#how much of a coward are you that you need a gun to fight stones?

[spookylightwhispers]

soulless evil people being soulless evil people

[goblinkingdomsblog]

Hello I hope you are doing well !! I was wondering if it okay to request the mafia universe where they meet the agent y/n have a moment but then the agent smile and go away in like we will meet again kinda way I’m sorry if it’s too much you don’t have to do it I appreciate your writing and love it thank you for your hard work 💕

They get hurt while running away from the police, but agent y/n helps them - part 1

Members: hyung line.

Genre: mafia!AU, reaction.

Premise: during a police chase, one of the mobsters ends up getting injured. Suddenly, you appear when he least expected it, willing to help him. You say you will see each other again in the future. With complete certainty: after all, you will guarantee it yourself.

TW: (V) = Violence.

Mafia Series Masterlist

Mafia Series Plot

Hii!! I hope you enjoy this post, and that it meets well your request!

I'm really happy to know that you like the things that I write! Thank youu!!! 💜❤😁

+ Sorry for the delay, I wanted to make a long version of this reaction. The part 2 is already posted!

"We'll see each other again, don't worry."

Namjoon:

The damn right leg. It was always that damn leg.

Namjoon gasped, lowering himself against the wall of the dark alley. The smell there was not at all pleasant, and the humidity certainly wouldn't leave his expensive suit unpunished, but he was too busy to care about that at the moment.

Everything happened in a flash: one hour, he was sitting comfortably on a soft leather sofa, talking to the leaders of the other two most important gangs in Seoul (maintaining good relations between partner companies was essential); on the other, he was running down the wet sidewalk, after escaping from the building through a side door. The damned police had somehow discovered the secret meeting, probably through a traitor, and had invaded the place, trying to kill three birds with one stone.

Even his security guards had stayed behind, exchanging shots with the police to give him enough time to escape. He hated having to escape, looking like a coward, but he knew it was necessary.

Another thing he hated: he couldn't run fast without dropping at least one of his weapons, or himself. It was in a fall on the wet street that he had injured his leg, the same one that had broken twice before, and that now was hurting again thanks to his shitty motor coordination. He knew he was being chased, so he got up and forced himself to run for several more blocks, until the pain became too unbearable to walk. It was at that moment that he hid in the alley, where he was until now.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the wet darkness. Without a gun, he could do nothing but watch, hoping his bad luck wasn’t that glaring that day.

When you turned into the alley with your weapon in your fists, using its wall for protection, you saw him immediately.

The mafia boss, sitting on the floor, with an empty expression.

Frowning, you checked if that was a trap and if there was someone around, but he seemed completely alone. Raising your voice, you announced your presence, and the first thing he saw was your well-equipped uniform.

- Hands up. Put them behind your head. - you said, with controlled calm.

Namjoon sighed, obeying slowly.

- I'm unarmed. You don't need to be alarmed.

- Get up and come over here. - you ordered, ignoring his words.

The mobster started to get up, but then he slid back down the wall. He tried a couple more times, until he gave up and lay motionless on the floor.

- Hurry up.

- I am unable. I think I broke my leg again. - he murmured, almost as if admitting it was a shame.

Suspicious, you didn't move forward initially. You checked the alley again, but no one was in sight. So, you decided to use a different strategy: you approached with the gun pointed at his head, after all, none of the henchmen would dare threaten the life of their leader (or at least that was what you hoped to be true).

- If you try anything "funny", I swear I'll kill you, okay? - you hissed, bending down in front of him.

The man's legs were stretched out in front of him, and the right was in an ugly position, proving that he was telling the truth. The bone must have torn the flesh, because a bloody wheel was beginning to form in his pants. It would be disgusting to anyone who was not used to brutality.

- How did you get hurt like that?

- Let's say that this specific bone is not the strongest. It is already the third incident that occurs with the poor thing. - he tried to laugh, perhaps to feel better about himself, but the pain prevented him.

You then took a deep breath. You couldn't leave the man bleeding there, even if he wasn't the best of people. It went against your values.

By slowly lowering the weapon (but keeping it within immediate reach), you began to roll up your uniform sleeves. The basic first aid classes you took when you joined the police would have to do.

- What will you do? - he asked, lost in hesitation and fear, as he noticed your approach.

- I will help you not to bleed a river. But it will really hurt, and it will be a really temporary solution. - you answered, seriously.

Without saying anything more, the man just fell silent, a thoughtful expression appearing on his face.

You put your hands firmly on his leg and, using the techniques you had learned, started to push. The pain was absurd, but he preferred to bite his lip until it bled rather than scream. Of course, being a fugitive from the police should be part of the motivation for not making too much noise.

The cracking of bones when they went back to place was hollow and dark, but at least the meat stopped being kept open. Taking a serious look at him, you noticed that the man was pale with pain, looking like he was about to pass out.

- Breathe in. The worst is over. - you replied, rummaging through your belt until you found the bandages you always carried along, in case of personal emergencies.

Carefully but firmly, you started to bandage his leg, just to stop the bleeding and keep the leg in place for as long as possible.

- Don't move too much, or you could make your situation even worse.

The man remained silent for a few minutes, just watching your serious expression and your nimble hands as you bandaged his leg. He wasn't sure about how to react, after all, that kind of situation was not quite what a mobster would expect from a police agent.

- Uh... why are you helping me?

You lifted your head, facing him directly.

- One of the most important parts of doing justice involves not letting anyone bleed to death. And even if your wound is not that deadly, I believe that waiting for a long time in a wet alley is not the most ideal healing scenario. - letting go and wiping your hands on the leftover gauze, you took your gun out of your belt and stood up - I'll give you the advantage of not immediately telling them where you are. But hope your henchmen find you fast.

He watched you walk away, going back cautiously to the exit of the alley.

- But... I... - unable to formulate a coherent sentence and not wanting to look like an idiot, Namjoon just gave up asking questions - I suppose that's what it means to be on the good side. Thank you anyway.

Surprisingly, you turned around one last time. The smile that shone on your face exposing all your teeth and lifting the corners of your mouth, giving you an air of extreme cleverness, took away the little breath that was left to Namjoon.

- Oh, but you don't need thank me now, because we will meet again. And next time, I'm not going to be that good. - clicking your tongue, you took a step towards the darkness - You better be well prepared.

So, you're gone, leaving him alone in the alley until the moment he would be found by the other gang members (which took a little longer than it should have).

Seokjin:

Shit!

That whole day was being terrible. First, Jin had started by clashing with members of a rival gang. Then the police arrived, shooting anyone they saw ahead. It was in the middle of so many fights that he ended up being shot in the palm of his hand, and his dominant hand!

Pressing his hand against his now-stained shirt chest, he continued walking through the seemingly empty industrial quarter, unsure of how to hold his revolver straight.

Everything should have been a simple negotiation, but things got off track too quickly.

His palm had already bled so badly that the entire front of his shirt was red. In addition, he could no longer move his fingers, which was a really bad signal. Containing a sob, he let a few tears roll down his face.

He was concerned with his own hand, but his biggest concern was if it would lose its usefulness forever. How would he be a hacker after that, without being able to type?

It was at that moment that you found him wandering alone and desperate. You had been looking for the fugitives in the more distant streets, to make sure they didn't get far. However, when you found the boy crying, a part of the adrenaline that dominated your mind dissipated. He barely held a gun, after all.

With patience, you announced your presence. When he saw you, he threw his head back in mourning, as if he were indignant at the heavens.

- I can't handle it right now! - he whimpered.

Rolling your eyes, you approached, your gun in hand.

- Don't worry, I won't shoot if you don't do anything stupid.

Eyes widening, he pulled his hand away from the body, in a strangled cry.

- How would I do it if there's a hole in my hand?!

Even a few feet away, the fact that it was possible to see through his hand was disturbing. The bullet had gone in and out, leaving a hole with color of blood, bones and nerves showing. Yes, the boy's despair was justified. You just kept calm because you've seen a lot of complicated situations like that before.

- You have to stop the bleeding!

- How am I going to do this with one hand?! - the silent tears continued to run down his face.

Sighing, you finally approached, scaring him by holding his hand.

- What is this?!

- A basic aid, considering that the nearest hospital is two kilometers from here. - you replied simply, taking improvised bandages from inside the jacket of your uniform.

There was not much to do about that hand other than to stop the bleeding. Avoiding looking at his blood-soaked shirt (which was not a pleasant sight at all), you began to wrap the wound with the fabric, covering the hole and tightening the bandage tightly.

He let out a sob of pain, but he didn't back down, knowing he needed to put up with it.

- Take good care of this wound.

He wiped his wet face with his healthy hand, sniffling.

- I don't even know if I'll have a hand after this! - the reaction would be comical if it weren't tragic. The panic in his voice was real.

So, you closed your expression, getting completely serious.

- You will take care of your hand and you will stop being pessimistic. It'll be there the next time we meet. - so, you gave a smile of certainty, small but absolute.

Then, moving away, you raised your weapon again, passing by him.

It took a few seconds for Seokjin to understand what you had said. The pain left him with slow thinking.

- Hey, next time?! - he exclaimed, turning in your direction.

Unfortunately, you were too far away to be stopped. He watched you leave for a much longer time than the expected.

Yoongi:

He was no longer able to walk, so he didn't force himself anymore. It didn't matter that he was inside the same building that the police were still in: he just couldn't get away anymore.

Limping painfully for a few more steps, he sat down in the narrow hall, resting his back against one of the walls. He and his two customers had been caught during the delivery of a shipment of heroin, and one of the damned customers had stabbed him to have time to escape. Literally.

With a small knife stuck in his thigh, Yoongi was actually slower than the others, easier to be captured. He was just lucky to be in the company of his most trusted friends, who came into conflict with the police just so he could run. He was worried about them now, of course, and he couldn't even repay their sacrifice and really escape. The pain was so much, and the blood on his clothes was so much, that his veins seemed to be filled with acid, which caused a burning sensation in his entire body.

Closing his mouth to try to hold his breath and feeling the sweat on his forehead, he leaned his head against the wall, looking at the ceiling for a few moments. The knife was still stuck in his leg and needed to be pulled out. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and counted to three. Then, lifting his trembling hands, he put them on the handle of the knife. That gesture alone was enough to make more cold sweat run down the back of his neck.

Then, as he prepared to pull the knife out, you appeared at the end of the hall. Wide-eyed, you observed the injured man and what he intended to do.

- Wait! Don't pull it! - you exclaimed, startling him.

I mean, Yoongi got scared, but the only thing he did was to turn his head slowly towards you, without really expressing fear.

You turned the other way, knowing that your colleagues were close. Specifically, a colleague who hated mobsters, and who would certainly have no mercy when shooting a man who was already injured. There was even a trail of drops of blood on the carpet, which went as far as the dealer was left.

- Why not? Sometime it will have to go. - he said, in a weak voice, with the tone of someone who no longer cared.

You slowly lowered your weapon when you realized that he was not carrying any gun. Then you looked at him again, snorting when you realized that you would need to act quickly.

Too many people had been hurt that day. You needed to fix the situation. Then, running up to him, you bent down in front of the man.

- You were stabbed in your thigh, that is full of important blood vessels. In addition, you are already bleeding too much. - you said, scolding him with some anger - If you pull the knife, it can make the situation worse and cause a much worse bleeding. Even though it hurts, the knife seems to be stopping the wound.

Too impressed by how straightforward you were, he just remained silent, nodding his head to signal that he would obey. In the distance, you heard your angered colleague's voice. Then you faced the mobster again, running your hands over his shoulders.

- I'm going to get you out of here and put you in a place where you're not in the immediate sight of a gun. But I can't do anything else. You will need hospital care.

Yoongi opened his eyes wide when you started to help him up, shocked by the situation as a whole.

- Why are you doing this? - he asked, his voice low and strangled with pain.

With effort, you managed to get him upright, but you were practically carrying his full weight.

- Because I think people should go through a fair trial, and not just get shot in the head like will happen if I leave you here. - striving to walk, you started down the corridor, towards the basement of the building - And make sure that your leg does not leave a trail of blood behind us, even if you have to tighten the fabric of your pants around the wound.

Again, he obeyed without protest, containing a cry of pain as he prevented the blood from dripping on the floor. He was shaking and sweaty, and the pain he was enduring must have been scary. Still, that was better than leaving him to die.

You followed as quickly as possible to the staircase, and each step was a sacrifice for Yoongi. The black mask you were wearing, part of the uniform, prevented him from seeing your face, but your eyebrows were frown at the smell of blood and the man in agony.

When you reached the basement, you hid the man behind a tall and heavy closet. The place was small, dusty and probably untouched for months. Still, you left him on the floor, sitting.

Stretching your aching back, you searched for the bad and cheap phone you used when you went to work, for emergencies. You turned it on and handed it over to the injured man, just before standing.

- Use this to call someone who can help you. It's the most I can do for you. - you said, as soon as he held the little electronic device.

Pale but with lively eyes, Yoongi took another deep breath to be able to speak through the pain.

- Thanks. - he said simply, closing his eyes when a flash of pain passed through his body. Then, he opened his eyes again - Isn't this phone tapped? It would be pretty easy to track me, then.

With a mysterious expression, you walked away. Even though you were wearing a mask, he could see the corners of your mouth going up to form a mysterious smile.

- You will have to find it out until the next time we meet. - you replied, taking your weapon from the belt just before leaving by the same staircase you had traveled before - Do not expect me to help you again.

Hoseok:

Hoseok was crying, something he hated to do. However, getting shot in the chest was not something that happened every day, and it was okay to cry in a situation like that.

With his hands pressed to the bleeding wound, he staggered down a deserted road in the hot dry night. The road was flanked by plantations, since it was located in the countryside, and the only noises there were that of the plants moving with the wind and that of the nocturnal animals.

He was afraid of those animals, after all, he smelled of blood. Still, nothing too dangerous should be there, as farmers would exterminate any creature. Even the "creature" himself, probably, if he appeared bleeding and wanted by the police in one of the houses far from the road.

He stumbled forward, needing to lean on one of the wooden fences. The pain in his chest was so strong that he had no idea where he was running to.

Suddenly, he felt the cold muzzle of a gun at the back of his head. As he bent over the fence, he stopped paying attention to the environment, and didn't notice when you approached silently.

- Hands up! - you hissed between teeth.

With a high-pitched cry, he remained in place.

- I'm using my hands to stop the bleeding from the shot your colleague gave me in the chest! - he exclaimed, his voice exuding real pain.

Swallowing hard, you wondered if it was true, and ordered him to turn around. When he did it, weak, the front of the shirt soaked in blood was proof enough.

The man's luck was that the shot had hit the right side of his chest and not the heart. The bullet was still lodged in his chest, but the bleeding was not aggressive enough to had hit an artery. That man was very, very lucky.

- Give me your gun. - you said, forcing the man to hand over his revolver. As soon as you made sure he was unarmed, you lowered your own weapon - Let me see.

By taking the man's hands away and looking more closely at the wound hole, you were sure that no very important veins had been hit. Then you started to take off the man's coat.

- Hey, what are you doing?! Isn't it enough that you invaded our place and killed 4 people?! - he exclaimed, irritated and scared.

Hearing those words was not pleasant, but they were true. So you didn't answer, just folding the jacket efficiently and wrapping it diagonally around his body, tying it tightly on his back.

- I'm helping you, you bastard.

Arching his eyebrows, he realized you were telling the truth.

- Why? - he asked, confused.

- Because nobody else is going to die today. I'll make sure of that. - you answered seriously - Now tighten the wound again. Prevent too much blood from being lost.

The man was already pale, but when he heard of blood, he became even more so. He swallowed hard, his face still wet with tears.

- Are you sure that I will not die?

You started to smile wryly, wanting to laugh at his crybaby face. However, as you watched his expression, you realized that his panic was real. You then changed your expression, smiling without showing your teeth but confidently.

- I am sure. We will meet in the future, because I will keep you alive. - you said, walking away - Now, run to the house after this plantation behind you and ask for help. I have to go back to the mission.

He wanted to say something else, but you were already walking away. The courage you gave him through your steady smile was enough.

He had the strength to run to the nearest house and ask for help.

Maknae line here.

The images used on this post are not mine, credits to the owners!

Kisses from the Goblin Kingdom! :)

[g-on-ef]

Hey if you’re still doing that 50 cliches and prompts, perhaps we can get a crumb of #23 for Blitzo x Striker? 👉👈

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A\N: Nonnie you ask for crumbs and I'll give you the whole bread ^^ also if you guys want send me some Striker x Blitz prompts of your own or one from this list ^^

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#23: “Just tell why you did it!” “Because I’m in love with you, okay!”

Striker was fighting to remain conscious, the past thirty minutes have not been kind to him...especially with the bitch Stella trying to get back at him for shooting her.

Earlier today Striker got a call from Stella to come to her as she had a new plan that she wanted Striker to carry out, a plan that could finally break Stolas.

When he came to her palace Stella told him her plan.

“Why kill the cheater when you can break his spirit,”

“Don’t you already do that every time he’s reminded that he’s marry to you?”

Stella glared at the imp, the one thing she hated about him is his mouth and his constant snide remarks.

“I will ignore what you just said, now onto the plan, the best way to get back at Stolas is to kill the most important person to him in all of Hell,”

“Octavia?”

“Touch her and I will kill you myself,”

“Well you did said you don’t care who I have to go through to kill him so technically-”

Her hand slammed on the desk she was sitting behind.

“Touch my daughter and I will put you through such agony that’ll make Lucifer himself coward in fear,”

Striker bit his tongue, he knew when he had pushed his luck and he could see he was pushing the last of Stella’s buttons.

“No the one I want you to kill is the piece of shit that ruined everything, the thing that Stolas continues to see, I want you to kill Blitzo,”

The minute that name slipped out of her mouth Striker did not hesitate to take his blessed tip revolver and shoot her with it.

Her guard was down so she didn’t have the time to move until it was to late, the gun hit her right in the torso going right through her, paralyzing her.

“Ahh!” she shouted, Striker was getting ready to shot her again when the door open and someone grabbed him or try to.

Striker was able to handle the bodyguards that came in, being a wrath imp mixed with Lilith’s bloodline gave him enough strength to beat the shit outta the guards...but not enough to defend himself from Stella who had her own gun and shot him, her aim wasn’t good so all she was able to do was shoot his shoulder.

Striker screamed as he felt the pain, before he could do anything, one Stella’s guards pulled out an angel weapon and stabbed him with it.

The pain was the unbearable, falling to his knees his attacker began to stab his back making the assassin scream.

“Stop!”

The attacker turned to his queen.

“Taking him to the dungeon, I will deal with him there,”

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Striker held Blitz closer to his body, he’s never been this gentle with someone before. Never took his time with someone and enjoyed their body.

Never appreciated every sound his partner made or the expressions they made whenever he was pleasuring them.

Normally he would fuck them as fast as he could and leave, with Blitz he couldn’t do that.

The past three nights have been amazing, ordinarily Striker didn’t do this he didn’t try to get to know people, hell he tried to keep them as far away from him as possible, especially if he was gonna go through with his plans he couldn’t afford to have any weaknesses, nothing the overlords or royals can use against him.

And yet here he was, pleasuring Blitz, slowly moving in and out of him.

The feeling of his walls around his cock made Striker groan in pleasure, he took in every moan, whimper, whatever sound came out of Blitz he listen to it and tried to engraved it into his memory, knowing this will be the last time they ever get to be like this.

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He opened his eyes and watched as Stella glared at him, her servants pushed her around in her wheelchair as she stared at him with such hatred that Striker was surprised that the bitch didn’t have the ability to turn him to stone or kill him with her glare.

“Why the fuck are you protecting him?! He chose my good for nothing piece of shit of a husband and you still protect him?! He doesn’t care about you!”

Striker stared at her, he knew what she was trying to do, his sperm donor always told him people would say anything to hurt you so if they aim low than you aim lower.

“It pisses you off doesn’t,”

Stella glared at him before Striker continued,

“That one lowly imp managed to capture not one but two powerful beings attention, your husband and me, Lilith’s bastard. One tiny lowly imp has two of your puppets wrapped around his finger. Someone who’s supposed to be superior than imps, and yet every dick that you want to be fucked by is either getting fucked or fucking the imp that you hate,”

Stella’s cool facade fell as she lifted her fist and punched his stomach, the punch shouldn’t have hurt but because Stella’s rings were made of angel weapons it definitely was going to leave a mark.

“Kill him, make sure he doesn’t make it out of this alive!”

Striker closed his eyes ready to accept death and Her embrace, the last memory he had was the last night he and Blitz made love to one another, the night were Blitz and he curled around each other silently promising each other a piece of their heart to one another.

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When he opened his eyes he was met with a bright light he blinked trying to clear the bluriness of his vision.

“Am I dead?”

“No but you’re gonna wish you were when I am done with you,”

Striker turned his head to the voice that sound awfully like Blitz’s.

Oh, it is Blitz and he was angry.

“Uhh...hi?”

“Hi! HI?! You’re ass has been lying in this bed for the past 22 hours we almost lost you and all you have to say is HI? YOU FUCKING DICK!”

Striker lifted himself up and watched as Blitz continued to glare at him.

“Do you have any fucking idea how scared I was! Fuck if it weren’t for the mating bite and Lady Lilith helping us we wouldn’t have saved you!”

Oh...right...he forgot that he gave Blitz a mating bite.

“Blitz-”

“Do you have any idea what was going through my mind when I felt your pain? What I was feeling when I heard your screams?!”

The city imp got up from the chair he was sitting on,

“I almost lost you! I almost lost the first person to show me respect, to remind me what it was like to be loved and all you have to fucking say is hi!”

Striker looked at Blitz who was crying now,

Striker grabbed Blitz and pulled him on his lap as the city imp cried into his chest.

“Lady Lilith told me, told me that bitch tortured you because she wanted me dead! Why didn’t you tell her about me?! Why didn’t you just tell her where I was at so that she could’ve let you go?!”

Hearing that made Striker growled.

“You fucker you really think I would let her hurt you?!” he pulled back and grabbed the imp by his shoulders.

“I’ll die before I’ll let anyone touch you!”

“Don’t fucking say that! You almost die because of me!”

“And I’ll do it again if I have to!”

Blitz was getting mad, he didn’t want Striker to die because of him hell he didn’t want Striker to waste his time with someone like him, he deserved better and yet Striker nearly died because of him, and here he was telling him he would do it again without hesitations.

“FUCK! Why?! Just tell me why the fuck would you do that?! Why would you sacrifice yourself for me?!”

“Because I’m in love with you!”

Striker’s eyes widen as did Blitz’s. Fuck that was not supposed to come out of his mouth, hell he was never supposed to tell Blitz that he loved him, that was a secret he was going to take to his grave and yet...and yet he didn’t regret saying, he didn’t regret telling Blitz the truth, his city imp deserved to hear those words.

“You...you dickwad no you don’t! You don’t love me! You can’t!”

Blitz curled in on himself not sure if he could believe what Striker was saying. He couldn’t be in love with him...right?

Striker wasn’t surprised that Blitz didn’t believed him, from the time they spent together Striker knew that Blitz had low self esteem and when Striker listened to him he thought he was playing with him but was surprised to learn that Striker genuinely cared for what he had to say, that he paid attention and wanted to learn more about him.

He had to tell him he meant it when he wanted to know more about Blitz even when he didn’t believe him.

“I’m in love with you,” he took Blitz’s face in his hands and place a kiss on his forehead, cheeks, the scars on his face.

“I love you Blitz, I’ve been in love with you since I heard about you,”

Blitz looked at him, before wrapped his arms around Striker’s neck and kissed him. the cowboy and the city imp kissed as if it would’ve been their last day in hell.

In a way it almost was, Striker thanked  La Santa Muerte , for watching over him and making sure he returned to the one he loved.

Blitz was thankful towards Satan that Striker was alive and that he was here with him, the two pulled back for some much needed air, Blitz rested his head on Striker’s chest wanting to listen to his favorite sound in Hell. Striker’s heart beat.

“Promise me, promise me that you’ll stay by my side forever,”

“I promise you forever Blitz, when time wants to tear us apart I’ll stay by you, I promise you always; never will I wander from you never will I leave you; I promise you eternity, that even when our time comes and we are reincarnated into the next life I will always find you. I promise to love you Blitz my heart, soul, and body is yours forever and always and way pass eternity,”

“Wow...” Blitz pulled back and looked into Striker’s eyes.

“That was some fancy words you just used,”

Striker just smiled as he pulled Blitz closer to his body.

“For you and only you,”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Fish

For @whump-advent-calendar‘s day 4-6, Burn/Candles

CW: Referenced medical whump and dehumanization, light burn (accidental), captivity, muzzling, drugging reference, reluctant whumper turned caretaker

Introduction | Siren Song | Cries | Here | Not Sure | Draw Blood | Fish | Signs

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BAHRAM’S NOTES NOTE TO SELF - SAVE IN EXTERNAL HARD DRIVE. DO NOT LET DR. L SEE.

October 22nd, 20XX 3:45 am Mer in Residence: 19 Days

It’s time to admit I’m more or less keeping a diary at this point as I get to understanding him. So far I’ve written separate notes to myself… for ten or so straight days of the nineteen we’ve had him here, and it’s getting harder to write the official transcriptions the way Dr. L wants me to.

Dr. Lachlan insists I call the mer ‘it’, that it’s to help me distance myself emotionally since it’s such a good mimic of humanity, but I don’t think it’s a damn mimic, I think it’s just… human.

I mean, obviously it’s not HUMAN, but… Miah spelled it out for me, we had an argument about this when he first got here. She gets so angry that he’s getting hurt and you know, I guess I believed Dr. L - mer aren’t my specialty field, I’m a snake man really, I don’t know the first bloody thing about fucking cetaceans. 

Anyway, I said to her at the time, “It’s not human.”

She told me, “Maybe not H-U-M-A-N, but P-E-R-S-O-N,” just like jabbing me in the chest afterward. Also, Miah can fingerspell in a way that really makes you feel like a six year old getting yelled at by your mother, for the record. I can’t describe it any other way. I was ready to just melt away from personal embarrassment before she even finished signing “person.”

That’s not the point of this. 

I didn’t start a diary just to tell myself how right Miah is about all of this, but hey, here we are.

I need some days off so badly.

Miah wasn’t around today, it’s really just been me and the mer - I’m off for four days coming up here, after 20 days of work, and she’s going to come in and do 24-hour watch until I’m back. It’s not so bad - I don’t really know anyone here, and the bed’s comfortable enough. Dr. L’s paying rent on my apartment so I won’t lose it while I’m working, anyway.

I still feel like some low-level henchman, though. Like any moment some asshole in a tank top is going to show up with guns and I’ll just be a faceless evil stepping stone before the boss fight with Dr. L. 

I mean, we all know that Dr. L’s going to be the boss fight, right? Anders would just like lay down or throw Miah in front of himself or something.

No, that’s not fair, he really does love her.

Bahram this is all hypotheticals about a video game. Get back on track, man.

So Miah must have gone shopping or something. She came back with a bag full of these candles from this bookstore she really likes. I mean she came back with an insane amount of books, too, but she had this candle she pulled out and put down on my desk.

She set down the candle - it’s this really nice deep blue and has some kind of like ocean scene painted on the label, like, isn’t that thematic - and smiled at me. “This one reminded me of what we’re doing,” She told me, and her signs were… softer. Her expressions were softer alongside them.

Does that mean… anything? I don’t know. She just put it on my desk and then wandered off. I thanked her but I had to take her shoulder and get her to look at me, first. Maybe her face was a little red.

Maybe not. 

We keep the tank room pretty warm, I’m sort of cold-natured and the mer seems more active when we keep the lights really warm, so… 

I don’t get why she bought me a candle and why she looked away before I could thank her for it. I don’t get it, and I feel like I should, but I don’t. Is she not looking because it wasn’t a big deal, or because it was a big deal, or… what?

I really WOULD sink into the floor if Dr. L or Miah ever saw that I wrote this. Get it together, Bahram. You are not writing a diary about Miah fucking Kirsse. 

It’s been just me and the mer, all day. Dr. L was gone, too, meeting with whoever’s funding this whole thing. She’ll be gone until next week, so there’s no real work getting done, for now. Just blood draws.

She’s showing them its claws she took off. I don’t know why. Honestly, I have such a bad feeling about this, but I needed the cash and nowhere else was hiring for a job that would give me room and board and still time to work on my own research. Not that I’ve done a bit of THAT in a week.

I get too distracted by the mer.

He swims in circles. He stares at nothing, or pokes the plastic coral and ferns we got him, or hides in his cave. I can switch the screens over to watch the camera feed from inside the cave, but he doesn’t do much in there, either. I caught him picking at his scales, and I need to ask Dr. L about that. She took three scales off his tail, which for the record I had nothing to do with (whose record? I’m writing this to myself, and what the fuck does it matter about scales when I’m the one sticking the damn needle in his elbow twice a week), and I caught him sort of whistling sadly and picking at the empty spaces. 

They’ll grow back, Dr. L says. She’s not worried.

I am.

A little.

I’m starting to think Dr. L is lying about a lot of things, and I’m not sure what to do about that. If anything. This is a job, and I get paid better than I’ve ever been paid in my life. So… what do I do?

I could call the hotline and report him. It’s anonymous. 

She’d know I did it.

I don’t know why, but… I don’t want her to know it was me. Cowardice, I guess. Pure bloody cowardice.

But Miah hasn’t emailed the hotline, either. We can’t both be cowards, right?

Anyway.

Tonight was tank cleaning, which is a bloody fucking chore. Anders was around long enough to help me get the mer tranq’d and into the lift and then the rolling tank where he can just sit until I get my work done. Poor thing just lolls around when he’s tranq’d up. Barely blinks. 

Doesn’t stop its fucking crying, though.

