strings, trying to walk on his own for the first time. Sun Wukong walked on all four, moving carefully, sniffing his surroundings, limbs still trembling. 

Macaque tried to rise once again, but his legs failed him, and he stumbled on the ground. The sage turned towards him, ears erect, and face still marred by his claws, long glittering red slashes piercing his eyes. Sun Wukong hissed, fur rising, fangs out. He looked like a beast, perhaps he was in this moment. 

"You're trying a new thing ?" Mocked the macaque, trying to speak with the witch, to make sense of this situation. But silence remained. 

The sage only hissed louder, backing away slowly, like Macaque was the one to be feared, like the sage was the one who needed to escape. 

" Is this a mind game ? You think I'll fall for that !" Sneared the ebony monkey, but like before, nothing answered him. If he could, Macaque would use his ears and try to listen for the whereabouts of the witch, but he didn't have enough strength to do so, and the only thing he heard was the howling winds, his own heart and the sage hisses. 

Sun Wukong kept backing away, slowly approaching the edge of the cliff. 

"You're gonna fall." Hissed the ebony monkey, but it was like the sage couldn't hear him, couldn't even understand him. 

The sage looked around, groaning, like something was trying to attack him, a ghost only he could saw. Macaque could see his eyes, flickering between blue, gold and red, a battle was taking place in those irises, perhaps as violent as this one. The King cried, his own claws piercing his heads, blood flowed in his russet fur. He backed away, and fell out of the cliff, a frail, scared chirp stumbling out of his lips. 

Macaque ran. He ignored the ache in his body, and ran towards the cliff, pushed by an instinct he thought he buried long ago. He ran, and jumped after the King, falling with him in the howling winds. There were a number of things he could blame for this foolish act. The pain that rendered him mad. The kid and his eyes full of trust he didn't want to shatter. The weird state of the King, and the need to defeat the witch. But in the end, he knew this act was nothing but the last echo of his feelings for the sage, the instinct of a shadow wanting to protect the one giving him respite. 

The sage was curled up like a newborn, falling without even trying to call upon his cloud, or any other powers that could save him from pain. The macaque caught him rather easily, and held him closer, pushing him in his bloody chest. Sun Wukong battled him, perhaps not wanting to be saved by his nemesis, a fitting prettiness for a being as prideful as the great sage. 

"Stop moving !" Growled the ebony monkey, and the sage instantly calmed down, looking at him with round eyes, like he didn't expect to be caught by him of all people. 

Macaque lost himself in ruby eyes, savage and untamed, rivers of blood as gorgeous as the dawning sky. The sage chirped, a questioning, faint sound, lost in the winds. He chirped back, pushed by his most shameful instincts, a sound that was meant to be reassuring, but sounded like a dying dove. Sun Wukong seemed to appreciate his chirp nonetheless, he curled around his chest, golden tail tying itself on his bony hips. 

Macaque took most of the fall, he crashed upon the earth, his nemesis cradled in his arms like a mother would hide his infant from pain. He groaned, bones shattering on impact, flesh torn, fur dripping with warm red. He sullied the golden bundle cuddled on his chest, blood spoiling perfect locks, locks cherished by the sun itself. Why did he go after the sage ? Sun Wukong had enough immortality to feed armies of man, while he was a walking corpse latching on life like a flea would latch on a dog. 

Why was he still following after his killer ? 

Macaque knew the pain was making him delirious, at least that was the only explanation he could muster, because Sun Wukong would never look at him with such worry, not anymore. He was bleeding out, and mayhaps this was an illusion his dying mind conjured up, something to appease his pain. 

He is going to die in the arms of this man, again. But maybe dying was kinder than living in shame, weak and incapable of killing the one that took everything from him.

Macaque closed his eyes, tiredness gnawing at his shattered bones. His ears flickered, bothered by frantic chirps, and worried coos. 

"Shut up." Muttered the ebony monkey, but whoever made those sounds didn't listen, and only cried louder. 

Warmth fell upon him, a fur he didn't feel since centuries, a scent he didn't smell since before his downfall. He let those pitiful illusions embrace him, and lost himself, letting his mind fall in the darkest of slumber. 

Memories came to him. 

Flashes of another life, of another him, someone so white, so full of foolish hope, naive to the bone. 

"Isn't it perfect !" Laughed the King sitting on his side. A being made of gold, with eyes full of stars, and smile full of white fangs. 

"What ? The cliff ? You saw it hundred of times." He said, his voice smooth, flowing serenely like the course of a river, holding nor malice, nor hatred. 

"Come on, Liu'er, you're always so grumpy." Groaned the golden monkey, he rolled his eyes and gestured to the cliff, like what he was trying to say was obvious, etched on nature itself. 

"I don't see it." Snorted the macaque, before him was only a cliff, a sky, a sea, he didn't understand what was beautiful in such normal views. What could catch the eye of his King. 

"You're serious? Liu'er, it beautiful !" Whined the King, he latched to him, golden fur merging with white locks. 

Macaque shuddered, embraced by warmth, a novelty for a shadow as cold as him. He turned towards the King and felt his heart leap out of his chest. Sun Wukong was beautiful, lightened by the clear light of eternal summer, eyes struck by the sea blue, fur wet with sunlight. 

"Beautiful." Whispered the macaque, bewitched by the golden being at his side. 

"So now you understand what I'm saying ?" Chuckled the golden monkey, his own eyes lost in the sea before them. 

He never answered, throat strangled with unsaid words, a fondness he would hide forever. 

But Shihou didn't exist anymore, devoured by another, by the great sage. 

Macaque woke up frantically, nerves alight, and skin burned by sweat and blood. Everything was a blur, a blend of shapes and colors, of echos and cracks. He stayed a long time in this state, torn between blurriness and clearness. He was in something soft, perhaps clean sheets, and this alone made him question his sanity. Was this a dream ? Because he knew for a fact he didn't touch a sheet since before his death.

At last, blurriness began to fade away, allowing him to see in what kind of place he landed. Did they threw his corpse on a street, atop the waist of a bedding shop ? Macaque was quite surprised to see a room, a white, lavish room, ornated with dragons. He was on a bed, bandaged from top to bottom, body aching everywhere. He couldn't move, each of his nerves was frozen by pain, so he simply stayed still, eyes glued to the white ceiling. 

After a bit, someone entered the room, a maid or something ressembling a servant, with clothes sewn with dragons, seemingly a recurring theme in this place. The maid looked at him with round eyes, before darting outside like a frightened deer. Huh, he didn't thought he looked that ugly, this hurts his self-esteem a little. However, he couldn't stay awake until the master, or mistress, of this place deigned to show themself, he succombed to slumber, again. 

The second time he woke up, he was struck by the worst headache on earth, surely even drunken teenager didn't woke up with this sort of pain. He groaned, feeling like his whole skull ached, and rolled in the sheet. His slight movement was meet with more pain, so he decided to simply curl on himself, and let whoever put him here do whatever they saw fit. He wasn’t in any state to fight, anyway. 

"Don't move, you have several broken bones." The voice was soft, a light whisper, full of warmth. He knew this voice, he turned, painfully, towards the one sitting on his bedside and met the strained smile of the kid. 

"Hey kiddo, you're not dead." He sounded like a sick seagull, but at least he could speak. 

"No, we won." 

He thought victory would taste better, better than pain, aches and tiredness at least. 

"Hm, where am I ?" Asked the macaque.

"In Mei's place, we tried the hospital but they didn't keep you for long, they don't deal with mistyc stuff, apparently." Huffed the boy, like he was upset on his behalf, which was a novelty. 

"I'm too tough for them." Chuckled the macaque, he quickly regreted it, his stomach didn't like to be shaken, it seemed. The boy stood up, hands hovering above him, but never touching, like he was afraid of shattering him. 

"Take it easy. You've been asleep for a long time." 

"How long ?"

"One week."

"Huh, I've been asleep longer."But the boy didn't get his death joke, maybe he shouldn't joke about it, whatever, this wasn't important. Macaque noticed bandages on the boy's arms. "The Bone Demon got you ?" MK furrowed his eyebrows, lost, before understanding what he meant. 

"Oh no, no, she's gone, for good."

"Great." He would never admit the relief washing over him at those words, the sheer joy of no longer being chained by another. 

"I, huh, I got those from someone else."

"Never thought Wukong would let anyone do that." Sneared the ebony monkey, but surprisingly enough the boy didn't jump on his mentor defense. He only stood here, eyes downcast, sadness etched on his face. "Where's your mentor, anyway ? I doubt he would like you being with me."

"He's… elsewhere." Answered the kid, this was suspicious, but Macaque didn't want to dwell on Wukong whereabouts, the sage coud take care of himself. 

"Okay." And the discussion ended here, the kid rose after a bit, and left him with a faint “take care, I'll come back”. 

Macaque only nodded, wondering when they would throw him out now that he was awake. His state was strange, he shouldn't be able to function properly after loosing so much magic, but now that he focused on this, he could feel something in him, something foreign. 

There was magic flowing in his veins, but it wasn't his. Something more celestial, warm, almost scorching. Whathever it was, it feeded his soul and his skin, forcing life to flow again. It was only a question of time before he devoured every ounce of this foreign magic though. He knew well that he didn't have enough strength to repleat himself naturally, and that this foreign source was too faint to keep him in the mortal plane forever. 

Right now, he was like a bottomless pit, every inch of magic would be devoured to keep him stable, and now that the witch that regularly fed him was long gone, he was destined to fade away.

To die, a second time.

It was only a matter of when. Would he die the day after tomorrow, still incapable of leaving those pitiful sheets, or would he die inside the wreck he called a dojo, after weeks of suffering. 

Whatever he chose to do, his future ended in pain. 

When the boy came back, Macaque didn't feel like trying. He did nevertheless, because he was weak at heart, and he didn't want to disappoint the first person to ever show him a speck of kindness after eons of solitude. His own weakness disgusted him, but he was too weary for wearing the spiteful mask he created. He tried to walk, tried to stretch, and after days of slow recovering, and patient exercising, he was able to stumble through corridors without any help.

"Do you hate Monkey King ?" Asked the boy, one day, while they did umpteith exercises. 

"Yes, I do." Because what else was he supposed to answer, the thing he felt for Wukong was so bitter, it could only be hatred. 

"… But would you do me a favor ?" This was tricky, he didn't owe anything, in the proper way, but he was recovering inside the dragon girl house. And she was at the boy beck and call. 

"What favor ?"

"Would you take care of him ?" 

"Wukong is capable of taking care of himself, besides I don't think he wants my help."

"It's complicated." Sighed the boy, arms littered with more bandages. "Maybe it's better to show you."

Macaque followed after the boy, only because he wanted to see Wukong at he's lowest and nothing more. They walked in long, lavish corridors, and finally reached something oddly ressembling dungeons, but more comfortable than the old staves he was accustomed to. The kid hesitated before a door, a heavy, chained door, marred with claws mark. He finally opened it, and they entered a large room, completely wrecked. 

The bed was teared open, blankets thrown on the floor like battered corpses, what must have been a dresser was broken beyond repair, shards of mirrors littered the floor, and the walls were clawed with hatred. 

"Monkey King ?" Whispered the kid, he walked cautiously inside the hornet's nest, and knealed before the bed. "Are you there ?" The boy tried to reach beneath the bed, but the moment his hand extended, sharp claws teared his skin open. 

MK yelped and stumbled back, he didn't look surprised, only pained and disappointed. Holding his bleeding arms with eyes full of uncried tears. 

"What is this ?" Asked the macaque with a tight voice. 

"It's Monkey King."

"You're kidding ? This is not-" 

"We found him like this, according to Red Son the possession wrecked his mind."

"So what, he's crazy now ?" Snorted the ebony monkey. 

"He's scared. He didn't want to part from you when we found the both of you. But you needed help so we… "

"You don't need to finish this." Sighed the ebony monkey, not liking the waver in the boy's voice. "What do you want from me ?"

"Could you at least try to help him, please." Pleaded the kid. 

"… I promise nothing, kiddo."

"It's alright, as long as you try."

Macaque knealed before the bed, and took a look beneath it. Two fiery eyes watched him from the darkness, Sun Wukong was curled up against the wall, tail lashing and ears pined back. Macaque gulped, and tried to extend his arm, the sage hissed, fangs glinting in the dim light. But then, the beast sniffed, snout furrowing furiously. And cautiously, like a wounded tiger, Sun Wukong crawled towards him. He growled when the ebony monkey dared to move, and as such Macaque stood perfectly still. 

Sun Wukong sniffed his hand, snout brushing against his open palm. His eyes extended, turning almost dark, and he cooed curiously. Macaque answered with a weak chirp, something rough and quick. Sun Wukong chirped back, a bell-like sound echoing in the silence. Then, the great sage crawled out of the bed and circled him, sniffing him, and eyeing him suspiciously. Once satisfied, the beast sat on his lap, and curled on himself. 

Macaque gulped, looking at the beast curled in his lap with fear, hatred and pity. 

This smelled like trouble.

Next

[how-masterful]

Remastered

Dhawan!Master x Reader

Chapter 4: The Pandorica Opens

Summary: Roman Centurions. Pandora's Box. Together you and the Master find yourselves exploring the depths of the cavern below Stonehenge and what mysteries lay within. Legend speaks of a box, an ancient god trapped inside its walls. Why does the rest of the universe want it so badly? And what can the Master do when he finally finds out what’s waiting inside the Pandorica is not what it seems?...

Notes: Welcome back to Remastered! Its been a long time coming! I know I promised an update a while ago, but sometimes these things just don’t work out the way you want them to. If we had a dedicated Master show my job would be so much easier! I finally managed to beat my writers block and found an episode i’d like to masterfy, so i hope you all enjoy! 

(You know the drill by now. @plethora-of-imagines, my beloved hat and master lover, this one is for you. just like the other ones. and all the ones coming. because who else would they be for?)

All around the Master, ever so slowly, the world he’d found himself in was suddenly starting to make sense. Dangerous, deadly, foreboding sense. On any other day, the renegade Time Lord would see that as a good thing. But that evening, underneath the ancient ruins of Stonehenge, the Master knew the dark was not on his side.

The communicator had crashed out a mere few seconds ago, fizzing and hissing against his ear. He’d thrown the device to the floor with a frustrated yell, gritting his teeth as his fingers returned to rub at his beard in thought. The same hand ran over his cheek and through his tangled fringe that hung over his eye, fingers gripping at the hair as his feet scuffed and disrupted the old dust upon the floor. He was pacing back and forth. This was not good. The high pitched ringing was deafening, his fingers plugging his ears as he stared down as the communicator. Its corner was dented, dust flying into the small cracks that had crawled up the edge of the glass. The screen still flickers with your face and name, the giant red letters of ‘COMMUNICATION LINE DISRUPTED' beneath it not failing to make his stomach churn.

You were both in grave danger. But it seemed like his was getting even worse.

“Master, it's not real!”

You’d yelled down the communicator line. Behind your plea, the Master had heard the Tardis creaking. Her engines were metal upon metal, screeching and groaning as it hurtled through the Time Vortex.

“What the hell does that mean, it's not real? Where are you?”

“Listen to me! All of it, everything’s a lie! The Romans, they’re right here.”

The Master was getting impatient. But you sounded almost terrified. The Roman platoon was hurrying around him carrying weapons and ammunition throughout the Underhenge. Almost like clockwork. At least they’d forgiven your lie about your identities- Emperor Nero and Pharaoh Cleopatra had seemed like clever aliases at the time. The Master sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What are you talking about, what's all that noise-”

“In the book!”

“You’d better not be breaking my Tardis!”

“Master just listen to me, please!”

You let out a sudden scream. The Tardis jolted forward, sending you slamming into the console. The cloister bells had begun to toll, sparks and shocks of electricity and flame spurting from the central console of the type 41 machine. 

All around the Master, the Roman soldiers had slumped forward. Knees locked into position, life drained from their eyes. Weapons, spears and swords clattered to the floor with ricochetting bangs. The Master blew onto the screen of the communicator, banishing the dust from its surface. Every attempt to reopen the communication line was met with an electronic buzz, denying him access. Preoccupied, with one finger plugged in his ear and his shoulder pushed up against the other, he failed to hear the marching footsteps of the platoon behind him. 

A unified electronic whirr permeated the room, with all of the soldiers' hands snapping open and small, cylindrical cannons pushing through the exposed middle of their palms. All around the Master, the soldiers were following their commands and drawing closer and closer.

“What was that bang?!”

The Master pulled the com from his ear, before pulling it back closer to his mouth. A Roman had turned to face him, sending him a quirked eyebrow. In return the Master sent a fake smile, before ducking behind the corner of the large box in the center of the room. It would be best if he wasn't seen during this conversation.

“Y/N, talk to me, can you hear me?”

The Master half whispered.

“The Romans are in this book! The Tardis took me back to my house, i don't know why-”

“Your house?”

“When I was a kid. Something else had been there, the grass had these weird scorch patterns and the readings on that thing you gave me were going off the scale. The book on my nightstand, Roman history, i’d studied it at school-”

“You’d said it was your favorite subject, yes.”

Part of you wanted to mull over the fact the Master had remembered your favorite subject, enjoying the fact the hardened criminal had taken the time and care to recall such a trivial fact about his ‘not’ companion. He often mused how preferred to call you his partner. You treasured its double meaning to no end. But you also knew that favouritism was what had led you to visit this Roman colony. You felt slightly responsible over the ensuing chaos.

“I knew I recognized them from somewhere- The Romans, in the book, they’re the exact ones that are with you right now.”

“That's impossible- they’re DRAWINGS, love!”

“I swear! Something has copied the book from my house!”

The Master smacked the side of the communicator, shaking even more dust free from the device. It was only after that he raised his head, suddenly aware of the silence surrounding him. The Romans, or whatever they were, had stood themselves in flank formation, lined up against the edges of the chamber. Blocking his only way out. Beyond the boundary the other soldiers stood side by side in perfect position, surrounding the Time Lord in the purple tweed jacket. Cornering him in front of the Pandorica. Finally, the ringing had dissolved into white noise. Now the Master could think. Almost.

Before he could even begin to spew out a threat, of which he had many planned and ready at the tip of his tongue, the room began to shake with a gargantuan rumble. Lit torches, hung on the walls in metal cages, rattled in their confinements as dust fell from the ceiling like snowfall. The Master's attention was yanked from the Romans, his head whipping behind him as the corner of the Pandorica slowly began to split along its seam. The rumble grew stronger as the stone walls shifted along their mechanisms, the green glow drowned by the emerging, blinding white light.

“Oh, good. You’re ready to come out now?”

Sarcasm and wit had recently become a favorite of the Master. His new body seemed to enjoy plastering on a smug grin and a growled one liner when facing certain doom. He was universally known as indestructible, as his previous faces had bragged. But it seemed this was rapidly misplaced in the current situation. 

“I promise you!”

You yelled in protest, slamming hard on a lever and frantically tapping on the interface as you argued.

“They’re the exact same! So is the box!”

The Master reared his head to look at the box he’d pressed his back against.

“What do you mean, the box?”

The legendary Pandorica loomed down at him, the intricate detailing carved into its side glowing with an ominous green light that burnt from within. History had spoken of it, the mystery that lay beneath stonehenge, but to earthly historians, in their ignorant and self aggrandizing ways, it was just that. A mystery. Humanity had chalked the box up to being a folk tale, to ignore the mortifying idea of the supposedly supernatural being… natural: That aliens were anything beyond little green men in flying saucers, and human science simply couldn't, or more likely refused, to explain what had fallen from the stars.

“The Pandorica, I'd said it was like Pandora's box, right?”

You’d clapped with delight, unable to hide your excitement when the Tardis had materialised atop that hill hours before. You’d mentioned how similar the structure seemed to you, even down to the name: Pandora's box…  

Your favourite book as a child. He could remember you mentioning it.

The Master did not like where this was going.

“Well?” he asked hesitantly, possibly for the first time in his life.

“It's here, on the cover of the book, my copy of the book, it's the same box.”

The Time Lord could see something peeking through the bright white, the silhouette of something existing within the box. He’d try again with the communicator in a moment, he supposed, slipping it into his endlessly deep inside pocket. He lent forward, peering into the glow, ever curious. Was this the so-called trickster, the universe destroying monster that had dwelled inside that box for millennia? The possibility of an answer was suddenly snatched away, however, when two strong arms punched through the gap between his torso and his arms, sliding under his shoulders and yanking him towards his feet. 

The Master let out a shocked sound not unlike a bark, gritting his teeth as the soldiers clutched the man tight between them. His hair flipped madly as he turned to look at his wardens- the familiar, glassy look in their eyes turning the cogs in his brain. He tugged on their grasp, snarling as they dragged him through the dark and dusty cavern. His fingers scrambled to grab onto their own, to try and pry them from his form. Until he saw their fingers were no longer there. Replaced with small blasters in place of their palms. Their living plastic palms.

A sight all too familiar for the Master.

“How can they be the same, where even are you?”

The Master pinched the bridge of his nose once more, giving a disgruntled huff as his head fell back against the side of the Pandorica. Thoughts and possibilities were scrambling around inside his brains, like matadors trying to tame the most frightful of bulls in the ring.

“Master, these are my memories. Why did they go to my house, whatever it is?”

“Most likely, god, mimicry? They needed something that would peak our interest, make us come here-”

The Tardis jolted and screeched once more, her engines whining like a startled parakeet. Sparks and rumbles rocked the floor. You lost your footing, falling to your knees while clutching tight to the edge of the console. The Master pushed himself from the side of the box with a growl.

“What the hell are you doing to my Tardis, Y/n?”

“I don't know!”

You protested, heaving yourself up against the console. You continued to move along the screens, following the rhythm the Master had taught you. It was almost like a dance, especially the way his hands had wandered to your hips while he introduced you to the console.

“Its like something else is controlling it, the controls aren't responding-”

Another bang of sparks. The Master rolled his eyes.

“All those flying lessons I gave you- try and land her, wherever you are. The Tardis has protocols in place to keep you safe. You have to get out of there.”

“I’m trying!”

“The Nestene consciousness, I'd like to say it's pleasant to see you again.”

The Master grunted, trying to yank his shoulder free and almost losing his footing against his own force.

“Romans, a step up from shop dummies and plastic flowers, I'm impressed.”

He truly couldn't tell if his teasing was to intimidate or calm his own racing heartbeats. The Romans whirred and stomped, oblivious to his protests. Also oblivious to his remarks.

“Listen, I'm ordering you to let me go, there's bigger things for me to deal with here-”

Still no reply. The Master grit his teeth, yanking himself backwards in a feeble attempt at escape. He tried to thrash, to worm his way out of their grasp. But it was fruitless. The Autons were just as obnoxiously durable as the first time he’d met them, all those years ago.

“I COMMAND YOU TO LET ME GO!”

Further screams pierced through the communicator line, the timelord wincing as he once more pulled the device from his ear. You sounded terrified, the Tardis spiralling further out of control. 

“Y/n? Love, talk to me!”

“Master, I can't control her! Whatever's out there with you, it has to be connected. The same box, the same Romans, the same night, that CAN'T be a coincidence! Master, everything out there with you, It's a trap. It has to be. They wanted us to come here, Please just trust me, you have to get out of there-”

Crash. Hiss. Bang. The Tardis was screaming as it hurtled through the Vortex. The Master was beginning to worry. This time he wasn't going to deny it.

“Y/N! SHUT HER DOWN!”

“MASTER, I CAN'T! PLEASE!”

The world round the Master began to ring with a high pitched shriek. A piercing ring that echoed throughout the underhenge. The timelord winced, scrunching up his face and baring his teeth as he shrunk away from the din. Beside his ear he could hear your screams, the Tardis hurtling towards the unknown. Until suddenly, zap. Crackle. Nothing.

“Y/n, can you hear me!?”

The communicator line went dead.

The Master was growing more tense by the second. And even angrier still.

“I order you to obey! Why do you want me, why do you want my Y/n’s memories-”

The Roman soldier to his left gave a grim admittance, staring forwards at the growing light shining from within the Pandorica. It was almost hypnotic to the lumps of plastic surrounding him, something he’d consider himself a seasoned expert of. But this was different. This still stunk of betrayal and subterfuge. And also a slight loss of pride.

“The Pandorica is ready.”

The Master should have been excited. Ready to meet this mythical creature, a ghost in time, a legend. But now he felt slightly sick. He leered up at the soldier, antagonizing the guard.

“Ready for what, eh? What other big bads have you around their pinkie this time?”

The plethora of Romans did not speak. They simply continued to stare.

“I’m going to tell you again, let me go. You took your orders from me, once- you should know who I am! I am the Master!”

“Correct. Subject has self identified.”

The Master's face practically drained of all color. He daren't move his head to look, knowing exactly what scum of the universe was waiting behind him. The sound of the Daleks still sent a quiver of tangible fear down his spine. It had been years since the time war, centuries since the destruction of Skaro. Of Gallifrey. But the Daleks had not only destroyed his people, they had executed him personally. And in the twisted sense of poetry, were the reason he was brought back from the dead. A soldier to fight in the universal war- the only time he decided to be like the Doctor, running away to the end of the universe to escape the carnage that gave the blood red skies and grass of home a brand new meaning. 

He wouldn't say he feared them. But a dead Dalek was much more preferable than a living one.

Just like his old face had said. Stupid tin boxes.

“The subject has identified himself. Scan complete. You are the Master.”

“Well, you lot look different. Fancied an upgrade?”

He watched the Daleks, three in a crow, creep towards his line of vision. They were bulky things now, taller than before, each with a garishly bright color scheme that he almost wanted to shield his eyes from. An ugly design for an ugly creature.

“Or is that a poor turn of phrase?”

“YOUR LIMITS, CAPACITIES AND WEAKNESSES HAVE BEEN EXTRAPOLATED. YOU HAVE BEEN CONFIRMED”

Oh great. More Cybermen. If you were here, you’d tease him relentlessly for the reunion. You had earlier, suggesting he take the Cyber parts home and build his own. With a flash of white and a digital blue haze, the Cyber leader phased into vision, followed by two further Cybermen. All carrying large black weapons, much like what he’d found earlier.

“Oh, I was waiting for you to show up. Just can't stay away from me, can you?”

“Your arrogance is continued!”

Sontarans. Fabulous. In another flash, the squadron of Sontarans had appeared in the Underhenge, proudly brandishing their blasters. Before the Master could even calculate a response, the whole room seemed to glow in fire. The Pandorica was still slowly creaking open, the beam of light shining brighter and brighter. The Master, who stood right in its glow, had to shrink away and squint from its brightness.

Teleportation fields, transfer rays, dimensionally transcendental movement corridors, it seemed the world and his wife were cramming themselves into the cavern below the rocks. The Master, now adapting to the light, was met with an endless sea of familiar faces. 

Draconians, Ogrons, Juddoon, Kasaavin, Axonites, Cheetah Warriors, Sea Devils, and even their silurian cousins. Even some faces he’d never seen before littered the crowd, some other foes he’d briefly met but never spared a thought to. Sycorax, Hoix, Zygons, members of the Trickster Brigade, Clockwork Droids- and tall, slender men in black suits with a name he couldn't quite remember. He even struggled to remember they were there, looming in the background behind the busying crowd.

The great monsters of the universe had gathered at the Pandorica. 

“The Pandorica is ready!”

The Sontaran leader cried. Hesitantly, the Master dared to ask.

“Ready for what?”

The white Dalek, the new supreme, slowly moved closer.

“Ready. For. you.”

 The sides of the Pandorica finally slid into position, the blinding shroud of light dissipating. Finally, the Master could see what was before him in the darkness of the cavern. The box had split open to reveal a mechanised chair, almost like a throne. Callous and black, the metal chair was embedded deep into the heart of the Pandorica. Its exterior was fitted with several restraints, the square shaped shackles glowing the same green as the exterior patterns. Two ankles, two wrists, and over the shoulders- any being within would be unable to break free. Or even attempt to escape.

Slowly, the puzzle, not unlike the box in the fairy tale of Pandora, was beginning to slot together. The Master turned to look at the aliens surrounding him- co conspirators, enemies, allies. All had stood to the sides of the room, leaving a walkway between himself and the Pandorica. They stood, watching intently, as the realisation began to appear upon the renegade Time Lords face.

The path was clear. The restraints on the chair had retracted outwards, unlocking themselves. The Pandorica was empty.

But the Master knew. 

Not for long.

“Wait, you can't-”

But they already had. The Nestenes began to walk forwards, dragging the Master along with them by his armpits. The timelord kicked and fought their grasp, his grey shoes kicking up dust as he scrambled to find resistance in his footing. The surrounding monsters watched on as the Master fought for his freedom, desperately trying to pull away from the plastic men. He shouted, grunted, bared his teeth, but no amount of tugging and shouting could break the Master free. The Silurians tilted their heads, hissing. The Draconians stood with poised disapproval. The Daleks and Cybermen stood proudly at the front of the line, the Judoon watching silently with the authority of the shadow proclamation. All those creatures, lit by the roaring fire of the flickering torches on the wall.

The Roman imposters dragged the Master to the empty chair, their strength unmatched as they heaved the Time Lord into the waiting seat. He let out a furious yell as the restraints snapped shut around him, his body yanked backwards into the chair. First his wrists, then his ankles, then his shoulders. The entrapments of the Pandorica had shackled him down to his seat. A last set of restraints emerged from within the structure itself, entangling themselves around the Master's waist and stomach, pressing tight against his torso and locking him firmly into the chair. A single light shone from above, acting as a spotlight over the Master’s head. All eyes could see the Time Lord struggle and fight. All eyes knew it was useless. Exactly how they’d designed it to be.

“No, you can't do this to me!”

