#i had to make it not look so muddled and fused together

[hellishgayliath]

Donnie's turn with all the purples I could find ( which wasn't a lot but I made it work (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ )

Leo

[tobi-smp]

the problem with talking about ghostbur's relation to wilbur is that going too far in Either direction muddles the waters.

people like to think of ghostbur as an entirely separate entity from wilbur, where nothing about him informs wilbur as a character. this often comes packed with dehumanization, either of Wilbur (with ghostbur being the Good version of wilbur while wilbur is the bad) or of Ghostbur (why does it matter how anybody treats ghostbur when he isn't Really wilbur).

and it's strange and uncomfortable ! because ghostbur so clearly gives us an insight on wilbur as a person. we learn so much About wilbur Through ghostbur. it's just ! absurd to use one to lessen the other when they're so clearly different views of the same Whole.

but at the same time, I Remember ghostbur begging for personhood. I Remember ghostbur begging to have his feelings taken seriously, to be seen as more than just a joke. I remember ghostbur building tommy a home in logstedsire and mourning when it was lost. I remember him mourning new l'manberg. I remember him wanting to bring wilbur back. I remember how tommy mourned him. built him a grave a Grieved him when nobody else did because they didn't think they had to. why would they, when wilbur was right there in front of them? I remember, I Remember.

and the thing About ghostbur is that I Do think that he is a reflection of wilbur. it's ridiculous to try to say that one doesn't inform us of the other.

but I think about how much of his character is wrapped around this desperate want for Personhood. trying to figure out who he is, to carve a place for himself as the memory of someone who was already gone and yet a fully formed being perfectly capable of feeling emotion.

and I think that, too, is a reflection on wilbur.

ghostbur didn't want to be wilbur because Wilbur didn't want to be wilbur anymore. but wilbur didn't know What to be either. trying to break out of the mold he made for himself and figure out what it means now to live as a Person with agency and feelings that matter.

wilbur didn't kill himself because it was an inevitable part of his story as the villain, he did it because he was sad. learning how to be someone who can admit that was Hard.

he'd cried as the president of l'manberg over the pressure of being responsible for everyone, of not being able to live up to what he thought he had to be. and we learned that from ghostbur.

and like ! it's exactly Because of all of this that I can't find it in me to deny ghostbur his personhood. to look at someone who once begged people to realize that he has feelings that Matter, that the things that happen to him Matter because he has agency, because he's a person, and to say No.

I had a theory, once, that the thing that made ranboo Ranboo is that he was half dead. there was the enderwalk that remembered everything, and there was ranboo who lived as a separate antonymous person. ranboo is, in a way, a reflection of this other person, and yet he's not Lesser as a person either. ranboo being formed around a smaller pool of memories means that he grows Differently from this enderwalk version of himself. his personality shifts, the choices he makes are different, even if fundamentally the building blocks are shared.

I had a theory, then, that the whole point of ranboo dying was to have this enderwalk and our ranboo Fuse. not into the whole person that ranboo was split from, but into the New person that they make together.

and that's how I like to conceptualize wilbur and ghostbur. not two unrelated entities and yet both People in their own right.

moreover, that's exactly what I would've liked for them as well.

[theawkwardundercoverwriter]

Chris Evans: One Shot

Aurthors notes:

This one is a short one, not edited, I don’t feel great about the overall outcome, but I thought I’d share. I want to continue posting everyday. 

warning - mention of sex 

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*Pregnancy talk*

A peaceful glow illuminates your bedroom coaxing you out of your idyllic sleep. Your naked body is intwined with Chris’s as you both collapsed into each other after a passionate night filled with stolen kisses and playful touches. The need for both of you to fill each other’s desires was overwhelming, neither one of you willing to stop until every body part had been lovingly attended to.

  Chris had been away filming for a couple of weeks, the project wrapped early so he deviously surprised you by walking through the front door with no warning with a bunch of flowers and a cheeky grin. Your heart melted at his romantic gesture. You two couldn’t even make it to the bedroom during the first round. A small smile grows on your face as you peer up towards Chris. His arms are firmly wrapped around your waist as light snores escape his parted lips. You snicker to yourself seeing the love bites littered over Chris’s chest and neck.

  The feeling of being wrapped securely in Chris’s arms made your heart feel whole again. Not a day went by that you didn’t miss your boyfriend. You two had moved in together 14 months ago, while the house was lovely and spacious it grew in loneliness as the days fused together without your partner in crime. The silence was loud – even overwhelming at times. The house needed Chris. The hallways missed his booming laughter and cheeky banter. Without his warmth, it was cold.

  Breaking you out of your blissful trance an intruding thought engulfs your brain. “Crap!” Your head shoots up off Chris’s chest as panic fills every atom of your being. Your stomach drops at the realisation. Untangling yourself from Chris’s muscular limbs you fully sit up. Your rapid movement abruptly drags him out of his peaceful coma.

  “What’s wrong beautiful?” Chris muffles into his pillow, his voice still lanced with a sleepy croak.

  Your back stiffens at the sound of Chris’s voice. When he receives no answer, you feel him lazily sit up and gently touch the small of your bare back as he fights the haze of sleepiness.

  “Y/N?” He asks again, a slight tinge of concern floods his voice.

  “I forgot.” You mumble lifelessly. Chris shuffles closer to you, pulling you into his chest to kiss your shoulder.

  “What did you forget?” He asks clearly muddled with confusion at your sudden alternes.

  “Protection.” You turn your head to face Chris as you watch his brows furrow in confusion, “We forgot to use protection.” You whisper. Realisation floods his eyes.  An unidentified emotion quickly flashes over his face, but it disappears in a millisecond.

  “Well, we can stop buy the drugstore and get the morning after pill.” He suggests rubbing sweet patterns into your back with the pad of his thumb. “What if I’m pregnant?” You ask directing you gaze anywhere but his eyes. You can feel an intense heat rush to your ears. The last thing you wanted to do was add pressure to Chris’s life. You weren’t sure where he stood on the issue of kids – you knew he wanted children eventually, but he was so busy with his career. The thought of trapping him in a life he didn’t want made you want to be sick to your stomach.

  “Y/N, look at me.” Chris hums into your shoulder but you refuse, too caught up in the webs of doubt. “Baby please look at me.” With his gentle touch he pushes your chin up so that your forced to look him in his eyes.

  Instead of trepidation your met with a confident spark dancing in his eyes. “Babe, if we are blessed with a child then I will be the happiest man on earth.”

  “But you always use condoms?” You blurt out in total confusion. He shoots you a goofy smile in return causing his beautiful eyes to crinkle.

  “I do that for your benefit.” He explains, “Truth be told I’ve been gleefully willing, well kinda wishing, to have babies with you since the day I met you. The only reason I use protection is because I know you’re not 100% there yet.” He takes his hand in yours and tenderly presses a kiss into your palm.

  You can see amusement twirling in his eyes at your baffled reaction. “It’s up to you gorgeous, I can go get you the morning after pill if that’s what you wish.” He hums into your shoulder as he waits for your reply.

Chris tries to hide the glimmer of hope shining in his eyes, but there was no hiding the radiant shine of anticipation bursting in his iris. His reaction warms your heart, he was willing to wait for you. His actions only reaffirmed how much he was willing to sacrifice for you. He was wholeheartedly selfless; driven purely by your comfort. Of course, you wanted his children, there was never a doubt about it. The realisation that both of you were holding back for the other causes you to smile.

  “I think I’m ready to try.” You shakily breath out. You can see euphoria wash over his whole body. Chris pounces on you, pinning you under his body. He beams down as he showers you with kisses. You laugh trying to swat him off you.

  Every doubt, anxiety or concern you’d ever had about pregnancy and motherhood washes away when you look into Chris’s eyes. A seriousness washes over his eyes, “Promise me that you aren’t just agreeing to try for my benefit.” You press the pad of your thumb in-between his creased eyebrows hoping to absorb his concerns.

“I’m ready, you didn’t pressure me.” You reply offering reassurance. You feel his body immediately relax as his body untenses. “Good.” He hums into your shoulder. A playful look engulfs his eyes as he cheekily nips at your ear.

  “I wanna try now.” He whines sending you a cheeky wink. “There’s no time like the present.” You whisper as you guide his head down to your lips.

[bebo-schmebo]

SPOILERS AHEAD

Another HC list! This one is for the sequel of Hermanito, a longer (and currently incomplete) fic called Luciérnaga! I'll be posting HC's and/or going into more detail on certain things in a way I can't in the fic, so don't forget to check this post every now and then! I'll be adding new things to this post a lot as Luciérnaga continues :>

Highly recommend reading all chapters before reading the HCs, lots of them may be full of spoilers!

If y'all have any questions, or just wanna chat about things don't be afraid to message here, my asks, or even DMs!

Currently mostly centered around Bruno, Félix, and Agustín due to Chapter 2- more for the others will be added later I promise fnsjsjs

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)

__________________________________________

- Everyone helps out with making dinner. They take turns, sometimes even fusing turns because it's fun to work together (or in some cases, fun to learn together. Agustín is still not allowed to cook alone yet ever since the bad Cake pan incident)

- Met Bruno, one of his best friends in a hurricane, married the lass of his dreams in a hurricane. If it wasn't for the fact that hurricanes hurt people Félix would openly declare them as one of his favorite things (though anyone who knows the two stories always get a serotonin boost if they see him smile at the sight/smell of rain.)

- Agustín 1000% wrote songs for Bruno but never planned on showing them to him. If you're wondering about the vibes the songs had, listen to Time In A Bottle by Jim Croce

- Though Agustín had a crush on Bruno when they were younger, that's not the case currently. Yes he cares for him, and yes even now a small fraction of those feelings still longer even 30+ years later, but despite how it seems he isn't in love with him. His feelings are a bit muddled and he's learned to simply be. He doesn't need a label for his feelings.

- In the memory, the crush is way worse- and in a sad way Bruno's disappearance kinda helps. Over the 10 years Bruno's gone Agustín works through his emotions again, finally finally settles things with himself, and he becomes comfortable with the feelings in his heart. Talking things out with Félix and Julieta helps. (Julieta thinks it's cute and is hella understanding- doesn't get upset with him, demand anything from him, simply works through things with him. Lets him know that she doesn't love him any less- probably noticed as well, long before he told her. She has full confidence that Agustín loves her and doesn't mind that her husband's heart will always be a bit taken by her brother. Agustín's always had a big heart. That's part of why she loves him.)

(Here's a screenshot of a take I made on this earlier, might help a bit-)

- Agustín and Bruno will never be together, and that's okay. They don't have to be. Agustín worked through things and grew comfortable with the fact that he may never fully understand his feelings when it comes to his favorite seer. He loves Bruno, he loves Julieta, he loves everyone and none of it needs a blatant label. All that matters is that he cares for them and they care for him in turn.

- Félix, Bruno, and Agustín were all close in their teens, but after the older two married Bruno's sisters and started families of their own they accidentally started drifting apart a bit (the villages treatment of Bruno didn't help matters at all)

- Bruno noticed that they were drifting apart and actually encouraged it, disappearing often whenever they became distracted (he fully believed that they should focus on their kids and stop "wasting" time on him)

- Yes, I support the idea that our favorite dads helped hide Bruno's last vision he had before his disappearance. Full on I'm sure they saw it and broke the bridge so that no one else would go looking for it

- Bruno is an oblivious sweetheart, but that's part of why everyone loves him tbh

[carelesscreativity]

NightKiller Broken Bones w/ Uncorrupted!Nightmare for LateNightBarista: Commission For Ko-Fi

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

(SFW, Blood[?], Angst, Fluff)

It was worse than usual. Usually, when Nightmare had a bad day, the castle would feel electrified and tense. Going out into the hallway or to the kitchen was a risk. Nightmare would be near delirious and attacking anything that seemed even remotely threatening. The gang knew that Nightmare couldn't help it. When he was having a bad day, Nightmare's past memories were kicked into full gear and he would be drowning in old pain. Trying to talk to him was out of the question and trying to touch him was a suicide mission. They usually all just hid. But today seemed different.

The castle held the same charged feeling, but none of them had heard anything. There was no screaming. No breaking of furniture. No feverish rambling about not wanting to be touched or seen. Nightmare hadn't even left his room. It was quiet and there was a heavy aura of pain surrounding the castle like a thick smog, slightly choking each of them. Killer couldn't even focus on sharpening his knife in his own room. His hand wasn't steady enough and he had to give up before he permanently fucked up the blade.

It had been almost four hours since the feeling had settled over the castle. Nightmare usually started his reign of destruction and terror as soon as he woke up. Killer knew that, if he was wrong, he would be risking quite possibly all of his limbs. But he was the boss' right hand. So that meant he had to look out for him. Or something like that. He hopped down and teleported before his feet even hit the floor. He landed in the hallway right outside Nightmare's room. He paused. He couldn't hear anything from inside and it was still eerily quiet. He slipped his knife back up his sleeve and paused. He raised his hand and for once in his life, Killer actually knocked.

