#her survival must have been some fluke

[sanctity-in-sexuality]

Are there any good detailed free resources on NFP online? Maybe it's just because search results prioritize products but everything I find is either trying to sell a course, is a personal anecdote rather than a guide, or is very shallow with imprecise descriptions like "you can chart temperature and mucus" with no deeper explanation. I don't want to sign up for anything or join a class, I'm shocked that it's been difficult to access this knowledge!

It is kind of amusing how vague explanations of NFP methods often are.

The thing is, fertility-awareness based methods (FABM) have rules that must be followed precisely in order to accurately function as family planning, which is why they are almost exclusively taught in the confines of a classroom. Most people need guided instruction and practice under someone experienced with the method to understand its proper use. That's why free resources on it are hard to come by.

However, I'm happy to give you an overview to give you a more detailed idea of how the methods work. Just promise me you won't use this as your only instruction for family planning!

The Method Types:

There are three main methods of modern FABM: the Creighton Model, the Marquette Method, and the Sympto-Thermal method. There is some overlap, but the main difference is what biological signs of ovulation the method tracks.

Creighton (and its predecessor, Billings) traditionally tracks just a woman's cervical mucus. Marquette utilizes daily urine tests to track chemical estrogen levels. Sympto-Thermal combines mucus, temperature, and cervical position tracking. I use the latter, so I'll explain that in the most detail.

Context:

When a woman ovulates, the egg released is viable for fertilization for about 12-24 hours. This means conception is possible for up to a day after ovulation has occurred. However, sperm can survive within a woman for 3-5 days after ejaculation, so a woman can potentially conceive if she has sex up to five days before ovulation or one day after - or six days total of a "fertile window". FABM work by using one or more of the aforementioned biological markers to identify when ovulation will occur.

Cervical Mucus:

As a woman nears ovulation, her body will begin secreting discharge called "cervical mucus". The mucus is necessary in providing a hospitable environment for the sperm to survive. It often starts out kinda thick and white, but the closer she gets to ovulation, the clearer and stretchier is becomes, and she can track this change in consistency.

In both the Creighton and Sympto-Thermal methods, generally the first day a woman notices cervical mucus is considered the start of the potential fertile window; if she wishes to avoid pregnancy, she must abstain from sex from now until she identifies the end of the fertile window (generally when she's had three days of "drying up", i.e. little or no mucus, after previously noting fertile mucus in the same cycle).

Basal Body Temperature:

A woman's body temperature changes slightly depending on where she is in her cycle. If she tracks her daily temperature, she can identify when she ovulated based on temperature change. Temperature cannot predict ovulation, but it can accurately tell you when the fertile window is over.

To track accurately, the woman must take her temperature at around the same time every morning before starting her day (as getting up and moving around will cause the temperature to rise) using a thermometer that measures to the 1/100th degree. If she has a sudden temperature spike, especially if it coincides with one of the other fertility markers, it might indicate ovulation. To rule out flukes, she must wait until she has had three days of elevated temperature in a row. The cluster of elevated temperatures must be at least 0.4F higher than the previous six day's temperatures. If it falls short of that benchmark, the woman must wait an additional day before marking the end of her fertile window.

Example: I usually average 97.6-97.8F pre-ovulation. When I ovulate, my temperature in the morning spikes to around 98.2-98.4F and will remain at that level until a few hours before my period begins.

Cervix:

Ovulation causes the cervix to physically change in texture and position. A woman can insert a finger into her vagina to feel her cervix and record her daily observations to assists in identifying when she nears ovulation. As she gets closer, the cervix will move higher up the vagina and soften.

This sign can be tricky to track because it relies on feeling alone. Some women (like me) can't really tell much difference in their cervix. However, this biological sign can be useful in corroborating one of the other ovulation symptoms.

Estrogen and LH Testing:

The Marquette method can optionally adopt any of the other symptom tracking, but it's main methodology is tracking a woman's hormone levels using disposable test sticks. Estrogen and LH hormones will rise leading up to ovulation.

For this, a woman must use urinate on a test strip (similar concept to pregnancy tests) around the same time every morning, and then insert the sample into a digital fertility monitor. When a sufficient level of estrogen has been reached, the fertile window begins.

This method is especially popular with breastfeeding mothers who are avoiding pregnancy but unsure when their cycle may return.

Conclusion:

Again, this is just a basic overview, so there are a lot of little rules I didn't go into. But this should give you a basic idea of how the various FABM work.

Some NFP instructors can get weirdly superior about their methods, but the truth is that it really depends on the individual woman.

[canon-notcanon-warriorcats]

what if

we pushed the ancients moving to the mountains by like a year

fallen leaves still died in the tunnels, but everyone saw that as a fluke/bad luck/"it's sad, but it happens" (and also he should've waited until after the rain but he was too impatient, it could've happened to anyone that wasn't paying attention to the weather or was too impatient to wait)

Jay's Wing has been getting bad feelings about the tunnels, and the territory in general ever since just before Fallen Leaves died because twolegs had been building a couple of nests in the territory. He keeps getting these strange feelings that the cats need to move and so has been trying to get the ancients to form an actual comprehensive group for moons and leave the territory, but no one really listens and brushes him off, except for his friend Half Moon who tries to help if she can, but also tries to chill Jay's Wing out so he doesn't seem entirely crazy to every other cat.

Lion's Roar, who even though he was barely an adult was considered one of the strongest cats of the group, barely survives his sharpclaw assessment in the tunnels because even though the weather was clear and it hadn't rained at all in a couple of days, the tunnels suddenly flooded.

Jay's Wing and Half Moon do some snooping and they find out twolegs have been taking water from the lake, using it for something that neither of the cats could comprehend, but it had something to do with giant monsters that had shown up in the forest, and then later twolegs dumped water, which leaked into the tunnels and caused the sudden flooding.

There had been more monsters than ever before on the thunderpath and now they weren't just on the thunderpath, they were in the forest! And a bunch of twolegs with them, even setting up camps and marking a chunk of territory out with weird sticks, rocks, and vines.

On the far side of the territory, where the forest thinned into moorland, there were even more twolegs and monsters and more thunderpaths were being made. The twolegs had also been cutting down the trees that dotted the area, marking an even larger chunk of territory with their borders, and building a few more nests.

When Jay's Wing and Half Moon told the cats this, Furled Bracken brushes them off saying that there's plenty of territory and they can simply stay closer to the lake and avoid those areas. This infuriates Lion's Roar, saying that the twolegs dumping their water nearly got him killed. Not to mention his brother and sister had been killed before they could even become sharpclaws because of the monsters in the forest, and his other brother had been captured by the twolegs. Dove's Wing brings up how her and Jay's Wing's mother had been killed by a monster moons before, when monsters were just starting to become more common, and now things had become even worse.

Lion's Roar allies himself with Jay's Wing and Half Moon and he quickly becomes closer with them. A few days later the three cats go to where there were giant monsters in the forest, bringing Furled Bracken and Stone Song to show them the severity of what was happening. They find that the situation had become even worse, and that the twolegs and monsters had torn up the terrain and were now using monsters with massive jaws and teeth to dig into the rock and earth itself.

The cats are appalled by the destruction, but Furled Bracken insists that even though the noise and disruption had driven all of the possible prey, they simply must avoid the area. Stone Song asks what would happen if the twolegs and monsters never stopped and just continued doing this to every part of the territory. Furled Bracken replies that there was no proof that that would happen.

Lion's Roar is infuriated at the leader's passiveness and decides to take matters into his own paws. If the twolegs were taking over and the monsters were going to eat at their territory, but the group wouldn't leave to find a new home, then that meant that they would need to fight for their territory! Lion's Roar was the biggest cat in the group and one of the best fighters, he would protect his kin, his friends, and his home!

The other cats try to stop Lion's Roar, but the young sharpclaw pushes past them, letting out a fierce yowl as he charges into the clearing. Twolegs turn their heads toward the cat as he faces one of the monsters with giant teeth, its neck stretching up to take a bite out of the rocks above it. The twolegs start shouting as Lion's Roar pounces at the monster's paw and bites it, but reeling back at the acrid taste, as well as from the pain of trying to bite and grip onto the strange, hard material.

The twolegs start running towards the cat, but Lion's Roar has no time to figure out his next move, because as soon as he leaps off of the monster's paw, a shower of dirt and rocks comes crumbling down on him. The cats, and the twolegs, can do nothing but watch in horror.

When the cats return to the rest of the group, shaken and grieving, they tell the rest of the cats what happened, how Lion's Roar tried to fight to reclaim their territory from the monsters and twolegs. That night is when the group of grieving cats cast their stones, voting to leave the lake.

[darkspine10]

GF Fanfic - The Deepest Roots

Tangled Roots (33,970 words) by darkspine10

Chapters: 6/7

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Rating: Mature

The sensation of real pain felt almost flat and dull. Yet when Pacifica jolted awake her sore muscles complained and resisted her stretches. The dry earth beneath her was rough against the skin, but that told her that the dirt was tangible. She ran her hands down her body, finding it intact. Her mind less so, but it would have to do for now.

Sitting upright, she could make out the curved walls of a tunnel, roughly hewn through the ground in an oval shape. Placing a palm on the surface she found bare soil. This was a natural cave. She had no idea where she was, nor any recollection of how she’d got here.

The last solid memory she had was of sitting cross-legged in Mabel’s occult annex, before it all became a blur of negative associations and uncomfortably vivid apparitions. Surely she should be sprawled out on Mabel’s floor, spaced out of her mind.

She was startled when a drip of water caught her on the top of her head. That was real enough. The soreness had faded to be replaced by an equally stark absence of heat. She greatly regretted her lack of sleeves, though she’d hardly been expecting to end up underground. Wendy’s hat once again proved its worth, insulating some of the cold. Maybe it really was a lucky charm, she sardonically thought. By some fluke the bandage on her arm remained firmly attached. It had kept her injuries safe from further harm during her bad trip.

Some of her LSD-induced visions, those of travelling across the valley, must have been real enough for her to end up outside and alone. Mabel was meant to have been looking out for her, keeping any unruly symptoms controlled. So much for that. Pacifica groped for her pocket and took out her phone. Switching it on, the screen provided only a weak luminance, enough to show that the cave stretched on in both directions before terminating in inky blackness.

Despite the barrage of lurid imagery she’d endured in rapid succession, evidently the actual time elapsed was longer than she’d assumed. The time listed on her phone showed 3:26am - it had taken her over an hour to make it to wherever she was. She had a stream of missed texts, 17 in total. She scrolled back to the oldest unread message.

“Paz, don’t be alarmed,” Mabel had written in a way that couldn’t help but make her more alarmed. “You kinda burst out of the study so fast I couldn’t stop you!” Pacifica rolled her eyes. It hadn’t taken much to elude her vigilant guardian. “Really sorry! I couldn’t catch you after you ran outside, trust me. You acted like you knew what you were doing though! There was this look in your eyes, you know, a look.” Pacifica didn’t know. “Anyway, good luck with the monkey ;-)” Mabel had probably chosen to call it that to rile her up. Scowling, she was about to fire off a cutting rejoinder when she noticed her phone had absolutely no signal. Not even half a bar could penetrate the soil and rock piled above.

“This is what I get for trusting one of Mabel’s concoctions,” she grumbled.

Faced with no other options, she started walking down the tunnel, choosing a direction at random. For all she knew her path led deeper into the bowels of the Earth. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. If her hallucinations had in fact attuned to the Unshriven then perhaps she was in the right place to find it. Better to accept her predicament than wallow in despair.

She didn’t feel much different as a person after the voyage into her subconscious. Aware of a headache akin to a hangover perhaps, but otherwise unchanged. She still harboured a deep resentment towards her innocent daughter, plus there was her unresolved relationship with Wendy Corduroy, not to mention being plagued with body issues. Those could all wait. Important as it was to try and find meaning imparted by the drug’s imagery, survival was all that mattered until she got out of this freezing hole in the ground. She may have shed some pretensions from childhood, but shivering in a dark pit wasn’t something she could tolerate. Missing her soft bed and silk sheets, she got to her feet and set off in a random direction down the passage.

Walking for a few minutes she assumed she was making good progress through the tunnel, though it was impossible to judge for sure. Though she wasn’t thrilled by this damp, slimy tunnel, every step forward felt important, moving her towards freedom. Then she tripped. She came down on her knees, swearing and sore. Her jeans weren’t ripped but the friction burn would linger. She turned back to see what had caught her off guard. It was the handle of a metal axe.

Pacifica’s eyes widened and she reached the weapon. The design of the handle was unmistakable, fashioned from a sturdy branch and varnished until it shone. The fearsome blade also glinted in the dull light, sharp enough to cut through the darkness. She pressed a finger to the blade, recoiling when she drew a tiny inch of blood. She’d already lost enough of that for today, thank you very much.

This was a Corduroy axe, she was sure. What on Earth was it doing down here? Was Manly Dan prowling about somewhere, in an elaborate game of hide and seek? She was certain she’d seen, or sensed him in her hallucinations. In any case it was wise to arm herself. She lifted the handle and tested the axe’s weight in her grip. It was heavy and would slow her down, there was no getting over that. Yet it could be advantageous. She swung the axe, letting its weight naturally carry it in a wide arc. Yes, this would do for protection in a pinch. It wasn’t the first time she’d wielded an axe. There had been one of Mabel’s endless sentimental keepsakes, a supposed reminder of one of the twins’ earliest adventures. Pacifica had never quite believed the story behind it, of wax figures coming to life, but could admit she’d seen stranger things since then.

Stranger things like the sight that she came upon ten minutes later as her wanderings took her ever onwards. The path through the tunnel had branched out, widening into a cavernous open space. The ground beneath her sloped downwards into a bowl. As far as the light from her phone screen would penetrate it showed a cavern roof 30ft over her head. Freedom was not yet in sight.

Instead she came upon something that told her she was definitely in the lair of the Unshriven. She’d almost walked straight past it, camouflaged in earthy browns along the cavern wall. A hollow, about as tall as she was, in the cave wall. It was overgrown with twisted branches. Using the axe like a crowbar to lever the flimsy blockage out of the way, she recoiled, discovering that the hollow was occupied.

A woman of indeterminate age was wedged into the bedrock, staring out with unflinching eyes. Pacifica found it a disconcerting reminder of how Leah had appeared in her hallucination, flayed and judgmental. But the eyes were the least worrying facet of the imprisoned stranger. Her skin was melding with the bark of the ensnaring roots. These roots grew in an endless sprawl from the cavern base to its apex.

Pacifica had seen people turned into wood before. A twinge of guilt passed briefly over her as she acknowledged that the event on the night of the Northwest part had been her fault. Back then the transformation was terrifyingly static. A brief crying-out before cessation of all life. It had at least been swift. There was a cleanness to the transition, alive one moment, posed for eternity the next. She could have mounted the wooden statue Mason alongside the equally lifeless animal heads lining her parents’ walls and he wouldn’t have looked out of place.

What she was witnessing in front of her right now was entirely different. This was a process, one that was only partially completed. The skin wasn’t a clean wooden varnish, it was a mottled cedar that coated the skin in patches. She could still detect the tiniest muscle movements beneath the surface, though where human body ended and wood began was hard to identify. The hair and clothes remained untouched, as did those staring, vacant irises. Vines crept around the body like a vice, keeping it cocooned against the cave wall.

If there was life left in the poor woman it was only the weakest flicker. It was the life of a plant, creeping towards a strip of sunlight for the barest sustenance.

Shining her light back into the cave, Pacifica realised she was high on the periphery of this open chamber. She slid down the slope into the centre of the space and found that the woman wasn’t alone. She was surrounded by other trapped people. Over a dozen hollows contained men and women, some of whom Pacifica recognised. She’d passed some of them casually in the street, or delivering mail, or at the town pool. In a town as small as Gravity Falls it would be impossible not to become familiar with the majority of the population.

There were other lifeforms too. Shin-high hollows held captured gnomes, their red pointy hats the only splash of colour against ceaseless woody browns. One oversized hollow contained an insectoid creature with a bulbous orb-like head that Pacifica didn’t recognise. The eight spindly legs and a pair of immobile pincers it possessed showed how powerful the Unshriven must be, if he could entrap even this menacing beast. These poor individuals could have been sequestered down here in the dirt for days, or perhaps even weeks.

At the centre of the vast round hall was a tree which supported the entire cavern. It wasn’t like the one in Corduroy’s cabin. This tree was ancient, its bark drained of all colour except ashy black. Gnarled branches snaked across the vaulted roof, while the roots were sunk into the ground on account of the immense weight. Vestigial brown leaves hung in small clumps, decaying or dead.

Amidst the meandering eaves at the top of the cave Pacifica saw in places stone rectangles, embedded. The branches curled around these intrusions. At first she was confused, unable to understand what purpose these structures could serve. Then she noticed one where the soil within the rectangle was fresher, water dripping down off the surface. Mulched bones jutted down into the open space, threatening to hurtle down and shatter. Pacifica swallowed to resist bile at the back of her throat.

Of course. They were beneath the Gravity Falls cemetery. This entire cavern sat innocuously under every coffin and headstone, slowly providing a constant supply of new meat to feed the Unshriven. Of the hideous creature itself there was no sign, for which Pacifica was grateful. This was utterly obscene. If there was any greater intelligence behind the ape’s intentions then it was a cruel and malicious mind.

From down a different passage than the one she’d travelled along Pacifica heard raised voices. She ducked down beneath one of the support tree’s roots. Her hand wrapped around the axe. She wasn’t ready to wield it yet, still unsteady from the lingering high. On hearing the voice more clearly however she stood up, knowing there was nothing to fear.

“Come out! I’ll finish you off once and for all.”

Manly Dan squeezed in through a narrow opening. In his hand was an axe even larger than the one Pacifica was carrying. He held a lantern aloft, revealing his bared teeth, and he bore a look that could have petrified any prepubescent young boy insecure in his masculinity. Pacifica smirked to herself and called out to the burly lumberjack. “Over here. Are you looking for Little Red Riding Hood?” He softened his glare and made his way across the cavern. There was a look of shock on seeing the trapped and mutated prisoners, but he quickly covered up any sign of fear.

“Pines. I thought you’d lost your nerve for the hunt. I shouldn’t have underestimated you, you’re-”

“Stubborn, that’s what I am.” Pacifica smiled. She never thought she’d be so happy to breathe in the musk of sweat and woodsmoke that permeated his clothes. Though, she’d have been happy to see any friendly face in the wake of the night’s events. “Have you seen the Unshriven?”

The lumberjack crouched beside her so they were face to face. In a low voice he said, “No, and I didn’t expect to.” He jabbed a thumb at the feathered amulet, and Pacifica remembered that no-one else would be able to properly perceive the ape. She alone possessed that delightful privilege.

“You’re right,” she said. “It’s starting to make sense, perception is key. A friend of mine suggested there might be some trace elements of a psychoactive substance in the bone. I’m guessing that somehow the proximity to sweat or adrenaline brings out the chemical, allowing one’s mind to properly perceive the Unshriven. Or at least that’s my best working hypothesis.”

Manly Dan nodded, though Pacifica detected a slight glaze over his eyes. She didn’t expect him to take a scientific approach to things. “That may be so, but how on earth did you find the beast’s lair? My family has wrestled with this monstrosity for centuries and you track it back in one night?”