The Master was visibly rippling with rage.

“All those times I've helped you all!”

“YOUR ASSISTANCE HAS BEEN A SCOURGE ON THE CYBER RACE.”

The Cyberman with black handles spoke, as monotone and electronic as ever. The Master widened his eyes.

“No-”

“Your presence within the universe has caused vital damage to Dalek strategy.”

“All our plans, every time you step in, have failed to reach fruition! The glory of the Sontaran empire is threatened by your hand!”

The Master turned to look at every monster surrounding the box. The pathway had closed, the races and creatures surging forwards, cornering him even more within the machine. Their faces, if they had one, were full of hatred and disdain. Even the robots among the crowd were seemingly glaring. And those without faces watched on with agreement. The Master glared between them, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession.

“So, what? You blame me for everything? Want to lock me in a box because you blame me for all your problems!?”

“Incorrect.”

The Daleks' voice was scratchy and mutilated. Much like the creature inside the casing.

“The Pandorica was constructed to provide safety for the Alliance. You have aligned yourself with the Doctor.”

The Master paused for a moment, staring down at the supreme Dalek. How it stood there, with all its pride and might, and accused him of such a thing. He couldn't help but laugh. And so he did. The Master barked out a laugh, teeth bared and head falling back as he sat shackled to the Pandorica.

“Me? With her? Who told you that?”

“CYBER DATA HAS CONFIRMED. YOUR PREVIOUS INCARNATION ASSISTED THE DOCTOR IN CYBER DESTRUCTION.”

“Missy? Really? A five foot four mistress of evil scared you so much you had to put me in a box?”

“Your identity as the Mistress has been confirmed to stand in allegiance with the Doctor. It's a well known fact you chose to stand alongside them. Who knows what chaos you could harbour with your… track record of derailment.”

The Draconian leader stood proud among his council. The Master sent him a scowl, his laughter dying out.

“You think I'm the Doctor's little helper? Her weapon against you all, the crazy old Master, happy to do her dirty work? News flash, I've tried to kill her! Yeah, she's a she now, it's her turn! Some of you I've even worked with! I helped YOU with the Cyberium!”

“The evidence shows otherwise. You simply can no longer be trusted.”

The Kasaavin leader dared to talk against him. The Master questioned how he could even be here, after the Doctor's exile of their race from the planet. Their hatred for him must be strong enough to transcend dimensions. It was almost romantic.

“I’m nothing like the Doctor! I don't even LIKE the Doctor! Sure, I had a bit of a wobble in morals, tried to be good..ish… but I'm back!”

The Master was positively exasperated. His messy hair and wide eyes making him look manic.

“So can somebody, anybody: any man, woman, robot… fish thing. I don't care. Can somebody tell me, what do you all think makes me like the Doctor?”

There was silence across the room. The Master's outburst had made them think. The Master watched them, eyes begging for an acceptable reply. Finally, the Cyberman spoke.

“YOU HAVE GROWN SENTIMENTAL. YOU HAVE TAKEN A COMPANION.”

You. Oh, you. This couldn't just be about you.

The variables began to bubble and clash within the Master's brains. Everything seemed to come back to you. Your choice in trip, your favorite subject, favorite book, you attack from the guard, your fake identity as a queen. And your current fate... However unknown it was.

Surely this couldn't be about you.

“The memories of your companion were extrapolated. A scenario was formed as a test of your intentions.”

“Mercy for a human! Defence over a fleshy girl, instead of the opportunity for universal destruction! Your allegiance cannot be guaranteed, your newfound kindness poses a threat to us all!”

The Master huffed, his hearts fighting within his chest. This couldn't be happening.

“It was you, wasn't it? You took took control of my Tardis-”

“YOUR COMPANION WILL BE DISPOSED OF. YOUR IMPRISONMENT IS A RESULT OF YOUR MERCY.”

“You fell into a trap that you simply could not resist. The draconian empire condemns you.”

“You’re going to kill her, and imprison me, just because you can't trust me to not be good!?”

“The safety of the alliance is paramount.  Your history of meddling in Dalek affairs, your part in the destruction of Skarro and our creator, the data cannot be ignored.”

The Master couldn't breathe. The surrounding forces were drawing closer and closer, surrounding him and his line of vision. The walls of the chamber had disappeared within the bodies of the alliance. They were really going to turn on him. They really intended to kill you.

“We will save our universe. From you!”

His mouth was dry. His palms were sweating, his breathing shallow, his rage burning like the brightest of suns. The Master glared upon the alliance, eyes twitching with inconsolable rage. This day had been long. He’d been tested far too much, pushed way too far. This morning he was lying in bed, embracing the warmth of the Tardis and your body against his own. But now his world was being stripped away from him. 

Angry didn't begin to cover it.

“Now you listen to me- you bring her back, you know for a fact the destruction of a Tardis in the Vortex will ripple through this universe. And then you’ll have me to deal with.”

“NEGATIVE. YOUR IMPRISONMENT CANNOT BE AVOIDED.”

“Your companion will perish. Your isolation will be permanent. This is confirmed.”

The Master let out a furious scream, a bitter yell that ripped harshly against the back of his throat. The tribe of Silurians hissed and stepped backwards, raising their weapons.

“LISTEN TO ME! If she dies, if my ship burns, I will rip this box apart inch by inch and I will destroy every single one of your ugly little races!”

His shoulders were heaving, spit flying from his mouth as he spat between gritted teeth.

“I will bring down destruction on every one of your stupid little planets and your silly little spaceships. I’m a Time Lord, my people have made a mockery of you since the days you formed on your tiny little rocks, floating through space. I’ll show you how merciful I can truly be as I kill you all slowly, one by one, so you can watch what happens when you think you can destroy me. I am the Master, and you will all pay for this!”

The Cyber leader stepped forwards, clenching a fist to its chest. It looked deep into the Master's eyes, its soulless black pits of metal mesh showing no humanity nor hesitation.

“SEAL THE PANDORICA.”

“Listen to me, you will obey me! The Tardis will implode, your worlds are in so much more danger than you could possibly realise!”

The heavy walls of the Pandorica began to slide shut. The Master was frantic, tugging and yanking against his bonds. Nothing. The metal locks were clasped tight, his body imprisoned and trapped against the seat. His eyes were enormous, his hair flopping from side to side as he continued to fight against the seat. Still, there was no way of escape. No amount of fighting would work. That didn't stop him from trying his best.

“The universe will rot and perish if you harm her! Everything you know will be nothing but ash, I promise you! All your suns, your moons, your hopes, I will destroy each and every one of them! You can't do this to me! I am the Master! You will obey me!”

The Master's words echoed through the Underhenge, bouncing off every wall and dissolving into the gathered crowd. The alliance watched on as the timelord begged for his freedom, promising destruction in his wake. But these were songs they had heard before. Plans ruined by opportune chance, and disappointing failure at the hands of his old friend.

“YOU WILL OBEY ME!”

The Master screamed, as the walls of the Pandorica finally snapped shut. With a hiss the edges of the box sealed together, the mechanical insides ticking away as the glowing green sides twisted and interlocked. As the box gave its last rumble, the Pandorica was finally sealed. The legendary trickster, the mischief maker that had destroyed worlds and brought down civilisations, finally locked within.

The Tardis hurtled through the Vortex, crashing against the walls of time, its engines phasing and crying out as the cloister bell rang from within. You crawled across the floor, scrambling back towards the console, fingers grasping onto anything they could purchase. Sparks flew beside your head, the cables linked to the belly of the console fizzing and pulsating as you begged the console to calm down. You’d been with her for years now, you knew how the Tardis would normally fly. This definitely wasn't her doing. This definitely wasn't her in control.

Your hand smacked hard against the side of the communicator, the line still ringing out every time. You’d tried to call the Master several times, each instance ringing and ringing with no return. He never refused to reply. You clutched on tight as another wave of turbulence hit the flight deck, the trinkets and knick-knacks you’d gathered on your travels tumbling from every shelf and crashing into nothingness against the floor. 

“Please, Master, answer me!”

Nothing. He simply wasn't there.

You couldn't cry yet, there was still hope. Or at least, you tried to convince yourself. You hoped for a miracle, for something that would help you regain control of the Tardis. You didn't want to die.

“Master, please! I’ve not got much time!”

Your calls were falling on deaf ears. Nothing was going to save you. A rogue spark suddenly flew from the console, knocking you backwards as the Tardis collided with the Vortex once more. You flung back towards the floor, head colliding with the hardwood as you fell. You felt the impact through your whole body, all strength slipping through your fingers as your eyelids felt heavy. From your position on the floor you could see out the window, the reflection of the flaming Tardis console bathing the Vortex in deep orange.

“Master, I love you, I'm sorry…”

You whispered, your vision beginning to fade. You gazed deeper into space, watching as the world shook and disappeared around you.

And as you blacked out, every star began to fade from the sky.

[story-thief]

BNHA/MHA X READER (GIANTS AND TINIES): CHAPTER 5 - (Giant Deku x Y/N) Baby Bird

Info--------------------

Y/N- Age: 16, Hight: 5’7”, Gender: female, Quirk: Dark Phoenix, Affiliation: none

AU- Fantasy/Mythology AU, Fantasy fluff

Relationship background: You are a young Phoenix girl living a struggling life in your beautiful village set a drift on a cluster of floating islands, secluded in the clouds. Deku is a gentle giant with a deep respect and love for everything that flies.

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

It was midnight and everything in the village of Antikorrho seemed to be silent and peaceful despite the soft whistle of the strong breeze hoisting them through the sky. Though regardless of how things appeared, all was not silent, nor was it peaceful, and a life was in grave danger.

Her name was (Y/N) (L/N), she was no older than roughly sixteen years of age, and if she didn't hurry in a silent fashion, then odds were she wouldn't grow any more than that.

On cautious feet the youth darted between the numberless, quaint little homes clustered neatly on the formation of floating islands that drifted aimlessly along the skyline; each one seeming to hold a safe and happy family... something she lacked. Scared but determined eyes scanned the area around her before she made her next move. She was almost home free. If she could avoid the keen eyes of her unseen pursuer, then she would be able to get away from her village, but most importantly the one Phoenix-kind who had single handedly beaten, terrorized and hurt her her entire life, the one she should have been able to turn to for love and support, he who had betrayed her.

As she ran across the cobbled path to the edge of the main isle, she mustered up all the courage she could for what she was about to do next. (Y/N) had never attempted an escape before, and if this failed, well- she'd prefer not to go any further into that thought, but if she didn't she knew it'd be the end of the line for her.

Faster than she could have liked, the rocky, jagged ledge approached. The frightened harpy could feel the doubt creeping in swiftly, almost as fast as the upcoming drop, and in spite of her aching muscles, she pumped her legs harder, bare feet rocketing her forward with each step. There was no going back.

She jumped.

The trembling wings on the girl's back unfolded and caught the air in her hesitation, though she quickly tucked them back to her body, allowing herself to dive again toward the ocean of clouds below. The barrier beneath her served but one purpose, to keep Phoenix-borns from crossing to the undersky. It was a forbidden land that supposedly stretched beyond what the eye could see, a whole other world full of strange and diverse creatures. To go below the clouds was considered suicide as no one who did ever came back, but (Y/N) knew full well that it was the same to stay. So, stuck between a rock and a hard place, she opted to take her chances with the supposed world below the mist.

She didn't care to look up, not wanting to know whether or not he was following, only forcing herself to focus on what was ahead whilst she plunged through the swirling vapor. 

After falling for what felt like quite some time she emerged on the other side of the foggy veil. Below her was far more beautiful than she could have ever imagined. Despite the dark cloak of the evening she could easily make out rolling hills and jagged mountains peppered and sprayed with large trees and an occasional river. Excitedly now, (Y/N) stretched her iridescent purple wings out; enjoying the feeling of the wings tickling her as it laced and weaved between feathers and outstretched fingers.

As she surveyed her new realm, it dawned her that she had made it, she was free! What she would do with this freedom she still didn't know, she hadn't really gotten that far but that could all be settled later; it didn't stop the uncontrollable, overwhelming happiness bubbling up in her chest any less. For now it seemed she should find a good place to rest and hide till morning. There was obviously a reason people didn't return, she should still tread with caution.

The harpy then glided down to land on one of the tall pines that stretched up amongst others, the tip on which she perched bending ever so slightly to her weight before slowing to a soft sway. Fluttering her wings uneasily for a brief moment she tucked them to her back before looking about for a good safe place to seek shelter.

Looking about she was able to spot a strange hole in the mountain side emitting light. It looked to be the mouth of a cave, and the light from inside was dim but steady, enticing the curious escapee to come closer. So, with a powerful beat of her wings, she rose into the air once again before gliding down to the strange and inviting glimmer.

Upon reaching it she slowed her descent with fluttering feathers before touching softly onto the cold stone surface. The rock under her feet was smooth, and so were the other seemingly carved, gigantic boulders lining the entrance. Even more curious now than before, (Y/N) crept silently and cautiously forward. The entrance wasn't all that long, and immediately after there was a large drop.

Whatever was in the ginormous cavity, she couldn't see, save the singular, gigantic lantern that lay on a smooth surface a good ways ahead and below. Taking another look back at the way she had come in and the chilly night air outside, she debated on checking it out. Finally giving in to her impulses rather than her better judgement, (Y/N) glided down to the tall source of light. The surface she and it stood on appeared to be made of wood,  though she could figure nothing else about where she was. The lantern was warm nonetheless, and she was tired as the adrenaline from the night's events subsided. Maybe, just maybe, she'd sleep here... but just for tonight!!!! Tomorrow morning she'd wake up early  and get going.

Satisfied with her doomed self promise, the little harpy curled her wings around her as she bundled by the warm flame that burnt steadily on, lulling her into a soft, much needed sleep.

Deku awoke to the soft glow of sunrise lighting his bedroom alongside the ever changing song nature sung as it slowly awoke. Smiling softly, the giant sluggishly squirmed out of the clearly homemade, but cozy bed he had been resting in prior. It was a new day and he didn't really have any plans other than to simply relax, especially because over the week he had made sure to account for his chores and tasks so he could have the day to himself.

Straightening his room, the behemoth wasted no time in dawdling or idling about. As soon as the small, stone room was tidy, Deku skipped out and into another simple but quaint room he used as a kitchen. Much like the rest of the home, the walls were clearly that of some sort of cave, rough and jagged walls majestically running up to an equally uneven ceiling. Hand made furnishings of rustic wood and occasional scrap metal were placed about in a complementary fashion. Deku cut a warm slice of bread from the loaf he had baked just the night before, grabbed a large fruit and sat down at a simple wooden table to eat. Before he could even take the first bite, something on the table right in front of him caught his eye.

Lying by his burnt out lantern on the table was a wadded up ball of feathers that looked like some tiny critter crawled in and died. Panic stricken, the behemoth boy slid his food to the side to swiftly snatch up the fallen fluff ball to inspect it.

Tenderly taking the limp form in his hands, he began running careful fingers across its small and delicate body, trying to figure out what it was and just how bad of condition it was in. Now that he had the motionless thing spread in his hands, he was able to see that it was a minuscule person; a tiny lady with birdlike feet and purplish raven wings jutting from between her shoulder blades and similar tail feathers pluming from her lower back and under her shirt. Countless scrapes, cuts, and bruises adorned her skin, some fairly fresh, others faded into scars.

The greenete looked at the little angel with pity, poor thing looked like it had been to hell and back. Was it even still alive?? He wondered to himself as he turned the unconscious bird in his hands one last time. He could have sworn her eyes tiredly rolled open for a split second, but they were closed again before he could check. One thing was for sure, he should find out before he jumped to any other conclusions. Deku then tentatively held her up to his ear where he tried to listen for some sort of heartbeat or possible breathing. Still unable to hear anything, he gently pressed her up against himself, making a soft thumping audible.

The giant let out a relieved sigh as he set the little woman down back on the table. He wasn't sure when she'd wake up, but until she did he'd be patient and ready to tend to her should she need anything. And with that, he quickly finished his breakfast, setting aside a chunk of bread and a piece of fruit, for when she awoke, and placed them down nearby.

(Y/N) awoke well into the morning, she looked about, confused and disoriented, until she could recall what had happened the previous evening. Suddenly remembering, her eyes opened a little more and she quickly sat up.

Looking around, she quickly came to realize that the cave was far bigger than she had initially thought and that the floor did seem to be made of wood, though much of the place's structure and makeup lacked any sense to her.

Shaking the sleep from her still tired body, (Y/N) stretched and rubbed her eyes before she noticed the food beside her. "Woah!" She startled, not entirely sure she remembered it being there the night before. Carefully, she sniffed it, still slightly hesitant on what to do about it. The bread was easily as big as her head, and the fruit slice was definitely her height at least, if not, then taller. It looked as if it had been intentionally placed there, for her, and given that she had not had a good meal in far too long, the tempting offer was more than she could resist. Scooting closer, the Phoenix-kind ripped off a piece of the bread and tasted it. YUM!! Her eyes widened as the fluffy still warm dough met her tongue, and she swiftly took to scarfing the rest of it down.

After eating as much as she could without popping, the harpy girl lied back down satisfied as she allowed the food to settle. Looking up at the rough, stone ceiling, she studied it, eventually leading her to slowly prop herself up on her elbows, still looking about at the strange cavity. Come to think of it, the place looked kinda like a house- but- Ten times bigger... Wait-

(Y/N) pushed herself into a standing position. Looking around more, she rubbed her eyes. 'Was she dreaming?! It really did look as if she were standing in a gigantic house!!' More intrigued now than before, the Phoenix-born ran to the table's edge, scanning the room intently. If this was a giant house then surely its owner was of equal proportions. Then she saw him.

Sitting across the enormous room at a simple desk was the giant. He was easily 45-50ft tall, about 1371.6-1524cm tall if she had to guess. Surprisingly enough he actually looked to be about her age with soft, kind features, large green eyes, and matching curly hair. He sat hunched over a leather-bound journal and a number of large books.

Opening up her glimmering wings she took to the air before darting to a high shelf just above the desk where she dove behind a towering potted plant. She sat there for a brief moment, trying to calm her racing heart before peeking out and down at the behemoth. He didn't seem phased!! Whatever he was doing, he was into it! Cautiously once more, she fluttered down to the desk where she perched on a stack of closed books.

Still no response.

Whatever the green haired goliath was invested in doing must have been interesting, only furthering young (Y/N)'s desire to know. So, carefully, she climbed down the numerous volumes before dropping onto the smooth spruce. Then, with slow and sure steps, the winged youth crept forward till the tips of her toes brushed the thick leaves of the journal he sketched and wrote in. By some miracle it seemed he still didn't notice her, though it honestly didn't surprise her given that his nose was practically pressed to the paper, his thick pine green brows furrowed in his concentration.

(Y/N) began craning her neck to try and glimpse at what exactly he was doing, though she couldn't quite make out the difference between one thick pencil stroke and another. Not satisfied with this, she inched around his moving arms and hands. Once or twice he'd glance away from the book to study a page from another, causing the girl's heart to stop. Regardless, he never noticed her and would soon return his intense gaze to his work.

With a few chary steps she soon had her back to his stomach. His bent over form towered above her, quite literally as he moved and shifted, messing around with the items in front of him, still painfully oblivious to the little visitor who was now doing a study of her own, observing the illegible notes he had written. Though what really attracted her attention was the pictures that were drawn. decorating the parchment were countless and various sketches of her.

"Woah.." She let the appraised whisper slip from her mouth. Why were there so many drawings of her!? They were so good!! And what did the writing beside it say!? Wait- It was then that (Y/N) noticed that the enormous hands to the sides of her had stopped working and scribbling about, held motionlessly to the page. Her heart skipped a beat as she whirled to glance up before it stumbled and plummeted. Staring up, her eyes met with an equally wide but far larger pair, gazing back down with something that was nothing short of astonishment; a look she knew too well.

Quickly the boy realized he had better say something or risk her running off before cheering in a language she didn't understand, though his joyful tone and warm smile otherwise implied he meant no harm. "H-Huh??" The phoenix-born asked, flinching as he began to slowly move. The giant sat back and against the back of his chair, giving the small angel some room before trying another incomprehensible phrase that sounded like another language. Still unable to make out what he wanted she cocked her head though she didn't ease up at all, wings quivering as if ready to launch her through the air.

Furrowing his brows, Deku tried another... and another, and another and another. He seemed to be filtering through languages until he spoke one she was able to understand. "Do you speak Flackofain??" He inquired, finally finding something she could comprehend. It wasn't her native tongue, but it was one she was fluid in.

Flackofa were a type of friendly and sociable bird folk that lived nomadic and merchant lives, exploring the under sky and selling its goods to other winged beings above the clouds. They often set up their shops on tall mountain caps that broke the ocean of mist separating the two. Once or twice she had even managed to sneak away and attend some of their bazaars and auctions.

(Y/N) perked up immediately upon hearing a language she could understand. "Yeah!! I do!!" She chirped, straightening herself. "How did you learn it!?!" She inquired now immensely curious as to how he knew. The giant was equally pleased with his accomplishment, bringing his fists in excited little balls up to his chest. "I know them!! I actually trade with the Flackofa a lot, I'm very good friend's with their chief and many of their people!! One named Kacchan doesn't like me much though..." He laughed at his added comment. "Really!? That's amazing!! What are you anyway!?" The winged youth inquired, earning another warm snicker from her new companion. "I'm a behemoth!!" "Behemoth??" "We're better known as giants..." He scratched his neck, "Sorry I use a lot of big words..." Deku added his apology. "It's ok!! I don't mind!!" the girl giggled.

"What about you!? You don't look like any angel or harpy I've seen..." He commented, to which she enthusiastically answered, "I'm a phoenix-born!!" This response quickly got the giant excited, "WAIT FOR REAL!? A REAL PHOENIX?!" He inquired eagerly, swiftly bending down to be eye level with her, hands gripping the edge of the table with equal energy. (Y/N) startled, stumbling backwards a smidge, not expecting such a dramatic reaction. "Y-yeah!! Why?"

The giant quickly sat back up and against the back of his chair again, running his hands through his shaggy, messy mop of hair. "Well, no one ever sees your kind, not after the War of Worlds!! You guys have never come below the clouds since, so I just can't believe i finally get to meet a real phoenix born!!!" He guffawed, hands still plastered to his head, pinning the fluffy green tufts back.

The girl blinked in confusion, "War?? What war??" she didn't remember anything of the sort. "The War of Worlds?? The great war of your people against the elves and dwarves??" Izuku continued, "You've never heard of it??" "N-no...?." She drew out her reply. "Somewhere around 350 years ago your people had a conflict with the elves, there are lots of different accounts of what the conflict was but one thing stays the same, things went south. The elves called upon the dwarves for assistance and after a long battle that cost your people half their population, you guys went to a group of mages known as the Everskys and asked them to conjure up some sky islands to retreat to." He explains, "You guys swore you would return one day, far far into the future and take back what the elves had supposedly stolen from you, but until then you'd lurk in the mist." he finished, giving her a look as if he expected his little history lecture to spark some sort of hidden memory in her.

(Y/N) just stared, trying to comprehend the enormous load of information she had just been hit with. As weird and foreign the idea sounded, the story actually fit well with a lot of her culture and how the under sky was forbidden. "I- I have never heard this story..." The harpy girl admitted. "Really?! Then why don't you guys come down??" "We just know that it's forbidden, supposedly filled with strange and wondrous creatures who want only to rip us to shreds." The giant looked shocked by her answer. "Then why are you down here!?" He inquired with wide, curious eyes. The winged youth's demeanor became downcast and solemn, though bitterness laced her words, "I had to get away... I couldn't stay there anymore..." She spat quietly, eyes on the table beneath her.

Deku's expression softened as he found himself pitting the little angel. "Hey, hey! It's ok now! You escaped, and you found me!! I'll help keep you safe if you like!! I promise that I won't let anything hurt you okay?? Cheer up!!" Tentatively, he reached a singular finger forward to lift her chin gently to look at him. As her gaze met his, he gave her a warm, welcoming smile.

(Y/N) could feel her face light aglow, how could she refuse, she did come down here looking for a home didn't she?? "Yeah, I'd like that!"

A request for: AnimeMemeGoddess

I am sososososososo sorry this is so late!!! I meant to have this done around early June but then I went on a family vaca, had four different relatives I haven't seen in years at my house and now I'm moving like- tomorrow, and I've had a friend who's been struggling so I've been trying to be there for him as he is getting through some tough times right now!! Not to mention I rewrote this story at least five times!! So I really hope you like it!! I put a lot of love and effort into making sure it was perfect!! ALSO THIS IS NEW, BUT I'VE STATED THAT YOU CAN NOW ASK ME TO DO SEQUELS TO PREVIOUS ONE SHOTS!!!! MEANING IF YOU REALLY LIKE A SPECIFIC SCENARIO, YOU CAN GET A PART TWO AND SO ON!!!

Up next: ( ∆ requested, Ω inspiration)

∆~ Tiny Bakugo x YN - Dynamight!? More like Firecracker!!!

∆~ Shoto x Tiny YN - Baby It's Cold Outside

∆~ Giant Shinso x YN - Forest Spirits

Ω~ Giant Kirishima x YN - The Crown Jewel

Ω~ Tiny Deku x YN - Hickery Dickery Dock

Ω~ Bakugo x Tiny YN - Pest Control is For Pests

Ω~ Tiny Bakugo x YN - The Prize Fish

Ω~ Giant Kirishima x YN - Baby Shark

Ω~ Giant Kirishima x YN - The Big Bad Wolf

Ω~ Tiny Deku x YN - Peter Rabbit

Ω~ Tiny Bakugo x YN - He's A Pop-Rockin Pixie

Ω~ Tiny Kirishima x YN - Dragon, not Lizard

Ω~ Deku x Tiny YN - The Innocence of a Child

Ω~ Giant Kirishima x YN - I Fear No Man... But That Thing.... Scares Me

Ω~ Tiny Kirishima x YN - Crossing Worlds

Ω~ Tiny Bakugo x YN - A Figment of Imagination

Ω~ Tint Deku x YN - Shoulder Angel

Ω~ Giant Bakugo x YN - GREAT EXPLOSION MURDER GOD DYNAMIGHT!!!!!!!!!

Ω~ Giant Kirishima x YN - One Heck of a Softy

Ω~ Deku x Giant YN - A Pure Soul

Ω~ Kirishima x Giant YN - Snakes Are Very Manly, Very Manly Indeed

Ω~ Giant Deku x YN - ~Blep~

Ω~ Tiny Bakugo x YN - Red on Black, Poison Lack

Ω~ Kirishima x Tiny Y/N - Feeding the Fish

Ω~ Tiny Deku x Y/N - Tamagotchi

Ω~ Bakugo x Tiny Y/N - An Exotic Edition to the Family

Ω~ Giant Kirishima x Y/N - Monsters Among Us

Ω~ Deku x Giant Y/N - A Diamond in the Rough

Ω~ Giant Bakugo x Y/N - The Duke of Goliathoria

Ω~ Giant Bakugo x Y/N - Hidden

Ω~ Giant Deku x Y/N - Gulliver's Travels

Ω~ Kirishima x Giant Y/N - Turned Tides

Let me know if you guys want some of these sooner than others, I will count it as a request and add it to queue, right now they are in the order of request to inspiration. Requests willl come before inspiration.

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This is my art and story, please do not repost or trace without my permission, feel free to reblog though, thanks!!!

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Evil Unmasked Part 4 AU (aka Vader visits Padmé’s tomb)

Darth Vader was, in a word, exhausted.

Truth be told, whatever slim patience he had had for the machinations of Palpatine’s propaganda machine and the role it had carved out for him was all but gone. He could no longer recall how many interviews he had been forced to play along with, how many holo captures he had had taken of his visage for Imperial distribution. He had figured Palpatine would use his compliance as a tool to promote the Empire as the righteous governmental installment, and himself as the rightful Emperor. Still, it was becoming both grating, and infuriating. Vader was relieved that the media circus had, for now, been foiled and was beginning to die down. He had lost count of how many times he had been pinned down to denounce the Jedi order and explain why he had turned against them, as well as why he had changed his name.

Eight months post the fall of the Republic, and the calamity of the aftermath had begun to settle into the new normalcy. Vader was no longer hounded by hoards of reporters, no longer approached solely to speak out for promotional purposes. This was his first break from the obligations of either hunting down and eliminating stray Jedi, or speaking out on Palpatine’s behalf to praise his leadership. As soon as the opportunity arose, he asked for (demanded) his first day off. Palpatine had given him a quizzical, mildly displeased look but allowed it with a disinterested hand wave. The location he’d chosen for his travel had been decided long in advance, constantly pushed to the back of his mind but never truly forgotten. Vader hadn’t been anywhere near the sector for years; the planet’s sunny skies, vast green fields of grass and tranquil environment seemingly welcoming him with open arms. The nature and its beautiful trappings knew nothing of his past, nothing of the dark deeds he had committed - nor of the fact that he had stolen one of its most favourite daughters away.

Naboo was a beautiful place, with its lush scenery and its vast crystal clear lakes. Even with the sombre intentions behind Vader’s visit in mind, he found it a refreshing and peaceful break from the insanity life had become. The serene, bedazzled home world of Emperor Palpatine was nothing short of a paradise. But it was also the home world of Vader’s beloved, lost Padmé.