He waited a few moments. The aura wasn't becoming any more charged. His target soul gave an uneasy waver. Killer's brow furrowed and he knocked again, a little louder. "Boss??" He called, knowing he had a strong enough voice to carry through the door. There. He heard a small shuffle and the faintest hint of a sharp inhale. Killer furrowed his brow and moved a little closer to the door, listening. He could just barely hear raspy breathing. "Boss, I'm coming in." It was more of a warning than anything. It was also Killer signing off on his death wish if Nightmare decided to freak out.

He turned the knob, only to find it locked. He sighed and teleported inside, disregarding the door completely. The aura of pain was thick in the room. Every negative feeling was swirling around like fumes and Killer gave a momentary tremble. The breathing was louder. It was practically a death rattle, but it kept going and for a split second, Killer felt a small pinprick of fear that Nightmare really was dying. The thought made him ache in a way he couldn't describe. He had yet to turn around and face the bed, where he could hear the breathing coming from. "Boss. I'm gonna turn." He said, bracing himself.

He wasn't even sure what he was bracing himself for. He turned and the first thing he became aware of was the staining. Black stains were spattered across the walls and leaked into the carpet around the bed. And good stars, the bed. The bed was bleached black, all hints of the dark purple sheets gone. The thing on the bed caught Killer's attention and it shook him to his skeletal core. He managed to actually focus. The monster in the middle of the corruption was unmistakably a skeleton.

But the only parts that seemed to be connected were the head and the torso. The lower half had been broken off at the spine and all of their limbs were completely shattered off as well. The remains of a shredded purple tunic somewhat covered their upper half, but not enough since Killer could still see what was left of the ribcage. Any ribs that were still there were cracked or dangling. Regardless, the ribcage still moved up and down with each breath. There was a dented, stained and lopsided crown on their head that looked like it might've once been gold.

Black liquid was freely pouring out of every crack and orifice on their body, Killer able to tell how much of a struggle it was for them to breathe around it. The limbs were splayed around them and Killer could tell that some pieces were missing. A couple fingers and toes. He finally focused on their head. The entire left side of it was busted open in a wound that would put Horror's to shame. An eyelight was fixed on him in the other socket, muddled violet and cyan. The second Killer met their gaze, he felt a shockwave straight through his body to his soul.

His soul snapped into an inverted heart and his vision became crystal clear as his eyelights flared to life. He vaguely recalled hearing something about this form. Everyone knew the story of Dreamtale. He could still see bruises on those stained bones. He was snapped back out of his thought by a wheezing, violent cough. He winced as something snapped and he saw one of the other's ribs break off and fall, becoming dust against the bedsheets. Based on why he could barely see underneath the taters of the tunic, Killer didn't want to guess what the other's back looked like.

His eyelights moved up to the meet the other skeleton's once again. The corruption looked like it had unpeeled and melted around them. Killer didn't say anything at first because he needed a moment to piece everything together. It was a given that Nightmare was blind on his left side, but he hadn't quite realized the extent. Sometimes, he'd catch Nightmare stumble randomly while walking or in the middle of battle and, seeing his broken legs, it made sense to Killer.

The black-eyed skeleton could also see the way Nightmare's palms were cracked and he was simply missing quite a few fingers and the boss' occasional difficulty with physically grasping and holding things was so much clearer. Everything was so much clearer. Killer started to slowly move over. "Boss." The word alone seemed to make Nightmare flinch. He wasn't. He wasn't Boss. He couldn’t be. Not like this. Never like this. Everything hurt and his pain had amplified six times over once Killer had seen him. He hadn't wanted anyone to ever see him in this form. He could only breathe though, completely useless to speak. Killer's shoes squished along the carpet as he got closer, finally stopping next to the bed.

He was on his blind side, the bastard. Nightmare still remembered the origin of that wound like it was yesterday. He recalled vaguely the goop beginning to spill out of his eyesocket at a frightening rate. It hadn’t been too alarming at first. He hadn't been ready for the corruption to literally explode out the side of his skull in a way that felt like he'd been shot from the inside out. He was yanked out of his memories with a sharp inhale as he felt the slightest shift in the bed. He managed to turn his head, his neck creaking a little to see that Killer had picked and begun to fuse the broken pieces of his left arm back together. What was he doing??

Nightmare managed to make a questioning noises and Killer, forever on the same page as him, glanced up. "What's it look like? Putting you back together." He replied to Nightmare's unspoken question. Nightmare stared at him for another few moments. Killer kept glancing up at him before sighing. "No, I don't think any less of you, okay? You don't have to keep looking at me like that. I won't tell a soul." Killer was always so hard to read. His emotions were always so faded and while it helped in battle against Dream, it didn't help with complicated conversations like this.

But Killer's soul was inverted right now, which meant... Hesitantly and painfully, Nightmare probed at Killer's emotions. The slight brow raise signaled that Killer could tell was he was doing, but he wasn't going to stop him. Nightmare could sense truth. He could sense truth and trust and devotion and... Nightmare didn't realize he was shaking until he felt Killer's hand give the lightest touch over his sternum to still him. Nightmare was crying. It would be difficult to see his tears through the black liquid running down his face, but Killer had always been a perceptive son of a bitch.

Nightmare continued to stare at Killer as he worked on fusing his broken, battered body back together. Where was it? Where was the amusement? The disappointment?? The pity??? Every emotion Nightmare would've expected from Killer simply wasn't there and all he could sense was his devotion, his respect and his admiration for him. There was another feeling. One that Nightmare could barely recognize, but didn't want to acknowledge. Not yet, at least. He furrowed his brow, twitching slightly at the pain that it sent through his skull. He continued to stare before Killer glanced up. "Deep breath." Nightmare did so, but still whimpered as Killer popped his arm back into the socket. "There we go..." Nightmare could feel soft pulses as Killer sent soothing magic through it. "Boss."

The title made the invisible smog of pain in the room worse, so Killer took a breath and tried again. "Nightmare." The broken skeleton opened his eye and looked at him. "I don't know how you do it..." He moved to his other side and Nightmare felt a little more relaxed since he could see him better. He watched Killer pick up the other arm and get to work on it. "You... live like this... and still manage to be everything I admire. I've seen you fight amazing battles and this was the kind of body you were working with underneath?" He gave a soft scoff of amazement. "Unbelievable... You’re truly amazing.”

Nightmare really didn't know what to do for a moment. All he could sense was truth and it was overwhelming him. He wanted to cover his face and he managed to shift his reattached arm just a little. Killer seemed to notice immediately and reached over him, gently placing a hand on his arm as a gesture to keep it still. "You don't need to hide from me." He said softly. Nightmare made a weak noise. If he could blush, he would've. Killer finished with his other arm and stood up. "Deep breath." Nightmare did so, still unable to stop the sharp cry of pain as Killer reattached it.

Once again, he relaxed into the soothing pulses Killer gave. After another moment, Killer reached out and flicked the tatters of his tunic. “Probably can’t take this off of you all the way without fucking something up, but you mind if I start working on your ribs?” Nightmare didn’t answer for a moment and Killer blinked. “I could also start on your legs, but that would mean cutting open what’s left of your pants.” Nightmare gave a weak huff and Killer nodded. “Ribs it is, then.”

He pushed the fabric out of the way and Nightmare nearly started crying as he felt the pain slowly beginning to lift away into dull aching as Killer’s magic began to spread through him. He screwed his eye shut and kept his head turned away. He inhaled shakily as he felt a hand slip under his cheek and he managed to look back at the other. Killer had his other hand on his sternum. “I’ll fix you up. Nightmare... if you were able to do what you do with a broken body, imagine what you could do with a mended one? Stars, you’d be unstoppable.” Nightmare blinked before managing a very small, weak smile. He wanted to laugh, but he was sure that would fuck up whatever Killer was doing.

Killer chuckled, rubbing his thumb over his cheek bone at the sight of that little grin. “You can relax a little. It’ll be a while.” He watched as Nightmare closed his eye and tipped his head into his hand. Killer’s grin had already returned in response. He kept soothing and healing. It would take a bit, but for Nightmare, he had magic to spare and all the patience in the world.

[mari-beau]

GIVE ME A REASON: PART SIX - A Rogue One Fanfiction

This is a shorter installment, and maybe pointless… maybe I’m dragging this out too long… But also, who cares, I’m doing this for fun. I just love playing with them!

Read on AO3

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Title: Give Me A Reason: Part Six

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Jyn Erso POV, Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn (mostly pre-ship?)

Spoilers: Rogue One; Episode IV A New Hope

Setting: Post-Rogue One AU (Cassian & Jyn live); Also during/post A New Hope

Warnings: Some coarse language. References to wounds. And… Cuddling?

Words: 1,720

Story Summary: Jyn’s entire universe has been turned on its head, so maybe she’s clinging a little too hard to the one thing she feels certain of (strangely enough) as she tries to figure out her place in the galaxy. And maybe she’s being a little overprotective of a wounded captain.

Also can be found on AO3.

The Death Star had come for them.

Again.

But Jyn couldn’t bring herself to care. It did seem a little strange to have been spared the last time only to probably be destroyed this time, barely a week later. But either way, it was the end to her life she now knew to be her fate, or whatever. It just felt right. It just was. Not the Death Star specifically, but,

Jyn Erso would die in Cassian Andor’s arms.

Whether it should’ve been on Scarif. Or it was here on Yavin 4. Or the next day. Or thousands of days in the future.

And there was a sort of peace in knowing that. One that allowed her to climb into his bed, slide her arms around him, and bury her face in his shoulder. He stirred and her heart skipped a beat. It was easier when he was unconscious, to consider how she felt about him, how she’d been attracted to men before, even had something akin to a relationship with one or two, but it had never felt like this.

“Jyn…?”

“Yes, it’s me. We’re on the base on Yavin 4. Safe. In your quarters.” It was easier to preempt any confusion or alarm Cassian experienced when he woke from his heavy, partially drugged, mostly just exhausted from his body’s healing, sleep.

“How long?” he asked, then realized there were static-laden voices broadcasting over the basewide intercom. “What’s going on?”

“You’ve been asleep for 12 hours,” Jyn said, moving closer and partially on top of him to prevent him from trying to get up in a rush and falling flat on his face. Also, she was admittedly afraid on some level, afraid to be alone and facing death. When he was near her, when they were physically entwined in some way, she felt like everything would be okay. Even if she died, if it was in Cassian’s arms, then everything would be okay. Irrational, yes. But that didn’t make it any less her truth.

“The Death Star is here,” she said, once she could tell he was awake enough to understand, not muddled by pain meds. “The Alliance is scrambling their forces to engage. They’re leaving the comms open, since you know…”

“We’re all dead if they fail.”

His arms wrapped around her and engulfed her in his warm embrace. Cassian Andor, a man who, she didn’t think she was wrong to guess, hadn’t received much at all in the way of affection in his life, somehow was so good at holding a person he made the pain of the universe go away, made the entire universe fade away except for his hands on her body, gentle and undemanding but also firm and reassuring, his breath hot on her neck, sending shivers down her spine, and his body beneath hers, so strong despite his injuries.

“Are you okay?” she asked, remembering the physical state of him.

“Mmm… Yes.” His hands tightened their grip on her side and shoulder, reflexively, a gentle squeeze as he murmured into her neck. “Feels good.”

He probably meant he felt fine, but oh, yes, it did feel good. Or maybe he was still quite medicated?

“My weight isn’t putting pressure on your injuries?” Jyn asked. “Maybe I should…”

“No.” Somehow he managed to pull her further into him, her breasts flattening against his chest, her hip practically fusing to his, her breath hitching momentarily and then joining the rhythm of his own breaths...in and out… in and out… in and out...

Cassian sighed, made a frustrated, growling sound.

“I need to use the ‘fresher,” he said, loosening his grip on her.

Jyn rolled off from him, swung her legs around to sit on the side of the cot and waited to see if Cassian could manage to stand. He slid to sit on the edge of the bed next to her and took a moment. She didn’t press him, though an instinct inside of her wanted to offer assistance, wanted to take care of him, wanted to ease the pain and struggle his recovery was.

He stood, again pausing for a moment, then walked slowly across the small room to his private refresher facilities. Apparently, it was one of very few benefits to his officer’s rank, for the small quarters were nothing more than a glorified closet. But she supposed it spared him from having to sleep in a large barracks with a bunch of others, not that it would’ve deterred Jyn in the least from crawling into his bed.

Part of her felt like she shouldn’t watch his laborious movements, out of respect, but she couldn’t look away. What if he needed her?

Force, what if he didn’t need her? Not like she needed him? Aw, fuck. She needed him.

She watched the muscles in his naked back twitch, stiff from inactivity and injury. But her eyes were inevitably drawn to the perfectly uniform lines of small circular marks running down his spine. She knew there was a matching sort of trail along his ribs. Injections of some sort of bacta cocktail meant to speed the fusing of the fractures in his vertebrae and ribs, injections straight into the bone. How painful would that have been if he’d been conscious, she couldn’t help but wonder, couldn’t help but want to wrap her smaller body around as much of Cassian as she could, run her hands gently over his scars, old and new, make sure his wounds were healing and his bruises fading, hear him sigh contentedly against her skin, hold him forever.

As he disappeared into the ‘fresher, Jyn realized she was hopeless.

Cassian Andor had taught her about hope. And had made her absolutely hopeless at the same time.

But why fret about it? What did it matter?