“I guess your family or the natives never found the right mood enhancements. A gaggle of buddhist monks high on pot might have had better luck.” Corduroy seemed baffled by her statement. “The real question is, how did you find this place? It wasn’t exactly easy to get here myself.”

Manly Dan’s eyes were cast downwards. “The beast… claimed one of my boys.”

Pacifica’s mouth flapped open. The Unshriven wasn’t only grabbing people at random. It had a vendetta of its own against the Corduroys. Her palms clenched around the handle of the Corduroy axe. It seemed an appropriate weapon in light of the circumstances. Now there were lives at stake she couldn’t back down.

Corduroy marched over to one of the hollows. Between the wooden bars of the cell Pacifica could make out red hair and a green shirt with a flannel print. That was one of the Corduroys alright, though she stamped down the urge to ask Manly Dan ‘which one?’.

“I followed its tracks but the trail went cold,” he continued, pressing a hand against his son’s cheek. The boy’s transformation hadn’t spread far, with only faint whorls of bark on his cheek giving away his inevitable fate. “Then I saw boot prints leading into this cave. Your footprints, I take it. I doubt I could have entered this space if you hadn’t already shown the way. My mind had never registered the existence of the cave mouth. Like you said I suppose, perception is key.” He stomped around, fists balled like he wanted to hit something. “I should have expected retribution. By bringing an outsider into the fray I’ve upset the balance. The Unshriven has been known to kidnap people without warning, spiriting them away in the dead of night for nefarious purposes.”

Pacifica shoved the lumberjack in the shoulder. “And you didn’t think to tell me this before?! That might have been useful context to know before you sent me out to find the scariest fucking thing in the world!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Pacifica pinched her eyelids and put aside her pride. “You can make it up to me later. Though god knows how. A free axe-throwing lesson? Teach me how to stir-fry a raccoon? Whatever. Right now we have to help your son and the rest of these people. And non-people. You know, Mason and I have got to come to a decision on that, it’s surprisingly hard to settle on terminology. Do we call them cryptids, mystical beings, or just a weird class of people?”

Corduroy shook his head, ignoring her rambling and shining his lantern at the hollows. “I don’t understand it. No-one’s gone missing for years.”

“That might be exactly how long some of these people have been down here. The ape’s sustained itself for over 200 years and I think I know how.” She pointed at the defiled stone rectangles in the roof. “We’re down under the cemetery. In Gravity Falls the graves eat people.”

“My god.” Corduroy angrily thrust his axe into the space between the roots that guarded his son, trying to wedge the boy loose. “This ends tonight.”

“Easier said than done.” Pacifica glanced around, aware that there’d been no sight nor sound of the Unshriven for the entire time they’d been down here. After the pursuit in the forest she couldn’t believe it would leave its food supply so undefended. It could be back at any moment. “You’d better watch out. This thing can hurl branches at a hundred miles an hour.”

Corduroy scoffed. “Of course, why wouldn’t it? Damn widowmaker.”

“Come again?”

“Lumberjack jargon. It refers to loose branches that fall and hit people. Fools who don’t watch their heads around snags are likely to meet an untimely fate. It sounds as if the Unshriven wants to make fools of us all.”

“You might be more right than you think.” Pacifica noticed movement above Manly Dan. One of the branches clinging to the ceiling had surreptitiously snapped in such a way that it dangled over the lumberjack’s head. From that height it would crack his skull.

Pacifica put all her weight into shoving the burly man out of the way. His mass made it a struggle, but she succeeded in clearing the area before the loose branch thudded into the spot he’d been standing. Corduroy got up off his hands and knees, but let out a gasp. Pacifica followed his eyeline towards the central trunk.

The Unshriven was there, sitting in the upper boughs in a reclined position. It couldn’t care less about the intruders. Pacifica went rigid, culled into submission by the ape’s horrifying appearance. Its breaths came out as sonorous stabs, like a foghorn in the mist.

Before their eyes the creature flitted about along the branches. One minute it was prowling towards them on all fours, the next it hung from a limb of the tree, chattering and baring its tusks. Ever closer it came, fading from sight only to reappear in a new position.

“Get ready.” Pacifica took a defensive stance and held the axe close to her chest.

“I can see it,” Corduroy said in a reverent breathless whisper. His eyes matched wherever the creature manifested. He didn’t need the amulet anymore. Not here, Pacifica sensed, not on the ape’s home turf. “After all these years… let’s have it then!” Manly Dan charged forwards, lifting his massive axe as if it weighed nothing. He let out a war cry and the Unshriven roared in return. It had a glint of malice in its vacant eye sockets, Pacifica could detect that much.

She wanted to call out, to tell Corduroy to hold back. It was too late. The Unshriven leapt from its perch at the lumberjack. Manly Dan hefted his axe and swung it in time to catch the beast mid-jump. The silver blade passed harmlessly through empty air. Unbalanced, Corduroy fell forwards. The Unshriven had been a coiled spring and now all that feral energy was unleashed. It cannoned into Corduroy’s chest, reversing the momentum and sending him sprawling on his back. The giant axe whirled through the air. Pacifica felt the force of impact as it came to rest embedded in the cave wall inches from where she stood.

In panic Manly Dan raised his fists over his chest to fight off the ape. It wasn’t there. It had already rematerialised out of reach in the high branches. A satisfied cackle echoed from its chest. There was evil in that sound, not the vocalisations of a mindless brute, but a calculated response to derive pleasure from their suffering.

Pacifica wasn’t going to stand for it. “I’m so done with you!” She lifted her axe and ran to cover Corduroy. If the beast wanted another sacrifice it would have to go through her first. “This is our town! You’re not welcome here!”

The ape took the bait gladly, breaking a piece of wood off with a snap like bones cracking. In a single whirling motion it extended its rubber-hose arms and cast down the sharpened missile. Pacifica ducked, getting out of the way just in time. The twig caught her fur hat and sent it flying. Without a moment to catch a breath she had to dodge out of the way of a second projectile. Her reflexes were slow. The projectile caught her in the side, knocking her down. She groaned in agony. Though she’d just barely avoided taking the shot head on, the glancing blow still hurt like hell. She lightly brushed under her tree t-shirt and flinched in pain. There’d be an almighty bruise on her hip if nothing else.

The Unshriven manifested on the ground, knuckle-walking towards her without apparent haste. Fighting through the pain, she picked up the axe and swung it widely at her enemy. It passed through, dissolving the ape before it reformed, no worse for the wear. It hadn’t even reacted to the swing. Pacifica feebly clutched the amulet, willing her mind to snap back into a heightened state. Whatever trace of the LSD was left in her system wasn’t enough to generate more than a light buzz. Wasn’t this stuff meant to stick around in her system for a few hours at least? Mabel hadn’t been kidding about the lowness of the dosage. Pacifica stumbled backwards and sprawled in the dirt, dropping the axe.

This was hopeless. They couldn’t hurt the beast. She’d been awake for hours, putting her body through stress she hadn’t dreamed of the day before. She was worn out, ready to expire and become another harvested body. Hot, stinking clouds of breath snorted from the creature’s nostrils as it bared its mighty fangs in preparation to penetrate her skull like ripe fruit.

Pacifica thought of her family, Mason, Merrise, and Leah, the latter so helpless without her protection and nourishment. Struck by the horrible acknowledgement that she might never see any of them again, she flashed back to the last time she’d been close to death.

A snare is coiled around my ankle, dragging me towards a waiting enemy. Wendy tosses me her sword, a jagged piece of cold metal. Momentum carried me towards a killing blow. Without that timely throw my life would have ended.

…Momentum.

That was the key. With a burst of energy Pacifica leapt to her feet, grabbing the axe handle and springing up at the Unshriven. It was surprised to see her charging so willingly into the jaws of death, but Pacifica didn’t stop for an instant, building up speed. Wincing through the pain in her hip, she cannonballed into the Unshriven… and passed straight through it without slowing. The Unshriven’s intangible nature became a liability as it clutched at air while Pacifica was already out the other side. If it couldn’t fully manifest in the mundane world then it was little wonder that its primary form of attack was using blunt instruments as missiles. However, there was nowhere she could run to in the cave that she would be safe. The ape cackled evilly at her futile attempt.

Pacifica wasn’t listening, continuing to sprint away from the beast. She hefted the axe in a backhand swing and put all her energy into a follow-through strike. The axe struck the trunk of the central supporting tree sideways on. A fearsome boom like thunder ricocheted around the cavern. Jagged cracks splintered their way diagonally up the trunk.

The Unshriven howled with anguish, loud enough that Corduroy had to plant his gloved hands over his head. Pacifica ignored it, climbing up the branches and taking another swing at the bark. This impact had less weight behind it, barely splitting the wood, so she jumped back down and held the axe out in front of her. “Come on!” she yelled at the Unshriven.

Pacifica had figured it out. The Unshriven didn’t want to eat people, not directly, not when it was sustaining this menagerie of captives. The roots were digging deep, turning them to wood to nourish the central trunk. Killing her with its tusks or claws was simply a defensive measure to protect the larder. If the trunk and the Unshriven were symbiotically linked, then maybe affecting one could affect the other. “It’s not just the ape,” she yelled to Manly Dan, “it’s this whole ecosystem!”

As if to prove her point, the Unshriven flitted onto one of the branches and hissed down at her. It faded away like mist, dissipating into the tree. The entire cavern rumbled. Manly Dan had to roll out of the way as the gargantuan roots slithered up out of the soil and pounded against the surface. The upper branches flexed and writhed. Pacifica had seen this coming and crouched as close to the trunk as she could. The wooden tendrils struck out with the force of a whip, rending out deep gashes of dirt and mud. The bark on the trunk creaked and reformed, creating a furrowed brow and turning the incision Pacifica had made into a distorted frown. Within the crack Pacifica could see a broiling mass of energy the colour of rust, aching to unleash itself.

The stories of Devil’s Lake had sounded grander than one chattering ape. Now Pacifica was seeing the true form of the monster, its limbs more like the grasping tentacles of an octopus than any plant. The light in the chamber became dappled, reflecting the abode of a true dweller of the depths.

One of its branches swung out to knock her down. Pacifica stood her ground and raised the axe, severing the attacking extremity and sending it lifelessly to the ground. The ape figure appeared again, enraged and claws raised to strike. Pacifica mirrored its pose with an aggressive grunt and lofted her axe. The beast faded away at the last second. It was only willing to strike her if it wouldn’t risk being hurt likewise. As long as Pacifica wasn’t cowed and kept up her guard there was no way the beast would attack. Buoyed up by the sense that she was indestructible, she chopped at the trunk again. It was like iron, unyielding. She needed more momentum, more weight behind the swing.

Instead she was set upon by the tendrils. A swarm of them wrapped around her in a split second, constricting her arms. Her feet left the ground as she was hoisted up. One branch the thickness of an elephant’s trunk circled her throat. Still she fought back, flailing her axe.

The tendril wrapped around her throat began to squeeze. At the same time a voice tickled at the back of her mind. It was deep and compulsive. “Give up the struggle,” She looked around dreamily, the voice drowning out her thoughts. It would be so easy just to let go. The voice sounded so compelling. A chill struck her right down to the bone. “You’d make such a delicious feast. All that misplaced resentment, all the heartache, back and forth. You don’t even want that pretty body. Let me take a hold.” The tendrils tightened, tugging on Pacifica’s hair almost hard enough to rend it from her scalp.

Pacifica gritted her teeth and whimpered, her voice barely above a croak. “Shut up! This body may not be perfect, but it’s mine!” She struck out with the axe, hitting the lower end of the branch around her neck and loosening the grip. The voice faded away, replaced with a howling moan coming from within the trunk. “Hands off!”

At the edge of her vision, Pacifica saw Corduroy was on his feet. He seemed to have picked up on the message about the tree and the Unshriven. He’d plucked his massive axe out of the wall, but couldn’t get close through the shifting tentacles that threatened to coil around him. In response he lifted the axe above his head with both hands and hurled it through the air. It struck the core of the tree, sending splinters all up the length of the bark.

Immediately the tendrils slid away, dropping Pacifica. She landed in a crouch and, coughing, hoisted the axe for another strike. She wouldn’t let this window of opportunity that Corduroy had opened go to waste.

The ape re-manifested near Pacifica, but it was wobbly on its feet, delirious from damage. Pacifica made several drunken swings at the beast, but it kept darting away at the last second, as unpredictable as sizzling oil spitting from a frying pan. The Unshriven backed away from her attack. Its morphs between solid and gaseous showed signs of fatigue, covering less distance and taking longer to transition between states. Finally Pacifica backed the ape up against the trunk of its oh-so-important tree. With all her might she took one last swing, impacting the ape as it tried to merge with the tree and inflicting a fatal blow on both. She pulled the axe out and stuck again, immensely satisfied. “Oh that feels good! Eat it!”

The structural weakness in the combined entity gave way and the cracks along the trunk split asunder. Pacifica’s victorious mood faltered when a torrent of blood gushed from the wound. She didn’t even have time to close her mouth before the onslaught of thick fluid washed over her. Choking, she coughed up as much as she could before taking yet another swing at the trunk, and another. She wouldn’t stop until she was sure this thing was dead for good, even as blood poured over her like a waterfall. Shafts of orange spit forth from the cracks in the wood.

The ape’s skull burst forth from the tree in a last gasping cry, its limbs grasping. One hand succeeded in grabbing the amulet, suffocating Pacifica. She easily knocked him away with the butt of her axe. It was the gesture of someone drowning coming up for one last gulp of air but unable to fight the current. When she’d seen the Unshriven die in her dream it had been raw, meaty. Despite the blood, the Unshriven’s real death was far from corporeal. The branches of the tree broke away from the ceiling, withering and ageing to dust in seconds. Blue strands of energy were leached from the Unshriven back to the tree, tearing chunks of fur. In their place remained spectral outlines of tendon and muscle. The skull flaked away, sucked into the vortex at the heart of the destruction, exposing brain tissue.

As the layers peeled away, Pacifica finally saw a pair of eyes emerge from beneath the empty sockets. Two leering eyes, dangling from stalks on a pulsing brain. A coiled nervous system hung below the floating organ. Devoid of gums, a jaw frozen in an unending scream completed the anatomical nightmare. The thing’s expression wasn’t one of fear of dying, but furious hatred, raging at her for defeating it. It put Pacifica in mind of a particularly bloody spaghetti dish. The metaphor became more apt as the Unshriven’s remains were slurped down into the vortex at the heart of the trunk.

All the life inside the tree vanished. Pacifica was briefly afraid the cavern roof would collapse, but the dead stump was enough to hold it up. Leaves drifted down from above like snowflakes, not dead and brown but a warm golden orange. The last trickles of blood pooled around Pacifica’s feet. As a last insult to her enemy, Pacifica grunted with effort and embedded her axe in the trunk. She left it there as a permanent reminder of her victory.

The last of the leaves settled around the roots. Glancing cautiously around the chamber, Manly Dan said, “You… you defeated the Unshriven.”

Pacifica wiped a hand over her face, trying to remove some of the accumulated blood and only succeeding in smearing more of it onto her palm. “I guess it was his time… of the month.”

“What?”

She waved it off. “Bad joke, forget about it.”

Manly Dan’s eyebrow perked up. “The necklace.”

Pacifica’s hand went to her throat. Her neck chafed but that pain would fade. Hanging limply from the torn cord, the shards of Osprey bone and sapphire had been shattered in the Unshriven’s last grasp for freedom. Pacifica slid the amulet over her hair and let the feathers and bone fragments trickle through her fingers. “It’s ok, it served its purpose. I don’t know how it did it, but if it wasn’t for this special charm we would have all been mulched. Besides, I’ve already got one enchanted pendant at home. Two would be excessive of me. I’m trying to give up excess.”

A moaning voice came from the edge of the chamber. Manly Dan’s head snapped to one side and he rushed to his son’s side. “Gus!” There was one small mystery solved.

The bars of Gus’ cell were disintegrating away, coming away soft and flaky in Manly Dan’s hands. The visible effects of the transformation into wooden statue diminished quickly once the young Corduroy was pulled free of the vines. All around the rest of the cavern Pacifica saw the previously incapacitated prisoners begin to stir and wriggle free of the hollows.

“Dad!” The boy was freed from the trap and hugged his father. Manly Dan was holding him tight, tears streaming from his eyes as he laughed. Pacifica found it heartwarming, and shed a tear of her own. She wanted to wipe it away, but her hands were still too bloody.

“NORTHWEST!”

Pacifica instantly froze. She recognised that voice. it boomed throughout the cavern. It had visited her in many dreams over the years, initially unsettling but ultimately leaving her with a feeling of contentment. The amber light that had flared so brightly within the core of the tree shone out again, before dying for good. Instead, the stone markings on the ceiling of the cavern which marked the desecrated graves began to glow an icy blue. Shafts of light shone down, illuminating patches on the floor and casting shadowy figures onto the walls.

The two Corduroys stood, unsure how to react. Manly Dan held a protective arm around his son. Pacifica hesitantly walked towards the shadow of the figure she recognised. Archibald Corduroy. Despite only being a silhouette, she could make out his flaming beard and imposing body. Even like this she could tell he was smiling and nodding towards her. There were other shadows, presumably more Corduroys from decades gone by.

Dan and Gus gravitated towards one in particular, that of a woman, half turned away. Some innate sense told Pacifica that this was the late Mrs Corduroy. She had never even thought to inquire after the fate of Wendy and the boys’ mother. She’d been absent from their lives as long as Pacifica could recall. From the heartache and joy on her family’s faces she was clearly much missed. “Thank you,” Manly Dan mouthed at Pacifica.

Pacifica wanted to smile at the sheer impossible wonder of the moment. Yet she couldn’t feel the same connection, not while a more glaring absence gnawed at her. She was about to speak when she saw more shadows cast on the opposite half of the cavern to the Corduroys. They were hidden in a patch of darkness away from the lantern, but Pacifica set her mouth in a straight line anyway. This was her own legacy. The Northwest in her.

Nathaniel Northwest and her grandpa Auldman stood haughtily, arms folded and disdainful expressions almost detectable through the faded shadows. She didn’t recognise many of the other figures, but then she’d never been a student of family history, especially after cutting ties with her legacy. She scoffed at the shadows’ dismissal. These men weren’t paragons of virtue. Why should she value their judgement one iota? She wasn’t about to let their disapproving aura ruin the mood.

Turning her back on the shadows, she lightly touched Manly Dan ob the arm, offering a sympathetic smile. He and his son gladly waved as the echoes of the Corduroy ancestors were lost in the flickering lamp light. The graves above became silent memorials once more.

“Why wasn’t she here?” Pacifica asked quietly, once she was sure there would be anymore supernatural surprises. “Wendy.”

Gus Corduroy looked down in sadness at the mention of his sister, though Manly Dan only nodded sagely “I understand. We’re beneath the cemetery. Every Corduroy - and Northwest,” he hastily added, “was laid to rest somewhere in the earth nearby. My dear Wendy was never buried, remember. Today’s funeral was only an empty gesture.”

Pacifica’s eyes drifted up across the ceiling, as if she was seeing beyond. “No, nothing quite so hollow. As Mabel would probably say it was a… ritual event. Wendy’s body might not be on Earth - hell, there likely aren’t even any traces of her real body left. What does that matter though, if the people who celebrate her memory are all here?”

“So,” Manly Dan said with a growing pride, “you did it. You succeeded in your quest. You saved the valley.”