That Palpatine could be the native son of such a stunning planet was irony in its highest form. Padmé was much more suited for the inviting greenery, and the richly bedazzled background most citizens of Naboo had enjoyed. The gungans, shut out from society and equality before the Separatist attack, seemed so far removed from the background Padmé and Palpatine were of. Padmé had been born a Naberrie - that in itself a prestige; elected Queen at fourteen, and then continuing to become the senator and ambassador of her birth planet. The planet’s inhabitants had adored her. They adored her valor, her beauty, and her compassion. Her childhood made such a stark contrast to Vader’s own. Padmé had been raised in harmony; with her own autonomy, with responsibilities, yes - but with the power to make lasting changes. With her inherited money and her stunning appearance, her heritage and her wit - Padmé had had all the trappings sufficient of making a just, good woman.

Vader had come from nothing, with no legacy, no father, and no autonomy. He had lived impoverished as a child slave barely scraping by, fearing either death by starvation or illness, or by extermination. Watto, as his master and owner, had threatened him into submission by reminding him of the chip in his neck; reminding him of that fact that would he revolt - both he and his mother were doomed. Padmé never had to fear for her parents’, or her sister’s lives. Not even when she was with child, was the terror of her dying in childbirth that occupied Vader’s mind every hour of every day, of any concern to her. She did not fear death, but then she had never been faced death as Vader had. Perhaps, if she too had been raised on a desert planet, no more than an item to be exploited, with only her mother as a guide and confidant would she have understood his plight. Maybe if she, too, had lost her parents and failed in her valiant effort to save them, would she have understood his fear of watching her fade away. In the end, as yet another cruel twist of fate; Vader himself had brought about her demise. In the end, all he had was himself - and perhaps, that was for the better.

The tomb of senator Padmé Amidala was a vast monument in and of itself, but at the same time surprisingly sparse on decor. Padmé had never been a woman of simplicity when it came to appearance or presentation, but her final resting place was almost humble. Solid stone encased her now, protecting her withering bones from the harsh light of day. Now, as night reigned supreme and the stars peppering the skies provided the only light; Vader thought it a bleak and gloomy sight. He would have envisioned something more grandiose. The style was simple; cream coloured alabaster pillars supported a raised, arched roof. Vader traversed down a winding path or marble stairs, resolute in his resolve despite the unwanted guilt that was constantly nagging at the back of his mind and wearing him down. It made his skin crawl, and he stopped when he came face to face with the single ornament guarding his wife’s grave. Beneath the arched ceiling, a monument had been erected in her honour. Large, lifelike and meticulously detailed; it too was cut from sandstone and alabaster. It was a magnificent statue, portraying Padmé as she had appeared in life during her years as Queen and regent of Naboo. Its face seemed to peer down at Vader, as if to condemn him for trespassing. As if to demean him for daring to disturb her eternal peace.

Ignoring the judgmental stare he could not shake, Vader hurriedly brushed past the statue. With one wave of his hand, he let the Force gently guide the heavy stone door blocking the entrance to the mausoleum portion of the monument aside. Inky darkness pooled inside the small crypt, the starlight barely spilling past the threshold. A cold breeze seemed to emerge from within, both as a plea asking him to leave; and a lull, begging him to enter. Vader shut his eyes for a moment, allowing bith the crisp chill of the night and the stuffy air from within the tomb to wash over him. The breeze ran through his hair, and for a second, he recalled the gentle touch of his wife’s slender fingers combing through the unruly curls. He remembered her soft skin, her plush lips. Opening his eyes, he knew what he must do. He held no fear of the dead, and he was convinced that Padmé’s ghost would not be enraged by his visit.

But neither would she be pleased. Vader imagined she may weep if she could see him now.

Not surprisingly, Vader had found himself unable to attend Padmé's funeral wake. He had watched the holo screen broadcast of the procession in real time, as it was distributed to the public grieving an icon lost. The ceremony itself had been lavish; Queen Apailana dressed in the regal mourning attire. Emperor Palpatine had made it more than clear that there was no way for Vader to be present without drawing unwanted attention by his pre-Empire affiliation with Padmé as - what the public thought to be - a very close friend. Indeed, his absence may have been even odder but in hindsight Vader couldn’t have changed his lot had he tried to. And he had tried, to no avail. At the same time, it hadn’t stung as much to give into his master's wishes - knowing it was his fault Padmé would breathe no more. He had killed her. Part of him thought then, as did he now, that he hadn’t deserved showing his face in such a sacred rite. She was so far above him, and he was so far beneath her.

She was an Angel, and he was her murderer.

Entering the crypt with trepidation and reverence, Vader paused in the doorway. He had to duck to fit through the narrow entrance; the additional height of his new cybernetic legs was still cumbersome, and he hadn’t quite gotten used to the equally freshly fashioned prosthetic arms either with their larger hands and longer forearms. It was just a matter of time, really, but Vader felt it to be an unwelcome hindrance. He had been promised unlimited power by his master, instead he had been maimed and left for dead by Kenobi - and he alone bore the blame for Padmé’s demise. Padmé, whose remains were just within his reach. Padmé, whose spirit must surely despise him now. As he traversed with a solemn unease farther into the cavern; Vader became aware of two things.

First was the stone coffin holding his beloved’s lifeless body. Its lid was adorned by yet another skilfully crafted sculpture; this time a likeness of Padmé’s visage as she had been presented during her funeral wake. Her hair had been loose and wavy as she was paraded through the streets, decorated only with tiny, brittle flowers. Clad in a flowing blue gown, hands clasped over her swollen belly; face so lifelike she had seemed to be merely asleep. As Vader had made himself watch the painful holoscreening - witnessing his beloved one last time from afar - he had entertained the notion that if he’d only been present, he could have kissed her cold lips and she would have woken up. So many fairytales spoke of true love’s kiss, and of it raising a seemingly dead lover from their eternal slumber. Vader’s last kiss shared with his wife had proved to be the kiss of death. This blatant mimicry of Padmé’s visage - a far cry of her beauty - had been expected.

What Vader had not expected was the glass showcase propped by the coffin's side. Upon an indigo satin pillow rested Padmé’s japor snippet. Slightly faded with wear and tear, wooden and as intricately hand carved as the day he had given it to her. It had been granted its own separate display, and Vader scoffed at the notion that any of Padmé’s many handmaidens or realtives would have understood but a sliver of its importance to her - and, subsequently, to him. Still, it had been singled out as a token, and it had been clear even to those not in the know that the simple jewelry had been cherished by its owner.

Swallowing hard, Vader slowly approached the small cased necklace. Even in the dull darkness, his iridescent golden eyes helped him focus on the tiny trinket. A mixture of shame and bitterness welled up inside as his gaze took in every painstakingly crafted detail, and for just a moment - his serious expression softened. Gone were the harsh lines, gone was the composed and well rehearsed authority he had adapted since his shift. For that brief moment, Vader’s chest felt tight and a strangled, choked breath escaped his parted lips.

Anger was quick to overthrow the suffocating sadness. Pursing his lips, Vader forced himself to turn away. Instead, his eyes fell again upon Padmé’s stone grave. He didn’t deserve to be here, he didn’t deserve this attempt at paying her respect with meaningless, silent apologies. He had put her in that coffin, he had snuffed out her light. As if moving of their own volition, he found his legs were carrying him closer to the cold marble against his will. One gloved hand reached out to hesitantly touch the surface, but all Vader's cybernetic fingertips could detect was hard edges. Nothing concrete, no nuance. Vader was bereft of something as simple as the smooth, cool kiss of masterly crafted sandstone. The soft curves and gentle lines came off as no more intricate than the billions of grains that made up the sands of Tatooine.

Clenching his jaw shut, Vader's hand curled into a tight fist. It shook as he squeezed it shut; Padmé’s desperate, pleading hazel eyes flashing before his inner vision. She’d been so frail, so distraught, so horrified. She had never betrayed him, he had betrayed her. This was all his fault.

Padmé was dead because of him. Only him.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Vader wished for nothing but to be offered the chance to retrace his step and right his wrongs. He wished to relive the moment in which he had lashed out, if only to forgive her and believe her words. If only to take her in his arms, to heed her warnings and run far away. Just him, her, and their child. Together. The child that had perished alongside his mother, never allowed to get to know her tender soul.

An unyielding, intense burn spread like a wildfire up the bridge of Vader's nose, and bled into his cheeks. A stinging prickle settled behind his eyes, and despite his stubborn attempt at remaining calm and detached, dismissing his pain - scalding tears welled up to pool at the corners of his eyes. In one fell swoop, they disregarded his wishes and rolled in heavy globs down his pale cheeks. Vader allowed his anger and his despair to mingle with his guilt. In an act of rare surrender, he let his walls crumble to dust and acknowledged that he had made a terrible mistake. He had allowed Palpatine to twist his mind, to entice him with empty promises. But it was he who had believed those lies; he had been the one to choke his own wife in blind rage.

Covering his face with his free hand, Vader did his best to restrain his grief in a feeble attempt at maintaining dignity. Biting back sobs, he wept silently - shedding the final pieces of his past with each tear. A burden that was his alone to carry, but its weight slightly lighter to bear despite the dull ache it left behind.

When he eventually vacated the tomb; daylight had begun to spill over the fields and hills, its orange glow warming the dew lining every straw of grass and creating a thin veil of mist. The air was sweet, its scent a jumble of flowers. No trace of his secret visit did Vader leave behind, but something inside of him had changed irreparably. Something had been left behind, laid to rest alongside the lost Queen.

If he could destroy the one thing he had loved more than life itself, what mattered any other life on his conscience. If his Angel was dead, Vader was already cursed. Whoever stood in his way was but a stepping stone on his way towarda greatness.

Every citizen in the Galaxy was but an animal - and he would slaughter them as animals, if need be.

*****

I wanted to write something sad, and I figured since this iteration of Vader is quite different to the canon one - this would be yet another way for him to shed his past, and to become even more of a propaganda and political tool. Also, I felt like writing something sad and angsty and I seldom write about Padmé, so consider this a little treat for those of you who - much like I - enjoy sadness and pain.

Ao3 link below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32029582/chapters/79632736

[incorrectshantaequotes]

REVERSAL AU - Big Bad Barons

[A transcript of how Risky's first meeting with each baron would go]

[RISKY is outside a cave shaped like a skull, barred from entry by jagged bones with a sickly violet aura.]

???: FOOLISH MORTAL! LEAVE THIS PLACE, OR MEET YOUR DEM-Ooooooo, is that my order?

RISKY: ...erm...yes. I have a TASTY MEAL for one...Lich Baron?

???: Oh, that's me! That's me! Well, don't be a stranger! Come on in!

[The jagged bones lower into the ground, and the cave becomes accessible]

???: And, uh, sorry in advance about the traps - I can't turn those off. Good luck!

~~~~

[One level later, and RISKY walks into a dark chamber illuminated with an eerie glow. Graves litter the background, and LICH BARON is reclining on a lawn chair made of bones and cobwebs while looking into a crystal ball.]

RISKY: LICH BA-

LICH BARON: Heeeeeey, my food's here! Thanks!

[With a wave of her hand, LICH BARON grabs the TASTY MEAL from RISKY's inventory with purple magic, brings it over, and begins to dig in. She does so over the course of the following conversation]

LICH BARON: No, really- you'ff ghod noh IHDEA- how hard it is to get someone to deliver, you know? With the labyrinth and all that.

RISKY: I-

LICH BARON: I mean, I COULD have met you at the entrance, but then I'd miss this episode of Fallout!

RISKY: ...what?

LICH BARON: Oh, right, we of the more magically inclined have a little network here to watch shows and such on demand. You wouldn't know about it.

LICH BARON: OOOOO, right in the acid! That's gotta-thaht's goohta stehng-

RISKY: Loo-

LICH BARON: Right, payment, payment. I'll get to that in a second. Look, you just- goohta ahppresheat tha lehttl thingss- you know? Especially in my line of work.

LICH BARON: MAN, I remember- wehn I couhld juhst ROHL ihnto tohwn- and people would run away screaming. Free artifacts, right there!

LICH BARON: But nowadays? No one- ish goohna tahk yoh seriohsly- unless you can just DESTROY A BUILDING IN ONE SWING or HAVE AN ARMY OF BIRDS. Blegh!

LICH BARON: Look, love the other barons and all, but they make a tough act to keep up with, you know? I mean, I can raise an undead army, sure, but that's...

RISKY: ...

LICH BARON: ...You seem tense. Are you tense? You should have a slice of this, it's really good.

RISKY: LICH BARON. I AM HERE. BECAUSE I HEARD. YOU HAVE A MAGIC SEAL.

LICH BARON: ...

LICH BARON: ...wait...so you're NOT delivery?

RISKY: NO!

LICH BARON: Wh-HEY! That is MESSED UP! Impersonating a delivery person like that! Those guys have a lot on their plate already, you know!

RISKY: ...you literally steal magical artifacts and scam people for a living.

LICH BARON: Well, yeah, but I don't IMPERSONATE DELIVERY PEOPLE. Yeesh...anyway!

[LICH BARON waves her hands, and her personal items slide off screen. The ground begins to shake, and LICH BARON begins to hover in the air.]

RISKY: Wh-What is this!?

LICH BARON: Oh, that would be the undead crawling up from the dirt. Sure hope that magic seal's worth getting your brains eaten!

LICH BARON: NOW, FACE YOUR DOOM, MORTAL!

~~~~

[RISKY walks into what appears to be a quaint little campsite. A single tent, some logs, and an extinguished firepit at the center. Also at the campsite, is a tall, intimidating figure, who turns and reveals himself to be WRECKER BARON.]

WRECKER BARON: ...hmph. I've heard of you. You're this town's protector, right? Or you were, in any case.

WRECKER BARON: I assume that bumbling mayor's sent you out to fulfill his half of the deal?

RISKY: Hrgh...yes, I have the deed.

WRECKER BARON: Good. Now hand it over.

RISKY: Why?

WRECKER BARON: ...because he-

RISKY: Why my town? Why my HOME? We don't have any artifacts. We're not rich. It's just a humble little trading town...so WHY?

WRECKER BARON: ...

RISKY: ANSWER ME!

WRECKER BARON: That's for me to know and me alone.

RISKY: Grrrr...!

RISKY: I heard a bit about you before this, you know. The one-man army, right? The man who can take down buildings in a single swing?

RISKY: Well, looking at you now, I think it's all TALK.

WRECKER BARON: ...

RISKY: I beat a baron before, you know. Just today. The Lich. I don't see why you'd be any different!

WRECKER BARON: ...You don't know what you're dealing with, kid.

RISKY: Oh, really?

[RISKY gets into a battle-ready pose]

RISKY: Well, TO HECK WITH IT! Mayor Scuttlebutt may have fired me, but this is still my town! If you want this deed, FIGHT ME FOR-

[WRECKER BARON lets his prosthetic loose, and then WHIPS it through the air, with it just barely missing RISKY and landing behind her with a deafening thud. A spray of sand flies into RISKY's face.]

WRECKER BARON: I'm not going to ask again. The deed. NOW.

RISKY: I...I...!

RISKY: ...Fine. Here you go.

[RISKY walks over, and, with no small amount of reluctance, hands the deed over to WRECKER BARON, who stuffs it into hammerspace]

WRECKER BARON: Well, glad you came to your senses, heh heh! Really thought I was going to have to take off your head there...

RISKY: ...

WRECKER BARON: Look, sorry for the scare. Nothing personal, just making sure I got my end of the bargain. You get it, right?

RISKY: ...

WRECKER BARON: ...uh, here. To show there's not hard feelings.

[WRECKER BARON hands RISKY a PASSPORT]

RISKY: ...what's this?

WRECKER BARON: Official town PASSPORT. Everyone's going to get one. And, I'll let you in on a little secret: it'll let you get in my BATTLE TOWER.

RISKY: BATTLE TOWER?

WRECKER BARON: It's where I store all my artifacts. Get to the top in one piece, and you get to take one home!

RISKY: Really? That seems rather...impractical.

WRECKER BARON: The way I see it, it's free security testing. If someone gets through, it means I've got to up my security.

RISKY: And if they don't?

WRECKER BARON: Well, that means there'll be a slight dip in my tax revenue.