Jyn was used to dealing with life moment by moment, day by day. And she might not have many more moments, anyway.

The loud, static-laden voices crackling over the basewide intercom announced the launch of yet another squadron of fighters, then abruptly switched over to some ship’s communication officer announcing visual confirmation of the target. The Death Star.

Looming on the horizon like a moon, a harbinger of death, bringer of eternal night. Cold, austere, which made it somehow more terrifying, somehow worse than staring down an angry brute about to put a knife in you. It was just so inevitable, indomitable. Made her feel so small, insignificant, so alone.

“Do you mind if I turn this off?”

Jyn startled. How had she not noticed Cassian reappear in the small room? He pointed at the comm, which was broadcasting the prelims of a battle to determine all their fates.

She didn’t want to listen to it either.

“Please do,” she said, already feeling less… alone.

She watched Cassian lean over to switch the speaker off, wincing in sympathy with him as he straightened again, taking a deep breath that expanded his chest and shifted the muscles beneath his skin, mesmerizing her more than a little. His mostly naked body preoccupied far too many of her thoughts.

But what else had she been supposed to do? She’d woken up drenched in sweat that first night in his quarters, had to strip out of the heavy infirmary clothes, found Cassian tossing in his sleep, nearly feverish, removed the sweltering clothes from his body, as well. Little did she know, how enthralling she’d find his lean muscles, the shape of his body, the feel of his bare skin, his-

His hands cupped her face and Jyn looked up at Cassian Andor, his kriffing gorgeous dark eyes fixed on her. His fingers swept some stray hair from her forehead, tucked it behind her ear, returned to swipe gently over the nearly-healed scar above her eyebrow, in her hairline.

“Are you okay?” A knot formed in her throat. Cassian was a good man, despite every questionable thing he’d done and tortured himself over. Of course he would care about her wellbeing. It didn’t mean-

“Ow!”

“Your blaster wound still hurts?” His fingers feathered over her shoulder, not touching the freshly healed injury this time.

“It does when you jab your finger in it.” She grabbed his wrist and tugged his hand away, throwing him off balance so that he fell into her and she managed to catch him and ease him onto the bed, right where she wanted him.

A chuckle escaped him and he smiled, making something flutter inside of her. And then he was reaching for her, pulling her close.

His embrace was everything she’d never known she’d wanted. His hands stroked her back and he buried his face in her neck, nuzzling a sensitive spot just behind and below her ear.

She sighed, wrapping an arm around his middle and burying the fingers of her other hand in his messy, soft hair. She pressed gently as she massaged his scalp down to his nape, eliciting a hum of pleasure from him that vibrated against her bare skin and into her flesh.

If this was to be her last moment, Jyn held no regrets. It was a good moment.

“Jyn?” His voice had a lethargic but happy edge to it, thick and low and sleepy. She could sympathize.

“Yes?” She twisted her finger in a lock of hair curling about his neck.

“Please don’t let me sleep so long this time.” His whisper tickled her ear. “No more than 10 hours. Okay? Please?”

He wanted her to wake him up in 10 hours… Like there wasn’t a battle raging in space nearby… Like he didn’t believe they were quite probably going to die soon, incinerated by a weapon her own father helped design. Like he didn’t believe they were going to lose, after all. Somehow, he believed they would be there, together, ten hours from this moment.

Hope.

Such a man as Cassian… The most unexpected thing she’d discovered about him was his belief in hope. That he possessed any at all after all he had done, all he had seen. And then he’d given it to her.

And again, it warmed her, deep inside, that small seed of hope. She snuggled closer to the man, hoping for something she couldn’t even begin to conceive of. But yearned for it, with every fiber of her being.

[plush-rabbit]

Don’t Tell Shigaraki

TW: Menstrual Cycle, Blood, Cramps

A/N: Cramps suck and this is a lot of shameful cuddling and whatnot because I want a hug when I’m dying.

The dreaded time of the month is here and you’re currently dying. The cramps are painful and almost make you feel sick, but the thought of having to get up and find a toilet is tiresome so you beg your body to just relax for a second. The heating pad that you bought is cranked to the max and it still isn’t doing anything to help numb the pain. You really have no idea what else to do and the small stash of chocolate you have hidden is tempting but again, the thought of movement is much too painful. So you lay in bed and press the heating pad into your stomach hoping that something good will come out of it while you grind your teeth.

You could call Tomura but he isn’t exactly the most comforting person around and you doubt he knows how to even make you feel a bit better. You don’t even know how to feel better. You tried going to sleep but the pain is too unbearable to even focus on anything else. You could try to do yoga but then that would involve moving and right you’ve found a sweet spot where the pain is at least an eight out of ten.

No. You’re fine. You’ve had cramps before and you’ve survived them, all you have to do is go find pain killers and hope you don’t faint. You let out a breath, “Okay, on the count of three I get up,” you whisper to yourself, fisting the blanket in your hands. “One,” you flex your feet, “two,” you take a deep breath, “and three.” You’re still lying in bed. “Okay, so that was a failed attempt. One more time.” You count down and on three you rise from the bed and clutch your lower belly. “Okay, good job,” you say in a pained whisper.

The trek to the kitchen is a long and painful road where you have to lean against the wall and stop for a few seconds so you can just breathe. You don’t pass anyone on the way there, you hand cradling your lower belly makes you feel all too vulnerable. But that’s the thing, you are vulnerable right now. You’re in too much pain and you want to be sick and if you stand for any longer, you’re sure to see black spots in the corner of your vision. You don’t know why it’s so painful right now. Why everything feels too sore, like you’ve just ran a marathon and now your joints and muscles are begging for rest even if that’s just all you’ve been doing the past hours.

You slump into a kitchen chair, letting out a whine at the harsh surface of the chair. The pills are here somewhere, in a cabinet perhaps, maybe it was the bathroom. You groan and bury your face into your arms. You can’t get up again. Everything hurts too much and you can’t force yourself to get up again. You don’t know how long you’re slumped over for. Could be a minute, could be ten, and you didn’t bring your phone to help distract you. This was supposed to be a simple mission and here you are close to tears because your cramps haven’t dulled even a fraction.

“You look pathetic,” a voice drones out.

You look up, your eyes the only thing in view as you’re met with the icy gaze of Dabi who holds an unlit cigarette in his mouth. You roll your eyes and fit back another wave of nausea. “Don’t smoke in here. Go outside or something.”

He holds you gaze and hooks his foot around the leg of a chair, pulling it out and resting on the edge of it, the cigarette still hanging limply from his lips. “What’s wrong?”

You raise a brow. “You care?”

He shrugs, his expression bored but eyes never leaving yours. “If your little boyfriend finds out your sad, he’ll blow a fuse. And I’m not really in the mood to hear him scream,” he sighs, “so what’s up?”

You glower at him in suspicion and ultimately shrug and lean on the back of the chair, your hand coming back to cradle your lower belly. “Cramps.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Sucks to be you.” When you shoot him a look he chuckles and raises his hands in defense. Long, thin fingers wrap around the cigarette and he places it on the table. “You take any pain killers?”

You shake your head in response. Your tongue coming out to wet your lips, you speak, “Sat down before I could look.” Dabi throws his had forward and rises slowly, pulling on the handle of the cabinet harshly and shuffling around the items inside. “Don’t make a mess,” you tell him halfheartedly.

“Shut up,” he mutters. “Let me find the damn pills and then you can whine.”

Dabi isn’t all that bad. He’s rough around the edges but he really does care even if he acts like he doesn’t. He’ll help out in a pinch and god he’s insufferable but he’s still a friend. “Hey Dabi,” you drum your fingers on the table and he hums in response. “You’re hot... Right?”

He straightens his neck and turns to you, a hint of mischief in his wide eyes a roguish smirk takes over. “Gotta be more specific than that doll.”

“Like body temperature.” You shift your gaze from him and turn to the table.

“Yeah, why?” The cabinet closes.

“Okay, so this is super embarrassing and if you utter a word about this to anyone, I’ll like totally end you.” You swallow your pride and look at him with a raised chin. “Do you mind if I borrow your hand? Please? When I feel better, I’ll make you you’re favorite dish. I promise!”

“Pain’s that bad?” You nod and he sighs. “Ugh. Fine. But we’re going to my room. And you’re making it tomorrow. Got it?” He holds out his hand and you grasp it, giving him a firm handshake. You rise from the chair, fingers knotting into your shirt.

“You know if he finds you in his room, he’s going to blow a fuse right,” Himiko giggles, stepping into the kitchen with a sway.

You startle. “How long have you been here?” You crane your neck to see if anyone else is behind her but you’re pulled back by Dabi.

“That’s why you’re not telling,” Dabi says, shoulders rising as an eye twitches. “Listen, you don’t tell him and I don’t know,” he waves his hand in the air, “little Cramps over here will get you something.”

“Please don’t make “Cramps” my nickname,” you mumble.

“Can I come? I can massage your hands! There’s a pressure point to take away the pain somewhere there! Come on please?” Himiko bounces in her place, with hands pressed together in a pleading motion. “Please!”

Dabi looks at you.

“You know she’ll tell him if she doesn’t come along. And it’ll be your ass on the line, not mine,” you point out.

He throws his head back. “Ugh, fine. But only you two. And don’t touch my things,” he warns, pointing a finger at the both of you.

“Whose room are we going to?” Jin asks, peeking his head into the kitchen.

“No! No one else,” Dabi snarls, hands extended in front of him.

“We’ll tell Shigaraki,” Jin says in a deeper voice.

-

You’re in Dabi’s bed that smells heavily of cologne with a light scent of burnt wood. The fan above blows cool air and Jin is busying himself by having his legs thrown on top of yours as he reads a book, clicking his tongue in certain parts before flipping over the page. Himiko is busy massaging the webbed part of your hand while she compliments your hands, telling you how pretty you’d look with red nail polish. And Dabi is grumbling while he lays in an awkward position with a hand over the small of your belly.

“Listen, what happens here, stays here,” Dabi says, with a hand holding up his phone while he watches a show about office workers.

You peer over and place your hand above his. “You know, I didn’t take you for a fan of Agg—”

“Shut it or I kick you out.”

“Oh! After this I think we should watch a movie!” Himiko says cheerfully, giving you a toothy grin.

“I wouldn’t mind. There’s been a couple things I’ve been meaning to watch. Jin, Dabi, you guys in?”

“I’d love to!” Jin salutes. “We could order in and eat all sorts of things!” A hand is placed on your knee and fingers absentmindedly begin to tap on you.

“Dabi?” You ask.

“I hate all of you,” he murmurs, clicking out of the application and moving onto another one. “Look, just don’t mention any of this shit to the others.”

The three of you look at each other and give a matching grin. You pinch your fingers together and put them to corner of your lip, and with a quick movement, you swipe your fingers across your lips and mimic tossing something over your shoulder. The other two do the same and Dabi merely rolls his eyes accompanied by a scoff.

“We can watch something on the weekend or whatever,” Dabi rumbles, bringing a pillow to bury his chin into.

“You know,” you start off, throwing an arm over your eyes, “this is actually helping a lot. The pain isn’t as bad as it was before… Thanks. A lot.” You roll your lips and the hand that is held by Himiko jerks its fingers. You feel your hand be given a reassuring squeeze in return.

There’s a mixture of words all intertwined and muddles together as they each begin to respond to you. The door is opens slowly with a creak and all of you freeze, Dabi immediately pulling his hand back and shoving it under the pillow. You raise your arm and look at the door.

“Hey, have you seen—”

All of you freeze and crimson eyes scan over the room and land on you where your hand is placed over your belly.

“Tomura, hey,” you smile at him and rise onto your elbows.

His eyes are wide for a second before they narrow. “Whatever.” The door is slammed shut and you wince. A few seconds later, you hear another door slam shut.

“He’s not happy,” you groan.

“No shit,” Jin says quietly, hand squeezing your knee.

You sigh and pull your hand away from Himiko and bend your legs, causing Jin to stand up from the bed. “I’m gonna go check on him.”

“You’re all good now?” Dabi asks, turning his head to lay flat on the pillow.

The bed creaks from under your weight as you get off. You raise your arms above your head and flex your fingers towards the ceiling of the room. You turn to look at Dabi who stares at your through half lidded eyes. “Yeah, I’m all good. Thanks again Dabi.” You ruffle his hair and smile when he pushes your hand off of him. “Thanks again Himiko and Jin. If you guys need something later, just call.” You give them finger guns and walk out of the room closing it with a soft click.

The walk back to the room is slow and heavy, you can already feeling the brooding energy that emits from the shared room. You give a gentle knock on the door, announcing that you’re coming in and you thank the heavens that the door isn’t looked.

Tomura is on the bed, with his back facing you and blankets shoved off onto the floor of the room. You click your tongue. “Tomura, I told you not to let the blankets spill onto the floor,” you bend them and toss them back on the bed, “They’ll get dirty.” The bed squeaks as you sit down and he jerks when you touch his back. “Tomura, look at me please,” you coo, letting your hand run over his back.

“Why don’t you just go back to them,” he says in a nasally voice, the volume from his phone is raised to its peak.

“Because I want to be here with you.” You prop pillows against the bed frame and lean against them, your hand moving to grasp his shoulder. “There’s no need to get jealous.”