“I didn’t save the valley,” Pacifica said flatly, and Manly Dan frowned. “I rescued a handful of people, that’s all.” A small smile crept into her lips. “On the other hand, I did put a multi-generational feud to rest. I purified this corner of the woods forever more. And there's one less demon haunting the valley. I think that counts as a big enough win for one day.”

Manly Dan whooped and hollered, and twirled his axe high above his head.

“Come on.” Pacifica was beaming now. All around them the prisoners were stumbling out of the hollows and blinking. “These people are probably disoriented. You can show us the way back to the surface. We’d better tell Sheriff Durland, there are bound to be families and friends who need to be informed.”

“Do you need any help?” Manly Dan pointed to the scratches on her forearm. The patch covering them had been dislodged in the fight and was now flapping uselessly. The wounds had reopened, and rivulets of blood dripped from the gash, indistinguishable from the stuff coating the rest of her skin. With a gentler touch than she could have imagined Dan flattened the patch against her arm until it stayed stuck on. “Better?”

“Better.” Pacifica grinned, happy to have teased out some of the old lumberjack’s paternal side. “Wait, one more thing.” She scanned the torn up ground until she spied her fur hat. A large tear ran along one of the flaps. She ran a finger along the material, feeling like she’d failed in some profound way.

“It just needs stitches,” Dan said simply and practically.

“Yeah,” Pacifica said, shaken free of her brief melancholy. No doubt Mabel could fix it up in no time. Wendy’s hat might not be exactly the same afterwards, but she’d decided that was alright. Even if she would heal from her scars, the hat would carry a reminder of tonight’s events. “Ok people,” she shouted at the dazed crowd of humans and cryptid people. “Danger’s over!”

Between herself and the Corduroys they made sure every last prisoner was exhumed from the earth and led the confused people out through one of the tunnels towards the open sky. As they started to get close to the surface, Manly Dan turned his head, noticing something painted on the cave wall. Letting the crowd flow past, he and Pacifica stopped to examine the wall.

Within a circle of ten symbols was a crude painting of a triangle in a top hat. Manly Dan shuddered. “It’s Him.”

Pacifica ran a finger along the dry paint with an expression close to fondness. She found herself oddly unfazed by the painting’s connotations. “Probably an old native warning sign. Beware: do not pass this point, monsters within.” She chuckled. “Come on big guy. There’s no point hanging around here. I’ve seen enough Zodiac wheels for one lifetime.”

Ahead of them Gus stood, lit by the rising sun at the mouth of the cave. Pacifica shielded her eyes and squinted. The view of the valley with the early morning rays took Pacifica’s breath away. Sometimes she took her home for granted, but in this pinkish-golden light the valley shone with an uncommon radiance. Most of the people they’d saved staggered out into the sunlight, cheering and celebrating. The cryptids, the ones who hadn’t vanished into dark recesses underground, took the opportunity to scamper away, giving only perfunctory thanks.

Corduroy patted Pacifica on the back. “Well if that doesn’t make it all worthwhile. Could do with a nice warm bath and some food though.”

Pacifica rubbed her stomach. “I know what you mean.” She gazed at the view and panned down, spotting that the town high street was only a short walk away. Sitting amidst the colonial wooden buildings was one more modern structure that stood out among its peers. Making a snap decision, she started off down the trail. “Come on. I know a place.”

[lemonluvgirl]

Golden Cages

New Chapter Posted- (Ch: 22 Now Up on AO3 & FFN)

Small author’s note, I’ve had this chapter written since Thanksgiving but due to plot issues I put off posting. Now I’ve decided to just post so I can keep the story moving forward. 

Chapter excerpt:

“You survived the Games, Peeta. You are not a victor by accident. Even if some people say that you are. They say the same thing about me, that I’m just a fluke, but they’re wrong. I don’t care what anyone says, surviving the Games is a choice. Surviving what comes after them is also a choice. And only strong people can make that kind of choice. So find a way to make them listen,” her voice and eyes are as clear as I’ve ever seen them, and for a minute I can see the real Annie. Fierce and loyal, determined and brave. The girl she must have been before her Games. There’s something undeniably strong about the set of her shoulders and the way she stands, as if she was never broken at all.

[cresvalkyrie]

Saw your reblog! Break and Skin for Hauyne?

Hi Axel :3

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest? I think the end of the thirteenth cycle would be her lowest point. In the one cycle where she managed to cause the most deviations, was the one that ended the most disastrously out of all the cycles she had endured previously.

Due to some unknown issues, Xenpurgis was released too early, defying its creators and went on a rampage that destroyed not GDC, not Aevium, but the entire world. She had to watch every single person die in front of her, and she only survived by a fluke simply because the Theolia siblings gave up their Archetype to her with their dying breath which she used to ascend and defeat Xenpurgis once and for all. But by then, the world was already destroyed so there was no point continuing it all, forcing her to painstaking rebuild the world back piece by piece and giving up the majority of her powers to recreate the Core and with it reset the world.

When she breaks down, it's terrifying. Because it would be at that moment she'll show no emotion, not a single trace of humanity. Just pure logic and cold efficiency, ruthlessly cutting down any perceived obstacles in her way. It's as if she's been replaced by a robotic lookalike, even though deep down she wants nothing more than to collapse and scream it all out. But she couldn't. She couldn't afford to. Emotions are only a liability to her, and she must not pay it any mind when things have all went to hell. Focus only on the objective... nothing else matters than fulfilling the objective.

And did anyone seen her at their lowest then? No, and if they did it'd be in their dying moments so it wouldn't matter anyway. It isn't something she likes to talk about, and she considers it her biggest failure to date.

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all? At first, she isn't comfortable with her identity as... something not human, even if she resembles one appearance-wise. But she has warmed up to it over time, especially when it gave her the power she needed to protect her loved ones. She's accepted that she's neither human nor Pokemon, but something in-between. Not a monster to be feared, nor a beast that cannot be controlled. No matter what form she takes, it's still her in the end. The one her friends have come to trust, and the one they've cherish dearly.

How does she accept the worst parts of herself? That's the thing: she didn't. She just learned how to channel it productively, in ways that would at least not harm her friends. She'll acknowledge it, sure, but accepting it is a completely different story.

[ladyeliot]

I’ll fix it

Pairing: Tony Stark x Avenger Female Reader.

Summary: Everything changed the day Tony Stark felt your body fall apart in his hands, from then on a struggle to try to bring you back to him began.

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of death. Time travel.

Word count: 6283

A/N: Avengers Endgame. Some of the dialogue is taken from the film. Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

Reader’s abilities: Master Martial Artist,  experienced in espionage, talented Hacker.

There was a turning point in Tony Stark’s life, that moment when everything changed, when like ashes you scattered through space, when your body disappeared leaving motes of your essence in his hands.

The battle to save humanity was lost the moment the time stone, protected by Doctor Strange, found its way into Thanos’ Gauntlet, leaving only a single chance to deal with a successful end to the final battle. All of you present had led the fight with acuity, but there was little you could do, you knew that as you fell one by one. Your bodies lay in the ruins of the once superpowered planet, waiting for someone with the will to continue fighting death, Tony was the last one standing until Thanos managed to strip him of his own Iron Man suit, stabbing him in the side with the sword Tony had created with his nanonites. Something snapped inside you, causing the relentless pain in your joints to fade and you managed to get up, before the wizard offered him the last stone and Quill unsuccessfully tried to stop him before Thanos vanished.

“Tony,” you whispered awkwardly reaching out to him, wrapping your arms around his body.

The exhaustion was such that you both let yourselves fall and ended up sitting in the ashes of that place. You brought your faces close together, facing each other, letting them rest, feeling your connection again. The bruises showed what you had suffered, open wounds that allowed blood to spread freely over every part of your face. You had just lost too much, it was a break between before and after, but the one thing you couldn’t bear to lose was him. Tony covered his cut with the last of his remaining nanonites, expressing an inward groan of relief, allowing himself to think again about what had happened.

“Why would you do that?” he muttered pleadingly, looking at Strange, who stood a few feet away from you.

“We are in the endgame now.”

That had a meaning, only Vision’s name came to mind, he was the only one who could stop that, the one who possessed the last stone, the mind stone.

Little by little, the reunion of those present was the only thing that eased the pain, you were all there, none of you had suffered worse consequences. The silence of the planet made your skin crawl, warning that this could happen to the earth if the snapping were to happen. You and Tony stumbled to your feet, watching as Peter came to you.

“Something’s happening,” your gaze connected with Mantis who had just said those words.

You had never felt so much fear inside you, until you saw how his body seemed to extrapolate and turn into ashes that disappeared moments later. The mental and bodily blockade came over everyone present, the terror professing itself through their features. Tony’s fingers clung to your right arm, barely moving from where Mantis was before he vanished.

You all looked around anxiously, hoping to find some answer to the event that had just occurred, but you only saw Drax turning to ashes, joint by joint disappearing.

“Quill?” Drax looked at him as little by little his friend’s body parts dissolved.

“Steady, Quill,” with those words Tony increased the pressure of his fingers on your arm, showing his own insecurity.

“Aw, man,” Quill whispered before melting into the wind.

It had happened, no one could have stopped him, Thanos had gotten the five infinity stones and had done the snap. No one present had any idea how it had happened, but it was clear, your worst fears had been realised.

“Tony,” Strange muttered, causing the few of you present to focus your gaze on him. “There was no other way.”

And so it was that another one turned to ashes. But it wasn’t over yet.

“Mr. Stark?” Tony and you noticed that Peter was starting to wobble, your gazes were horrified at him. “I don’t feel so good…”

“You are all right,” Tony’s words sounded confident, but hid the fear he felt inside.

“I don’t know what’s – I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t–” Peter managed to reach you, falling into Tony’s arms, who wrapped his arms around him and pinned him to the ground. “I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go, Mr. Stark, please. Please, I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go…” his voice was broken with sobs. “I’m sorry.”

You walked away from the scene, holding your hands to your face as you watched your partner’s body disappear, leaving a void in its place. So, in that moment you realised that your terror was based on the loss of your loved ones, of your family that they had become, you were not afraid of disappearing, you were afraid of them disappearing. You staggered a few steps away, unable to come to terms with what you were witnessing at that very moment, although you didn’t have time either, as a faint tingling sensation appeared in your lower extremities.

“Tony…” a faint tone came from within you, but his reaction was immediate.

“No,” he said, standing up.

You’d never seen him look at you like that before, it broke you to contemplate his watery eyes and fully dilated pupils, expressing desperation, being unable to do anything about it to stop it.

“I…” your voice trailed off.

“I got you, I got you,” his voice was broken, but rigid. “I- I promise I’ll fix this, I’ll fix this.”

You could feel his arms around your body with intensity, the warmth of his body reaching yours, but it was only an instant before you stopped feeling everything and disintegrated into ashes in his hands.

The secular emptiness came a few seconds later to Tony, it was the moment when he understood what had happened and what it meant. He belonged to that 50% of the population that had a second chance, but you were that 50% that had turned to dust from one instant to the next. A feeling indescribable to his mind invaded every inch of his body, he was lost, looking around him, hoping that it was all a nightmare from which he could wake up, but it was clear that he was living in real life, because you were not the only one who disappeared. Completely shattered, he walked through the ruins looking for an answer, some sign to hold on to, to tell him what to do, but it never came.

Time became his enemy, what happened made him realise that every step without you is a moment of his life lost. First it was days, then weeks, then months, then years, he spent a long period of time working against the clock, looking for a way to solve what happened, to come back to you. Thousands of ideas were discarded without coming to a definitive conclusion that could counteract the effects of the snap. Tony knew that if he gave up it would mean losing you forever, the life you had imagined so many times, which you never got to because of the countless missions and obstacles along the way. You were almost on the verge of touching it with your fingers once, after all that happened in Sokovia and the signing of agreements you opted to embrace the simple life, but Thanos and the stones came along and shattered your lives.

Tony had converted the cabin he built for you and didn’t have time to show you, into his own lair. He spent the hours locked away, barely sleeping, at least for the first four years, then he declined, until one day, the light seemed to brighten and his old companions appeared, offering him one last chance to get what he was looking for.

“Now, we know what it sounds like…” Scott was leaning against the wooden porch.

“Tony, after everything you’ve seen, is anything really impossible?” Steve looked at him with concern, Tony’s appearance had deteriorated over the years. He looked exhausted and full of unresolved doubts.

“I must say I sometimes miss this foolish optimism,” he grimaced, a grimace resembling a smile. “Quantum fluctuation messes with the Planck Scale, which then triggers the Deutsch Proposition. Can we agree on that?” his tone rose. “In Layman’s terms, it means you’re not coming home.” he paused. “What do you think I’ve been doing for these five years? Do you think I haven’t thought about it already?”

“I came back,” Scott interjected.

“No, you accidentally survived,” Tony cut him off. “It’s a billion to one cosmic fluke. And now you wanna pull off a…. What do you call it?”

“A time heist?” said Scott smiling nonchalantly.

“Yeah, a time heist. Of course,” Tony frowned putting his index finger to his lips. “Why didn’t we think of this before? Oh, because it’s laughable? Because it’s a pipedream?”

“When did you give up?” cut Steve off with rudeness in his tone of voice. “When did you give up? When did you give her up?”

Those were the words that made Tony rise from his seat, tilt his face to one side and force his facial expression.

“You have no idea,” she approached him, pointing her index finger at him. “Where have you been for these five years? Creating an armada of joint therapy groups? Has that helped?”

“Tony…” Natasha interjected, but he barely paid attention.

“While you were out here with your army of crybabies I was out here, day after night trying to find a solution to undo this mess we’ve created,” Tony paused, clenched his jaw and sighed deeply. “So don’t come to me now and say I’ve given it all up for lost.”

It was clear that Steve knew how to set Tony’s mind in motion, he knew where it hurt and how he could reignite their old friendship, it only took him naming you for him when the group left to pick up on every loose end he had created over those last few years.

It was hours of thought processes, of proposing to himself the quantum possibilities that could work, but more importantly the consequences, what could happen and what number of percentages existed to bring you all back. It didn’t take him long to come up with a way out, completely illogical to anyone except those who were as crazy as he was. So it was that after all this time he arrived at the New Avengers facility.

“Why the long face?” the car stopped in front of Steve. “Let me guess, it turned him into a baby.”

“Among other things,” Steve shoved his hands into his trousers pockets and looked straight ahead. “What are you doing here?”

“Not giving her up,” Tony shrugged and got out of the car, introducing himself to Steve, who smiled. “Mind you, I don’t plan to participate in any of your open tears.”

That opened a process of slow reconstruction of the events of the past years. It opened wounds, showed the aftermath, but also reunited all the Avengers who had managed to survive Thanos’ snap. The important thing is that there were enough Pym particles for a round trip for everyone present. But the important thing was to find out where the stones were located depending on the time.

They were fortunate, or rather lucky, that three of the stones met at one point in their own history in New York City, precisely during the Chitauri invasion. That was bound to cause a bitter memory for Tony, but it suddenly changed when he found out what it meant, he would go back there, he would do that mission, and you would be there. You were there when in 2012 the Avengers faced the invasion in New York, it was your first mission, when you were all recruited, when you met for the first time.

“Okay, we have a plan,” Steve reported after he had organised the teams. All eyes were focused on a screen showing the stones and their location. “Six stones, three teams, one shot.”

It was clear that what they were about to face was something completely new, none of them had had time to perhaps acquire the necessary skills to tackle this new job, new mission. It was back to the past, at least they had the advantage of knowing what the future held, of knowing what would be in store for them if they failed to succeed in their tasks.

“Five years ago, we lost.” Steve began a speech to his colleagues positioned in circles on the starting platform. “All of us. We lost friends… We lost family… We lost a part of ourselves,” Steve and Tony’s eyes met. “Today, we have a chance to take it all back.” he paused slightly. “You know your teams, you know your missions. Get the stones, get them back. One round trip each. No mistakes. No do-overs. Most of us are going somewhere we know. But it doesn’t mean we should know what to expect. Be careful. Look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives. And we’re gonna win,” silence filled the room.“Whatever it takes. Good luck.”

After those words, which were encouraging for all the events that were to follow, a space loop embraced each of them, transporting them through time and space, rendering their matter insignificant. Their bodies separated between space cavities transporting them to the right time.

Tony, along with Bruce, Steve and Scott, appeared in an alleyway in New York City in 2012. The smell of dust and molten iron wafted into their nasal cavities. Everything around him was in ruins, the great skyscrapers looked like they were part of a film of the earth’s extinction, it reminded him of some of his worst fears, but it didn’t distract him because he knew how it was going to end.

“We all have our tasks,” Steve informed them, looking around at an overturned car. “Two stones on the outskirts, one in the centre. Keep a low profile,” he shifted his gaze to Tony, who nodded, raising his hands. “Keep an eye on the time.”

Given the orders the group made a point of dispersing, but Steve held Tony’s arm for a second, focusing his gaze on him.

“Are you going to be all right?” His blue eyes showed concern, including his voice as well.

“Of course,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve been through this once, I can do it again.”

With that said, Tony attached the Iron Man suit to his body and disappeared from the scene. Although his statement exuded self-assurance, he seemed to crumble a little when he reached the top of the Chrysler Building, finding himself in front of Stark Tower. His android vision allowed him to take in the scene taking place on the top floor of his old Tower. There stood the group of Avengers, surrounding Loki, holding him back, he knew that moment as if he had lived it only yesterday, but what almost made his heart stop was to find your figure there. The thrusters of his suit brought him closer to the Tower, accessing the interior through one of the open windows and keeping himself hidden behind some sculptures.

The suit disappeared from his body, becoming Tony Stark again, it was almost unheard of for him, there you were, as if time had never passed. His steps were slow, but he seemed to be completely lost, watching your every move, as if he had no job to do, and his only mission was to watch you. He could not escape the hundreds of memories that came back to him, he even felt guilty about numerous things he had said, done, or not said and done.

“Alright, who gets the wand?” you said holding up Loki’s sceptre.

Your words at that moment came to 2023 Tony with a wide smile, to hear your voice so close to him again and not through any electronic device made a lump form in his throat.

“Are you all right, dude?” Scott cut the moment short.

Tony realised at that very moment that Scott had been on his right shoulder the entire time, a fact that brought all his senses back into focus on the scene he was reliving. The lift opened, ushering in the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, who were actually Hydra, but none of you knew it at the time.

“All right, you’re up, little buddy. There’s our stone,” Tony whispered to Scott.

“All right,” Scott took up position on his partner’s shoulder. “Flick me.”

There Scott’s mission began, and he made his way to the Tony of the past to join him. The scene on the top floor of Stark Tower continued as if nothing strange was going on.

“You got it?” you asked the past Tony, watching as he put the tesseract into the briefcase.

“Yep,” he replied, closing the case and looking at you with a half smile.

“By the way, how about that drink afterwards Miss Y/L/N?”

“Interesting that you can think of a drink Mr. Stark,” you said crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh, when I buy someone a drink I’m not just thinking about drinking,” he winked at you to which you narrowed your eyes and headed towards the lift with the other companions. “Is that a yes?”

“Well I try,” muttered the Tony of the present to himself, who inevitably couldn’t hold back a smile as he saw with his own eyes that moment and your way of rejecting it, for it was the beginning of too many things. So, as you all disappeared down the lift he too made his way to his new assigned position.