We took a lot of blood from him today, too, so he was very weak. Barely moved, just curled himself up small so he was totally in the water and watched me work after Anders left. We’ve got a scrubber machine that does the hard work, I just have to hose some things down and then make sure its filter is still operating correctly. Watch the scrubber. Whole process takes about three hours from start to tank totally refilled, as long as I do it weekly. It’ll take much longer if I let it slide.

Double-checked the camera in the cave, and when I walked out of it I saw the mer’s head was up, watching everything I was doing. He dropped right back down under the water when he saw me looking at him. The muzzle looks so monstrous on him, but more than that, it makes him look like a monster.

Maybe Dr. L doesn’t muzzle him to keep us safe, but to keep me from seeing his expressions while I’m here with him all day.

No, that’s stupid. She doesn’t even think he’s sentient, right?

I finished up, and when I came to roll him back to the lift, I saw he’d popped his head up out of the rolling tank and was looking around the room itself. He hasn’t really looked around at all before this, and he was still tranq’d but maybe I fucked up the dosage? Because he was pretty alert, kind of whistling to himself and giving little chirps and clicks. He sounds like some weird mix of killer whale and fucking otters or something. When he saw me, he flinched back down under the water, but I had this idea.

Dr. L took his claws, and he’s still muzzled except when he’s on the table or when he eats, so like, it’s not like he can hurt me, right?

His eyes had gone to my desk, looking at… I guess all my books and papers and my laptop and everything. Maybe the candle. I waved my hand around until I saw that he was watching me again. With those big eyes it’s hard to tell exactly what he’s looking at, but when I clapped my hands he blinked at me, so I know he can hear it, can see me.

Then - and I swear I’m not lying - he moved himself up out of the water, and put his palms together. His earfins twitched out and back against his scalp, and his white hair dripped water all down his shoulders. 

He cocked his head at me. Then he put his hands together, harder this time. He clapped, and then… he clicked.

I KNEW it. I KNEW clicks were questions. Dr. L said their brains don’t work that way, but I bet they do. Who’s even considered how their brains work? Maybe they’re just like us. All the studying I’ve been doing shows that the scans we’ve done of dead ones are pretty similar in overall size and placement of their center of language. They’ve shown that mer populations have their own dialects if they don’t interact with each other, like the Atlantic transients sound totally different than the Pacific transients, which sound different than the residents that stick close to the coastlines up by Alaska...

Making my own head hurt. I don’t even care about fucking mammals, but I guess I do now. 

“That’s right,” I said when he clapped, not like he can understand but still. I said it, and I clapped again, and he clapped back. “Can you give me your head? I’ll take your muzzle off, yeah? If you don’t bite.”

Dumbest fucking idea ever, but hey. 

I think maybe he knows the word muzzle, because he whistled and shrunk down again, lowering his hands. His ear flaps flattened again. I saw the deep red marks around his neck, from how we have to use the catch-pole to get him out, and I just. I just felt like shit, you know?

I’m shit, that’s what I am, we’re torturing a child, more or less, who hasn’t done a thing to anyone but be by himself because he lost his bloody fucking family. I can’t keep telling myself I’m not the bad guy, you know? 

I’m going to jail if I report him, aren’t I? I helped bring him in, after all. There’s my whole career down the drain.

Is this how it felt when everyone was being shit to monkeys in the 70′s and calling it psychology? Did some of them just go along with it because they thought they had to?

This is not helpful, Bahram.

I sat down at my desk and tried to figure it out. His eyes were on me the whole time. I looked over at Miah’s candle, and looked at the label. Like I said, ocean scene. Fronds and ferns and…

I turned the label to face the mer, and tapped on the image with my finger. “Fish,” I said, feeling dumb as hell. I told myself, it’s a bloody animal, Dr. L would roll around laughing at you for this.

But he came back up out of the water. There was a long moment, and I heard him click, and then a soft, “Sssshhhhhh,” sound came from behind his muzzle. They have lips like ours, although their way of communicating is basically whalesong and relies heavily on underwater acoustics. He’s louder in the tank than out of it, although I guess fear might make him quiet, too.

The recordings I found on youtube they get in the ocean are deafening loud. Their voices travel so well underwater, it’s amazing. People sell fucking CDs with mersong over piano to fall asleep to. 

I poked at the ocean scene on the label again. “Fish,” I said firmly. “Do you want fish?”

He knows fish. 

I KNOW he knows fish because he sat up, held out his right arm, and tapped his elbow with a blunt-edged, broken-off claw before he looked back at me, trembling with fear. He clicked again, twice.

I can’t even tell you how shit I feel, realizing he was asking if I was going to take his blood first. That’s what he meant, it has to be. He poked at the exact spot where he’s bruised up from the needle. 

But it makes sense, right? 

He’s been here twenty days, more or less. Every couple of days, when he’s hungry enough, we bribe him with fish to get the pole on him, take blood or whatever else, and then he eats. 

No, WE don’t take his blood. I take his blood.

He thinks - and he’s fucking thinking, I know he is - that he only eats if we stick a needle in him.

I’m hurting a child.

I’m teaching a child to be hurt.

I’m not religious but this feels like the sort of thing you ask for forgiveness for, doesn’t it? I should call Maman and ask her who I could talk to. I’m going to call Maman or Baba tomorrow.

No I’m not.

What would I tell them I need to speak to someone about?

What if whoever I speak to calls and reports him, and Dr. L knows it was because of me?

I need to stop thinking about this. 

“No, NOT draw blood,” I said, and he whimpered again, held out his arm further, closer to me, tapped his elbow again. I knew he could still hurt me - their strength is prodigious, the first time we got him out of the tank he nearly pulled Dr. L down into the water with him - but I decided it was worth the risk. 

I kept thinking, he’s more scared of me than I am of him, but you know, of course he is. He’s the one with bruises.

I stretched my own arm out and showed it to him. He flinched back a little, and then leaned forward again, sitting in the little rolling tank that’s barely big enough to hold him. His blunt claws touched my arm, delicate as a feather, clicking as he poked at the sleeve of my sweater. 

“No draw blood,” I said. “Just fish. Eat.” I mimed chewing.

He looked at me and clicked twice, cocking his head, then looked at my candle from Miah, pointing at the ocean scene. “Ffff-sshhhh,” he said, muffled. 

“No, that’s a candle, it just has fish painted on it. Candle. Fire. Yes?”

Blank stare. 

Then, repeated, “Ffff-sssshhh.”

I sighed and pulled out my little lighter. I don’t smoke or anything, but I hate the way matches smell, so I have a lighter on me basically all the time. Plus, having lighters was a pretty good way to make friends back in undergrad when I gave a fuck about that. 

I flicked on the lighter, and the mer chirped, curiously. 

Has it never seen fire before?

Why would it, it lives in the ocean. Don’t be a dumbshit, Bahram.

“Fire,” I said, and held it out a little for a closer look. “Fire.” I tilted it and lit the candle, and the mer leaned forward, rapt, as the wick sparked up to flame and I blew the smaller flame on the lighter out. 

“FFfffff,” The mer said, barely audible. It clicked and held out its hand, and I wasn’t fast enough.

“No, wait stop-”

The mer’s fingertips touched the flame and it let out a deafening loud cry of pain and jerked its hand back down into the water, whimpering at the new kind of hurt, looking at me like it was MY fault, and maybe it was. Eyebrows furrowed, little crease in its forehead, big sad eyes. 

The big sad eyes are wrecking me.

“Well, don’t touch fire and you won’t burn,” I said, shaking my head. “No touch fire. Fire bad. Fire burn.”

He held out his hand to show me. “Ffff-rrrrr.” It was a plaintive little breath of air, not quite a real sound. 

The ends of two fingers were a little dark, that’s all. I could explain that by saying he’d hurt himself in the tank, maybe. I shook my head and pointed at the water, and it put its hand back in there, huffing a little breath of relief, I think. The water probably helped with the sting. 

“Right. Fire bad. No fire.”

“Ffff-rrr... buh-ddd.” 

“Right. Fire bad.” I stood up and walked over behind him, and he tried to turn and watch me but I shook my head and pointed back at the candle and he sort of huffed again and looked away. I felt him tense when my fingers touched the back of his head, but he sat still.

Probably because if he struggles when she goes to take the muzzle off or gets her fingers near his mouth, Dr. L has this electricity stick thing… 

I’m not supposed to mention that in the transcripts.

I’m not supposed to mention how he screams, and he doesn’t sound like a whale or an otter, then. He doesn’t sound like an animal.

He sounds like a child.

He IS a child

He’s just

I’m a fucking

No. I need to focus. This is stuff I can’t tell Dr. L, I need to write it down here where it’s safe.

The muzzle is easy to get off, you just need to be looking right at it, and I unbuckled and pulled it free, feeling a little resistance from how well it stuck to his face. Without it on, there are deep red lines along his cheeks and jaw, not open or bleeding, just irritated. 

He didn't grab at me, or bite. Just watched me with his big eyes as I laid it down on my desk. For a second we were both just quiet, looking at each other. 

Then he pointed at the candle again. “Ffff-sssshh.”

“No,” I said. “Candle. Fire.”

The mer’s eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head, echoing what I did earlier. His hair slapped around. His teeth look like shark’s teeth up close, only there’s a lot less of them. “Nnnn-nnnuh,” He tried, shaking his head again.” Nnn-uh. Ffff-sssshhh.” Then he pointed at his mouth, opening wide, showing me the tongue behind his teeth. “Fffff-sssshhh. Ffff-ssshhh.”

I laughed, covering my mouth - he seems to be scared when we show too much teeth, probably in the ocean it’s a threat and they don’t smile like we do. Which, why would they? 

But, see, I realized that he wasn’t pointing at the candle at all, but at the fish painted on it. Then he moved to look at the bucket of fish he gets as a reward for obedience, and pointed at that, then looked back at me to see if I was paying attention.

Of course I was. I was barely fucking breathing. This is signs of abstract thought process, recognizing that the image of a thing isn’t the thing itself. That he can point at it to represent what he wants. “You want fish? Is that it? You’re hungry? Want to eat some fish?”

The mer blinked and made a sound like a chirp, clapped his hands together. “Rrrrr. Fff-sssshhh.” He pointed at his mouth again. “Ffff-ssshhh. Buh-rrrrmm. Ffffsshh.”

“What did you say?” I whispered. My heart went cold. I can’t describe it any other way.

“Buh-rrrrmmmm. Ffff-sssshh, Buh-rrrmm.”

The bloody thing knows my fucking name. 

He knows we have names and he knows mine and that means-... that means he has one, doesn’t it? If he has a name, if he has

I’m his fucking nightmare aren’t I 

I’m the worst fucking thing that could happen to him, me and Miah and Dr. L and Anders and this is a job but it’s the worst thing that’s happened to him and it’s only

It’s going to get worse for him.

He’s going to die here and he’ll know all our names when he does.

Anyway, so... you know... I brought him a bucket of fish.

What else was I supposed to do? 

He knows my name!

He let me put the muzzle on him again without fighting after he finished, and I got him back in the tank once the water was refreshed, and he’s sleeping off his meal now. I can see him on the feed, curled up inside the cave.

But I’m wide awake, so I thought I’d write this, because…

Because what the hell do I do now?

I can’t tell Miah.

Can I?

 ---

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @slaintetowhump @moose-teeth @misspelledwitch @whumpfigure @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @whumpywhumper

[vickyskpopkingdom]

ATEEZ - From The Wonderland Pt.1

this story is based on ATEEZ' performance of wonderland on Kingdom: Legendary War. while i was writing it got a little out of hand and i wrote way more than anticipated so please keep an eye out for pt.2 and possibly pt.3. they well be up in a few days!

if you haven't you should definitely check all of the performances out, the link to ATEEZ' performance is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-uDitNeFO-I&t=183s&ab_channel=MnetK-POP so please do check it out, it is amazing.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3

warnings: guns, swords, drinking and fighting

2k words

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While the ships in the harbor swam quietly above the water, swaying to the rhythm of the waves crashing on the stone walls of the dock, the inside of the bar was much more loud and chaotic. The pirates took care of their ships but not so much of themselves. Beer, rum and wine seemed to flow endlessly, the bar staff barely keeping up with their customers.

This was a usual development of the evenings in the city. Pirates everywhere knew that they would be safe here, the town flourished thanks to them spending their money on alcohol, women and repairs for their ships. It never took long for the alcohol to take over, resulting in bar fights and various other showdowns or show-offs.

Two men sitting directly in front of the bar downed a shot of pure rum, before falling back into their previous conversation.

"The Kraken is a legend. Nothing more, nothing less. Probably made up by some pirate some centuries ago to make sure no one sails there to steal his treasure", the younger of the two said, his voice slightly cracking because of the amounts of alcohol already running through his body.

The other, slightly older but equally as drunk, shook his head, grabbing the wood of the bar to steady his swaying body. "Then tell me why no one who sailed there came back? I don't trust that part of the sea one bit, you hear me? Not one bit!"

A hiccup escaped his throat, as he called for a bartender with his hand. "We would like another round please", he ordered as the woman approached them. Then he looked back to his previous discussion partner. "It is real. And there is no one out there that could defeat The Kraken."

"It's a myth! Crafted to keep cowards like you away from what could be a huge treasure.", he other retorted.

Two small glasses were put down on the counter in front of them, the sound of glass hitting wood disrupting their conversation. "Both of you are wrong", the female bartender scoffed, "The Kraken was real and it was defeated."

Both men stopped their movements to look at her. The younger grinning from one ear to another, seemingly amused by the previous statement, while the older one eyed the bartender up and down. "And how would you know, lady?"

"What? Have you never heard of ATEEZ?", she asked back, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth now, "They slayed The Kraken."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hongjoong sat inside his most prized possession, his ship 'Wonderland', as he waited for the final object needed on his quest to arrive. Above him on the deck of the ship he could hear his crewmates running around, making finishing touches for departure. He couldn't help but smile at the thought of sailing out with his crew again, finally getting back on the sea after a break on land.

As the noises calmed down a little, Hongjoong could already tell that the supplier had arrived. His hunch turned out to be true, as the door to his private room opened and a man dressed in all black stepped inside. This was not their first meeting and as it also wouldn't be their last Hongjoong had already gotten used to the large black hat the person opposite to him wore that covered the most part of his face.

To say that he was curious to see that face would be an understatement. And yet he had never asked to see it. Hongjoong knew that sometimes secret had to be kept. Besides he certainly did not want to taint this relationship. It was way to beneficial.

Without a word spoken the man in black set down the object on Hongjoongs desk: an hourglass, held in a circle made of gold. The words 'Symphony No.9' were engraved on the circle, almost invisible to those who didn't know about their existence. Pearly white sand flowing freely from one side to another if turned right. It was beautiful, breathtaking even, to finally see the ominous hourglass on his own ship.

"Thank you. I appreciate your work", Hongjoon said, as he pulled a small leather bag from one of the drawers in his desk. Coins rattled against each other as the bag got exchanged form Hongjoongs hand to the gloved hand of the quiet man. "I will let you know, when I am searching for new objects."

At this the man in black nodded, tipped the brim of his hat at the Captain and left.

Hongjoong looked at the hourglass, smiling as he turned it over. The white sand started flowing down. "Show us the way, Symphony Number Nine."

As the Captain stepped out of his cabin, he could already see his crew ready on deck. The only thing they were waiting for was his 'go' and they would start sailing in an instant. By the atmosphere surrounding them, Hongjoong could already tell that they were just as excited as he was to see for themselves if the legendary treasure, the 'Symphony', was real. The legends surrounding its existence described it as one of the largest treasures out there. Shimmering gold coins, fiery red rubies and the finest silver swords were only few of the objects rumored to be part of the Symphony.

Hongjoong could feel the eyes of his crewmates on him. He couldn't hide his smile anymore as he finally said: "Let us start our journey, ATEEZ!"

Excited yells were the answer and everyone got to work. Soon the ship was leaving the harbor behind, the wind being on their side today.

As the captain, Hongjoong usually didn't have much to do with the actual sailing. He was more into planning their journey, making sure they had enough food and water and ordered his crew to stop at a nearby harbor to fill up their supplies if necessary. Today however he stood on deck with everyone else, breathing in the fresh air of the sea while trying to calm down his beating heart. It had been quite some time since him and his crew went on such a mysterious journey.

"Bring all of this below deck!", Hongjoong could hear Seonghwa ordering some of the lower ranked members of their crew. He turned around to see his right-hand man standing tall between the other crewmates, overlooking the whole process. Seonghwa was a reliable partner to Hongjoong, his right hand, who always kept his cool. Which was more than necessary because Hongjoong held intense pride for everything he did and could get into heated arguments with other pirates from time to time.

As if he had sensed something Seonghwa turned to look at Hongjoong. "You are still out here today? Don't you trust us, Captain?" His voice was calm, as always but Hongjoong could hear the teasing undertone.

"I trust all of you wholeheartedly. Just didn't want to miss our departure", he answered nonetheless. Seonghwa smiled warmly at him before walking over to Wooyoung who had called out for him.

Hongjoong let his eyes wander a little more over the deck, spotting Yunho who was currently training his sword-skills. Or at least he tried to do as much as he could with the limited resources he had to fight against. His enemy of choice were some thick ropes spun between the masts of the ship. The Captain had told Yunho countless times already that he was a skilled fighter especially with a sword, but Yunho always strived to do better.

"Don't tire yourself out too much, Yunho", Hongjoong finally spoke up as he approached the younger man, "We can not tell when we will arrive and I need you to be ready if we actually have to fight someone... or something."

Yunho cut through the centre of the ropes with a final strike. "Fine, fine. I'll tone it down a little." He smiled brightly at the captain before collecting the now cut ropes and knotting them to the masts again.

Sometimes Hongjoong felt as if he had adopted a puppy into his crew and not a 22 year old man.

"Hongjoong!", someone called for the Captain. He of course knew, that this voice belonged to San. His eyes found San and his bright pink hair standing at the ship's wheel as he was responsible for steering it. He waved for Hongjoong to come over.

On his way over to San, Hongjoong passed by Seonghwa once more who was now with Wooyoung. Similar to Yunho they were training. Well Wooyoung was training with a gun while Seonghwa gave him advice on the angle, the stance and the technique. Somehow the vice-captain had an incredible aim and a steady hand. Hongjoong would trust Seonghwa to shoot an apple off of his head.

Wooyoung wasn't quite there yet, he still had a long way to go to reach Seonghwas level of skill, but he was eager to learn and had improved highly ever since he started training his aim.

"You two as well? I guess, you can join Yunho in wasting your energy", Hongjoong sighed at them.

Seonghwa shrugged, pointing to Wooyoung. "It was his idea, not mine."

Wooyoung fired a shot at the makeshift target and almost hit the bullseye. "Ah~ so close! Did you see that Seonghwa? Was that one good? It was good, right?"

"Sorry, Woo. I was talking to Hongjoong and didn't pay attention to you."

"What? Oh my god Seonghwa, you are so mean!"

Hongjoong left the two to bicker among themselves and finally reached San. "Whats up?", he asked.

Just like the other crewmates San seemed to be filled to the brim with excitement. Which wasn't exactly something new or unusual. San, together with Yunho Wooyoung and Yeosang, whom Hongjoong had yet to spot on their big ship, were always giving high energy especially when they were all together.

"Just wanted to confirm our current route with you", San answered, gesturing towards the small table next to she steering wheel. On the wooden surface San had laid out a map covering most of the sea and of course the hourglass, which would lead their way. None of them knew exactly how it worked, but i seemed as if the sand inside the glass was drawn into a specific direction as long as it flowed down.

Hongjoong took a look at the white sand, comparing its flow with the direction of their ship and nodded. "Seems good to me. I think, you can work it out by yourself just fine, San."

San shrugged. "Better safe than sorry, right Captain?"

"Right, San", Hongjoong said, smiling. He knew that San worked hard to reach the level of skill he had now. No map was too complicated, too old, too ripped for San, somehow he was able to read them all. San had always gotten them to their destination safely and yet he still liked to check in with the Captain, making sure they were on the right path.

With a friendly pat on the head, after which San smiled proudly and most pleased, Hongjoong made his way down to the main deck again. Once more his eyes landed upon Yunho, who had stopped wielding his sword. Instead he was now bend over a black cloth. Next to him were the last two main crewmates, which Hongjoong had not yet seen after their departure: Jongho and Yeosang. Seeing those two and the mysterious black cloth reminded Hongjoong of something that he had entrusted them with. As he walked over to them he wondered, if they were already finished with their task.

"And what are you three plotting?", he greeted them as he arrived at their current position.

"Nothing much", said Yeosang, "Just showing Yunho our new flag."

So they were finished with their task. Hongjoong couldn't help but smile. Their old flag had been ripped during their last quest. Of course that wasn't something to stop ATEEZ from continuing, but Hongjoong had noticed that his crew's motivation had been higher while they were still in possession of their flag, their symbol, the sign which let others know that they were dealing with ATEEZ. And because of that he had asked Jongho and Yeosang to think about a new flag.

Hongjoong scanned the new flag. Similar to the previous one the background was black, appropriate for a pirateship, but this time Yeosang and Jongho had decided to paint the lettering, the word ATEEZ, in a fiery red. But there was something else that caught Hongjoon's eye: "Is that fire above our name?"

"Yes, but also no", Jongho started to explain, "It's supposed to resemble a crown that is on fire... or made out of fire. Whatever floats your boat, you know?"

To say that Hongjoong was impressed would be an understatement. He had always known that his members were creative, always thinking about what to do next and most importantly what would benefit their crew. There was a tight-knitted bond between the members of the core-crew, Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, San, Wooyoung, Jongho and Hongjoong himself, forged by their adventures on the sea. Somehow he felt as if the new logo, the fire, the crown, their name in red, combined all of their characters perfectly.

"It's time to hoist this new flag up, guys", Hongjoong ordered, "Let's show everyone who they're messing with."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hongjoong was awoken by someone slamming his door open. By the dim light coming in from the outside of his room, he assumed that it was early morning, around five am maybe.

"Captain, I think we're here!", San's clear voice resonated into the room. There wouldn't be another crewmate up at this time of day anyways. At least up until now. During the last few days on their journey all of the crew had gotten more and more restless. Nobody could tell why, since there were no changes in their surrounding, but somehow they all were getting sure that their destination was close by.

Their intuition had not been wrong Hongjoong thought as he stepped out on deck and saw an island coming closer and closer to the ship with every second. His members stood by his side as they all watched the island draw closer. With a quick glance Hongjoong was pleased to see, that they were just as ready as him to step off the ship and get to finding the treasure. They were all dressed accordingly and Yunho and Seonghwa even had their weapons with them.

They couldn't help but feel an ominous feeling wash over them as Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, San, Wooyoung and Jongho landed on the island with a small boat. They had decided to leave the rest of their crew on board of the 'Wonderland'. Too many men could potentially be more dangerous and just the seven of them going alone. Besides that they were skilled and could handle fights by themselves, as they had proved countless times already.

They didn't regret this decision even as the dark forest loomed over them on the island, they never regretted a decision they had made. But neither of them could deny that a little more company would have felt more comfortable.

Hongjoong adjusted his long fur coat. It was a piece of clothing many deemed unfitting for such an adventure but Hongjoong felt most comfortable in it. He was the captain, he was talented, he was the leader, the brain. The fur coat wouldn't be an obstacle in whatever situation he had to face. "Let's find that damn treasure, ATEEZ!", he said as he took the first step towards the densely wooded forest. His crew followed suit.

A shiver creeped up on Wooyungs back as the trees started to surround them. During the first few minutes his mind was busy to figure out what was so confusing about this forest. Something was off, wrong almost but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Then finally it clicked: There were no noises. No birds singing, not any other animal making a sound. No wind flowing through the leaves. Even the sound of their shoes on the forest floor seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness around them.

Of course they had heard rumors about this island. And there were many. One talked about the treasure being cursed, bringing the finder only harm and misfortune. Another said that the treasure was being guarded by a giant kraken. And the most popular of them all of course told them that no one who stepped a foot on this island was able to return back home. All of these rumors could be true Wooyoung now realized. This was definitely the right place to hide a cursed treasure guarded by a kraken with a preference for humans.

Wooyung realized that his friends must have felt the same way. None of them dared to talk. Every single spoken word would have felt too loud in this forest. But on the other hand there was no denying that this was the right place to hide a treasure! And up until now they had always been successful on their adventures. Their teamwork was outstanding, no one could compare. They had risen in ranks ever since they started sailing. There was no way that this would be their breaking point.

The cracking sound of a stick made Wooyoung flinch. He was a little ashamed but was instantly less embarrassed when he saw how Yunho clutched at San's biceps. Just as he was about to point this out though, Seonghwa hissed a "Someones's coming" to no one in particular. Wooyoung could see how the older already laid a hand on his sniper.

Without talking the pirates stood in a circle, their backs to each other. It was quiet again, somehow the silence felt even more heavy than before.

Suddenly even more tree branches cracked, Wooyoung could even hear footsteps approaching them. This time he didn't need Seonghwa to tell him that someone was on their way. He could hear them himself, loud and clear. Someone was coming. They were fast. And they were many.

People started breaking through the trees attacking ATEEZ on sight. As he ducked under a thrown fist Wooyoung made a mental note to thank Hongjoong and Seonghwa later for training them so hard in hand-to-hand combat before they started sailing all those years ago. He was able to avoid another punch and in turn could kick his enemy off of his feet, making them fall to the ground with thud and, Wooyoung noticed in horror, an extremely loud cracking noise. Now that his sole focus wasn't on dodging he was able to get a good look at their enemies. They were around the same height as him and his friends but there was no flesh, no hair, no skin, not even eyes in their sockets. They were fighting a bunch of skeletons. The one Wooyoung had previously thrown on the ground was no longer moving. It seemed to had landed on a rock of some sort and cracked its spine.

As he looked around Wooyoung noticed that breaking their bones seemed to be the only way of getting them to stop fighting. His crewmates were struggling with the skeletons because simply pushing them back or slicing into the bones wasn't enough to keep them back. They didn't feel pain.

"Break their spine or their legs!", Wooyoung called out, while trying to escape the boney hands of another skeleton approaching him, "They need to be unable to move."

At this exclamation San aimed a swift kick at the head of his enemy. The skull made an ugly noise as it dislocated from the rest of the body and landed on the ground. The skeleton stopped moving before falling collapsing.

"Yeah, I guess the head works too", Wooyoung commented.

"You should concentrate!", Seonghwa barked back, but even he couldn't help a small grin making its way onto his lips.

As it turned out his call to focus wasn't without reason. Wooyoung struggled more and more with every punch, with every kick. He was getting exhausted, feeling the hits the skeletons were able to land on him while his enemies remained unbothered at anything that wasn't cracking them in half. He could hear Jongho's heavy breathing behind him and saw Yeosang limping. This was not going well. Not at all.

He wanted to help his friends but he was equally beat up. Still Yeosang definitely needed help. Wooyoung took a step towards his friend and felt a hand closing around his arm. Slender bones held him in his current spot, as another set of bones wrapped around both of his legs. How could these people only made out of bones be so strong?

A yelp escaped his lips as more and more hands got hold of his body. Yeosang, who Wooyoung wanted to originally help, turned around. He realized what was happening to Wooyoung and started to run towards him but it was too late. The skeletons dragged Wooyung with them. Yeosang was still struggling with his limp, unable to follow them.

"They have Wooyoung!", he cried out, panic clearly audible in his voice. If he wasn't used to one thing it was seeing Wooyoung like this; helpless, alone, frightened. Normally Yeosang would not have distracted his other friends from their own fights like that but this situation was different. All of the rumors they had heard before came back to his mind at once, his worry for Wooyoung only increasing.

Hongjoong broke from their circle and sprinted into the woods, following the skeletons who had captured Wooyoung.

"San, no!", Seonghwa's voice resonated over their heads. Yeosang turned around to see San, who was also trying to leave into the same direction.

"He can't fight them all alone, Seonghwa!", San called back.

"They are leaving...", Jongho panted. He made a sweeping gesture around them. Their attention diverted to their surroundings. The youngest had been right. The skeletons retreated back into the forest, using different directions as they ran.

"Then it should be fine for me to go find Hongjoong and Wooyoung", San stated, already starting to walk again.

Seonghwa opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by someone-- something screeching.

All of them froze. That was a noise they had never heard before and Yeosang was more than sure that he never wanted to hear it ever again. It sounded angry, it shook him to his core. Yunho and Jongho seemed to have the same reaction as him, while San was still staring towards the part of the forest, that he suspected their other two crewmates in. Seonghwa on the other hand had a grim look on his face.

"I guess, that rumor about a kraken wasn't just a rumor after all."

Before one of them could react to his statement in any way, Seonghwa looked at Yeosang. "Are you able to walk?"

Yeosang tried to put weight on his right foot. It hurt but it seemed to be endurable. "I don't think I can run, but walking should be fine."

"Then we will all follow Hongjoong and Wooyoung. Don't try running off on your own, San, do you hear me?"

San didn't answer Seonghwa, he only kept on looking into the forest.

"Did you hear what I just said, San?", Seonghwa asked again, sounding even more stern this time.

"Yes, I did. And I won't run off."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

that concludes part 1 of this story, hope you enjoyed it so far & will come back to read the rest!

sorry for not including mingi but as he is not part of the performance i would have found it very difficult to add him as well. i already feel bad because i gave the members different "screentime" in this story (my program tells me i wrote "wooyoung" 21 times, followed by "seonghwa" with 12 times and "hongjoong" and "yeosang" with 10 times each).

[sevlgi]

deal

requested: no

group: red velvet

pairing: seulgi x fem!reader

genre: fluff????

contents: secret agent!seulgi, criminal!reader. [10/33]

warnings: fight scene, mention of weapons

synopsis: It’s time you make a new deal with the gorgeous agent hunting you down.

a/n: how do we feel about agent!seulgi??

word count: 1.3k

Seulgi swings her fist at full speed towards your face, eyes narrowed in concentration as the muscles exposed by her shirt flex. Her braid whips behind her, sheer power flowing through her very body.