“Not jealous,” he growls.

“Then can I have a kiss,” you offer, shifting closer to him.

“Screw you.”

“Do you want to know why I was with them?” You pause for an answer and sigh when you don’t receive one. “Well I’m going to tell you anyway. I was with them because well… I’m on my period and the cramps were super bad. And coming to you just felt embarrassing—”

“And going to them wasn’t?” He pouts, and turns to face you, still on his side.

You shrug and a noise of confusion. “It’s different. I was in a lot of pain and I don’t know. Look I’m super sorry.” You bring your knees closer to your chest before you decide to let them fall once again. “Would you have known what to do?”

He’s silent and his face scrunches. “I could have figured it out,” he mutters.

You let out a breath. “I know you could have.” You push his hair out of his face. “I’m still in a bit of pain and I think cuddles might help.” You speak gently, twirling a strand of his hair around your finger. “Do you want to do the honors?” You ask with arms opened wide.

“Only because you owe me,” he says with a hoarse voice, arms immediately wrapping around you  as he nuzzles his nose into your side, hands immediately going underneath your shirt and digging his fingers into your soft skin, the metal brace cold against your skin making you flinch to which he apologizes with a kiss.

“Seems like I owe everyone these days,” you whisper, running your fingers through his hair and bringing one of his hands to cup your lower belly, mewling at the heat he gives off.

His arms are tight around you, his hand that cusps your belly, moves his fingers softly, petting the soft part of you, while his other hands moves and shifts until he’s deemed comfortable. He coos into your side, words muffled and quiet, never reaching your ears but hum in response, feeling your eyes begin to droop. You lower yourself on the bed, ignoring his whine of protest as he looks at you through half closed eyes. When you open your arm back up, he places himself back to his spot, hand returning to your plush stomach, and drags his lips lazily against you in a kiss.

[simpirals]

Down The Tunnels

(Read on AO3) So this is another collab with my very cool friend @stellarwhaleshark​ in which we wrote about Not!Sasha chasing Jon down the tunnels, ending it completely differently from canon. (Jon doesnt die dw) If you liked it,please let us know in the comments! ❤️ Reblogs are encouraged !  ❤️ Characters: Not!Sasha/ Not Them, Jonathan Sims (mentions of Timothy Stoker,Sasha James and Martin Blackwood) Warnings: body horror, stabbing, axe violence, generally spooky atmosphere Jon scrambled down the dark halls. Dark, unkempt hair with streaks of grey frame his face, which scans every nook and cranny in the impossible labyrinth before him. His breathing is ragged, and as he clutches his axe in sweaty hands, a laugh echoes out in the stale air. He is utterly terrified. And he had all the reasons in the world to be so. Something that wasn't his friend wore a face he used to deem as familiar, and that very same thing was out to hunt him down.

"Jooooonnn..." An uncanny voice echoes through the tunnels, reaching out to the man fleeing for his life. "Jooonnn… Why don't you stop running so we have a nice, friendly chat? With your Sasha?" Noises that weren't footsteps reverberated through the tunnels.

"Isn't it what friends do, Jon? Sit down and talk things out together? I promise you this won't take long."

The creature's voice lowered in a dangerous growl.

Jon's heart leapt in his throat as he desperately tried to find an escape from the thing chasing him. He didn't dare respond, fearing that if he focused on anything else except running, he would be caught. Despite the nagging in the back of his mind that told him that losing it was impossible, Jon forced himself to believe that somehow, some way, he could shake the impostor from his trail. But as far as he could see, the path only continued straight. Something scratched along the walls behind him, sending his feet into a more frantic pace. "Shit, shit!"

Having no other option but to continue forward, the Archivist wills himself to move as fast as he can to avoid falling victim to Sas- no, not Sasha. Whatever was chasing him was definitely not who it claimed to be, and that voice that taunted him was certainly not his coworker's... despite how familiar it sounded.

Jon had no time to turn around and watch his pursuer. But he didn't need to do that to guess that it had picked up its pace. It was coming, and it was coming fast.

"Jooooonnnnnnn !"

Its limbs scratch at the concrete walls as it advances rapidly.

"You'll just tire yourself out eventually, silly! What do you think will happen when you collapse on the ground, exhausted and vulnerable?"

Jon's paranoia makes him feel like something was breathing down his neck. But it was just the coldness of the air.

"I'll catch you. And then we'll be able to properly chat. Like friends! Friends do that all the time, don't they? Why are you doing this, Jon? Am I not a good friend to you? Isn't Sasha someone you can trust? You truly wound me, Jon!"

It almost sounded like it was trying to feign… sadness.

But Jon knew better than to listen to it.

He itched to scream back at it. To tell it that he knew it wasn't her, that it could never be Sasha. But instead, Jon grit his teeth and pushed onward. Then, to his left, he saw a dark patch in the wall. As he got closer, he noticed that it was an opening - another corridor. If he was fast enough, Jon could catch it off guard and use the weaving halls to his advantage. Jon let himself slow down a bit, and he could hear what wasn't Sasha gaining on him. Timing his movement just right, Jon skids over into the opening, turning his attention behind him to see the thing dash past with a growl of irritation.

Huffing a small laugh of victory, Jon turned around to gather his bearings of the new hall, but rather than seeing branching pathways, he instead saw concrete walls encasing him.

"Oh, no... no, no no--"

The monster slammed its claws down on the cold ground with satisfaction, cutting off the path to Jon's only escape.

"Found you, Jon."

There was a sickeningly triumphant grin to its voice as it slowly neared Jon, as if it had all the time in the world, its prey standing right before it.

"How about you face me properly, Jon? Come on, turn around. It would be boring if the last thing you ever saw was a wall, wouldn't you agree?" It sang, and this time, the cold breath creeping against Jon's nape was not his imagination.

His whole body shook, and his breathing became so fast that his vision began to blur. This was... god, this wasn't good at all. Jon's thoughts were a jumbled mess, and it was so hard to focus. He was going to die, he was sure of it. How could he be so stupid? Of course he wouldn't be able to outrun that thing. If it wasn't for him breaking that table--

The table. He still had the axe with him, didn't he? Jon gripped the handle tighter into his fists, knuckles turning white. The whole point of getting it was to make that thing hurt, right?

Well, hopefully it'll actually serve its purpose.

Slowly, Jon turned around, having to crane his head to meet the gaze of the monster that stared back with a dangerous glint in its eyes.

The being that wasn't Sasha stared right at him as he looked straight into its fake, glassy eyes.

"Good." It says, with a satisfied tone, lifting its hand- no, not a hand; this was far too big and sharp to be called one- from the ground, raising it to Jon's eye level.

"Remember when I told you I'd make this quick earlier?" It cackles, with that voice that did not belong to it. "I'm afraid Good old Sasha lied!"

It's going to strike.

"You. Are. Not. HER!"

One quick swing, and Jon manages to axe the beast's right limb. The force sends it slamming against a nearby wall and the thing shrieks with multiple voices at once, stumbling back.

"You...YOU!!!" It had not expected Jon to still be able to inflict any sort of damage on its body.

Clutching its wound, it emits a furious roar, and Jon swears his eardrums are about to pop.

He just has enough time to turn around and start running again before the creature tries to catch him, and it trips on itself.

No matter how far away Jon was getting, screams of anguish still rattled off of the walls around him. It sent a chill down his spine, and as he spotted a fork in the catacombs, a screech of muddled voices startled him. "GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE RAT!" It yells out, and the sound of it getting back onto what Jon supposed could be feet made its way down the hall.

As far as he was concerned, remembering how to navigate his way back out of the tunnels was the least of his problems. So Jon ducks and weaves through halls of all sizes, hoping that he'll eventually become so lost that not even the monster at his heels would be able to find him.

Not!Sasha wants to hunt him down to the ends of the Earth.

But first it needed to get its arm back. It quickly grabbed it and pressed the area that was freshly cut against its shoulder and the porcelain colored flesh melted, fusing the missing piece against its body.

It clutched its limb and stretched out its claws, briefly studying itself to see if that puny human caused any further damage.

It seemed satisfied.

It quickly looked at the direction where Jon had fled and it screeched again, getting back on all fours and rushing out, leaving the dead end behind.

" JON! " It howled like a dying animal.

" I WILL FIND YOU AND I WILL DEVOUR YOUR ARM! THAT'S A PROMISE! "

It galloped through the halls, absolutely seething, scanning each nook and corners that could lead it to Jon's location.

" WHERE ARE YOU?! "

Its screams of rage had encouraged Jon to avoid staying in one place for too long. So he continues to let himself wander, some turns echoing the voice louder than others. He's not quite sure how long he's been running, but the aching in his legs is beginning to slow him down. "Come on, keep going...!" Jon grunts to himself as he tries to fight through the pain, but it's becoming apparent that he has to find somewhere to rest soon.

" Jooooonnnn.... " It hissed through gritted fangs, "If you show yourself now, maybe I won't tear you limb from limb. Come on, be a good friend and come out, won't you?" As the monster began to speak aloud again, Jon rounded a corner and pressed himself against the cold wall. Every bone within him shook, and it took everything in him to not slide down to the floor.

The creature snarled, still very much enraged by her previous wound. Even a monster of the Stranger can still feel pain, after all. And having to push its fake bones back into place wasn't exactly pleasant.

Seeing that Jon was still nowhere close to her, it halted for a brief instant. "Alright, I may have gotten a little bit angry earlier. But could you blame me? You literally cut my arm off! That's not a very nice thing to do to your friend, is it, Jon?"

Naturally, she knew this wasn't going to entice him to come to her. But it was fun to toy with him.

"You know," It says, "I wonder how your screams would sound like once I get you to the circus... Taking you apart pieces by pieces, to reshape you afterward… Kinda like Sasha, actually! Oh, you should have seen her! She did such a wonderful performance too, squirming under my claws.'' It chuckles, dragging on the last words of her sentence painfully. No matter how hard Jon tried to ignore the taunts of the beast, its words sank in deep. The second that it began to describe Sasha's body being torn apart and put together, he felt himself heave a bit. And yet they continued on, finding humor in how his dear friend suffered.

"She writhed and squirmed when I gave her new joints, too. Human bones are tough, that’s obvious, but they can always be upgraded to better material. No one would see the difference anyway! Especially not you, Jon."

It chuckled eerily.

"Oh, you should have heard her too! She kept on screaming at you and your acolytes' names, too! It was delightful to hear! Actually, why don't you listen to it yourself? You love to listen, don't you?" Jon's breathing began to pick up again until it became quick gasps of air. He did his best to get it under control, but then.

The sound Jon heard was the exact replica of Sasha's voice. He could hear the terror and the agonizing pain in her tone.

"Jon, Martin! Anyone! help, it-it hurts so much! Please, someone, get me out of here! Please! PLEASE, JON! HELP ME! "

It spoke like Sasha. The real Sasha. The begging and pleading that called out into the halls belonged to someone he couldn't recognize. But he knew without a doubt that it was her. "Oh, Christ... Sasha, s-she was--"

How long was she tormented? Ripped apart and reconstructed like some sort of sick puzzle?

" PLEASE, JON! HELP ME! "

"I-I'm so sorry, Sasha..!" Jon whimpered out, clamping a free hand to his mouth to stop a sob bubbling up his throat. The whole time, Sasha was alive, and they did nothing to help her.

The realization hit Jon with such an intensity that he collapsed down the wall with a pathetic thud. The axe followed shortly after, the metal clattering to the stone floor and ringing out beyond where the Archivist could see. He stiffened, eyes widening in horror and darting down to his weapon he had dropped on the floor.

Jon made a huge mistake.

The creature halted its grim imitation suddenly, turning its head sharply toward the direction of the noise she just heard.

Oh, that was too easy.

She did not need to look any longer, she knew exactly where her prey was now.

Not Sasha suddenly appeared right before him.

"There you are."

Jon barely had the time to get up and made another foolish attempt to flee. The monster had already seized his ankle with her inhumanly big, sharp hand, forcing the man to collide brutally against the hard floor beneath him. Jon gasped in pain at the force of the impact.

"Oh, no no, I’m not letting you go anywhere anytime soon!"

Jon uselessly thrashed and scraped his nails on the stone covered ground as Not Sasha simply dragged Jon back to her, flipping him unceremoniously on his back, so he could see her in her full glory, her entire body looming over him, caging him.

"No-- No, no no no--"

Jon's desperate pleas were cut off as the thing that wasn't his Sasha suddenly slammed her other hand against Jon's body, effectively pinning him down under its weight as its dangerous claws were big enough to cover and seize his body.

"Now… What am I going to do with you…?" It said, absolutely relishing the way Jon stared back at her with terrified eyes.

Oh, how much she loved to taste the fear of her prey. This was delightful.

"Hmm... I could do the same thing you did to me... But using that little axe of yours may make it too easy. I think cutting through you myself would be much more fun!" She spoke idly, biting back a laugh when their suggestion only caused the Archivist to squirm more.

"Oh, but I know how much you care about your old Sasha! Maybe taking you to see her one last time, broken and wrong would be more painful!" Jon managed to wriggle an arm out from its grasp, and attempted to punch their long fingers.