“ Okay, Cap, I got our scepter in the elevator just passing the 80th floor,” he informed Steve over the intercom. “I’ll head down the hall.”

Steve had his mission, to get the sceptre by pretending to be a Hydra agent in front of those who really were and were now guarding the briefcase. Meanwhile, Tony took over one of the security uniforms of the Shield agents, to impersonate one of them and get the briefcase that had the tesseract inside that was now in the possession of the former Tony.

The avengers arrived at the lobby, Scott in thumb size’, that’s what Tony liked to call him, had to get inside the reactor of his victim to produce a small shock, and so everyone would focus their gaze on the old Tony, while the one from 2023 got hold of the briefcase, but things didn’t go as planned.

“I’m looking forward to going to Shawarma Palace,” Tony was standing next to you, “We could take it as our first date, what do you think?”

“Interesting,” you said, barely looking at him but with a slight smile on your face, “It’ll be great to say that genius billionaire Tony Stark asked me out for shawarma on our first date.”

“You forgot about philanthropist and Playboy,” he added, raising an eyebrow.“So that’s… Oh, Mr. Secretary!”

The conversation with Shield’s superior began, it was the ideal time where Scott had the opportunity to carry out his mission, for the tesseract was disappearing at that moment, and it would be tricky to access it again.

“All right, move it, Stuart Little. Things are getting dicey up here. Let’s go,” Tony informed Scott over the intercom.

It looked like everything was going down the drain, as Scott was in trouble for giving him a cardiac arrhythmia, however, everyone was stunned when at that moment Tony’s body stopped, and then began to convulse and fall to the ground. Your expression suddenly changed, as did the others.

“Tony?” you asked, dropping down beside Tony, worried about what was happening to him.

“Medics!” exclaimed the Tony Stark of 2023, taking in the scene. “You guys, some help!”

“Talk to me,” you said grabbing his face, which was completely flushed since he couldn’t breathe.

“Aw, she’s worried,” the present Tony muttered to himself.

“Is that the machine in your chest?” Thor, who was standing next to him, asked.

Meanwhile Scott, who had emerged from the reactor in the chest of the Tony of the past, pushed hard on the briefcase so that the Tony of the future could take it in his hands and go in search of a way out, but in that instant the Hulk suddenly appeared knocking Tony down, opening the briefcase, making the tesseract fly out and land at the feet of Loki who took it in his hands and disappeared.

“Come on Tony breathe,” you said looking at Thor hoping he would do something about it.

“I’ll try something, but I don’t know if it will work,” Thor brought his hammer to Tony’s chest, specifically the reactor and offered him a small shock, bringing the air back into his lungs. “Yes!”

“Whew, that worked a treat,” he said between gasps, looking at both of us. “Dude, that was crazy,” he thought. “The case.”

“Uhh, the case is…” Thor looked around.

“Where is the case?” you asked getting up trying to intercept him with your gaze.

“Where is Loki?” exclaimed Thor. “Loki!”

Meanwhile, ten meters away from the scene, the Tony from the future was completely knocked to the ground, after the Hulk knocked him down.

“Oh, we blew it,” Tony said without barely getting up, listening to all the conversation you had a few feet away.

The Tony of the future got up and opted to walk through the door leading to the stairs before anyone noticed him, for due to the Hulk’s untimely and shocking appearance, there were hardly any people left in the hall, apart from the Avengers and the Shield agents, of which he was undercover. However, as he was walking down a long corridor on the third floor, something stopped him.

“Excuse me agent,” your voice appeared as if it were an apparition behind him, causing him to stop his steps. “I must ask you to stay in the hall, we need to question everyone present in case we find evidence of what just happened.”

This was completely new, Tony hadn’t experienced it, he didn’t know what was going to happen or how he would best act on this occasion, but he knew that if he turned around you would most likely recognise him, as the black helmet and goggles barely covered his face, leaving the lower part of his face uncovered. At the same time, you kept a SIG Sauer P226 in your hand just at hip level, waiting at all times to watch the reactions of the man in front of you.

“Of course,” said Tony, changing his tone of voice slightly, making it deeper than usual, but still he just kept his position, his back to you.

“Could you turn around and come with me?” you asked with a frown, brushing your fingers over the gun and feeling a bad feeling inside you, for there was something that didn’t sit right with you.

Tony took a deep breath and lowered his face, there were a thousand ideas running through his mind right now, he didn’t know which one was worse than the last, so he connected several pieces and took one that would produce some personal gain, for worse than they were already, perhaps, things couldn’t get any worse.

“Are you sure?”

Slowly Tony’s body turned 180 degrees to face you. His features were obvious, his brown eyes accompanied by honey-coloured flecks, his beard so neatly trimmed, and those full lips, all 100% Tony Stark. But it was obvious to you that this was a trap, Loki had disappeared and you were aware of his every ability to deceive, after all he was the master of mischief. You didn’t stop for a moment to take the gun in your hands and point it firmly in his face, you had a clean shot.

“Loki…” you whispered frowning and squinting one eye to improve your aim.

“Not exactly,” Tony held up his hands retreating back a step, but showing no nervousness at all at the situation. “God, how I resent you mistaking me for him.”

It was at that precise moment, when he had you two metres away pointing a gun to his head, that he realised how long those five years had been, five years without being able to look at your face, without hearing your voice, without your caresses, without your kisses… for which he would die in those moments of your gunshot. He found himself with his hands raised, his body totally paralysed and his lips half-open, in love with you. You were not really the woman he had left behind, it was 2012 and many of your features were changed, but it was you.

“Where is the tesseract?” you asked, bringing him back to his senses. “What have you done with it?”

“That’s what I want to know,” he replied casually and slowly lowered his hands, knowing that bullet wasn’t going to be fired at him.

Tony’s mind worked fast, he was quick in his thoughts and in his actions, although sometimes that could get him into serious trouble because of the consequences of his actions, so he had no idea what he was doing at that moment, because his whole body was begging him to have a meeting with you and so he did. Now it was time to figure out where to go with the situation, but Tony was not a great planner, he flowed with time.

“By the way, did you get rid of that damn FBI agent yet? What was his name?” Tony knew how to test you to make you realise he wasn’t Loki. “Ah yes, Agent Chatter, god, how I hated him. I would have loved to see you spill champagne all over his scalp.”

“How do you… How do you know that?” your voice sounded gruff, but quizzical at the same time, even though you had no intention of conversing with him you were curious as to how the hell he had found out that information, as Tony was the only one who called Matthew ‘Agent Chatter’.

“You told me,” he said taking a step towards you, closing the distance, causing you to back away. “I told you, I’m not Loki.”

“I’ve never told anyone what happened with Matthew,” your breath hitched as you realised you didn’t understand what was going on.

“Well, you haven’t really told me yet,” he narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to one side.

You remained thoughtful for a couple of seconds. “I know exactly what you’re doing,” you tightened your grip on the gun, your hands beginning to sweat. “Your mind games aren’t going to work on me.

The moment was complex to explain, Tony had hundreds of possibilities to offer you in that moment and for you to discover that it wasn’t Loki in front of you, he knew how he could deal with the situation, but he wanted you to be the one to figure it out for yourself. He was playing with fire, he knew better than anyone how space-time worked, but he had an ace up his sleeve, an ace that Steve was carrying at that moment and he would use it later.

Tony slowly brought his hands to his face, causing you to fix your aim again with his moments, you feared what he might do next, for anything was to be expected with Loki, but Tony merely removed his helmet and goggles, dropping them to the ground exposing his full face to you.

A strange feeling came over your body, it was obviously a familiar face, you had spent numerous hours with Tony Stark in the previous weeks, but it wasn’t really your Tony standing before you. The features looked aged, more wrinkles were in the key parts of his face, grey hair was showing through his hair and also in his beard. Concentrating on analysing each of his features made you soften your grip on the gun.

"It’s me,” he murmured, making another attempt to move towards you, and succeeded, bringing the barrel of the gun down on his chest, clattering against his reactor. He gingerly reached out his arm, reaching up to your face and brushing aside a lock of your hair. “I can’t explain too much, but…”

“Tony?” a new voice joined your encounter, snapping you out of your abstraction. “What are you doing?”

Again you put distance between you and Tony, wary of what had just happened and rather guilty for letting yourself be bamboozled by Loki. You looked at the Captain who was coming from the far end of that long hallway and was just now standing metres away from you.

“It’s not Tony, Captain, it’s one of Loki’s tricks,” you explained without looking away from Tony who was looking at Steve a little guilty about the situation that had been created. “Captain, warn the others, inform them that we have Loki on the third floor of the west wing.”

“I. Am. Not. Loki,” Tony qualified each of his words somewhat irritated that you still believed it was Loki. “Can you tell her Cap?”

“Tony, what the hell are you doing?” Steve used a gruff tone, now the one who sounded irritated was him, as he was unaware of where Tony’s plans were headed.

“Shit,” Tony whispered turning his gaze towards him.“When they put that serum in your veins they offered you the gift of inopportunity, didn’t they?”

For you everything was much more confusing, your quick analysis of the situation and the two figures that stood before you had many gaps of information. You knew those guys, you had spent more hours of your life with them than with your family, you had studied them, you had analysed them and really that Steve and Tony that were before you were not the same guys, and there was only one Loki, both could not be Loki, at least within your logic, although with Loki anything goes. But what you realised was that the captain was holding the sceptre, why was the captain holding the sceptre right now?

“I’m sorry Tony, but we have to go,” he repeated firmly, which brought you back to reality.

“I don’t think either of you are going anywhere,” you quickly pulled a new pistol from the back of your suit, two guns for two people standing in front of you.

That elicited a sigh of disgust from Steve, who raised his hands, raising the sceptre in one hand and the shield in the other, halting his stride in his tracks.

“What was your bright idea Tony?” he asked seriously.

“I don’t know Cap, you know I like to improvise,” he shrugged his shoulders without taking his eyes off you, raising his hands and giving you a wide and warm smile, which didn’t affect you at all.

“Great, so improvise if you don’t want me to,” Steve sentenced him without moving from his position.

“She’s mine,” Tony slowly brought his hand to his chest, where he offered himself a couple of taps and the armour ran over every millimetre of him, covering his limbs.

Was Loki really capable of that? Confusion engulfed you, it had all your senses alert, your mind asking a hundred questions you couldn’t answer. But if it’s not any of them Loki who are they?

Tony looked at Steve’s sceptre, that was the only key way out he could think of, but since he had laid all his cards on the table, he wasn’t going to leave without doing one thing first, so he started to close the gap with you.

“If you take one more step…” you began to say, backing down the long corridor of Stark Tower.

“Honey, surely my 2012 self would punch me if he knew his 2023 self was going to do what I’m about to do,” he started to approach you which made you stand on guard, “since I’d take all the credit away from him, because he won’t do it for another two years or so, but…” between the words and his approach you blocked and pulled the trigger of the gun pointed at him, causing the bullet to hit and fall to the ground. “Hey! That hurt, well, not physically, but you just hurt my feelings.”

“Don’t come any closer…” you muttered, aiming both pistols at Iron Man’s armour.

Your gesture was profoundly in vain, as your footsteps stopped and Tony was close enough to grab the pistols tightly and wrestle them out of your hands, throwing them into the distance, unable for you to avoid. At that exact moment, Iron Man’s suit disappeared, allowing you to look at him again, much closer than the first time. You didn’t know if it was a mind game, but you could almost feel a strange connection between your gazes, the way he looked at you as if he wanted to tell you something, as if he was hiding a long way in them.

“God, I’d almost forgotten what your face…” Tony’s words were inconclusive, but he voiced a smile at the end of them.

What? you wanted to ask out loud, it was so strange, so incomprehensible to you that you were almost terrified at that moment. His eyes looked at you as if they had known you all your life, as if you had lived too many moments together to remember them all, and you just wanted to ask him about it, but you did not. Tony’s arm was around your waist before you could even react and he pulled you close to him, his lips firmly against yours. For Tony it was one of the best sensations of his life, every limb seemed to fill with energy, his skin bristled, he placed his other hand on your back preventing you from fleeing if you had any intention of doing so. He felt your body scent envelop him again after so many years away from you and it brought a lump to his throat. He didn’t want to separate from you, he couldn’t separate from you, he was terrified inside, he could hardly move his lips, for he feared you would run away if he did.

On your part it was something completely unexpected that you didn’t know how to carry out, it seemed that your common sense was lost somewhere, as if it had extrapolated from your body and didn’t act. Your eyes remained open for the first few seconds, observing the nothingness, but when you felt his second hand on your back to bring you closer to him, they closed very slowly, as if you expected to receive an answer from this act to your numerous doubts. You held still, with no intention of separating yourself from him. You wouldn’t deny that you hadn’t thought about what it would be like to kiss Tony Stark, but that wasn’t the Tony Stark you knew.

It was time that decided when to end it, Tony’s face was the one that put distance, but his minus was still glued to your back. He leaned his forehead against yours, exposing his ragged breath against your face.

“Who are you?” you whispered against his lips without opening your eyes yet.

Tony pulled back a few inches, opened his eyes and brought his hands to your face analysing every facial feature before him, running his thumb over your cheeks and lips.

“I promise I’ll fix it,” he whispered feeling himself. “It’ll be all right.”

“What…  What will be alright?” your hesitation felt present in your words, it was incomprehensible what he was saying.

“I…” began Tony.

As if the breath stopped in your lungs, you took one last exhale before everything went dark and you hips surrendered in Tony’s arms. The tip of the sceptre had grazed your body causing you to enter a deep sleep from which when you awoke you would possibly think that everything you had experienced was a dream, or that it was really Loki who was playing with you.

“It would have been rather more gentlemanly of you to let me do it,” Tony looked at Steve spitefully as he held your body in his hands.

A fearful sigh escaped Tony’s lips as he carefully laid your body on the floor and ran his palm over his face, facing a voice that told him he couldn’t leave.

“Tony, we can’t leave any loose ends,” Steve whispered as he watched Tony continue to hold you in his arms. “I know how much you want to get back to her. So the sooner we get this over with, the sooner you’ll be reunited,” Steve rested his hand on Tony’s shoulder. “By the way, where do you have the tesseract?”

“Interesting question…”

Taglist Open (DM)

MAIN MASTERLIST

[ill-skillsgard]

I’m IN NEED for something about Valter finding out you have a breeding kink 😭😭

Mmph, you know what? It's been a freaking minute since I wrote anything about our beautiful blond babe. I'll drink to that! Let's do it...

+

Maybe you'd had too much to drink, or not enough, but you couldn't shake the urge to check in with him—to make sure he found your note and the dinner you left in the fridge. More than that, you worried he might be upset you skipped movie night to go out with your girls. It was a silly nothing. Valter wasn't possessive. He didn't care if you took a night off from lounging in your pyjamas, eating snacks with him in front of the TV, watching shows you'd both already seen a dozen times. Valter encouraged you to go out, especially now that it was actually allowed. You were itching to see your friends for a night out doing all the things you'd missed during isolation. Drinks, dancing, long, rambling conversations about relationships and whose hadn't survived the lockdown.

No, it was fine, you told yourself. Yet, you stared at Valter's name on your phone screen with your thumb hovering above the call button, the letters bordered with heart emojis at the top. A feminine hand came into your line of vision and clasped yours.

"Girl, don't. He's fine. He's not a child. Plus, didn't you say he's totally cool with you doing what you want?" Your friend criticized as gently as she could.

"I know, I know. I just kinda want to tell Valter where I'm at."

"You left a note, right? So, just leave it at that. If he's really as cool as you say he is, then he won't mind. He can't be as bad as your ex."

"Nobody could be as bad as my ex," you muttered. "He was a grade-A douchebag."

She sighed wistfully after a sip of her sugar-rimmed cocktail. "I'm glad you're not with him anymore. You make Valter sound so chill. What can I do to get a chill partner?"

"It was a fluke, I swear. He came out of nowhere. All six-foot-four of him."

"How's the...You know. The D? The dick, the cock, the schlong, the lap-hog?"

You spluttered into your glass and wiped your mouth as your friend giggled. "It's fine!"

"It's fine?" She mocked. "That doesn't sound promising."

"No, no. It's more than good. Trust me."

"Better than the ex? From what you told me, you two used to have some freaky sex."

You sighed wistfully. "Yeah, we did, didn't we? I don't know...Sex with Valter is just different. He's not as dominant as I would like."

"You should train the boy," she said between sips.

"I'm trying. He still won't blow inside of me. Insists he doesn't want to get me pregnant."

"But you're on birth control, right? So what's the big deal?"

You shrugged. "I don't know. Valter gets nervous, I guess. Although, that's like my biggest turn-on."

"Mmm," she moaned. "I second that. Nothing like a nice creampie after a deep dicking."

"Oh my god, can you get any louder? Bartender, stop serving this animal," you tittered.

"What? It's true, and you know it."

With the help of your friends, you got through the night without calling Valter. Though, you insisted on getting home at a decent hour, expecting him to be asleep by the time you walked barefoot into your apartment carrying your strappy heels and purse. You took off your jacket, laid down your things and went to the bedroom where lights from the TV cast blocks of light over the carpet. When you turned the corner, you expected Valter to be asleep, having passed out while watching The Office, but that was not the case. What greeted you was more than you could register in one unblinking moment.

Valter was lying in bed sporting a hard-on hours in the making. He stared right at you, eyebrows close together and his lips stuck in a pout that usually meant something was wrong.

"Wow, did I um... Catch you at a bad time?" You snickered.

"No, I'd say your timing is perfect," he said. "Well? What's the hold-up? You just gonna stand there staring at it or are you gonna come over here and ride this cock?"

You were on him in a flash, tights barely off, his hands wrestling your shirt open, and sank into his lap with a mutual groan. The girth was enough to pop your eyes open. He must have been working himself up on purpose, for he pumped and pulsed incessantly, thick with arousal. You combed through his hair and watched his O-face turn his features soft. His hands gripped your ass, squeezing and leveraging you up and down until he rolled you back and took over with cervix-breaching thrusts. You twisted your hands into the sheets and clamped down on your lip to keep from squealing.

"How's that big dick feel, hm? You like getting wrecked? Is that what you like?" He gripped your chin and bore into your eyes. "Oh, yeah. Feels so good to get those nice, deep strokes, doesn't it?"

His sultry words robbed you of any adequate response. All you could do was whine as his hips slammed forth, drew back, slammed in again. Over and over until you gripped his arms as if the earth might crumble beneath you.

"Yeah, you like it nasty. Heard you on the phone talking to your girlfriends about how I'm not kinky enough for you. Not like your ex, who used to fill this pussy with cum all the time. Well, guess what? Now you're with me, and I'm the only man who gets to cum inside this tasty little gash."

"Oh my god," you said, eyes fluttering from the shock of hearing Valter growl.

"Bet you didn't know you pocket-dialled me. Is that what it takes for you to say what you want? Now you can tell your girls next time you see them how I dumped all my fucking cum inside you. Bred you like the filthy cum-slut you are. You wanna catch this load so bad? And who fucking cares if I get you pregnant, huh? All you're good for is taking this cock, and making me babies."

Valter delivered his promise after a few more minutes of spewing filth against your skin and positioning you so you could watch him tense up and climax so rigorously his thighs trembled and skin beaded with sweat. He dropped next to you and continued playing with your pussy, rubbing your clit and letting his cum run onto the sheets.

"Mm, sopping wet pussy dripping with cream. That's how it's fucking done."