WRECKER BARON: Just flash your PASSPORT at the totem, and you'll get in.

~~~~

[RISKY walks into a stone chamber filled with birds. Suddenly, the door slams shut behind her, and the birds scatter. RAPTOR BARON emerges from the shadows.]

RAPTOR BARON: HALF-GENIE. You are not welcome here - leave peacefully, and I may yet let you live.

RISKY: You closed the door behind me!

[RAPTOR BARON does a quick call, and two birds fly to the door to open it again.]

RISKY: ...oh.

RISKY: Well, I have no intention of leaving, anyway! I'm here for the magic seal!

RAPTOR BARON: Magic seal...? Where did you learn about that?

RISKY: ...you don't know?

RAPTOR BARON: I made my base up here for a reason. Here, I'm isolated. Alone. No one will find me...no one is SUPPOSED to find me.

RISKY: Well, that's gone out the window, hasn't it? Just do us both a favor and hand the seal over - I already have the other two.

RAPTOR BARON: YOU WHAT!?

[RAPTOR BARON makes another call, and a bird brings her a pair of odd-looking binoculars. She takes them and examines Risky with them for a moment, before handing the binoculars back.]

RAPTOR BARON: ...you're telling the truth. Hmph. Your mentor should've told you not to mess with forces you don't understand.

RISKY: How do you know Mimic!?

RAPTOR BARON: ...

RISKY: ...fine. Have it your way. I'm getting used to the silent treatment, anyway.

RISKY: Look, you seem more reasonable than the others. If I don't gather all these first, then Captain Shantae is sure to get to them, and then-

RAPTOR BARON: Shantae? I-Of course she's involved in all of this...

RISKY: Wh-You know SHANTAE too? IS EVERYONE JUST GOING TO KEEP SECRETS TODAY!?

RAPTOR BARON: Anything between me and that captain is far in the past, half-genie. And I'd prefer it STAY that way.

RAPTOR BARON: That being said...I know her tricks. She has the lamp, I'm guessing?

RISKY: Of course you know about the lamp, why WOULDN'T you know about the lamp-

RAPTOR BARON: Just as I feared. Look. For your own good...I can't let you fall into her trap. Even if it means you never make it back home.

RAPTOR BARON: WRENCH. Search and destroy.

[A massive bird flies into the field and lands in front of RISKY.]

WRENCH: CAW!

[harcourtholmesii]

Heaven And Hell

I have finally caught up with the prompt list! Thank you to @connor-sent-by-cyberlife for the lovely list. It is not only a nice experiment but it is helping to motivate me to write, which I appreciate.

Pairings: HankCon / Hannor / Hank X Connor

Warnings: - Swearing - Graphic Violence and Gore - Implied Rape and Referenced Murder - Slightly NSFW - Implied Sexual Interests - Existential Questions - Hurt and Comfort

Words: 3368

Enjoy!

Connor was still young. Bright-eyed, by the book, and completely innocent despite his research into humans and the Earth’s violent and erratic history.

 Being that it was his first mission to Earth, his superiors had been worried to send such a young angel to the planet below. His job had been, put simply, to walk among humans and learn from his experiences. Adapt to their atmosphere and climate, and whilst present, deal out the necessary punishment to the beasts that walked alongside them. As a new breed, Connor was created to find and destroy.

 And they had not been hard to find.

 Executing them for their evil whilst being subtle, however, was another matter entirely.

 In order to achieve it, he had combed through the vast knowledge he had learnt over centuries of study. A vast mind vault within him, stacked high with books and parchment, informed him that the best path he might take would be to gain a career as a police detective or ‘cop’.

 In such a position, he would be more likely trusted by civilians, allowed to carry weaponry he could modify to destroy demons and fallen angels alike, and he would have the means to track them without strain on his own power. He had to build up to it first, of course.

 The police academy, where he excelled at all of his classes, took only a short amount of time to him; a mere couple of years. His superiors, though proud of his work, told him to slow it down. Take hits and failures every now and again, where necessary, to make it appear he was just as fallible as the average human. Even when he had graduated from the academy, he was top of his class by a mile.

 He had been immediately placed into the Detroit Police Department, and had been near delighted by his success. Well, as delighted as an angel was allowed to be. Too many human emotions were enough to cause an angel to fail and fall. Ones of his kind were able to fall into the throes of passion so easily, due to their physical inexperience, that it was often in a murderous rage or in the heat of sexual intimacy that the worst acts were committed. It doomed an angel to fall.

 Connor was certain such things would not affect him. After all, he was the best of the best; made to be more and above the other angels. Not that he wished to gloat, or be overly prideful, but he was better.

 And then he had entered into the precinct for the first time.

 There was the stink of human sweat and he could practically taste the sugar and coffee in the air, but there was the smell of smoke and the near taste of fire to accompany them that had Connor reeling. He restrained himself from immediately hurling himself forward and into the throes of battle, rolling his shoulders as if to shrug off the weight of sin in the precinct.

 There was a devil among them, and it wasn’t hard to work out which of his new colleagues it was.

 Captain Fowler had introduced him to his experienced partner, lieutenant Hank Anderson, whom he was supposed to follow and learn from. Connor had to grit his teeth so as not to roar at the other. The humans were blinder than Connor had initially thought. They would let a devil into their midst, one that would see them fall to doom and destruction.

 He fought back the scowl, replacing it instead with a kinder smile, offering the devil his hand. When their palms connected, there was a deep burn that seared through his skin.

 ‘It is nice to be working with you, lieutenant.’

 ‘It won’t be, I can assure you.’ The urge to let his wings loose and drive the devil through the wall grew, but he kept his smile up. This was going to be harder than he thought.

  ~X~

  Hank had been created from blood and brimstone. He was born to a world of darkness, the lick of hot flames and the sting of teeth and steel against his flesh. For centuries, he had grown and festered like the plague on humanity he had been made to be.

 His dark wings became a shield from the worst pain, and his teeth helped to defend him and tear out the throats of other devils that tried to hurt him. Survival was learnt from an early age, and when he was finally able to crawl free of the pit, he was greeted with the warmth of sunlight and the feeling of Spring dew.

 He had to learn fast, so that he might survive and not return to Hell itself.

 He studied parchments, scrolls and tablets from the dawn of human time, had followed human history and learnt the best and worst of it all. He had learned quickly how best to disguise himself from most angels, and had nearly died numerous times throughout history.

 Through it all though, Hank had grown and aged. He became harder to find, harder to kill, and he had come to recognise humans as less the worms that he had heard through shouts and tortured whispers. Instead, he came to recognise them as an intelligent species, who often made stupid decisions. Mistakes or choices that sent them to an early grave or simply added up until they were being ripped from the planet and pulled down.

 Down below.

 He had many jobs throughout history, had many backstories and different histories to suit his needs. His most recent character was that of a police lieutenant, where it was he that dished out punishment, not just on horrible human beings, but the occasional devil, demon or fallen angel that caused trouble.

 He had come to realise that long ago, humans were too often dragged to Hell for something that could be forgiven or looked over. The seven deadly sins may have been something ‘damning’, but they could be explored without being taken to the extreme like angels seemed to believe. In fact, in Hank’s mind, it was simply Heaven that was refusing to forgive, as was their (quote, unquote) ‘policy’.

 It had been a surprise to Hank when his newest partner turned out to be an angel. Not only that, but one that could immediately see through his disguise despite the centuries he had to perfect it. He never gave the game away, but the two of them had been forced to work side by side. It would have been comical, if Hank wasn’t constantly feeling the burn of ‘righteous fury’ whenever they were within close proximity.

 He had spoken with Connor, had even apologised for his rather rude introduction, but the angel had refuted his words. It was clear to him that Connor was just one of many angels that would never learn, the naïve little pricks that they were. Heaven did a brilliant job of brainwashing those that left it, and Hank was unsurprised Connor seemed furious, in some cases fearful, to be around Hank for any extended time.

 Though, there was one thing that shook their relationship.

 It was a case, one of a particularly brutal serial killer. As they were the investigators for the case, they allowed themselves more freedom in the crime scene once given space from other officers. When alone, Hank let his human visage drop a bit, to reveal the scarred features he held, two strong horns and a pair of white, bony, bat-like wings. When Connor had noticed his transformation, the other had released his own mirage, revealing dark, feathered wings and a neon blue halo above his head.

 ‘No need to get pissy. We’re alone here.’ Hank huffed, and though the angel didn’t relax, he didn’t attack. Hank allowed him to use his powers to help with the investigation, the little angel practically spitting out the blood when he tasted it. Hank already smelled that it had been a devil’s blood, but he smirked at the adorable face the angel had pulled when he found it disgusting.

 They returned to their human forms before another officer would show up, and through it all, Hank had noticed how Connor’s eyes kept diverting to him. Gazing at him not in anger or disgust, but curiosity, and perhaps an interest that made Hank’s spine perform a delicious tingle.

 He could work with this.

  ~X~

  A few months into their work together, they had started investigating a serial killer. Connor had done well to keep the devil away from him, though it had been easier than he initially thought. The devil seemed to pay little mind in attempting to tempt him into the worst kinds of sin, and to Connor’s surprise, actively assisted in the investigations. He didn’t attempt to get the wrong humans killed or framed for their actions, and helped to track down the murderers or rapists or whatever else as quickly as possible.

 Without revealing themselves, of course.

 When the other had dropped his human guise at the crime scene, Connor had been prepared to rip his head off, but when the other spoke so softly, despite his gruff demeanour, Connor had agreed to keep the peace. But he was confused, and more than a little curious in the other.

 He didn’t know what it was that he was experiencing, as he had little knowledge of what a human or an angel could feel. He had never experienced emotions in this way, but he became curious about his partner. He was curious if those wings were as sensitive as his own, whether his gruff behaviour was from boredom, or if he genuinely didn’t want to fight. He didn’t understand this enigma.

 During their investigation into the serial killer, it was at the third crime scene that Connor had taken note that not only did the place stink of his usual, devilish partner, but that the smell had intensified. As if doubled.

 Connor had been too slow to connect the dots, and had been ambushed by the devil. He was tackled to the floor, feeling the figure thrust their knee deep into his back, pushing against his spine. It hurt. Connor whined, a sound he didn’t know he could make, but the devil had just laughed above him. Lips leaned down and a forked tongue swept over his cheek, tasting him. Connor fought back, but from his position, he couldn’t grab his gun nor his sword. He was trapped.

 There were footsteps, and then Hank was in front of them both. Silver hair which had helped to curtain his eyes, was pulled back, revealing similar silver eyes. They looked down at Connor with some kind of gaze that he didn’t recognise. Then they turned to fury as they rose to meet the eyes of the devil.

 ‘If you want a piece of angel flesh, you’ll have to wait your turn.’ There was a tightening on Connor’s limbs, a burning sensation scarring his wrists. Connor twisted, feeling the grip change to grab a head full of hair and lift his head up at an uncomfortable angle. When that tongue came out to taste him again, the weight was released with one quick movement.

 Connor could breathe, and he had turned to see Hank without his guise. The two devils were in a tangle of violent clawing and limbs, wings sprouted and teeth bared. There was a loud ‘SNAP!’ as something was broken, and the killer shrieked. Connor leapt into action then, pulling out his gun. He raised it, and stopped.

 He trained it on the two of them, and through the burn of his halo, the voices of his superiors and guardians urged him to end it. He had both of them in his sights. He could do it. He could shoot and kill them both.

 There was a gunshot, and Hank peeled back as there was an explosion of red. The head of the devil had a hole clean through the skull, through the back and between the eyes. It left an alcove in the back of its head, brain matter and blood bursting into a bright confetti of colour. And beyond that, Hank was greeted with the sight of Connor kneeling on the floor.

 The gun had not lowered.

 Hank knew it was over. He could practically see Connor’s guise dropping, the wings unfurling and the halo gleaming as he was close to accomplishing his mission. Connor’s eyes flicked back and forth, his hands around the gun trembling. Suddenly, the gun dropped, along with Connor.

 There was a cry from the angel, a terrible, pained sound as he clutched at his head. The halo burned through his hair and deep into his flesh. Hank was to his side in a moment, bringing him into his lap as the halo withered away to nothing. His wings shook, feathers beginning to moult and though his wings seemed to have shifted a shade darker, they remained their beautiful, glossy colour.

 By the time it was over, Connor had been rendered unconscious, his wings shrinking back into his human guise, but he was missing the heated glow that would arc above his head. As Hank’s own body returned to its original form, he held the other close, and even carried him to the ambulance outside, after he called it.

 It was shock, according to the paramedics, with some bruising from the damage dealt by the now deceased criminal. He would be out of the hospital in no time, less so since he would still be healing at an angel’s rate.

 He met Connor outside the hospital, and instead of driving the both of them back to the precinct, Hank had taken the quiet fallen angel to an empty bridge where Hank had found it easiest to think. Few people came there anymore, the playground abandoned and the stink of the river causing people to feel far too uncomfortable to approach. It was the perfect place.

 ‘What are we doing here, lieutenant?’ His voice quaked, and wide, doe-brown eyes looked up at Hank with the most fearful expression Hank had seen the angel wear. It was more afraid than when he had been attacked by the devil in the first place.

 ‘I think, you being downgraded to a fallen angel, has earned you the right to just call me Hank.’ He half joked. It didn’t help the angel’s shaking. ‘Come on. I just want to talk.’

 He stepped out of the car, and over to a park bench that looked out over the river. He waited a few short minutes before he heard the car door slam and Connor’s approach, taking a seat beside him.

 ‘Why did you come out all this way to eat me?’

 Hank turned a confused gaze down at Connor, eyes to the hairline with shock. Now, that he had not been expecting.

 ‘Uh… I don’t want to eat you.’

 ‘The devil said you would have to wait for angel flesh. You have looked at me in a similar way before, so I am pretty certain your intention is to eat me. Especially since I can’t burn you anymore an-’

 There was a guffaw of laughter from Hank, and Connor felt his cheeks flush a great pink. He had never been able to blush before, and he felt more embarrassed and more shame when he realised he was exhibiting such human behaviour.

 ‘Tha… That isn’t what the little creep meant.’ Hank assured him, arm around Connor and bringing him close. Despite Connor’s immediate panic, he didn’t struggle when Hank pulled him into the half hug. He felt Hank’s warmth, and how it didn’t burn like when they first met. Instead it was a soothing sensation that heated his skin and the smell of brimstone had been clouded with the smell of sugar, the slightest taint of alcohol and something stronger.

 ‘T-Then… what are we doing out here?’

 ‘I just wanted to talk.’ It was a slight lie, but despite Hank’s growing interest in the tiny angel, Hank wasn’t like the devil serial killer. He wasn’t one to take that shit by force. Hank may have been a devil, but he had grown to become more than that, in his mind. ‘I just wanted to say, I’m sorry.’ Connor’s gaze was confused and disbelieving. ‘No, I mean it. I’m sorry you lost your grace. And for me of all people.’

 ‘It wasn’t for you.’

 ‘Then why didn’t you shoot?’ Connor’s lips were sealed, and he had turned away from Hank, that shameful flush giving him away.

 ‘Believe it or not, Connor, being so close to humans isn’t so bad.’

 ‘Of course you would say that. Just trying to rub it in that I have been released from Heaven?’

 ‘See, you say that like being released from Heaven is a bad thing.’ Hank hummed, turning his head and pulling Connor closer. He could practically hear the fallen angel’s heart racing and the slightest chatter of teeth in the cool night air. ‘But, think about it; Heaven had such control over you, in the end, your own decisions were considered enough to have you banished?’

 ‘I…’ Connor shouldn’t be listening to this. He shouldn’t! ‘I was placed here on Earth to hunt your kind, to protect the humans from sin.’

 ‘But see, you can’t protect humans from sin.’ Hank said in response. Connor tilted his head, like a little, lost puppy. ‘Humans cannot be saved from sin, in fact, it is in their nature to sin. And the small things should always have the option to be forgiven, and yet, Hell is being piled high with more and more souls each year.’

 ‘You’re just saying that…’

 ‘I’m not. Think about it, Connor. Is it so wrong to indulge? Certain things are out of line, of course, but is violence, when necessary, a bad thing? Is lying? Is sex really as sinful as Heaven taught you?’ Connor turned his head away, gaze pointedly to the pavement.

 ‘I… I don’t know…’

 ‘And that is the thing about human nature; no one really knows what is too far. Sometimes, someone deserves the worst that happens to them, but then there are those that are judged too harshly for something so insignificant. And they are humans, with lifespans shorter than ours by whole millenniums. They should be allowed to live as they choose without us dictating how they behave.’

 Connor didn’t seem sure how to react to such information. He felt Hank’s guise drop and let his own drop as well. When he met Hank’s eyes, he hid his gaze, shameful of his appearance. Instead, he felt Hank raise on of his hands, and thin, soft lips against the crook of his knuckles; a gentle tease of fangs against the skin of his hand. Wide eyes turned up to Hank, and even though there was something lustful there, Hank did not proceed any further.

 ‘You are beautiful, Connor. I don’t know if Heaven made you that way, or if this was your own design, but it was a good choice.’ The pink to Connor’s cheeks burned. He withdrew his hand, and Hank didn’t press further. The devil simply chuckled a gruff sound from deep within his chest.

 ‘Don’t worry, Connor. I may be evil, but I am not going to do anything to you that you wouldn’t want me to. I just wanted to indulge myself a little.’ Connor bit his lip, kneading his bottom lip between his teeth.

 ‘I… I d-don’t mind…’ Hank raised an eyebrow down at him. ‘I just… I’m not sure it is appropriate.’

 ‘In Heaven and Hell’s eyes, it never will be. But here, on Earth, things can be different. Connor…’ There was a quiet sound from Connor, and Hank felt his body burn and his spine quiver. ‘I… If you want, we can be friends.’

 Connor leaned into Hank’s arms, resting his head in the crook of Hank’s throat. Hank’s hands passed over one wing that twitched, and then relaxed beneath his touch. There was a hum from Connor, a sound so content and just a little bit nervous.

 ‘I… I would like that…’

[diaco1968]

Showing Obedience

Chisaki Kai x reader

I don't really know if it needs any warning. Nothing really happens. But I guess a little hint of a future blowjob? 😅

The fact that your line of work left you with no such luxury as pride didn't really stop you from feeling extra humiliated under his sharp golden eyes. You were forced to kneel down on the floor with one of the bigger men holding you down with a hand on the back of your neck. One hand. Holding you down by the scruff like a helpless little kitten. Pathetic. You looked up at the big guy annoyed "is this absolutely necessary? It's not like I can go anywhere right now..." he glared down at you, the long gashes on his arm stinging just through the sheer anger your words recreated in his mind. You might or might not have put up a nasty fight... "shut up whore!" He hissed down at you raising his fist to punch you, on what you assumed was your jaw, again.

"Hojo." The guy with the golden eyes and the edgy bird mask spoke up, making 'Hojo' tense and drop his arm back, looking down. Who you assumed was the bus has been sitting on the black leather couch in front of you for a while now, quiet, calculating. You knew you were in a grave situation right now with no where to run to. Gathering up the little courage you had left you looked at him, not sure if you kept the intrigued expression at bay or if he saw it plastered on your face looking like a child in a haunted house. His expression was unwavering.

"I am Chisaki Kai the head of Shie Hassaikai. It's safe to assume you know what has caused you this... unfortuante circumstances. Correct?" For a second the thought to play it off as dumb crossed your mind but, there was something about his eyes... some 'no bullshit or you will regret it'...they looked almost predatory. So you sucked it up hating how small your voice was as it came out "... correct..." he didn't move at all. "That's great, it will save us both a lot of time then." He leaned forward resting his arms on his legs and putting his latex covered hands together. The general getting to business pose. "You should pay the fee of doing 'illegal business' in Shie Hassaikai territory, cash or your life." You tensed doing your best to keep from stuttering "I-if I did have money ... I wouldn't be stealing in the first place...". He started leaning back again "your life it is then." Hojo's grip on the back of your neck tightened significantly almost shattering your composure "I-... I can... there is... c-could you..." fuck... you didn't even know what to say if even could form a coherent sentence at all.

He ever so slightly raised an eyebrow at you and you took in a deep breath to calm your nerves and to have a second to think "there s-sure are other ways to pay? Right?!" He didn't seem all too interesed. Almost not at all "do go on." Hojo's hand relented in his grip and only then did you realise one of your hands had shot up and clung to his wrist in desperation, dropping your hand immediately. "I could work it off and pay you, I just need a little time..." "to jump more people on the streets that we secure the safety of? I don't think so." You shook your head vigorously "No no!... I can work for you! I just... I swear I am useful! Specially in your line of work! Almost took out this guy on my own, didn't I?" You bargained desperately and pointed at Hojo making him growl.

Chisaki's eyes briefly glanced at Hojo's ripped and bloodied arm. He also knew that Setsuno had been brought back unconscious, bruised and beaten. He wondered if you didn't know how you injured him or if you didn't even count him in your achievements. He knew what your quirk was but never saw it first hand. And the fact that even after all that there was not a drop of blood or a speck of dust anywhere on you intrigued him a little. 'How neat'. Only a small bruise forming on the side of your jaw where Hojo had punched you. "You are probably not as fit as you think for this line of work." You felt your heart drilling painfully against your chest in fear and opened your mouth to protest but he cut you off before you managed "it needs absolute obedience and loyalty. How do I know you have it in you?" You blinked in confusion. How do you make someone you just met trust you anyway... you felt like he was not really into you getting away with this conversation with your life intact and to be honest you did already feel kinda defeated. Little did you know how actually 'into you' he was. "... I will obey you no matter what. I'll do whatever you tell me," and that was where you doomed yourself to his iron clutches "... but as to how you'd know that I'm loyal... I have no idea. I don't think swearing would cut it for you." No, he wasn't. He appreciated the way you thought and your honesty about it. He knew however just how to put your former declaration and your inflated pride to the test. As much as he didn't really want to do something like that so publicly, to you or to himself, he deemed it necessary. You were a solo petty thief after all, he should teach you the etiquette of working for the Yakuza. "You will do what ever I say, then?" He nod his head to Hojo. Your eyes shot up as you felt his hand leave the back of your neck. Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes met his sharp ones, already guessing where this was headed to. No way out now, great job. "...I will." You said meekly. You couldn't help but imagine he was probably smirking evily at you under his mask. Cause if the rest of his face was as expressionless as his eyes, it was gonna be a problem. Getting no responese at all infuriated you unbelievably. "Come." He leaned back again and parted his knees a little gesturing to the small space in between them on the ground before draping his arms over the back of the couch getting comfortable. You had to bite back a snarky remark on how that method of testing didn't take any time to come to his perverted mind. You gulped after taking in the expressions of the rest of the gang members in the room as you hesitantly started to rise to your feet.

"No need to get up." Your jaw clenched, eyes shooting up at him rage flashing through for a second before you looked down at the ground, crouching and getting back on your knees. "You wanted to say something. Eyes on me. Say it." You closed your eyes before sighing quietly and looking back up at him. First time ever his eyed were shining with an actual excited glint. "I was gonna say..." Damnit he was challenging you to make one wrong move. Or in this case say one wrong word. "Yes, sir." The way the mask moved up ever so slightly you could almost see the shit eating grin that formed under it. Despite that you kept your eyes on him as you crawled your way over and nestled in between his legs, with your hands on the ground like a good dog careful not to touch him anywhere with any part of you, looking up at him expectantly. He didn't expect you to even get this far, so he decided to push you further. "Oh would you look at that, can't touch anything as long as your hands are so filthy." He looked down on you, literally now and figuratively. "And say they were clean, what would I need to touch?..." you asked dreading the answer. Amused by the way you talked back to him without actually talking back, his latex covered hand came down to tangle his fingers in your hair, pulling you roughly closer, your chin resting on his clothed crotch, lips flush against his abdomen as you kept your eyes on his, 'just like he had said'. Maybe you made the mistake of opening your mouth and softly moving your jaw a little downwards just to feel and test if the bastard was getting excited by his little show of dominance. His pupils dilated pushing your face down, giving you more than enough to 'feel' as you felt your cheek rub against what you assumed was his 'half' erection letting out a strangled "oof!" from being pulled forward like that. "Just as before I see it safe to assume, and correct me if I'm wrong, you know exactly what you're supposed to be doing there."

[minuteminx]

Revolutionary

Pairing: Preston Garvey/ Female Sole Survivor

Summary: In the aftermath of personal tragedies, Preston and Charlie both seek to make a difference in the Commonwealth and those around them. They could never anticipate the impact that they will have on eachother in the process.

Chapter Two: When Freedom Calls

Chapter Summary:   The Museum of Freedom feels like the end of the line until another one of Mama Murphy's visions comes true.

[First Chapter]

[Previous Chapter]

[AO3 Link]

“The first lesson a revolutionary must learn is that he is a doomed man.”

- Huey P. Newton

Concord, October 2287

A loud barrage of knocks thundered against the uncomfortably flimsy wooden door, the millionth barrage of knocks in the past two days. Preston was actually impressed that the barricade continued to hold out as long as it had considering the number of raiders who’d thrown themselves against the door, attempting to ram it open. A few of them stomped away with—most likely— dislocated shoulders and the more forceful negotiation tactics simmered down into hilarious attempts to persuade him and the four remaining Quincy settlers out of their makeshift museum bunker.

The Museum of Freedom turned out to be a pretty decent spot to hole up, with its remotely controlled security gates and maze-like remnants of hallways. It had managed to keep the raiders busy for most of the night as they attempted to navigate their way in the dark, spending ammo on mannequins conveniently dressed in colonial attire. Under different circumstances, Preston might have found it funny, but he could hardly bring himself to even be relieved, let alone amused. After nearly a month of traveling, and losing far too many people under his care, it was all he could do to not surrender.

“Come on,” whined one raider with a deep, gravely voice, “We just want to talk to the old broad. Let us in!”

“Not by the hair on our chinny chin chins,” Sturges mumbled absently and under his breath as he fiddled with a locked terminal he’d been trying to hack. Unsuccessfully, so far.

“ Are you fucking kidding me? Jokes?” Marcy scolded. “There are raiders outside trying to kill us.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we built our house out of sticks this time,” Preston remarked dryly, walking over to the door that led out to the balcony and cracking it open to take a peek. More raiders littered the streets, hiding behind stacks of crates and rusted old cars and shooting at the museum’s exterior. A laser musket glowed in one of their hands and he closed the door. His last comrade had been shot just as the last of the settlers entered into the museum and now the damned raiders were using the man’s weapon, a gut-wrenching disgrace.

When he turned back around, he found Marcy glowering at him, arms crossed. She wasn’t crying, but he could tell she wanted to, and he could hardly blame her. Despite all their efforts, Kyle hadn’t made it. His leg wound had become infected, and his parents had to bury him in a shallow grave just on the outskirts of Jamaica Plain. Nothing about the situation fair, but the loss of a child in the middle of it all—he couldn’t imagine— but it wasn’t his fault that they were currently without sanctuary.  He’d done the best he could to protect everyone, and while he prided himself on patience, Marcy was wearing him thin.  He shook his head and turned back to Sturges.

“Goddammit,” shouted the mechanic at the terminal screen that suddenly went blank.

“No luck,” Preston asked, watching green text reappear in a crawl across the screen.

“It locked me out again.” Sturges sighed. “I don’t know if I can crack it.”

Preston clapped him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you take a break? You’ve been at it all night.”

“Thanks, boss,” he answered and collapsed back into a chair by the desk, rubbing at his eyes.

Preston would’ve rubbed his own eyes, too, if he thought it would help, but his exhaustion was more than even a decent night’s sleep and hot meal could fix.

More pounding rang out against the door, this time accompanied by a threat of violence if those inside did not open up. It was not exactly a convincing offer, considering that the raiders would be violent whether he opened the door or not. He pinched the bridge of his nose and attempted to ignore both the obnoxious men at the door and Marcy’s audible complaints about his “pathetic attempts at playing a hero.” It startled him when a gentle pressure fell on his arm and he jumped, opening his eyes to see the old woman smiling up at him.

“Hey Mama,” he said, still blinking, “Everything okay?”

“We’re going to get out of this,” she remarked emphatically at the wall just behind his head. Her eyes never focused when she was like that. “I saw it. We’re going to find our Sanctuary.”

“Where’d you even find chems in a place like this?”

“Hush, Preston. Just listen,” she said, holding a crooked finger to her mouth. “I saw… an angel in golden ones and a sea of bright, bright blue. Right place, wrong time, to save us!  To save you.”

Those last words were the twist of a knife already lodged deep in his chest, one he’d been pretending wasn’t there, one he’d assumed no one else could see. How had Mama heard his constant, nagging wonder if death would be better than continuing his exhausting, hopeless battle to survive. Had he worn his hopelessness on his back the entire time, or did the old woman really have psychic powers? Skeptical as he was, he couldn’t count her vision out. He didn’t really want to. If some “angel” wanted to conveniently fall from the sky and save their asses, he might actually get religious.

“Well,” he said, “Let’s hope our help shows up soon. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold these raiders off.”

The old woman’s mouth twisted into a wry grin and she squeezed his arm. “Thank you for helping us, kid. The others can’t see what I’ve seen yet, but they will.”

Preston watched as Mama shuffled back to her seat on the couch and eased down, leaving her words to ring in his head. He wanted to believe in her visions, to have something to put his faith in, but he’d already lost so much. The Commonwealth had robbed him of his family, his role models, his friends, and now his last shred of hope. Even if they managed to escape the museum and make it to safety, what then? He was the last of the Minutemen, and he couldn’t do it all on his own.  He wouldn’t.

Gunshots outside interrupted his thoughts, followed by the low growl and furious bark of a dog. Dogmeat. He had forgotten that he sent the hound out to find help, hoping that the raiders wouldn’t notice a stray mutt wandering around Concord, and they hadn’t, at least not when he’d gone out just an hour or so before. That they shot at him now must mean he had someone with him. Preston glanced over at Mama who smirked, then to the rest of the settlers who wore stunned expressions. Heart pounding, he rushed back to the balcony door, swung it open and stepped outside to investigate.

Some commotion it was, the small cluster of raiders he’d seen before all with their backs toward the museum, and instead aiming their weapons at Dogmeat, who stood protectively in front of a crouching figure dressed in a bright blue vault suit. He could tell little else about this person, other than the coppery red hair that peeked out behind Dogmeat’s fur and that they were armed with nothing but a security baton.  He tried not to get ahead of himself and believe that this was the same person Mama had seen in her vision, but his pulse jumped anyway. Personal savior or not, this mysterious stranger was a goner if he didn’t do something and fast.

His hands tightened around his musket as he lifted it, aimed, and turned the crank. If there were ever a time when he wished he had an automatic weapon, this was it. He shot the raiders closest to the figure first, each with a slow, precise blast to deadly areas. Head, chest, ribs, each shot filling his nose with the scent of burning ozone, each coming with a flashbulb memory of Quincy, of Lexington. He kept his breath steady and scanned the area. Once he was reasonably confident it was clear enough for the woman— he could see she was a woman now— to make it inside, he called out to her.

“Ma’am!” Dogmeat barked in response but the woman looked around from side to side, clearly disoriented and unable to tell where his voice came from, so he shouted again and waved. “Up here.”

Dogmeat nudged at the woman’s thigh and barked in Preston’s direction until her gaze lifted up to the balcony. He could see the frightened suspicion in her eyes, the doubt that he was anymore trustworthy than those who had their guns pointed at her. Lowering his weapon and raising his hand, he continued. “Listen, I know you’re scared, and you’ve got no reason to trust me, but more of those guys are coming and you need to get inside.”

The woman looked around her, then to the dog who nudged her again and wagged his tail. Worry churned in his stomach as he noticed more raiders approaching from the outskirts of town. Agitated and desperate, he yelled again. “Come on! I’m trying to help you out. Grab a weapon off of one of those raiders and hurry.” He didn’t like being forceful, or barking orders at anyone, especially not a frightened and confused woman who probably hadn’t factored fighting raiders into her schedule for the day; however, he had no choice. She was going to get herself killed if she stood there any longer.

To his relief, his demand seemed to snap her out of whatever shock she was in and back to reality where she looked up at him and nodded frantically before grabbing a pistol and some ammo off one of the bodies near her feet, and headed inside. He knew he should have warned her about the raiders that were in the museum, but he wasn’t thinking clearly, and it would be easier for her to take out a couple of the goons at a time in the narrow hallways than to survive being surrounded outside. He returned to the room where the others waited expectantly for him to give them a recap.