It didn't even phase them. "And if you're good, Jon," Not Sasha's face leered down to meet his own, her sharp grin reflecting in the glasses that framed Jon's panicked eyes.

"Maybe I'll tear you apart just like how I did her."

Jon felt his breath snag in his lungs. If being torn apart would be his reward for being "good" Then what would it be if he tried to actually fight back? Probably something worse than death itself.

He wasn't about to find out.

"Just- please, just let me go, I don't-"

"Ah, ah, ah! I didn't chase you through these tunnels all this time just to let you run again, you silly. No, no, I exactly know what I'm going to do with you."

Not Sasha grabbed Jon's wrist between the edge of its claws, observing it.

"Such a frail little limb. Wonder how long it'll take to break."

"Wait--"

Before Jon could utter another useless plea, the monster unhinged its jaws,and violently sank her teeth into his right shoulder, mirroring the damage that Jon did to her just before. The second her horribly sharp teeth punctured into his skin, Jon began to spiral into hysterics. His instincts told him to do something, anything, but the pain clouded his mind to the point where he wasn't able to focus on anything else. Jon screamed.

Not Sasha pulled and pulled on his arm, and a sickening squelch could be heard as her fangs kept digging deeper and deeper inside his shoulder.

As soon as he felt his shoulder about to give out under that thing's fangs, she suddenly released him, pulling her head back to reveal her freshly bloodstained face. It casually wiped the blood that dribbled down its chin, eyeing its work.

"...Actually, I just remembered that Nikola doesn't really like being handed broken playthings. I guess you get to keep your arm this time. Lucky you! ...But then again, I could always replace your arm with something different. I wonder if Nikola would mind… Hmmm."

She tapped her chin, seeming to seriously ponder that option.

“Oh, I sure hope she won't be mad at me for damaging you a bit.”

She looked almost worried, but more for the fact that she could get in trouble for harming Jon rather than being concerned about his well being.

The Not Them had briefly released Jon, as she was too busy trying to shred his shoulder into bits previously. The Archivist stumbled backwards in hopes of gaining some distance between them. But it took nothing more than a tug at his ankle to drag him back.

Hm, she must have tired him out. Good.

"Well, I suppose I'll just have to wait until I hear back from Nikola. In that case," Not Sasha grabbed hold of Jon's torso with one of its large disfigured hands, gripping tightly.

She hummed in satisfaction when she was able to feel the Archivist's heart hammering against her palm.

"It seems like you'll be coming with me." It squeezed him a bit tighter, chuckling as Jon screwed his eyes shut in agony. "N- no! I'll never- AH-!"

A claw prodded in one of the gory punctures on his arm. "Now, now. I was generous enough with letting you keep your arm... don't push it." They dug the finger in deeper to emphasize their point.

For the fun of it, Not Sasha left her claw in the wound, enjoying the sight of her prey writhing in pain. But soon enough, Jon tired himself out, slowly falling limp and shaking with exhaustion. "Someone, p-please...!" He begged. A last ditch effort on his behalf, Not Sasha was sure of it.

"Oh, come now, Jon, no one can hear you. I thought you knew that these tunnels keep things rather well hidden. If none of your friends were able to hear your screams, what makes you think they'll hear your pathetic whimpering?"

He went quiet at that.

"Good. Now, shall we go?"

"Martin, Tim, please...." Jon mumbled to himself, feeling himself close to passing out from the pain.

"I'll take that as a yes." ———————————————- Please let us know if you enjoyed that fic so we can be motivated to write more ❤️

[inviouswriting]

Critical Engagement au - Weapon

Warnings: I guess stockholm syndrome fits in here. Gaining feelings for the captor. Kivera fits that sense. Non-descriptive deaths for an unknown party. Some mental manipulation in parts. There might be a shred of real feelings, but I’ll decide in future writing!

Mentions - @maiden-born-in-snow​ ‘s Shuri~ Her screens used in here!

Next installment will have smut, so prewarning.

Kivera was awoken to an alarm blaring, one she had gotten use to from time to time. Her attention however was on the fact it was closer to her section. Her mind muddled with drifting thoughts, memories from a distant time she barely recalls now. 

When her enclosure was opened, she drops down to the center she is met by Misija, she had a weapon with her. Kivera looks it over, it was made for her. She reaches a hand out towards it but keeps still even as it is held in front of her.

“I know you were resting, we need you out there. I’ll make it up to you later.” Kivera rests her hands on the scythe, almost as if it fits her hands more than chakrams did. She takes it into her hands, and looks up.

“Understood.” The order that came with the weapon was to eliminate all who tresspassed. Misija sees Kivera’s attention on the weapon more, she sees the awe wash over her face, at the luminescence of the weapon, it brimmed with aether and light on the blade. Ensuring it wouldn’t dull.

“Do you like it? I had intended on giving this to you tomorrow after you completed another round of training, yet here we are in need of you as you are now. I’ll lead you to the heart of the complex where they will come to you.” Misija sees a flash of yellow in Kivera’s eyes over the gift.

“I like it.” A hand is placed under her face and Kivera’s is tilted up to look Misija in the eyes.

“It suits you, yet I like you looking at me like that more than the weapon.” Kivera flicks an ear to the side at the words, she had heard an affection like that before. Her free hand goes to Misija’s.

“Look at me.” Misija says, letting Kivera’s eyes drift up to hers seeing almost ice blue eyes to her unique ones.

“I am looking at you.” Kivera retorts and there is a pause in their moment. Misija swears a glimmer of her former self shining through instead of just the persona she is now. She admired her strengths even now, how she seems to fight and overcome obstacle after obstacle. If she hadn’t seen her broken down and dying herself, Misija swears the being before her was natural. In her element even among death and destruction. She might even enjoy the events later on.

“I see that, my apologies then. Let’s get you out there, before they wonder why it is taking so long.” Kivera feels a hand run through her hair, the ends dyed to fit the style she is in. Kivera follows after Misija, for her deployment to protect the castrum’s own.

Kivera was led to a room where she waits for the group being diverted down to her. Her nose wrinkles at the smell of fire and cannons. A smell she remembers from the Southern Fronts. Misija rests her hands on Kivera’s shoulders.

“Do us proud here. You are perfect.” Misija leaves the room to allow Kivera to do her part. Kivera closes her eyes when she is alone, her ears pick up the sound of feet running her way, bells, clamor, directional yelling of where people should be going. The sound gets louder till the door to her chamber is opened.

Kivera hears the footsteps closer till they stop before her. As if they were waiting for something. Indication of what she is, what to expect. In her training with the behemoths. She had learned to strike first, and fast. She doesn’t give the group time to prepare for her. The moment they were all together was when she jumps to them, aiming for their healers first. To dismantle the team fast and hard.

When she kills those down, she starts on their tanks, going in the order that devastates the team the fastest. The first wave of the dark matter she uses pulls them in before she locks them in temporal stasis, then releases them to fly back, sending a good few off the platform to the glowing abyss below.

The fight lasts five minutes at most, but for the group no one survived, the last to remain was a lone lancer which she took care of fast with throwing them off the edge. It felt anti-climatic to her, yet she was alive in the moment.

“Well done! I knew they wouldn’t be a match for you, and you didn’t leave anyone alive so they could recounter later. Excellent work!” Misija praises as she approaches Kivera from her side, staying in her view to not be attacked accidentally.

The praise earns Kivera looking up at her and her expression softening. 

“You’re proud of me?” Misija cups her face in her hands.

“More than proud. I have no better words, and such a good outcome deserves more than just words. I’ll visit you again after you’ve calmed down a bit, but I’ll help take care of another feeling you have been hiding from me. If you want my hands.” Misija runs a gloved hand down the middle of her back seeing Kivera’s eyes glow over in need. A bit of bloodlust on top of a heat.

“You’ll help me with that?” She looks away sheepish.

“Of course I will help you with it, you shouldn’t suffer in silence. I just need to gather some things for you. Be patient?” She lowers her head to sneak a kiss at her face. Kivera turns her head towards it, the haze she was feeling returning. 

“I will wait then.”

“Good, now lets get you back to your spot. I will come to you after everyone else leaves.” Misija explains, and Kivera nods in agreement.

Once in her enclosure, Kivera is given another kiss, this one makes her head heavy, the aura in the room changes to reflect her feeling. Once Misija leaves her, she presses a hand to her own mouth tracing her lips where they seemed to tingle from the kiss.

“Feels nice.”

A few enclosures down, Misija notes how calm the auran girl is. She wonders if she has come to accept her life as it is now, she feels bad in the sense she was mistreated before she herself gained ownership of this operation. Shuri’s captors did meet their fate with Kivera. The same scientists who bought her from the traders. To make use for a proto-type. They had fused her with an albino ziz wings like they did with the black ziz on Kivera. Yet Shuri was less combative in her operation.

She didn’t need neurolinks like Kivera does. Just comfort and nice things to entertain herself with. Misija sits outside the enclosure for a moment to converse with her.

“Let us know if there is something else we can get you to ease your discomforts. Thank you for telling us you are in pain. I will have one of the ladies administer a pain killer.” Misija sees her reach a hand out to the panel and she touches the other side for her. 

“Oh, and a new dress for you.” A brief smile, she was easier to please and not a ticking time bomb compared to Kivera. The stark differences between them. It amazed her.

[black-streak]

Waiting for the Worms - The Thin Ice

Part 6

Warnings fully back in place, the last two chapters of reprieve are over here. Feel I should mention, the pits are going to have a very different effect on Mari than they dis on Jason in canon and not just because they are different people. Jason actually was mentally dead for those six months and was an actual John Doe upon coming back. A shell of himself. He wasn't aware of himself the way Marinette is here.

Anyways, closed list of the pain train: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

The pool was so much deeper and colder than she imagined. And boiling hot. And electric and stinging and numbing and soft and gelatinous and oil slick. 

It was everything and nothing all at once and she couldn't move. She tried to wade back to the top but nothing she did seemed to move her closer to the surface. The glow was everywhere, filling into eyes and nose and mouth and under fingernails and toenails. Seeping into the very skin and beneath into muscles and organs. It sparked inside veins and clawed at her brain until finally she screamed.

Screamed in the silent fluidity around her, crying her very heart out as the toxic magic clutched around it, lighting her nerve endings with fire and ice in a tandem that she couldn't think to describe. The pain so much worse than the cruelty of dying or even healing and yet numbing her every sense to the point where throbbing nothingness beat into palms and up arms and traveled to her core. 

The very molecular structure of their body shifting into and out of itself, accepting and revolting against the blinding ooze infiltrating its system.

And then it went further, the stretch of her bones giving way to her brain and soul. Jason's brain, her own consciousness and very being.

Flashes came to her sight, blacking out the pool. Screaming of thousands filtered in, not through ears but through her own mind, back and forth in an echo. Blood pulsing became her vision, the smell of copper and steel and rot and destruction coming in sharp revelation. She felt the terror and humiliation and pain and loss and joy and anger and betrayal and love and acceptance and utter defeat and the essence of life itself cram all into her head at once and then disappear into the emptiness of death, both sides warring for control until she couldn't tell if she was screaming or swimming and still struggling or just floating anymore.

Life and death became concepts that both made themselves startlingly clear and so muddled they meant nothing anymore. She lost all control of herself in that moment. 

Everything all at once stopped and she stilled, blank eyes staring up out of the depths and watching the surface ripple above her. The light seemed to not be so bright anymore. The liquid more and more of a warm embrace as her form became one with the pit. 

A jolt.

His body revolted once more, the feeling of tiny needles being threaded through each pore and yanked tight and strong away. Then threading back for a new stitch and pulling tightly away again, slowly shoving her back into herself and apart in ebbing, methodical movements, to the point where if she had half a brain left, she could count in time with the slow, continuous motions.

The stitches pulled eyelids open and yanked them closed, yanked nails nearly off and fused them to skin. Pulled hair taut in follicles and pushed them deeper still. 

Her head filled once more, only now with crying sobs and the sharp scent of tears. Existence warred once more for their place now inside her heart, painfully pulsing throughout her and abruptly stopping several times.

And stilled once more.

The third wave began as a net lowered in and took hold of the body, slowly lifting her to the surface until she broke the surface, green oozing out of her and flowing freely down the sides in great globs down. It pulled itself out of lungs and organs and dripped from gaping orifices. The fleshbag she became jumped as though electrocuted in horrific lurches that almost dislodged it from the net and back into the depths below, yet the net held steady.

She vaguely took note of the rope pulling away to the edge of the pit and dropping her to the side as gasping breaths lurched into lungs. Then the approach of multiple sets of feet. Hands grasped and pulled and dragged until she found herself face first on concrete in front of a drain.

A squeak and suddenly warm water cascaded down, taking the dregs of green with it into the swirl before her, twisting about before giving into gravity and disappearing. She reached for it, twirling a fingertip in the flow to watch it warp around raw flesh with fascination, not entirely aware of anything but the feel of the put water traveling off different parts and into the swirl.

The water ran clear and then another squeak ended the rain. She felt the hands lifting again and the pull of exhaustion at the corners of her vision. With too many sensations to focus on, the exhaustion won out and she slipped away to sleep.