Your forearm is the only option to block the hit, though your arm instantly throbs at the impact; in return, you throw out your own punch, fist driving up under the other girl’s chin. 

She dodges your hit easily, but it was with your non-dominant hand; your knee, snapping up beside you, manages to catch her in the ribs. When she moves a hand to shield her bruised side, a quick blow snaps her head back. “Dammit,” she whispers when she finds a split lip, fingers bloody.

The grin on your face only serves to infuriate her more as you bounce back and forth, ducking under another punch and gripping her wrist to pull her forward. “Having fun?” you breathe out in the split second your mouth is near her ear, twisting her wrist.

“Plenty,” she snaps when she shoves her elbow into your gut, spinning while you’re off guard to knock your legs right out from under you. “You?”

You barely get a second to recover from hitting the ground before her boot, coming down onto the ground, just barely misses your face. She steps on bare stone instead when you pull her leg right out from under her, and wheezes as her back hits the ground.

“Time of my life.” She gasps out for breath when your hand closes around her throat, fingers finding the perfect pressure points to make it torturous. “Oh, you like that?”

“Shut up,” Seulgi groans, struggling to pry your fingers off. Right when you think she’s given up, she slams her fist into the side of your thigh, a tiny hidden blade lodging in the flesh.

With the time that buys her, she aims a well-aimed kick at your face, and you taste blood when her boot collides with your cheekbone. She lands another punch to the other side of your face as soon as she stands, smiling through slightly bloodied teeth. “Still the time of your life?”

You snatch a serrated pipe from the ground, raising the metal up above your head to hit the other girl. However, you’re stopped by the sounds of shouting and the sight of men with guns charging into the alley. “There she is, don’t let her get away.”

“Come on, don’t be shy, hit me,” the brunette baits, beckoning you with her hands with a grin. “Yeah, Y/N, are you a coward?”

“Not a coward.” The weapon clatters to the ground as you grip pipes running up the sides of the building, foot lodging in a broken piece of brick. “Just smart.”

Shots ring out, but the men are too far away to aim well enough to hit you; by the time they’re standing next to a panting, bruised Seulgi, you’ve already disappeared over the roof.

You swill the whiskey in your glass as Seulgi walks into the bar, her eyes narrowed and hand resting on the gun tucked into her waistband. “No need to be so edgy.”

“Really? I’m meeting with a famous criminal, and you’re telling me not to be edgy?” she scoffs, hand nonetheless coming down as she sits opposite you. “Did you get me a drink?”

“Vodka soda, as you like it,” you grin, sliding said drink over the table. “I want to change our deal.”

Seulgi raises an eyebrow, sipping at the drink. “Business, right off the bat. Alright, Y/N, what changes do you want to our deal? I’m already not turning you in, in exchange for practice and a share of the money. What more could you possibly want?”

Your calf brushes up against hers as you lean forward, cocking your head as her cheeks redden just the slightest. She’s a good agent, but not good enough to hide her own attraction to you. “I think you know.”

“No,” she automatically protests, setting her glass down forcefully. “No, Y/N. Look, you’re- you’re gorgeous, yes, and I am attracted to you, but-”

“But what?” you ask, fingers curling over Seulgi’s wrist. “Just think about it, okay? We’re still on for practice today.”

Standing, your hands leave a lingering coldness on the other girl, and as soon as you’re gone, she downs her drink in one gulp and orders another.

“I’m not going to lie, you look good.”

The brunette ignores your compliment, fixing her hair up as you wait for her in the ring. She does look good, in her tiny top and skin-tight leggings. “Shut up, Y/N.”

“Why don’t you make me-”

She immediately drives her knee up into your stomach, landing an uppercut as soon as you double over. “Not what I meant, but okay,” you wheeze, blocking her next swing. “Aggressive today, aren’t you?”

“Don’t say it,” she grunts as she swings her leg, frowning when you duck easily and jab your elbow into her side. Unlike Seulgi, you’re only trying to practice, not seriously injure her; that part might be your fault, though.

You shrug, a quick punch to her nose barely taking any energy as you bounce back and forth. “Say what? That I think you’re a botto-”

She slams her knuckles into your jaw, panting as you fall to the floor. “Caught you off guard, didn’t I?”

Pressing your fingers to your face, you move your mouth to ease the pain. “I’m hurt, Seulgi. You didn’t have to go so hard,” you frown, standing to walk out of the ring. If you don’t ice it, it’s not going to heal well. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, following you. “I’m just frustrated.”

“By what?” you raise an eyebrow, sipping at water. “Me?”

She rolls her eyes, scoffing, “Don’t think so highly of yourself. No, I just... it’s complicated, but basically, no one thinks I can do this. Nobody thinks I can bring you in, and I’m only proving it by wasting my time with you.”

A beat of silence passes before she groans, running her hands through her hair roughly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I-”

“What do you want me to do?”

Seulgi scrunches her eyebrows together, looking up from the floor. “Excuse me?”

“Do you want me to let you catch me?” you offer, screwing the cap back on your water. “I can, if you want. I’ll let you catch me, and somehow escape when someone else is in charge of me. That way, it won’t be your fault when I’m gone, and you’ll have actually succeeded at catching me.”

Standing, she grips your wrist, searching your eyes for any sign of a lie. “You’d do that? Y/N, I can’t ask you to.”

You shrug, smiling slightly. She really underestimates how much you care for her; even despite the circumstances of your meeting, you’ve really grown fond of Seulgi. “I will. You know I can escape.”

She suddenly smiles, eyes creasing in a way that makes your heart thump in a way you never expected it could. “Really? Y/N, thank you. Thank you so much, what can I do to repay you?”

“Uh. I mean, you can come to my room,” you answer, trying to play your blush off coyly. It works; Seulgi smacks your shoulder as she ascends the ring again, beckoning you. “Well, I guess we got a new deal anyway,” you murmur to yourself, following her.

It doesn’t matter what you have to do; keeping that smile on her face is worth any deal you have to make. 

[vercopaanir]

You Did Well

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 23

Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian faces his challenger, and you receive help with nursing his wounds.

Words: 6.1k

Ratings/Warnings: T-M for some pretty graphic injuries and violence.

Notes: Thank you all so much for being understanding with me! I really appreciate each and every one of you who sent me messages of encouragement. This chapter is dedicated to @cptnbvcks​ who has patiently waited for some of this action. I also want to give a sincere, humble thanks to @bunnyart-blog​ and @di-kut​ for creating some of the most beautiful art I’ve ever seen! Both of these ladies are incredibly talented writers and artists. Check them out!

AO3

“A duel of territory is until first blood is drawn,” the Armorer says, reaching out to grasp your arm when you sway dangerously backwards. She smells of heat and spices and citrus, and you breathe deeply through your nose to focus on her voice, her firm grip, and the buttery leather of her gloves rather than the rushing of blood in your ears. “To prove who is strong enough to take such responsibility of the clan being warred over.”

“I-I don’t-”

You couldn’t hear anything over the sound of your own pulse pounding between your temples, beating like the gloved fists against beskar, the static crackling electrically in the air. A panic, fierce and clawing its way inside your chest threatens to overtake you, to choke you, and you can’t breathe. You desperately gasp for air, raggedly drinking in the heat of the bodies and the yelling and the hunger, but nothing can tame the burning in your chest. Suddenly the dust in the tunnels suffocate you, the cold burns your nose, and there are tears in your eyes that feel as if they’ve been born from a memory, one where your neck held the imprint of an owner, and you had no one to call your own.

Without considering the options, you shove yourself into the throng of warriors, slamming your shoulder into a pauldron and elbowing away a vambrace. They don’t even stumble in the wake of your insistence, but it doesn’t stop you from making space for yourself, pushing your way in. You have to use both hands to get around one Mandalorian, your injured hand flaring with heat that feels subdued beneath the surge of adrenaline pumping in your body until you practically hum with it.

When you get to the front, pressing between two female Mandalorians, you might as well be made of the stone that makes the walls of the covert, the floors, the ceilings. You feel like a piece of the architecture, just as useful and effective in stopping what happens in front of your eyes.

Kneeling in the center of the open berth of the crowd, Din’s entire body heaves with rattling air, dragging it through his helmet as if it takes every vestige of power he possesses. One of his vambraces has been torn from his arm, and the pauldron, too. His left arm hangs limply, cradled against his body with the other, and even with your impaired vision, you see the lopsided joint where it’s been dislocated. His head hangs forward as if-

As if he’s giving up.

The challenger circles with a proud, cocksure stride that turns your stomach. He is at least a head taller than Din with thick, robust muscles that move beneath midnight blue armor with the dullness of having seen battle. When he moves behind your Mandalorian, his deep, bellowing voice echoes from within his helmet more than through the vocoder.

“Still weak on your left side, Djarin?”

The warrior’s hand is huge, and it strikes out to grab the lip of Din’s helmet from the left. He jerks upward, and your heart drops when you realize he means to uncover his face.

“No!”

To throw yourself forward is a reflex, but the two iron strong hands that grab your upper arms haul you back against a strong, beskar chest plate. At the same time, Din’s helmet seems to rattle on his skull, waking him from a catatonic daze when he hears your voice, and he bucks against his challenger’s hold. The leather glove slips from his helmet, and they grapple with each other until the larger Mandalorian grabs Din by the back of his neck, lifting him high enough that his boots kick out, before slamming him down into the ground. The ring of steel against stone is ear-splitting, so visceral you feel it within your chest. It hurts .

Din doesn’t move immediately, but you can hear a low, rattling groan from beneath his armor. His gloved fingers curl against the ground, grasping for something unseen.

“Cuyir ibic te dala?” laughs the armored giant, pointing his finger towards you as you’re held by the strong arm of another. He prowls around the fallen warrior, inclining his helmet downward to watch his opponent struggle. When Din pushes himself up onto his good hand and his knees, the Mandalorian swings his heavy boot and lands it into Din’s side, much to the zealous shouts of the Tribe surrounding them. It’s nothing compared to the grating taunt of the deep bass the warrior throws at the man you love. “Cuyir ibic tion'ad gar kar’taylir?”

But you find quickly the fight is evenly matched, no matter the size difference. Din suddenly rolls to the side upon his useless arm, throwing his boot out to crack against the other warrior’s knee. The man buckles, falling heavily to the ground, and Din takes the opportunity to climb to his feet. His helmet turns on you, gleaming and scuffed, and he yells so loud his throat scratches, rasps with the gutteral sound of Mando’a. “Hiibir kaysh be'chaaj!”

The large, unrelenting hands on your arms suddenly lift you backwards, and you fight against the handling. “Let me go-!”

Rhalaz doesn’t even stumble from your pitiful attempts, shaking you gently. “You shouldn’t be here,” he yells over the noise, drawing you backward into the sea of armored bodies that close together like huge, overarching doors. He lifts you up from underneath your arms, swinging you towards the forge just as a terrible, ringing clash of metal echoes through the tunnel. It is followed by a roar of the warriors, and you stumble away as Rhalaz sets you down. The Armorer reaches a hand out to help steady you again, and you whirl around, desperate to see anything.

“Who is that? Who is he fighting?” You have to raise your voice to be heard, and you feel Rhalaz hover beside you with worry.

“Paz Vizla,” the Armorer answers, her mystical voice somehow not needing to project to be heard. The name means nothing to you, gives you no comfort or reassurance. “He is of a powerful house of Mandalore-”

“-and the strongest in the Tribe,” Rhalaz mutters, sounding like he wishes to spit.

“I-I don’t understand-!” When more shouting erupts, your hands fly to cradle your head. The vibrations between your temples threaten to drive you to tears. You feel yourself shaking with the reverberations, the overwhelming reality that everything you have found and come to know could be taken.

The Armorer grips your elbow and gives you a hard shake that knocks your teeth together, but it successfully yanks you back into the present. “If Vizla prevails, he will accept ownership of responsibility for your clan,” she says, her words firm, resolute. You blink into the golden sheen of her helmet, mouth opening and closing. “And Djarin’s loss results in relinquishing such rights.”

Over the yells of his brothers and sisters in arms, Paz Vizla’s mockery rings against the stone walls, bouncing off the beskar that is beaten in encouragement. “You’ve always been a coward, Djarin,” he growls, and it’s the gut-wrenching, rasping whimper that ignites you again. Rhalaz doesn’t have time to grab hold of you, and you slip beneath his arms faster than a deer, your hands landing on their target.

This time, when you shove your way to the front of the mob, you don’t hesitate, and you are given a wider berth when you step into the circle of warriors.

Din is on his back, the challenger’s boot pressing down on his injured shoulder. Paz Vizla inclines his helm upward, seeming to realize the cheers that drove him in his beating have died away. When the glass of his visor settles upon you, your hands steady the amban rifle, bracing the stock firmly against your shoulder as Briinx had shown you. The well oiled steel barely shakes, though you feel like you could drop it from how your injured hand pains you to grip the floor plate.

“Meg cuyir ibic?” Vizla asks, his voice holding mirth as he takes you in. “A big gun for a little girl.”

Din’s helmet scrapes against the stone where he’s pinned, angling his own visor backward to see you. His body shakes with every heaving breath. Paz bears his weight down, and you can hear the bones grinding together over Din yelling through gritted, bared teeth against the modulator.

Your fingers slide up the forestock and find the bolt switch, shoving it upward with your thumb. Immediately, violent, violet electricity sparks and crackles along the pronged barrel’s end, and every warrior in the covert draws backward from you as far as they can.

“D-Did you know that steel is an excellent conductor for electricity?” you ask, your voice trembling with fear, but fierce with your anger, too. You shoulder the rifle, stepping forward and feeling a rush of adrenaline when the hulking Mandalorian removes his boot from your lover’s shoulder, parrying by stepping backward. Slowly, he raises his own gloves upward in a sign of deference, and you squint along the rear sight of the barrel. “I wonder h-how well your beskar would hold up against it.”

The tunnel has grown so quiet that you think you can hear the wind blowing somewhere above ground. Your own breathing has your chest heaving, but you focus on the phantom touch of Din’s palm pressing against your abdomen. You slowly exhale through your lips, feeling a tiny trickle of perspiration down the back of your neck, over the hidden scar you keep to yourself.

“This is a fair and just fight,” Paz Vizla intones, his deep voice holding no petulance or grief but strong with conviction. He keeps his hands where you can see them, even with your weak sight. His words ring devoid of malicious intent, but they do no less to calm your wrath. “In the name of protecting you and your clan.”

With practiced swiftness, your injured hand screams and racks the rifle, charging the bolt of electricity so it sparks from the end of the prongs, and you bear your teeth. “Do I look like I need protecting?”

You think you can hear the conjoined, racing pulses of every fearless Mandalorian within the covert, and you don’t miss the way Paz Vizla’s fingers twitch within his gloves. He swallows audibly.

“You do not.”

“Then yield.”

The murmurs of surrounding warriors make the hairs on the back of your neck rise, but you don’t let your eyes wander from the Mandalorian in your sight, armored like a night sky. The warrior tilts his chin downward as if facing down the mudhorn you have heard so many tales of, and you worry, in part, that you will have to kill this man whose name you don’t know and face you’ve never seen. You don’t wish to spill blood, to hurt any creature, but you know that you will pull the trigger for the man you love and the children you call your own.

“You have the advantage, buir’ika,” Paz says, carefully taking a step away from Din as he struggles to roll onto his uninjured arm, heaving for air with a death rattling breath. “We agreed to bar weapons in this fight.”

“I didn’t make such an agreement.”

Perhaps it is the lack of hesitation in your voice, or the surge of courage that falls from you in waves, but Paz Vizla flexes his fingers once more, keeping his hands high and splayed in civility. He inclines his helmet, and your heart races, threatening to break the rattling cage of your body, until he slowly drops to both knees in submission.

There is a deafening uproar of the surrounding warriors, many of them shouting in dissent while others cheer with accord. Several warriors charge up to the Armorer for judgment, but you don’t hesitate, yanking the bolt switch shut to kill the electrical current before tossing the rifle over your shoulder by its strap. You run towards Din, who’s entire frame shakes with his breathing, with the effort to hold himself up, and you slip your arm beneath his good shoulder.

His voice is hoarse, cracking on your name so softly that it brings tears to your eyes, but you ignore him and push every ounce of strength you have into the stone beneath your feet to lift him. You stumble, your adrenaline only doing so much for your balance, but you’re both caught by the unshakable hold of Rhalaz once again. He nearly picks Din up just by one arm and grunts, “Show me where to take him.”

The three of you move through the crowd with resolution, and you wonder if the lack of resistance you are met with is because you still shoulder the amban rifle. Rhalaz is unflappable in the face of carrying Din’s weight, and you only stop once when Din cries out, his shoulder twisting unnaturally in your haste. You make out Rhalaz’s voice through his vocoder, but you don’t hear what exactly he says. Your mind is racing, your body moving without being told and thinking only of finding somewhere, someplace safe.

When you throw the curtain back, your heart stops at the sight of Corde and Venka playing with the baby on the floor, the three of them rolling the familiar shiny durasteel ball between them. They look up at your entrance, all of them scrambling forward with giggles and smiles. Their innocence of the violence and anger you’ve witnessed is mind numbing, and you have to grab the baby up, using your free arm to herd the two siblings backward so Rhalaz can bring Din inside.

Immediately, all three little ones go silent until Corde yanks against your hold, fighting you as fiercely as you fought Rhalaz. “W-What’s wrong with him!” she cries, beginning to hiccup.

“I need you to stay here,” you whisper, breathless and shaking as you force them to sit upon their cushioned pallet in the vestibule. All of you flinch when Din yells with pain, and Venka’s eyes well with tears. You pet his hair, kissing the baby’s furry head whose large inky eyes turn misty, his ears dropping in shared anguish. “It’s alright-he’s going to be alright, but you have to stay here and let us help him.”

Setting the baby between the two children, you lean the rifle against the wall and run to Din’s rucksack. Rhalaz is busy removing his comrade’s armor, and you grab every article of medical equipment Din brought with you, dumping it on the bed beside his hip. It’s woefully light, you think, kneeling next to him, your face pinching with the stress of how terrible his breathing sounds.

“Briinx has medkits in the armory,” Rhalaz says, removing the last of Din’s cuirass and laying it aside. “I’ll go get it, just keep him awake.”

You want to beg him to stay, to not leave the two of you alone when you’re both so weak, but you can’t find the air with which to speak. Din’s helmet sinks forward until it rests upon your shoulder, and you turn towards him, your own body beginning to tremble without your consent. “T-Tell me what t-to do,” you whisper, slipping your arm around his middle and cradling him against your body. “You have to tell me what to do.”

Without his beskar, save for his helmet, he looks like any other man. Firm in places, soft in others, and suddenly so vulnerable that you want to cry. But his glove grabs your knee with a firm hold, and you can feel the shaking determination all the way up his arm. “Get-Get a cloth, a sheet-something that won’t tear.”

It takes you a minute to register exactly what he says, but when you do, you’re on your feet, rushing through the quarters until you find several different things. You bring back a towel, a blanket, and a tunic you’d packed for yourself. “Will any of these do?”

He’s panting, leaning on his good arm to keep from falling over, and you’re worried he’ll pass out before he can tell you what to do next. He nods towards your hand that holds the dark orange silk of the tunic and you toss the other two articles aside. He shifts forward grunting with the pain of effort. “Loop it under my arm and hold the ends up with both hands.”

You comply, fumbling to keep hold of the silk. It crosses your mind that it’s made of the fabric he’d gifted you, and you almost feel angry at the thought. Angry that you should think of such a thing now when you should be focusing on keeping him coherent. “N-Now what?” you ask, holding the ends upward, unsure what he intends.

“Now you have to pull it up hard. Get the bone back in the socket.”

Horror washes over you, and bile stings the back of your throat. “I-I can’t do that!”

His helmet shines when it angles upward to look at you, and his voice is a wet huff when he chuckles. “I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do, cyar’ika.”

“I’ll hurt you, I-I don’t want to hurt you,” you whimper, staring down at his arm that hangs in such a horrible way. It’s too still.

“You won’t. Just do it-don’t hesitate. Quick and hard.”

Tears spill over the apples of your cheeks, and you close your eyes to breathe. It’s so difficult getting air in your lungs, so hard to know that the three children just a few feet away are crying with you, terrified of seeing something this gruesome befall their protector. A warm glove rests on your waist, and you look down to see his helmet once more tilting up into your face. “You can do this,” Din rasps, his voice roughened by pain.

He’s always been right so far.

Wrapping the edges of the silk around your hands, you nod and take a deep breath from your belly. He bows his head and breathes himself, and you count in your mind. One, two, three-

You use all the power from your legs and lift up with a hard, short pull. You can’t hear it, but you can feel the bone slip back into place. Din makes a noise unlike anything you’ve ever heard, a hoarse whimper bared through teeth, and his right fist slams against the cushion, the heels of his boots scraping against the floor.

“I’m-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you cry, dropping the tunic and kneeling on the bed again. Din sobs through the vocoder, but he shakes his head, resting his good elbow on his knee and holding the brow of his helm. He’s heaving for breath, and you wish he would take his helmet off just so he could breathe better.

“Y-You did well, Cyare,” he whispers, and it’s all you can do not to fall against his side. “You did so well.”

You want to ask what to do next, but a hollow, metallic ringing comes from the door to your quarters. After several silent beats, the curtain is thrown back, and Paz Vizla steps through the threshold.

Having seen the Mandalorian dress and secure his weapons, you are well acquainted with where he keeps his weapons, and you know his vibroblade rests in the sheath of his boot. Fear disguised as boldness has you unsheathing it at the same time you stand up. You are not an intimidating force, you’re sure, hair falling from its place, dress wrinkled, crying, trembling too much to keep the knife steady.

Tilting his helmet to the side, Paz considers your form, but before you can do anything, he takes one large stride forward and grabs your wrist, the other hand yanking the knife out of your grip...before readjusting your hold on it.

“If you want to do damage to someone like me,” he says, his voice slow and deep like a thick, sugary syrup. “You should brace your arm like this. You could go for the neck, if you’re fast enough, but you’d do well to go for the hip. It’ll bleed just as well, and you’re shorter,” he chuckles.

Your ears ring at the sound of his laugh, a companionable, almost friendly song. It’s only then you realize he’s carrying a bag on one arm, and steps around you to take a knee beside your Mandalorian. He opens it and pulls out a long, folded cloth. “You’re getting old and slow, Djarin.”

Your confusion is amplified when Din huffs with vague amusement, and you only then lower the vibroblade. “W-What...I don’t understand,” you say, feeling dizzy.

Paz unfolds the cloth he’s retrieved and gestures with a tilt of his head. “Come here, buir’ika. He needs this wrapped around him. Pretty sure I broke a rib or two.”

“Or three,” Din wheezes, much to Paz’s continued amusement.

You approach with caution, kneeling back beside Din on the bed. Paz passes you the blanket, but all you can do is stare at him in wonder. He drops it into your lap before grabbing the hem of Din’s shirt and pulling it up without ceremony. It shocks you, seeing anyone handle the Mandalorian this way, but you’re already reeling so much that you don’t question it. His abdomen is splotched with red contusions, and you grimace at the sight, knowing they will soon fade to blue, to purple, to black.

“Come on,” Paz grunts at you, nodding his head. “Wrap it around him before he bleeds out.”

The words knock you from your stupor, and you unfold the cloth, slowly and carefully wrapping it around Din’s middle. It’s shorter than you realize, but it folds around him three times. Paz instructs you to secure it as tight as you can, and the fabric molds to itself without needing to be pinned. It feels almost warm, almost like water, the texture silky but thick.

“What is this?”

“A healing sheath,” Paz mutters, looking back into his bag while you gently lower Din’s tunic back down, tucking it with care. “It’ll keep his ribs from puncturing anything and help them mend.”

You stare at him for a long moment, and soon all of the adrenaline begins to seep from your system. You’re afraid you’ll fall over, pass out, faint, even, and you have to brace yourself with your hand on Din’s thigh to keep yourself steady.

“W-Why are you helping us?”

Paz goes still, looking up at you before his helmet tilts toward your Mandalorian’s visor. “You...didn’t tell her?” he asks, incredulous.

Din seems to be too focused on breathing to react suitably. It isn’t as shaky now, it doesn’t rattle the way it did, but his voice is thin from strain when he sighs, “I was going to.”

Your pale eyes flicker between the two warriors, resting a hand on your stomach that feels suddenly sour. You watch as Paz stands, an ungraceful lumber, and clenches his hands into fists at his sides before he takes a deep breath. “Then I’ll wait until you do.” He sounds...upset. Angry. His cobalt helm turns towards you, the glass of his visor not nearly as shiny as what you’re used to facing. “Rhalaz gave me these supplies to bring to you. He said there is enough to tend to him.” He bows his head, which makes your heart flip with an anxious confusion, before he turns and stomps out of the room, the curtain falling heavy behind him.

When you and Din are finally alone, you turn towards him, unsure of where to even begin. Questions race through your mind so quickly, piling up like the stones upon a grave to keep out ghosts, and you’re left feeling weary. You part your lips several times in an attempt to speak, to beg or plead or insist upon explanations, but you feel adrift in an ocean without having learned how to swim.

It’s the warm, liquor rich baritone that becomes an anchor for you.

“You don’t have to…” Din gestures to the bag of medical supplies, his breath hitching when he tries to shift forward.

Annoyance sprouts at the back of your throat, and you stand, picking up the rucksack. You frown, muttering, “You can hardly sit up. I’m not letting you try to stick yourself with needles or apply bacta.” You set it upon the table before turning to him, hands on your hips. “Can you lay down?”

He hesitates before shaking his helmet cautiously. Withholding a sigh, you nod and step close, supporting his back as you help him ease his body backward against the cushions as flat as possible. The healing sheath will keep his ribs from causing him pain, but you don’t think propping him up will help. Once he’s flat, you sit beside his hip, drawing the bag into your lap to sort through the contents.

You can feel him watching you, even if he doesn’t make it obvious. When he says your name, you have to close your eyes against the onslaught of emotion, of shock. Not Cyare, not Mesh’la. Your name.

“You are not obligated to do anything.” You turn your eyes upon his helmet, find his shiny visor gazing up at the ceiling. His breathing stutters, labors to stay controlled and even, and you think he doesn’t struggle with the words but with keeping them all from falling out together at the same time. “I do not deserve your help. I-I acted without honor.”

Once, you may have rushed to assure him otherwise, only wishing to cool tempers and soothe hurt feelings, but your tongue stays silent, eyes gazing upon the gleam of beskar in the lantern light. It would be disrespectful to both of you to not allow apologies, to refuse his regret.

Truthfully, your argument seems so distant now, so minuscule and pitiful in the face of nearly losing everything, losing him. You sniffle, looking down at the batca patch, the shot of anesthetic, the gauze. “Is that why you were challenged by Paz Vizla?” you question softly, turning your eyes back towards him. His helmet is angled toward you now. “Is that why he dueled you?”

You can see the dip of his throat when he swallows. “No.” He rests his gloved hands on his abdomen, seeming to attempt to compose himself. “I challenged him.”

You didn’t think you could feel much beyond exhaustion, but the truth knocks the breath from you. Gripping the syringe nearly until the crystal barrel cracks, your eyes widen, staring at him with a pale, ashen face. “I don’t understand,” you whisper, a plea against your ringing ears. You hate how much you’ve said those words today.

For a moment, Din goes so still and so quiet you think he may have fallen unconscious. But he rolls his helmet to look at the ceiling again, and you see the uneven rise and fall of his chest as he still attempts to gain control of his breathing. “Last night, I asked you a question, and you agreed. Do you remember?”

A hot, humid flush warms your face, and you hesitate. Your memories of the night before in the very bed you sit upon are stronger now, recalling lips and hands, sweat and skin. You remember your nightmare, clutching your child to protect him from the unforgiving fall against slain warriors of Mandalore.

“I asked if you would stay here,” Din prompts with a gentle tone, so tender it breaks your heart. “If you would stay here in the covert with the children while I hunt down the bounty I gained from Greef Karga. You agreed, but...I think you fell asleep.”

Your ears are ringing, and you’re not sure why. You relax your fingers from around the syringe, laying the supplies carefully on the bed beside his hip. “I never would have agreed to that,” you tell him, firm with conviction and blinking salt from your eyes. “Not if I’d...been awake.”

His voice pitches just slightly, curious and wondering. “What did you think I asked?”

Ignoring the question by attempting to quell the aching pound of your heart beating against your breast, you look into the rucksack for more gauze. “I won’t be left behind,” you whisper, voice cracking with your insistence. “Not for any bounty, I-I won’t allow it.”

“It’s too dangerous for you to come with me,” he whispers, his voice so, so soft. Softer than the way he touched you or how he kissed you. Softer than his hair or the sound of him saying your name in pleasure.

“Then why take it!” Your own voice is hoarse when the exclamation breaks from your mouth, the bag falling out of your lap when you jerk to face him. You feel like you could hit the wall again, but the dull throbbing in your hand keeps you in your place. “If it is so dangerous, why are you risking yourself this way? Risking what we have?”

His next words steal your anger out from under you. “Because it will protect the child.” His helmet looks back at you, and you can see his breathing pick up. “Greef Karga has made a deal on my behalf. If I can capture and return this bounty, my sin of taking the child will be forgiven. The Empire will leave us alone.”

Your eyes fall closed against the swell of heartache threatening to overturn you completely. Once more, you both are pawns of bloodthirsty men, and you want to fall apart. You rest your hand against your brow, biting your lip to keep from crying. It’s easy to forget the threat of danger being so close, holding the children safe and feeling the Mandalorian’s protection guard you all while you sleep.

Din swallows hard, and you can hear it this time as if he wishes he didn’t have to continue. “There’s a chance...if I find him, I may not come back,” he mutters, his breath pulling when your hand reaches out to grip his glove. So tight you fear you may hurt him. He waits until you can’t hold on so tight, until the joints in your delicate hand creak as they loosen. “And I could not leave you alone, would not...not leave you unprotected.”