“It’s a woman,” he explained, “Looks like she’s from a vault.”

“Oh thank God,” Marcy spat, “Exactly what we needed! An out-of-touch Vault Dweller who doesn’t know shit about surviving out here.”

Preston clenched his fists, biting his tongue so hard he thought it might bleed. Losing his temper with Marcy wouldn’t do anyone any good, no matter how much he wanted to just explode. Jun sunk down against a desk on the far side of the room, hands in his hair, rocking back and forth, and Sturges hung his head. The only person who seemed to be pleased with the latest turn of events was Mama Murphy, who winked at Preston and leaned back comfortably against the couch cushions.

The wait was excruciating, each uproar and explosion of gunfire tightening the knots in his abdomen.  If he were honest with himself, Marcy was right. The odds of some lady from a vault, of all places, surviving the hostile maze of raiders with nothing but a pistol and a dog were slim. The odds that she might be able to get them safely out of the museum were non-existent. If she made it up to the third floor, it would be pure luck. If she managed to rescue him and the settlers, well, he might have to reconsider his opinion about miracles. Still, the gunshots crept closer and closer, slowly but surely, as he paced around the room. He stopped when the men who’d been terrorizing them just outside the room stirred.

“Well, well, what do we got here,” asked one of the men, “Are you lost, little g—”

Whatever he had been about to say was interrupted by a gunshot, and the thud of his body collapsing to the floor rang out past the door. Alarmed, the other guy who’d been outside shouted, “You killed ‘im! You bitch.”

Another shot rang out, followed by a gargled yelp, and then nothing. There was silence for what felt like an eternity, broken only by the sound of Dogmeat pawing at the door. Preston hurried and moved the barricade of desks and chairs out of the way, unlocked the door, and pulled it open.

His breath caught at the sight of the young woman standing in the doorway. She looked to be close to his age, with short-cropped, red hair that was in disarray and caked with splattered blood at various stages of drying, along with the rest of her. She was wet with sweat, and stood tall despite the exhaustion in her dark brown eyes. Her gaze locked with his and she scowled.

“I am not a bitch,” she grumbled, placing a hand on her hip.

Preston flinched, not expecting those to be the first words out of her.  Cautiously, and with a grin tugging at a corner of his mouth, he ventured a reply. “I, uh, didn’t say you were, ma’am.”

“No, but I just wanted it on the record because those…” she trailed off looking back out into the hallway as if the word she was searching for would be there.

“Raiders?”

“Yeah. Those assholes.” She shook her head and turned to face him again. “They kept calling me a bitch, and that’s just… hurtful.”

“Well,” Preston began, not exactly sure how to bridge the conversation from name-calling to the need to get the hell out of the museum, “I don’t know who you are, but your timing’s impeccable. I’m Preston Garvey. Commonwealth Minutemen.”

A confused expression crossed the woman’s face, and when he offered her his hand, she glanced between his eyes and his hand tentatively, before shaking it.  At the touch, she trembled, and when he moved to pull his hand away her grip tightened, eyes filling with tears.

“Whoa. Hey,” he said gently, keeping a hold of her hand as he led her over to the chair where Sturges still sat, and motioned for him to get up. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, releasing his hand as she sat down and took a few deep breaths. Then, she smiled up at him. “It’s a long story.”

“I’d love to hear it.” Preston knelt down so that he wasn’t looming over her and offered her the most reassuring smile he could. “But first, we have to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

She nodded. “Right.”

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Charlotte. Charlotte Smart,” she answered and then cleared her throat and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, “But, um, I go by Charlie. You can call me Charlie.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Charlie, and thanks for the help with those raiders.”

“I’m not actually sure how I… I mean I’ve never.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard enough that Preston could hear.

“What did I tell you? She’s useless.” Marcy laughed derisively in the background, and he snapped his head to glare at her. She rolled her eyes and sat down beside Jun.

“That’s Marcy,” he explained as he turned back to Charlie, “She’s lost a lot and she’s just angry. That guy by the desk is her husband, Jun. Old Mama Murphy’s over there on the couch, and this is Sturges.”

“Yo.” Sturges looked up from the terminal where he was hard at work again, and waved, before looking back at the terminal which had gone blank. “Damn it all.”

“What’s he trying to do,” Charlie asked, eyebrow quirked.

“He’s trying to hack that terminal to open a security gate downstairs. See, we’ve found a crashed vertibird and a suit of old pre-war power armor on the roof but—”

“It’s out of juice,'' Sturges interrupted, much to Preston’s relief. Technology had never been his strong suit, “But, there’s a fusion core downstairs behind that gate. If we could just get the damn thing open, we could use the power armor to rip the minigun off that ‘bird, and the raiders are toast.”

To Preston’s surprise, Charlie rose out over her seat slowly, and he stood with her, stepping out of her way as she walked over to the terminal. “Can I try?”

“It’s all yours, miss,” Sturges replied, scooting over and leaning against the desk, and Charlie went to work, long fingers clicking rapidly on the keyboard. A gold band glistened on her left hand, and Preston wondered why she was alone.

“Let’s see,” she mumbled to herself, “I’m not sure if these are the same as the ones my husband used to work on back before— well, just a while back. He taught me a little about how to break into a locked system because I had a bad habit of forgetting my own passwords.”

A smile flashed across her face, but it wasn’t happy. There was something beneath it, something she seemed to be trying to muscle her way through, as she continued working until finally she blurted, “Ha! There we go. I’m in.”

Sturges jumped up from his lean and turned to peer over Charlie’s shoulder, amazement washing over his face. “Well, I’ll be damned. When we get out of here, you’ve got to teach me how you did that.”

“I can try.” She stepped away from the terminal and collected her pistol from the desk, reloading and cocking it, then she turned to Preston. “I’ll get that fusion… thing… and head to the roof.”

Caught off guard by her complete shift in confidence from the shaking woman who’d been sitting in the chair just moments before, refusing to let go of his hand, he stammered out, “I… but… okay. Thanks.”

She ran out of the room, Dogmeat trailing behind her, and Preston had to focus much harder than usual to keep his mouth from hanging open. Just as she was out of earshot, Sturges cackled beside him. “That little lady is something else.”

“No shit,” Preston agreed, shaking his head, and then looking around the room to everyone else, stopping at Mama Murphy, whose eyes glittered knowingly, “She might get us out of this after all.”

After just a few minutes of waiting, Charlie burst back through the door, fusion core in her free hand, waving it in the air as she rushed past the settlers to the door that led up to the roof. There was some loud clanking, the whirring sound of power armor starting up and then a clatter as she seemingly tore the minigun from the vertibird. Preston stepped outside on the balcony, and peered over and up at her on the roof. She waved cheerfully, before jumping down into the street and absolutely laying waste to the raiders that flooded toward her. It was messy fighting, and she clearly wasn’t so much aiming as she was, closing her eyes, spinning, and holding down the trigger, but it was effective. He only had to take care of a handful of enemies who managed to climb up to the tops of buildings.

When Charlie finished clearing up the area, she turned around and waved up to Preston. He laughed and waved back in disbelief, at least for a second until a cold rush of dread fell over him as he noticed the beast surging toward her, claws out, drool leaking past it’s gigantic, sharp teeth.  He didn’t have time to say more than, “Charlie. Behind you,” before the deathclaw picked her up, power armor and all, as easily as if she were a rag doll. He watched in horror, gripping at the railing, too far away to get a good shot at the thing.

She struggled with the minigun, pulling the trigger a few times, only for it to shoot a couple of rounds and fizzle out of ammo. She yelped, and tossed the gun at the deathclaw’s nose, which stunned it just enough for her to reach into one of the leather pockets on her belt and pull out what looked to be a frag grenade. Preston panicked. If she threw it at such a close range, she’d be caught up in the blast too. He opened his mouth to shout at her not to do it, but she’d already ripped out the pin with her teeth. Then she leaned back, and tossed the explosive just as the deathclaw opened its mouth. Startled and choking, it threw her to the ground, the armor the only thing protecting her from several broken bones.

Ten long seconds passed as the giant lizard wheezed and clawed at it’s own throat, long enough for Charlie to rise to her feet, exit the damaged suit, and run for cover behind a nearby barricade the raiders had built. Then there was a sickening explosion, a muffled boom followed by the splattering of deathclaw limbs and flesh all over the street and nearby buildings. Flecks of blood even reached as far as to splatter on Preston’s duster and he frowned— He’d just found the damn thing, and it was already going to have stains on it.  Looking up and out at the gory mess, he sighed and muttered to himself. “ I guess that’s one way to do it.”

By the time he made it back inside, everyone had left the upper floors and congregated downstairs, waiting for their hero to return. Mama wobbled on her feet, and Preston hurried over beside her so that she could grab onto him for stability. “Take it easy, Mama,” he urged, patting her hand she’d looped through his arm, “You okay?”

She squeezed his arm and hissed playfully. “I’m fine, Preston. Quit fussin’.’”

“Someone has to fuss over you,” he teased, guiding her to a cushioned chair that sat against a wall and helping her sit down, “Might as well be me.”

“Sugar, I’m about fifty years too old for you to be doing all that flirting.”

“It’s not—”

The old woman chuckled and patted his cheek. “I’m just yankin’ your chain.”

Preston let out an embarrassed laugh, and rose just in time to see the doors to the museum creak open, a thin band of light peeking through, and Charlie’s silhouetted figure walking in way too gingerly for someone who’d just gone toe-to-toe with a giant irradiated lizard and won. When she closed the door behind her, the shadows cast over her vanished, revealing her harrowed face. To see her fight, one would have thought her fearless and indestructible, but it must have been terrifying.

“Well,” she exclaimed as she walked toward the area where the group had congregated, “That sucked.”

Preston hurried forward without thinking, compelled to greet her, to thank her, to apologize. “That…” he trailed off not knowing what to start with, “That was impressive. I’m glad you’re on our side.”

“I’m glad I have someone’s side to be on,” she stated kind of ominously. He couldn’t figure out what she meant. “You’re the first people who haven’t tried to kill me since… I got here.”

“New to these parts then?”

“You could say that.” She laughed, scratching the back of her head and looking down at the floor.

“ Well, it’s good you got here when you did. I think I mentioned that I’m with the Minutemen earlier?”

“You did. I’ve no idea what that means anymore, but…” She shrugged.

“It means we protect the people... at a minute’s notice, and—” He dug into one of his pockets and pulled out a pouch of caps, all he had left, and extended it to Charlie— “We pay our debts.”

Charlie reached out with both hands, placing one atop his and the other beneath the pouch, squeezed and then lowered his arm, smiling and glancing briefly toward the others in the room before bringing her eyes back to Preston. “You don’t have to pay me,” she said.

Alarmed, Preston pulled his arm away from her grasp and returned the caps to his pocket, eyeing her suspiciously. “Why did you help then?”

“Because I could.” She smirked and put a hand on her hip in what was turning out to be a characteristic movement for her. “Or at least I thought I could. The dinosaur was a surprise.”

He laughed, truly laughed for the first time since before Quincy. “Yeah, it’s not everyday a deathclaw strolls into town.”

“Deathclaws? That’s what you call those? Huh.”

“Man, you really aren’t from around here are you?”

“No,” she stated more seriously, glancing back down again and twisting the ring on her left hand. “Definitely not.”

A heavy silence passed between them, and Preston found himself fidgeting uncomfortably, not exactly certain how to react to genuine kindness and generosity from a stranger.  It’d been so long. “You know, you remind me a lot of some of my friends in the Minutemen. They died doing what was right, and now I’m all that’s left.”

“I’m sorry,” she interjected before he could finish his thought, “I kind of know how that feels.”

“Umm, thanks.” It was the first time anyone had apologized to him since everything started, and she didn’t even know what happened. He straightened his hat. “What I was going to say is that you should come with us. We could really use your help.”

“Where are you going?”

Preston tilted his head toward Mama. “Mama Murphy’s been seeing visions of us going to this place called Sanctuary. It’s a rundown old town right now, but she thinks we could build it up again.”

“Visions,” she asked, looking back at the old woman.

“She just thinks she has visions,” Marcy chimed in from across the room, “And Preston and Sturges are too nice to tell her she’s just high off her damn gourd. So we end up wandering around based on the ramblings of an old chem addict.”

“ Hey,” Preston snapped, “If you think you could do better, then by all means—”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Sturges scolded, clearly sick of the hostility, “We’re all on the same side here, so let's settle down. Marcy, do you have a better idea?”

There was a long silence in which Marcy did nothing but cross, uncross her arms, and huff. “Nothing? Okay, then we’re going to this Sanctuary place.” Sturges said after some time and then winked at Preston, a signal that he had the situation under control.  Preston nodded his thanks and returned his attention to Charlie once again, who was still deep in conversation.

“Diamond City,” she asked, that pain he’d noticed before surging to the front of her face, “Is he there?”

“I… it’s not clear, kid, and I’m tired,” Mama answered in that way she always did when she was about to attempt to bum some chems off of someone, “Maybe you bring me some jet later? Maybe I’ll have you some more answers.”

“Jet? What’s—”

“Mama,” he interjected, not wanting the old woman to abuse the good graces of a potential ally, or even a friend. “I told you to stop messing with that stuff. It’s gonna kill you.”

“Oh shush, Preston,” Mama grumbled, “We all die someday, might as well help this young lady out.”

Charlie flashed a grin at him, and then patted Mama on the shoulder, “I wouldn’t want you to do anything dangerous on my account.”

“Oh, come on, sweetheart. Don’t let Preston charm you into good behavior with that pout of his. Handsome or not, he’s just a worry wart.”

To his surprise, Charlie actually looked back at him and tilted her head. He darted his eyes away under the scrutiny of her examination. “He’s not pouting,” Charlie remarked matter of factly, “And I’m perfectly capable of good behavior on my own.”

Mama shook her head as Charlie gave her another gentle pat on the shoulder and walked to stand next to Preston and whisper, “I’m assuming Jet’s a drug?”

He blinked a few times, “Do they not have chems where you’re from?”

“I don’t know enough to answer that question.” She laughed and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, before bumping his shoulder, “I’ll explain later… when we get to Sanctuary Hills.”

“So, does that mean you’re coming with us?” He tried not to let his excitement show too much.

She nodded. “Definitely.”

[stardustryewriting]

A Learning Process (6)

This is the final part

AO3: here

Part 1 2 3 4 5

Combinational Learning

Bakugou hated crying. With a burning passion. His lungs and eyes burned and trying to take a breath seemed impossible. Tears spilling over, out of his eyes and down his cheeks, like a river escaping a dam. It was always, always accompanied by heavy breathing, an inability to draw in breath properly, making it near impossible to talk or even produce sounds resembling words. It always turned into ugly sobbing, him having to clutch something to ground himself.  

Still, he couldn't bring himself to stop. 

Kirishima had walked out on him - thinking Bakugou hated his guts, no less - and there was nothing he could do. He just watched helplessly, frozen in place, unable to do anything. He finally fucked up for good. The worst thing was, he’d seen it coming from the start. He always knew he wouldn’t be able to make it work, eventually he’d destroy even the simplest thing. His friendship with Kirishima. He just wished he could let him know why it was broken now. Not that it mattered anymore.

It shattered easily like glass, and there was a little intrusive thought that had made itself at home in Bakugou’s head, telling him it was always meant that way. As if someone as good as Kirishima really wanted to spend their entire life at Bakugou’s side, friend or otherwise. He knew it was wrong - doomed from the start - the moment he realized what exactly his feelings for Kirishima were. It could have never worked out. 

He wasn’t boyfriend material. He wasn’t even someone you wanted to date, his impulsiveness and general lack at expressing himself more than made sure of that. People usually avoided approaching him unless strictly necessary. Who could possibly want to date him? He wouldn’t have been a boyfriend. He would have been a project. And Kirishima deserved way better than a project. He should have the world. Not a guy with anger issues. 

__________________

The first thing Kirishima had done, after he got safely into his room and locked the door behind him, was block Bakugou on every social media on his device. Which now seemed irrational - surely there were better ways to cope - but back then it was the first thing his mind had provided for him. Create as much distance as possible. Easily said, but they lived next door in the dorms, there was only so much distance to be had. 

The next thing Kirishima did was crawl into his bed, vanish completely under his covers and decide to let his emotions take the reign. He would take whatever his head offered him and then deal with the aftermath later. Unfortunately his head let him have nothing. No crying, no anger, not even the tiny taunting voice telling him that of course, he couldn’t possibly be good enough and he should stop fooling himself. Just emptiness. 

A few stray tears escaped his eyes every now and then and he felt the pressure of more behind his eyes, but for some reason they refused to fall. As if he had been bled empty from all emotions. He just lay there, under his covers staring at his wall - the one he shared with Bakugou, because of course his bed was on that side of the room - and tried to will himself to work through at least something. He came up empty-handed.

He went to Recovery Girl the next day, because despite feeling and thinking nothing, he stayed awake the entire night and he didn’t feel like school. Their resident healer took one look at him and told him to stay ‘home’ and that she would excuse him from school. He took the paper slip to the teacher lounge and handed it to Present Mic, because Aizawa wasn’t there yet, who told him he would hand it over, and wished him a speedy recovery. 

Kirishima felt like scoffing then - as if he had any chance to ever recover from that - but he lacked any and all energy to do more than politely thanking him. Even that sounded toneless and drained to his ears. Judging from Present Mic’s flinch, it sounded even worse for other people. 

He went back to the dorms afterwards, careful to avoid the others, who would start getting ready for their day any minute and collapsed onto his bed again. He stared at his ceiling, distantly wondering, if emptiness was a side-effect of heartbreak. This time he scoffed at his own mind, because naming it heartbreak was a stretch. There was never anything that would warrant this being called a heartbreak. Only his own unjustified hopes, that he should have squashed as soon as they came up for the first time. 

He knew he never stood a chance. 

Because what could Bakugou Katsuki possibly want with him? Bakugou was always in the top three of their class academically and in hero-related exercises. Kirishima was somewhere in the lower half academically and got periodically scolded for rushing into situations without thinking them through. Bakugou had a strong, flashy quirk that would make him the number one eventually. Kirishima would be lucky to not be forgotten, with a quirk as useless as his. Bakugou had the fierce determination to achieve anything he wanted. Kirishima wasn’t even sure he actually belonged in the hero course. 

There was nothing Bakugou could want from him. The realisation should hurt, Kirishima had fully expected it to hurt. He felt nothing instead, like he had the entire day and he wondered if he’d feel nothing forever. 

He wondered if he deserved it, for foolishly getting his hopes up in the first place.

__________________

Bakugou was keenly aware that he hadn’t seen Kirishima all week. When Kaminari had asked - on Monday ten minutes into the homeroom lesson - Aizawa had waved him off, declaring that Kirishima was sick. He left it at that, continuing his lesson on something Bakugou couldn’t remember. Like he couldn’t remember most things that happened that week. 

He did remember Aizawa pulling him out of one of the training exercises, deciding he was too distracted to continue like the others. Despite being wrapped up in his teacher's capture weapon and basically held on display, Bakugou didn’t argue. He could admit when someone was right. He also remembered Jirou giving him the stink eye, and sometimes even the finger, whenever she thought she could get away with it. She got away with it surprisingly often, Iida only lectured her two times the entire week. 

Kaminari, Mina and Sero also kept a careful distance and while normally, being alone didn’t bother him. this time, it made him seriously uneasy. Because it could only mean one thing. They knew what was up. Even worse, he couldn’t be sure how much they knew. Did they talk to Kirishima? Did they figure it out on their own? Was there any way he could get the idiots to spill? Probably not. But while normally, it would make him angry to no end, now he didn’t even have the energy to scream at them. He tried angry glares, but judging from their reactions, they weren’t half as good as he hoped.

This was starting to be a problem. 

It became a real problem on Thursday, when he sat alone on his table, trying to eat his lunch in peace, while avoiding everyone’s stares. He heard more than he saw, the two chairs in front of him being pulled back and someone sitting on them. Usually, he would tell whoever it was to get lost, he wasn’t interested in sharing the table, but he didn’t think he could find the energy for that. So instead, he just gave them a stink eye and hoped that would be enough. It wasn’t. 

In front of him, smiling like he was the embodiment of innocence himself, sat Deku. Next to him, face carefully neutral and his eyes not betraying a single emotion, sat his boyfriend. Bakugou felt like he was in hell already. The two chatted quietly between themselves, throwing glances at him occasionally and Bakugou considered just leaving the table. Or asking where the rest of their bunch was, because surely they would be better company than him. Surprisingly, Todoroki beat him to the punch.

“I told him”, he said, sounding apologetic and Bakugou needed a second to realise what he meant. Their talk. Their fucking talk about fucking feelings that he swore to take to the grave with him and now Deku was in the know. Could his life possibly get any worse than it already was? (The answer was yes, and he wished he never asked the question.)

“Yeah, he did”, Deku confirmed, unnecessarily, because Todoroki may have been a social airhead, but he’d never been a liar. You could trust that much, at least. “You see, Shoto isn’t exactly great with feelings, for reasons”, and Deku managed to say ‘reasons’ in a way that made it clear he would not discuss said ‘reasons’ further, “so I fear he may have accidentally made it worse.”

“No shit, Sherlock. That might have been the most frustrating talk I’ve ever had”, Bakugou spat, familiar anger settling in his chest again. At least that was something. He could deal with anger, he always had. 

“Sorry”, Todoroki said shortly, actually looking a little sheepish.

“Anyways”, Deku interrupted, before either of the two could discuss that any further, “I’m here to offer help. The talk was about Kirishima-kun, wasn’t it?”

That felt like a slap to his face. How did Deku know it was about Kirishima? He never said it, he specifically made sure to never mention a name or even a gender in front of Todoroki. How had Deku figured it out? Was it that obvious? Were the others able to see it as well? Did Kirishima know?

That was a truly frightful thought. What if Kirishima knew, but feigned ignorance as a way of letting him down easy? What if the reason Bakugou hadn’t seen Kirishima in almost a week was not because he hurt Kirishima, but because Kirishima didn’t want to hurt him. Would that be better or worse than their current mess? He honestly didn’t know. He hated it, all the same. 

“How?”, he said, throwing Deku his best angry look, and it really spoke for his current state, that Deku didn’t even flinch. If he couldn’t even intimidate Deku, he must have really lost his stuff. Somehow that didn’t come as a surprise. 

“How do I know?”, Deku asked, but didn’t wait for an answer, “I’ve known you since kindergarten. I know you like to pretend to hate me, but we’ve been friends once. I know you better than you like to admit. And I see the way you act around him. You don’t act like that with just anyone.”

Bakugou wasn’t even upset, he realised, to his surprise. Because Deku was right, Kirishima had been special from the start. Not intimidated by him during the USJ, offering himself as an unwavering horse during the sports festival, coming to his rescue after he was kidnapped. Kirishima was always there, always so reliable, it made Bakugou wonder when he actually fell in love. Because it’s been way before the mall incident, that was for sure. 

It only made the entire thing worse. 

“So what?”, he grumbled, not giving Deku the satisfaction of telling him he was right. He was sure Deku knew anyway. “Even if that were true, how could you possibly help?”

“Like I said”, Deku continued, with the patience of a saint, while also completely skipping over the part where Bakugou attempted to deny his feelings once more, “I know you. And I know Kirishima-kun. Not as good as you do, I’m sure, but good enough.”

“Good enough for what?”, Bakugou inquired, unsure where Deku was going with this, but Todoroki had a self-satisfied smirk on his face that told Bakugou to be cautious. Too bad caution had never been his strong suit. 

“Good enough to know that something went terribly wrong between you two”, Deku answered carefully, gauging Bakugou’s reaction before continuing, “And I wanna help.”

“Bullshit!”, Bakugou yelled, knowing fully well, that he had the attention of the entire cafeteria on him now, “As if I need your damn help!” He stormed off then, not bothering to listen to whatever Deku yelled after him. He wouldn’t even bother with his afternoon classes, he decided, after he made his way halfway over the school grounds. He could deal with missing half a day of classes.

He really needed a break. 

__________________

 Kirishima wasn’t sure how all of them had ended up inside his room. He just knew that Kaminari currently shared his bed with him with half an arm-length of distance between them. While he sat properly with his back to the wall and his legs folded over each other, Kaminari had assumed a position halfway to laying down, seemingly comfortable. Sero sat on the floor, with his back to the bed and his head lying on it, right between Kirishima’s legs and Kaminari’s stomach. Jirou sat on the desk chair, back against one armrest and legs swung over the other. Mina had propped herself up on Kirishima’s desk, arguing with Kaminari over the snacks they brought with them.

It was almost normal. Too normal. It felt like a movie night, like they were just waiting for Bakugou and only the absence of some drama while trying to agree on a movie gave away that it wasn’t actually a movie night and that Bakugou wouldn’t just walk through the door, taking their enthusiasm at being able to start with a disgruntled look and some vague passive-aggressive comment. 

Because Bakugou didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. 

Even after days, it still stung and while Kirishima had avoided any and all talk about their little ‘falling out’ (Kaminari’s words, not his), he got the feeling that his time was up. The gang was there to talk with him and they wouldn’t go until they were satisfied Kirishima was alright. Somehow, he wasn’t happy about that. 

“So...”, Kaminari drawled, after he finally threw the snacks to Mina and everyone else went rigid, when he started talking. Good thing that wasn’t concerning at all. Kirishima was sure he could feel the irony, if he felt anything but numb. “You and Bakugou had a falling out. Care to share?”

Kirishima was sure that Kaminari would look proud of himself, if the situation was any less serious. He thought he saw a bit of pride glimmer through the carefully maintained serious front, but that might have been his imagination. God knows, it played the worst tricks on him, recently.

But, more importantly, did he care to share, as Kaminari phrased it? Or rather, was there anything he had left to lose? He didn’t think so. At least, no one would treat it like some sort of joke on his expense, in this situation. (Kaminari still might, but Kirishima was strangely okay with that.)

So he took a deep breath, tried to straighten his shoulders as much as possible in his sitting position and mentally prepared himself, to say something out loud, that he swore he would only ever say if he actually got over it. He was anything but over it. 

“I have a crush on Bakugou”, he admitted, feeling unexpectedly light like a weight lifting off his chest, “and I think he found out and is disgusted.”

There. That’s it. That’s what has been bothering him all week, even longer than that. And now it was out in the open, all of his friends knew and at the very least it didn’t loom over him in that sense anymore. It still loomed over him in a worse sense, but that was a hurdle for another day. (Or never, if things went Kirishima’s way. But when did things ever go Kirishima’s way?)

“Shit”, Mina declared, which promptly became the general consensus in their little round. Even Kirishima silently agreed, that this entire situation was just shit. 

“What an asshole thing to do!”, Jirou said, looking seriously pissed off and Kaminari agreed with her immediately. Kirishima would have argued that Bakugou had a right not to like him, but he could feel the conversation getting out of control already. So, he resorted to damage control.

“Well, yeah. But I’m fine or I will be. I got though skin, after all”, he joked and at least Kaminari appreciated it, with a little snort and a thumbs up. Sero also chuckled a little, shoulders shaking lightly and Kirishima considered it a win. He would take what he could get. 

“Still! If a girl were into him, I bet it would give him an ego boost”, Jirou argued lamely, trailing off at the end. Kirishima tried not to think too much about the implication of that. He was sure Jirou wasn’t trying to imply anything and it would be unfair to her to have his thoughts run wild with her words. She was trying to help him, not hurt him further.

"Also, seriously, Bakugou? You have the worst taste in men!", Jirou declared, pointing an accusing finger at him. Kirishima would have liked to argue that Jirou didn’t get to judge his taste in men, because she wasn’t even attracted to their gender, but Sero beat him to the punch.

“Can you really judge that? No offense, but you aren’t attracted to men.”

“I’m not attracted to guitars either, but I know a pretty one when I see it”, Jirou argued, effectively shutting down Sero. Kaminari next to him chuckled like he was watching some good show and Kirishima was sure he would enjoy this talk, if he were to enjoy anything. At least they tried cheering him up.

"Well, at least he's nice to look at", Mina shrugged and Kirishima feared the abyss in which this conversation seemed to drift. That was some dangerous territory they were currently trespassing. He didn’t want to go there, not right now. 

“Okay, guys, stay with us!”, Kaminari snapped his fingers for what Kirishima guessed was supposed to be a dramatic effect. If so, it surely wasn’t working. It did get their attention away from considering Bakugou’s general hotness level - off the charts, Kirishima thought and immediately hated himself for it - and to Kaminari, which was a good thing. “What do we do for heartbreak?”

The silence that followed was deafening. So, he wasn’t the only one absolutely out of his depth, which did little to calm him down. Sero looked at Jirou and then at Mina as if he was expecting them to come up with something. Jirou looked around at all of them, clear panic in her eyes. Mina looked way too deep in thought for anything good to come out of this and Kaminari seemed to deeply regret his question. Kirishima honestly didn’t know what to do. 

“Hide stinky cheese in his room”, Sero suggested first, not entirely serious. At least Kirishima hoped he wasn’t.

“Make a new playlist”, Jirou provided reluctantly and Kirishima could see how that would be a comfort for her.

“Scream into a pillow until everything is better”, Kaminari proposed, seeming unsure, but so far it was the only thing Kirishima was willing to try. 

“Movie night and way more snacks than we could reasonably justify in front of Iida!”, Mina put forth brightly. If he were honest, distraction and food coma sounded like actual heaven to Kirishima in that moment. It was quickly agreed upon and three out of the five of them made their way downstairs to horde anything edible they could find. 

“Don’t tell the others”, Jirou whispered, mockingly serious, after the door closed behind them, “but I’m willing to do the cheese thing with you, if you want.” Kirishima smiled, because he didn’t think he could laugh, even if he tried. For the first time in days, he felt something resembling happiness.

Maybe he could be okay.

__________________

Bakugou was absolutely miserable. He mulled over potential ideas, about how he could approach Kirishima, in his head, for hours now. He needed to talk to him again, he knew. Just one last talk, to clarify everything that went wrong the last time - which was everything really - and at least then he’d have some semblance of peace knowing, that that was the only possible outcome. No matter how Kirishima reacted to his feelings, he would take it. Still, he was miserable. 

Because no matter how he looked at it, Deku was right. He would need help. And no matter how often he thought it over in his head, Deku was the best possible help he could get. So, even if every fibre of his being refused to cooperate, Bakugou made his way to Deku’s room, knocking on his door. 

Deku opened, without hesitation, Todoroki in the background looked curiously at him. Great, just great. Taking a deep breath and mentally preparing himself to do something he could never possibly live down. Then, he said the hardest words he ever had to say.

“I need help.”

__________________

Bakugou wasn’t sure what Deku had told Kirishima. Only that Deku promised him he would bring Kirishima outside their dorms, to place out of view for most people. Bakugou knew the place from his morning runs and he was sure Deku knew it from his training with All Might. It was perfect for an undisturbed talk. He didn’t know why he didn’t think of it himself. 

Standing under a tree, next to a bench, Bakugou felt himself shiver. It was fairly cold, as spring nights tended to get, but he knew that wasn’t it. He was actually nervous, because he didn’t know how to talk to Kirishima.

He could hear someone chatter, knew they were coming closer by their voices growing steadily louder and recognized Deku word-vomiting like he tended to do, when he was nervous. He took one last deep breath, before Kirishima and Deku came into view. Kirishima froze up when he saw him, and Deku rushed out an apology, before he quickly stormed off. Bakugou took a few experimenting steps closer, gauging Kirishima’s reaction carefully. Don’t make him feel trapped, Deku advice echoed in his ears. 

“I’m sorry”, Kirishima said tonelessly, awkwardly raising one hand to gesture, “I didn’t realize you’d be here. I’m gonna go.” He was turning, slowly, eyes constantly on Bakugou, without ever making eye-contact, as if he was some wild animal, that would jump him. Bakugou repressed the scoff forming in his throat in favor of actually saying something this time. 

“Don’t be stupid”, came out of his mouth, before he could stop himself, and he was sure he flinched worse than Kirishima did. He cleared his throat and tried once more. “I actually wanted to talk.” No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t look Kirishima in the eyes while saying this, so he looked to the bench he gestured to instead, praying Kirishima would understand him. 

He did. Kirishima always had. And Bakugou almost threw it all away.