…

She woke up delirious. The cushion below her felt both too easy to sink in and too firm and she wondered at what happened. Her body felt on fire. She wondered what had awoken her only to hear soft steps approach. By all accounts, she's not entirely sure how she heard them or rather, she supposed it was the vibrations softly rattling under her head through the floor from perfectly distributed weight.

She held still, not daring to alert the other to her wakeful state. Let them imagine her sleeping and safe to approach. Let them step a little too close.

The steps seemed very self assured and purposeful as they came up on the left side, coming to a stop at stomach level. The air shifted above her and she pictured their left hand descending towards her right shoulder.

In a flash, she gripped the wrist in her right hand, the left latching onto their right ankle and rolling her weight away from them, slamming their head into the floor and keeping the momentum to roll on top of their horizontal form.

Bringing the two limbs together to grasp in one fist, she grasped the other's free hand that had gone for a hidden dagger, twisting until the blade rested on their throat, holding their hand tight over the hilt so they couldn't release it. Feeling the body below contort to bring up their remaining leg to kick at her head, she jerked her head out of the way and pulled up to push her weight into the now bent leg to press it into the attacker's chest, letting her weight hold it down as she pressed forward with the blade, her mind screaming in triumph at the sight of blood.

The aggressor below her jerked and fought to regain control, pushing with all their might, but whoever sent them must've not thought her to be awake, for the slim, small figure had no chance against her larger, adrenaline shot body. Pushing further down, she sensed a second too late as a new form appeared behind her, pressing a needle into her neck just as the person below her stopped moving.

Within half a breath, she had dropped into the growing pool of blood.

…

Whoever entered the room this time stayed by the door. They stayed still and unimposing and quiet. 

"Jason," called a soft voice she almost recognized.

Snapping her head around, she stared up at the figure across the ways, watching and listening for anything more. Jason. That was her soulmate. Was he here? No, he wasn't there, but that's who she was known as here. Jason was her. The figure tilted its head and watched her watching them.

"Jason, do you recognize me? I'm approaching now. I know you aren't fully here right now, but dipping you in was necessary. You wouldn't have been strong enough without it. I need you in top form."

The figure moved closer and only slowed slightly as she raised up onto her haunches, fingertips bracing on the floor as she tilted her body towards them. Once they moved into range, she swept her feet under them, watching as they jumped over the leg, launching up to wrap a hand around their throat before they could land back down. She got the distinct impression that this figure, lady, could break free if they needed to, but allowed her to hold them in place for her own comfort.

"Jason, put me down. It's Talia. You remember me. You trust me, remember? I brought you here. Healed you. Set me down now." 

Talia spoke softly, limited breath making it slightly breathy if she had to guess. The softness worked to ease her though. She still had some semblance of control over this. The whisper of a thought to tighten her grip tempted her, but she ignored it, relaxing the hold until Talia slipped free, though she neither moved away nor closer now. She decided to sit back down, her energy seeping.

"That display earlier was quite impressive by the way. Granted the Lazarus still had its hold on you and was feeding you energy, but quite impressive all the same. Bruce trained you well. That training will have to continue of course. With a few added courses. It's good to see you're not opposed to killing the same way he is. It'd be hard to break you of the moral if dying and the pits weren't enough." Talia spoke, looking down at her in assessment, observing as the words hit her.

Not opposed to killing. So the last one, the person who grabbed her before, that she pinned. They were dead now. By her hands. Part of raged in horror, in betrayal at her own actions, the other louder half howling with victory and glee. She ducked into herself, curling up on her side and clutching at her head. 

She killed someone? Oh god, she was a murderer. She took someone's life and she enjoyed it. She relished in it. She took relief and joy from their demise. How could she? 

Tears slipped down her face and a hiccuping sob wracked her body, all under the watchful eye of Talia. 

Talia seemed to give a sigh of relief, relaxing and sitting down in front of her, softly running fingers through her hair in soothing strokes.

"That's right, Jason. Never take the decision to end someone's life lightly. You had to kill them, they were coming at you with dark intentions. It was self defense. There was no other choice. Never hesitate to end someone who threatens you or those you care for. But do not become so jaded as to not value life. Do not take it willingly. Only if they force your hand. Do you understand me, Jason?"

Marinette listened closely, taking in the words and soft, comforting affection being offered. Talia wasn't trying to make her a ruthless murderer? This made no sense. It went against everything Bruce had ever told them about the woman. That she was brutal, that she enjoyed killing and torturing and would never hesitate to take out her enemies. That anyone against her shouldn't live. This didn't add up with that image though. She only wanted 'Jason' to kill if it became absolutely necessary. As a last resort, something Bruce would never condone, even if it cost them their lives.

 Jason had always been more open to the idea that some lives were not worth letting live. She had always pushed for him to see the best in others, but with the recent actions of the Joker and the lack of care offered to her soulmate's apparent demise, she couldn't help but condemn Bruce. After all, if never killing no matter what meant letting kids be brutally murdered under his care, if it meant letting so many die by the clown's hands, how could it be right? The voice in her head, screaming in anger and righteous fury for her own life seemed to agree. 

The sweet words of reassurance that had been pouring from Talia's mouth while she thought only seemed to sooth her frazzled mind. Ease her concerns and self hatred in a way her own mentors never could. And Marinette was so very tired of hating herself for never being good enough for them. She seemed good enough for Talia though. The woman was offering guidance and proper training without ridicule. Without condemnation. 

Looking up, she tuned back into her words when Talia's gaze sharpened to become very serious.

"Outside of your rooms, I will be distant. They cannot know I care for you. Trust no one in the complex. These people will not hesitate to kill you otherwise. They will train you at my command though. You will learn to protect yourself. To protect those you love. I'll make sure you never have to feel so helpless again."

Marinette nodded softly, agreeing to keep her distance, to not take Talia's distance as a sign of indifference. It was clear the opposite was true now. She couldn't say why, but this woman genuinely cared. Wanted Jason, or who she thought was Jason, safe. Her methods might not be flawless, but the intentions were true. Tears ran down her face at her new reality, but she couldn't see a better option for herself now. Having it taken out of her hands and decided for her felt like such a relief, she couldn't help but accept the conditions it came with.

"Rest now, training begins in the morning."

...

Somewhere across the world, a girl woke up screaming to a vision of luminescent green.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.8

Shopping with Shiro was god awkward. Being a local, everyone was too damn cheerful as they did polite thing and say hello, some asking who Shiro was, and another pondering the question which would lead to rumours at a later date. Lance didn’t like to brag, but he was pretty well known in Garrison for making a “haunted house” his home. There weren’t any ghosts there, only the long dead skeletons of rats and mice, and the occasional spot of mould. He was also well known as being a bit “odd”, 26 with no partner struck some of the older community as a bit strange, as did the fact that he’d live in such a large home alone. Still, Lance blended himself in as seamlessly as he could. Earlier in the year he’d thought about picking up a few shifts at a local bar, only to change his mind over the fear of somehow cutting him and cursing the local drunks. Plus, people really sucked when they were drunk. He was more than likely to blow a fuse if he had to be flirted with every single damn shift simply because he looked at the peak of his youth.

Sticking to his usual routine of picking random things that he knew he could make a meal from, he found himself schooling Shiro in the ways of bulk savings, and discount brands. Shiro didn’t know how to process that he was a vampire who ate garlic... other foods in general. He really wasn’t living up to his role as a vampire at all, yet, despite how hard he tried not to, part of him decided it had to go and like Shiro as a person, despite the fact he’d clearly vandalised his own car and lied through his teeth when they’d met. Buying way too much food, the dude at the check out pretty much had bug eyes when it came to loading up the belt, because Lance never brought as much he was right then, then paying for it as Shiro insisted on placing the bags back in the trolley, as it was “the least he could do, all things considered”. Lance kept trying to consider him a pain, but now he was actually wondering if this had been how his family felt when he’d suddenly come back home different to the rest of them. He wanted to ring his Mami and ask her advice over the whole matter, but the idea of her baby boy living with two men who kill vampires for a living would send into a fit of hysterics over his safety.

Taking his keys from him, Shiro was good at insisting things. Insisting he needed his rest, and that he should cover his face so the sun’s rays wouldn’t burn up his skin. Shiro was fast feeling like a big brother that Lance had desperately wanted, but denied he needed. The fact that Shiro didn’t seem to want to murder him left him with all kinds of conflicted feelings that were too muddled to sort out. He was a vampire, Shiro was a hunter, that was the black and white of it, those damn shades of grey in between were making all of this far more difficult than it needed to be.

A tad too proud of an inanimate object, his bronco was a good girl, not starting for Shiro until the third time he tried to turn over the engine. Not used to the closeness of the H on the clutch, Shiro ground the gears more than once, then proceeded to bunny hop over that damn ditch in Lance’s driveway. Forget Shiro being the older brother, he was giving Lance’s younger self a run for his money, though his problem had been that even at accelerated speeds things seemed slower than the normal speed limit. His glasses helped with that, as had keeping the one car for his adult life. Bunny hopping to a stop in front of Lance’s house, Shiro shot him an embarrassed look, Lance quick to reassure him he wasn’t about to tell anyone over the mistreatment of his beloved girl.

Getting the shopping inside was a whole other drama as he wasn’t allowed to help with that either. Sent to his living room, he found Shiro had made himself at home, cleaning up the trashed remains into something more put together yet nowhere near Lance’s high standards. He still needed a new coffee table, provided he’d be living long enough to enjoy it. With that room not needing dire attention, Lance found himself in his kitchen, not trusting Shiro to be near any open fire unsupervised. The clock already read 4:30pm, a little, lot, later than he would have liked the time to be. Lugging the last of the shopping bags in, Shiro hefted a sigh of relief before dropping himself down in the first available dining chair. Boy, if the man thought things ended there, he was in for a tough ride.

Waiting all of thirty second for Shiro to start relaxing, Lance clapped his hands, earning himself a groan

“What are you doing sitting down?”

“Wha...?”

“The real work starts now that we’re home. We’ve got a dinner party to cook for, and don’t think your lack of kitchen prowess is getting you out of it. You’re staying under my roof, which means you’re helping out. Besides, “Sleeping Beauty”, is gonna wanna eat sometime before he expires of old age”

Shiro sighed as he rose to his feet

“You’re right. You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“If you’re asking if I’m serious about my friends enjoying themselves, then yes I am. If you’re asking about Keith, he’s got a nice enough face, but that’s as far as it goes. He won’t eat what I cook, unless you want to lie to him about it. So, you’re helping, that way you can tell him the nasty blood sucker didn’t taint his precious food”

“That comment... it, um, it really got under your skin, didn’t it?”

“It’d be like me slandering all you hunters as wild beast killing Barbarians. I’ve come across them before, it’s kind of hard not to when you’ve been around a while, they usually prefer to be more direct with their kills”

Shiro nodded, his left hand moving to grab above his elbow on his right arm, as if Lance’s words had triggered him to remember some deep self-conscience secret

“I guess it is. But for the most part we are”

“Touché. I don’t want to admit this, but I don’t think I hate you as much as I should”

“For a vampire you’re not that bad”

“I could have told you that. Now, what does Keith like eating?”

“Something quick and easy”

“Thanks for that. Let’s put it this way, is there anything he’s allergic too?”

“He’s a bit iffy when it comes to milk... I was going to try make him some soup”

Lance couldn’t count the number of ways that could have gone wrong

“I can do soup. I got chicken today, so we’ll do chicken and vegetable for “Madam Dramatics”. You’ll be in charge of slicing things. I assume you’re skilled with a blade enough to know not to stab the vampire with pointy end”

“I’ve been around a blade or two”

“Good. Wash your hands then wash the vegetable”

Shiro stared at him blankly, Lance groaning

“Okay. I’ll wash the vegetables. You can work a peeler right?”

“I don’t know...”

Lance cast Shiro a serious frown. Vegetable peelers had come a long way since Lance was a child, but there were now easier than ever. Noticing the minute movements of Shiro’s lips, Lance wanted to smack him, yet instead he did the adult thing and used his words

“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little”

“You know what, I take it all back. You’re not like an older brother, you’re like a dead beat father. Get to work on the vegetables while I start on the rest”

Having Shiro in the kitchen nearly ruined the joy of cooking forever. Lance didn’t really enjoy cooking the way Hunk did, but giving up on human food wasn’t an option when he was just another normal human being. He felt he’d be giving into his curse to give it up completely, and if he had the money, why not spoil his friends with some really good food? Asking Shiro to use the bones to make a chicken broth resulted in the bones being burnt. Then Shiro left the tea towel a fraction too close to the stove top and that started to smoulder. By the time the clock struck five, and that big beautiful best friend of his, also known as Hunk, walked through the kitchen door, Lance was nearly crying tears of frustration. He’d tasted Shiro’s soup, then promptly rushed to the kitchen sink to throw up, tiny flecks of metal stared up at him and Lance cursed Keith again. Walking up to Hunk, Lance wrapped his arms around him

“Thank god, you’re here”

Patting Lance’s back, Hunk laughed nervously

“Um, thanks, man. Hello, Shiro. Nice to, um, see you again”

“Keith left his camera behind, he’s bad in the morning without his caffeine. Lance offered to let us stay for dinner. We came to collect it. You know how it is”

Hunk knew how unhappy Lance was about house guests. His friends knew that staying in his house wasn’t an invite just any old random got, unless it came from Pidge

“Man, it’s lucky that you left it here and not somewhere else. Not everyone is as kind hearted as Lance”

With his face so close to Hunk’s neck, Lance could hear Hunk’s heartbeat. He could see the veins that carried that fresh blood to and from Hunk’s brain. He’d never feed from him, but Lance was definitely having control issues. He needed blood, he needed to bring himself back under control. His body felt like he was wearing the meat suit of a stranger

“Man, are you okay? You’re totally bundled up”

“I’m fine, Hunkeroo. Just a bit of a sniffle, probably from that window breaking. Shiro’s volunteered to be your sous chef for the evening, thought I wouldn’t trust him with anything other than the chicken soup”

Hunk nodded, Lance stepping back out of his hold. Thank god he was so thickly padded Hunk couldn’t feel him shivering

“Wait, if Shiro’s here, where’s Keith?”