You realize, sluggishly, what his intentions are, and you open your watery eyes. “Paz Vizla.”

“He is the strongest warrior in the Tribe,” Din murmurs, sounding both bitterly begrudging and admiring. “He will protect you and the children with his life should I not come back. He’s sworn it.”

Your chin wobbles with keeping in everything, your lips sealed against the overwhelming desire to hit and kiss and yell and hold. You lean forward, resting your uninjured hand upon the pallet near his helmet, hovering over him. When one of your tears escapes, rolling across the shined steel beneath you, Din reaches up to brush the wetness from your cheek, simply watching you.

“I have made you cry beyond what I would allow,” he whispers, letting you grab his hand and tug his gloves off. You bring his hand to your cheek, turning your lips into his palm to kiss his leather scented skin. His voice lowers impossibly, until you have to strain your ears to hear him as he whispers, fervent and shaking, “I am sorry, ner cyare. I am, I-” His fingers curl, cupping your cheek while you let your tears fall in the silence, and you know he is in more pain now than he was before. “I should have never spoken that way to you, never...never taken out so much of my own pain on the one I trust.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whisper back, holding his hand against your flushed cheek and gazing down at his visor. You lean gently to the side, careful not to put pressure on his injuries. “Your...mother-” His fingers twitch against your cheek, but you hold his hand where it is. You both opened this door, and now you will walk through it. “Your parents? They died, and you were next.”

He is silent in the face of the truth, giving you a simple, slow nod. You hold your injured hand against the curve of beskar where his own cheek would be, the cool steel feeling forgiving against your hand, and you can’t keep the gentle smile from your lips. “Sacrifice is not abandonment, Din Djarin. There is only nobility in what they did for you,” you lean forward, shaking from the emotions that sweep through you in circles. Pain and relief, discord and absolution. You press your lips to his beskar brow and lean your own against his helmet. “I would have been honored to know them, just as I am you.”

His right arm slips around your waist, and several of the medical supplies clatter to the floor as you allow him to pull you down upon the bed in a tight embrace. You press your face into his neck, your own arms slipping carefully around his middle, saying nothing as he shakes and trembles in your arms. You have never seen a man cry before, never known what it is like, and there is something so humbling, so heartbreaking that he should break over your quiet words of forgiveness. Ever since you’ve come to know him, you have learned more of the man beneath the armor from what he does rather than what he says. You don’t know why this means so much more to you.

You rest your hand on the other side of his neck, allowing his tears to paint his face beneath his helmet without bringing light to it. Somehow, it would be rude, you think, and you wait until they slow to a stop. “I forgive you of your cruelty,” you whisper, slowly lifting yourself up on your elbow. “If you will forgive me for my foolishness.”

The noise he makes is a scoff that cracks, and he lays his hand over your waist. “You are no fool and I have been wrong to say it,” he mutters, voice full of self-loathing. “You are the only person I hold within myself.” His thumb trails upward to brush your cheek, and you turn your face to kiss his hand once more.

“Then do not leave me here. Don’t leave me without you.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you know there will be more to speak of when you both have the strength for it. You don’t know if you can blame him for the way he feels now that you’ve held a man at gunpoint. You think you must understand the lengths someone will go to, now, for those they love, for you’d do it again and hesitate less.

It’s when the hand that touches the side of his neck comes away, wet with blood that you sit up suddenly, gasping, but he makes a quiet, assuring noise. “Split lip,” he mumbles, grunting as he shifts. “A few...cuts beneath the beskar.”

You look at your hand, the small smear of crimson burning under the golden lantern. “I thought the duel was until first blood was drawn?” you ask softly, glancing between your palm and his visor.

He rumbles, pressing his helmet back against the pillow to stretch a little. “Had to give Vizla a fight,” he grumbles, practically glaring up at the ceiling. “I wouldn’t...give you up easily.”

Reaching down, you find the gauze and bacta spray, your heart beating heavily. You hesitate as you look down at him. “Should I leave you to it?” you ask, uncertain and nervous, offering the supplies to tend his face. You did want to check on the children, sure they have fallen asleep by now, but something in the way his fingers flex across his chest makes you pause.

“No,” he breathes. “It’s your right to see.” He cups your wrist, more tender than you expect without the glove, and he leads your fingers to the lip of his helmet. “Go on.”

A blind fear begins to bubble in your chest, furious and fluttering, and you grip the steel with white knuckled fingers. “But-but you said only a wife could-”

“Yes. I did.” A quiet beat between you, and you are sure your hearts match in pace. “So, it is your right. This is the way.”

The silence between you is humid, humming and heated, and this is as much of a challenge as a duel between Mandalorians only with more at stake, more to fear, more to want. Inherently you know that this moment will twine your lives together beyond anything you could understand, beyond a promise or a ring or a kiss. You feel your heart beating like a drum for war when your other hand comes to balance the other side of the Mandalorian helm. But you think this time, this particular moment, you and your challenge are evenly matched.

And so, you remove his helmet.

-

Mando'a Translations:

Cuyir ibic te dala? - Is this the woman?

Cuyir ibic tion'ad gar kar’taylir? - Is this the one you love?

Hiibir kaysh be'chaaj! - Take her away!

Meg cuyir ibic? - What's this?

Buir’ika - Little mother

Cyar’ika - Sweetheart, darling

Cyare - Beloved

Mesh’la - Beautiful

-

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[paperficwriter]

I’ll Follow You Into the Dark

Harboring a fugitive means having to be careful, having to be smart about it. Because what terrible things might happen if someone were to find out? Unfortunately, being particularly clever is not one of Badd’s strong suits.

Written for @kaincuro​! Cut is for length, not for content.

“Where have you been?”

Badd hasn’t even gotten in the door yet. He’s just opened it with his shirt covering his hand because it’s gross, because there are splashes of gore on his clothes. Showers are available at the Hero Association HQ, yes, but it would have meant being out even later. The chance to take advantage of the Class S wing’s amenities was outmatched by his desire to be home with Garou.

“I got sidetracked by two monsters when my shift was supposed to end.” Garou’s eyes shine in the dark like a cat, even when the rest of his face is obscured by shadow, and Badd gropes for a light switch. “Ya could have at least waited with a lamp on. Where’s Z—”

“She’s staying over with that one annoying girl from her class.” A hand grabs his wrist and pulls him. “Why didn’t you call? You’re always browbeating me about using the burner phone you got me.”

“I said I was—”

“After.”

“It died. Garou, let me get a damn light, ya fuckin’—”

There’s a mouth jamming into his, which isn’t really the best way to describe a kiss. This is more like he’s being berated, like it’s a scold in the form of affection that’s being taken rather than given. Garou licks his face, and that’s so fucking gross, he’s told him how gross that is, especially right now when he’s sweaty and dirty. 

That sharp nose presses in next to his, and his face is held by icy fingers. He can hear his lashes falling on his cheeks, and between their eyes is this singing . That’s the only way he can think of it as. A high-pitched energy.

I was worried, Garou is thinking into him so he doesn’t have to say it. 

“I’m sorry.” Despite the grime (clearly Garou doesn’t give a shit) Badd palms the back of Garou’s neck until their foreheads touch into a point of pain. “Hey. I’m sorry.”

“Mm.”

He puts on a little smile. “I’m real flattered that ya missed me so much, though. It’s nice to be missed. Kinda sweet, comin’ from you.”

“Shut the fuck up.” There’s not even an ounce of bitterness in those words; the only thing reflecting any hurt is the way he pinches his cheek.

“Ow.”

“What? You’re the one who liked being missed so much. I should show you all the things I miss. Like these stupid soft cheeks of yours.”

“You’re just jealous. You’re like all skin and bones and shit.”

It’s still dark, but Badd’s eyes have adjusted. He leans his bat against the wall by the coat stand, on the linoleum where he can take it out and hose it off later. It’s the only moment he takes his hands off Garou, and he returns them just as quickly to sweep over his chest. Garou’s shirt is just a little loose on him, which is a pretty big indicator that he’s borrowing one of his.

He leans up until he feels a little soft hair on his nose and the bump of Garou’s ear. “Why don’t you show me all the other things you missed in the shower with me?” he whispers, and damned if he isn’t dragged down the hall on the spot.

Garou hisses when he finally turns the bathroom light on, and Badd gets his eyes on him for the first time since that morning. God, he kind of looks awful. Not that he’s going to say that, but there is this worn quality to the skin on his face, his eyes are a little squinty (even after he gets accustomed to the light) and there’s just a fatigue that’s there that’s not normally there.

“G. I’m okay. See? None o’ this blood’s mine, yeah?”

Slim fingers pick at some dried blood on his collarbone, then practically tears his shirt off. 

“I’m really, really sorry. I promise I’ll try not to let it happen again. I—”

“I almost went out looking for you.”

Badd stops talking for a second. His heart squeezes uncomfortably. “Ya know ya can’t do that durin’ the day. You’re…” A wanted criminal. The only monster that has ever escaped from the Hero Association. “It’s not safe.”

Garou scowls, pulling back, his touch rescinded entirely. He bends his head to rub his face against his own shoulder like a cat, and it makes Badd wonder if he’s trying to spread his scent onto his cheek. “I didn’t, did I?”

"It won't be forever. And it's nice when we go out at night, yeah? To our special spot?"

On the hill that overlooks the river. The one that's two miles outside the city, where sometimes Garou will meet him after work or Badd will drag him out on evenings like this in a completely different outfit.

Sometimes they don't even get there at the same time. They even pretend they're strangers. To spice things up. Keep it interesting.

But Garou doesn’t seem to want to go anywhere. He’s kissing him again, grabbing for his pants, and those pale fingers are getting dirty on his buttons. Badd scrambles to try to undress him too, but Garou is like some unstoppable force when he’s like this. 

“No trips tonight,” he says when he gets to his neck, hand slapping out to start the water. It hits too hot, but Badd can’t get to it to adjust. “I need you here. I’ve needed you here. I don’t want to share you with anyone else, even if it’s just the fucking bugs and birds and shit.”

Badd chuckles and lets Garou pin him to the wall. The water is running murky right now, and this should be gross, he should be shoving him off, but denying Garou is like trying to stop a hurricane with a parasol. 

“Alright, babe. I’m not going anywhere.”

How does it happen?

They fuck up somewhere. It’s hard to say where, or when, or how.

Was it when Garou slinked along beside Badd when he went on a midnight grocery run?

Or the time Garou snarled at a guy who catcalled a girl as he was waiting for Badd to get off the train, and Badd grabbed his arm so he wouldn’t actually take off after the weasel? 

Or was it just chance? A suspicion, a hunch, and a window open a little too wide in the bedroom?

It doesn’t matter.

Garou had gone for a walk. Just a walk. It was fall, so the nights were getting longer, so while Badd dropped Zenko off at their cousin’s for the weekend, Garou went out into the crisp air, hat pulled down over his ears, Badd’s favorite jacket on with the embroidered tiger on the back (the hero had made the piece of clothing too tantalizing, always scolding that if he ripped it or stained it, he’d fucking kill him).

Although Garou’s walks always took him into a run, and then a leap, dashing up buildings until he could see for miles. And this one was different. His slippered feet propelled him from rooftop to rooftop, the smell of drying leaves and burning wood in his nostrils, air whistling.

His phone vibrated. ‘Gonna pick up food. What u want?’

He landed on one foot on the top of a stone cross erected on an empty church. Pigeons noisily swarmed from inside the belfry and out into the air. ‘Dumplings. Soup. Meat.’

‘lol, ok. See u soon.’

That’s the last one. The last text.

When he’s coming back, the noises make his ears twitch as much as his nerves. Anyone else wouldn’t notice, but he knows every inch of Badd’s house. He knows the furniture in it, the weight of it, and he knows what it’s like to fight inside (there were a few of those when he first started living there). 

There are people inside the house. There are people ransacking Badd’s house. 

The part of Garou that Badd always calls “the guard dog side” heats up to combustible levels. Usually it’s “cute” (again, something Badd says), when he glares at the door before he’s pushed off Badd and down the hallway out of sight. 

They’ve sprayed something on the windows so he can’t see. Fine. If they want to do this the painful way, he’ll oblige.

The window breaks as he goes through it so fast that he barely cuts himself, rolling into the bedroom. There are three men in suits, and the bed - their bed - is turned upside down. The nightstand is cracked, the drawer thrown open and turned out. Everything that they have worked to make theirs is ruined, and Garou roars. 

“He’s here! He’s—”

Garou grabs the man’s face and throws him through the broken window. The other two reach for guns on their belts, but the movement takes far too long compared to the speed with which Garou attacks, sending each of them flying into the walls. 

I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you all.

“Garou…”

It only takes a few sprinting steps to get to the stairs that lead to the living room, although it takes three (precious, few, too many) seconds to take out goons in the upstairs bathroom and in Zenko’s room. One manages to get a shot off, and the sound rings in Garou’s ears even as his fist breaks through his nose and jaw. He drops the bullet he caught onto the ground.

From the landing, he can see down into a black sea of men in suits, like the ones he’s dealt with upstairs. Badd is sitting up in a chair, and even from here Garou can see that his eyelids are heavy, a sagging in his cheeks and muscles. 

He’s been drugged with something.

One of the guys has his foot on his bat, which is on the floor, and there are several guns trained on Badd’s head.

He does the math.

Garou is fast, and if it was one person, only one, he could make it. But there isn’t one. There’s...twenty. They are crammed in here, and they all have guns, and there are too many for someone not to get lucky. And from the range they have on Badd, they don’t even need luck.

Run. 

It’s not a word that comes to his mind. It’s one silently mouthed by Badd.

Run, Garou.

Garou shakes his head. How can he run? How can he leave him? Now, at their worst point? That’s not just making him a coward. It’s making him a truer villain than he ever possibly could have conceived of himself to be. “No. Badd—”

So Badd is the one who moves. He sinks his teeth into his own hand, and Garou can feel as much as see how his Fighting Spirit flares. 

That’s when all hell breaks loose.

Shots fired at him, around the room. Ten men pile on Badd, and he disappears under their bodies. “Run, Garou! Get the fuck outta here! ”

Two shots hit him. In the side and in the shoulder. Too much happening. Too many distractions. Below him, he can see Badd struggling, and he knows he’s alive and if he’s alive he can find him, he can get him back.

“Take him down! Don’t let the Hero Hunter get away!”

The Hero Hunter.

That’s all he is to them. He’s still that version of himself that he had given up, the already-flimsy mask that had been torn off in that last fight.

Breaking into a run down the hall is like running through mud. Maybe not physically - physically he outpaces them all, a wild animal that knows the woods better than any clumsy human - but with every step he’s calculating when, where, why, how, will they, won’t they, what are you doing?

He doesn’t just go through the window; he takes half of the wall with him. This time, he barely touches the rooftops as he jumps from one to the next. Anything it takes to put as much distance as he can between himself and that house, those men.  

And Badd? A voice in his head asks.

He smothers it in his molten rage.

---

Who is he kidding? Garou can’t stay away. It doesn’t matter that it’s only been a few months. It doesn’t matter that they will probably check in on the house, or that they may be watching it now. He’s drawn back to it like a bird - like a chicken, that awful voice says again, rearing back, returning over and over no matter how much he ignores it - and in the dark he’s much harder to spot.

He waited a day. That’s as much as he can be expected to wait, isn’t it?

They’ve only put tarps over the holes, so he goes in the exact same way as he did that afternoon. 

Everything is still a mess. Any shelf that was standing or on the wall has been torn off, tipped over, emptied. Clothes have been pulled out and left scattered on the floor, or in piles. Nothing seems intact.

Even the bed has a gash running through it, clearly torn open by a knife. It nicked Badd’s pillow, and feathers are bleeding out onto the comforter. The sight makes him so angry that he picks up the whole bed and he’s about to throw it through the wall when two eyes shine up at him.

“Meow.”

Tama. She’s pushed herself into the tightest ball she can in the corner, somehow evading the terrible events of the afternoon. He puts the bed down, leaning it against Badd’s desk, and reaches down for her. She darts down the hallway into Zenko’s room.

The scene is the same. Granted, he always hated the posters and standees of Amai Mask, but seeing them ruined, torn off the wall (for what fucking purpose, those bastards) makes him nauseated. 

“Meow.” Now she’s under Zenko’s bed. He gets down on his stomach and pats the floor. She doesn’t move.

“Come on, Tama.” She backs up, and he kicks the door closed with his foot so she can’t run away again. “Come. On.”

She can survive. Cats are predators, and they can handle themselves. You’ve done enough— 

“Come on!” His fist lands on the floor. A piece of paper falls off the pink cork board over Zenko’s desk, fluttering to the floor. Not paper. A photo. Badd is grinning, with her up on his shoulders, and Zenko is making bunny ears over his head. Garou stares at it, not blinking, not moving. And then he realizes that he’s just barely in the picture. Half his face, the visible part of his smirk, and he recalls Zenko begging Badd to let her keep it. 

“Just that one. And it stays at home. Understand? No showin’ it to anyone at school.”

“I promise!”

He hates this feeling.

And it’s one he should be used to, isn’t it? Being on his own. He was on his own for so long, living in that shack, stealing food. And only a few times did it ache a little, to be away from the world, but it was worth it, because he had a goal.

What does he have now?

...nothing.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Liar. Liar. Liar.

You could have stopped it. You should have died stopping it. 

No. No. No.

The bristles of Zenko’s carpet are making his face itch, but all the energy has gone from his body. It’s hard to tell how long he stays there, the silence so eerie. No television. No talking. No breathing. 

And then, there’s something. A gentle vibration. He glances up to find that Tama has occupied the space of his slightly-bent arm, where it had been outstretched. Her eyes are heavy, and she’s purring gently. When he picks her up, she lets it happen, and he pockets the photo as well.

For a moment, he considers taking more, but…

No. 

...better to let this chapter end. It’s easier to let it all go. He has the jacket, and Tama, and one picture of them together.

Yes. Look at where attachments have brought you.

---

Garou memorizes the address on the fridge, and rips it into tiny pieces. If they found it already, they have it, and if they don’t, they won’t now. It doesn’t look like anyone is watching the place, so far as he can tell.

He gently knocks on the window.

“Garou!” Zenko looks like she’s been crying, so she must have some idea what’s happened. That makes things easier, although who knows what they’ve told her. Her face is red, and she grabs his arm, trying to pull him in from where he’s crouching on the window sill. 

“No. I can’t stay.”

“You can’t go!” One of her fists punches his arm as her eyes start filling with tears again. “Don’t go, Garou!”

It hurts. He doesn’t...he wasn’t expecting it to hurt this much. “Here.” Reaching into his jacket with his free hand, he takes Tama out and hands it to her. She has to let him go to take the large cat in her arms.

“Tama…” Now she’s sobbing into the cat’s fur, and he remembers just how old Tama is. Old enough to have been there through losing their parents. Old enough for all Badd’s antics, all the things that led him to promise ‘no violence in front of her.’ 

Some good that did.

“Do you…” she hiccups and scrubs her eyes. “Do you know where he is?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know if he’s okay?”

“...I don’t know.”

“What do you know?!”

“Nothing!” Before he can stop it, his voice goes as sharp as hers. “I don’t know anything yet! Are you happy?!”

At first, in the moment he regrets it, he thinks she’ll start crying and then...what, is he going to try to comfort her? But instead she puts Tama down, jumps up and slaps him in the face. Which doesn’t really hurt all that much (physically, at least). Not as much as when she yells at him, “You’re the adult! You’re supposed to be able to deal with it!”

...he is, isn’t he.

He holds his hand out. “Give me your phone for a second.”

When she unlocks it and hands it over, Garou brings up the news and searches for ‘Metal Bat.’ Immediately, there are several articles about his “leave of absence” from the Hero Association, about “suspicions of misconduct,” and how he was currently staying in the Hero Association Headquarters where they would be investigating his involvement with “possible criminal monsters.”

A monster...

Garou hands the phone back to her. “You probably saw that he’s at the hero headquarters.”

She nods. “That doesn’t narrow it down much...the new one is huge. You can’t just— Garou!” Zenko pulls hard at his arm as he tries to jump away, like she can yank him inside. “You can’t just go in!”

“I don’t have much of a choice.”

“Take me with you!”

“No way.” She’s about to yell at him again, he can tell, but he gently, firmly pulls his arm out of her grasp. “Your brother will kill me if I get you in trouble. And who will take care of Tama then?”

Zenko hates it. He can tell, because the expression on her face is how his gut has felt all day: angry, grief-stricken, hurt. “Promise you’ll come back for me. That you’ll both come get me!”

He nods. “Fine. Call Tareo. He’ll be worried, and I don’t want you alone.”

He leaves after that without saying goodbye. There’s nothing more to say, and he can’t make any more promises he’s not sure if he’ll be able to keep.

---

Garou spends that night in the special spot. He curls up in the tall grass where he usually does, and below him he can hear the water gently lapping over the rocks. It’s dark, and there’s a breeze, but there are stars overhead. 

He takes Badd’s jacket off and balls it up under his head, where he can breathe it in.

“I love ya, Garou.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, it’s right, jerk.” Badd laughs and smacks his chest. He’s using him as a pillow, that night, and it’s warm yet cool enough that this is the first time they’ve been able to stand being out in it. In the distance, storm clouds are moving in. They’ll be forced home soon.

Garou is playing with his hair. He usually has it down when they go out. The pompadour is too much of a signature for him, too unique. Like this, Garou can pass his fingers through it without it getting caught in product. 

“You don’t have to say it back.”

“Good.”

Badd’s smiling into his flesh, and he traces the outline of one of his pecs. It makes goosebumps jump up across Garou’s shoulders. “You at least like me, don’t ya?” he teases, poking him near the armpit so he jumps. 

“God, no.” Garou rolls until he’s got Badd on his back and he’s looming over him, growling as he places several nipping bites down his throat. “Can’t stand you…”

“Yeah, I get that a lot from folks,” Badd laughs.

“No, you don’t. And that’s what I hate the most.” He follows the path of the bites with little kisses, faintly feeling Badd rubbing at his scalp. “You’re so damn likable...everyone fawning all over you...you’re like the neighborhood mutt everyone wants to give treats to.”

Badd sits up a bit until he can press his face into the soft space of skin under his eye, slotting his nose into the dip of his cheek. “Do ya wanna give me a treat?”

God. He wants to be annoyed, but Badd’s boyish face, his little smile, his hands, even the calluses on his fingers...every piece of him just endears him more and more. Does that mean that this is love? Is this what love is? It’s not like he’s ever felt this for someone before, this positive energy. The only things that he can think of that have fueled him are spite. Anger. Bitterness. At best: boredom.

Not that he hasn’t been kind to others (as kind as he has thought possible) but…

But he doesn’t know enough to say it.

…

You should have said it. You might never get a chance to tell him again. You knew at the time, and the only reason you didn’t say it was because you were a fucking coward.

Garou curls up tighter. 

Or.

An itch is beginning to cover his skin. His eyes actually hurt, like he’s been swimming with his eyes open, but it deepens into a worst burn.

Or you never loved him at all.

“No!” When Garou punches the ground, he can see that his skin is different. Harder, stony. Like that day. His head is on fire. The voice that comes up from his throat doesn’t even sound like his. It’s coming out of a smoking muzzle. 

When he gets up - on all fours, so tall now that the long, hard tail swinging behind him knocks two trees over - he picks up the jacket, the picture still in the pocket, and holds it against his chest. The armor shell that has been forming around him seems to swallow it up, and he can feel the material, feel Badd, pressed to him. Present. Protected.

It’s very possible that he won’t survive the night.

He accepts that.

And as he lets out a howl so long and so low, so reverberating and far-traveling that he can hear dogs on the far shore return his call, he turns away from the hill and begins to run back toward the city.

---

It’s like this was the only form he could take to quiet his mind.

Because when Garou gets to the Hero Association Headquarters, he doesn’t stop to think or consider his next plans. He’s not crafty or cunning (was he ever?). He’s a mad dog. No, a wolf. A rabid wolf, in form as much as action now.

And the Hero Association has never been good at actually defending itself against monsters.

The glass in the front of the huge building shatters as he goes through it. 

“Baaaaaadd!” It’s the only thing that comes out of his mouth where gray fangs make the darkness within look like a cave without an end. “Badd!”

The men inside are shooting at him, but this isn’t like inside the house. The bullets bounce off him, and he runs through them, into a door, another passage. His huge nose sniffs at the air, and even though they begin crumbling under his weight, he starts taking the stone stairs that lead up further into the building.

More security. This time, in the form of flying drones with both constant artillery as well as drugs, electricity, nets. 

Insects. All of them.

It’s not to say that Garou doesn’t feel their attacks. The rocky armor surrounding him cracks in places, pieces falling to the floor in small piles. But he’s being fueled by something greater than metal and energy.

They crunch like cans in his jaws. 

“Baaaadd!”

He tears through another door, clearly reinforced, having to dig through it with his claws. Cameras are watching him; sometimes he catches one out of the corner of his eye, and in the lens he can see his blood-red, burning eyes. 

He doesn’t waste time with them. Let them see.

More humans. More humans with guns, with long spears that end in shock cords, like the kind used to leash strays. Do they think it will be effective? They sting when they touch him, sure, when they manage to loop his ears but the moment he shakes his head he can hear their bodies make contact with the walls.

They keep trying to trap him, trying to close him between lock-down gates. It’s obvious they think he’ll try to go through the steel, but then he just turns and rips his way through the wall. 

More robots. More rolling, shielded automatons. They issue warnings he doesn’t heed, and the ones he can’t literally destroy he just ignores.

Then, it gets quiet.

And that is worse than any of the defense that he’s faced to this point as he’s climbed higher and higher in the building, following Badd’s scent, tracking him through corridors and stairs and firepower. 

When he gets to a large, open room, empty but for equipment and air ducts far up in the ceiling, he’s about to start scaling the wall when the door in front of him opens and a lone figure walks through.

“Ah...I just want to sleep...why do they want to put me to work so late?”

It’s him. Saitama. Again, here, at the end of everything, why, why, why .

He’s picking at his ear, his other hand in the pocket of his striped pajamas. “Didn’t even have time to change…”

Garou’s options are limited. He can go back the way he came, or he can charge forward. But then, would he make it either way? Saitama was fast last time. And Garou… 

He can’t help slumping. God, he’s tired. 

He’s no stronger than he was before…

“Oh, it’s you again. You look a bit different. So...you here to cause trouble, or…?

Garou growls. He’s talking to him like he’s a child that’s gotten somewhere he’s not supposed to be. On the tip of his nose, he can just barely smell Badd still. They’re moving him. Higher? Farther away? It’s hard to tell. “Badd…”

Saitama turns and looks up toward the ceiling, where Garou’s gaze is fixed. “Is that why you’re here? Are you two friends now or something?”

The growling intensifies. This isn’t a conversation he wants to have. This isn’t a moment he wants to share. Not with him. Not with the one person who could break him down so completely, who could ruin everything like it was nothing. 

“I don’t like that, you know. What they’re doing.”

Garou stops moving. 

“Everybody knows Metal Bat. He talks about his sister in every meeting. I don’t think he would do something that would endanger her.” He drops his fist in his hand, as though something has made sense to him. “It was you, wasn’t it? Who they think he’s associating with. You two are friends now. Good thing Genos isn’t here...that probably wouldn’t be enough to stop him.”

Garou watches as Saitama moves, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I think,” he says, cracking his bare feet against the floor, “this is better for you, you know. Doing more of the hero thing. The villain thing was kind of half-assed, you know.”

Saitama walks away from the door he came out of, leaning against the wall.

“And I’m sure I’m probably already in trouble, but it’s going to be worse for you if you don’t go get him now. Because they’ll probably send one of those other heroes after you...maybe that scary girl that flies around.”

Every instinct Garou has is telling him this is a trick. A trap. Not to trust anything he says, to stay and fight.

But what is there to gain? What would be smarter or better than just letting the strongest hero kill him right here, right now? 

...he’s still not going to thank him. He won’t give him that satisfaction. 

Garou just smashes through the door and keeps running.

—

Badd wonders if he’s having some kind of out-of-body experience.

He can’t focus on anything, he realizes. Not asleep. Not awake. 

At one point he thinks...is he at the dentist? Because there’s something in his mouth, keeping him from putting his teeth together...but they don’t cuff your hands to the bed at the dentist, do they?

Now and then, he hears people talking.

At this moment? People are talking much louder. More excitedly. Above him, lights are moving quicker. He can see them around the mask over his nose. 

He’s in a hallway.

And everything is starting to feel...bumpy. Like there’s an earthquake. Is it an earthquake? Are they taking him somewhere safe?

...somewhere safe...because...this place isn’t safe, is it?

People start screaming, and suddenly something huge is standing over him. He’s staring into gray dark, and there are four limbs over top of where he is laying. Somehow, in all of the fog, it’s like…

It’s like he knows he’s being protected.

“Hnngh…?” He can’t talk with the thing in his mouth. And his hands are still trapped.

This...god, yes, this has to be a dream. It’s the only thing that makes sense when all the sounds stop and the creature backs up and stares down at him. A wolf. But...a statue of a wolf? No, more like a gargoyle, because there are cracks in the stone, and that’s falling away, getting smaller until…

Garou.

Garou’s here.

He tries to reach his hands out to him, but...right, no, those have to stay where they are. Except then Garou breaks the thick cuffs, and he’s snapping the harness that’s around his head, holding what he sees now is some kind of bit. He takes the mask off him too.

Slowly, he begins to come back into the real world.

“Garou…Garou, I…” Arms go around him, holding him so suddenly, so tightly, that his muscles object because… “How long have I been here?”

“Two days. I love you.”

Badd blinks. “Garou, it’s—”

“This is my fault. It’s all my fault. I ruined your life. I ruined your life, and they took you away, and if I had lost you, I would have...I don’t know what I would have done. And you would have been gone without me having said it back.”