He gathered you in his arms and kissed your forehead as his eyes closed, and his breath flattened. Shocked, you stayed next to him, wiggling your hips to feel the stickiness between your thighs.

"Hey, I just want you to know... I don't actually think you're only good for cumming inside and like procreation and all that shit. I just thought it might be hot to say since, I dunno, I guess that's what you like."

"I'm sorry, V. I should have told you first."

He kissed you again and pulled you into a one-armed embrace while he laid on his back, the TV tinting him in shades of blue. "It's okay, baby. Now I know, and I can think of new ways to make you all wet for me."

[arogustus]

What if the Triumphant Survivors were Maxwell - Part 1

A little post by @itstheblob that I discovered recently, involving if Wilson was in charge of the Don’t Starve world inspired me to come up with lines for what if every Triumphant Survivor was in that position. I’ll even insert some descriptions of what they’d look like at their angriest!

Wilson Percival Higgsbury

Start of a run: "Good day to you, friend! You best go get some firewood, the nights are quite vicious here."

Entering Adventure Mode: "Oh, you found my door? Excellent! I could use a test subject. Let's see if my hypothesis is correct, shall we?"

Entering Chapter Two: "Oh, you survived… I mean, ah, you survived! As I expected… still, it's only going to get harder from now on."

Entering Chapter Three: "You are quite the unruly lab rat, aren't you? Lab rats don't deserve a warm welcome from me, pal."

Entering Two Worlds: "Congratulations! You survived all of my tests! And your reward is to stay in this wonderful island I made for you. Please stay as long as you'd like. Preferably forever."

Entering Darkness: “You insolent, insipid, idiotic rat! You were supposed to die! Science cannot be wrong!.. You think you're smarter than me, don't you? Fool, I'm a genius! Try and outsmart this!"

Transformation: Slowly begins to look more and more disheveled and crazed. Blood stains appear on his clothes by Two Worlds. By Darkness, he has blood stained bandages around his arms and legs.

Willow

Start of a run: "Hiya there. Do you like fire? You better if you want to survive the night here. It can get crazy."

Entering Adventure Mode: "You found the door? You must really love fire, then. Don't worry, there's plenty of it to share around here. So much you could die from it."

Entering Chapter Two: "Oh, you made it. Yay… well, that's not a problem. There's still a lot you gotta do."

Entering Chapter Three: "Okay, you're starting to get on my nerves, buddy. What's your deal, anyway? You've been ruining the fun. Stop it."

Entering Two Worlds: "Heeeey there. I got a gift for you. It's a nice place where nothing can hurt you. Not even the fire! Doesn't that sound great? You can stay here as long as you like. Deal?"

Entering Darkness: "Stupid stupid stupid STUPID STUPID! Why can't you burn like the others did!? That's all you had to do! … You don't like fire, huh? Fine! Be that way."

Transformation: Her hair starts glowing red in the first few chapters. By Two Worlds, she starts to smoke, and parts of her body look burned off. By Darkness, she's a flaming wraith, with parts of her flesh burned away to reveal bone.

Wolfgang

Start of a run: "Hello, weakling. Better go get food in belly. You will need it."

Entering Adventure Mode: "You find door, eh? You must think yourself very mighty. Time to test you."

Entering Chapter Two: "You live. Good job. You are one step closer to being as mighty as Wolfgang. Let's see if you can take more."

Entering Chapter Three: "You are… you are strong. Very strong. If Wolfgang were weakling man, he would be shaking like baby. But I am mightiest, and you are weakest! This will prove it."

Entering Two Worlds: "Ah, hello good friend. Wolfgang have gift for you. Plenty of food around here, and no scary monsters that can hurt you. You can have it all if you stay. Deal?"

Entering Darkness: "Why do you not stop?! Wolfgang throw everything at you, but you are still here! What are you… No, Mighty Wolfgang is not scared of weaklings. I am mightiest!"

Transformation: Slowly becomes more ape like, his muscles swelling up and looking more grotesque, ripping his clothes. Think the Tank from Left 4 Dead.

Wendy Carter

Start of a run: "Greetings. I advise you to search for firewood now. Abigail likes to play, but she has a habit of… breaking her toys."

Entering Adventure Mode: "Ah, you've found my door. Good. Abigail could use a new playmate. You'll have to prove yourself to her, however."

Entering Chapter Two: "Oh, you survived. How… fortunate for you. Oh well, it's just a fluke. No one lives forever, anyway."

Entering Chapter Three: "... … You are beginning to get on my nerves. How has death not claimed you?.. no, it's all just a fluke. You will die just like all the others did."

Entering Two Worlds: "... Let's strike up a deal. You stay here, where it is safe and you are allowed to live, and in exchange, you never bother me and my sister ever again. Deal?"

Entering Darkness: "No. No no no no NO! You should have died! ... You're a cheater. My idiotic sister has been going far too easy on you. It seems I have to give her a bigger advantage."

Transformation: She slowly grows more and more wraithlike, her body becoming transparent. By Darkness, she no longer has legs, and nightmare fuel is streaming out of her eyes.

I’ll return some other time, with WX, Wickerbottom, Woodie and Wes.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Help Me (Keep My Head Above Water)

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Gordon, Virgil

The water is no place for a man who thrives in the skies.  Luckily, he has a  brother who’s the opposite.

So, this fic comes with huge thanks to @gumnut-logic for both giving me permission to play with her amazing Marks&Wings AU and also patiently correcting me when I got some of the facts and lore a little wrong (and answering all my occasionally silly questions about things as they cropped up).  My muse has been somewhat fickle this week, but playing around elsewhere seems to have woken it up again.  For those of you unfamiliar with the AU, to grossly oversimplify, it’s a wingfic AU, with the exception of Gordon, who is an aquatic shapeshifter instead.

Being me, I immediately honed in on the (whump) potential with Scott, and of course there’s some Scott&Gordon here because I could.  And I had to have Gordon shifting into my favourite marine creature (which I discovered @godsliltippy had already written during my re-read of the whole series earlier to double-check some facts, but the more the merrier, right?)

Scott knew he was in trouble the moment he hit the water.

Maybe it should have twigged two seconds earlier, when his right wing exploded in pain and his pleasure flight had become a panicked fall, but in those two seconds all his concentration had gone into trying to stabilise himself, somehow trying to stop the fall and when that failed, folding his wings to let them go.

Then he hit the water, wings that had decidedly not folded when he told them to slapping the surface hard enough to jar and sending a fresh wave of agony through him, and reality kicked in.

Wings and water didn’t mix. Not unless they were seabird wings, and Scott’s were absolutely not.  His feathers weren’t waterproof; quite the contrary, they absorbed the water like a sponge until there was seven and a half metres of waterlogged wing dragging him down.

Keeping his head above water became a priority and a challenge.

He needed to let them go, absorb them back into the Mark where they couldn’t keep dragging him under, a dead weight tugging at his shoulder blades and forcing him to use every ounce of strength to fight against it.

He couldn’t.

Maybe it was the water, weighting them down so much they couldn’t fold up against his back.  Maybe it was the injury, red swirls in the water telling him it was bad.  Maybe it was neither of those and he just didn’t have the strength.

The reason didn’t matter. What mattered was that he couldn’t, that each frantic surge up to keep his head above water exhausted him more and more, that the sudden appearance of speed boats roaring into view towards him didn’t mean help was on the way.

He’d been shot down. That much was obvious, even if he hadn’t had the time to mentally catalogue exactly what had happened and why. No-one else was around; the stretch of ocean he’d been over – was now in - was devoid of human life.  Supposed to be devoid of human life.

But it had been a manmade thing that had blown through his wing, and now there were more manmade things headed his way.  It didn’t take a genius to put the clues together.

Flying away was out of the question – if he could, he wouldn’t have ended up in the water in the first place – and swimming wasn’t going to help him either.  Keeping his head above water was enough of a challenge; with his waterlogged wings, not to mention the injury, there was no way he’d be able to get any lateral direction at all.  And even if he could, there was no way he could out-swim a speed boat or several.

They spluttered to a halt just in front of him, fanned out in a semicircle.  Too far away to touch, but close enough to see the look of triumph on the face of the man in the one directly in front of him.  It wasn’t reassuring; any remote chance that they’d come to help him out was dashed into pieces.

Sound carried over water. Even over his own gasps for breath and the slosh of the waves his desperate attempts to survive were producing, he could hear the laughter.  Satisfaction.

The next moment, their voices went from cruel and jovial to terrified, pitch rising and culminating in a frantic “grab him now!”

Wide eyes weren’t looking at him.  They were looking past him, faces white and drained of blood, and Scott had no idea what they could see, but if it wasn’t good for men in speedboats, it wasn’t going to be any good to a drowning man with wings pulling him down.

Still, on his next surge out of the water – barely a surge, a weak splutter fuelled by determination and more than a little bit of panic – he turned his head.

A tall, pitch black fin was bearing down on them.  Him.  It towered far above him, easily taller than Alan at a glance, and Scott’s first instinct was fear.  There was blood in the water after all.  His.

It rolled up, a pitch black back to go with the fin, before diving down.  A flash of white confirmed its identity.

Orca.

Orca weren’t known to attack humans, were intelligent enough to recognise them even when they didn’t look right, but the speed it had been approaching with, and the dive-

The men on the boats were shouting and screaming, equally panicked even though they weren’t the ones in the water with it.  Some were fumbling weapons.  At least one gun ended up overboard as it was dropped by shaking hands.

Scott couldn’t see it. Keeping an eye out for the apex predator that had decided to investigate what was going on and keeping his head above water were one task too many – two tasks, really, but Scott wasn’t giving up on living just yet – and after it had dived, he’d lost track of it.

Then something collided with him from beneath, taking what breath he had away as the deep depths his wings had been dragging him down into was replaced suddenly with smooth, thick skin, and that pitch black dorsal fin erupted from the water scant inches from his face.

It kept going, kept rising until his chest was out of the water.  The majority of his wings.  His waist, his knees, and it registered that the orca had scooped him up onto its back.

He didn’t know if that was normal orca behaviour.  He didn’t know much about orca.  His gut told him that didn’t matter.

Scott reached out, arms trembling and weak after his fight with the waves, and wrapped his arms around as much of the dorsal fin in front of him as he could.  The creature was huge, but not so huge his wingtips weren’t still draped into the water, threatening to drag him back off the moment the orca moved again.

The men were still shouting, engines sputtering back into life, but Scott ignored them – even the panicked gunshots that went laughably wide considering the size of the orca, if only because they went so wide.  He didn’t know he was safe, on the back of an apex predator that on the surface had no reason to help a drowning human with wings, but as his fingers closed around the far edge of the fin and then – and only then – did the huge creature move again, he felt that maybe, just maybe, he was.

There was a chance that the orca was exactly that.  A sea creature that had come to investigate and decided in its wisdom to intervene.

But there was also a chance it wasn’t.

Scott didn’t know if orca was in Gordon’s resume, if his aquatic brother had ever got close enough to one to add it to his ever-growing collection of possible transformations. He didn’t have that link with him that Virgil and John did, the second and third Tracys always able to pick their brother out from a myriad of seemingly-identical marine wildlife. Some days, Scott hated that. Hated that Gordon could hide so completely from him.  Hated the fear that came from the knowledge that one day something might happen and he wouldn’t know until Virgil screamed, or John threw himself into a silent frenzy. Hated that he’d be entirely helpless.

Even now, he hated it a little, because he’d never been scared of Gordon no matter the form he took, but he’d been scared of the approaching orca.  He didn’t have the link to confirm the identity of the creature that was saving him.

But he had his gut, and his gut told him that somehow, it had to be Gordon.  Never mind that Gordon hadn’t been in the area as far as he knew.  Never mind the fact that Gordon was supposed to be at home, and if he was here, it meant he’d been out swimming without telling him.

His gut told him he was safe, and he trusted his gut enough to relax as the orca’s clicks and whistles washed over him.  The orca didn’t speak any human languages, but to Scott the fury was clear.

The speed boats circled them.  With his head resting on the smooth, damp skin of what had to be his brother, Scott could only watch as they loudly debated if it was worth trying to snag him.

A tail – fluke, Scott dimly recalled – slapped the water when one got too close.  Scott was doused with water, his fingers tightening their grip as much as they could as the wave threatened to wash him and his useless wings back into the ocean, but the boat – carrying something that looked a lot less friendly than the simple handguns used by the men on the others - was capsized.

If he’d needed any confirmation he was being defended, that was it.

The orca that was almost certainly Gordon swam around in a circle, the movement nudging Scott further onto his back from where he’d slipped, more agitated clicks and whistles making it very clear that further advances would not be tolerated.

His wings – his waterlogged, injured wings – were just in the way.  Scott grit his teeth and tried to pull them in, away from the water and folded so he could let them go.  The left wing obeyed, albeit with effort against the weight of the added water.  The right screamed and despite himself he let out a choked-off cry which he hurriedly muffled by biting his arm.

Apparently that wasn’t moving.  Whatever they’d shot him with must have hit the muscles that controlled the spreading and folding of the wing.

One wing furled and one wing at full span had him sliding, pulled down by the spread weight on his right, and he snapped his left out again instinctively.  Another tight circle from the orca beneath him and he was shifted back to where he’d been.

So that meant no folding his wings.

Scott sighed, trying and failing to ignore the agony throbbing from his wing.  Around them, it seemed like the speed boats had decided it wasn’t worth battling an orca to get their prize.  The capsized men were being dragged onto boats, before the engines roared and they disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The aggressive clicks and whistles stopped for a moment.  When they started again, there was something different about them, and Scott got the distinct impression he was being addressed.  He might have been imagining it, but they sounded concerned.

“I’m okay,” he reassured the creature.  He wasn’t, not with a hole in his wing that was probably still leaking blood and exhausted from his battle to keep his head above water, but even if probably-Gordon knew that, he didn’t need him to say it.  “Thanks.”

Gordon or not, the orca had saved him.  Scott didn’t know what the men had been after, but anyone who tried to catch his attention by shooting him out of the air probably didn’t have friendship on the agenda.

He got another series of clicks and whistles in response, before the huge creature slowly began to swim. Scott could tell it was nowhere near the speeds an orca would normally travel at, but even that tugged at the wingtips still in the water, discomfort traveling up the appendages and resulting in additional loud complaints from the right.  But he didn’t complain; he, too, had no plans to hang around where he’d been shot down. The orca clearly had a destination in mind, and it was one Scott very much hoped was home.

It wasn’t long before a familiar engine whined into earshot.  Content to remain slumped where he was, numbing fingers weakly clutching the dorsal fin and head resting on the black skin, Scott only blinked as Thunderbird Two loomed in the distance.

Ahead of it was a black streak, diving straight for them.

“Scott!”

Virgil’s apparent nonchalance at landing directly on the orca’s back was the final, unnecessary, confirmation that it was Gordon.

Giant black wings, the biggest in the family by some half a metre or so, stayed fully extended for balance as Virgil crouched by him, one hand on the dorsal fin for extra stability while the other landed on his shoulder.

“What happened?” his brother demanded.  Scott could see worried deep brown eyes focusing on his right wing, and wondered if it looked as bad as it felt.

“Shot down,” he admitted, knowing there was no point lying when his bleeding wing was in full view.

Fear flashed through the worry in his brother’s eyes, and Scott knew he was thinking about what might have happened if Gordon hadn’t intervened. He plastered a reassuring grin on his face.

“I’m okay,” he promised.

“No, you’re not,” Virgil snapped back, wings bristling.  The hand on his shoulder moved and Scott muffled a cry as gentle gloved hands explored the area around the wound.  “This is nasty, Scott.”

He knew that, but he was okay.  He was okay because Gordon had been there, because Virgil was there, because he could hear Thunderbird Two coming to a hover overhead, with either Alan at the helm or under the remote control of Thunderbird Five’s inhabitants.

“I’m okay,” he repeated, wishing not for the first time that he had the same link with his brothers the middle three had, so he could push the emotions behind the words into Virgil’s head until he understood what he meant.

But then, the two of them had never needed that to understand each other.

Virgil’s eyes softened just a bit.

“Let’s get you home,” he said.  Orca-Gordon let out what sounded almost like an indignant set of clicks and whistles.  “I know you are, Gordon, but Thunderbird Two is faster and his wings are still in the water.”

Scott assumed Gordon had been protesting that home was already where he’d been taking him.

More clicks and whistles, but the orca slowed to a halt.  Virgil fiddled with his wrist comm, and the giant Thunderbird lowered, her belly opening and a harness descending.

Scott was no use at all, still too exhausted from his dunking to do anything except lay on Gordon’s back as Virgil fussed around him with straps until he was secured for hauling up.  It wasn’t the most glamourous of transportation, and being in the air without being able to rely on his wings for flight if something happened was more than a little unsettling, but it did the job.  With Virgil also hooked into the harness and travelling up alongside him – although his wings were only folded and not let go in what was a quiet assurance for Scott’s nerves at being mid-air with his own out of action, which his younger brother almost certainly did for that exact reason – he soon found himself safely inside the green ‘bird.

What he wasn’t prepared for, as Virgil lifted him to his feet and gently hauled an arm across his shoulders while his own snaked around Scott’s waist for support – obviously taking as much care as possible not to disturb his wings – was Gordon’s entrance.

Scott had assumed another harness would be sent down, if Gordon even chose to get on board instead of racing them home.  In his exhaustion, he had clearly forgotten his aquatic brother’s penchant for dramatics.

Watching an orca breach was breath-taking.  That much sea creature did not seem like it should be able to clear the water much, if at all, but in true Gordon style, the black and white face almost reached the still-open hatch before fading back into the tanned skin and blond hair of his human form.  Scott’s heart leapt up as he realised Gordon wasn’t high enough to grab the edge of the hatch, but before he could react, a tanned hand grabbed onto a trailing harness strap and his second-youngest brother climbed the rest of the way into the module bay.

Beside him, Virgil was all but quivering in vibrant disapproval.

“Gordon-” his brother growled.

“I knew what I was going,” Gordon interrupted, waving a hand as though to dismiss Virgil’s ire at the reckless stunt.  Whatever else was exchanged on the matter seemed to be non-verbal, as amber eyes flickered in Virgil’s direction in what could have been an eyeroll even as the blond picked his way over to Scott’s side.

Virgil was supporting him from his left, away from the injured wing, and Gordon didn’t get too close to his right out of obvious concern, but Scott still found himself the object of scrutiny.

“You look awful,” Gordon told him bluntly, stepping backwards as Virgil clearly decided to save the lecture for later and refocused on leading Scott and his still-spread wings over to the medical bay.

Scott had told them both that he was fine, and it was perfectly clear to him that saying it again would not affect his brothers’ opinions.  So he switched tactics.  “Thanks,” he said dryly, leaning heavily on the levity – and also Virgil’s shoulder as his slightly unsteady self was guided over to a stretcher. It worked enough to get a small grin from the blond.

Normally, the stretcher would be secured up against the module wall. With his wings still more outstretched than not, despite the water weighing them down – painfully, now that gravity was in the equation rather than buoyancy – there was no way that Scott would be able to lay on anything remotely close to a wall.  Brains, however, was a genius with multiple fail safes, and while they tended to try and avoid lifting on rescues unless there was no alternative, he had included a reconfiguration of the stretcher that could be laid on with wings outstretched.  Just in case.