Lance opened his mouth, but it was Shiro’s voice that piped up

“Keith doesn’t like to admit it, but he gets pretty bad car sickness. He needed a nap before dinner to sleep it off”

Hunk nodded sympathetically

“I get that too. It’s horrible. I’ve got this new medication I’m on that really seems to help, I can give him the name if it’ll help”

“I don’t see the harm”

Shiro lied so naturally that Lance wondered if Keith did get car sick. Keith’s bad arse image was in tatters now. The next time the idiot tried to pick a fight him, Lance wasn’t going to hesitate in teaching his ego a lesson

“Right, well. Shiro’s here to help, he can’t be left unwatched. This one has the skill of burning water in an off kettle. I need to check my work phone, and I want to check in with Miriam”

Shiro questioned

“Miriam?”

Hunk nodded, already slipping into chef mode

“That’s his grandmother. Sure, dude. Take your time, but you know, not too much time...”

Hunk was taking a leap of faith, taking Lance’s “trust” of Shiro to mean he could take those tentative steps too. Hunk’s naturally loveable and huge hearted self didn’t need much of an excuse to love somebody. He prayed that whatever happened, Shiro would spare Hunk the pain of a broken friendship.

The door to Lance’s office had been left ajar. Making the most of it, Blue was curled up on his office chair, Lance softening immediately at the sight of his princess

“Blue... hey, baby girl”

Blue let out a “rowrr”, rolling over and stretching herself out in the chair, her head turning his way as it bobbed a little, like she couldn’t quite focus. With her precious little toes reaching towards him, Lance smiled down at his girl, not wanting to lift her off the chair where she was so comfortable. Walking over, he knelt down, scratching between Blue’s ears as she nudged up into the pats

“So this is where you’ve been? Daddy’s sorry. I left you all alone, my baby”

Laying his cheek on Blue, her fur tickled his nose, still too hypersensitive, but finding peace in Blue’s strong heartbeat. What was happening to him? All of this was strange, all of these heightened senses were scary. Disgruntled over being reduced to his pillow, Blue moved from beneath him, sticking her butt in his face in a half kind of squat as she licked her back, an accusing glare cast in his direction

“You’re the one who moved. I didn’t want to disturb you”

He swore Blue understood every word, his girl quick to jump off the chair and strut away out the door.

Sighing as he was left alone, Lance hadn’t actually wanted to call his Mami. He didn’t want her knowing he was sick or stressed, but his list of go to people were short. With his body changing, he figured he should reach out to Coran for answers, but was scared off at the idea that Shiro or Keith might have bugged his office. Vatican sanctioned hunters were no joke. God’s love was found in the light, while his species were seen as unworthy night freaks that should be decapitated at the first opportune moment. It wasn’t like him to be so depressed, he needed to get his shit together and keep strong, so why was he letting himself spiral like this? He’d met hunters before, forced to flee long ago and barely in his late 20’s. He thought he’d done such a good job of blending in, of being likeable to everyone. Now he was just too damn scared to think of his next move. A truce between him and Shiro could surely not last longer than tonight. Shiro only agreed not to kill him due to his human friends. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to drink Keith’s blood in the first place, so why did he have to be punished when he’d pretty much saved Keith from himself.

“Freeze, bloodsucker”

What happened to Keith being in bed? So weak he needed his big brother to fend for him? Turning his head, he rested his other cheek on the chair as he looked to Keith. Keith looked sleepy, yet unamazingly alive. A proper nap would fix up much of his appearance, as would a series of face masks to help with the whole “black bag panda” look he was rocking. Pointing a gun in his direction, Lance couldn’t even be surprised by it

“Just so you know, Shiro and I have a truce at the moment because there’s a human in the house”

“You think I care? You fucking turned me”

Lance moved his head again, flipping back to the other cheek and staring at his desk

“You’re not a vampire”

“I am too! You bit me”

“You punched me in the teeth”

“You still turned me!”

“Keith, fuck off. You’re not a vampire”

“I am! I received a vampire’s bite”

“Nope”

“I’m turning. I can feel it. My body feels different”

“That’s because you’re a dumbarse. Relax, you’re still human”

“I’m not! You ruined my life, the least you can do is die!”

Before Keith could react, Lance was standing in front of him. Grabbing the muzzle of the gun, he held it up to his chest in line with his undead heart

“You’re not a vampire. Fucking shoot me if you want to, but I never fucking turned you”

It was interesting to hear Keith’s heart begin to race with fear. His eyes were something else, Lance staring him dead in the eyes, feeling like those eyes could steal his very soul

“You turned me”

“I didn’t turn you. Now, either you shoot me right here, or you go back to bed like a good little boy. Shiro’s worried enough about you as it is”

“You have no right...”

“I have no right mentioning his name? Is that it? Sorry to break it to you, but until tomorrow morning, and my friends have all gone home safely, your stupid arse is stuck here. Now, I’m going to have a bite to drink while you go back to bed. Neither of us are going to tell Shiro you pulled a gun on me while a human was in the house, and you’re going to get through you think mullet covered head, you are not a vampire”

Letting the gun go, Lance turned and walked back to his desk, making a show of calmly pulling down a wine glass and opening his safe. His blood supply had been fucking halved, probably by Keith, and Lance kind of hoped that the idiot would have taken a sip by now and see he was still the stupid human he’d always been. Feeling Keith’s eyes remain on him, Lance sighed

“Can’t a man get a moment of privacy in his own home?”

“How can I trust you? How do I know you aren’t planning on pulling out your own gun”

“Because you fucking tossed my office already. If there a gun in here, your dumbarse would have found it. Now, shoo”

Keith did not “shoo”, either the whole encounter had taken so long Shiro got worried, or Hunk had mentioned Lance was headed to his office, whatever it was, Shiro didn’t take long to interrupt the one sided staring match

“Keith! What are you doing out of bed?”

With Shiro finally there to break the tension, Lance poured himself out a third of the blood bag

“I’m not human any more, Shiro...”

“Keith. I get that this change is hard for you, but we’re going to get through this together. Lance has people over tonight, we can’t make a move until they’ve left”

“He’s a vampire and he fucking turned me!”

All Keith needed to was start stomping his feet and he’d have impersonating a cranky toddler down pact

“Keith, please. Whatever he’s done to you, I won’t rest until we have a cure. Right now, Lance is only source of information. I know it hard, but you need your rest”

Lance’s opinion of Shiro’s intelligence dropped. He’d told Shiro that Keith wasn’t a vampire. Yet there Shiro was, assuring Keith they’d find a cure. The only cure was death. The whole “kill the sire” thing didn’t work, the two who’d sired Lance had to have been killed off by now... unless they were born into the vampire way of life. Lance actually hadn’t the first clue about how a vampire was “born” and not from being bitten and turned. Perhaps blood in the infants milk? That was the only reasoning he could some up with. Maybe if he hadn’t clung to his human roots, he would have ventured out to learn more about the beast he was.

“Fine. Tonight, and only tonight, I’ll let you off, but come tomorrow, you better tell me everything I need to know before I kill you”

Whooo hoo. One last dinner, at least it’d be with his friends. Keith’s carrying ons were enough to make his headache increase tenfold, bitter as he muttered

“Go away already”

[soliti]

ASTRID SWAN

1. Taylor Swift: Folklore (2020, album) This year the so-called mainstream and the sidelines flow into each other. There are no borders between formula, selling, style and that is freeing for all who make art. Maybe in that sense a global pandemic is putting us on a more even creative keel. It’s providing time for all to actually make art rather than to focus on its marketing. Maybe. Taylor Swift’s first quarantine album became my favorite immediately. I have had it on probably every day for the past months. The marriage of Aaron Dessner’s delicate looping swirling riffs with Swift’s sugary pop vocal hooks and storytelling were just what I needed for inspiration and comfort while sitting at my desk, staring at the screen, writing and glimpsing the sky each day, through the seasons.

2.  Beyoncé: The Lion King – The Gift (2020, visual album) The visual album directed by Bey herself is another border breaking effort, questioning the imagined fencing between super fame and unknown artists, elevating the African continents, black and brown humans and culture and healing with beauty. The music relates to the Lion King film that came out in 2019 and so does the film, but its free too, writing and rewriting additional meanings, imagining differently. It’s abundance, shared space, nature, form – an amazing fiction and a powerful narrative to black and brown children: you matter, you are beautiful. My 8-year-old LOVES every second of it. It is radical to be one of the most famous identifiable voices in pop and to share the vocal space and songwriting with all these other voices. It is radical to believe in your own power to do many things well, and then do it.

3. Fiona Apple: Fetch the Bolt Cutters (2020, album) What a year! It feels like I am 17 again with all these albums that become part of my musical interior. My new, yet familiar furniture to lean on. Apple’s album is an amalgamation of all her albums so far. It’s a language I speak. It’s like listening to my big sister. It makes me glad to be alive in 2020 to hear her be able to bottle the vulnerability and wit and shake shake shake…

4.  Shawn Colvin: Diamond in the Rough (book, 2012) I read a lot this year, which is no news. I’m always reading. Still, this is a revelation: since 2018 I’ve been listening to Colvin’s album A Few Small Repairs from 1996 every week. Yes, every week at some point I have to listen to this. This relates to the fact that I’ve rediscovered a lot of my 90s favorites and realized that I still love them. So, finally I realized that she published a memoir in 2012. I loved reading this book because it hasn’t been so long that I can read books by women songwriters. There just haven’t been that many. And this one addressed song writing and the conditions of her becoming a musician very well. It also dealt with alcoholism, mental health struggles and weaved mothering, romantic love and parental love into the narrative. Again, reading this inspired me to do what I do. Her writing made me feel less lonely and inspired to play the guitar again.

5. Hari Kunzru: Into the Zone (podcast) Podcasts have become an almost too present noise in my mornings, my walks, my cooking, my escape from the family… in a small home with everyone home, you can make space by listening to your own boring talk shows so loud that it drowns out Neil Young and muddles YouTube kids and the endless video game or Lego reviews. So, I discovered Into the Zone. I love it passionately. It’s a literary writer’s and a researcher’s dream. Kunzru is able to tell narratives of far apart subjects and show how they relate and influence each other. He talks much about music, racism, ideas of genre, imagined futures… to be honest, I felt like writing a letter of thank you to him, that’s how much I loved this. I haven’t written the letter though, because I could not find his email address.

6. “How to Stop a Power Grab” by Andrew Marantz in The New Yorker. November 23rd, 2020. This great article looks into what we know about peaceful dissent, interviewing Erica Chenoweth who is an important voice for all kinds of civil organizing and dissent such as the Black Lives Matter -movement. Chenoweth has studied and found that peaceful dissent is more likely to lead to political change than violence. Her book with Maria Stephan Why Civil Resistance Works came out in 2013 and is considered a watershed book for civil organizing. Reading this article gave me hope; maybe instead of a major global disaster bigger than 2020, we are learning, we are on the brink of better times, of realizing that we all have to care for all and act upon the betterment of our conditions. That science is showing us that violence is a dead end. That things are changing. That from the perspective of centuries, our slow learning is accelerating.

7.  I’ll Be Gone in the Dark (TV Series, HBO) Michelle McNamara’s book by the same name was a hit a little while ago and this year, the HBO documentary series brings the entangled narratives of McNamara, the horrific victim stories and the story of the EAR/Night Stalker together much like the book. The criminal titled EAR who violated the lives of so many and killed many from 1960s until recently in California, USA is kind of at the center of the story, but also, he is a side character to something more interesting. For me, the true crime aspect of this program was not as compelling as the story of McNamara’s discovery of writing, her ability to fuse detective skills and storytelling and her inability to address her personal struggles while doing it. It is a tragedy. I was struck by the documentary’s skill at talking also about mothering, a romantic relationship and childhood and to relate all this to the way this woman worked, developed her professional situation. And all this, while investigating murders and rapes that happened long ago and were never solved. Watching this made me a fangirl of McNamara and it made me want to become an amateur sleuth and also a filmmaker in my next life. Finally, during the year I fluctuated between wanting to watch old films, familiar series and yearning to be shook out of my usual corners. Being true crime this series was super scary for me – but it was more about telling stories really than about the crime, so I grit my teeth and closed the blinds and told myself I’m safe and I watched the series twice already. Guardian review of the show.