Kirishima slowly made his way to the bench, still eyeing Bakugou warily. He sat down carefully, like he expected some sort of prank or maybe a joke at his expense and Bakugou’s chest tightened painfully, reminding Kirishima had never looked at him like that before. Never that distrustful. Bakugou took his own seat on the other end of the bench, feeling like he didn’t deserve being too close to Kirishima. Like he never deserved it. 

“Okay”, Kirishima said, stretching out the little word for all his worth and Bakugou realized that Kirishima had about as much clue about this situation as he had. This was doomed to fail. “You being so weird this past week, that was my fault, wasn’t it?”

Bakugou didn’t know how to answer that. No felt as much like a lie as yes did. 

“I’m an idiot”, Bakugou said instead, because he figured it wouldn’t hurt. And it would help filling the silence until he found a way to say what he actually wanted to say. Kirishima didn’t even crack a smile, he just sighed heavily, like he had an even bigger weight on his shoulder than Bakugou did. 

“You know”, he breathed, like he had no energy to actually say it out loud, “usually I’d disagree and defend you, when someone said something like that. But recently, I don’t feel like disagreeing.” It was accompanied by a heavy sigh that made something in Bakugou’s chest ache. He wanted to reach out, but he knew he didn’t deserve to. 

“You shouldn’t”, Bakugou said, as a way of trying to take something off of Kirishima’s shoulders but the other just shrugged, facial expression unchanged. “Shit, this is hard”, he cursed under his breath, but Kirishima heard anyway. And now, he was facing him, too.

“You don’t have to apologize, if you don’t want to”, he said, steadily holding Bakugou’s gaze and Bakugou knew he couldn’t tear his eyes away if he tried. Had Kirishima’s eyes always been that breathtaking? That was the worst timing for such thoughts. “I don’t care what the others say, you have a right not to be my friend.”

“I liked being your friend”, he answered, dumbly, not knowing what else to say. Why was Kirishima defending him, if he hurt him that badly? He should be furious, Bakugou knew he’d be furious, if their roles were reversed. He’d be screaming at Kirishima if the other had the audacity to talk to him like that, after everything that happened. Kirishima always had an exceptionally high tolerance for Bakugou’s bullshit. (It made him hope they could work.)

“It sure didn’t seem like it.” Nothing, not a single emotion laced Kirishima’s tone, like he never heard before. That was worse. Bakugou would rather take screaming, would love to have Kirishima scream at him right now. At least that would give him something to work with. It would feel less like Kirishima gave up, already.  

“I suck with words”, he offered, as a way of explanation. 

“You do”, Kirishima agreed easily, “but there is really no other way to possibly understand that.” His tone was still utterly devoid of anything, but Bakugou saw some light reflecting from his cheeks. It took him a while to realize that it was a tear reflecting, that Kirishima had started crying. Kirishima was crying. and he was to blame. 

“There is”, he said, voice heavy with something he couldn’t put his finger on. His hand came up to wipe at his face. It came back wet. He was crying, too, he realized, seconds later. 

“Really”, Kirishima questioned, turning towards him. He was taken aback for a second, Bakugou could only suppose it was the tears. They would have startled him, too. Kirishima composed himself quickly and Bakugou mourned the lost empathy for only a second. He hadn’t deserved it. “What other way is there?”

“I’m -”, Bakugou tried to say, caught off guard by the lump in his throat. He tried to swallow around it, but it only seemed to grow bigger. He could feel his breathing growing heavier, felt himself losing the last of his composure. His pride warned him, to end it now, before he completely lost face. He ignored it.

“I’m in love with you. And I had a hard time coming to terms with that.” 

Kirishima didn’t say anything, despite his mouth being opened wide. His eyes were blown wide, too, but he was completely still, like he was frozen. It may have been due to the tears leaking out of Bakugou’s eyes uncontrollably now. Or maybe it was the ragged breathing turning into sobs, that he couldn’t keep in for the life of him. Or the confession was really just that absurd to Kirishima. 

“I’m sorry”, Kirishima answered eventually, and that was so absurd, that Bakugou was sure he stopped crying for a second to process it. Like his body needed it’s full capacity to work through all the implications the simple statement from Kirishima held. He wasn’t sure what implications it held. 

“What?”, he said, like an idiot. 

__________________

“I’m sorry you’re in love with me”, Kirishima said again, trembling under the weight of emotions he desperately tried to hold back, “I’m sorry it’s me. I’m sorry I’m not what you wanted.” He wasn’t even sure what Bakugou had meant, originally, when he said it was hard to come to terms with his feelings. But he was sure it was his fault. It must have been. 

“You’re better”, Bakugou breathed eventually, still crying. Kirishima was sure he misheard. Bakugou couldn’t possibly have referred to Kirishima as something good.

“What?”, he said now, not knowing what else to do.

“You’re better”, Bakugou insisted, something like determination making its way into Bakugou’s eyes. Kirishima knew he would melt at the spot, if the situation were any less dire. 

“You just said you had problems coming to terms with your feelings. Why would you have those, if I were any good?”, he insisted, trying not to look at Bakugou, in case he was right. He couldn't handle a second heartbreak in a single week. He had barely handled the first one. 

“No”, Bakugou yelled, sounding exasperated. Not that Kirishima could blame him. He’d rather not deal with himself either, but unfortunately, he didn’t have much of a choice. Bakugou could walk away. Kirishima wouldn’t blame him. 

“No, they weren’t problems related to you. I’m the problem”, Bakugou argued, but it sounded hollow to Kirishima.

“You almost killed Monoma because he called me your boyfriend jokingly”, he argued, because that was an overreaction, no matter how you looked at it. And it still hurt, somewhere deep inside, that wasn’t actually that deep. Kirishima had tough skin and nothing else. Nothing at all. 

“That bastard”, Bakugou grunted, looking angry for just a second, before he went back to looking … defeated? Sad? Kirishima wasn’t sure. “He taunted me, and I hadn’t even admitted to myself that I had feelings for you then. He just made it worse.”

“Still”, Kirishima said, just feeling heavier, “That is fucked.”

“No shit”, Bakugou answered, sounding resigned and leaning his head back against the headrest of the bench, looking up at the sky. At times like these, Kirishima always regretted living in such a big city, where you never saw stars in the night sky. They wouldn’t help, not at all, but he’d still like them. 

“Even worse. When I first realized I had feelings, I went and consulted the internet. Big mistake. Then, I went to Todoroki, which was even worse.” 

“You went to Todoroki for feelings talk?”, Kirishima asked, angling his head so he could see Bakugou nod, “That sounds horrible.”

“It was”, Bakugou snorted and Kirishima registered faintly that both of them stopped crying like they were bled dry, “He thought he was going to get a shovel talk. I also know more about his feelings for Deku than I ever wanted.” Kirishima couldn’t suppress the little laugh bubbling up at that. He just couldn’t stop imaging Bakugou and Todoroki awkwardly talking about butterflies in their stomachs and warm feelings in their chests. He saw Bakugou looking at him from the side, eyes big and full of something Kirishima didn’t dare name. 

“What gave you the clue?”, he asked instead, avoiding looking at Bakugou for fear that what he saw was just his imagination playing tricks on him. He couldn’t make it through that.  

“Aizawa”, Bakugou shrugged. 

“Aizawa?”, Kirishima echoed, propelling himself forward on the bench out of sheer shock. Bakugou also lifted his head again, looking at him, one corner of his mouth twitching. 

“Yeah. He gave pretty good advice too. I came to the conclusion I liked you. I also came to the conclusion it wouldn’t work out. He said a lot of things about what the right person should be like”, Bakugou confessed, swallowing heavily and Kirishima felt the stone on his heart, heavier than ever before. 

“You don’t think I’m the right one”, he concluded, because that was where Bakugou was headed with his speech. That was where it was ultimately stagnating. Bakugou would rise the ranks, rise to heights unknown to Kirishima and he would only drag him down. He knew it. Bakugou knew. Better to end it, before it became a problem. 

“I don’t think I’m the right one”, Bakugou said immediately, voice heavy like he was actually doubting himself. 

“I appreciate you trying to let me down easy. But you don’t need to”, Kirishima told him, voice as gentle as he could possibly muster. He could deal with being let down. There was no need to sugarcoat something he always expected. 

“I’m a project”, Bakugou said, stressing the word ‘project’ in a way that let Kirishima know it was important. He still had no idea what Bakugou meant. Bakugou must have seen the confusion in his face. 

“I’m no good with feelings. I have no idea what a boyfriend even does. I blow up at every opportunity, sometimes literally. I have barely any patience. We are only friends because you didn’t get lost when I told you to”, he explained, sounding more stressed than Kirishima had ever heard him before. He was serious, Kirishima realized, he really thought he was the problem. He could barely fathom it. Bakugou Katsuki thought he was the problem. Truly a wild concept.

“I’d have you anyways. I’m stupid like that”, he said, lowly, knowing Bakugou would catch it. They always understood each other somehow. 

“Really?”, Bakugou argued, sounding defeated, “You want someone like me? How would you even introduce me to your parents?”

“As my boyfriend”, Kirishima answered easily, “who I’ve been in love with since the sports festival.” That gave Bakugou a pause for whatever reason. Kirishima wrung his hands, trying not to look too insecure about what he had just revealed. 

“The sports festival”, Bakugou mumbled, suddenly close and Kirishima wondered, in the back of his mind, when they had gotten that close to each other. He was sure they had started out on opposite sides. “Yeah, it was the sports festival for me too.”

Kirishima had wanted to say something about that revelation, but suddenly there was a hand in his hair, on the back of his head and all thoughts just seemed to vanish out of his head. Bakugou was way closer than he sounded, Kirishima could count his eyelashes if he had any brainpower left. He saw lightly chapped lips and the light crevices on Bakugou’s forehead. He felt Bakugou’s breath on his face, as he inched closer. He was about to lose his patience. 

“Can I?”, Bakugou breathed in the space between them, like a secret and Kirishima could do nothing but nod, unable to find any words in the mess that was his head. Bakugou surged forward, claiming his lips. It wasn’t perfect. Bakugou had gone too fast, their teeth clashing a little and Kirishima retreated for a second, before coming back slower. He placed their lips together more carefully, hand clutching into Bakugou’s shirt and Bakugou held his head in both of his hands. 

They separated only an inch, when they had to breathe and Kirishima would bet there was the stupidest happy expression on his face. Bakugou smiled too, seemingly content, before he went in for another, more passionate kiss. Kirishima gasped, caught off-guard by Bakugou’s sudden boldness and Bakugou took the opportunity to get his tongue into Kirishima’s mouth. Kirishima felt him smirk and he couldn’t help but laugh. 

Bakugou let him, joined him even. Then he dove in again, kissing both corners of Kirishima’s mouth before claiming his lips again and Kirishima knew he wouldn’t be able to stop smiling for a while. He didn’t think he wanted to. 

“I’m yours”, Bakugou said eventually, after they managed to separate for longer than just a few seconds to gasp for air. “I’m your problem now.” Kirishima giggled, thinking about how dramatic his boyfriend was and then laughed again, when he realized Bakugou really was that now. His boyfriend. He’d never been happier.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way”, he confirmed and then leaned forward again, to steal some more kisses. He’s waited way too long for those.

__________________

Bakugou loved dating Kirishima. He really did. He would have thought cuddling would bother him eventually, but he could never have Kirishima quite close enough. Not even after almost a year. Everyone else complained about their PDA, but Bakugou only gave them a smirk and kissed Kirishima once more, to shut them up. Life was good, most of the time. 

Rarely, there were times when Bakugou wished his boyfriend was just a little different. No drastic changes just being able to tell the idiots - who had renamed the Bakusquad to the Kiribakusquad without anyone’s permission - to get lost and leave them alone. Like when they had date night, and Bakugou had thought about a great plan to get Kirishima out of his sweatpants after the movie was over and then Kaminari stormed in. He’d really love it if they wouldn’t do that.

“I need some advice on my bromance with Shinsou”, Kaminari said, as a way of opening the conversation and Bakugou thought about how much easier his life would have been, if he could speak about things as directly as that.

“How often did you and Shinsou have sex again?”, Kirishima asked, with a smile that told Bakugou he knew the answer already. Kaminari still mulled it over in his head briefly, looking like he was counting. 

“Six times.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that counts as a bromance”, Kirishima concluded, snuggling deeper into Bakugou’s side and Bakugou tightened his arm around his boyfriend instinctively. Kirishima made a low humming sound, like he always did when he was comfortable and Bakugou could admit within the safety of his own mind, that it was his favorite sound. 

“Just man up and confess”, he told Kaminari, while burying his nose in Kirishima’s freshly washed hair, smirking slightly when he heard Kaminari’s gasp. 

“You”, he said, pointing at both of them accusingly, “don’t have any right to say that!”

Kirishima’s laughter was music to Bakugou’s ears, light and happy, the way Kirishima should always be. It made the entire procedure worth it, Bakugou thought, while pressing a kiss to his boyfriends hair. Kirishima raised his head then, to steal another kiss on the lips and Kaminari scoffed in the background. 

“You know what? Forget it. I’ll go ask Jirou.”

Still, life was mostly great these days.

[secretblog1212]

All in Good Humor

BLEASE can I get “You think you’re funny?” with Geralt & Jaskier? -Amazingmsme

Of freaking COURSE! this turned out way longer than I expected it to but like y’know oops. Hope you like it!!!

Okay, so Jaskier should have known that going after Roach would be taking things a bit too far, but he didn’t happen to be thinking of that at the time. No, instead his only thought process was ‘this will get Geralt back for even thinking of touching my lute.’ Roach seemed perfectly content with it as well, so jaskier didn’t quite see what all the problem was, but by the time Geralt had gotten back from fighting some monster on their way to the next town over he had been put in a mood.

Jaskier was tuning his money maker when Geralt walked up to where he had left the two of his companions together less than an hour ago. The crunching of sticks and leaves as he made his way closer had Jaskier barely keeping his grin off his face. He couldn’t wait to see what his Witcher would do. 

The snapping stopped all at once and the air was silent waiting for some response to be had. Geralt walked towards his beautiful steed, patting her nose and bringing his hands up towards her hair which had been braided with forest wildflowers. He hummed at her and she snorted back, pushing herself against his shoulder. 

Now, this is where Jaskier started to think he might have gotten away with it. Geralt seemed to appreciate that Roach approved. At least, that was what he thought until Geralt turned away from his horse and the Witcher and his Bard were face to face. 

Geralt took slow, strong steps to where Jaskier was sitting against a tree. Panic began to boil in Jaskiers belly. Surely Geralt wouldn’t do anything horrible, maybe tell him off for putting Roach in the cross hairs of their games, but no harm no foul right? Those thoughts began to turn more fearful and questioning with every rustle of the leaves beneath Geralt's feet. Perhaps using Roach was a no no he hadn’t thought of before, but he had thought it was a cute idea. She was truly a beautiful horse and deserved to be pampered from time to time. 

Jaskier looked his doom face on as Geralt stood towering over top of him. He’d allow Geralt to make the first move, caution would be needed until he knew how deep he had gotten himself. 

Geralt's voice was gravely, raspy like he got after fighting a good fight. The adrenaline was still pumping its way through his veins. 

“You think you’re funny?” He asked. The question itself showed that although he may not be angry at Jaskier, he wouldn’t let him get away with any of his actions. 

If Jaskier had any sense of self preservation he would have made the smart choice of either apologizing, or switching the conversation to how beautiful Roach looked. But sadly, Jaskier did not have a single cautionary bone in his body. 

“I think I’m quite hilarious actually.”

“Hmm.” 

Jaskier, as he always did, kept going. “Honestly surprised I haven’t started to take up being a comedian yet, perhaps a jester or something if i were to ever settle down?”

“More like a town foul to me.”

With a gasp of shock, more for dramatic effect now than anything, “Why I am offended Geralt! Wh- How dare you call me a foul. A *foul*!”

Geralt just hummed at him again, not even dignifying him with a response, honestly the nerve of some people. 

Jaskier carefully set his lute on the ground, he would need his arms for this performance. “Just because you have a bad sense of humor,” he began as he got himself to his feet, ignoring how Geralt still towered over him. “Does not mean that others would not find my jokes funny. And if you believe so, oh, you are sadly mistaken! You couldn’t make a hyena laugh if you tried you-you always serious big Mr.Tough guy!”

Geralt just tilted his head as if contemplating something. “I have my own methods.”

Jaskier had to laugh at that. “Methods? How, boring people to death till they give you pity laughs?”

That was the wrong thing to say. Geralt wasn’t angry, of course not over some playful dispute, but Jaskier had seen how his eyes shifted from bored and slightly annoyed to playful and observant. He had started a competition he wasn’t ready to handle. 

Geralt set his shoulders back. “Alright. How about we make a deal then Jaskier, if I can make you laugh before we sleep for the day then you will have to complete a request of mine.”

A double edged sword if Jaskier had ever seen one, a deal that he knew he would lose, but what was pride if it didn’t make you make poor decisions in order to prove a point. 

He narrowed his eyes, he was curious as to what Geralt would do anyway so why not.

“Deal.”

Geralt smirked, and then backed away without saying another word. 

“Uhh, hello there?” Jaskier grumpily asked as he followed the taller man. “Are you going to do anything or just give up?”

Geralt looked over his shoulder, then up at the beaming sun in the sky. “Well, since I have all day and night before I need to complete my task I figured I could take my time. I am going to head down to the lake about half a mile to the east to wash up now.”

Jaskier was dumbfounded, although he should have expected Geralt to drag this out as long as he could. Instead he scoffed and crossed his arms as Geralt gathered a set of new clothes to change into. 

He didn’t notice when the Witcher had walked up behind him until he was leaning down with a hand on his waist to whisper in his ear causing goose bumps to crawl across his whole body. 

“Don’t worry, I will put my full focus on you here soon my love.”

To say that Jaskier was on edge was an understatement. After Geralt had left it had taken him almost the full hour he was washing to get the blush to leave his face. What exactly Geralt was playing at Jaskier didn’t know, but it hadn’t made him want to laugh. All it made him want to do was find the nearest hotel. 

When Geralt came back, hair damp and skin washed of the dirt and grime of the past week Jaskier was sure he was trying to seduce him rather than make him laugh. But instead of making a move Geralt just went to go fetch some firewood for the night.

Things continued on in a similar fashion for hours, the taunting actions Geralt showed, well aware that Jaskier couldn’t take his eyes off of him, began to be more than just visually distracting. By the time he was getting ready for bed he had forgotten entirely about their whole little competition. 

    Jaskier was pulled close to Geralt, sitting sideways across his lap by the end of the night. Geralt held him with one hand on his back and the other across Jaskier’s legs, watching as the younger bard began to blush light pink across his cheeks. 

‘Get yourself together,’ Jaskier told himself, ‘He shouldn’t be able to fluster you so easily.’

But the bard's face only gained more color as Geralt began to hum in his ear, teasing him about how perfectly the two seemed to fit together. “My hand fits in your hand, and on your head like ale in a tumbler. And even now you sit in my lap as if it were a chair made specifically for you.” Geralt pulled him in closer.

“Any my hand right here, fits perfectly against your side,” he said, but something was different about his voice. It was lower, but not in the way he spoke to the things he fought. No, it was more like he was imitating a monster himself. 

His voice was a growl, sending shivers from his neck to his toes once his next words finally hit him with the force of a mountain troll.

“Just perfect to make you like, like music to my ears.”

In his defense, Jaskier was much too taken aback to properly respond in time. It was a rude trick, a dirty rotten cheating trick. Although the realization had hit him it was too late to try to escape the Witchers hands and wiggling fingers. 

With a squawk of betrayal he tried to push himself further into Geralt, away from the hand that had snuck around his side to squeeze and poke the squishy meat of his body. 

He was able to bite down the giggles that tried to jump out of his chest, and focus on squirming away from the feeling. Memories of earlier that day came rushing back, of fuck why did he make a bet against a Witcher, Geralt none the less. Was he a fucking idiot, no just a town foul. 

He in his squirming he brought himself to have his back against Geralt's chest, best for rolling over to escape right? Well not so much. Instead it just so happened to give Geralt his whole chest to explore, and freed his other hand up from where it had been holding him from flopping backwards out of reach. He tossed his head back onto Geralt's shoulder as he valiantly fought the losing end of his internal war, laughter was sitting right behind his teeth trying to desperately pry his lips apart. 

“Come on Jask, you know you won’t be able to hold out much longer. If you break now maybe I’ll take it easy on you for insulting my humor.”

Jaskier knew he was asking for it, really, but again his pride decided now would be a good time to take the map out of his hands and go off road. He shook his head, ending with his face pressed firmly into Geralt's neck to hide the fact that he was smiling, although Geralt could have figured that one out himself, and blushing more than a maiden at a bar. 

His hands began to wander away from just his sides, one heading toward his center, poking around at the squishy section of his stomach while the other went off on its own down past his hip and to the top of his thigh. 

The sudden shift was enough to break the seal of his lips with a yell. 

“FUHuhucKIHING Gerahahlt!”

Jaskier felt himself losing control, his leg kicked out and he did his best to curl up in an attempt to get away from the devilish fingers, but Geralt easily just held him back against himself. 

Geralt could have stopped there, he had already won so what was the point in continuing. Oh, right, Geralt liked to watch Jaskier suffer. How could he have forgotten. 

Geralt just held him there, occasionally switching spots to test which ones got different reactions. He made little comments too, just little “Oh your ribs must be a bad place if you tried to fling yourself away that hard.” or “Remind me to go for your knees when you start to act up on Roach next time, that should get you acting right.”. The little things like that, or how he analyzed Jaskiers different laughs that he had depending on where he was being tickled. 

Geralt learned that when he dug into Jaskier’s legs he would cackle and kick out a lot, but if he went for a softer spot like his stomach he would giggle and melt almost immediately. He loved to see how they made him blush too, even without the little comments areas that were softer tended to make the man much more red in the face than just laughing could explain. With one hand tilting his head up, too weak to try to really fight him off, Geralt was able to see how Jaskiers eyes squinted shut, and his face was dusted with a light pink which disappeared below the collar of his undershirt. He looked almost graceful, like a Nymph from some of the older stories Geralt had heard. Innocent and playful as he seemed Jaskier began to peek an eye open through his laughter.

Now that wouldn't do, Geralt didn’t like to be caught looking as hypocritical as that sounded. As quickly as he could recover, which was much too quick for Jaskier to even notice what was going on in the first place, Geralt had found his escape plan. 

“I know I’ve already won, but I know you love a big finish.”

He wedged both of his hands underneath Jaskiers arms and began to press against the top most rib with vigor. The rapid switch caused Jaskier to let out an honest to god snort which Geralt would have to come back to later seeing how Jaskier moved to cover his mouth at the sound rather than to get the hands away from him. 

It only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to get Jaskier cackling like some witch in a wooden cabin. 

His fingers stilled and Geralt held his huffing Bard against his chest while he caught his breath. Jaskier didn’t try to move away, even after the same person had just attacked him, he knew the threat was over now. Geralt put a hand in his hair and gently rubbed at his scalp, occasionally pulling at the tangles that had found a way into his precious locks. His other hand held onto Jaskiers own, the fingers intertwined. 

Geralt leaned them both back together, Jaskier malleable like dough in his hands. Geralt was preparing to sleep now, Jaskier almost fully dead to the world himself when he heard the faint whispers of his bards voice. “Your humor still sucks though.”

He chuckled deeply from inside his chest. Jaskier might never learn his lesson, but they could always try again tomorrow if he wished to be stubborn.

[ymiwritesstuff]

A Close Call

ALRIGHT! This is my first time trying to write for the wonderful Gyro Zeppeli. I got the idea and the inspiration from the lovely @fortune-fool02​, thank you so much, I wouldn’t have been able to do this without your help. I really hope you guys like this and please tell me if I should continue writing for Gyro. Please enjoy.

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 7: Steel Ball Run

Gyro Zeppeli x Reader

Summary: The trip to the Rocky Mountain Village was doomed to not end normally and as everything takes a turn for the worse, Gyro is worried about your safety.

The unpleasant feeling of his cracking skin crawling up his neck makes Gyro’s eyes widen and his heart beat fast. He frantically looks at Johnny who’s going through the same inhuman transformation and then at his hand that has also began to completely change its form. Gyro feels the cracks move to his face, stretching the corners of his mouth towards his ears and making tiny golden teeth sprout from his gums. “You have to be kidding!” he shouts, his voice already being distorted to sound like an unknown creature by whatever was happening to him. From the corner of his emerald eye he could see the blue reptile responsible for his and Johnny’s predicament approaching, making the Italian look for opportunities to escape the possibly deadly situation.

“Gyro!”

His cracked head turns towards the familiar voice, his green eyes widening in shock as they land on your approaching form. This was bad. Gyro remembers you leaving to check up on your horses and now you’ve returned only to see him and Johnny in grave danger. The sheer terror painted across your face as you witness the state the two males are in. Their fair skin was painfully cracked, their voices twisted by something, low growls bubbling in their throats and Gyro’s worry-filled face looking at you. The chaos around you and the horrifying image before you makes you take a step forward in an attempt to help. But the sound of Gyro’s voice quickly stops you.

“(Name), don’t! Stay away!” Gyro is relieved to see your movements stopping, however you were still in danger. Despite the obvious worry you felt, you still trusted him, deciding to heed his warning and take a few steps back. But the uncomfortable anxiety and confusion roaming around your mind makes you want to know exactly what’s going on. Gyro can see the puzzled look on your face, but knows the amount of danger you were currently in. He wouldn’t have any time to explain as he would soon transform into a prehistoric reptile and when in such state, he wouldn’t be able to protect you from Diego or himself.

“What’s going on?! Gyro what is happening to you?!” You shout, unsure what to do. You want to run to him and help, unwilling to just watch the discomfort he was in. Your desperate desire to help the man you love is teasingly poking you, trying to get you to give in and act recklessly. Gyro flinches as he feels the cracks on his face worsen, ripping his skin painfully. He could feel a change in his vision as well. It became clearer, but at the same time he could feel bits of his consciousness fading away, making his admittedly sharp vision blur. He painfully grabbed his head, making your brows frown in worry and causing your feet to start moving towards him yet again. You had to help. You refused to just stand by and do nothing. “Please Gy-”

“Stop! (Name), you have to stay away, you hear me?! Get.. Get the hell away before-” Before Gyro even had the time to fully state his warning, the blue Utahraptor locked its eyes on your now terrified form. This was bad. When your (E/C) eyes widened in fear Gyro knew he had to do something. There was absolutely no way in hell you’d be able to outrun Diego’s beastly form. If he so much as brushed against you, it’d all be over. You’d turn into a dinosaur -if he didn’t rip you to pieces, that is- and Gyro would never forgive himself for letting something happen to his (Name). He had to protect you, even if it meant falling victim to this unknown stand ability.

“Shit.” Gyro said, glancing at Johnny who looked equally worried. Your heart hammered in your chest as you stared at the beast before you, your body completely freezing in fear. Gyro’s eyes lit up with hope. Yes that’s it. You only needed to stay completely still as Diego wouldn’t be able to see you. Gyro locked his eyes on yours, giving you a reassuring nod, telling letting you that there was still some hope. The last thing he needed was you or him panicking. Thinking fast, Gyro grabs one of his steel balls with his cracked hand and swiftly throws it at the dinosaur, trying to make it lose its interest in you. “Hey, asshole! Over here!” He shouts, waving his hands as he did so. His little plan is successful as Diego dodges the attack but turns his scaley head towards the light-haired male, making a grin appear on his already wide mouth. His eyes moves to the side and he notices an opening in the canyon. “That’s our escape route, Johnny!” He grabs the blond and heads for the crack but not before looking at you with determined eyes.

“Get away from here, we’ll catch up to you! I promise!”

And with that, the two males jump in the opening, leaving you confused and worried. But safe. And that was all that mattered to Gyro.

~

It had been a long time. Too long. The growing feeling of worry was slowly engulfing you, making you fear the worst. You can’t get the downright strange events out of your head as the image of Gyro’s cracked skin and sharp teeth was deeply attached to your entire being. It was frightening and it sent cruel shivers down your spine. You weren’t able to relax as the constant worry for Gyro’s safety was teasingly surrounding you, ridding your mind from peace. To and extent. you felt guilty. There had to be something you could’ve done. Maybe if you never left the two alone this might have turned out differently.

You sigh as you glance at the two horses next to you, missing their riders almost as much as the feeling of Gyro’s arms around you. You had to trust Gyro. He never broke his promises. He would return, you just had to convince yourself of it. Whatever happened to him and Johnny, they would overcome it and return. They had to.

A spark of hope ignites into flames as you notice two very familiar figures approaching. Seeing the outline of Gyro’s hat as he was carrying Johnny on his back almost makes your joy-filled heart burst out of your chest. You wanted to run to him and pull him into an embrace, but you had to think about Johnny as the poor boy would most likely fall off his friend’s back, hence you decided to wait for them to get closer.

Despite you patiently waiting for the two, as soon as Gyro put Johnny on his wheelchair, you practically lunged yourself at him, catching the Italian by surprise. Your arms wrapped around his torso, refusing to let go. This earned you a chuckle from the male. “Nyoho~ Did you miss me?” He asked, despite knowing exactly how much you yearned his touch. And frankly, he had missed yours as well. He wraps his arms around you, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “You idiot.. I was so worried” You lift your head in order to look at his smug yet loving smile. “And you think I wasn’t? How could’ve I lived with myself if I had let Dio put his claws on you?” You rose your eyebrows in confusion at his words. “Dio?” Gyro then realized his little error in his words.

“Oh yeah.. You don’t know..” Gyro laughed sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. He was about to start explaining the jockey’s bizarre transformation but quickly stopped himself as there was something more important in his mind. “Eh.. I’ll tell you later..” Without a warning, Gyro’s lips came in contact with yours in a kiss that he was desiring from the very moment he separated from you. You giggle into his lips and wrap your arms around his neck, relishing the moment.

Gyro was relieved to have you in his arms, safe. The events today scared him more than anything else ever had. He was happy that he was able to keep you safe from himself and the other dinosaurs. Gyro would not let any harm come your way as he would do his utmost in order to keep you safe and protected. He loved you and you loved him and no matter what missfits he would get into, Gyro would make sure that nothing ever harmed you.

[thefantasygirl3]

The fearsom five's christmas hijynx

Genre/warnings: Comedy, Slice of life.

Word count: 7 792

Summary: The other fearsome five are hiding in fear, scared over what Quackerjack might have gotten them for christmas. When he offers them their gifts, they get nervous and make up the excuse of christmas shopping to keep him distracted. Meanwhile they find ways to protect themselves from the dastardly gifts.

Notes: This one really came out later than I’d expect and became far longer than expected! But here it is and I hope it satisfies someone.

The city of st. Canard. It was covered in a white sheet of cold frozen flakes. The day of christmas was quickly approaching and the citizens were all running about in their holiday craze. Many were preparing their houses for the cheerful holiday, others were doing some last minute christmas shopping and some others were preparing traps so they could finally see santa in the feathers. Many active people out and about. 

In fact, even some of the villains were preparing for their christmas plans. 

Negaduck was walking through the dark alleyways, stealthily making his way towards the hideout of his evil team. The villain was scoffing to himself and making disgusted sounds as he stomped his way through. "BLEGH! Christmas junk all over the place! It makes me sick to my stomach seeing all the lights and colorful decorations and APPALLING GLITTER! Makes me want to burn everything to the ground" he complained to no one as he kept heading towards his hideout, making sure he moved undetected through the more populated areas before he finally reached the nest.

Entering the building, he kept talking out loud and started to laugh menacingly to himself. “But it doesn’t matter! All this meaningless malarkey is at least going to be a good distraction for my next heist! Mwua ha ha ha ha! Yes! They will be too busy ripping up presents and stuffing themselves full, no one will be around to stop me from robbing the bank! It's the… perfect… crime…" as Negaduck kept monologuing to himself, his steps started to slow to a stop as he reached the middle of the hideout. The duck immediately took note of the fact that the place was pretty much empty. There should be people here already, he had told them to be there early! "Damn ditzy dopes! I should be getting the chainsaw ready for them when they arrive!" he grumbled angrily as he rounded the corner, heading towards the workspace. 

As soon as he did so, something caught his eye. Out of one of the boxes, a violet petal was peeking out. It was quite obvious and it made Negaduck rub his temples in exasperation. Walking over towards the box, the duck reached out and grabbed the petal in his fingers, immediately plucking it harshly. And with that, Bushroot shot out of the box with a loud "YOUCH!" and landed on his butt, outside the box while rubbing his hair in pain. "Hello, vegetable. Mind telling me WHAT YOU WERE DOING HIDING IN A BOX!?!" Negaduck yelled at the plant scientist on the floor, tapping his foot as he awaited an answer. "N-Negaduck!” Bushroot yelped as he jolted up and crawled back, bumping into a big wooden panel that fell over and revealed Megavolt, curled up on the ground. "Negaduck?!" he exclaimed surprised as he shot up from his place on the floor. "Negaduck! Y-you're here early!" Liquidator added on as his head materialized out of the puddle underneath the fridge.