Badd pulls back enough to look him in the face. He doesn’t even know how to describe the expression that’s there. Garou looks like he’s the one who was coming close to death. “I love you too. Okay? I’m okay. They probably...fuck, they were probably keepin’ me under and all so I wouldn’t trigger my Fightin’ Spirit. If I accidentally bit my tongue ‘r somethin.’”

Garou kisses him, and he kisses back. He’s pretty sure they both know this is not what they should be doing right now, but… 

“Zenko. Fuck, Zenko, is she—”

“She’s okay. So’s Tama.”

Even in spite of the terrible condition they are in, as Garou helps him out of what seems to be a modified hospital bed, Badd has to laugh. “Ya went back for Tama, huh…”

Garou picks up something off the floor. His jacket, he realizes, and Garou puts it on him, over the sort of sterile gown they changed him into. He takes a step and almost falls, and Garou picks him up effortlessly in his arms.

“Ya know...I didn’t think that the first time you would carry me like this would be so...dire, ya know?”

Garou’s face is starting to soften, and as he hears approaching footsteps - running, quickly - he takes them through an empty room. The windows overlook the city beyond. It’s a long way down, but...they’ve both managed from higher places. “Ready?” he asks.

Badd tucks his face into Garou’s neck and steals one last kiss before bracing himself. “Yeah...yeah. Let’s do this.”

He’s not lying. The rest of the details aren’t important. He just closes his eyes as Garou carries him through the glass and the air, into whatever comes next for them, trusting that he’ll get them there, no matter what. 

[fullmetalscullyy]

the way it was - chapter 37

summary: what if riza never went to war? riza hawkeye has just married the man she loves. six months into their marriage, an unexpected surprise stops her from following roy to the military. a canon divergence au that explores what might have happened had riza been unable to join the military. there will be plenty of family fluff, angst, and royai.

rated: m | warnings: no archive warning apply

read on ao3

1915

i can only tell you how it, how it looks from here

i think you've made up your mind

i think you've made up your mind

Everything about this room set Riza’s nerves on edge. The glaring white walls were bright enough to give her a headache. The decaying body across from them, surrounded by pieces of smashed armour, was creating a stench strong enough to make her gag. Riza pressed a hand against her mouth and nose, stifling it as best she could. It didn’t help much. The smell still made her stomach lurch.

Aside from the foreboding atmosphere of the room, the smirking homunculus at the other end was making her skittish. That was the same one who’d tried to kidnap her earlier, probably to use her against Roy. When they’d first set eyes on Riza, Envy flashed her a smile with teeth fully on show. It was unsettling.

“Nice to see you again, Riza,” they’d sneered at her.

In response Riza lifted her gun higher, aiming down sights to settle it upon their face.

It had been a while since she’d fired a gun. Riza wasn’t sure if she had it in her to shoot to kill someone, but she would do her utmost to protect those she loved. The wounds didn’t need to kill, just hinder, and slow them down. The thought settled uncomfortably in her gut but Riza was not naïve. The homunculi wouldn’t go easy on her just because she was a civilian. When it came down to it, she had her children and her husband to fight for. She’d fight to survive for them. Growing up she’d learned how to survive from a young age and had been forced into doing what needed to be done far too soon. Now would be no different. If they threatened to kill her, kill her family, then she’d fight back. There was no question about it. The weight and consequences of any actions would be dealt with later.

After Envy’s welcome party Roy stepped up close behind her. He placed his hand gently upon her hip to garner her attention.

“Stay close,” he murmured in her ear, before moving around her, placing himself between her and Envy.

He didn’t know just how much comfort that action provided.

Even half shielded from view, Riza never relaxed. Her gun lowered so it wouldn’t be pointed at the back of Roy’s head, but her muscles were still coiled tightly and ready to react at a moment's notice. She didn’t let her guard down.

“Got your back,” Riza replied quietly.

Still facing away, Roy’s head bobbed once. Taking that as a sign he acknowledged her, Riza turned her gaze to the rest of the room. Her eyes skipped between everyone in front of her, making sure Edward was all right.

The strap of the rifle Breda had presented to her threatened to slip off her shoulder, so Riza shrugged it back into a comfortable place. She didn’t see the need for her to have two weapons however she had to admit, she did feel more comfortable with the rifle. That was what she’d grown up with and it was a comfort to know her preferred weapon wasn’t far away. Not that she wanted a weapon at all, but Riza knew these people could very easily kill her. She didn’t want to be left defenceless. Not when she had two children waiting for her to come home.

Finally, returning to the conversation, Riza turned her attention to Envy. They smirked maddeningly and Riza’s stomach twisted.

“Congratulations, Colonel Mustang. You’ve finally hunted down your culprit.”

Her stomach dropped.

Envy’s body glowed bright red, changing and morphing into -

Gracia.

They’d… They’d killed Maes… Using Gracia’s face...

The gun in Riza’s hands dipped to point at the floor with her shock. Riza didn’t even realise. She was too stuck on the revelation that this was the person who’d killed one of her dearest friends. They’d taken a loving father away from a child, left a woman widowed… Made him think his own wife had killed him - 

“That’s enough.”

Bile crawled its way up Riza’s throat, but it stalled when she saw Roy move. Her head snapped to face him, seeing his whole body shaking with…

Rage.

Gloves were tightened over his hands and all Riza wanted to do was reach out, place a hand on his shoulder, and jerk him back, out of reach of Envy. Anything to break his concentration. Envy was taunting Roy, playing with him, and it caused Riza’s fear to skyrocket. Roy had already been volatile enough about this topic of conversation at home. He didn’t need to be teased further about Maes’ murderer. But Riza was frozen in place. Her brain was still trying to process that this was who’d murdered Maes Hughes.

Roy walked toward Envy so Riza lifted her gun, training it on Envy’s form now that Roy had stepped out of her line of fire. She swallowed thickly, past the lump in her throat.

“This one is mine, and mine alone.”

Her breath caught, eyes nervously shifting over to look at Roy again.

Please… Please don’t do anything reckless, she pleaded inside her head.

“Mrs. Mustang, do you really think the two of you -?”

“Edward, go.” She shifted her grip on the gun. The day was not won, and they still had a job to do. Edward still had his own goals to achieve. “You’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Are you sure?”

“She said go, Elric,” Roy snapped.

Riza frowned at the back of his head, affronted by his tone. Still, she wanted Edward out of here. Riza felt the same way about the young girl standing by Scar too. She was sure they were more than capable, but her maternal instinct was clawing its way to the surface. She could handle Roy, and they had somewhere better to be.

They walked by without incident. Envy glared as they passed but made no move to stop the group. Their tongue was still smoking after Roy had snapped earlier, burning it to stop them from talking.

“You go too -”

“She’s not getting to leave,” Envy sneered. “No,” they smirked, “I think she can stay here with you and watch how you work, Colonel.” Envy snickered to themselves and Riza’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Before Roy could open his mouth to reply there was a deafening crack of energy.

The pistol fell limp by her side. Riza’s mouth parted in complete shock, brain struggling to comprehend what was in front of her.

Envy had changed shape completely. The massive form of a green… She didn’t even know what to class it as. It was no beast she knew of, more a culmination of numerous beings all mashed together into one. The human bodies and faces that pressed out from the green skin almost made her vomit. It would be naïve to think they weren’t real people stuck inside there but… Riza couldn’t help but hope beyond hope. A foolish hope, but enough to keep her sane for the moment. It was enough to keep her breakfast in her stomach and stop the horror from keeping her completely frozen in place.

Her fear about running from the imposter at her front door was validated in that moment. Initially she’d been compliant so she could avoid any kind of conflict as the homunculus’ powers were unknown. Seeing this new form in front of her Riza was really damn glad she hadn’t fought it. Those massive paws could end her life in one playful swipe.

“I’ll give you the fight you’re looking for Colonel, seeing as you’ve been so relentless in your search for Hughes’ killer. However, I can’t exactly tread lightly in this body so you better -”

Envy’s eyes erupted into flames. Riza balked at the show, their howl of agony slicing through her entire body and making her shudder. 

“What’s it like having the fluid inside of your eyes boil? I’d imagine it might sting a little,” Roy stated coldly.

Riza turned to look at her husband. Dread prickled over her skin, lifting the hairs on her arms, and turning her blood to ice. Horror roiled inside her chest, squeezing her heart painfully and making her break out in a cold sweat.

Enraged, Roy didn’t relent on his assault and Riza could only watch on, terrified.

This was the power she’d unleashed upon the world. These flames had ravished the desert, razing it, and destroying everything in its path. Riza was well aware of this, had discussed it with Roy years ago, but had never seen it at work.

“I think she can stay here with you and watch how you work, Colonel.”

Envy had already known of Roy’s destructive power.

Shortly after they were married, he’d playfully lit the fireplace with it, used it to light the gas on the cooker – sometimes with almost disastrous results – but after Ishval the gloves were neatly tucked away inside a drawer and were never brought out except for when he went to work. He never wore them again inside their home, taking his time to coax a fire from the coals on their hearth, or almost burn his fingers with a match.

This was the power that had torn him apart once before, it was threatening to do it again.

Riza couldn’t let that happen.

Envy’s massive form shifted, their tail swinging to hit the wall beside them. The force of it blasted rock towards Roy and Riza’s heart lifted into her throat.

“Roy!”

His hands lifted to in front of his face to try and shield it, but she lost sight of him as more stone flew by and dust filled the room. Riza crouched low, feeling grains of stone scrape gently across her hands as she covered her head. Luckily, she was out of range of Envy’s attack.

“You coward!” Roy barked.

She heard footsteps against the stone floor, running. As the dust cleared she saw her husband running towards the door Edward had walked through, and Envy was nowhere to be seen.

“Roy, wait!”

She was desperate. Riza took a step towards him. She’d heard the fury in his voice, saw the inferno of hate inside his eyes before he’d attacked Envy. In her mind she was silently begging Roy not to run headfirst into something he’d regret. But she never got a chance to voice it aloud.

“You stay here where it’s safe,” he called over his shoulder, running towards the door. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I’m going to take care of Envy myself,” he spat.

She hated hearing the fury in his voice. That wasn’t the Roy she knew. This wasn’t the doting father who laughed and cherished his children. Riza knew his time in the military hadn’t been sunshine and roses. It had been difficult and cruel, but this was something else entirely. He was changing, teetering on the edge of morphing into… into a monster. If pushed enough he just might. The realisation of it cut deep into her chest, making it ache as she exhaled.

Her shoulders slumped as she stared after his retreating form. She felt momentarily helpless –

Riza frowned. As if she would stay and let him run off to fight Envy alone. The irritation and anger she’d felt festering during their last argument about him seeking revenge and justice came hurtling back. He was losing it, but he’d already said he didn’t want to become a monster again. Riza wouldn’t let him.

The pistol was gripped tightly in her palm. Riza started moving and picked up her pace to a run. Her gun was cocked and ready.

As she walked through the tunnels she’d heard the explosions, heard Envy’s distant screams. Riza was on high alert. The blasts and the screaming eventually stopped but she wouldn’t let her guard down until she knew for certain Envy had been defeated. The sudden lack of them made her wonder if Roy had already defeated and delivered his justice to Envy, but she held onto the slim hope that maybe they’d just escaped. She clung to it desperately.

Footsteps were approaching her current position. They were in the hallway ahead, heavy but steady as they walked. Ducking, she hurried as quietly as she could to the opening where the tunnel she was in opened up into another. Gun poised and ready, she waited for whoever was approaching to come into view.

At the last second, Riza spun out and swung her gun, lifting it so it came face to face with - 

Roy.

She blinked at him, surprised to have seen him so soon. Her shoulders fell with relief and realisation but paused when she saw the dark look in his eyes. His stare was hard as he looked down on her.

A seed of doubt planted itself into her mind when he remained, poised to snap at her, for a moment longer. He should have recognised her right away...

Was this…

Unless he thought she was Envy.

“I told you to stay behind, Riza.” Roy straightened his posture and lowered his hand to his side. His hand relaxed and went limp.

“I wasn’t going to let you face this alone. I already told you that.”

Riza thought he might argue with her, stating it wasn’t safe down here, but he just scoffed quietly and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Where’s Envy?” She rose to her feet and lowered her pistol but didn't loosen her grip.

“They outran me.” He turned away from her, speaking into the empty tunnel. “This place is like a labyrinth. You might as well help me kill them now that you’re here. Stay right by my side, Riza,” he ordered over his shoulder. “Don’t leave it.”

Without another word, Roy walked off, leaving her to stare after him.

That seed of doubt was putting down roots and sprouting slowly within her mind.

Riza started to walk behind him. He didn’t even acknowledge her.

“You might as well help me kill them”. That didn’t sit well with Riza at all.

I don’t want to get you involved. He’d told her that, adamant about that fact, when she’d offered to help Winry after she’d had a run in with Scar. He’d begged her to stop pushing for her own safety, as well as their unborn child’s.

I didn’t intend for this to happen. He’d been miserable as he reassured her of that on their couch after his meeting with Bradley. And it was me that put you in harm’s way.

This isn’t over, he’d vowed after seeing that Pride had hurt her. I swear my life on it.

Roy had never wanted her to get her involved in anything relating to his work. He’d even fought to share his plans for the day with her, stating the less she knew the better. However, she’d managed to wear him down and it had helped him to talk it through with someone, rather than shoulder it all by himself.

Before running off after Envy he’d even told her to stay where it was safe. That he didn’t want her to get hurt. Why would he invite her to help him kill Envy, when he knew that was the opposite of what Riza wanted him to do?

This was not her husband.

Riza lifted her pistol towards Roy’s head. She let out a quiet breath, ignoring the horrible imagery of pointing a gun at her husband, poised to kill.

He stopped, turning to half face her. His fringe was almost hiding his eyes, but his expression never changed. It was the same steely one he’d worn earlier when he didn’t lower his hand, despite realising it was her around the corner.

It was possible he was just being cautious but his command to help him kill Envy was what settled it for Riza.

Slowly, Roy turned back around and lifted his hands in surrender. “Do you know who your gun is pointed at?” 

Riza scoffed. “Who? Don’t make me laugh. When we’re alone, my husband calls me by my maiden name. A throwback, to old times.”

She heard Roy gasp, then jump away in a flash. As he did so, red sparks erupted from his body as it morphed into Envy. “Maiden name?” Envy scoffed. “What kind of weird marriage do you two have -?”

“I lied.”

Riza fired, hitting Envy in the face with her bullet. They cried out in pain, hurtling backwards to crash into the ground. Her stomach lurched with the impact of that first shot, very aware that she’d fired at another ‘human being’. She knew they couldn’t be killed so easily but… It was still jarring.

Just like it had been after her first successful hunt as a child.

Fight to survive, Riza.

Red sparks erupted around Envy’s face, healing the wound she’d just made, repairing skin and muscle insanely fast. It angered Riza that they could heal and repair themself so easily while a friend couldn’t and had been left for dead in a phone booth in the middle of Central.

“It was nice of you to fall for it though, Envy. And now you can do us all the favour of dying.”

Riza fired again and again, almost emptying a clip into the homunculus. 

“Ow! That hurts!” Envy yelled at her.

Something very green and sharp shot towards Riza, cutting into the skin of her shoulder faster than she could react. The arm that held her gun jerked out as she ground her teeth together against the pain. The way her body spun from the impact made the rifle strapped to her back lose its grip on her clothing and it slipped down her other arm. Riza caught it quickly, so fast that even she couldn’t believe it, but she was being fuelled by indignation and this being’s carelessness for human life, as well as adrenaline. With that combination, the rifle was caught easily.

Riza’s knees buckled with surprise and the sudden pain in her shoulder. One hit the ground painfully as she steadied herself, getting ready to fire. Despite the rough treatment and the recovery from Envy’s strike, she still managed to hit her target.

Envy’s body jerked with the hit, pushing them back a step with every single one until they dropped to their knees.

“You’re really annoying with that thing!”

Furious, another bolt of green disrupted the stones beneath her feet before shooting up and racing towards Riza. She stood sharply but it was too fast to dodge. It wrapped around her entire body, sealing her arms against her body tightly. It squeezed impossibly tight, restricting her ability to breathe. Gasping for a breath, Riza’s eyes bugged open wide as she was lifted off the ground. Knowing what was coming before it happened should have helped her prepare, but she was too caught off guard. She was still recovering from the sudden lack of oxygen and the pain lancing through her shoulder. She was slammed down into the concrete, the back of her head bouncing sickeningly off the stone. There was a crack as her hair clip broke and let her hair loose. The blonde strands tumbled down her back and over her shoulder, springing free from their restraint.

“I’ll dump you at his feet like a rag!” Envy cackled.

Gasping, Riza lay there as she tried to blink away the spots from her vision. They danced in front of her, but one thing did make its way into her pain addled mind, there was a quiet snap in the distance. It sounded so out of place that it caught her attention. Riza knew what that snap meant.

Envy screamed as Riza felt a sudden heat. Looking down her body Riza saw flames lick at the green appendage holding her still. They stopped far enough down that they wouldn’t harm her, but the sudden rush of flames made the skin of her face heat up.

“Roy,” she cried out, partly with relief and partly to get him to stop.

There was another snap and Envy was consumed by fire. Their screams drowned out Roy’s approach so Riza had no idea where he was.

“What in the hell are you doing to my wife?”

Riza’s head snapped up, blood running cold at the fury she heard in his voice. His face was like thunder as Roy stared Envy down. Glancing over at their enemy, Riza finally saw fear in Envy’s face. They were petrified. They’d made a mistake going after her and now there would be hell to pay.

“Don’t interfere, Riza.” His tone was softer as he spoke to her but that look in his eyes… His rage knew no bounds. “I told you I would deal with this, and I don’t want you to get involved.”

Before she had a chance to reply hell rained down on Envy, like fire and brimstone. Roy snapped and grunting, letting out all of his fury as he sent attack after attack at the homunculus to drain their power. It blew her hair away from her face and the intensity of the heat almost made her turn away.

All Riza could do was stare. She felt numb.

He’s going to kill them. He’s giving into that hatred.

She had to do something. She had to move.

Struggling to her feet was a great effort. Riza felt herself stagger. She was almost knocked backwards by the force of Roy’s alchemy and her head was still spinning from the hit she’d sustained after being slammed into the ground.

After one last ferocious blast Envy’s body started to disintegrate. It crumbled into a charred mess, leaving a tiny green creature in its place. Their voice turned almost child-like as they cursed Roy, crawling away from their own remains with tears in their eyes.

Roy approached and lowered his foot harshly atop Envy’s body. They were squashed underneath his boot, almost crushed completely. Any slight increase in pressure and they’d be dead.

Like hell Riza would let Roy do that to them.

“So this is your true form then?” The growl in his voice almost made Riza sick.

Stop… This isn’t you, Roy… Stop it, please.

“You’re ugly.”

Envy whined, begging for Roy not to do it, just like Riza was in her mind.

“I don’t want to die!” Envy cried desperately, tiny limbs flailing frantically.

It was too much for her to take anymore. Catching herself on the wall, Riza shoved herself so she was standing.

“I’m not giving you a choice. Now burn in hell!”

His fingers snapped together. Riza lifted her weapon, cocking and pointing it at Roy’s head, as her heart broke clean in two.

“Roy!”

Her yell echoed around the tunnel, bouncing off the walls with such clarity even she didn’t expect it. In the lull of the explosions the world sounded eerily quiet. Roy’s quiet gasp filled it once he realised what she was doing. His body stilled, his foot easing slightly on Envy’s body underneath his boot.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His tone was harsh but genuine surprise had seeped into it as well.

“Stop this,” Riza commanded, putting as much authority into her voice as she possibly could. Her gun shook in her hand, the grip slacking. No. She couldn’t let herself slip now. Not after all they’d already been through with this discussion. She wouldn’t let him talk to her like that either. The grip on the gun tightened. “I’ll deal with Envy from here on out.”

“Riza. Lower your weapon,” he ordered with the same authority she’d heard him use with his team at work.

Riza was no soldier and had to follow no such order. She was his wife, she loved him, and she’d made a promise that she’d watch his back and watch out for him always. He’d asked her to do that and she wasn’t about to let him down.

If I lost myself to all of this… That’s not the husband or father I want to be. I don’t want to be a monster again.

I choose you. I choose all three of you. There’s no contest and never has been.

He’d picked his side, that night in the darkened bedroom, and she wasn’t going to let him back out now.

“No. Put your hand down, Roy.”

He scoffed. “I won’t ask you again!” He shouted, almost startling her. He’d never used that tone with her before, never been so angry towards her like this. It didn’t even sound like her husband. The barrel of the gun quivered.

There was the sound of a transmutation and the ground beneath his foot was alchemised, disrupting their conversation. It rose up sharply to throw Roy off balance and send Envy sailing through the air. They were both startled out of their argument by the sudden appearance of Edward Elric and Scar.

Edward plucked Envy out of the air effortlessly, gripping onto them tightly with a scowl on his face.

“Fullmetal.”

Riza’s head turned sharply back to face Roy, noting how much calmer he sounded. But it was all a ruse. He hadn’t changed one bit. The fists at Roy’s side began to shake with his fury. One of his arms extended outwards towards Edward.

“I’ll be taking that.”

Edward was surprised by the request, seemingly unsure for a second. He glanced over at Riza and she shook her head the tiniest fraction.

“That is an order. Give them to me, right now!”

“No, I won’t,” Edward refused and Riza felt herself relax the tiniest amount.

With a controlled movement, Roy’s arm lowered. Alchemic energy still sparked around his gloves, a sign that he hadn’t given up the transmutation yet. He still needed to decide where to direct it.

Not at Edward and Envy, Riza pleaded. She couldn’t take it if he did.

“Elric,” Roy growled. “That thing belongs to me.”

“No they don’t!”

“Give them to me! Or I’ll burn up your hand along with it!” Roy’s hand twisted, pointed towards Edward.

“Roy!” she scolded, outraged that he’d threaten such a thing, and to Edward of all people too.

He’s almost gone, Riza. Do something!

Edward wasn’t one to give in so easily either, though. He interrupted before Riza could recover from her burst of anger. “Try it then!” he goaded, daring him.

Roy fell silent as he and Edward glared at one another in a standoff.

“Think of our children, Roy,” she commanded, trying another way to get through to him. It had worked before so she hoped it would again. Although Riza tried to keep her voice strong, one mention of them almost broke her. Her voice cracked and she was almost pleading with him as she spoke his name. “Remember what you said to me when we discussed this before. Don’t give into this,” she begged. “Remember that you’re letting go for them, as well as yourself.”

“What would Mia ask you to do?” Edward’s voice rang out in the tunnel, adding onto her point.

Roy’s shoulders stiffened and she heard him inhale sharply. “Stay out of this, Fullmetal,” he warned harshly.

“What would Maes ask, huh?” Edward continued on as if he hadn’t heard Roy speak. “What would those kids say to finding out their father gave into anger and hate and killed this homunculus!” Edward was spitting angry, furious that Roy was even considering such an act, but was desperate to get through to him as well. Riza could see it in his eyes. There was fear in them too. “If it were me I certainly wouldn’t want to look at you again!” Edward yelled. “You look like a monster!”

“I know I have no right to tell you what to do, Mustang, but they are correct.” Scar’s deep and calm timbre rolled through the air, settling over Riza, and making her loose another breath from her lungs. Hope swelled within her that maybe the three of them would be able to get through to him together. “You’re a father and you need to set an example. Do not cause any more death than you already have. End this cycle of hatred,” Scar snarled, “do it now. Break the chain. Otherwise you’re no better than a beast and those that have come before you. And I shudder to think what kind of world you will create after you become its ruler with all of that hatred burning inside of you. I dread to think what kind of father you will be.”

Roy’s body stiffened.

“Roy.” She brought his attention back to her. “This is not who you are.” Her voice was controlled as she steadied her weapon. She knew the Roy she loved was still within him but was buried underneath the tumultuous storm of emotions raging within. He had to be. Riza wouldn’t accept anything otherwise. 

His shoulders tensed. “Riza… I did it,” he growled. “I finally ran them down and they’re right there. They attacked you –”

“I understand that,” she barked harshly. “I know you did, and I know what happened, but you’re about to do something you’ll regret here and I won’t let you. You’re better than this. I know you’re better. I know the man I love, and he’s not here right now.”

His shoulders jerked up towards his ears.

“This course of action benefits no one. All it will do is hurt the ones you love.” Riza took a deep breath. “This is pure hatred. And I will not let it take you. I already told you that. I already promised I wouldn’t let you do it!” Her cry rang out in the silent hallway.

He was struggling, teetering on the edge, but he was listening to her.

“Would you really shoot me with that gun, Riza?”

Her breath caught tightly in her throat, choking her. What… What was he asking her?

His tone changed completely, along with his body language. His shoulders relaxed and he let out a long breath. He sounded calmer, that edge to his voice gone. He almost sounded defeated.

He still didn't let go of the transmutation though.

“If you’re going to shoot me, shoot me.” 

It was just a threat, really. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to kill her husband if he actually went through with this. She was no soldier, had taken no human life, and Riza wasn’t sure if she was emotionally stable enough to hit her target regardless of that.

But would she be able to live on with him, knowing that he’d become the monster he didn’t want to be, but had sought out that path anyway?

“Maybe not,” she admitted quietly.

She’d only been able to target Envy because she knew they wouldn’t die. That first pull of the trigger though… It was jarring, horrifying. When she’d fired a gun before it had been for food, for survival. This fight was a way to try and keep her alive, but she gained nothing from each hit. Just the sickening realisation that she was harming another living thing and gaining nothing from it.

“Maybe I can’t pull that trigger on you.” Despite the turmoil rattling her bones her voice held steady. Sorrow bled into her tone, shoulders dipping as her resolve to point the weapon at him wavered. “I couldn’t do that to you. Couldn’t do that to our children either,” she added, bile rising at the thought of taking their father away from them, regardless of their current conversation.

Memories flashed inside her mind. Roy lifted Mia high in the air, spinning her round as she giggled with glee. Maes’ happy squeals filled the room as Roy blew raspberries on their little boy’s arms, tickling him. Hayate barked happily in their garden as she, Roy, and Mia chased each other in a game of tag on the grass. Little Maes clapped his hands happily as he watched, sitting on Chris’ lap.

Riza clenched her jaw to stave off the sudden tears and keep a hold on her emotions. She wanted that Roy back. She just wanted her husband back.

“But I’m doing what you asked me to do,” Riza replied with more confidence this time. “I’m watching your back. You told me you didn’t want to be a monster again. Don’t give into it. Mia wouldn’t want you too.” Her voice wavered. She cleared her throat to try and shift the lump in it, but it was futile. “Little Maes wouldn’t want you to either. Neither would Big Maes.”

Roy’s head jerked suddenly, no doubt remembering their conversation in the dark in their bed. He’d held her close that night. She remembered pressing a kiss against his throat, feeling his pulse thrum beneath her lips.

“I…” The words stuck in her throat, halting her. They needed to be said because they were true, no matter how much it hurt to think about. She needed to get through to him and the hope that she could was dwindling second by second. “I don’t think I will be able to live on with you if you do go down this path.”

Roy flinched violently.

“I can’t follow you down it. Our family can’t. And I refuse to leave our children behind.”

He let out a choked breath. Suddenly, Roy’s hand jerked out and with a yell, the fire torpedoed down an empty hallway, filling it with heat and his anguish.

He didn’t do it.

Riza had never felt such strong relief in her life. A choked breath left her lungs, stuttering as it passed by her lips. Her knees shook and her pistol trembled in her hand. She almost lost her grip on it.

“I… I can’t afford to lose you. Or them. This madness… Scolded by a child and a man who was once my enemy.”

Roy turned to face her and Riza felt hope blossom tentatively at the look in his eyes. All his hatred was gone. A deep exhaustion had settled over his bones and it showed clearly in his expression. The features of his face drooped, eyes filled with so much regret and agony that Riza almost lost her breath. He was broken, defeated by himself, but he was Roy.

“And you.”

Tears flooded his eyes. Roy’s touch was gentle when it rested upon her gun. His hands were bare, gloves gone. Riza was unsure when that had happened, but it didn’t matter. The fact remained that he’d unequipped his weapon and taken that step away from where he was threatening to fall over the edge.

Riza watched completely mute as they both lowered the gun to her side slowly.

“It almost cost me you. I forced you to go through all of this. I pushed you away. My love,” he breathed, so quietly only she would hear. “My children. I would have lost it all.” Roy cleared his throat, dropping his gaze in shame. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he whispered. “I did it again. I’m such a fool,” he cursed in disgust, dropping his gaze. He turned to the side as his knees shook. He fell to the ground, finally spent, with his face hidden by his hands.

Relief made her body shudder and tremble. The pistol grew slack in Riza’s hand and dropped to the floor without her realising it. She joined him, kneeling by his side. Pain shot into her kneecaps after she fell, hitting the ground hard enough to make her wince. Her old injury with her fight with Envy flared up but Riza paid it no mind. All of her attention was focussed on the side of her husband’s head. She stared, knowing she wouldn’t be able to discern anything from it, but still looked upon those dark strands as if they would give her all the answers she sought.

Tentatively, Riza reached out. Her hand hovered before the space in between his shoulder blades. It was an action she’d done numerous times when helping him through his low points. She wasn’t sure what his mental state was. She had no way of knowing until she took the first step and made contact. Her fingertips pressed down first, lightly, before the heel of her hand kissed against his back. She watched, saddened, as his shoulders bunched up further at his ears, head dipping down. He was hiding from her.

“Roy?” Her call was apprehensive. She just wanted him to turn and look at her, give her something to go on. But he didn’t.

Shifting on her knees, Riza angled herself around him so she was kneeling by his side. Her hand naturally moved to come to rest on his shoulder. She gave it a squeeze of comfort and encouragement.

“Roy, look at me,” she prompted gently.

Unable to bring himself to, his gaze remained on his feet which were crumpled underneath his body at odd angles.