It was secured to the roof of the module, lowered mezzanine style when required, with sides that folded out to support the outstretched wings. Additional telescopic legs extended from the underside to lock into ports on the module floor, firmly locking it in place against any movement the Thunderbird might make in flight.

With the rest of the equipment that could potentially be in the module, it was sometimes a tight fit, but it fit and that was what mattered.

Scott didn’t bother resisting as Virgil coaxed him onto it, trying his best not to entirely face-plant as he returned to horizontal and the relief of gravity no longer tugging at the edges of his wings.  Cushioning his head with his forearms, he shifted his left wing until it draped itself over the extension, still waterlogged.  A glance over at it showed pinions in disarray from his unwelcome dunking, the sensation of which hadn’t particularly registered over the pain of the other, but now that he’d seen it began to niggle incessantly in the back of his mind.

The right was less inclined to obey, muscles screaming in protest at the mere idea that they should move, and it was with great reluctance that he left it as it had flopped.

There had been enough crying out in pain in earshot of little brothers today.

Unfortunately, his brothers seemed to disagree as Virgil appeared somewhere near his head, murmuring apologies as his hands cradled the shoulder of the wing and manipulated it into position.  Lighter touches further down, out of sight, told him Gordon was helping the rest of the wing follow the movement.

Scott bit down on an arm to muffle any vocalisations at the pain.

“Sorry, Scott,” Virgil repeated, sympathetic pain in his own voice. “I’m going to need to stop the bleeding before you lose too much blood.”  Treatment meant more pain, but Scott knew it was an unfortunate necessity.

He turned his head away as Virgil drew out the anaesthetic, trying to ignore the sting of the needle at the base of his wing.  It wouldn’t completely dull the pain, their wings were all too sensitive for that, but it would take the edge off, at least.

“Hey.”  Gordon appeared in his line of vision, hair mussed where he’d obviously attacked it carelessly with a towel.  A hand rested on one of his arms, his second youngest brother always tactile, and more so after one of them had been in trouble.  Scott was half-surprised there wasn’t an octopus wrapping around him. Something in Gordon’s eyes told him it had been considered.

“Hey,” he replied, doing his best to ignore the sensations as Virgil got to work on his injured wing, sending shoots of supressed pain through his flight muscles as they reacted to whatever he was doing.  Scott had learnt from experience that sometimes it wasn’t worth watching.

Considering he’d been in the water, Gordon’s hand was surprisingly dry against his own still-wet skin.  It wasn’t like him to dry off so quickly; often it took a brother or three or a grandmother to persuade him otherwise.

His brother had something in mind, and Scott might not be linked with him, but he was pretty certain it involved him.

“Do you want a hand?”  Gordon glanced meaningfully at his wing – left, uninjured, wing – and as if on cue the irritation of pinions out of alignment flared up again.  Scott could handle it himself later, if Virgil didn’t get there first after finishing with the injury – which would no doubt include soothing the ruffled feathers on that wing as well – but later meant later and Gordon was offering to do it now.

Like all of them, there were very few people Scott trusted near his wings, and despite not having wings of his own, Gordon featured on that shortlist.

Gordon didn’t often touch their wings, not since gaining his own Mark and losing any and all jealousy he’d ever had about being the one left out even though he’d never cared to fly, but like Grandma – and Dad – had wriggled his way into learning to care for them regardless.  Scott had fond memories of watching Virgil talk Gordon through it on his own black feathers the first few times, offering himself up as practice. Their mental link had probably helped Gordon comprehend what it was like, and sometimes Scott wondered if it was similar for him and his own Mark, or if it was entirely different.

“I’d appreciate one,” he admitted, no reason nor desire to decline when it needed doing at some point anyway.  Gordon grinned and dropped a towel on his head.

Typical annoying little brother, but Scott took the hint and, careful not to jostle his right arm or wing, where Virgil was working, ran it over his hair to get the worst of the water away.

When he finished, Gordon was out of sight.  His location was betrayed a moment later, when Scott discarded the towel and nimble fingers immediately made themselves known at the junction of the wing and shoulder.  As always, a light tremble ran through the wing at the initial contact, which Gordon waited out before starting.

The methodical approach his brother settled into was soothing, and Scott didn’t have to work too hard to convince himself to focus on that rather than the far less soothing sensations coming from his right wing, where Virgil appeared to have progressed to wrapping the wound.

Considering both the size of his wings – they might be marginally smaller than Virgil’s, but they were still huge – and the waterlogging he couldn’t just shake away, Gordon’s treatment took time.  A towel was introduced, only the lightest of touches to avoid damaging any feathers, but enough to absorb at least some of the water, and Gordon’s fingers coaxed out enough of the rest that Scott could feel the weight easing away. It wasn’t perfect; he’d still need to shake the wing at some point, or at least hold it open while upright so the rest would seep away.  But it was enough to be a relief.

The secondary relief of his feathers realigning to true and the itch fading away was also very welcome indeed.

By the time Gordon was done with the back of his left wing, Scott could feel Virgil doing the same thing to his injured wing.  It wasn’t as enjoyable, entirely due to the injury and all sensations therefore determined to report as varying levels of pain, but it was a good pain – comparable to the satisfaction of peeling scabs – that faded as those feathers, too, found themselves realigned by the care of a brother.

“The front will have to wait a while,” Gordon said, reappearing in his eyeline.  There was another towel in his hands, which he was clearly using to get rid of the water that had transferred from Scott’s wings to his fingers.  “Feeling better?”

If Gordon had asked, Scott was more than willing to lift his wing from the stretcher so he could get at the currently face-down feathers, but the look in his brother’s eyes said that even if he did that, he wouldn’t be touching them.  Considering the bone-deep exhaustion that had done nothing but grow as he’d felt safer and safer with his brothers, it was true that Scott might – might – not be able to hold it up long enough.

“Yeah,” he acknowledged.  “Remind me not to go swimming with them lifted in the future.”

There was an aborted noise from Virgil, who still didn’t have the whole story and was no doubt going to be demanding it later – alongside the rest of the family – but Virgil wasn’t the one who’d faced down and prepared to attack multiple boats to keep him safe, so Scott ignored it.

Gordon knew what he was doing; he could see it in the quirk of his lips and the resigned amusement in his eyes.  There was more than one brother who would be having nightmares tonight, after all.

“If you even think about it, I’ll drag you straight back out faster than you can say Thunderbird One,” his brother replied after a moment. It was light-hearted, matching Scott’s attempt at levity to keep both their heads above water about what had happened, and what could have happened, but it was also a promise.

Gordon might not have the same link with him that he did with his other older brothers, but somehow he’d be there.  Like he was this time, and eyeing the swimming shorts that were the only attire his water-loving brother wore, Scott decided that just this once, he’d let him off going swimming so far from the island.

He didn’t think he was going to be receiving any such leniency for his own distance from home, but after today, Scott was content to stay a little closer.  Despite the reassurance of Gordon’s promise, he had no desire to repeat the experience.

[rabbithub]

Haunted Painting!AU: Day 3

(In this episode of Haunted Paintings and How to Survive Them: There are fucking animals everywhere-

Also this is segregated from Death Palette's three lives rule, so the artist can take a bit more burnout. (we hope.))

You don't speak for a moment. You half expected to probably be crucified upside down at calling the subject of the painting 'Diavolo', but he seemed to take to it well. "You are not a sociable person." He says, grinning with amusement.

"...I haven't been for a while." You point out, refraining from snapping. "Long story."

"If you are unable to keep a acceptable conversation, then perhaps painting me a companion will suffice." 'Diavolo' answers back. "Preferably one similar in color to my waistcoat."

An animal with black fur. Seems pretty easy enough. You feel your phone vibrate, but you are more focused on finding that cat. You find it staring up the tree, and sketch it before it runs off. You also notice a bird in the tree, and sketch that as well.

As you walk around, you notice a door that your never seen before. You open it to be met face to face with a horse. 'Of course.' you tell yourself. 'There would be a horse here. Nothing makes goddamn sense in this place.' You sketch the horse, and notice a empty birdcage farther along the room. "Sorry, big guy- just gonna-" You scoot past the horse to sketch the birdcage, then scoot out of the room. 'Well, I know what I'm not painting.' You tell yourself as your the door. 'How the hell would a horse fit inside a room?!'

You sigh, but see a rabbit sleeping in a tree and a dog waiting below it. You quickly sketch those in as well. You finally check your phone.

-

[Buyer][Day 3]

'Look, I might have not be a good artist, but your attitude is just as bad! So what if that dog started biting you?! I had nothing to do with it!'

'Geez, you even got mad when I painted a birdcage before a bird!'

'Fuck- my chest... I still remember my first cat... Maybe...'

[Owner][Day 3]

'So, the animals move within the painting! I can use this to get the dove into the birdcage!'

[Buyer][Day 3]

'I tried with the dog again, but it ate the rabbit I painted! I'm sorry, tough guy... I didn't think it would hurt the rabbit-'

'Hang on- if you spare me, I'll introduce you to someone- they're going through a lot right now and tend to be gloomy, but they have a small following and know their stuff! They'll paint you any way you like! Just let me go, pleas'

[Researcher][Day 3]

'While the painting's true title is unknown, it has the common title of "The Noble with the Black Rose". There are many paintings that use the same model, and were painted in the first half of the twentieth century- so a common theory is that they were painted by a collective of artists in the same time period, and well known portraitists as well, meaning they were commissioned fairly well by a wealthy patron.'

'Many of these portraits exist in modern days, and there are art collectors dedicated to completing this series. I have visited such a collector with similar portraits; matching all the features of this mysterious young man down to the colors of his clothing. However, the identity of the young man is still unknown.'

-

"Note to self: when I get back home unscathed, check if she's alive, take her out to drinks, and then punch her dead in the face." You tell yourself, regarding your possibly late dealer friend. You also notice a dog sitting by you and you quickly sketch it.

'He doesn't like dogs, if I remember what she mumbled about, and no way in hell I'm painting a horse in that room.' You muse, stepping to the canvas. "Be patient with me today." You say, keeping your tone even. "I can assure you're not getting a dog or a goddamn horse."

'Diavolo' cocks his head at the horse quip, but ignores it. Your soul alights your brush, and you paint a black bird- however, it turns white. You stared at the canvas, both worried and confused. "It turned white again?" 'Diavolo' asks, perplexed.

'While I want to paint the cat, it will eat the... dove?' You muse. 'I'll paint the birdcage first.' Your soul turns a gold color, and you paint a birdcage in the corner of the room. "...A cage?" He asks again, this time seemingly seeing what you were doing.

"Trust me." You say, your body trembling as your soul burns black. You paint a regal looking black cat, and you watch the dove fly into the birdcage, with the cage door closing behind it. The cat looked unimpressed at this. You lean against canvas, tired.

"...You look tired." 'Diavolo' notes, a faint tone of concern in his voice.

"... I'm- I'm okay." You answer, pulling yourself up. You manage to paint a black rabbit on his lap. It promptly falls asleep, tooth-purring as it did so.

"It's a bit large, but I'll overlook that." 'Diavolo' answers, looking at it. The cat ignores the sleeping rabbit, fortunately. You sigh, tired. "I'll at least have some company to pass the time."

"....I'- It's still raining." You note, trembling.

"It must be your gloomy nature bringing it." 'Diavolo' sighs. "...Replace the cover. You need to rest. You're about to keel over." You silently obey, stumbling into your room. You flop onto the bed, falling asleep.

-

"Oh! These are beautiful." Your sister says, her eyes bright.

"I've been practicing with animal portraits lately." You say, proud. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty great- they'll send me home tomorrow at the earliest." Your sister answers. "Although, I really wish he wouldn't have...." You realize who she was talking about.

"I talked to security about that." You say. "They'll keep an eye out for him, and make sure he doesn't come in anymore. He won't hurt you anymore."

-

"Thank you." Your sister says, smiling. "You really look after me, and I'm really grateful for it."

You wake up to your phone buzzing and the sound of rain and thunder. You idly look over the messages on your phone.

-

[Researcher][Day 3]

'Now the question remains, why is this piece alone cursed? None of the other paintings of 'The Noble with the Black Rose' have this curse- so it must have to do with the painter of this piece.'

'Despite it bearing no signature, I was able to gain some information from the gallery's owner, a sculptor, and the painter's landlord. Ah- it must be +$?8282)+@+... She's been long passed away. It's been guessed the landlord was the first victim.'

'A theory could be that something dreadful happened between the model and the painter, this being the last painting in a series. The boy disappeared from history, as no one knows of him. His enmity must have entered the painting and cursed it. After that, he proceeded to ki...'

-

You stand up, opening the door. You uncover the painting, noticing 'Diavolo' lying in a bed. "...am I disturbing you?"

"No." 'Diavolo' answers, speaking softly. "The animals you painted vanished. Would you disappear as well?"

"I hope not." You answer. "I'll finish you first, then I'll go home. Where would you be if I did that?"

"A fair point." 'Diavolo' chuckles. "I was thinking- if we were to play a game, would you indulge a final chance for yourself?"

"...a game?" You expected something like that. "I guess if I lose, I die."

"However, if you manage to win by some fluke, I'll let you use those steps." 'Diavolo' points to a set of disordered steps. "...if you win, of course."

[ihopethisendswell]

The part where you get basic info on my Pokémon oc's so you don't get confused when I post about them.

This is gonna be a long post. I have like 8 total. 16 if your counting the secondary protags (my version of May and Lucas for example,which I won't be going over in detail cause I'm not insane). Might want to check my timeline 9 it's pinned or just check bulbapedia if your confused about the ages. If you have any questions feel free to ask. I hope you enjoy :)

Name :Jin Amachi

Gender: " I am nonbinary. I they/ them pronouns, but I'm alright with he/ him as well.

Age:

12( when started journey in Hoenn( Emerald)

22 by SM/USUSM

26 by SWSH

Basic info: With all things said and done, Jin is grateful for their journey. They learned a lot, even if they had to stop two extreme environmentalist along the way. They know the two meant well, but it's just too bizarre for it to happen. Though the two seem to be in a better place now. They're happy for them. They're father and them talk more now. It's still awkward, but better. They know he's trying his best, and they will do the same. It's much better than back then. But no need to worry about the past.

If anything, they're more worried about the others.

Kenji Elm

Gender: " I'm getting sudden dejavu. But I'm a boy! The best boy! Don't call me a girl, I will cry. And because I'm not one! So don't. Anyway have you heard of-" * starts to ramble*

Age:

10 when journey started in Johto( HGSS)

17 by SM

21 by SWSH

Basic Info: Kenji Elm is not the biological son of Professor Elm. He was adopted at a young age, and he doesn't know who is birth parents. Not that he cares. He's more than happy with the family he got( though he wonders when they'll throw him away like his parents did). Energetic and always willing for an adventure, Kenji is generally on the move!( He's so sorry if he's being annoying please don't leave please)

He has a vast amount of interests, but his two favorites are painting and battling. Battling is obvious, he's the champion of the Indigo League, but he always had an artistic eye. But his favorite pastime is hanging out with his friends! When he gets the time of course. He's sometimes wonder how he was able to hold the title of champion for so long though haha ( his win was a fluke he knows it he knows it) .But yeah! That's Kenji! Always there with a smile! Our little golden boy! 😁

Name: Danica Yamamoto

Gender: "I'm a girl. She/her pronouns. They/ them is cool too. Don't mind Kenji, he talks a lot." *Offended Kenji noises in the background*

Age:

11 when journey started in Sinnoh( Platinum)

18 by SM)

22 by SWSH

Basic Info: Giratina and Arcues are quite alike, the more she thinks about it. Though, the rest if Sinnoh, quite possibly the whole world would disagree with her. Giratina is " the lord of darkness". It's followers have a history of not being....the best. Giratina resides alone in the Distortion World, paying for it's past sins. Clearly, Giratina and Arcues are nothing alike.

Hm? Oh. Right. Pardon.

Danica grew up in Twinleaf town, with her best friend Barry. Those two are almost polar opposites. Barry is always moving, going fast, and doesn't wait for no one( except Danica and Emmet). Danica can go fast, possibly faster than Barry, but likes to take things slow. Both can be quite chaotic.Barry has a bit of a temper, Danica's chill. Both are cases where you should run when they are angry. Like. Very angry. The two bounces of each other well,and hang out regularly with Emmet, even with their busy professions ( Danica as champion, Barry as Frontier Brain and Emmet as a professor). Danica loves baking, and would often be making poffins and other baked treats for her, her pokemon and others ! She's also a bit of a nerd, so you'll also find her in a library or two. Her pokemon are her babies, and she hopes to have plenty of battles with them in the future!

.....

But really. They are quite alike. Both are beings of great power. Both have a following, even if one is less seen. Both are feared. They are feared greatly. Do they fear each other? Did Arcues banish Giratina in fear of the world or in fear of losing control? Did Giratina learn it's lesson after eons of being in the Distortion World? She could never tell. It doesn't really open up much, only going back to said Distortion World on its own Accord( it felt wrong to be it's "owner"). Though it do comes back, surprisingly. Maybe because she asked it to. To make sure Cyrus doesn't die in there. He still won't come out. She doesn't understand why. It's been years. Has he learned his lesson? Giratina seems to be fond of him. Affectionate. Cyrus never objects to this. So he must right? Right?

Ah, getting off topic. They're quite alike, being feared by the masses. Even if Arcues is mostly beloved. It's a god. It has such power. They're both feared. They themselves must fear as well . It must get lonely....... She thinks she gets Cyrus now.

Name: Alexis " Alex" Jones

Gender: " Um, hi? I'm just a dude. Use he/ him pronouns.....yeah"

Age:

14 when journey started in Unova( BW)

18 by SM

22 by SWSH

Basic info: It's so funny, the more he thinks about. He was so excited, despite his worries. He was going on a journey. A gym challenge. Pathway to champion. He was going to do that! With his sister and his friends! On his birthday! It was perfect! It should have been perfect! But everything just went wrong.

The bodies, the blood, the pressure to " be a hero"( intentional or not), it was all too much. Too much. Then- then he was a coward. He fled it all. Even after saving the day. It was stupid. So stupid. And the people in his life had a right to be angry. Why wouldn't they? He deserved it, really. But now things are better(?). He has a daycare to co-run, he's gradually learning his way as a pokemon medic, and he still has his pokemon( the ones that were lucky enough to survive). He's so grateful for them. He doesn't battle, though. No, he's never doing that ever again. He's caused enough harm( he hates how he stares at trainers battling). He's no good anyway( he hates how bored his team looks half the time) . He doesn't understand why people insist that he is( he hates that he has this itch, this desire). He doesn't understand why they look so disappointed when he says he doesn't battle anymore( he hates that he misses the rush, the strategy, the freedom of it all). He's fine with what he got. He's no hero.

.....Why is his aunt calling him?

Name: Evangeline " Eva" Ortiz

Gender: " Hiya! I'm a lovely lady! I use she/her pronouns, please and thank you!"

Age:

14 when journey started ( B2W2)

16 by SM

20 by SwSh

Basic Info: Eva! Eva my Beloved. Eva's fun, y'know? Always moving, helping, laughing, smiling. Life of the party! She rivals Kenji with that winning smile. Not to mention that she's a great battler! It's almost like she was born for this. Maybe she is! Who knows. But what she do know is that she's Unova's Champ and she gotta defend her title! And protect her region! Though she probably would have done that without the title anyway haha! Hmm what else? Oh! She loves technology! For some reason that surprises a lot of people that don't really know her, but she does! She's a bit of a tinkerer if she do say so herself. She likes it when people compliment on her skills it makes her more confident in them. Even Col-

No.