"Yes I am! And you'll be seeing an early grave if you don't tell me what you're doing!" the duck who's name was repeated earlier demanded as he grabbed a hold of Megavolt and pulled him off of the ground. "Don't you realize! It's christmas! HE might be here soon! We'll be doomed" the plug-head explained in fear as he was shaking on his knees and in the other's hand. "BHA! You idiots gave away our HIDEOUT!?!" the yellow clothed duck shouted in rage, launching Megavolt back into the mutant plant. "Which one of you gave it away?! It's probably that stupid clown! Still hiding from me like a coward" he growled in a low, very aggressive voice while looking around the room and punching a box or two. "No, boss! It's him were talking about! Quackerjack!" Liquidator tried to explain as he crawled out from under the fridge, cowardly moving closer to the other teammates. 

"What? You're afraid of that dope? You've gotta be kidding me" Negaduck started to laugh at the quivering trio, waving his hand dismissively at them before walking over to the work table. "Don't you understand!? Quackerjack makes toys! You give away toys on christmas! And we got a text before, saying he got some very special gifts for us!" Bushroot sputtered out as he ran behind the others and kept shaking in terror. "Yeah! And we have no idea what's in store! WE NEED TO PREPARE FOR HIS ASSAULT!!!" the rat panicked rather quickly as he waved his arms in the air. "He could be here any sec-" as the water man began his part of the explanation, the loud sound of a door being smashed open was heard, followed with a shout of "I'M HEEEERE~!". 

The team flew together into a big, fearful hug and shivered hard enough for the sound of their shuddering to be painfully clear. The boss of the team just shook his head and looked at them annoyed, but in slight amusement. From around the corner, Quackerjack emerged with the biggest grin on his face, two small gift boxes and one larger one. "Geez you guys! If you were all so cold, why didn't you wear a jacket or something? WOOH HA HA!" he laughed at them all and walked over to the table, placing the gifts on it while ignoring the angry duck's protests. "O-oh! You know! It's cooler without them!" Liquidator tried to act casual while pushing the other two aside, not wanting to embarrass himself more than necessary. "Anyways! … W-what'cha got there?" he then asked as he kept a distance between himself and the most likely very deadly gifts. 

"OH! You mean your awesome christmas presents?! Yeah! That's what I got!" the jester told his friend cheerfully as he bounced from foot to foot, jingling his bells about with the bouncing of his hat. "Oh wow! Quacks! Th-that's… so nice of you! C-can't wait for tomorrow!" Bushroot said with a very nervous laugh, rubbing his hands together in some sort of attempt to keep himself calm and away from running out of the room immediately. 

"AAAAAW! But I can't wait for TOMORROW! Can't you open them now?! I hear that some countries celebrate christmas eve" Quackerjack said in his usual ever-changing tone, going from a whine to a more smug sounding voice. "Yeah. Go ahead! Why don't we see what you all got?" Negaduck said in his fake nice voice, curling his finger around the present ribbon. "Oh! Um… that sounds… really nice! B-but… but… um…" now the man was at a loss of words, trying to think of an excuse to not be made into a duck salad. "W-well… we… don't have a gift for you yet! How can we open your… probably great gifts when we don't have anything to give you?" Megavolt chimed in as he ran over to their friend and put an arm around him, trying his very best to convince him that they really did want to open it and not rather be on the other side of the earth.

"Oh. No no no! It's ok! I'd much rather just get the gift of seeing someone finally smile when I give them something! If the kids won't appreciate my toys, at least you guys can enjoy my gifts!" The toymaker said in a rather happy voice, seemingly just out for his teammates' appreciation. This just made the electric man start to sweat and become very flustered, stuttering out an incoherent excuse. Quackerjack just stared at him in pure excitement. 

"Aaaaah… I guess the cat's out of the bag. We couldn't keep it secret for long" Liquidator sighed disappointed as he moved over to his two buddies, putting a hand on each of their shoulders and giving them a wink each. "Wh-what? What secret? Are you guys keeping something from me?!" The now curious jester asked as he looked at the three, getting himself worked up about what this thing could possibly be. "You see, Quacks, we got a great deal on a collective gift we wanted to give you tomorrow, at the mall. But if you want to do the gift giving today, we have no other choice but to pay for the express shipping!" the previous business man said in his usual "trying to sell you something" way, putting his hands on the other's shoulders. "Oh please" the yellow suited villain groaned and rubbed his beak, unable to believe they thought this ridiculous lie would work.

"REALLY?! Oh goodie! I'm sorry I made you spoil it, but I'm so curious now! Can we go immediately?". Of course, when the lie was told to the bluntest shovel in the cutlery drawer, then it wasn't as unbelievable. "Yeah! Of course we can! It will let us do some last minute christmas shopping!" Bushroot said with a grin, putting his vine arm around the oblivious toymaker and leading him outside, the rat and dog following close after them. "HEY! WHERE DO YOU FOOLS THINK YOU'RE GOING?! WE HAVE A HEIST TO PLAN!!!" the ever angry Negaduck screamed after his four subordinates, waving his arms around as he ran after them, only to be buried under a big pile of snow as soon as he walked outside.

Walking through the mall, Quackerjack was following his friends while doing cartwheels and handstands. "Oh boy, oh boy! I just love surprises! Can't we walk faster?!" he giggled as he pushed himself off the ground and landed right back on his feet. "Um… Liquidator? Do we even have a surprise? Please tell me we do! I don't wanna become toy stuffing!" Megavolt was still panicking and sparking while he grabbed a hold of the dripping dog, shaking him around before getting smacked in the face with a frying pan made out of water. "Not to fear, my friends! I have a deal prepared for our cooky friend to keep him busy and with satisfaction 100% guaranteed!" he told the two beside him before he leaned in and started whispering his idea to them.

As they walked around the corner, the team stopped their purple and red friend, to his surprise. "OH! Are we here now?!" he asked them as he jumped up and down, clapping his hands in excitement. "My friend! Are you feeling bored during christmas eve? Feeling the need for some fun? Try… The ARCADE!" Liquidator announced as he moved out of the way, gesturing towards the huge paradise of video games. As soon as Quackerjack saw it, his smile immediately dropped and his face morphed into anger. "THE ARCADE!?! Are you kidding me?! Video games are mindless dribble! They are destroying the toy industry! And you're saying my gift is playing some GAMES at the ARCADE?!" he started yelling at the three while pulling his hat down in rage and frustration. 

"Oh of course not! We know that you hate this type of stuff! Which is why we brought you here!" Bushroot told the angry, jingling jester while he was throwing a temper tantrum. The duck then looked confused about that response, not sure how that made any sort of sense. "Don't tell me you didn't bring any toys with you! How were you planning to wreck the place without them?" Megavolt asked with a smug sounding voice, raising his eyebrows at him and smirking like a proud bastard. Quackerjack looked a little confused still for a moment until he connected the dots, getting a huge, eager grin on his beak. He quickly pulled out his wind up teeth and ran over towards the other guys, giving them a big hug before letting them go and saying "Oh thank you guys! This is such a wonderful gift! I'll be a couple of hours! It's PLAYTIME!!!". Then he was off to cause chaos.

The three looked as he ran off, waving and smiling while wishing him a merry christmas until he was out of view. They then let out a big sigh and sank down on the floor, as if melting from the release of tension. "Ok. So! Now that he's distracted and happy, we can finally get something ready for the assault" Megavolt sighed and moved his glance over towards Liquidator. "By the way, couldn't he just come here and destroy the place himself?" he then asked as they all had the moment to just collect themselves and come back to their senses. "Of course, but he doesn't need to know that" the dog muttered as he got up from his little puddle and helped clean off some dust from bushroot, who spoke up soon thereafter. "Alright. Here is the idea. We will all need to find a way to prevent these toys from attacking us! They will most likely be very advanced or dangerous! So we will need the best of the best stuff to stop them!".

"Yes! And I know exactly what I'll get for this!" the rat proclaimed confidently as he walked to the front of the group, pointing towards a map of the shopping center. "I will be going over to the appliance department and find the best CPU disruptor a man can buy!" he said confidently and put his hands on his hips in a matching demeanor. Bushroot walked over and took a glance of the map, extending his arm and pointing at the only plant store in the mall. "I'll go and see if I can find a good plant that I can mutate". "Well then, I guess I will have to… hmm… I guess going to the pet store to find some vicious fish could be of help" Liquidator pointed at the pet store and left a big water droplet to run down the display. "Alright! We got a plan!" The sparking man exclaimed as he put his hand up, then pointed towards the rest of the mall and shouted "Now GO GO GO!". And with that, they scatter.

The plant scientist was glancing around in the gardening shop, browsing through the different flowers and plants. He deeply enjoyed all of the greenery inside the store. In particular, he was taken aback by a beautiful orchid, making a double take before taking a stop beside the purple seductress. “Why hello there, you gorgeous flora. Ah~ If only my hands weren't tied, i'd buy you in a heartbeat” he sighed and gently rubbed it's petals in a very flirty manner.

As Bushroot was having this rather intimate moment, an old duck was clearing his throat behind him, scaring the ever living crap out of him. "Excuse me, sir. I couldn't help but notice that you are a plant lover, just like myself. Are you looking for something specific?" he asked the now shaking plant man, correcting his glasses that were sliding down his beak.

"Oh! Yes! I'm looking for something… oh wow! Who is that?!" Bushroot interrupted himself as he saw this gorgeous tall blossom, right behind the old florist. "Ah! You mean ms. Antirrhinum! Or more commonly known, the snapdragon flower. She is a beauty, isn't she?" He perked up a bit as the green duck was gawking over this big red cute belle. "Ms? So she's single?" Bushroot sighed as he circled the snapdragon and was practically drooling all over it. "Ah… ha ha ha! As single as they get, I suppose" the florist chuckled before heading over and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Now, what was it that you needed?".

"Huh? Oh! Yes! Sorry! I… I need something more…" as the scientist got back on task, he leaned in towards the other duck, scanning the shop quickly before whispering "... vicious". The florist looked up at him with a rather confused look, seeming shocked about the request. "... oh! You meant something exotic, right! I have many fierce ladies in this store!" He laughed softly at him as he started wandering past him towards the exotic area of the store. "I'm sure we can find a gal to suit your needs!" He added on as he motioned towards the countless colorful plants.

"What? No! No I mean- like literally! Do you have a plant that could, completely theoretically, rip a robotic teddy bear with built in flamethrowers limb for limb? Or chew a killer fairy with a big chainsaw to bits?" Bushroot interrupted him as he tried to explain himself, without giving out too much information about his plan. Clearly doing well! The duck looked over at him and just stared for a few seconds, his face scrunching up into a nervous frown. "Well… we technically aren't allowed to have any sort of plants like that" he told him while starting to roll his fingers and sweat slightly, wiping it off as soon as he felt it roll down his forehead. "Please! You've got to have something even slightly… wait… technically?" the plant mutant then pointed out as he realized the strange wording. As he said that, the florist carefully glanced around the room, as if making sure no one else was in there at that very moment. "I might have someone you would like to meet… if you can keep a secret, that is" he whispered to Bushroot, who was quick to perk up and say "Oh of course. I am far from a narc, sir".

The duck looked around still as he approached a shelf full of seeds, making sure the coast was clear as he started pushing it out off the way to reveal a tough looking door. He quietly unlocked it and pulled his customer inside. As the villain was pulled into the dimly lit room, he was greeted with a bunch of very ravenous looking carnivorous plants. "Oh my goodness! A venus flytrap! Yellow pitcher plant! Cobra lily! AH, a Butterworth!" the awestruck scientist started ogling all the exotic, dangerous, man-eating plant life as he ran around the room like an excited kid on… well, christmas. "Yes. They aren't very legal to sell, but I can tell you are a lover of all plants, just like myself. But enough delaying! Let me introduce you to my precious Monica" the florist told the man, who was still adoring all the big scary vegetation, before walking over towards a large cup shaped flower with a big leaf over it's red, spiked rim. Bushroot gave away a gasp as he saw said plant and ran over to get a better look of it, gushing out "Is that… a tropical pitcher plant?! Oh wow, she's such a beauty! I'll take her! How much does $10 000 sound?! I can get you that if it means I can take such a sweet doll home with me~". He looked shocked at him, not able to believe the amazing offer given. He was practically seeing dollar bills as he reached his hand out and shook the other's hand in an immediate agreement. "Of course, sir! You got a deal! Let me write you down on a payment plan!" he told him as the plant man was still drooling over this beauty of a flower.

Inside the electrical appliance store, the rat was pushing a cart along and looking around at the boring SD cards and other computer parts that would be of no help to him when being run over by a life-sized toy train. Anxiety was starting to settle in on him as he scanned over the stuffed shelves, unable to focus on finding the disruptor he oh so needed when the constant thought of himself being tortured by adorable, crazed murder toys kept popping up in his mind. His eyes darted around, trying his very best to stay focused on finding the life-saving christmas miracle.

"Hello sir! How can I help you?" a nasally voice spoke up suddenly, earning a surprised scream from Megavolt who jumped back into a defensive position, doing some fake karate before he saw the nerdy looking teenage girl. Judging by her lanyard, he could tell she worked there. Giving her an annoyed grumble, he just grabbed ahold of his cart once more and muttered "I know more than YOU". The girl just watched him walk by and frowned a little bit, earning another annoyed comment from the rodent of "Stupid kids. Probably don't even realize what a genius they are undermining". 

"Dude! Are you that big, dangerous, evil supervillain, Megavolt?" another teen with long blond hair covering his face asked in a funky way, sounding like some sort of surfer-dude. Caught of guard, Megavolt only looked around in confusion, not sure whether he should confirm or deny that question. Unsure, he answered with a short and simple "... Yes?", wondering if he'd get thrown out or something. "Oh great! That means you must be smart!" the now relieved boy sighed as he grabbed a hold of the rat man and pulled him along towards the customer service counter. "W-Wait! Yes I am, but what do you need my intellect for?!" he asked baffled as he was dragged along towards a rather angry looking woman, standing beside a toaster that stood on the counter. 

"Well this lady just came in, yelling about how her toaster isn't toasting properly. I was wondering if you would be able to find the problem, dude" the teen asked as he looked at him in desperation, seemingly somewhat lost and frightened by the peeved of lady staring daggers at the two of them. Megavolt wasn't sure how he had gotten himself into this mess, so he just gave the boy a baffled raise of his eyebrow. He was about to say something to him, until the lady cut him off sharply. "Listen! I don't have time for this! I want my toaster fixed YESTERDAY! It doesn't even TOAST! It barely warms my bread to room temperature! I have to wait an hour for warm bread!" she complained to him, completely ignoring the employee that was supposed to help her. The man groaned in annoyance, not wanting to deal with this when he was meer hours away from his childish DOOM! "Ma'am. I truly and  genuinely do not care about your-" before he could explain how much her technical issue didn't matter to him, she snapped at him once more. "Why are you here anyways?! I asked for a MA-NA-GER! Not some whacky, dirty, off-his-rockers criminal! I want to speak with the manager right now so he can call the police to arrest that villain and so HE can be fired!" she started demanding to whichever one of them that would oblige her, practically frothing at the mouth as she was also hitting the counter. 

Alright. That's it. He was ticked. This was now personal.

"... How about we just fix that toaster right up for you instead. And let me do it for free, since you asked sooooo nicely!" Megavolt said through gritted teeth, sounding very condescending to her while he was grabbing her toaster and taking it to a table that was already full of stuff, like paperwork and small tech parts. Shoving it all off the table, he slammed the toaster down and started disassembling it right away, grabbing a few parts around him to add into this household appliance. The woman gave a smug smile at the villain, who was now doing as she had demanded, meanwhile the employee looked on in surprise and awe as he was skillfully fixing this thing like it was nothing. After a few moments of tinkering, the toaster was reassembled once again and Megavolt walked over to the service counter, placing it down in front of the self-satisfied customer. "Now, let's test it out, shall we?" he suggested with a smarmy grin as he pulled out a piece of toast he had, for totally logical reasons, and put it into the toaster. Only a few seconds after the rat had started it, smoke started to seep out of the two openings on the top. And only a moment after that, flames erupted in two ginormous streams of fire. This made the woman start to scream and hurriedly scurry away out of the store. "I hope you like your bread like your coffee! HAHAHA!" Megavolt laughed and held his stomach as the fire started to calm down a bit, letting two burnt pieces of toast pop up with a delightful PING. 

"Whoa… that was awesome!" the nerdy girl from before shouted out astonished as she watched the customer bump into people on her way out of the shopping center. "Yeah, dude! She's been bothering us with complaints and threats to fire us all for months! Thanks for getting rid of her!" the dopey boy said as he grabbed a hold of the villain's hand and shook it harshly, making him get red in the face and chuckle from the flattery. "Well… it is what we criminals do best!" he admitted and rubbed his neck. The girl walked over to the two and joined in in the hand shaking, crossing his arms over each other. "If there is anything we can do to thank you, you just let us know!" she offered him. This made him light up a bit, realizing that this might work perfectly in his favor. "Actually… I am looking for something rather hard to come by. If you happen to have a CPU disruptor anywhere in the store, I would be more than happy to take it off your hands!". "Well… we do have some more high-tech stuff in the back, but we aren't supposed to sell that stuff" the teen said as he looked back towards the backdoor, considering if it would be a good idea or not. "Well you're not selling it if you just give it to me for the favor, now are you?" Megavolt tried to explain to the employees, giving them a "Hmm?" and wiggle of his eyebrows. The two looked at each other, thought about it for a moment, then said in unison "That makes sense!" as they both then raced to the backdoor to get his present. Maybe this christmas wouldn't turn out so horrible after all!

Man. The pet store really wasn't anything to write home about. Liquidator couldn't believe how boring and unappealing it was. More like appalling. It was a wonder they even sold a simple little goldfish with such an unmarketable image. He almost felt like turning right around and head straight out to accept his doom. But he decided against it and just sucked it up, heading inside and looking around at the animals. The dog decided that he didn't have time to wander around aimlessly and try to find a fish that would be dangerous enough, so he headed up to the cash register to find someone who could help him. "Excuse me, ma'am! I require your assistance to find a most exotic, threatening pet that I could adopt!" he spoke up in his usual, classy salesman tone, trying to get the attention of the bored looking lady by the register. "Yeah, Yeah. Sure. Brittney can take care of you. BRITTNEY! A CUSTOMER NEEDS HELP!" she yelled towards the backdoor, prompting a pretty, tall lady to walk out and say "Ok. I'm on it" in a valley girl accent while chewing some gum.

"... Now I see the selling point" liquidator muttered under his nonexistent breath, scanning the employee as she walked over to him and greeted him. "Hiya. So what kind of pet are you looking for, sir?. "Well I'm glad you asked! Because what I am looking for is none other than a predator of the aquatiq variety!" he told the pet shop worker as he moved over to her, extending his body to be on her left, as well as her right. But she didn't seem to care at all, blowing a bubble with her gum as she just said "yeah, sure" and started leading him towards the aquarium section. As she was walking along with him, another customer walked up beside them and tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me! But I was wondering about this hamster. I already own a male hamster, will it be ok to have another in the same cage?" the young man asked as he pointed towards a couple of hamster cages. She just looked over at him confused, chewing her gum and grumbling a nonchalant "uuuh… I don't know" before turning to walk away again. She just left Liquidator stunned as he watched her walk away, not giving a single care about the customer. Like, yeah, he didn't care about his customers when he sold water, but you need to at least pretend to care or have a captivating and appealing attitude so you can make more sales. Groaning, he decided to pick up the ball she had just dropped. "Hello sir! Sorry about the laziness of the staff! But let me tell you that no! It is not a good idea to put two male hamsters in the same cage. BUT! It is very rewarding to take care of more than one hamster, as it is stated by professionals that it helps with restlessness! So I'd suggest you buy a second cage for the hamster you want! There are a few high quality ones over there across from the hamsters!" he informed the surprised man, who seemed to be eating up everything he was told, just nodding and saying "Oh! Ok!" before walking off. "Remember! The more it costs, the better it is!" he added on before leaving to find the useless employee again.

As Liquidator found the clueless girl again, she had once again been stopped by another customer, a little girl who had a puppy following close after her. "Excuse me miss. I don't know what food I should give Jasper. What do you think I should buy?" she asked in a sugary sweet voice, making the lady just glance down at her and blow another bubble with her gum. "I dunno. Dog food?" she just huffed before continuing to leave another customer behind. Facepalming himself, Liquidator quickly moves over and taps the girl on her shoulder. "Hi there, little lady! Ignore that big unhelpful lady! She doesn't know anything! If you are looking for good dog food, you should buy the ones with the big "approved" seal on it! If it has that, it means it will be good for him!" the villain said in an overly friendly way as he pointed towards the pet food section. The little girl smiled brightly and started pulling at her dog's leash, running off to find that good quality food.

This kept happening as he was attempting to keep up with the employee, person wants help buying stuff, lady blows them off, Liquidator has to take over and use his sales pitches to make a good sale.

"What is the best toy for my cat?"

"It will love the bell and feather on a string! The stick is made to not snap!"

"Are these vitamins good for my dog?"

"That's a no go! Four out of five specialists would suggest these higher quality vitamins with loads more vitamins in it for your pet!"

"My bird won't stop freaking out!"

"Yikes! Sounds like it is time to expand her cage! Trust me, bigger cage means less panic from your bird!"

After a few more quick sales, the man was tilting against a few aquariums and panting lightly, feeling exhausted from all the talking and pitching. It was amazing that this place was not burned to the ground by the sheer laziness of the staff. He was probably the only help anyone had ever gotten at this crappy store. The employee finally stopped in front of a tank of fish, motioning towards the clownfish swimming inside. This made Liquidator fall silent and just stare at her with a blank gaze. "... So how many fishes did you want?" she asked in a totally clueless voice, just staring back at him. "THIS ISN'T A PREDATOR!!!" he yelled in her face and started boiling from the immeasurable amount of rage this brought him. The employee just looked at him, asking "what's a predator?" cluelessly. The two just stared for a quiet second before the lady just takes out a ring of keys and throws them into Liquidators body. "Here. I gotta leave early today, so please lock up for me" she said dismissively as she just walked towards the front of the store to leave.

He just looked at her shocked as she, just like every other customer, left him alone and confused. Did she really mistake him for someone who worked there because he did her work better than her? 

…

Well at least he didn't have to pay for what he needed anymore.

After a few hours in the mall, the four villains were walking home together, with the jester laughing giddily after his little bit of complete chaos. "Hoohoohehehee! I haven't had this much fun in a while! This is the best christmas yet!" he cheered as he was bouncin in front the trio that were carrying their wrapped presents. He then moved to put an arm around Megavolt, who gave him a nervous grin and moved the bag with the gift box in to carry it with one hand. The air around them, despite the expectation of impending doom, was actually rather cheerful. It was mostly due to the unrestrained joy of Quackerjack, who was just radiating christmas cheer with his excited laughter and singing. "Really? Christmas carols? I thought you were above that?" the rat poked at him with his elbow, snickering as he teased the one walking beside him. "Eh, shut up, Sparky! Can't a man feel the christmas spirit for one?" he snapped back while trying to hold back a happy giggle, wanting to appear somewhat tough. Liquidator and Bushroot looked at each other and gave an amused smile.

And soon enough, they arrive at the hideout. They all strolled inside and placed down their gift boxes under a christmas tree disguise that they had for the heist that was planned for the evening after. It was close enough to a regular tree, so why not? This made the colorful duck jump around even more and squeal excitedly. He was tapping his feet restlessly as he looked over towards his own gifts, wanting so bad to give them to his friends already. This did not go unnoticed, as Bushroot watched his eyes stare longingly in the direction of his own christmas gifts, feeling that nervousness return as he remembered why they even got the "gifts" to begin with. Looking over at the other two, they both took notice of his questioning look and gave a nod, indicating that they were ready for the chaos. "Hey… Quacks. Didn't you have something for us?" he asked with a forced grin, trying his best to not ruin the jester's joy. 

Quackerjack gasped in excitement, not even answering the plant before he rushed off towards the work table to grab the gifts. Bushroot moved over to the others and they all formed a huddle. "Alright! Get ready for the onslaught! Keep close to the tree and hold the box at a distance!" Liquidator whispered to his fellow villains, earning a determined nod from them both. "Alright! Get ready!" the cheery voice of their four team member yelle, causing the huddle to break and the three of them stand innocently beside each other. 

Quackerjack walked over, presenting the biggest present first. Everyone prayed that they wouldn't be the one to recieve the gift. "Bushroot! This one is for you!". Curses. That's just his luck. But still, the plant duck took a deep breath and accepted the rather heavy box, getting even more scared when holding the potential "pandora's box" in his hands. Swallowing harshly, he reached out and pulled the ribbon off, causing the other two to immediately hide behind whatever was the closest. He recoiled back away from the box, expecting to be jumped as soon as that lid was lifted. 

But… nothing happened. That almost shocked him more than anything. So he curiously peeked inside and saw… a bag… a bag of fertilizer. It felt almost disappointing to get something so dull, instead of immeadiate death. But lifting the bag out of the box, he got a better look at it and realized something. "Wait a second! This is-!". "That's right! I got this fertilizer from a lab with some real knuckleheads for scientists working there! It's not even released to the public yet! And now it never will be! It's all yours!" the jester explained as he was hovering really close the the stunned man.

The fertilizer… it was HIS fertilizer! His project that he thought was lost after… the incident that made him into his mutant self. "Wow… wait, knucklehead scientists?" he then questioned, recognizing the description as his old labmates. "Oh yeah! Those two! I took care of them, don't worry! They seemed to really like throwing that football around! So I thought it'd be fun to try and be the ball for a change!" Quackerjack laughed amused as he seemed rather proud of himself. Bushroot just stared at him, tears starting to well up in his eyes before he hugged tightly onto the fertilizer and started wailing like a baby. "WAAAAAAH! THANK YOU! THIS IS THE BEST CHRISTMAS I'VE EVER HAAAAAAD!!!" he cried out and sat down on the floor with his precious bag.

Quackerjack looked shocked for a short moment before looking genuinely happy about the over emotional reaction he got. "Heeheehee… glad you like it" he muttered before grabbing the next box and walking over to Megavolt, who had come out of hiding and was just staring in baffled surprise. His gawking was interrupted as there was a rather small gift box shoved into his face. Accepting it without a word, he just looked back at Liquidator unsure, as if asking if it was safe. He just gave the rat a shrug and looked equally puzzled. 

Megavolt just sighed and decided to go for it, ripping off the ribbon and opening the box. Inside was a USB stick, a normal old USB stick. He picked it up and held it up to the duck. "Ok… I'll bite. What is this?". Quackerjack looked rather smug as he leaned into his face and explained "Well, Sparky. This USB contains countless of blueprints from an inventor, who works for none other than S.H.U.S.H. You don't realize how surprisingly easy it was to get! I bet she doesn't even realize it's gone!". The rat's eyes widened as he heard that. A USB… with S.H.U.S.H level blueprints?! There had got to be some really advanced stuff in that tiny little stick! All the knowledge he could ever desire! He even forgot to yell at the duck for calling him Sparky.

All he could do was sputter random sounds while trying to find any sort of words to say. Megavolt ended up just pulling Quackerjack into a hug and spinning around in a moment of bliss, rambling "ohmygodthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!". The duck gained a bright blush to his cheeks as he was held in the air by his friend, just allowing it to happen as this was just the type of reaction he had hoped for. Didn't expect it at all, but he had hoped. "Oh geez! Sparky! Be cool, pal! You're embarrassing me!" he laughed in a flustered manner, trying to hide how much he's enjoying the appreciation and failing immensely. 

He managed to get loose after a minute or so and took the last, tiny present and started making his way over to Liquidator. The dog looked very sceptical, as suppose to the previous expression of fear. "So… seems you really made a great sale to those two, huh?" he commented to the clown, who didn't say anything back and just wiggled his eyebrows at him. "... Well they are nerds, they get all excited over their… nerdy interests. But I'm a customer that isn't easily impressed. So don't expect any hugs or tears" he then said in a defensive tone and crossed his arms. Quackerjack only grinned wider and held out the present to him, inching it closer and closer to his face while letting out a quiet squeak. 

The water man just sighed and snatched the gift out of his hands, starting to unwrap it so he could just get it over with. And inside was just a piece of paper. That was it. His face dropped and he looked up at the duck. But he just kept grinning and darted his eyes between Liquidator and the paper. Rolling his eyes, Liquidator just picked it up and read over it. As he did, he realized it was a receipt from the local grocery store. "St. Canard convenience store. Wow! You really went above and beyond. Look at all that Sparkling Crystal Pure Flud Water you purcha- w… WAIT WHAT?!" he had to do a double take as he read over the receipt, not sure he read that right. But it was right there, in black and white, over $10 000 worth of his own brand of water.

"I know you better than you think" Quackerjack giggled smugly as he bounced over towards the leaking fridge and threw it open, revealing it to be filled to the brim with water bottles. Liquidator just stared in awe and with his jaw laying in the floor. Quacks picked it back up as he put an arm around his shoulder. "I know that you do love a good sale. But what do you like better? MAKING a good sale, of course! So what better christmas present for THE liquidator than to steal money from the bank and buy every last one of your water with it? That way, the ENTIRE CITY OF ST. CANARD has bought your stuff!" he informed the shocked man that he was hanging on while staring at his face, awaiting to see a reaction from him. 

He just stared at all of his bottled water, processing everything his teammate just told him. That was probably the only thing he could have ever wished for, success for his company. A singular tear fell from his eye, though it could have just been more water, and gave away a small, happy smile. "Wow… thank you, man" he just muttered.

Quackerjack let out a happy laugh as he started jumping around his friends with so much excitement. "Ho ho ho ha haa! I knew it! I knew you'd like my presents! Now, let's check what's inside yours!" he cheered curiously as he then pranced over to the other's presents under the fake tree. "Wait" Liquidator muttered surprised. "Our… presents?!" Megavolt gulped and started sweating, realizing what a mistake they had made with their assumption. "W-WAIT! Quacks! Don't open them!" Bushroot yelled as he started running over towards the duck to stop him. But it was too late as they got to watch him suddenly get shot with a laser that sent a current of electricity through his body. They then got to witness him being attacked by a dozen piranha before he was grabbed by the big pitcher plant that tried to eat him whole. 

The three, after watching this while grimacing and cringing, then proceeded to run over and save him from any further pain. It took a few minutes, but they got him free from the fish and plant, sitting him down on the floor with a blanket and a cup of hot chocolate. "...Not to be rude, since I got such a nice present earlier today, but you guys aren't the best gift givers, are ya?" Quacks asked the others with an awkward grin, trying to not ruin the happy mood he had achieved earlier. But they just gave him an embarrassed look and rubbed their necks, feeling equally as awkward as him. "Listen… We're sorry about all that. We didn't mean to cause you so much pain" Bushroot explained as he sat down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. "We didn't expect your presents to be… actually really really nice. We thought you'd get us one of your demented toys that would try to kill us!" Megavolt told him as he also plonked himself down on the floor on his other side, rolling his fingers nervously. Liquidator didn't say anything, he just sat himself down and looked at him somewhat apologetically. 

"Waitwaitwait! Are you telling me that you expected me to basically prank you by giving you deadly toys that would rip you to shreds?" the clown asked in surprise as he looked between all of the Fearsome Four with a confused expression on his face. The three just looked away from him and tried to find some sort of justification. But they just felt kinda bad about how they had been acting during the day when the gifts they were given ended up being really good and considerate. What justification could they have that didn't ruin the mood further?