“Roy.”

It was just enough coaxing. The hand that covered his eyes moved a fraction. His eyes were desolate once they made contact and barely visible as he peeked up at her through a gap, filled with shame and sorrow. 

“You didn’t do it,” she reminded him.

“I was close.” His voice was a whisper, only loud enough to reach her ears. “I - I saw you being hurt… And thought about what had happened to Hughes and –” His sigh made his whole body shudder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in a hoarse voice.

Riza gathered him close, placing her cheek against the top of his head. Her arms wrapped around his shaking frame, bringing his face against her chest to hide him from the rest of them. Just for a moment, she wanted it to be just them, to have a tiny moment to themselves so she could get him back on his feet.

“You’re all right for now. You came back to me,” she whispered into his hair, focussing on that fact at the moment. The day was not over so everything else could be left until later when they were alone.

Slowly, hands lifted to her hips and held on. His fingers dug into her sides almost painfully. Then, the arms wrapped around, squeezing her against him. Her fingers ran through his hair as relief made them shake, thankful that for now, the worst of the confrontation was over.

[anthropwashere]

our indestructible days ch 3

ch 1 | ch 2

=

Stubborn child! Tenacious little brat!

Pride seethes as he carries his new container up through another ruined, empty floor of Father's home, teeth gnashing at stone and metal. How could one inconsequential human soul cling so stubbornly to its body? Especially after being absorbed into his Philosopher's Stone?

It's lucky the little alchemist is such a mad acrobat, otherwise Pride wouldn't have been able to climb to the surface as quickly as he has, even with his shadows to assist. There's only a floor left between him and the parade field. The light from Father's attack has faded now, but he's still wary of jumping out without having a better idea of the situation out there. The light alone hadn't been enough to damage his Stone, but it had been an altogether painful experience for his true form.

A part of him hates to let those survivors scurry off—all those long years guarding Sloth's tunnel, no doubt—but now isn't the time to hunt down vermin. His Stone has only barely stabilized thanks to those few soldiers he'd consumed. He was able to grow this container a new leg without much strain, but he doubts he'd be much good in a proper fight. He's made the mistake of underestimating humans before. It's not a mistake he's keen on repeating.

He slims his shadows to a few cautious coils, tasting the air. Even up here he can smell the living humans below, soaked in blood and snaking away from the epicenter of things. They could reappear virtually anywhere in Central but he doubts they'll go that far, not with how injured they are. Aside from them there's nothing but corpses down there, which won't do him any good. Thanks to absorbing Gluttony he finds the meat delicious, yes, but it's souls he needs. 

Aboveground is a far different story. He sniffs again and can't help but smirk. There's dozens—no, hundreds of humans gathering up there, rushing around with their hearts racing and sweat salting their warm skin. He smells too, all the silly little guns they're hauling around in some vain hope of stopping Father.

Pride licks his lips, eager now. They want a fight, do they? He may be weak, but he thinks he can at least provide Father a distraction.

He's careful to keep his container out of sight as he peers over the last crumbling edge, curling tendrils into the air and squinting in the brightening daylight. Behind him Central Command is in ruins, as if some enormous hand had come along and taken a scoop out of it. He can smell only a handful of living humans there, most of them bloody and bruised and terrified. Before him a triangular stretch of the parade field is charred black, heat to sting the razor edges of him still rising from it. Greasy smoke smothers the air, reducing visibility to a frustrating few feet. From here he can only make out the woman sacrifice, sprawled nearby and barely conscious. He can smell her pain, the new bruises and welling blood, but it's nothing serious. There's no urgent spike of adrenaline in her blood, no sour snap of broken bone nor the damp heat of exposed organs. She'll live, for now.

The wind shifts. He narrows his eyes, sniffing, and finds the shredded remains of Alphonse Elric's armor a little further off. Beside it is the troublesome Xingese girl, weeping loudly. Has the younger Elric's blood seal broken? Either way, he won't be taking part in this fight any longer, not in the shape he's in.

The woman sacrifice—Izumi, wasn't it?—wakes, coughing roughly. "H-Hohenheim," she forces out, and as if summoned by her voice Father appears before her, so quickly that neither Pride’s eyes nor nose sensed him move. A strong hand grabs Van Hohenheim out of the dust that had obscured him as well, knocking him aside like so much refuse. He lands in a heap some distance off. Pride pays his piteous groaning no mind, relieved to see that Father still has God's power within him.

"Father!" He cries, springing out into the open to present himself. Izumi twitches nearby, straining to see him over her bloodied shoulder.

"You're first," Father says, raising his hand. Red light arcs between his fingertips. Too late, Pride realizes what he means to do—

Pain riots through his container. All his thoughts collapse to panicked static. His newly acquired lungs and heart seize, his every muscle spasms and his every joint locks. He would scream if he could because to have true flesh is to be set on fire. He'd thought the leg bad before, but he'd retreated into his Stone at the first white-hot shock of hurt and here he's pinned in place, nerves flayed, choking on ash—he can't, he isn't, how is it possible to—hurt—so completely? Defense—he—he must defend against—shadows—his self—all gone, he can't think, he can't—

Father is going to kill him—

A gunshot cracks in the distance, and a wound appears in a fizzle of come-and-go alchemical light at Father's temple. Father's concentration breaks. Pride nearly falls on all fours, sucking in dirty air with a relief that unmoors him. He doesn't hesitate, falling back on the instincts of this taken flesh. His hammering heart says run, so he runs. He sprints through the thinning smoke, wanting distance, needing time to get his bearings, needing to understand why Father just tried to kill him—

He ducks behind some heap of rubble near Central Command's wall, pressing his spine against it and shutting his eyes against the acrid sting. He's—he's panicking. He is, isn't he? He's never one to panic. He is first of the homunculi, oldest and strongest and cleverest. He won't—can't—be cowed so easily as this. Even if—even if it was Father that came so close to—

He is one part of a greater whole. This is something he's always known. But it's never occurred to him that Father might one day want that part back.

No. Never mind that. Father had his reasons. He always does. Surely Father only intended to siphon Fullmetal's soul away, to tear the stubborn child out so Pride could have unfettered control over this container—

[Coward.]

Pride freezes—still panting for breath, damn this flesh—and glares with several pairs of eyes. That voice. It shouldn't be possible, and yet— "Just how many of you damned insects are clinging to sentience within my stone?!"

[Oh, it's just Fullmetal and myself in here, and he's not doing too well at the moment.] Kimblee's laughter grates for all that it's not, technically, real. [He doesn't enjoy the company as much as I do.]

In the distance Pride can hear-smell humans shouting, soldiers making a perimeter in some feeble-minded attempt at hemming Father in, barking out nonsensical orders to one another over the bustle and clatter of all their useless weaponry. A man shouts over a megaphone that Fullmetal is not to be confused with Father, which is a relief and in some small way, terribly funny. He watches the clamor with his container's eyes, peering carefully around the crumbling edge of what might have been a bit of the east wing. If he focuses he thinks he can very nearly feel the pinpoints of solidity within his Stone, Kimblee as fine and bright as a needle, Fullmetal a stolid lump fumbling his way back to consciousness at a snail's pace. "I suppose you'll be wanting to fight me for control over this body next?"

[Oh no, not at all. It'd be a poor fit, I think. And besides, I already have a front row seat to the glorious battle going on right now. Just listen to it!]

The attacks are certainly concussive, if nothing else. From his position on the field it only looks like the soldiers are wasting a great deal of ammunition for nothing; Father's glimmering shield is protecting him even from the heat and dust of the blasts. Some soldier down there belts out a command to take cover and scarcely a moment later a gout of flame rushes down the same charred path as Father's earlier attack to engulf the majority of the parade ground in an inferno. It seems that despite his newfound blindness the Flame Alchemist remains unwilling to sit idly by while there's murder and mayhem to sow. Still, it'll take more than that to slow Father down now.

"They stand no chance against him," he mutters aloud. The plan has fallen apart, perhaps disastrously so, but Father will win. It's only a matter of time.

[No chance?] Kimblee asks, pausing when another gout of flame explodes across the parade field. This one Father catches as easily as a child's toy and sends it right back. Even after that display, amusement curls Kimblee's voice. Infuriating creature. [You say there's no chance, that you homunculi are so much better than humans, but what's Greed without his human vessel? What are you?]

"I am Pride the Arro—"

[Just the two of you left now, and that only thanks to the humans you've attached yourselves to. You claim to be higher life forms, yet you're really nothing more than parasites. How disappointing.]

"I won't die here! Whatever the cost, I refuse to die today!"

[And if your Father willed it otherwise?]

He flinches, and loathes this treacherous body all the more.

[He seemed eager enough to kill you a moment ago,] Kimblee goes on cheerfully, [Yet you turned tail and ran away the second you could. You were named for your dignity as much as your arrogance, yet all you've proven today is that you're a hypocrite and a coward.]

"BE SILENT, KIMBLEE!"

[Mmph.] The Fullmetal lump shifts within his Stone, waking up properly. Pride very nearly throws his hands up in exasperation. [Ah, hell. That hurt. What happened?]

[Welcome back, Edward. I wasn't sure you'd be joining us again.]

Pride curls his mouth irritably, digs dirty nails into the stone's crumbling edge. The automail arm only twitches at his side, still stubbornly resistant to his will. "How many times must I put you in your place until you stay there?"

[Ha. At least one more. Where are we?] 

Pride has no chance to reply before his control is tugged away from him. Edward Elric wavers, bracing himself with both hands against the same stretch of scorched stone. Pride's connection to the container and all its startling sensations remains; a sour tang of nausea burns their shared throat, dizziness makes their pulse pound in their ears, a line of sweat down their spine makes them shiver. Edward directs their eyes about the parade field and back to Central Command, taking in the splendor of Father's power. Their ears ache with the ceaseless crack and boom of gunfire.

"Holy shit,” Edward breathes.

With a growl of displeasure Pride pushes back and retakes control. The boy's too stunned to put up more than a token resistance, one that's easily brushed aside. Pride smiles, licking the new configuration of his teeth. "Do you understand now? Do you see what Father is capable of, despite all your little tricks? Are you still so certain you'll win?"

Kimblee whispers, so quietly that Edward seems not to hear, [Are you?]

[Of course I am,] Edward retorts, and while he's unable to wrestle control of his body back he does manage a few of the eyes circling at their feet. Their shared vision wobbles and blurs, and Edward grumbles. [Jeez, how can you stand this? I think I'm gonna puke.]

"Then stop it."

[Nah.] Their shadow twitches, an inelegant lurch that nevertheless forces one of their eyes to loll, and in just such a way that it glimpses Edward's bare left foot. Through their mutable connection of his Stone Pride feels the stuttering evolution of Edward's reaction—dumbfounded, denying, horrified, furious. Their mouth opens against his will and Edward's snarl froths out. "My—my leg. It's—the automail—it's gone. You—you son of a bitch! You really cut it off?!"

[It was slowing me down,] Pride replies calmly, content for the moment to take refuge in his Stone. It almost feels as he did in his Selim container this way; placid, unflappable, controlled. [You're welcome, by the way. I saved you the trouble of trying to get back the original one.]

"Wh—That's not the point! Al and I made a promise! After we found out the cost of making a Philosopher's Stone we promised not to use one for ourselves! We never wanted to be so selfish as to use another life to fix our mistake! Al and I—we—I didn't...."

Edward's inhale is a shaky mess. He sways again, gritting his teeth. It seems he has a new tendency to speak through more than one mouth if he lets his anger get the better of him. How interesting. Pride certainly hadn't manifested one of the three thin mouths in their shadow. Edward bends at their waist to brush their left hand across their new knee cap, draws a line down their shin, splays their toes on the sun-warmed concrete. Pride feels each sensation like a static shock, which isn't half so bizarre as the curdled snatches of Edward's thoughts he absorbs secondhand. Nerve damage—phantom pain in the night—gone, it's gone, he shouldn't feel anything because it's gone—Granny said the cold would be harder on him—cold night spent lying awake, teeth gritted, muscles aching—no amount of massaging around the ports ever helped—Al's metallic voice, "Did you dream about Mom again—"

Pride retreats deeper into his Stone, startled by how real that felt. The ever-groaning souls inside him keep their distance from his toothsome shape—all but Kimblee, who sidles up to him with an overly familiar grin. 

Outside, Edward reins in his anger enough to ask, "Where's Alphonse?"

[In pieces,] he replies sullenly, and finds base satisfaction in the diminished jolt of panic he feels from the boy. [The Xingese girl has been using what's left of his armor as a shield—]

Red light crackles in their shared vision and a feeling not unlike a brand burns his Philosopher's Stone. He writhes within and without, as much from shock as from pain. When he can see clearly again Edward's braced against the rubble, breathing raggedly. "Shut up," he growls.

[You're so willing to be free of me you'll hurt yourself to do it?] Pride marvels. 

"Shut up," Edward repeats, a mouth splitting in their shadow to hiss the same. "You too, Kimblee."

[I didn't say anything.]

"I can feel how much you're enjoying this." He spits, wiping their mouth with the back of his automail hand, then begins a clumsy half-jog back into the thick of things. There's no telling if it's the new leg or their shadow nipping at their heels giving him more trouble.

[Where are you going?] Pride demands. [What do you intend to do?]

"I'm gonna find Al, then I'm gonna make that bastard pay."

[If you confront him, Father will take my Stone for sure!]

"Good. Let him take care of you for me!"

[He'll kill you too!]

"I don't care!" Edward picks up speed, keeping low and favoring their new leg. When Pride opens a train of eyes in their shadow Edward trips, slapping a hand over their container's eyes with a curse. Nausea tongues his Stone, altogether unpleasant. "I gotta make sure Al's okay!"

[Damn you!] For all that he tries to wrest back control Edward just hangs on to himself harder. Pride rages, scattering souls like gravel beneath the wild sweep of his awareness. Edward snarls back and picks up speed.

[Such dedication!] Kimblee exults, a white sore in his Stone. [Such drive! He really is an admirable creature, isn't? Put a fire under him and he'll burn himself gladly for the chance to keep those he cares for out of it!]

[Be quiet!]

Kimblee calms, raising one unimpressed eyebrow. [Why should I listen to you? A pitiful homunculus who couldn't keep a single human under heel?]

Pride seethes.

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

Dead or Alive: Donny Donowitz x Latina!Reader

You don't have to be Latina to read (we do be needin the rep though XD)

TRIGGER WARNING: Xenophobia/Racism, Mentions of segregation

Requested by @sansasdove

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines @tealaquinn @struggling-bee @frozenhuntress67 @kwyloz @sodapop182 @marlenemarauders @what-the--curtains @taikawho

Let me know if you wanna be added to the IB or OUATIH taglists! :)

______________ Donny and Utivich were sent out to an isolated town, while the rest of the basterds finished up a mission a miles and miles south of there. They'd meet back up a few nights later, in their hideout in the woods. Meanwhile, Donny and Utivich were tasked with finding a new troop assigned to the basterds by the OSS. The only problem was they didn't know your name, rank, or what you looked like. All they knew was that you were a marine in the Pacific at some point. "You think that's her?" Donny narrowed his eyes, looking in the direction where Utivich had (tried to) discreetly gesture toward. "Are you pointing at the lady with the baby?" "Wh-" Utivich then realized the likelihood of that lady being their contact, and turned red as he stammered, "N-no... They wandered around the town, trying their best not to get any unwanted attention. After a while, Donny started grumbling, "Well no one fucken told us who the hell we're looking for!" "What about her?" 

Donny glanced up, and it took him a moment after he smirked to nod, "Yeah she's cute." "No...I meant...do you think that's her?" "Oh! Well..." His hand rested on the back of his neck, as he cleared his throat, "Sure, sure...uh..." He noted the way you stood by an old tavern, newspaper in hand, appearing innocent to the untrained eye.   "The kid stands like a goddamn marine." "Donny, wait!" Donny walked past you slowly, almost unnoticeably glancing toward you. Your eyes scanned over the newspaper, beneath the brim of your hat. You acknowledged the newcomers with a slight, almost imperceptible nod, and remarked beneath your breath, "I've been compromised. Don't follow." Donny stalled for a moment. "Leave. Now. I'll catch up." You spoke through gritted teeth, hidden behind the newspaper. Donny went ahead without a word, understanding the implications of associating with a compromised spy. He pulled Utivich along without explaining anything. They turned a corner, and Donny glanced back one last time, seeing if he could spot anything. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a nazi staring at you, and approaching, barking something in broken French and intermittent German. Your stone-cold narrowed eyes, and defiant, fearless face remained unbothered as you slowly lowered your newspaper, seemingly annoyed by the nazi's interruption. That alone told Donny you knew exactly what you were doing. But, night came, and morning passed. There was no sign of you at all. "Donny..." That was the first thing Utivich said since then. Of course, he was usually a quiet, composed kind of guy. Sarcastic and witty whenever needed, but only when he had something to say. He didn't now. He just hated the unsettling silence. Even more so, since Donny hadn't said anything either, which was even  more unsettling. Donny looked up, but what could really be said? If something had happened to you, then...another good, young life was meaninglessly lost in an seemingly endless war. And if something hadn't happened to you, then it was certainly coming, and Donny wasn't prepared to let that happen. Why? Well... in that infinitesimal instant that he glanced at you, he looked into your eyes, and he saw so much life. Something unexplicably cheerful, even in the face of the worst the world had to offer. A smug, determined intent to fight, to love, to go on. Something Donny only saw in the eyes of the innocent, and the brave. Somehow, you seemed to be both, all at once. He turned back, marching  toward the distant village. "Where are you going?" "I'm not goin' back to camp without that troop." "But-" "We're finding her Smitty. Dead or alive." As they'd soon find out, those were the terms and conditions given to the nazis that were hunting you. Donny was so hung up in finding you, he and Smitty were caught. They were tied up, and thrown beside you, in a line on a ledge overlooking a swift, lashing river, facing a nazi patrol in the forest. "I told you not to follow." You sounded more disappointed than angry, which struck Donny, though he didn't dare look at you. Smitty turned, "We didn't." You turned to look at his sergeant, "I could've handled this." "But you didn't," he quipped. "You got a problem with me, sergeant?" You challenged him, with a slight smirk he couldn't really resist. One of the nazis that had captured you had just about enough. The orders on finding the basterds were to keep them alive, and bring them in for interrogations and of course, torture. Orders for finding a common nuisance  believed to be an informant were as follows: dead or alive. So, the nazis had some leeway when it came to your fate...so they thought at first. Though, they did need at least some kind of answers. The nazi  noticed a silver chain around your neck. He reached, and frowned when he realized what he'd pulled out of your shirt was a dog tag.  Seething, he remarked, "Y/n L/n." He narrowed his eyes at your name, then spat at you. In his foul ignorance, he confused you with a Spaniard, he accused you of being a traitor to the axis. He strung together what little Spanish he could from dealings between Germany and Spain, "Traidora. Eres una española," (which was completely wrong) he swung and struck you in the jaw. Donny pulled against the ropes used to tie him and Utivich up, "HEY!" You looked up at the nazi, as two more dragged you back to your feet. Blood dripped down your nose, and out the corner of your mouth. You spat right back at him, staining his face and uniform with your blood. "I am not a Spaniard." You held your head up high, proud of who you were, who your parents were, and their parents. You muttered under your breath, glaring right at him with eyes that would scare just about any nazi, "Hijo de puta."

You stood strong, resilient, looking him in the empty, hateful voids he called eyes. The nazi glared right back, though a shadow of panic and fear loomed behind his shallow blue eyes, as he stammered to find words, and hid his fear in German curses and mumbles. The nazi was ready to attack you again, but Utivich and Donny started to put up a fight. When some of the nazis threatened to kill them, the nazi's colonel finally emerged from his tent, ordering his men to stand down. "Wir sollen die Basterds lebendig machen." 'We're to bring the basterds in alive.' The nazi that had attempted to torment you turned harshly to his colonel, demanding to know "Und das Mädchen?" 'And the girl?' His colonel tossed a gun at him, nonchalantly commenting with a disinterested shrug and sigh,  "Werde sie los." 'Get rid of her.' Donny turned between you and Utivich, "What's happening?! What the fuck's happening?!" You understood what was happening, but telling Donny would only put him in more danger. Besides, you could see the sheer emotion in his eyes. He wasn't scared for himself, he was scared for you, and you knew it. You stood silent, and glared ahead at the mob of nazis, right at your dim fate. Donny could tell from just that look. A resigned, brave soldier? It was something he was all too uncomfortably familiar with. He and Utivich lurched forward, in spite of the ropes,  toward the nazis, "COWARDS! YOU FUCKING COWARDS-"

While everyone was distracted trying to control Donny, they all stopped and turned, hearing the rushing river splash unusually loudly. You were gone.   The nazis rushed to the edge of the ledge, and peered toward the river below. The colonel looked at the other nazis, shouting, "STEHEN SIE NICHT NUR DORT. OFFENES FEUER." 'DON'T JUST STAND THERE. OPEN FIRE.' Each of them rushed over to the end of the ledge, and started to fire into the murky rapids. After a seemingly endless torrent of bullets...there was nothing. No body floating, no cloud of red in the water. The colonel turned, snatched the dog tag from the soil, and read the name. His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach,  as his eyes went wide with rage, "IHR IDIOTEN." 'YOU IDIOTS.' Utivich turned to Donny with a bloodied smirk, "Well I understood that." The colonel's commanding officer wanted you brought in for questioning. In fact, so did everyone in the German army who was someone. You were a ghost story in the Matanikau River, when you were still stationed in the Pacific. When you emerged in the European theater...well...all of Berlin was sacked, and all of Paris was turned upside in an effort to find you.

"Find. Her." The nazis wasted no time, they all knew that he'd show them no mercy. The nazi that had been responsible for the confusion...well, he begged, shaking in his boots. One shot to the forehead was all it took to quiet him down. His colonel kicked his body to the side. He stayed behind, sitting by a fire, as the sun set, watching Donny and Utivich intently. Eventually, he began to noticeably shift around, constantly checking his watch. He wasn't used to being kept waiting... None of his men came back. All the while, Donny taunted him, meaning time went by a thousand percent more slowly. He reminded the nazi who the fuck the basterds were, telling him it wouldn't be long before Aldo the Apache was coming down the hills. Donny swore it wouldn't be long before Hugo Stiglitz got his hands on the nazis. It wouldn't be long before... He detailed how he and the basterds had quite literally ripped local nazis to shreds. He even gave names. Names that colonel definitely knew. He screamed for Donny to shut up, barely able to control his murderous impulses, even knowing high command wanted Donny and Utivich, or any basterd for that matter, be taken in alive as a trophy, and for information. He really couldn't do much more than beat Donny up, and Utivich for good measure. But at the end of the day, the only one that was terrified was the nazi, and each second seemed to be slower than the last, while Donny and Utivich looked at him smugly. Eventually, around midnight, after hours and hours, and after Utivich was sure there was no way out, he hung his head down again. Just then he heard an agonizing, almost sobbing, gargling sound coming from the now calmer river. The remaining nazi stood up, his gun trained on the basterds, as he marched cautiously toward the river bank, every few steps, looking back at Donny and Utivich making sure they hadn't moved. "Give it up, kraut. Your boys're no match for ours." Donny taunted him again. The unmistakable sound of a muffled scream, and a knife made both Donny and Utivich turn toward the river. It wasn't exactly who they were expecting. You were standing there, dripping from the river, your clothes soaked in cold water and stained blood. "You're alive?!" Donny's voice was happier and more relieved than he intended to let on, as you cut them free, "Yes, sir." "How'd...how'd you do that?!" Utivich looked at you with star-struck eyes. "I'm a marine," you winked with a smile. "Marine, huh." Donny twisted his hands around his aching wrists, trying to relieve the soreness from being tied up so long. "Lance Corporal Y/n L/n, at your service, sir." You saluted him. "Nice to meet'cha kid," He smiled, genuinely, though his soft glance had to be cut short by the realization that you were all still in the middle of a war, and possibly a man-hunt. "And nice of you to salute and all, but we better get movin'." You nodded, and tossed something at him, catching the light of the moon in a fleeting silver glint. "What's this?"

"Their colonel's dogtag." You eyed the ones that Donny kept around his neck as trophies, "I see you got a collection going there." Donny smiled, as his heart skipped a beat. You'd fit right in with the basterds...

Your first mission with the basterds was not quite what anyone would expect, but then again, neither were you. For an impromptu rescue, it wasn't too bad. ************* All three of you sat kilometers away, a few hours later, still under the guise of the dark night, by a small fire, attempting to remain hidden, though all of you were freezing cold, especially you. Donny gave you his coat, and Utivich gave you his hat, trying to keep you from catching anything. "Heard ya made a mess of Berlin and Paris." You glanced up at him cheekily, "They sent me to you for a reason, sir."

"Call me Donny," he smiled warmly, between the steely moonlight, and the golden embers of the fire. Utivich asked, "So...you heard of us, but how come we ain't heard of you..." "Some of us are good at making things look like an accident," you teased him a little, and Utivich laughed.   Donny turned a little red, and nodded subtly, damning himself for seeing the stars adorning your hair, and the night sky in your eyes. His heart was pounding, and he didn't even try to deny why. Who would, when they saw you the way he did? You were all silent for a few moments, then Donny asked you what he asked any of the other basterds when they first met. "So, uh...why'd ya enlist?" You were quiet for another moment, then looked back at Donny. Your eyes seemed tired. Not from the long day, or even from the impressive tactics... Tired from memories, doomed to be repeated, as you sighed, "You ever see those signs?" "What signs?" He raised his eyebrow, then glanced at Utivich, who seemed equally as puzzled. "The ones in nice stores and parks and schools. Places like that. The signs that go 'no dogs, no black people, no mexicans allowed.' Doesn't even matter if you're Guatemalan, Dominican, Bolivian or Argentine, anything...They don't give a fuck. Those signs." Utivich looked at you, his heart was heavy as he nodded quietly. He was from a particularly open, urban place in the west...and even then he'd seen things like that. Things he didn't want to see when he went back home... He knew what it was like to have people hate you for what you were... Your name, your language, your family. Most of the basterds knew. Aldo and Hugo may not have known first-hand, but they'd be damned if they let anyone get away with that sort of bullshit while they were around. Donny's heart sank a little, as he murmured, "Fuck a duck..." He looked up at you, nodding slowly, "Yeah I've seen those." "Yeah, well I didn't see those in any bases. The one chance I got at being treated like a human,  and it's gotta be when I don't know if there's a tomorrow. Get it?" His heart broke, in a way he didn't see coming. He shook his head, and you sighed as you shifted a little closer to the dying fire, "Anyway, this fucking war's been on for what, three years, now? I wanna end this before my kid brother has to. Guess that's another reason right there." Donny understood that too. He had nothing more to say other than what was on his mind. "You're a good kid, Y/n..." "Thanks," You glanced up at him. And for a moment...a moment he would've missed if he'd blinked...you didn't have that trademark bold, striking look in your eyes. For a moment, you glanced away, shyly, with a small, quiet, innocent smile. Utivich noticed. He looked at Donny with a smirk, but said nothing. He knew to leave well enough alone.... "Ya know, I got a kid brother too. His name's Mikey."

You smiled softly, and pulled out a locket, tightly wrapped around your finger. You didn't open it, but you let it dangle a little, "Carlos." Donny chuckled, "Smitty there is the kid brother. At home, and at camp." "So that's how it's gonna be, Donny?" Utivich tilted his head with a laugh. You chuckled, "And how's that working out for you, Utivich?" He shrugged a little, though he was clearly amused, "Great. So far...I've only gotten one purple heart, which may be the lowest out of all the basterds....But my mom's still going to kill me when I get home." "Why?" "I enlisted, see? Didn't get drafted." He smiled at you. He was, as you'd soon learn, a real sweet, honest guy. Sometimes you wondered how a guy like that even made it into a team like the basterds... But then you'd see him in the battlefield, or getting a few scalps, and you'd remember why.  "My sisters tried to talk me out of it. My older brother couldn't enlist because he's got asthma. He just married too, so it would be real upsetting... Anyway... What can I say...Of course they didn't want me to go, I'm my mom's  youngest kid." "A baby," Donny remarked, which Utivich ignored. "They wanted me to go to college, but honestly? I don't regret a damn thing, Y/n." You smiled, understanding that need to be free to choose. Soon after, you all decided to was best to put the fire out, for fear of the smoke giving away your place. You were sure they were asleep. You shivered, still damp from the river. You were wide awake, your arms wrapped around yourself, watching as your breath turned into a cloud before your eyes. You sneezed softly. "Hey..." You heard a voice, warm, and quiet. Donny wrapped his arms around you, and you instantly sank into his chest. He smiled a little, speaking quietly so Utivich wouldn't wake up. "Can't have ya getting sick on us now, can we, kid?" You didn't protest much, as you couldn't remember the last time you were so tired. So Donny smiled sleepily, and held you tightly as he fell asleep. (He may like being big spoon but who knows ;) ) He couldn't tell you how panicked, and lost he felt when you disappeared on them for those long hours....But he'd tell you that some other day. Some day, when you were far away fom there. When you were safe...