....

Ahem.

Anyway she's pretty talented. But that comes from a lot of hard work! And luck. But lots of hard work.( And also luck). Aaaah, that should that's it? Well, she does tend to be distant, b-but she's busy, yeah? Don't worry about it. Oh! One more thing. It's not really a big deal, just a random fact.

She hates the cold.

Name Jude Bellrose

Gender: "...... Why do you care ?" ( E: Jude don't be rude! Al: No no, she has a point.) *Ooc: Jude is genderfluid. Right now, in this post, she's using she/ her pronouns, but she also uses he/him and they/them*

Age:

18 when journey started in Kalos( XY)

20 by SM

24 by SwSh

Basic info: Death has a way of teaching you things. Jude learned a lot from it. She learns to not take it for granted, both death itself and the one that is dead.She learns to be humble. She learns to be kind.

Jude was, and still is, prickly. She's not rude my any means, unless she is, but she's just hard to become friends with. She used to have this philosophy of trainer and pokemon; they should be no emotional bonds. They're not here for that. They're here to win. And she did. Until she didn't. Her first pokemon died. It devastated her. Her pokemon, surprisingly, comforted her. And then another one died, and her pokemon comforted her again. Star, her Staraptor, was strong. So strong, and yet it died, and she cried and get pokemon cried with her. She never felt so loved. Not saying that her mother doesn't love her, the opposite really, it's just things have been....complicated. Couple that with strangers turn( begrudgingly) friends, and Jude's heart turned all warm inside. Not that she'll ever admit that outloud.

Jude is a kind person, despite her prickly nature. She loves the world around her, loves her friends, loves her pokemon. She respects death, despite the pain she causes her. The world itself of beautiful as it is, which it's such a shame that a capitalist fool a certain someone couldn't see that way( poor Sycamore).

Jude is a good trainer, despite her loss. She knows this. She'll prove it too the moon and back. If only a certain someone thought the same for himself.

Aster Mahina

Gender: "...." "Mizzz Aster is a girl! She uses she/her pronouns! Zzt."

Age:

11 in SM, where her journey started

15 by SwSh

Basic Bio: Aster doesn't hate Kanto. She doesn't. She was born there and lived there for 11 years. She just doesn't want to back. But she has to, cause she's " the first champion of Alola and as champion" yada yada yada. Like. She gets it. Being Alola's first and currently only champion, you gotta make an impression. She gets that. She still doesn't want to go. Even when she's been there, like, 4 times now. There are some good things in Kanto though. Lillie is there. And seeing Lillie physically is always a plus. She also gets to see Uncle Red, Uncle Green, and Aunt Blue. Kenji, while not living in Kanto, is champion of the Indigo League, and it's always fun with Kenji( she loves his art). But. Like. She still doesn't want to go.

But she also likes being Champion. That means she's strong. And since she's strong she can protect her mom. But she can't protect her mom when she's all the way in Kanto! What if he comes back? What if goes to Alola when she's away? She knows that her mom is strong, she knows that but still!

No. No it's okay. Her mom is strong. Lillie is strong. Gladion is strong . Hau is strong. Guzma is strong. They're all strong. She's strong.

She is strong.

Name: Naomi Einar

Gender: "I-I'm a girl! She/her pronouns please!"

Age:

15 in SWSH, which is the start of her gym challenge in Galar!

Basic Info: Hop is pretty convincing, she realizes. Or maybe she's very weak willed. " Let's do the gym challenge together!" He said. He had that look in his eye. She couldn't say no. Or she could, but that would make him upset, and that's the last thing she wants.

If she's being honest with herself, she's scared. She doesn't like big crowds, the attention. They'll be so many eyes on her. So many. A-and then there's Lee and her cousin, Alexis. Hop has made her sit down and watch almost every single match Leon has had. He's an amazing trainer. A-and her mum would tell her stories about Alexis. He was a hero! He stopped an evil team and everything! She can't live up to that! She never even battled before, why would Hop-

No. It's okay. It's okay. She- she'll just quite after failing the first gym. She can handle the embarrassment. And then she'll cheer Hop on when he wins against his brother. Yep. She'll do just that. Okay. Okay.

.....

Everyday, Slumbering Weald seem to intrigue her more and more. It's almost like it's calling her. Da?

No. It- it'sprobably nothing.

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Helmeted Hunter: Chapter 3

Boba Fett x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Light swearing, a little action at the end?

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >

Chapter 3: A Shocking Turn of Events

You could feel heat in your cheeks as you stared at the notice over the counter. In addition to your picture - which had been taken by one of your friends almost a year ago - and what you assumed to be your name, there was also a number listed. Those symbols you did understand. One million. You weren't sure how much money that was worth out in these parts, but it sure was a lot of zeroes.

Something hit your hand. Boba Fett was trying to hand you a bag with your items. You numbly took it and followed him out of the store, careful to keep your face turned from the creature behind the counter as you passed. It hadn't so much as glanced in your direction, but you didn't want to take any chances of it recognizing you as a wanted fugitive.

Back outside, the light was starting to fade. You kept your eyes trained on the bounty hunter in front of you as you made your way back to the Slave I. Wasn't he lucky, you thought bitterly, getting a big paycheck out of you. What would he spend it on? More razors?

But of greater concern was how in the galaxy they had gotten that photo of you. And how they knew your name. Who even were they? You tried to wrap your head around it, tried to comprehend what was really going on. You were far from the planet you'd originally landed on by now. How were there already notices up for your capture out here? And why only you and none of the others that had befallen a similar fate? This was far more than some fluke cosmic accident.

You'd been caught up in your dazed thoughts and hadn't noticed the hunter had stopped walking. You pulled up abruptly, nose brushing against the jetpack sticking out on his back.

"Sorry..." Your voice faltered on the last syllable. Looking over his shoulder, just in front of the Slave I, you could clearly make out a row of stormtroopers. They had guns trained in your direction but otherwise their stance was relaxed. Still, you decided to stay behind the bounty hunter.

"Well, well, if it isn't the infamous Boba Fett," a drawling voice came from behind you. In one swift motion, Boba turned and moved to the side, keeping you behind him. He had his gun out now, which shifted between the stormtroopers on his left and the newcomer on his right.

The man was clearly some Imperial whoop-de-doo, with a sweeping white cloak and a smart-looking hat. He had two soldiers in dark armor flanking him as he languidly drew closer.

"I should have guessed you'd be the first to jump on this opportunity," he said with a smug expression. He made a show of sizing the bounty hunter up, taking note of the bags both you and Boba were carrying. "Though I must say, a shopping trip is a bit premature."

"What do you want, Krennic?" Boba replied. You could sense the same irritation in his voice from earlier.

"That's Commander Krennic to you now. Much has changed since our paths last crossed, Fett."

You'd only heard of the Empire, its influencing not quite reaching your home. A few of the neighboring planets had Imperial outposts, but they were small and poorly funded, with many of the stationed personnel integrating into the culture as friendly citizens. Your parents had explained your planet was too far out of the Empire's way to spare resources conquering it.

Now that you were face-to-face with the real Empire, you couldn't help but feel even more out of your element. Your stomach twisted at this dramatic but intimidating man as he stopped just a few feet away. The stormtroopers from the other side had moved closer as well. Was he the one posting your face around the galaxy? What did the Empire want with you?

When Boba didn't respond, the Commander drawled on.

"But we can catch up another time. The daylight is fading and I have other things to take care of. Come now, hand her over."

Instinctually, you reached out to grab the back of Boba's sleeve. You did not want to be handed over to this man.

"I don't have business with you," Boba said evenly. Thank God, you thought.

"One million credits says you do."

"I have an offer for five."

Krennic's mouth twitched as he considered this. You were surprised as well. Not only did it turn out the Empire was the group willing to pay a premium for your capture, but there was a mysterious other being willing to pay more. What in the world....

"Impossible," the Commander eventually said with a chuckle. "You're trying to raise the price. Such tactics won't work with me."

Boba reached around and took hold of your arm. "If she isn't worth it to you, then I have no business here." He started to lead you away.

"You don't have a choice," Krennic scoffed. He flicked a hand at the stormtroopers, who started closing in around you. Boba let go of your arm so he could support his gun with both hands. He carefully positioned himself in front of you defensively.

A surge of panic welled up within you, making your throat dry and your jaw clench. You didn't want to be anyone's prisoner... the Empire's, Fett's, the other buyer's.... You still had it in the back of your mind that you were capable of surviving on your own. Your thirty-nine hours of experience hiding on a strange planet was surely proof. So with a blaze of unwarranted confidence, you turned on your heel and began running.

Your feet pounded the loose dirt beneath you as you took off. You could hear shouts and blasters firing. One blast hit the ground just to the side of you, the rest you could feel blowing past your head before they made impact on the buildings in front of you.

Damn it.

You'd hoped that being so valuable would mean they wouldn't shoot at you. But apparently the price was still good even if you were injured.

Suddenly, Boba Fett was landing in front of you, having used his jetpack to catch up. He had his gun lowered but was trying to grab at your arms. You only had your bag of tampons and clothes to use as a weapon, thus you promptly swung it at him. He let it fall pathetically against the armor on his chest, snatching it up before it fell to the ground. It was enough of a distraction to buy you a second to run past him.

You could no longer hear the blasters. You stole a quick glance over your shoulder to see that while the stormtroopers weren't booking it like you were, they were still close enough to shoot. But they held their weapons down, looking back at their Commander hesitantly. The man was speed walking over to them, pointing and yelling.

You turned back around and saw their problem. Several yards in front of you was the group of kids from earlier. They had stopped their ball game and were watching in horror at the scene playing out in their town. Some adults, their parents most likely, were rushing for them, crying for their safety.

A dark, selfish thought came to you. They wouldn't hurt these kids. Surely. If you ran with one of them, just long enough to get inside a building somewhere....

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you sprinted on. There was one little boy who hadn't been snatched up by his parents yet. He was frozen to the spot, eyes wide and mouth agape. You made a beeline for him, moving your arms out in preparation.

And then suddenly, you were on the ground.

Sharp, fiery pain radiated up and down your body. Your muscles spasmed. Your throat constricted. Your ears were wringing. Something cold and wet trickled from your nose. You felt paralyzed, unable to move or cry out in pain.

You stared helplessly up a the dull orange sky until, eventually, it all faded to black.

[themxlodyofmiidnight]

The Mysterious Delivery

{ Pearl starter! For @thenexusofsouls - for Tony - though if you want to bring in anyone else too it's okay! }

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

Whether this had happened by mistake, or someone strange had decided to drop it off, 'it' was huge. A gigantic wooden crate, the sides of which had all fallen down to reveal what was inside: a huge tank. The delivery of which had been made to the compound extremely early in the morning. So early that the sides of the tank had frost on them, and made seeing inside even more difficult than it already was because the water was so murky.

Within the water, something was swimming in circles, hitting the glass occasionally. Cold, unhappy, and unable to get out, the creature inside wondered where she was, why she was here, and if someone was going to let her out soon. Sitting on the ground, a piece of paper with a HYDRA symbol on it spoke of the contents of the tank and the intended purpose of its capture: testing. Hybridization was spoken of, as well as using her scales to sell and fund their goal to make better water-proof weaponry.

This was either a giant FLUKE and an even bigger mistake on the part of the people making this delivery, the act of someone who knew what they were carrying and suddenly grew a heart - or, it was someone who had grown far too cocky and wanted to send a message. Trying to inform Tony and the rest of the Avengers of the fact that they were advancing, and wanted them to know about it.

The last possibility, was that this delivery got mixed up with the tropical fish meant for the compound's aquarium, that a rather eccentric person had sent as a "present" to try to get Tony to work with them on a project. None of these things was something that the being inside knew about - all she knew, was that she was tired, hungry, and in pain from where people had kept ripping scales from her tail. Before her being shipped out, a lot of them had been torn out and the pain was still very fresh. But not as bad as the pain in her fins, which had been damaged so that she'd never be able to survive out in the ocean again if she somehow got away.

Sounds outside her tank were muffled, hard to understand what they were. She thought that there must be something there, though, and the curiosity and hope of that drew her over to the glass. If it was someone good or bad, or even a person, she had no idea. In a desperate attempt to get the attention of whoever or whatever it was so she could see, she tried swimming into the sides of the tank again. Making pain run through her, and caused a sound that could have come from a shark or something else unknown, result from it. The last attempt for attention after that: hitting the glass with her hands.

Simultaneously a cry for help, as well as proof that what was inside the large tank was not some kind of a shark, it was no tropical fish, but it was something extremely..unexpected.

[thechembow]

To the woman who assaulted me at Ace Hardware today,

Jan. 15, 2021

I am your neighbor in Frazier Park. I love this mountain and feel so blessed to live here. You must enjoy its beauty as much as I do, because it is unsurpassed. The woods and wildlife give me solace. I have also always had good experiences among the humans of the mountain, shopping locally, where we all know each other and everyone is friendly. I like supporting our community and keeping everyone working and happy. I’ve never had a bad time shopping in Frazier Park, so it was somewhat of a shock to meet you this way today.

My husband and I were picking up some bird seed at Ace Hardware. If you live in Frazier Park and not in Pine Mountain Club, it’s still legal to feed the birds! We love our feathered friends. They have also been giving me nice brass shavings from their key machine which I use to make orgonite, an energy device which promotes rainfall, clears air pollution, and makes living with EMF safer. My husband, Gabe, and I have been making and gifting orgonite for almost seven years now, and we have covered all of California and much of the US west to end the drought. You might be interested to know that we have put orgonite all over this mountain too. It sure has been snowing more and more every year since we got here and the forests are alive with new baby trees, far outnumbering the trees that die of old age. There were awesome wildflower blooms out in the Antelope Valley and Gorman these past few years. It might also comfort you to know that there are Earth pipes along San Andreas Fault here and at the top of Mt. Pinos, healing the damage that was done here by your ancestors, who stole the land from the Chumash Indians and clear-cut the forests. This will help prevent earthquakes. We have gifted somewhere around 200 orgonite pieces to these mountains, from the Grapevine to the Central Coast. I wrote a book about it too. Our life and most of our resources have gone into planetary healing.

Now that you know a little more about me, I would like to know more about you. I wasn’t covering my face today like you were because I am not a member of your religion. We should be tolerant of other peoples’ beliefs. I am tolerant of your choice to hide your face from your Creator, although I don’t agree with it. I would never hit you and insult you for wearing a mask or for any other reason. What told you that I was to be deplored because of my exposed nose and mouth? When you called me a “f-ing b-tch” and punched me in the ribs, it didn’t hurt physically because you’re old and weak. But I was wondering if it was your mom or dad who taught you to do that? Did you learn it in school or in church? I’ve never been cursed at and hit by an old woman before.

I put on the mask in order not to offend you, although I didn’t have to. You continued to yell, and you were very close to me when you yelled that I would infect you. If I’m so disgusting and disease-ridden, it would be a good idea to stand a few feet away from me when you insult me. I think about 6 feet should do it. It’s also not a good idea to punch a sick person because you could get my germs on your hand. How come you disappeared out the back door when I called out, “She assaulted me!” If you’re right, you should stick around.

Incidentally, soon after we met, I tried to run into the grocery store to grab some garlic. Like at the hardware store, the employees there never get on my case for my need to breathe and show the face God gave me. I got verbally assaulted there by a customer again, which wasn’t as bad as being hit and verbally assaulted at the same time. But the woman there was much younger than you, so you may want to give her some pointers on how to really hurt your neighbor. She said, “You’re killing my family.” She also blamed me for her sick dog. It was more likely a combination of pinworms, Ascaris, a variety of liver and intestinal flukes, some tapeworms, solvents and heavy metals that killed them, along with the ventilators they pop peoples’ lungs with if they come into the hospital with a cold. I’m reading a fascinating book right now called The Cure for All Diseases by Dr. Hulda Clark. It explains all of these diseases you think are infectious and how to cure them. You need to zap your parasites and stop sharing your worms! Stop putting filth in your mouth and reinfecting yourself, says Dr. Clark. Germs are not jumping around in the air. You can learn to heal anything that’s wrong with you with this book.

In your case, you’re definitely watching too much news. I would venture to guess you’re also taking an assortment of pharmaceutical drugs which are masking symptoms of your own worms and the bacteria and viruses they carry. You probably use a smart phone. Lots of old people who don’t even understand the technology do. I wish you would be more like my grandma, who never hit a lady in the store nor uttered an obscenity. She never would have used a smart phone either. She was beautiful, strong, dignified, spoke several languages, loved fine art, cooked great meals and enjoyed life. It’s sad what a shriveled lump of fear you’re become. My grandma survived the very oppression you are doling out today by a miracle of God. Goodness knows, her life was in danger every moment for being Jewish and from Germany at the wrong time. Now I also feel like I’m in danger. If you’ll physically assault a stranger for having a different belief, then what if someone stronger or armed would do it? This is not something I want to find out. Fortunately I have a relationship with God who protects me and am saved by Messiah Yeshua. He reconciled me back to God who forgave my sin of falling into pagan culture like you have. Your world is a fantasy land, but it’s really more like a nightmare, and it is dying like you have died.

There were a few people in the store after you fled the scene who showed me sympathy. But I now know how bad things have gotten. You showed me that today. You made me feel physically sick, not just emotionally distressed, with a little help from your insane ally at the grocery store. Just last week I could go into most places in Frazier Park with my face showing. It seems your time is running out and your world is spiraling out of control. For now, I would rather not argue with you. I will cover my face in your presence and you won’t know I don’t worship your god. It gives me more inspiration to become more self-reliant and less dependent on the businesses of your world. I hate the mask with a passion. I hate what it represents and how you look in it. I think it’s very sad that you love your pathetic false god and believe this absolutely ridiculous narrative to the point that you would assault another woman. C0VID is a mental illness!

Well that’s all for now. I hope to hear from you soon. Maybe you will realize it was wrong to hit me and curse at me and I’ll forgive you. Then we can be friends and have a kosher barbeque when the weather warms up. I’m not holding my breath, no pun intended.

Your neighbor,

Sharon Daphna

[ladylynse]

Prompt or musing for TAZ:A x DP crossover?

I went with a musing, Anon, but feel free to drop me a three sentence fic prompt if you like. For this crossover, I’d go one of two ways: Danny or Dani. 

Dani’s already off exploring on her own. It’s perfectly feasible she’d stop in at Amnesty Lodge at one point, with or without hearing anything coming out of the supposedly sleepy town of Kepler, and somehow find herself in the middle of things with people who are fast becoming like family to her. (I love the found family trope with Dani, okay? She needs it.) No one judges her for who she is now, and they’re not trying to pry into her past by asking a billion questions about her parents, and she doesn’t have to hide her ghost half from them, because they’re all like she is. Kinda. She might not be from Sylvain (she’s heard them talking and doesn’t think it’s part of the Ghost Zone, getting there through a portal or no, though she might be wrong as she certainly hasn’t explored every place within the Ghost Zone), but the questionable stability of her molecular structure means she can relate to their problems more than they know.