As the jester kept darting his eyes between everyone, his eyes started to water and he began sniffing softly. Bushroot took notice and quickly tried to console him. "H-hey now! W-w-we didn't mean anything by-". Before he could finish his sentence, Quackerjack stretched his arms out and embraced all of his team with a tearful sob. "YOU GUYS! IT'S SO SWEET OF YOU TO THINK I COULD SOMETHING SO CRULE AND EVIL ON CHRIIIIIIIISTMAAAAAAS!!!" he wailed while crushing the three grown men in his colorful arms. 

They all looked down at him pained as their chests were caving in from the force of the love they were given. But they smiled anyways and chuckled at the silly duck. "Geez, Quackers! I never thought any of us would ever have an actually good christmas, let alone us having one together! But you did it! You gave us a truly merry christmas!" Megavolt sighed happily and reached a hand out to rub the crying man's jangling head. It made him giggle through his tears and let go of them all, just grinning thankfully at the lot.

"GET THESE LITTLE MONSTERS AWAY FROM ME!!!" Negaduck yelled as he ran past his team, being pursued by a group of rather scary looking toys as he's chased out of the hide out. Quackerjack just looked confused as they disappeared out the door. "Weird… I thought he'd love a bit of violence!" he said, seemingly surprised by the turn of events. The other guys just looked at each other quietly for a second, before bursting out in laughter at the brief scene. That years christmas turned from wonderful to fantastic.

[haberdashing]

Watch What Happens

One possible version of the inevitable Panopticon showdown.

on AO3

The stone staircases were every bit as steep as Jon remembered them being in the tunnels, but now instead of leading down they led up, up, up to the Panopticon, up to the tower visible everywhere in the world now, up to the moment that he and Martin had been waiting for for a long, long time.

The staircase was too narrow for both him and Martin to stand on at the same time, but they held hands as they ascended together, Jon leading the way. Part of it was protection in case one of them slipped, literally or metaphorically; part of it was just clinging to what comfort they could while that was still an option.

Jon didn’t know what awaited him in the Panopticon, exactly, but he knew that it would change things, one way or another.

As Jon took the final step up, the first thing he noticed was the view. Just as all the world could see the Panopticon now, the Panopticon could see all the world in turn. All the horrors he had unleashed, all the suffering playing out because of his actions, it was all within Jon’s view at once now, the sights of a world transformed almost beyond recognition.

Jon only wished that how he felt about the sight of it all was simply horrified. There was more to it, though, whether he liked it or not, whether he wanted it or not, and the gasp he let out was not entirely displeased.

The second thing Jon noticed was Jonah Magnus in Elias Bouchard’s body--the man he had called Elias for years, not knowing he was just using the name of one of his victims--staring right at him, bright eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“Hello, my Archive.”

That, at least, Jon didn’t have to second-guess his feelings about. That made his skin crawl, and a quick look at Martin as they untangled their hands confirmed that Martin disapproved every bit as much as Jon did.

He wasn’t wrong, though. Damn the man, but he wasn’t wrong. All that talk about how Jon was more Archive than Archivist, especially under Jonah’s supervision, being guided to play his part in the spectacle Jonah Magnus had been planning for almost exactly two hundred years now... he had a point, but that didn’t mean Jon had to like it.

“Hello, Jonah.” Jon really hoped that every bit of his hatred shone through as he spat out those two words.

Jonah raised one eyebrow. “First-name basis, is it?”

Jon felt vaguely nauseous. He had barely remembered that that was a feeling he could have. He hadn’t felt that way since before the change, perhaps since before anything that really mattered.

“I imagine you didn’t come here for small talk, so let’s cut to the chase. You’re obviously planning to kill me-”

“Figured that much out already, did you?” God, Jon loved Martin.

Jonah didn’t so much as blink at Martin’s comment, continuing as if he hadn’t been interrupted in the first place. “But there are two reasons that doing so won’t work out like you intended, and I do think you had better hear them out before you make a grave mistake.”

Jonah held up two fingers when he said the word “two,” in a gesture almost like a peace sign, and Jon seriously considered returning the gesture, but with his palm facing towards him instead of out. Would it be rude? Yes. Did he really give a damn at this point? Not really.

Still, though, Jon decided against it, instead saving his snark for rolling his eyes as he said, with every bit of hatred and sarcasm he could muster, “Fine. Enlighten us, then.”

“First.” Two fingers turned to one, held up as if to command attention, as if he were a schoolteacher in front of a class of unruly pupils, as if Jon and Martin’s eyes weren’t already glaring straight at him. “If you were planning on pulling the same stunt you’ve used on other avatars on your way here, you should know it won’t be that easy. I am every bit as connected to the Eye as you are, Jon. Turning its power on me won’t obliterate me as it has so many others now. If anything, it might just make me stronger.”

Jon considered this for a moment. Jonah could be bluffing, could be trying to save himself at the last minute, but it did make a sort of sense that the Eye couldn’t be used to take down one of its own avatars.

“That’s not the only way we can get rid of you.”

“No, I suppose not, but it would make things easier for you, wouldn’t it? You’ve grown so accustomed to using the Eye’s power rather than your own... but insisting on going that route here would just lead you right into the second problem.”

Jon gently massaged his temple, careful not to impede his vision too much in the process. “And what might that be?”

Jonah steepled his hands and shot Jon a wry grin. “I think it’d be easier to show than tell in this particular instance.”

Before Jon could ask what Jonah meant by that, Jonah’s hands unsteepled, the smug grin fell off his face, and seemingly out of nowhere, he began running in the direction of the nearest staircase. His steps were neither graceful nor especially fast, though, and it wasn’t hard for Jon to grab his arm as he ran past, yanking him out of his run and pinning him against a stone wall within the Panopticon.

“What the hell is-”

Jonah’s eyes were wide and frightened-looking, a look Jon couldn’t remember ever seeing on his boss’ face before, and his eyes welled up with tears that were on the verge of falling any second now.

Something was definitely wrong here, and the shaky sound of Jonah’s voice interrupting his only confirmed as much.

“P-please don’t hurt me. I didn’t- didn’t want this, any of this, but I couldn’t stop him-”

His eyes were also hazel, now, and in all the years working with him, Jon had never seen Jonah with hazel eyes...

But this wasn’t Jonah, was it?

“So you are...” It wasn’t a question, not exactly. Jon wasn’t sure if his compulsion would even work, but he didn’t want it to now, didn’t want to force the truth out of someone who was already near tears.

“E-Elias Bouchard. The- the real one. From before he took over. I’ve been just-” He slumped his shoulders a little. “Just watching for all these years. This is the first time I’ve been able to do a damn thing in decades.”

“I see.” Jon heard Martin snort softly at that. “But how is that a reason...?”

Jon saw it, this time, saw Elias’ eyes change from that strange hazel color to a hue much more familiar, and he knew what it meant. Jon released his grip on Jonah Magnus and took a step back.

“I thought that much would be obvious, but apparently I have to spell things out for your benefit once again.”

Jon clenched his teeth, could feel them grinding against each other, though that was probably still better than spitting out any of the responses that came to mind.

“If you kill me, Jon, then you’re killing him, too. He’s still in this body, even now, watching everything that happens. Feeling everything that happens. Are you really going to kill Elias Bouchard just to get back at me?”

Jon let out a slight gasp, though he hadn’t meant to.

Elias- no, Jonah took a step closer, leaning slightly over Jon. “You could do it, if you wanted to. I could even turn over the body again, let you use your precious Eye powers to obliterate it, give you that revenge you’ve been seeking for so long. But you’d be killing an innocent man in the process. I know you’ve thought long and hard about how much suffering, how much death, has come about because of your actions. Are you prepared to add Elias Bouchard’s name to the list?”

Jon looked away from Jonah, was greeted by the sight of terror upon terror playing out in the world beyond the Panopticon, looked back at Jonah with a soft sigh of resignation.

Martin called out Jon’s name, but it felt like it was from far away. Jon barely heard it, didn’t bother seeking out the source, his mind too preoccupied with the dilemma in front of him.

“Or you could just leave. Leave the Panopticon the way you came, and find a new quest to pursue. The old one was doomed to failure, anyway; killing me won’t undo what we’ve created together. I’m sure you could find plenty of other ways to occupy your time out there. But I won’t stop you from killing me, either, from proving the truth behind my words too late. That’s entirely up to you. Make your choice, Jon.”

Jon’s hands were shaking slightly, and his mouth suddenly went dry as he tried to put half-formed thoughts into words. “I...”

“What about this?”

This time, Jon turned to find the source of Martin’s voice, seeing out of the corner of his eye that Jonah was doing the same. He’d almost forgotten that Martin was there with him, and felt embarrassed that he could ever have forgotten such a thing, could ever have forgotten the presence of someone as important as Martin.

Jon had also forgotten that within the Panopticon lay Jonah Magnus’ original body, but Martin evidently hadn’t forgotten, as he was standing right next to it. And, as Jon looked closer, he saw that Martin was holding one of the larger knives they had packed just above Jonah Magnus’ chest.

Then Martin plunged the knife into Jonah Magnus’ heart, and Jon only just had time to notice that the liquid that flowed out of Jonah Magnus’ body didn’t look quite like blood should before the pain set in.

Jon felt like he was being burned alive. Jon felt like he was being torn apart, limb by limb, cell by cell. Jon felt like hundreds of needles were being jammed into every millimeter of his body. Jon felt a thousand pains rolled into one, torment upon torment and agony upon agony, the lot of them blending together into some unholy whole much worse than the sum of its parts.

Jon’s vision, always so clear, began to fade and blur, and he welcomed the darkness as it embraced him, hoping that it would grant him some modicum of relief.

The darkness lingered as he heard the voice, distant and muddled, as if from underwater. It was Martin’s voice, that much he could tell, but he couldn’t make out any individual words, let alone the gist of the speech.

Then a slight sting, and the world returned, blurry but definitely there, and Martin’s words became clearer.

“-up, Jon, please, come back-”

Jon groaned--more out of grogginess than anything else, as the anguish he had expected to come rushing back was still gone, without any discomfort left in its wake--and Martin’s rapid-fire speech paused for a moment.

“Jon?”

The blurriness resolved itself into clear vision once more, and Jon realized only belatedly that his eyesight had only appeared so blurry because Martin had been shaking him the whole time. Martin’s face hovered above him, a million different emotions fighting for control over his expression, as he knelt on the stone floor of the Panopticon.

Jon opened his mouth without planning his words in advance, figuring that reassuring Martin that he was awake again was more important than the details, and surprised himself a bit by coming up with, “For better or for worse, yes.”

Martin let out a soft, shaky laugh, and Jon felt something wet fall onto his cheek. “I- I thought... you weren’t waking up...”

“How long was I out?”

“I don’t know, Jon, it’s not like could check my bloody wristwatch... a while? Longer than I would like.” Martin paused for a moment before adding, “A lot longer than I was, I think.”

“You felt it too?”

“A bit.” Martin scratched the back of his head nervously. “But I knew it was coming, you just- just collapsed on the floor, I thought maybe you’d hit your head, and stone’s not exactly the most forgiving surface for that sort of thing...”

Jon let out a soft, bitter laugh. “It’ll take a lot more than that to kill me.”

“Don’t even joke about that.” Martin stood up, extending one arm towards Jon. “Need a hand?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Jon was pretty sure Martin pulled him up more than he actually pulled himself up, but what mattered was that he was up, was standing once more, and the pain that had caused him to collapse and black out was still gone. Also, Martin’s hand had been warm and soft, and even though he no longer needed the lift Jon’s hand was still brushing against Martin’s, the two just barely making contact still.

Jon noticed, idly, that Martin’s clothes were covered in specks of the not-quite-blood that had flowed out of Jonah Magnus’ body, but while it was unpleasant-looking and probably uncomfortable, it wasn’t the worst thing that had gotten on either of their clothes during their journey.

Jon’s train of thought was abruptly disrupted when his eyes fell upon a human figure still collapsed on the stone floor around them; as he approached, Martin following close behind, he heard the man swearing a blue streak, the profanities he let loose both inventive and especially obscene.

“Hello?” Jon asked.

“Are you alright?” Martin added.

The man sat up, and only then did he recognize the face of Jonah- no, of Elias Bouchard staring up at him.

“‘ve been worse... been a hell of a lot better, too, though...”

Elias sat up with a groan before locking eyes with Jon.

“Are you gonna kill me now, too?”

Jon looked over at Martin, who shook his head slightly, eyes wide.

“Depends. Who are you, exactly?” Jon was pretty sure he knew the answer already, but, well, better safe than sorry.

He didn’t hesitate to answer. “Elias Bouchard, the original, like I said before. Son of Julian and Nancy Bouchard, though Mum’s been dead since I was a kid. Only joined the Magnus Institute because I wanted a cushy office job and not many places would take someone with my shit grades. Didn’t even believe in the supernatural until, well-” Elias made a vague, wobbly hand gesture. “-all of this happened.”

Jon let out a soft breath. “No, I don’t think either of us are going to kill you now, Elias.”

“Well, uh, thank you, then.”

“What, for not killing you?” Martin asked.

Elias laughed, and it sounded very little like the sort of laughs Jon had heard come out of Elias’ mouth before, self-satisfied and pompous; it sounded much more like a genuine, normal laugh, full of humor and free of self-consciousness, even despite the current situation.

“Sort of, yeah, but also for, well, for killing him.” Elias pointed his thumb back at the body of Jonah Magnus. “I honestly thought I’d be stuck like that for the rest of my life, just watching him walk around in my body, so... glad I was wrong on that one. And thanks for fixing it for me, I suppose.”

Jon thought about that for a long moment. For a while now he’d bemoaned that it seemed like he couldn’t save anyone in this new world, couldn’t help anyone, could only cause more harm, and now...

Well, he couldn’t really take credit here. Jonah Magnus’ death was all Martin’s doing, not his own. But still, it was... something. A modicum of progress, perhaps. A small sign of hope.

“Maybe you can help us in return.” Jon looked pointedly out at the unchanged hellscape that surrounded them. “Obviously things haven’t gone back to normal with his death. Do you know why?”

“Well, he was right that killing him wasn’t going to magically fix everything, he wasn’t quite enough of a dipshit to set things up like that-”

Martin let out a soft laugh, and Elias’ face turned pink.

“Sorry, is the swearing a problem? I can stop if you’d like-”

“No, no, it’s just... never thought I’d hear it from you.”

Elias shot Martin a wide, albeit shaky, grin. “Dipshit was actually probably my favorite word back when I was a teenager. Let it slip at a dinner party once and my dad was furious, so of course I made a point to use it as often as possible from that point on. Drove my teachers mad, too.”

Martin laughed a bit more, and Jon struggled to hold back laughter of his own as he planned his next words.

“But if you saw everything he saw, you have to know something... do you know how to put things back the way they were?”

Martin pressed his arm against Jon’s and said Jon’s name softly, but if it was meant as a warning, it was one Jon wasn’t willing to heed. Jon didn’t care about politeness right now; he wanted answers.

“Not exactly? I mean, he was always just planning to make it happen, seemed to think it’d be easy sailing from there on out... and I mean, he wanted all of this, it’s not like he was making plans for how to back out of it all...”

Jon let out a soft sigh.

“...but I do have a few, er, theories? Given what I managed to pick up along the way...”

Jon forced his face into a weak smile. “We’d love to hear them.”

[ogniemimieczem]

Art by the unbelievably talented @ankalime​, whose commission info can be found here.

Because it was so beautiful, I had to write a story to go with it (crossposted here to AO3).

— ☽  —  ☾ —

Too late. It was all too late. His world had ended before it had ever begun.

Bohun had ridden back to Devil’s Gorge with his whip lashing red stripes into his horse’s flanks to make it keep pace with his hammering heart. He was so full of joy to return to her that he could have sung. He was so full of fear to see the hatred in her eyes again that he could have screamed.

When he saw Horpyna’s body he did scream.

He did not even know what it meant then. Her body lay on the open ground before her house. The witch’s dark hair tangled around her shoulders, framing a face already falling to decay. As he reined up hard, jagging the bit against his horse’s foaming mouth, he saw something which stirred a dread he could not yet name: there was no mark or wound on her body.

But Horpyna did not matter.

Bohun threw himself from the saddle, running to the door with such desperate speed that he fell sprawling when it swung drunkenly on its broken hinges.

“Princess!”

He did not expect an answer, not from such a scene as he now saw before him.

At first he only stood reeling amidst the desolation, trying to make sense of chaos. All the wealth of Bar, every treasure he had brought to gild her cage—all had been destroyed as though the hand of God had struck against this carefully-hoarded treasure trove of all his hopes. The bed had been obliterated into shattered timbers and tumbled drifts of down. Gold and silver ornaments showed in twisted heaps in corners, while others had been cast with such force that they stuck from the walls as if driven there with a hammer. Heavy silken tapestries lay in ragged shreds, their jewel-bright threads straggling in a tangled chaos across rough-hewn floorboards. Overcast light fell coldy in through a window in which no shard of glass remained and through which one of the priceless brocades had been half-thrown.

And of his greatest treasure of all, there was not even a sign.

If chaos had struck once, it now struck again as he tore through the room, then the house, then the outbuildings. In every place, he seemed to have followed in the footsteps of that greater destructive force. Yet nothing equalled the ruination which had smote Helena’s room with all the force of God’s judgement.

Bohun understood nothing of what he saw, he knew only that she was not there.

His hands and arms were bleeding from cuts he did not feel. Shivering with sweat, he staggered back to her room, begging with God and the Devil to let her somehow be there when he returned.

Of course she was not there.

A second destruction fell on the room as Bohun threw himself into despairing rage, trying to break what had broken him. But when anguish and exhaustion finally robbed him of his last strength, he collapsed onto the wreckage of the bed and screamed her name until his voice was gone and his damaged throat could only produce broken moans like a damned soul’s.

But where had they taken her? They had killed Horpyna, and her hunchback’s body had been found broken where he’d tried to cower in the barn, but Helena was not here. She might even be alive.

Bohun dragged himself to his feet, hope and rage breathing fire into his veins again. He stumbled to the window, wondering if he might see some sign of where his unknown enemies had taken her.

The wind hissed around the corners of the empty frame. As Bohun looked out, he could see clearly back the way he’d come: out towards the secret way through the waterfall and into the haunted gorge beyond.

Yet as he stood there a strange significance in that window forced itself upon his chaos-numbed mind. As he looked, it came to him that while violence had fallen in a meaningless whirlwind upon every item in that room, the window had been the focus of a more particular destruction. No jagged shard of glass remained. The brocade that lay half-thrown through the empty frame suddenly gained a sense of purpose that stole his breath. The fire of a truer hope sparked in his breast. What he saw next brought so piercing a joy that he gasped as though in pain. He stretched out his hand and caught salvation between his fingers.

There, caught from the jagged edge of the window frame, were a few strands of long, night-black hair.

Destruction had come to the Devil’s Gorge, but Helena had escaped.

— ☽  —  ☾ —

Though the sky above was still shaded blue with evening, shadow lay deep in Devil’s Gorge as Bohun ran back along Helena’s track. He dragged his stumbling horse behind him, terrified to mount lest he should fail to see some sign that Helena had fled down one of the branching gullies or sought shelter in some secret place.

He blundered on through the undergrowth, heedless of briars and bracken. At each forward step he saw signs of Helena’s passing: a shred of clothing on a thorn, a footstep in black earth, or a trailing strand of hair on a branch. 

It must have been dark when she fled. Too many times she had fallen or veered wildly away from obstacles that Bohun clearly saw for himself in the evening light. More than once he found rusty smears on a branch or boulder where her seeking hands had kept her from collision, but at a bloody price.

Brave, his loving heart wept. Always brave. Oh, my little bird, how brave you were to fly.

As evening deepened, his horse began to whicker and roll its eyes, but Bohun pressed on. He remembered that each nighttime ride through the gorge with Horpyna to guide him. Shadows had seemed to stretch and shiver when he did not look directly at them. What had he to fear then? When last he had ridden through this place in darkness Bohun had all he wished in the world with him—and Horpyna there to guard them. He had feared no nightmares then.

As daylight waned a chill mist seeped up out of the accursed earth. Another kind of fear crept into his heart.

No night horror would have dared touch her! No monster could touch her! God would not allow it!

But panic began to seize him, chittering and whispering to him until he stumbled as he ran on to escape it.

When the gorge widened to reveal the old graves, Bohun’s every gasped breath had become a prayer for the woman he loved.

He had galloper through earlier daytime, blind with joy and heedless of anything but the road ahead of him. Now he went forward with horror breathing cold upon his neck. 

Perhaps the starlight had finally shown her what lay before her feet. Perhaps some blessed hand had turned her steps from the path she had followed. But the footsteps Bohun followed now showed no such grace: they were sharply dug into the earth, with clods of earth cast far back behind. 

“No,” he groaned, unable to believe, but believing all too well. “No, no! No, God, please not this!”

The tracks fled, and fell, and yet still ran on into the shadows of the gorge. Bohun followed them in truth, tumbling over every obstacle and sobbing as he fought to outrace doom. He had lost the horse’s reins somewhere, he did not know when. It did not matter. Helena’s course took her straight through the undergrowth towards a sheer wall of the overhanging cliffs, and though with every step Bohun prayed to see her turn away towards the opening of the gorge, certainty had already begun to gnaw at his mind.

At first, he could not understand what he saw: her trail seemed to disappear. He cast wildly about amongst the mist-blurred bracken, crying her name, unable to see where she had gone.

Horror seized him by the throat. Had something truly taken her as a bird of prey snatches its prey from the loving earth?

“Princess!” he cried, clawing through ferns and briars. “Princess!”

But then Bohun saw it as he fought blindly through to the very foot of the cliff: a small hollow sunken deep into the looming stone, half-hidden by trailing ivy.

Stooping, he ducked inside, batting away the vines. Yet it was more of a tunnel than a cave, and he struck his head hard against the ceiling so hard that it brought him to his knees.

There, in the darkness, half-blinded by his own blood streaming into his eyes, Bohun saw her. Only the faintest light reached in through the cave mouth, casting her gown and body in the faintest whisper of white. She was pale. And she was still. 

“Princess?”

He crawled to her, tears already mingling with blood to blind his sight. His arms caught her up, and he knew—he knew before he’d touched her—he knew before her head lolled back against his arm—he knew before he saw the dark, silent pools of her staring eyes.

“No,” he moaned. “No, please!”

Her body was cold as the stone upon which she lay, but he held her to his chest as if his heart could bleed heat back into her corpse. But she did not move. He knew she never would again.

If there were monsters to hear him scream, then perhaps they heard his howl as that of one of their own.

Bohun had thought he’d known despair before, but it had been as nothing to the black, infinite sea into which he now fell. Inimical stone echoed his screams back to him until his own ears rang with the sound, and still he screamed. He held her in his arms and kissed her cold lips, begging her to wake up, then screamed to God to give her back to him.

If night had fallen, he did not know. Time had ended, and the last hope of his life had been snuffed out. Futurity was the black night under stone and her dead body in his arms. There would be nothing more. The sun could rise, but he would be here. Days might turn into weeks, and weeks to years, and years to centuries, and at the Day of Judgement he would be here still, with the woman he loved in his arms. She hadn’t loved him, and he had hated her for it. But he would not abandon her, nor attempt to live on in a world she had left.

Night fell in the world beyond the cave, and he wept as he saw the the last pale ghost of her fade from his vision as the last of daylight died. He still felt her weight, heavy and dead as clay in his arms. She was the only thing left of reality, apart from pain. And in the void of perfect darkness, Bohun sobbed until consciousness itself fled from him.

He awoke in the black, without star or moonlight, and without warmth enough in his body to tell himself from the hard bones of the earth upon which he lay. But she was gone.

Bohun scrambled up to hands and knees, feeling for her in the dark. How had he lost her?

He crawled across the floor of the small chamber, seeking with his hands, sobbing again—though he no longer knew where his tears came from, he had shed so many. He struck against one wall of the cave, then turned to blindly follow the curve of it with one hand as he sought with the other. His palm tore open against the jagged rocks, and still he crawled on seeking her.

At last his hand found it: the smooth, cold shape of her ankle, with the tattered hem of her skirt catching against his mangled hand.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, weeping, pulling himself towards her, holding tight to her dead ankle so as not to somehow lose her again in the darkness. “I don’t know how—I don’t—but I won’t leave you again. I promise!”

When a cold hand seized his wrist, a delirium of hope so intense seized him that he thought his heart had stopped. Then his hand was raised, and he felt something cold and slick press against his bleeding palm. And in the darkness he heard one, and one sound only—not a voice, not a breath —but only the slurping, liquid sound of swallowing echoed back from the stone.

— ☽  —  ☾ —

He woke again, staring up at the night sky. It showed only as a narrow sliver of starscape hemmed in on either side by the walls of the gorge. Yet it was more than enough to see by.

“Princess?”

She stood over him, silhouetted against the stars with the white of her chemise frosted with starlight. But she said nothing. 

Instead, she began to walk, or seemed to.

He could see she walked by the swaying movement of her two long braids and the rise and fall of her mud-caked feet, but there was no other sign to show that she passed over earth. She did not stumble. She did not reach out a hand to steady herself. Helena walked, leaving not a single imprint in earth, and Bohun wondered how many times her feet had walked this path and yet left no mark.

Silent tears rolled down Bohun’s cheeks as he followed her ghostly figure through the night. He did not want to follow her, but he had never had a choice. Every instinct had always driven him towards her: to throw himself at her feet, to seek glory so that she might love him, to kill her kin, to save her from the death she’d chosen over him, and to hide her away here in the haunted vale where the man she loved could never find her. If he had never cared for her wishes, he had yet been slave enough to his fantasies of her to have no other will of his own.

They came at last to the silent ruins of Horpyna’s home. Some night vermin fled from the witch’s body as they approached and Bohun flinched back with a cry. But Helena showed no sign that she had seen or noticed. She merely paused as she came level with the witch’s corpse, as if listening. But, apparently, satisfied, she walked on. She moved with slow purpose to the house, never faltering, and merely bending her head with silent grace as she entered the room where she had been a captive.

Transfixed, Bohun stood a moment alone as an imbecile hope—Does she want me to follow? Does she remember that I was there with her?—warred with the all hopeless realities he’d known. 

Reality won, as it always had. 

The silence of the night shattered in a cataclysm of violence: splintering wood, smash and clatter of broken metal, and the impossible sound of heavy fabrics ripped apart by inhuman strength. 

“Oh no,” Bohun begged, the night sky skewing dizzily above him. “No, please!”

But the noises did not stop, and even when he covered his ears and screamed, the sounds still beat upon his eardrums and hammered at his mind until he collapsed, writhing on the cold earth with his mouth open and dirt between his teeth as he screamed.

When the sounds stopped, he had no more strength left to sob his relief. But he found himself whimpering her name, even as he feared to speak it. 

And something spoke to him in answer. Something soft, sweet to his ears, and colder than the furthest stars: “Jurko.”

He blundered through the doorway to the bedroom. She stood like a pale statue amidst shadowed chaos. A few drifting feathers darkened the starlit square of the window, and against that silvery outline she was only a paler shade of darkness.

“Princess?” he whispered.

He was horribly aware that the only sound in the room was that of his own breathing.

“Helena, I’m sorry!”

The silent figure tilted its head, as if listening.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I’m sorry for it all—and for what I said! You were never a curse to me,” he sobbed. “Never. I love you! I would have chosen to love you over glory, over death, over anything in the whole wide world!”

She turned, and found himself laughing and sobbing with gratitude that at last—at long last—she had heard him! She must have understood! What did the rest of it matter if at last she had understood that he loved her?

Helena moved too quickly for him to have seen it, and he flinched back from the icy touch of her palm against his cheek.

“But you were a curse to me, Jurko,” said a whispering voice which Bohun shuddered to hear—one that could not have come from the throat of a living being. It was flat, inflectionless, and utterly devoid of the spark that had once been Helena’s life. 

“I—I loved you!” he protested. 

Her cold fingers had caught in his hair, dragging his head to one side with irresistible force. He clapped one hand against her arm, trying to push her back, but her arm was like dead stone beneath the linen softness of her sleeve.

“I never meant to harm you!” Bohun did not care that he was about to die. He would die with the only truths he possessed on his lips. “I loved you with all my heart! I wanted a life for us, Helena!”

The implacable power of her grasp slackened, and Bohun found himself sobbing and shivering against her icy hand.

“Please,” he begged, “don’t you know I loved you?”

“I think I knew, once,” said that death-rattle whisper. “When I loved you, I think I knew that you loved me. But then you stopped loving me, even though you said you loved me still.”

“I never stopped!” 

“I feared you more than the night.”

“No,” he sobbed, “no, Helena, I only wanted us to be together. I would have done anything for you! Anything!”

She did not move, but neither did she speak, and Bohun had a sudden, terrifying sense that this being that was no longer quite Helena was slowly considering his words with a mind that was no longer human.

“Anything? That is not true. I wanted to leave. I wanted…” 

But the vampire stopped, lifting its head like a beast trying to catch a scent on the breeze. 

Bohun waited with his breath caught in his throat.

Slowly, the creature that had been Helena lowered its hand. Bohun gasped as he was released, but had neither will nor wish to flee. Instead he watched as she disappeared from the faint wash of ghostly starlight that had illuminated her. There was silence, and then the slow, methodical sounds as Helena worked through the wreckage of the room, her dead hands searching for something that was not there to be found. He could hear her: beginning in one corner then worked slowly, methodically through the room, inch by inch, turning over jeweled caskets and broken furniture with the same, unvarying rhythm.

He knew she could not leave this valley. He knew she would never be able to leave the last ground she had walked when she was alive. Bohun knew whom she sought, but he was not here. 

“Helena,” he whispered, hands covering his ears to block out the noise. “Helena, he’s not here! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please!” 

Something broke within him then, and he began to stumble towards her in the dark, hands outstretched. 

“Stop! It’s my fault!” he screamed. “I know you didn’t love me, but I loved you so much! I just wanted you to be mine!”

A cold hand seized him by the throat and he whimpered as glass-hard nails dug into his skin. 

“Was it you?”

He tried to nod, but his head was held fast.

“You were the one who did this?” Her voice had been so utterly devoid of emotion before that to even the faintest hints of it now made the hair on Bohun’s head stand on end.

“No! N-n-not that! But I brought you here,” he confessed, tears rolling down his cheeks to patter on her icy skin “I did! I brought you here, when you didn’t want me to! Because I wanted you to be mine, and no one else’s!”

“You are the reason I am here?”

“Yes! Because I loved you, Helena.”

“And that is why I am cold? It was you who found me in the night?” A dead thing should not sound scared.

“N-n-no! No, that wasn’t—” Bohun swallowed back sobs. “Are you cold?”

“I am so cold. I wake, and I am cold, and I come here, and I search, and I am cold. Why is it so cold?”

He felt the icy exhalation against his skin as she spoke, her breath rank with the smell of dead blood. She had to draw in air to have a voice, but she did not breathe.

“Helena? Do you… Can you remember my name? Can you say it again?”

Her hand tightened its grip.

“Jurko,” she said, something deep within her throat rolling the “r” through soft tissue in ways no living body ever could.

He closed his eyes, and slowly reached out his arms and slipped them around her waist.

“You don’t have to be cold, princess. I’ll never leave you.”

“But I am. I can’t find… I can’t find… What am I searching for? And I am so cold.”

“It’s my fault,” he wept. “But ey, I have warmth to spare, don’t I, little bird? No warmth left for me in life if you’re cold.”

Bohun wished he could see her more clearly in the dark. He wished he could have stolen one last glimpse at her face, no matter what he might have seen there. But the night was dark and the bloody inertias of his life were already  guiding his hand: he was already tugging at his shirt, pulling down the collar.

“Here, Helena,” he sobbed. “I—”

Bohun had meant to say more, but the crushing force of her grasp and the icy needles of her teeth sinking into his flesh robbed him of everything but his screams, and even those lasted for only a few beats of his dying heart.

He died without being able to say his last words, without being able to make what little atonement he could. What he should have said first he had held back until last—and in the end it was too late. She would be condemned to walk over this valley, seeking and never finding what she sought. Nothing he could have done could change that. But Bohun fought to speak, even though he no longer had the strength to draw air into his lungs, struggling weakly in her arms as a final darkness closed over him. 

He had meant to give her the only gift she ever could have wanted from him. He had wanted to end his selfish life with one small act of grace. Too late; all too late. Unseen in the darkness, voice unheard, Bohun’s lips shaped the words as he died: His name was Jan.