******* You all arrived at the hideout finally, extraordinarily late, even for Donny. After you were introduced to the legendary basterds, Aldo took you aside for a little talk. He asked you what happened out there. You were days late, after all. Being a spy, you naturally spun a tale so convincing, it damn near worked,  as a way to cover for the boys' little mishap, and to save face for them. Frankly, Aldo just nodded, saying it was fair enough, and let you on your way. He then joined Donny and Smitty, who were both looking for something to kill their headaches with (of course after being punched that many times in the face, it was understandable). "I know Y/N's coverin' for you both." Utivich, slightly startled, turned around with a jump and panicked. "What? We didn't tell her to do that, we-"

Aldo didn't care for explanations, "Now, I don't give no goddamns, but if I didn't know any better, I'd think she was tellin' the truth." He chuckled a little, "But, I know you two are some damn trouble makers." Utivich nodded, and sighed, "Ok, you got us." Donny turned slowly to Utivich, and narrowed his eyes, "Snitch." Aldo shrugged, "And anyway...even if her story did check out, it don't explain to me why and how you got yourself a black eye, Donowitz. And why my boy Utivich here's got his lip busted open, does it." "Aldo..." Aldo sighed, "That kid's let the boys in her old teams take all the credit in public. But here, well, she gon' make one hell of a basterd, ain't that right Donny." He winked, and smirked. Donny sighed, "That obvious, huh?" There was no use in denying it anyway. It would only be a matter of time before the basterds started to notice the way Donny looked at you. Aldo shrugged, as he tossed  a bottle of pain killers at Utivich, "Just a lucky guess, son." He started to make his way out, but turned around for another minute, "Oh, and Donny?" "Yeah?" "Go on, you fucken basterd." Aldo shook his head, grinning. Donny smiled, as he walked out, and made his way over to you. Somehow, you made him feel a way he never felt before for anyone. When you were around, Donny was calm. He'd never admit it...but after what happened the day you met...he felt safe when you were near. Maybe your reputation preceded you... Maybe that was all...

But then again, when Donny talked to you, he wasn't as loud as he normally was. When he looked at you, and walked toward you, he didn't try to make himself look and act the like biggest, baddest basterd around. He didn't need to. When you were around, he knew he didn't have to worry. He knew he'd somehow make it home. When you were around, the question was no longer dead or alive... When you were around, and he saw that smile, and those eyes, he knew he'd be alright. Who the hell wouldn't, when they had you?

[notyetneedcoffee]

Wash It Away

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (hint of Stucky x Reader)

Warning: NSFW, 18+ Smut, Aftermath of violence

o o o o o

You got the communication from Steve right after the mission.  

His voice was quiet, difficult to hear over the background noise. Still, the strain and worry were easily detectable. “Gonna need you at the Compound when we arrive. Things went bad, really bad. We’re going to have a lot of damage control to do. People died, ones that shouldn’t have.”

“Whatever I can to help.”

“Uh, sorry.” He sighed. “Not what I meant. It’s Buck. Sweetheart, he’s in a bad way. Worse than I’ve seen him since…. God, I don’t know. He’s barely responding to me. He needs you.”

“I’ll be there.”  You could hear him sigh heavily. “Steve, honey, how are you?”

“I’m...” He paused, not wanting to lie. “I’ll be okay.”

“Steve, promise me. As soon as you can get away, come here too. Please.”

You listened to the background noise for a long moment. He finally agreed. “When I can get away, I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

“We’ll be there in forty minutes.” Steve’s tone became little stronger. “See if F.R.I.D.A.Y. can clear the hallway from the bay to your quarters.”

“I will.”

“Listen, Sweetheart, I’ve got to go. I’ll meet you in the bays when we get there.”

“Okay.”  

It was a long forty-minute wait. When the quinjet touched down, you rushed forward. Natasha stood at the lowering ramp, Clint supporting her. A trauma bandage wrapped around her thigh, blood seeping through.  She moved to walk on it, but he picked her up and carried her down the ramp. The fact she didn’t fight said even more about her state than the blood.  

Steve and Bucky came next. They were both filthy, covered in blood and dirt. Steve favored his left foot. Bucky looked straight ahead, eye’s vacant. Taking slow measured steps, they reached the bottom of the ramp. Steve’s hand never left Buck’s shoulder.  

You stepped forward, careful not to rush, wrapping your arms around Steve’s waist. His arm pulled you tight, nose burying in your hair. He sighed your name.

Bucky never moved.  

You stepped in front of him. You took both of his hands in yours, looking up in his eyes. “Bucky, honey, come with me.”

He never looked at you, but when you pulled at his hand he followed. True to your plan, the way to your apartment remained vacant. You pulled him into your place, closing yourself off from everyone else. Leading him to the ensuite bathroom, before talking to him, you hoped cleaning up would help you get through.

“Bucky,” You spoke gently. “Let’s get you out of these things. Okay?”  

Beginning with his boots, your knelt down to remove them. He moved when you prompted him, like a puppet. A field of dirt littered the tiles around his feet. The smell of wet earth, gun powder and blood clung to him.

Standing, you reached for his shoulder holster. “I’m going to get you out of this. Okay?”

His metal hand snapped out grabbing your wrist, faster that you could react, his grip brutal. Cold blue eyes locked on yours. His lip curled up in a minute snarl.

“Bucky.” You tried not to raise your voice. “Bucky, it’s me. Baby. Please, you’re hurting me.”

A flicker of confusion touched his eyes, but they hardened almost instantly.  

“Bucky Barnes, let go of me right now.” You commanded evenly. “I’m not going to hurt you and you know it.” The confusion came back and before it could disappear you touched his face with your other hand. Speaking softly, “baby, please, your safe here.  Please let go.”

Blue eyes shifted to where he held your wrist, they grew wide. His finger opened immediately. He blindly backed away from you. It put him in the walk-in shower. You smiled sadly, fighting the urge to cradle your wrist.  

“Bucky, it’s okay. You with me?” He still looked terrified, but he nodded. “I’m going to get you cleaned up, get you out of your gear. Is that okay?” Again, a small nod. “It’s going to be okay. You’re home, baby.”

You spoke to him as you removed all the equipment and peeled the dirty clothing from him. Telling him as you went, what you were doing as to not startle him again. Finally, he stood in your shower, naked and apparently numb.  

Stripping down you turned the water on, and soaped up a wash cloth. “I’m going to clean you up, okay?”

Bucky just stood passively as you wiped away the grime with sure but gentle strokes. You cleaned his legs, his back, and neck. Taking you hand in his, you carefully scrubbed the blood from his fingers. Setting his right arm on your shoulder, you cleanse his arm and shoulder. His eyes drifted closed as you washed his chest clean.  

The hand on your shoulder move to cup your face, slide into your hair. You stepped closer, arms going around his waist. He inhaled a painful breath, deep, shaky. Bucky pulled you tight against him as he exhaled. Leaning on you, his weight almost too much until he leaned back against the tile. Bucky’s breathed raggedly, in and out, hanging on to you.

“Bucky.” Your hands rubbed his sides.  He just breathed, heavy, pained, grounded by you.  

After a time, you felt his lips press into your hair. “Doll.” He breathed. “Oh, god.”

“It’s okay. You’re home.” You pulled back enough to look into his eyes, thankful to see some life there again. “Let’s finish getting you clean up and we’ll go to bed.”

He nodded, allowing you to move him fully under the water. Rubbing mint and tea tree shampoo through his hair, your fingers rubbed into his scalp. A satisfied noise, close to purr, escaped his throat.  Rinsing the dirt and blood from his hair, you ran hot water down the rest of his body, making certain no more grime from the battle field remained.

Turning off the water and grabbing a fluffy towel, you took as much care drying him. Walking him to the bed, he sat on the edge as you toweled off his hair. 

He saw the deep purple bruise around your wrist in the shape of his hand. Something close to a whine escaped his throat. He took your hand with extremely gentle fingers. 

“It’s okay, Buck. Honestly. I’m fine. It’s okay.”

Bucky pulled you forward so you straddled his lap. His hands ran over your thighs, hips, while his head dropped to your shoulder. He just breathed your scent, anchored himself.

“We got in there and they’d,” He took a shaky breath. “They were hiding behind a group of kids. They put guns in the hands of these, god, little kids. Sent in a unit of armed children to take us on.”

He squeezed you so tight you could barely breathe. You wrapped your arms around him tighter. “Buck.”

“By the time we realized...”  

You ran your fingers through his hair, over his scalp, down his neck. His muscles felt like stone under this skin, but you rubbed at them, coaxing some release. The iron hold around your waist began to let up enough to allow you to breathe.

Pressing your lips to his temple, he sighed. You worked your fingers into the muscles of his neck, down his spine. His skin was hot, still damp from the shower.  None of the scent of gunpowder or smoke remained, he just smelled clean. Still, the way he inhaled your wet hair, your damp skin, it suck in his sinuses.  

Bucky’s fingers dug into your hips. His face nuzzled into your neck. “I just...” Bucky spoke against your skin. “I saw what I’d done.” He took a shaky breath. “Those monsters, hiding behind...I just lost it.” His grip tightened. “I...”

You thought about the amount of dried blood, the look on Steve’s face, and you knew. You understood. The softness of your voice did not negate the conviction of your words. “I would have torn those motherfuckers to pieces with my bare hands.”  

He released a long breath, some of the tension easing from his muscles. “In all my years...” Bucky growled. “Who would... why would you...” He practically shook, suddenly feeling the anger. “Fucking little kids!”

“Because they were sick bastards.” You took his face in your hands. “You stopped them.”

“I murdered them.” He whispered.

“You executed them, and gave those kids some measure of justice.” Pressing your lips to his. “Do not punish yourself for this.”

He drank down your kiss, but his head fell in shame. “They begged me to stop.”

“Who? The team? Or the ringleaders?”  

“Stark was ordering me to withdraw. But, no, the ones I killed. They gave up. They begged me to stop.”

“Of course they did.” You lifted his face to yours. “They’re cowards.” The corner of your mouth lifted to a sarcastic smile. “A who cares about Tony. It’s not like you’ve ever listened to him before anyway.”

Bucky actually smiled at that. You mouth covered his. The kiss began as a tender exploration, but soon he pulled at you with desperation. His need grew, pulling you along with him. Naked and fresh from the shower, he tasted the flesh of your neck and down to your breasts.  

“Need to feel you.” He mumbled against your taunt nipple before sucking it into his wet mouth. In answer you rocked against his hard cock. His fingers slid between you, feeling your wetness, teasing your clit.  

His kissed you, slow and wet. As his tongue delved into your mouth, circling and dancing with your own, he slid the head of his cock along your opening. You sunk yourself on him. Bucky moaned, wrapping his arms tightly around you and locking his mouth on to your neck.

With slow, small movements, you both rocked into one another, in perfect time. Hips. Breath. The pace picked up. Your hands buried in his hair, clung to his back. His fingers bit into your ass, lifting you and slamming you down on his cock.  

“Doll,” Bucky nipped your jaw. “Not gonna last long.”

You were already trembling, “So close.” You slid one hand down and rubbed your clit, it only took a moment and you were shaking, flooding over his cock.  

“Oh fuck!” He pulled you even closer. Your pulled at his hair, as he plunged into you keeping you almost painfully close. Hip snapping, cock buried deep. 

As his breath slowed and his grip lessened, he dusted kissed over your face. “Thank you, Doll.”

“Oh, Bucky.” You gentle kissed him. “No need to thank me.”

“Bed?”

“Yeah.”

You were woken by soft whispers.  

“Get over here, jerk.”

“No, just checking on you.” Steve whispered from somewhere across the room.

“Bullshit.”

“Shhh, you’ll wake her.”

“She is awake.” You mumbled, head still on the pillow. “And she said you should come here as soon as you could. So, get over here.”

“Jerk.” Bucky added.  

“Punk.” Steve threw back with a smile, but he did come over to sit on your side of the bed. He’d showered and was wearing just a tee shirt and boxers. He reached over and touched Bucky’s head. “It’s good to see you...responsive.”  

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Good call.”

“You look exhausted.”  

Steve looked down at you, nodding.  

“How much time before you have to get back?” You were already pulling him towards you.

“Four hours.” He sighed.

“Then get some rest while you can.” You waited until he tugged off his shirt and then snuggled into his chest. Bucky curled against your back. “You boys sleep. I’ll chase the nightmares away.”

They sighed, enfolding you in their warmth but hold you as if you were the one taking care of them. It only took a minute before they drifted off to sleep.

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[havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong]

An Interlude — The Unknown Expanse

A fearful baker lost his calendar yesterday, and a month passed—

And ever since that year went by, the coward has lost sight of everything but the false safety of ‘home.’

That decade passed without word, without sound, as the baker faded away from the world —

—until, that second later, a message from ‘someone.’

—

I lost my calendar yesterday.

Last April.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it. Seconds, maybe, or hours. It could be days.

A light shines underneath the door, for a moment, and flickers off. It illuminates hardwood floor — its texture worn down over months of use, light barely showcasing whatever cracks remained after all that pacing, just before vanishing as quick as it came.

It could’ve been anyone — my parents, perhaps, or someone else entirely — but it felt the same.

It all felt the same. A grip surrounding my neck, that forced the breath out of me, its spare hand rearranging my stomach to tie itself into hundreds of knots.

Dread, wasn’t it? That was its name. That horribly, sputtering feeling, that bit into your heart and ground its teeth relentlessly until all you could think of was passing out to halt the pain.

Darkness surrounded my vision — the tunnel vision that built up, certainly, and the darkness of the place I called ‘home.’

In the shimmer of my light, someone could easily see a target of burglary — someone to steal from — through a window that wasn’t boarded up from the inside just yet.

Compared to that, the endless darkness surrounding me was preferential, if not optimal. The fear of possible insects, of beings that scuttled in the night, was nothing compared to it.

‘Aah, wouldn’t it be nice, if...’

Even in my mind, I cut myself off thinking of a better idea.

Slipping in and out of consciousness endlessly — in this darkness, time was impossible to understand. ‘Sleep’ and ‘awake’ melded into one whole, two lovers apart by circumstances now waltzing together in the haze. Only ever seeing daylight in the times I ate, it was all too easy to mistake reality for fiction, and fiction for reality.

‘...It’s better like this, isn’t it?’

Aah, for all I knew, it was reality that this was all there was — that thieves and criminals existed only in my head, and that the world outside was only an illusion made to hurt me.

Was that reality?

Was that truly reality?

...Or had my eyes closed again?

—

I was 14.

14, 13, 10, 15–

The first incident is impossible to recall in the soup of ‘happenings.’

Twenty dollars — a little dollar bill I held close to my chest, moving slowly through the Toronto streets that lay just outside my home.

The bakery, ‘Roland’s Pastries,’ lay just a stone’s toss away — a half hour walk from our home. My father’s business, one he pridefully named off his last name, and the focus of the pastime we enjoyed more than anything else.

More than even the base jumping my father enjoyed, or the parkour stunts my mother taught to a generation of gymnasts —

Was a simple pastry, made delicately and kindly, warm to the touch, to sweeten even the sourest of days.

To call it my dream to run that bakery one day would be putting it lightly. I could still remember the shimmering gaze I always directed at its structure, the way my parents joined their staff to produce the best quality they could manage. I could still remember the first loaf of bread I helped make — even though it rose poorly, and didn’t taste the best, the gleaming smiles of my family stayed with me.

Yes — today was the day I was going to buy my own baking materials. Twenty dollars wasn’t much, but I wanted to contribute something to the next loaf of cinnamon bread we made.

A man brushed past me, however.

They wore a dark green rain jacket, and a grey shirt. Black jeans, too — they were impossible to miss.

Their face was a blur — a mismatched cloud of skin-shaped vapour in my mind, only a single bloodshot eye remaining in my mind.

It stared daggers into my skull, but I hadn’t noticed.

I was going to get some cinnamon. Maybe flour.

I was going to help. I was going to make cinnamon loaf.

I

I was going to

I was

I couldn’t make the

The hand reached out , and the gaze of the ‘person’ said it all -

Their hand remained in their pocket, but the outline of a <hand/dagger/gun>

Their hand reached to mine, and their <hand/dagger/breath>

The weight was gone in a moment, but the front door opened, and it

—

Aah,

So that was fictional.

Certainly, it were my dreams — separated from reality only by the fact that ‘nothing’ lay instead of ‘something’ before my eyes.

Darkness — the roots of unknown, of fear — felt comforting, compared to that.

The light outside my door was turned off. Shuffling could still be heard, though — and a gentle knock at my door.

“...It’ll be your birthday soon, son. If you want to celebrate... Just let me know, alright?”

...A calm, older male voice. My father.

Aah, how it was so pleasant to hear — how someone existed who could be that kind.

It must’ve been May, then —

...

“...I’ll think about it... Thank you, pops. Really.”

“Of course. Just... Let me know what you want, okay?”

...

Aah, how it almost felt like those older times —

—

...16.

I can still remember the first muzzle I stared down.

I was working the cashier booth at our bakery. Handling money, the works.

“Just smile and do whatever the customer says,” said my father. “If they cause any trouble, just call me and I’ll be here.”

He’d pat me on the back and send me on my way, with a list of basic instructions. Just the way I liked it — after all, words in general were in one ear and out the other when it came to me. Didn’t stop my mother from trying to speak a novel to me, but I could always rely on my pops to write down some of what to do.

Of course, those days usually went well — kind customers, kids with the cutest goshdarn smiles, and admittedly a fair few free cinnamon buns given to people who needed a pick-me-up.

I remember, one day —

“He’s been too slow lately. You need to punish him a bit, or he’s just going to stagnate like this.”

“He’s doing just fine for his age. He’s taking a load off our shoulders, handling customers, so I think he’s doing well.”

“You need to teach him a better work ethic.”

“He’s doing fine enough as is.”

I did have my slow days — where, suddenly, counting dollars didn’t mesh with my mind. Where in a matter of moments, I lost my desire to keep working, and I was fighting my mind to keep moving.

And this, of course, was one such day — the line was small, albeit, but I couldn’t deny I was a bit slow on the draw.

I remember counting out around forty dollars — around four of which were due in change.

Just enough time for—

...

...I was handed a note with the change. I open it, not thinking much of it-

“Empty the register, and say nothing, and nobody will get hurt.”

A teenager at the register of a bakery. The perfect target for a silent robbery.

Nobody was behind me — nobody could see his actions. Least of all the empty line behind this man, holding no witnesses in sight.

My family, arguing in the back, had no idea of what lay beyond that thin wall.

Just me — and the muzzle of a pistol.

It wasn’t possible to forget what the inside of a gun looked like.

A dark, empty void — reflecting what it could do to me, in an instant, if my hands now stopped.

The blur of repressed memory brought the scene into a haze —

—But hours after its completion, as that ‘me’ lay in horror, sobbing, I couldn’t help but listen —

“He’s misplaced most of our earnings for today! I told you that you had to discipline him better!”

—Aah,

They hadn’t known, had they?

—

Something — to nothing.

Faint, hazy memories dissolved like a tablet into water, as I felt something on my face.

I couldn’t see it, nor understand it in full — it were there, however, placed as if to irritate me specifically.

...I’d awoken in a cold sweat. Perhaps from the chilled air surrounding me, and the weak blanket I forgot to sleep under, I found my legs quivering when I tried to stand in the darkness — groping and feeling the air around me, stumbling into my bathroom to take a sip of water from the tap.

Even this darkness, this state of mind as if I hit the supercritical point of reality and dreams, felt comforting —

—Even the horrible memories of what once was could be dismissed as dreams, even the fear that came from living like this, and the fear of abandoning everything.

Here, reality was what you made of it — what you chose.

Lapping at the lukewarm tap water, barely reaching it, unable to see it save for the small reflections in the surface of the water itself, I heard a buzz on a nearby device.

My phone — charging there, waiting for something that would never come, began to vibrate.

“...What..?”

Unlocking my smartphone, I was met with a familiar image as my home screen —

—a young ‘me,’ eyes shining with delight, holding a loaf of cinnamon bread with utter care while grinning in pride.

“The only one who could take that was...”

...My phone began to ring.

A phone number I didn’t know — only one number off from mine, I realized. Out of curiosity, or perhaps loneliness, I placed my finger on the ‘accept’ button.

“Hey! I don’t know who you are, but we’re textdoor neighbours! Thought I’d say hello.”

...

...

“...Who are you..?”

“Uh, Ritsuka. Ritsuka Fujimaru. If it helps, I was the person who bingeplayed tekken and ate curdled yoghurt for superchats.”

“...”

...Had that much changed? How long had it been..?

“...Tell me more.”

—Somehow, it felt wrong to continue.

As if, by saying those three words, I was changing something that should have never been changed.

And yet — as my finger hovered over the button to hang up, the words fell out of my mouth instead.

Within the fear that lay in revealing who I was to a stranger —

—somehow, I felt as if this person was worth meeting.

Somehow, I felt as if something would change if I said something.

Something better would happen —

—surely, better than this.

[fallenhunter851]

Recorded Messages

I’ve recently completed the Daily Heroic Challenge where you find Cayde’s hidden caches. And all I want to say is: Thank you Bungie for bringing tears to my eyes for the first time since D2 came out.

Enjoy!

Warnings: None

Cayde knew that he would die one day. He just wasn’t sure when or how.

Part of taking on the role of Hunter Vanguard.

No matter what, you ended up dead.

No memory wipes.

No revives.

No more Light.

Cayde wasn’t looking forward to that day.

Would it be painful or gentle? Would it be quick or slow? Would it be among friends and family or among his enemies?

He wasn’t sure, but he wanted to leave a message to those that would find his stashes… to his potential killers.

Cayde stared at the little voice recorder currently sitting on the small table in his living room. Hands curled under his chin, he let out a sigh and let his head hang a little. He knew he needed to do this, but... but this was a lot harder than he thought it would be.

Cayde decided to start with Eris Morn’s message. They were close enough to call each other friends and have each other’s back, both agreeing that a Hunter’s place wasn’t in the Tower, but out in the Wilds. But most of the time, the two didn’t really get along. Bickering on most occasions.

‘Children, the both of you.’ He remembers Ikora telling both of them one day before the fall of the Tower to Ghaul. Cayde let out a breathy chuckle and clicked the button on the side of the voice recorder.

“This one’s for Eris Morn. Ahem. If you’re listening to this, congrats on killing me! I assume you… became a Hive Death God and fed me to your worm cult.” Cayde paused what he was saying to let out a shudder at the mental image his mind created for him, before letting out a small breath and carrying on with the recording.

“That, or you just finally got sick of me. Coincidentally, if you didn’t kill me and still somehow hear this… I’m sorry for stealing your ship. And, oh, pretty much every other interaction we ever had. But to be clear- if you DID kill me, I do NOT apologise, and I will consider all my actions 100% justified.

Either way, feel free to put your rock on my maps now.

I don’t need’em anymore.”

One down. Nine to go.

“This one’s for that armless coward Taniks the Scarred. If you’re listening to this… you killed me. But I bet I took a big chunk out of your ugly husk with me.

Guess Andal Brask wasn’t enough for you, huh? You wanted another Hunter Vanguard for your sick collection? I got my fair share of regrets, sure… but not putting a bullet in you has gotta rank in the top three.

Won’t be long before a better Guardian than me puts you in your place.

Just wish I could be there to see it.” A sour taste was left in Cayde’s mouth at the mention of Taniks, but a more foul and upsetting taste was left after mentioning Andal’s name. He hadn’t talked about Andal in centuries, and the last person he did was living up near the Iron Temple, and he wasn’t coming down anytime soon.

Two down. Eight to go.

The first time Cayde had met The Drifter, it was a cold rainy day near the Annex, and he had just finished a round on the Tower when he had spotted him hiding in the shadows of a back alley. They didn’t talk, just nodded to each other and carried on with their days respectively. And something akin to mutual understanding began.

“This one’s for the fellow calls himself The Drifter. You did warn me running with you would put a target on my back. Guess I’m in good company though, huh? After all, never had any fun without a little risk. That’s the whole idea with the operation you’re putting together, ain’t it? MY idea by the way.

Had it, like, a million years ago, back when you were still handsome.” Cayde let out a small chuckle at that, and took a small sip of the water that he had next to the recorder. An Exo may never get a dry throat, but the feeling and sensation is there.

“So, uh, you’re welcome. You know, getting that up and running means coming out of hiding- giving you-know-who another shot at you. Hope I was around to see THAT showdown. Personally, my money was on the guy with the Golden Gun. But hey, what do I know? I’m dead.”

Three down. Seven to go.

“Petra… if you’re listening… you killed me. Maybe the Sovs, in all their mysterious wisdom, decided they were sick of me? If the Queen ordered the hit, I guess I understand. You’re a real glutton for chivalry. But if it was Uldren, I’m pissed. Just thinking about that peacock gives me a headache. But I’m betting my death was another case of your famous collateral damage. ‘Cause you’re a real do-gooder. Seriously, it’s annoying- but good deeds never go unpunished when you’re around. You just… You got a blast radius P.V. Well, it was… fun while it lasted.

Oh, and, uh, tell ‘Paladin Oran’: If the sun over Nessus escapes nebula cycle, evac labor after dawn, under solstice. You got that P.V.?”

Four down. Six to go.

Cayde grumbled at the thought of this message, but it needed to be recorded. So he took a deep breath, sighed, kept his voice low and even, then let a hardened gaze fall over his face.

“This one’s for the minds behind the Deep Stone Crypt. You think just ‘cause you made me, you can unmake me? Hey, I understand. I were you, I wouldn’t want people knowing what I did either. Guess you better hope I didn’t tell anyone about the Crypt. Or about the, uh, what was it? Oh yeah... Long Slow Whisper. ‘Cause if I did, that would be real bad for you, huh? I may be dead, but I guarantee you ain’t hear the last of me.”

Only five left.

“Here’s one for Suruya Hawthorne. You know, when I told my Ghost I’d be making one of these for you, she laughed. I didn’t have to tell you that. Just wanted to make you feel bad.

In my defense, if you’re listening to this, you did kill me. I mean, if it was a fair fight, mano a mano, I'd win, no question. But I can see you planning out some convoluted, meticulous trap. Some would call that Paranoia. Me? I call it ‘being a Hunter’.

So, here’s your next Hunter lesson: Looking after your own.

Speaking of which: Congratulations! You are now the proud owner of Colonel! Now, she only eats sesame seeds muesli and drinks purified spring water with a sprig of parsley. Play nice you two!” Cayde let out a fond chuckle at that, thinking of how attached he had gotten with the chicken the first time when he had gone to the Farm after leaving Nessus.

Four left.

Thinking of who to address this audio log to, Cayde looked around his apartment, taking in the small treasures that he had collected over the years. He felt himself getting slowly choked up as he neared the end of the logs for his hidden caches.

He had to make these last few more memorable.

“This one’s for any Hunter who kills me. Best guess: Marcus Ren? You realise you get my stuff now? ALL my stuff. INCLUDING the Hunter Vanguard gig. Yeah, congrat-u-lations, dummy. That’s what we call a Vanguard Dare. Sucks, doesn’t it? OK, brace yourself for some advice, hotshot.

One, know your people. Like, my Nessus Scout, Quantis Rhee. I like to call her about once a moon, else she gets a little too much Night, not enough Stalker, you know?” Cayde made a mental note to call Rhee after he had finished these logs. Thank her for everything she has done.

“Two, keep your weapons sharp. Your jobs’ to watch everyone’s back, which means no one’s watching yours but you. And three, start thinking about what you want to do for your successor’s Vanguard Dare. ‘Cause trust me, kid- this gig will kill ya.”

Three left. And Cayde knew that these three would be the absolute hardest messages he would ever have to record for anyone to hear.

“Hahaha! Ha! Sorry, sorry! I’m just… I’m imagining how awkward you must look right now. Ha. Ahem. Ahem! OK. Zavala. So, I’m dead. You killed me. My stuff is yours. No more working me over at Chess. No more getting worked over at poker. For real though, you know that if you needed to kill me for ‘the good of the City’ or whatever, I totally understand.

No hard feelings. Nada.

You can put this voice recording away and go on with your life.

Now, if you DID have some kind of lingering guilt or something… that would be rough. ‘Cause you and I both know you’d have me yapping in your ear for the rest of your days. You wouldn’t be able to help yourself.

Two left, He felt his resolve slipping.

“Hi Ikora. So you know I’m making a bunch of these, right? I probably told you. I always gotta have the last word, and I’m gonna be prepared for every possibility. But to tell the truth? This one’s the easiest to make.” Cayde had to take a pause and breathe out, he knew that this was a lie- but it was the only way to make it easier for himself to record these.

“So as long as we’re being honest, I could never tell if you really liked me that much. But, uh… well, if you did hate me, the feeling was NOT mutual. In fact- yeah, I’ll say it- don’t even mind if you killed me. I figure if we threw down… first off, no one can blame me for losing. And… I know you’d be in the right. So… thanks? I guess? You were a… a good friend. Better than a guy like me could hope for, anyway.

So yeah, thanks Ikora. For everything.”

One left.

Cayde couldn’t do it. Not tonight or any time soon for that matter. He broke down into tears. Sundance materialised next to him and allowed Cayde to pull her tight to his chest in any form of comfort as the night gave way to sunlight.

As Cayde walked over to his usual space, he saw Setara and Echo standing next to Amanda talking about Traveller knows what. Turning his walk into a jog, he sped over to the trio and pulled both Setara and Echo into a tight hug, burying himself between them as he whispered his blessings. Both Guardians were shocked by this and slowly wrapped their arms around their Vanguard, and when they questioned why Cayde was holding onto them like they would disappear when he let go, he simply shook his head and just held them tighter.

“This one’s for the strong, silent type. You. Congratulations, buddy.

I mean that. Always knew you’d outdo me some day. And if that means you had to do me in, too… eh, you saved my life on Nessus, so I owed it to you anyway.

Take care of the Ace of Spades, will ya? I’m not just talking about the maintenance; Banshee can help you with all that. I mean, take care of Ace. Use it well.

Oh, hey, and… if you found any of those papers from my earlier… eh… deployments? Burn ‘em. Don’t want people poking through the lives of Caydes 0 through 5.

So just... put it all behind you, OK?

Every story has an end.

This is mine.”

[texanredrose]

War (What Is It Good For?)

Blake watched as the rain fell, another dreary day in a dreary city. Time had lost all meaning about three millennia ago but the monotony never stopped weighing on her soul. She’d grown so… tired.

“You just gonna stand there and brood all night?”

With a small frown, she looked back at the woman who’d offered a bit of a distraction from the repetition- though, not in a good way. Wild blonde hair, lilac eyes that flashed with annoyance, and the build of a fighter, Yang Xiao Long was a human caught up in a chess match as old as time itself.