For Danny, well, Fenton family road trip to Kepler, of course. There have been stories coming out of that area for ages, and it’s ramped up recently. The kids are old enough that they can handle themselves in the field, even if they hate ghost hunting, so it’ll be all right to bring them along. Besides, they might be more eager to actually do ghost hunting with their parents if they aren’t in Amity Park, too.

With the Fentons being on (a working) vacation, they rent rooms in Amnesty Lodge. It’s, uh, no secret what the Fentons are, which makes some residents uncomfortable, but they keep their disguises on and steer clear of the ghost hunters, which is incredibly easy because of how loud Jack is. They’re used to keeping an extra guard up around the FBI; these new guests aren’t terribly different. In both cases, they can’t afford to be found out. 

(Said FBI agents aren’t impressed that stories are spreading enough that some amateur investigators are showing up, since that’s what they figure the Fentons are--though one of them may or may not know someone in the Guys in White and suggests that, if the Fentons really are experts in their field and someone’s playing ghost to murder other people, well, maybe it wouldn’t be completely unethical to let them find out what they can find out...and then go in and do a proper investigation before they mess anything up.)

Danny’s trying to come to terms with the fact that his ghost sense went off the moment they got near this place, meaning his parents were right about there actually being ghosts here. He’s on his guard because of that, knowing he has to find said ghost(s) as soon as possible, because if they’re friendly, he and Jazz need to convince them to leave town for a bit or figure out how to sabotage all the Fenton equipment without their parents realizing that’s what they’re up to and that any sabotage actually happened.

Jack and Maddie go off into town to investigate leads at the earliest opportunity, the kids pleading the excuse of settling in to stay behind, but when they hear about the Cryptonomica, they must all go. There’s no hope of arguing. Danny and Jazz get dragged along even though Danny would rather try to find the ghosts before his parents do. It’s clear enough to Danny and Jazz that the Cryptonomica is a giant tourist trap, but....

There’s an edge of truth in some of it that Danny finds distinctly unsettling. 

For instance, there’s a stuffed yeti that looks like the ghosts of the Far Frozen, and with the Ghost Zone being a mirror of the Real World, being connected....

Things start to spiral out of Danny’s control fairly quickly after that. His parents are trying to show them how to do some actual investigating to track down ghosts in case equipment fails, which involves questioning essentially everyone who will talk to them, and it becomes very clear very fast that weird near death brushes and attacks and murder are a current thing, not a happened at some point in the last fifty years thing, which makes it harder to convince their parents that it’s perfectly okay for the two of them to go off alone. They manage it, mostly thanks to the fact that Jack and Maddie trust Jazz’s judgement.

Naturally, Danny and Jazz aren’t acting like normal children, and Ned heard every word they were whispering to each other in the Cryptonomica, which immediately put them on the radar of the Pine Guard. (And, let’s face it, if Momma’s around, she pegs Danny very quickly.) A quick side investigation into the Fenton family is done to assess how much of a threat they are, and they connection between Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom is made almost before he shows up--but, really, Phantom making an appearance just clinched it. 

A botched investigation attempt on Danny and Jazz’s part ends with them realizing this place isn’t just haunted, that there are more than just ghosts lurking here, and if Danny hadn’t been able to turn the two of them intangible, they would probably both be ghosts. They get rescued and confronted, and contrary to how I usually draw out confrontations with ample misconceptions, there would be frank conversations. Danny and Jazz are kids, and the others are adults. If the kids are not going to sit this out as they should, they at least need to know enough about what’s going on to not get themselves killed--and, frankly, working together might prevent all of them getting killed, as that remains a very distinct possibility.

Jazz ultimately gets benched for her safety, which means it’s her job to find ways to distract her parents and the FBI and cover for Danny. Danny gets to help because, well, he was the reason he and Jazz survived their first encounter, and he can do things the rest of them can’t. He doesn’t meet the Mothman, but he can’t help but think of Clockwork when he hears stories. And the archway in the woods, well.... He’s got some experience with portals. Not good experience, and not necessarily useful experience, but maybe it wasn’t a total fluke that his parents picked this haunted town for their hunting trip.

(more like this)

[kirk-spock-in-the-impala]

Wanna write about Geralt thinking he’s ugly like in the books? Everybody else thinks he’s scary ugly but I want him to feel the softness of our love that says he’s a handsome lil baby boy. You don’t have to. I just love the way you write and bet you’d come up with an amazing story with his self deprecation as a theme

OMG YES I DO. the books are awesome, btw.

PROMPT FILL: GILDED LILIES (on AO3 here)

Summary: 

The world tells Geralt he’s a monster. Jaskier shows him he’s not.

CW: Geralt’s headspace; prejudice and xenophobia; deals heavily with finding oneself unattractive, so please read with care if you have issues with that.

Slightly canon divergent.

——————————

It wasn’t that Geralt wanted to be beautiful.  No, he understood that only sorcerers gained beauty along with their inhuman powers, but he wished that he could have remained unremarkable in his looks.  The distant memories of Geralt’s childhood told him he had once been perfectly average looking.  A dark haired, dark eyed boy of middling height and build.  Neither ugly nor handsome, he passed without comment wherever he had gone. 

 Among the boys at Kaer Morhen, looks were irrelevant to the training process, but even there, standing among boys ranging from Lambert’s strong, handsome features to the scarred visages of those struck by the pox in their youth, Geralt had felt neither confident nor insecure about his appearance.  He was so normal, so average, that the thought to consider his looks never cross his mind.

 The mutations changed that. 

 Not only was he one of the few boys to survive the Trial of the Grasses, but he was the only Witcher in history to receive additional mutations.  Because of that, not only did he have a Witcher’s characteristic, unnatural, cat-like eyes, but his hair had been bleached white, his teeth elongated, his features sharpened, his very bones thickened to accommodate the enhanced strength afforded by his mutated muscles.  The other Witchers had unnatural eyes that flashed in the darkness.  He was nearly as much of monster as those they hunted.

 Geralt understood the stark difference, the sheer hideousness of his appearance, the first time he left Kaer Morhen after completing his training.

 Before, where he had passed without notice, now villagers pointed, stared, and spat.  Gasps of shock, expressions of violent disgust, and whispers of “freak”, “mutant”, and “monster” dogged his steps.  On his first day, passing through the village at the base of the mountain below Kaer Morhen, he’d heard an elderly peasant woman whisper to her companion, “they’re making them uglier every year, ain’t they?  Those thrice damned mutant freaks.”

Compared to the havoc the mutations had wreaked on his body, the impact on his looks should have been insignificant.  But it still hurt.  Back then, he was young enough to still be idealistic.  To still dream of being a hero, a knight protecting the weak and vulnerable in the world. 

 But the decades that passed showed him that dreams were not for the likes of him.  The first time he saved a girl from bandits intent on stealing her virtue, he’d imagined she might be grateful.  And she had been.  Until she saw Geralt’s face.  Then, she’d screamed and thrown her shoes, rocks, dirt, whatever she could lay her hands on at him until he’d retreated. 

 Once could have been a fluke.  A terrified girl reacting to protect her life and her virtue from an unknown stranger.  But it happened again, and again, and again.  Travelers he saved on the road would chase him off once they got a look at who – at what – saved them.  Aldermen who contracted him would curl their lips and sneer when he showed up to accept the contract, giving him the barest of details before hurrying him back out of town to complete his task, the only purpose for which his existence was tolerated.  Villagers he’d saved from monsters would throw stones at him, chasing him out of town with vile words if he was lucky, and with pitchforks if he was not.

 Geralt knew from the other Witchers that prejudice was common, as was a certain lack of gratitude from those served, but none experienced the depth of vitriol that Geralt suffered.  Geralt had long since concluded that the difference was due to his appearance, his hideous, monstrous, inhuman appearance. 

 And so, he did his best to avoid human settlements.  He limited his interactions to the bare minimum required to complete his contracts.  He made sure to never raise his voice, to never show his anger.  He was unfailingly polite and soft spoken when he was forced to speak.  He kept his eyes averted and stayed in the shadows and corners of human settlements.  He entered villages only when absolutely required, and spoke to innkeepers and merchants only when his supplies were utterly exhausted.  He made sure to keep a supply of gold and precious gems on hand to compensate a healer in the rare event he couldn’t heal himself, knowing they would charge a premium for interacting with him, and even more of one if they were forced to touch him.

 After nearly a century living in the shadows because of his monstrous nature, Geralt was resigned to his lifestyle.  On occasion, in a quiet village that was more tolerant of him than most, he would take a chance and see if the tavern keeper would be willing to serve him.  Every once in a great while, they were, and he would sit in the farthest, darkest corner of the tavern to nurse his ale in silence, hood up and eyes down, trying his best to blend into the background.

 It worked well for him.  He’d get to enjoy his ale and he’d yet to have a problem with the other patrons, if they noticed him at all.

 But all good things must end.

 In Posada, on a bright, sunny day before heading out to complete a contract for a “devil” (it was not a devil, but Geralt suspected it might be a sylvan), Geralt sat in his usual dark corner, enjoying a surprisingly good ale.  The bard playing for the patrons crowded around the tavern’s large windows was as skilled with his lute playing as he was terrible with his lyrical composition, but Geralt let the words pass through his ears without listening to them, content to enjoy the music alone. 

 He was shocked to his core when the bard, having completed his set to a rain of bread and jeers, not only came up to him, but sat down.  Geralt immediately stood to leave, head down to hide his face in his hood, taking his half-full tankard with him, when the bard stopped him.  “I know who you are.”

 Geralt froze.  The tavern keeper knew, of course, but exposing his identity, his presence, could potentially cause a violent reaction amongst the tavern’s other patrons, who doubtless would want to clear him out of their space as soon as possible.

 “You’re Geralt of Rivia.”  The bard said, clearly pleased with his identification skills, and, fortunately, quietly.

 Geralt leveled a quelling glare at him before he could stop himself.  His face fully lit by the sunlight coming through the windows when he raised his head to do so.  He took a quick glance around the tavern, seeing they’d not been noticed yet, and stalked out the door, leaving his ale behind, his rare moment of peace shattered.  Luckily, he always paid in advance in case he needed to make a quick exit, so the tavern keeper let him go without comment. 

 Walking swiftly to Roach, he checked her tack before unhitching her from the post, leading her out to the road.  As he moved to mount, he heard light, quick steps behind him. 

 “Wait!”  The bard called out, lute banging on his back as he hastily stuffed bread into his shoulder bag, “I’m coming with you!”

 Geralt took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm, to remain soft, inoffensive.  “No, you’re not.”  He said, mounting Roach and turning his head away from the bard.

 “Yeah, no, I totally am.  Meeting you is the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me, and I’m not going to let this chance pass by!”  The bard said brightly, moving to stand at Geralt’s left stirrup. 

 Geralt heaved a sigh, looking down at the young man, and he was a young man, unsure whether he should be annoyed or pleased at his persistence in keeping Geralt’s company.

 The bard looked up, meeting his gaze fully for the first time.  “Wow, yeah, you’re gorgeous.” He said, staring up at Geralt with an expression Geralt didn’t recognize.  Gorgeous? Geralt didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. 

 He kicked Roach on, setting her off at a quiet walk toward the village gate.  Wouldn’t do to move any faster, no matter how much he wanted to leave this odd bard behind.  Faster meant more attention.  Faster was dangerous.

 The bard kept up, walking more swiftly in his fancy shoes than he had any right to, chattering away about anything and everything, from his latest doublet, to some character named Valdo Marx, to how pleasing Geralt’s hair was when the sun hit it just so.

 After a long hour of walking, followed closely by the young bard, Geralt arrived at the hill close to the site of the reported “devil”.  He stopped and dismounted Roach, securing her safely to a tree branch with ample room to graze. 

 The bard trotted right up next to him.  “So, where to next?  I’m Jaskier, by the way.”  He said, thrusting out a hand to shake.

 Geralt just looked at it.  No one had ever wanted to shake his hand before, but he wouldn’t play into whatever this bard – Jaskier – had planned by going off script. 

 He just moved on with his hunt, heading out to look for clues on his quarry’s location and identity, tossing a gruff, “stay with the horse” over his shoulder at the bard.  If he couldn’t get the bard to leave him, at least he could try and keep him safe.

 Jaskier didn’t listen.  Not then, not after they eventually escaped from Filavandrel, and not for the next several months he followed Geralt all about the Continent, sharing camp sites, meals, and the occasional room at an inn.  With Jaskier’s presence, one in every dozen innkeepers or so was willing to lend Geralt a room, with the understanding he was under the supervision and control of his human keeper.  When he was alone, asking for a room was a useless exercise.  Geralt wasn’t sure if Jaskier understood that or not, but he wouldn’t risk losing access to more frequent hot baths and comfortable beds by pointing it out. 

 The oddest thing about Jaskier though was not his persistence in following Geralt, but his persistence in complimenting him.  It was always “your hair is so soft” or “gods, your eyes are to die for” or “you’re so attractive, it’s not fair.”  More than that, more than those incomprehensible words, was the fact that Jaskier touched him.  Freely and often.  A pat on the shoulder, gentle hands combing through his hair while he bathed, a warm body leaning against his by the campfire.  People didn’t touch him.  Didn’t like to look at him.  And yet, Jaskier did.  Geralt didn’t understand it. 

 He knew he was monstrous; he knew he wasn’t fit for human companionship, and yet, Jaskier was seemingly unaware of that obvious fact.  At first, Geralt had thought the compliments and the touching were all a great, cruel joke to Jaskier, but months of exposure showed him that Jaskier was as genuine as he was foolhardy, and he held nothing back when he felt Geralt did something that deserve censure.  If Jaskier complimented him or touched him, it was because he wanted to, and that was beyond Geralt’s comprehension.

 Geralt’s confusion, his frustration with Jaskier not following the script, all came to head when they were preparing to attend a fancy banquet, hosted by one of Jaskier’s friends from Oxenfurt, which Jaskier had convinced Geralt to attend as his companion.  “I can’t just show up alone, Geralt!”  Jaskier had said.  “Besides, I can’t resist a chance to show off my lovely muse.”

 As Geralt bathed, scraping drowner blood out of his white hair, Jaskier flitted about the room, laying out finery for Geralt to wear, commenting how nice everything would look on him and how jealous his friends would be when they saw him on the arm of such a gorgeous companion

 Geralt couldn’t take it anymore.  “Stop it!” He growled, turning a frustrated glare on Jaskier.  “Stop saying things like that!”

 Jaskier froze.  He must have seen something in Geralt’s expression, because he immediately dropped the ribbon he was inspecting, one of his many choices to use on Geralt’s hair, and knelt at the side of the tub by Geralt’s left side. 

 He reached for Geralt’s cheek and Geralt flinched away, hiding his face behind a curtain of wet hair.  Tension thrummed through his frame and his posture was abjectly miserable, fists clenched around the edges of the bath, knuckles white.

 Jaskier frowned, uncertain where this upset was coming from, but knowing how reserved Geralt was, he knew the cause was substantial to create this strong a reaction in his normally stoic friend. 

 He reached out again and gently turned Geralt to face him.  Geralt flinched, but didn’t pull away. 

 Geralt’s eyes remained firmly down, brows drawn together, shame flooding him.  He’d shouted at Jaskier, growled at him like an animal, all over the little, innocuous lies Jaskier liked to tell himself about Geralt’s appearance.  If he was lucky, Jaskier would simply leave.  If he was unlucky, he’d be getting a visit from the guards.

 “Geralt?”  Jaskier prompted, concern clear in his voice.  “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

 Geralt’s jaw clenched, daring a glance up at Jaskier before averting his eyes again.  “Forgive me.  I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”  This time he did pull away.

 “No, you shouldn’t have, but I’m more concerned with why.  Have I upset you?  Hurt you?  Please, tell me.”  Jaskier waited, watching as Geralt’s eyes darted about, jaw clenching and unclenching.

 Geralt didn’t know what to say.  This wasn’t how things were supposed to be.  He had a role, a script, and Jaskier just came in and flipped the papers out of his hands, setting his own, improvised pattern instead.  Geralt didn’t know what to do.  What to think.  He just knew it hurt that Jaskier kept giving him glimpses of his childhood dream, a dream he knew was forever out of reach.

 But he had already behaved unforgivably, so he might as well get some information about Jaskier’s incomprehensible actions before he inevitably left.  Could serve him well in the future if he ever met anyone else willing to tolerate him for more than a few moments.

 Geralt drew in a breath and went for it, heart racing in his chest.  “Stop saying things that aren’t true.  I don’t understand why you do that.”  He spoke to the bathwater, unable to look at Jaskier.

 “Whatever do you mean?”  Jaskier asked, anxious to ease the pain he saw on his dear friend’s face.

 “You call me ‘gorgeous’, you compliment my hair, my looks.” Geralt shook his head, bewilderment evident in his tone.  “I know it’s not true, so why do you keep saying it?”  Geralt finally looked up, searching Jaskier’s expression, face lined with pained confusion.

 Jaskier’s heart clenched in his chest, aching for his friend, for the decades of suffering that simple ask revealed.

 He placed a hand gently over Geralt’s where it was clenched around the edge of the wooden tub, meeting Geralt’s eyes calmly.  Geralt’s hand jumped beneath his, but did not pull away.

 “Because it is true.  You’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met.  And one of the most noble, to keep fighting to protect people who will never appreciate all that you do and all that you sacrifice.”  Jaskier said, firmly and kindly.

 Geralt shook his head sharply, looking away.  He knew what he was.

 Jaskier leaned forward to keep Geralt’s face in sight, thumb rubbing gently over Geralt’s clenched fist.  “What do you think you look like?”  He asked.

 Geralt scoffed.  “Like a monster.”  He stated it like the indisputable fact he knew it to be.

 Jaskier closed his eyes briefly, devastated to hear confirmed what he always suspected.  Geralt had no idea of his own worth, his own beauty, having internalized for far too long the fear and hatred dumped on him by villagers unable to accept that something could be different and still be worthy.

 Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s fist, reaching out with his other hand to turn Geralt’s face to his again.  Holding his chin gently so he could not look away, Jaskier said firmly, “there is nothing monstrous about you.”  Geralt huffed in disbelief, trying to avert his eyes, but Jaskier held him in place.  “Your mutations made you unique, gave you the ability to do your job, to protect all of us from the real monsters.  Your hair, your eyes, hell, even your teeth, they show the sacrifices you’ve made to protect our Continent.  From a purely aesthetic perspective, you are stunning.  But as a person, you are beyond compare.”

 Geralt stared, unable to respond, unsure of what to say in the face of Jaskier’s firm belief that he was worthy, that he was not monstrous to behold.  When he was young, he knew he was unremarkable.  After his mutations, he knew he was a monster.  Yet, Jaskier seemed equally sure that Geralt was neither of those things. 

 Jaskier saw the conflict in his friend’s face.  He knew that one conversation would not change a lifetime of conviction.  He gently leaned his forehead against Geralt’s, closing his eyes.  “One day, you’ll believe me, and until then, I’ll remind you every day that you are worthy, that you are gorgeous, and that you mean the world to me.”

 Jaskier pulled back, keeping his eyes locked with Geralt’s.  Geralt saw nothing but calm assurance in Jaskier’s eyes.  No matter how remarkable, how unprecedented his words, Jaskier believed them to his core. 

 Geralt didn’t believe them.  He had nearly a century of evidence to the contrary.  But if this one remarkable man believed him worthy, believed him beautiful, then at least in Jaskier’s world, Geralt didn’t have to be a monster.