Barely a pawn, yet worth coming out of the shadows to find.

“I don’t have much else to do,” she replied with a drawl, arms crossed over her chest. “If we’re lucky, the sun will rise before the vampires find us.”

“And then what?”

“Then, we take you to Raven.”

“Who’s Raven?” 

Blake sighed, her teeth turning to fangs for a moment as her agitation grew. “She’s the last true immortal… and your mother.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Yang rolled her eyes. “My mom died years ago.”

“No, the woman who raised you died years ago.” Her expression pinched together briefly as she tried to recall the name. “I think it was… Summer, right? Summer Rose?”

To her surprise, the human didn’t seem swayed. “You hunted me down and kidnapped me, so if you’re expecting me to be surprised you know my mom’s name, tough luck.”

“Whether or not you believe me isn’t my problem,” Blake said, taking two strides to the chair where the woman sat and grabbing her shoulder roughly.

“Hey, watch it!” Yang tried to flinch away but didn’t have much room to go, bound to the chair as she was. “I got shot there, ya know!”

“Did you?” With her other hand, she pulled at the woman’s jacket and shirt, ignoring the blood soaked garments to reveal the skin that should be sporting a still oozing gunshot wound. However, aside from the blood, no evidence of such remained. “Where’s the proof?”

“I… well…”

“You’ve always had this ability- you heal faster than normal, you walk away from things that should’ve killed you, and perhaps most damning of all, you can’t explain why.” She took a step back, once again crossing her arms over her white jacket. “But you’ve always known there was something different about you. And, there is. You’re the latest descendant of the last true immortal.”

“So what’s that make us? Cousins?”

Blake had to hand it to the woman; her defiance, although arrogant, never wavered. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“Well, it’s not like we’re going anywhere until dawn anyway.” With what limited mobility Yang had, she turned her hands. “Enlighten me.”

She had half a mind to ignore the request but, honestly, the woman would likely just continue asking until her patience eroded anyway. “The story changes depending on who does the telling. Long story short, there have always been five races on Remnant: humans, faunus, vampires, zoans, and the immortals. The immortals ruled us all for millennia, with humans and faunus as their servants and vampires and zoans as their armies. They used those beneath them until the vampires managed to find a way to destroy the immortals.”

Yang’s expression pinched. “Sounds like a faulty immortality to me.”

“Immortality just means that you don’t die through natural means, not that you can’t be destroyed outright. Vampires were the first to figure that out.” Blake went back to the window, her eyes unfocusing as she began to relive a memory she’d tried hard to forget. “When they’d destroyed almost all the immortals, the vampires instituted themselves as the overseers. Zoans like myself became their guardians… and their slaves.”

“Then what happened?”

“We rose up,” she replied, and in her mind’s eye, she went back to that day. The fighting, the shouting, the sound of claws on stone and wings beating and the overwhelming need to get away now that propelled her forward- and her last look back. “Then, the war started. Thousands lost on either side, until vampires and zoans were so few, we became myths and legends. That’s when humans and faunus inherited Remnant and we continued our war in secret.”

“Why in secret?”

“Because the truth had already come out; not even the immortals could escape death entirely, and though vampires and zoans can heal the same as you, we still have glaring weaknesses.”

“Like sunlight and silver?”

“Exactly.” She blinked, refocusing on the view outside the window. “We never inherited the immortals’ full secrets. We don’t age and die like humans and faunus but neither are we entirely immortal.”

“Maybe the immortals weren’t either; they just suckered everyone into serving them.”

“That’s possible, too.”

“Then why are you turning me over to one?”

“To gain the edge we need to win the war for good.” Blake turned her head, regarding the human. “You’re not a full immortal yourself but you have healing abilities on par with mine and you earlier fought a vampire to a standstill. You had a fraction of the immortals’ power within you by virtue of being half blood. What Raven offers is her own blood to whoever can find you.”

“Maybe I’m missing somethin’, but if this whole thing started because the immortals were killed off, I kinda don’t see how getting her blood’s going to help.” Yang shrugged- well, as much as she could, all things considered. “Sounds like a hustle to me.”

“The immortals never grew their numbers.” She stepped away from the window again, having briefly seen a flash of movement on the street below. “They bred their servants and their armies but rarely themselves; they would live forever and had no reason to propagate. They waged their wars to secure more resources for their minions, to increase the amount of lives they could throw away. When the fight began, the vampires knew how to replenish their numbers; the immortals did not.” Then, she winced. “Not for lack of trying, from what I’ve been told. For all the years that Raven’s tried, you’re the first of her offspring to survive into adulthood.”

“Guess immortality’s not for everyone,” Yang glibly replied, heaving a heavy sigh. “So, I’m just a bargaining chip. Great. Gotta say, kinda hurts my feeling’s a little bit.” Then she paused, looking over at Blake with something lurking in lilac eyes. “You still up for story time? ‘Cause, there’s something that’s been nagging at me.”

Rolling her eyes, she glanced out the window again. “And what’s that?”

“What’s the deal between you and the vampire chick? The short one with the scar?”

Her expression tightened. “Nothing. Not anymore.”

“Liar.”

Before she could respond to that accusation, she heard sound of a great amount of force smashing into the ceiling above them, amber eyes flicking up to see how the fluorescent lights shook and dimmed while the tiles bowed slightly. A second blow caused the ceiling tiles to crack and split and a third produced a hole and a hail of fiberglass, plastic, and insulation.

Then a figure dropped down, draped in black leather- as ever, a taunt.

“Blake,” she said, voice cold as ice.

“Weiss,” she replied, preparing for a fight. They’d done this song and dance so many times, it had become part of the monotony. A struggle neither could win, a fight neither could end… or didn’t want to… she honestly wasn’t sure which anymore. “Walk away.”

“Funny.” Blue eyes narrowed, the scar across her left eye never fading no matter how many centuries passed. “I was going to suggest the same thing.” At her hip sat a sword, the same one Blake had forged for her ages ago- silver, with intricate designs, the last vestiges of their old world. “There’s no reason for you to die today.”

For a moment, she considered it- walking away. Leaving the war behind, running as far as she could. She’d tried that before.

It didn’t work.

“Wish I could say the same,” she replied before moving forward, using her speed to close the distance quickly. 

Blake could’ve pulled her pistol from its holster; the special ultra-violet rounds designed to specifically kill vampires would make short work of Weiss. But, just as the vampire didn’t draw her silver sword, neither did the zoan pull her gun. 

This battle, they fought honorably, hand-to-hand.

Or, maybe, they were both cowards, unable to make the killing blow. Instead, Blake simply threw her weight into a tackle, launching herself into Weiss’ chest and sending them both crashing into the far side of the room. Thankfully, this particular safe house was in an abandoned office building, so no one would hear their fight. Unfortunately, that also meant no one could intervene. 

This time, only one of them could walk away.

They both rolled to their feet and Blake partially shifted, her fangs and claws coming to bear as her ears became more feline. As a werepanther, she had a good deal more strength available to her the closer she was to her fully shifted form, but would reserve that for later. In response, Weiss hissed at her, revealing her fangs as her eyes began to shine.

Neither at full strength but making a show of it for the sake of ghosts.

The monotony of it killed her as much as it broke her heart.

Then, she had to set aside her feelings, dodging swipes and kicks from the vampire while trying to land blows of her own. Movements too fast for the eye of a human or faunus but it always felt like running underwater to Blake, as if she couldn’t truly put her whole heart into attacking Weiss. Some part of her still remembered when they were small, both born into chains. Then later, when vampires took control, how Weiss became her ‘master’ in name only. Then, later…

She ducked beneath a swipe of Weiss’ claws and took the opportunity for an uppercut that quite nearly clipped the vampire’s jaw. 

There was a time when she foolishly loved Weiss. A time when she foolishly thought Weiss loved her. A time when she thought… that things would change, and they wouldn’t have to keep their love a secret. She believed it, once, and though she’d since learned the truth, some small, stubborn part of her still loved the vampire even after all these years.

After taking a few punches to her gut, Weiss dropped down and swept her legs from under her, sending Blake crashing to the ground, and a kick while she was down sent her skittering across the floor until she fetched up against the wall. Blake thought about getting up. She did. But she was tired of doing this. The fighting never stopped and, if the zoans succeeded in securing Raven’s favor, they’d just do the same thing the vampires did before them, and the immortals before them. There would always be a hierarchy, and injustice, and fighting, and she just… couldn’t do it anymore.

Amber eyes watched as Weiss seemed to realize she wouldn’t be getting up this time. That their battle had finally come to an end the same way it began.

Blake remembered when the uprising started, how the vampire looked at her even as she was ordered to ‘put that beast down’. How she drew her silver sword. How her eyes were cold and distant.

Just like now, the silver sword flashing in the dim light as she drew it from her hip.

After so many years upon years, she gave up and closed her eyes, allowing her end to come.

However, her eyes snapped open when she heard the crashing and metal twang, watching as Yang broke the chair she’d been sitting in over Weiss’ head and the vampire crumpled to the ground.

“No!” Shifting fully, Blake launched forward, skin replaced by thick black fur, but the human seemed to anticipate this. Her hand shot out, catching Blake’s throat, and she didn’t even have to reset her feet even as the werepanther’s superior weight slammed into her, jaws kept safely away from tearing into flesh. Yang didn’t even seem taxed, hardly wincing whenever Blake’s claws tore at her skin, the wounds healing almost the moment they were caused.

Then, her attacks became more like futile flailing as the hand around her throat began to squeeze. Although their longevity could qualify them as immortal, zoans needed air just like humans and faunus; they weren’t like the living dead vampires in that regard. Quickly, Blake turned back to her bipedal form in the hopes that changing sizes would dislodge the woman’s grip, but she was wrong.

With her dwindling consciousness, she registered Weiss’ scream of rage as she charged, impaling Yang with her sword. Unfortunately, the attack didn’t even seem to faze the woman as she threw Blake to the ground and grabbed the vampire by the throat, lifting her clear off her feet. The zoan tried to get up but found a boot stomping on her chest, keeping her pinned to the ground.

“Would both of you stop freaking out for one second?” Yang groused, using her free hand to pull the sword from her stomach, giving it a once over before tossing it aside. “Nice aim; pretty sure that got my liver. Plus a few other things. Ah well, no harm, no foul, am I right?”

“How- are- you-“

“Yeah, quick aside: I fought both of you to a standstill and she only managed to tie me to a chair because I sleep like a rock and just came off a forty-eight hour shift.” The woman nodded towards Blake. “The fact either of you thought handcuffs and rope would work is a joke.” In hindsight, Yang had a point. “So, here’s the deal. I have a bone to pick with this Raven. I only need one of you alive to lead me to her. First one to volunteer lives.”

At that, Weiss became even more agitated, struggling violently to free herself while shouting. “If you harm her, I swear, I will destroy you!”

“Okay, so there is something more going on here.” Lilac eyes flicked down to the zoan for a moment before focusing on the vampire. “Why the soft spot for this one?”

Weiss glared. “Because I love her, if you must know! Now, leave her out of this!”

“Hmmm. Wow, that’s gotta suck. Unrequited love for that long-“

“You almost killed me!” The words burst from her mouth before she could stop them, annoyed at herself for sounding so genuinely hurt. “When your father told you to put me down, you drew your sword and- and-“

“And I missed, you fool, it was the only way to cut your chains!”

That stopped her cold. “You… you were trying to free me?”

“Of course!” And, for the first time since that day, she saw the blood gathering in blue eyes- the only tears a vampire could cry. “I- I can’t kill you, Blake. I never could.”

“Hookay, so, it sounds like you two have some things to work out.” Yang removed the boot from Blake’s chest and set Weiss down on her feet, taking a step back from both of them. “Listen, for what it’s worth, I could definitely tell neither of you were really happy about fighting each other earlier, so it’s pretty obvious there’s some baggage there to unpack. You two should do that now, before any more of your friends show up.” Then she turned around, adjusting her jacket slightly. “Once you two have figured out the whole ‘will we or won’t we’ thing, I’ll be over there, trying to salvage what remains of my jacket. I can’t believe you put another hole in the damn thing. I get it, you two seem to only have leather in your wardrobes, but I kinda try to diversify mine, and I really loved this jacket.”

Blake blinked, slowly getting to her feet. She looked over at Weiss, who seemed equally confused but more concerned with… her.

“Are… you alright?”

“Yeah,” she replied, rubbing at her throat. “And… you?”

“I’m fine.” She quickly wiped away her tears, though blood was always harder to erase. “I’m… I apologize, that you ever thought I was trying to harm you- I never wanted to-“

“No, I… I’m the one who never let you explain…” Her shoulders fell, centuries upon centuries of regrets piling up on her in that moment. “It’s been… so hard, fighting against you all these years.” Tentatively, she reached out, cupping Weiss’ jaw. “I never wanted this.”

“Neither did I… but I couldn’t stop.” Weiss lifted her hand, settling it over Blake’s, and her skin felt as cold as it always did; even after millennia, the zoan never forgot how it felt. “If it was anyone else, they… you could’ve gotten hurt. So, I had to be the one who kept hunting you.”

In that moment, she made a decision, stepping forward and pressing her lips to the vampire’s. Again, her memories proved true, and kissing Weiss hadn’t changed despite how much the rest of the world had. 

How they felt… didn’t change.

“Hey, hate to break the moment, but I gotta ask some pertinent questions.” They broke apart to look over at Yang, who’d taken off her jacket in an attempt to mend the hole in the back of it. However, it also revealed the one wound that had yet to heal- the gashes deep into her left forearm that still trickled blood looking very much like a torn bite mark. “How does a human or faunus get turned into a vampire?”

“They have to be bitten and then drink the blood of the vampire who bit them,” Weiss said, eyeing the wound with suspicion.

“And a zoan?”

“Be bitten and don’t die before the next full moon.” Blake supplied.

“Great!” The woman genuinely smiled. “Well, I won’t hold you two up. If you point me in the right direction, I’ll go settle the score with Raven and I’ll just tell anyone who asks that I killed both of you. Go, run off to the woods somewhere and forget all this war nonsense.”

Although the zoan heavily considered doing just that- after all, running away with Weiss would bound to be different than just hiding herself away- the vampire obviously didn’t like the plan. “And just abandon you?”

“Hey, listen, I’ll be fine.” She nodded towards her arm. “I’m sure the bigger one of you will track me down soon enough; I can probably get some of her blood and the full moon is in two days.”

“Wait.” Blake tilted her head. “Are you trying to become both zoan and vampire?”

“Uh, duh. C’mon, think about it.” She gestured between the three of us. “You said yourself that none of Raven’s kids live very long and there were five races. Why would Raven be interested in me surviving if it wasn’t to see if the races can be combined? Humans and faunus can reproduce, so I figure she’s trying to find a way to breed a new army: half immortal, part zoan, and part vampire. That would give her the edge, right?”

“I mean… I… guess?” She looked to Weiss, who seemed equally stunned by the explanation. “How did you-“

“I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed but I know how conniving minds work.” Yang shrugged, turning away. “Either way, I’m going to give Raven a piece of my mind when I meet her, so if either of you know how to kill an immortal, that’d be a sweet going away present.”

Blake again looked to the vampire, who seemed to be thinking hard on something.

Then, she spoke. “Do you think there’s others like us?”

“I like to believe so,” the zoan replied, feeling Weiss’ hand slip into hers, their fingers threading together.

“Then, we can’t walk away from this.” Her expression turned serious. “We have to find a way to end the suffering without sacrificing everyone in the process.”

Blake nodded. “Okay. Then, let’s end this.” --- Is there a shit ton of irony in me doing an actual Underworld AU? Yes, yes there is. Is that going to stop me? Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnope.

[curse-of-the-dark-emerald]

Curse of the Dark Emerald, Chapter 7.

Welcome back! Enjoy! Let’s see what Robot Eggman and Stone will do next! And here is the CHAPTER  AND “MOMENT” YOU ALL HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR!!!

“You saw that right, Agent Stone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not that you’re very observant as I am, but I assume you’re thinking what I’m thinking, right?”

“Yeah, from what the robot's memory chip recorded, Sonic has displayed tremendous strength and agility than ever before.”

The two men after Sonic's life had just finished reviewing the footage of the battle with Sonic and the robots, Robotnik paid attention to every tiny detail from start to finish. The video was captured from the perspective of a different robot that was observing from afar. The last scene shown before leaving was Sonic ripping its chest open. 

“What do you think has caused him to suddenly be better in fighting?” Stone timidly asks but his curiosity was too high to be afraid to ask his boss.

“That should be obvious,” Robotnik's metallic voice shudders with a cold malice, “That jewel he found last night.. must have a lot to do with it, and my theory is..”

Stone turned in his seat to hear, “What?”

“It’s his fear. I, who loathes all human emotions and lack of them myself; I understand how they work at least. When you took away some of his soul, something new and powerful was awakened in his psyche to cause that transformation.”

Stone's eyes widened in stunned fascination. “You know what, when we track Sonic down I was thinking, what if..”

“No no, let me say it.” Robotnik silences Stone with his fingers, “Because I want to first, we need to find him in that form and take that jewel back.”

“So we're on the same page!” Stone skips in his seat and grins. “When you do get that thing back, what’s the plan?”

Robotnik's red eyes clicked and flicker; “We will crush him and harness its power of course!”

Robotnik looks at the desk clock by Stone, it reads 4:38 pm. Dusk was an hour and a half away.

“We will set out to confront the Wachowski resident at sunset, if my theory is correct, the creature will put on a little show for me.”

Stone gulps a knot in his throat, he didn’t know if it was anticipation or the lingering guilt that was haunting him in the back of his mind.

...

Back at the house and sitting in the kitchen, Tom and Wade sat at the bar table, Tom helped himself to some coffee and Wade had his own glass of water. Sonic was upstairs taking a quick rest from the fight, in which earlier he was afraid to do so…

An hour before...

“I am exhausted, but are you sure?” Sonic was at the bottom of the attic staircase and hesitated to go to his room, still worried about more bots coming to attack,

“If any of those things show up we’ll take care of it; but we’ll wake you up if it’s too much.” Tom bent down to rub the young worried hedgehog on the ears,

 “You’ve dealt with a lot of hell and I’m more concerned about you than them, so please, get some sleep, Sonic.”

Now…

Wade looks into his partners eyes, both curiosity and his own worry mixed in his being. While Sonic slept in his room, Tom quietly told Wade the events that took place from the first hour of the night before at the dinner table, to where they sat now. He filled Wade in with everything he wanted to know. 

“So, from what you’ve explained something’s happening to the kid? Is he dying? Or sick maybe?”

Tom grinned and became a bit amused with his friends guess, 

“No, he’s not dying, I’ll probably have Mads take another look at him, but he’s...I don’t know how to explain it, but there’s definitely something going on with him that I don’t fully understand...yet.”

Wade gazes at the black Chaos Emerald on the table, now knowing what it was and its capabilities, he had a really bad feeling about it. 

“This emerald-thingy was causing all those strange lights in the other town huh? Makes me ask now, where are the other ones; he mentioned there’s more..”

“I don’t know that, either.” Tom gently grasps his coffee mug and let the liquid inside warm his hands, “They could be right under our noses, or scattered across the universe.” 

“And, the kid isn’t the type to be easily pissed off, right?” Wade glanced at the spot where Sonic's room was located upstairs. 

“Yeah, pretty much.”

A humming from the garage rumbled the door leading to it following the engine of Maddie’s car rolling in, she was now getting home.

Both men look at each other, “I’ll tell her everything, and what are you going to do in town?” Tom asks.

“Well, I know everyone else is probably wondering where I am.. and I should head back, but I don’t want to leave you guys alone; what if that crazy guy who’s after you shows up? I still haven’t forgotten what he did to the staff months ago.” Wade shrugs one shoulder at him.

“You have a good point. Stay if you want to. We just need to make sure Sonic is safe.” Tom nods in agreement.

Maddie enters through the door, still wearing her vet scrubs and immediately, sees her husband and Wade, in her brain she assumed something bad was going on and hastily drops her belongings down, 

“What did I miss? Is Sonic okay?”

“He’s upstairs,” Tom replies.

“Has he been up there since I left this morning?” Now, she was really worried.

“No, no. Me and him went out for some food, but..Maddie..” 

Tom didn’t know where to begin to explain what was going on first.

“That crazy government guy is back and he’s after Sonic and Tom again.” Wade finished it for his friend.

Maddie’s jaw drops.

“Oh my god.” She sighs loudly, “But how? I saw you two send him off in a portal!” She rubbed her forehead and could feel the oncoming headache in her skull.

“We don’t know, but that’s not it, he’s brought in a bunch of mechanical looking Sonics with him and they ambushed the diner today.” Wade added.

“Oh my god…” Maddie repeated herself and not only was she worried now but angry. She put the pieces together and understood now..that evil doctor was responsible for Sonic’s injuries.

Tom gets up and put his arm on her, “I know he can defend himself, but he’s not only injured, I’m worried about his mental well-being.”

Maddie nodded and looked down at the floor, “But what’ll we do? He’s gonna come ruining the house again, and I’ll clock his lights out if he does.” 

Wade bent his neck back and made a soft chuckle to himself. Yep that’s like Maddie. 

“Pretzel lady?”

All three adults turned to the voice by the kitchen entryway, and Sonic grinned at his motherly guardian, and in a blink of an eye he was hugging her legs.

“Hey, sweetie. Are you okay?” Maddie bent down and rubbed her hands on his back quills.

“Sorta. I tried to sleep, but I’m too nervous about Eggman.” Sonic fumbled his fingers and his glove was still ripped from the battle earlier. 

Tom looked at the kitchen clock, it read 5:40 pm, 30 minutes till the sun was leaving. 

“Hold still for me, will you Sonic? I just want to check you again.” 

Maddie saw the new scuffles and cuts on Sonic's arms and face, and he did as he was told. 

“Does this hurt here?” Maddie puts pressure on his fingers and forearm to check for any broken bones.

“No, I’m fine. Really.” Sonic shrugged and forced a smile, “It’s just a few scratches.”

“If you say so.” Maddie pats his head, and looks at Tom and Wade.

“So, what’s the plan?”

Tom looks at Wade quickly then back at his wife, “I really don’t know, egg-guy or whatever could be coming back anytime now and we should be on guard.”

“I’ll step up on that,” Sonic inserts a serious tone and points his thumb to his chest,

“Remember, it’s me he’s after and he can’t catch up to me no matter how fancy his robots are, but I need you all to know this…”

The three adults listened intently and Sonic jumps to grab the tainted Chaos Emerald, displaying it to them in his ripped up gloved hand;

“I have to fix this. No matter how you put it, I’m mostly to blame for making the Emerald turn into this and we have to restore its powers. When these become messed up, I was told by Longclaw bad things can happen.”

Tom was going to make a response but a loud bang on the front door interrupted the conversation.

Both Tom and Wade took their guns in hand, Tom made a silent signal to Maddie, and she understood what it meant: take cover.

The two adults and with Sonic right behind them inches closer to the door, readying for what could be outside. Maddie takes herself and Ozzy to a hiding place in silence. Ozzy could sense the tension from his owners and knew to be silent and on guard for Maddie as well. 

Another loud knock hits the door, Wade and Tom take each side, and Tom shouts,

“This is the Sheriff of Green Hill! Who is it!?”

No answer.

“It’s obviously a trap, you know that right?” Sonic throws his hands, warning them.

“Identify yourself! If you don’t we'll take precautions if you’re a threat!” Tom yells again, and glances at Wade.

“On count of three…”

Wade nods.

Sonic positions himself with one hand on the floor, ready to stop any oncoming attack and enemy awaiting…

“One, two…”

Tom grasps the door-knob.

“Three!”

Tom shoves the door open with he and Wade aiming to whatever could be outside, 

But nothing. They scan around for anything or anyone but see nothing in sight.

“I’m getting sick of this…”

Sonic, whose head was bowed down and eyes covered in shadow, runs ahead of the two and shouts, 

“You coward!! Come out and fight me already!!” 

The sun was halfway set on the horizon, and not far from it..the full moon was soon going to take its place…

“I’m sick and tired of playing these games, Egghead! I’ll kill you!”

Sonic stops himself and puts his hand on his mouth, shaken by the words that came out. 

Tom and Wade still kept guard but they too were now really worried about what Sonic could be capable of, but it wasn’t the time and place to dwell on it.

“Very well, Sonic!”

A voice, that voice...Sonic and Tom immediately recognized it; callous and mocking with a hint of amusement.

A few of the dark blue robots finally hover downwards to them, their arms and hands pose and reveal their weapons aimed at the three, their red eyes piercing them down. 

In the center of them all, a figure with another pair of red circular eyes glow in the darkness, a man with his hands tucked behind his back, snidely chuckling at them like a giddy child.

“Glad to see you’re alive and well.”

“So you finally show up, Eggman.” 

Sonic gives the most angry glare he could muster at the doctor, shaking his fist at him, “I don't want to prolong this any more than I have to. Let’s get it over with.”

Sonic runs in a blue flash straight at Robotnik, intending to punch his face..but the attempt became slack and Sonic’s expression turns confused; Robotnik was quick enough to catch this and stops his fist from reaching him and threw the teen back, Sonic yelled in surprise and falls on his back, stunned. He sits up,

“You’re...not Eggman...you’re a robot, too?!”

“Correct. I was created to take his place if something were to ever happen to him. And here I am.” Robot Eggman bowed with one arm outstretched,

“Now, there’s something I need from you, before you worry your little heart about attacking, first..”

Tom and Wade also yelped in surprise from behind Sonic, the two of them were pinned down by unsuspecting robots to the ground, they struggled to free themselves but the mechanical copies held a death grip on them. 

“Donut Lord!” 

“Sonic, don’t worry about us! For just this once, run and save yourself!” Tom begs.

                  Hearing that...something in Sonic's mind snaps…

Run. 

Hide. You can’t save them. 

You’re only good at running and avoiding your problems…

You don’t need them...

The black Chaos Emerald Sonic dropped on the ground pulsates, a little red, glowing light from its center begins to show. The sun was now gone…

                                                       “No.”

Tom and Wade stopped struggling and froze, Sonic's voice.., it was dark, guttural, and thunderous. The very sound of his voice alone seemed to make the air crack. Sonic never felt this much bitterness towards something and he didn’t have a sliver of care this time of how he looked and sounded like. He just wanted to rip into something..

They saw his eyes flash red at them, 

“I’m tired of running away, and listening to you, Tom.”

Wade gulps in stunned silence, his stomach dropped in a knot seeing Sonic's face so grim. 

“I’ll handle this myself, since you have such little faith in me.” Sonic spat with venom at his best friend.

“Sonic..” 

The corners of Tom's eyes started to water with tears. He wasn’t hurt from what Sonic said, but was so scared for him…

“What’s happened to you, buddy?”

“Are you done talking?” Eggman asks in a bored tone while looking at his hand, waiting.

Sonic takes a few steps forward, his teeth revealing his small fangs, 

“Shut up. I’ll tear you to pieces..”

The full moon illuminated its cold light just behind the robotic doctor, the man was waiting for it..

“You just wait until I-“ Sonic stops in his tracks and lurches forward, his chest and heart throbbed in pain so hard it makes him fall to his knees.

“What’s the matter? Having some heartache over the fact you’re weak?”

Sonic could barely hear Eggman, he held himself up with his hands on the ground, his body was stopping him from moving any further and he grunted and tried to take deep breaths to calm his panic and hold back his pain.

“Urrghh! Agghh!”

“Sonic!?” Tom cries out and he knew he was helpless to do anything.

                               “Show me your true self, hedgehog..”

“Aaaaghhh!!!”

Sonic screams in pain and fear as his body once again begins to shift and morph. His gloves rip open to reveal the long sharp claws growing out, white fur pricks out of his wrists, his short fangs extend past his lips as his fur darkens to midnight blue, his shoes blossom out the metal spikes again and his quills become dipped in white tips..and finally with a tortured howl, the newly transformed Sonic sets his green slit eyes at his enemy…he groans angrily;

“What have you done to me, Eggman!!?”

“Don’t blame me, this is all in the good name of science.”

“I’m seeing everything on my end, Doctor.”

In a different area Agent Stone was watching on surveillance, “What now?”

Eggman didn’t reply to his assistant and and claps his metal hands together,

“I’m done here for now. I’ve collected all the information that I needed to see.”

The robots who held down Wade and Tom finally release them and fly off towards Eggman. The two with their guns in hand standby if they were to attack at any point. Sonic, still staring down his enemy, was livid, of course. 

“Now listen carefully, if I may call you “werehog”, you can find me at the same place you found your precious little diamond from last night, we can finally settle our conversation from there.”

Eggman turns and walks away, not before with a few final words, “Bring me the jewel and I may spare your friend’s lives and to make it a sweeter deal, I’ll cure you of your curse. Hahaha!”

He continuously laughs as he makes his leave and disappears into the darkness, the robots along with him.

Wade, who let out a breath he was holding clutched his chest, “Oh my gosh, I really thought I was gonna..”

He stops himself and runs back to the house, “Hey, Maddie! Are you okay in there?” 

Tom finally comes to Sonic's side, who was looking at the ground, angry...but most of all, frightened. 

“Tom…” Sonic's voice shakes with fear,

“Hey, it’s okay for now, he’s gone.”

Sonic looks at his hands, which tremble and shake, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. His claws gleamed in the moonlight. 

“What’s..what's happening to me? I don’t know what to do..”

Sonic looks into Tom’s greenish blue eyes,

“I’m scared…”

Tom put aside all his own fears, frustrations and concerns for himself, right now he knew Sonic needed the one thing to calm him down…

“It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be alright..” Tom gets to knee height and embraces Sonic into a firm hug.

Sonic’s chin cupped on top of his shoulder, his face and eyes cloaked in so much fear...till finally his tears fell and were released. Sonic returns the hug back and sobs onto Tom's uniform. His cries echoed into the empty night.