[shieldofgod]

Violence, and compromise

First Voice

Let us be circumspect, surrounded as we are By every foe but one, and he from the woods watching. Let us be courteous, since we cannot be wise, guilty of no      neglect, pallid with seemly terror, yet regarding with      indulgent eyes Violence, and compromise.

Second Voice

We shall learn nothing; or we shall learn it too late.      Why should we wait For Death, who knows the road so well?  Need we sit      hatching-- Such quiet fowl as we, meek to the touch, --a clutch of      adder’s eggs?  Let us not turn them; let us not keep      them warm; let us leave our nests and flock and tell All that we know, all that we can piece together, of a time      when all went, or seemed to go, well.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay; Two Voices

His brother lives.

When all else becomes narrowed to a gray haze and pain, when all else has become the final threads between himself and oblivion, Castiel holds onto this fact like a shining beacon of light in the growing darkness: Samandriel lives.

His blade had struck true, but his Father had intervened after.  The angel tablet is safe.  He has not failed at this one thing, this one attempt to try to save what he loves, on Earth or in Heaven.  These things are truth.

But more importantly than anything else in that list, his brother lives.

Some songs echo so much longer and deeper than Heaven’s machinations.

-

-

He woke on his brother’s couch in a start; the smell of blood and paint in the air.  His side hurt terribly, but it was healing at least; packed with gauze and bandages wrapped around himself holding it all together.  He stared off at his brother’s small apartment, the warding on the walls, memory coming back in pieces (what of it has not been holed by Naomi) and realized that at some point, he had overheard her plans to send angels after Kemuel.

That thought was enough to drive Castiel to get up. Still wounded and reeling from it, but well enough now to fly, he left a note for his brother on the kitchen table--

I’ll be back when I can be; I will get us cell phones and bring you one.

I love you very much.  Be safe, Samandiriel.

--and then made the same kind of mistake he usually made: He tried to fix things.

He left his coat and jacket and shirt and tie on his brother’s floor, thinking it would be a short flight.  He took off for Kemuel’s, hoping to at least warn the archangel, and was intercepted along the way because certainly Naomi wouldn’t leave that avenue open without surveillance.

They netted him like a fish and he fought all the way until he was a tangle of silver filament and heaved breaths and until his side was bleeding again.

And then he fought even harder after.

-

-

She doesn’t try to reprogram him this time.  She only means to kill him, albeit via vivisection.  Dismantling him slowly, until he is nothing at all but dead energy.  Learning what she can of the metaphysiology behind him; she tells him as much, and she almost even sounds apologetic.

Mad, maybe.  But apologetic.

Somehow, even in agony, Castiel finds that a relief.  That she is not digging into his mind, and therefore thinks that Crowley has the angel tablet; that she does not know his brother is alive and managed to escape her and everything.  That she only means to kill him, even if she is going to do so slowly.

He fights, of course.  But some part of him is almost looking forward to the ending.

-

-

It was ten thousand thousand years ago; he danced with his brother, two flashes of light weaving around one another, drawing their wingtips through stardust and dark matter, singing because they were so happy, so joyful, that they could not help but give voice to it.

Always under it, a part of the choir singing for the Father who made it all:

Holy holy holy, the Lord God Almighty--

Before he was even Castiel, he was half a duet; before he even had a name, he had his brother.

Naomi might have sliced and diced across the edges of those memories, but they went too deep to ruin permanently.  She muddled them, but they clarified again once her meddling was done. 

Later, while he is dying, Castiel finds his solace in them; of a time of love, joy and song.  Of a time when he was good, because there was nothing else he could have been.

-

-

There is thrice as much blood on the floor and outside of it as there is within Jimmy Novak’s mortal body; she heals that physical body before the vessel can expire, and over and over again he bleeds and bleeds, growing cold and faint and dizzy until she restores that blood again.

Normally, Castiel could tune out of the pain; now, whatever she has done to him has insured he feels it keenly, as if this flesh, blood and bone cage belongs to him and is not only something he wears.  It is torture on two levels; he can feel what she does to his own self, too.

He isn’t sure anymore how long it has been.  There is so much blood on his head and face that he can’t see, eyelashes matted together with it; there is so much damage to himself that he cannot even open his own eyes.  She doesn’t let him lose consciousness.  She drills and drills; prods with silver spikes of specialized grace, fuses and cuts.

Something goes electrical down his borrowed spine; makes him arch his back against the restraints, and then there is the smell of burning, the sound of Naomi crying out in pain, and then the weight of wings at his back.  She says something, gasping, but Castiel is nearly enough beyond hearing that he can’t understand it as words.

He doesn’t know when he stopped screaming.  When he lost his own voice.

He doesn’t know anything, really, except the most important thing.

She doesn’t go back at him, but it’s likely as not too late to save him, he thinks; he is only a few threads of light in the cold gray fog of his dormant grace.  This time, she doesn’t restore the vessel as it bleeds; as his wings hang limp in their sockets, staining the silver and gray feathers in red, more dripping and dropping off of his head.

There is some sound of alarm, but it doesn’t really register to Castiel; he knows only that he is dying, and accepts it; knows only that his brother lives, and accepts that, too.

This time, when the dark claims him, he doesn’t fight at all.

-

@fracturedsword​, @kemuele​

[littlekatleaf]

Buried in a burning flame is love and its decisive pain (part 2)

Part One

Felt like he’d only just fallen asleep when someone shook his shoulder. “Wazzat,” he mumbled. The room was still pitch black, only the faintest hint of lightening around the edges of the curtains. 

“Up, Rat. Null Sector.” Roadhog’s voice was unusually sharp and Junkrat bolted instantly and completely awake.  

“Here?” He buckled on his prosthetics, already ticking through the supplies he’d brought and what could be cobbled together. No one’d expected a fight, but he ‘n Roadie weren’t never unprepared.

“Close. Morrison radioed Tracer - apparently someone tipped him off about a civilian hit a couple klicks from here.” “Think it’s a trap?” Seemed odd for an attack in such a remote area. 

Roadhog shrugged. “Possible.”

Guessed it made no difference - Overwatch couldn’t risk leaving innocents unprotected and where Overwatch went, so Junkrat and Roadhog went, too.

As he stumbled into the kitchen, Emily thrust a large paper cup of black coffee into his hand. Junkrat smiled gratefully. Heat felt good on his raw throat and the caffeine burned away the lingering fog from the corners of his brain. “Ta,” he said, but she didn’t seem to register. Her eyes followed Tracer as she paced, alternating between terse tactics with Morrison via com and equally short suggestions to Satya about setting up defenses around the cabin. 

“Take Satya with you. I don’t need a babysitter,” Emily said as Tracer slipped her communicator into the pocket of her coat. Her words were defensive, but pleading. The air between them crackled, heavy with everything they didn’t say. Trying to stay out of the way, Junkrat fossicked through his bag, checking over concussion mines and bombs, making sure fuses were properly set, triggers locked but ready.

“You’ll need her...” “Em.” Tracer interrupted, crossing the room and cupping Emily’s cheek in one hand. “We’ve been over this. If Morrison’s informant is playing us… if it’s a trap, I need to know you’re safe.” Emily sighed and bent forward slightly, leaning her forehead against Tracer’s. “I want you to be safe, too,” she said softly.

Junkrat stood. Felt like intruding on a private thing. “Satya, show me where you’re settin’ up the sentry turrets? Got a couple a things might help.” Fortunately she nodded and he followed her out. 

Wind still howling; was cold enough to feel like his nostrils froze. His lungs ached with it. Fuck - didn’t think he’d ever been this cold. Wished he’d brought a scarf. Or mittens. “I’d kill for some mittens,” he mumbled.

Satya ignored him, pointed out the turrets, hidden under the eaves. 

“Guess yer used to the cold, huh,” he said, laughing a little at his own joke and positioning a couple of steel traps - would hold ‘em long enough for the turrets to dispatch ‘em. 

“You think we have not heard these ‘jokes’ before? You think we do not hear the comments?” The scorn in her voice was clear, then took on a mocking echo, sounding surprisingly like McCree, “Quite a match, the Robot and the Ice Queen.”

Junkrat looked up, surprised. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” he said but Satya had stalked away. Shit. Maybe she wouldn’t have a chance to say anything to Mei. Finished rigging the traps and was about to go apologize when he caught sight of Hana motioning him over from the window of a ute. “Let’s go,” she called. Apology’d have to wait. 

As he clambered into the back and squeezed next to Roadhog, Mei gave him a look that said she’d love to take him down with her endothermic blaster. He resisted the urge to shiver, case she took it as another insult. Fuck - just what he needed, a team member least as happy to kill him as Null Sector’d be.

Hana leaned over his seat. “You messed up, dude. What’d you say to Satya, anyway,” she asked, keeping her voice low.

Junkrat glanced at Mei out of the corner of his eye. Seemed to be listening to something Tracer was telling her and paying no attention to him. “Made a little joke ‘bout the cold.”

“You think before you talk? Like, ever?” Lucio shook his head.

Roadhog snorted. “No.”

“Was tryin’ to lighten the mood.” 

“Moron.” 

“Gonna have to agree with Roadhog on this one, man,” Lucio said. “Better stay out of Mei’s line of sight.”

Junkrat slouched down in his seat. How the hell did he keep fucking shit up? A low laugh echoed through his head. It’s not a riddle… you are a fuckup, Jamison. Shut it, he thought. Tracer was saying something about the plan of attack and he needed to listen, to focus, but his thoughts felt cloudy and muddled. He gulped at the rest of his coffee. They clearly should have left you behind. You’re going to fuck this up, too. The only question is, who will get hurt because of you? Junkrat ground his teeth. You know fuck all, he told the voice. Only laughter answered, echoing… 

Suddenly Roadhog elbowed him in the side, and he realized they’d stopped. “Time to go.”

Get it together, he told himself. Gonna do this right. Ain’t no one getting hurt on my watch.

The mountains loomed above, trees pressed close on either side of the path. Light was just beginning to show at the edge of the horizon. Junkrat found himself straining to listen, like if he tried a little harder he’d be able to hear what was coming. Instead only wind whistling in the pines, crunch of their footsteps, thudding of his own heart in his chest, Roadhog’s breath through his mask. 

Sudden rattle of gunshots and the group surged forward, fanning out, Lucio’s sonic amplifier lending them unnatural speed. Adrenaline spiked like a fever. Tracer darted ahead, blinking in and out of sight. They crested a hill and the forest gave way to a small cluster of cabins, like Junkertown shacks.

Metallic scream sliced the air and the battle swept over them. Dozens of omnics - Nullifiers, Slicers, Bastions, OR14s - descended on the clearing from the mountains above. D.Va’s mech fired a round of rockets, Roadhog’s scrap gun rattled, and Junkrat sent a volley of grenades over Mei in the frontline to finish off the B73 Bastion she’d frozen.

“Ha! How’d ya like that, ya fuckin’ bot?” Heart hammered in his throat. Mouth dry. Vision narrowed with focus. Roadhog, always in his peripheral. D.Va. Lucio. Had to keep them covered. Keep them safe. Reload the launcher. Toss the mines. Hard to breathe - air smoky and heavy with gunpowder. Chest aching, head aching. Coughed to clear it, but didn’t help much. Blinked sweat out of his eyes. When had it gotten warm? Reload. Fire. Where was D.Va? Someone shouting, couldn’t make out words.

Tracer raced past, dropped her pulse bomb, winked out of sight as another B73  exploded right where she’d been. The concussive blast knocked him back, made his ears ring. Lost one already… better hope she’s more attentive than you’ve been.  Shook his head once, sharply. D.Va had to be okay, had to be nearby, just out of his line of sight. Wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. Lucio’s music pulsed, lending him strength. Reload. Fire. Bag was getting dangerously light. Tried to figure how many grenades left, how many bots, couldn’t be many now, but kept losing track.

Roadhog’s hook flashed out, yanked in a Nullifier, finished it with a shot to the head. Bot’s carcass dropped and Roadhog hooked another, dropping it just as quick. Junkrat grinned - watching the Hog work was a thing of beauty. 

Then - flash of pink at the edge of his vision. D.Va’s mech, Lucio beside her, holding their own with fusion cannons and sonic amplifier against a handful of Slicers. Her mech was looking a little worse for wear, but nothing’d penetrated its shell. See, fuckin’ told ya she’d be fine. Rush of relief so strong left him a little dizzy. 

“Fall back,” Tracer’s voice above the fray. “Back!”

“What’dya mean? Ain’t finished ‘em off yet!” 

“No questions. She’s in command,” Mei snapped, following Tracer, D.Va and Lucio back toward the ute.

Screw command - not gonna let any fuckin’ bots escape an’ attack someone else.  Working fast he pieced together the few things left in his bag. Handful of grenades, a concussion mine, bit of ammonium nitrate. Rigged up a trap across the path the others had taken. Gonna be a corker of an explosion.

“Rat!” Roadhog’s voice at his left, harsh. Junkrat looked up and straight into the fusion driver of a OR14. Fuck. 

Who would have thought you’d be the one getting hurt… taunting wisp through his thoughts. Fuck I am; ain’t gonna cark it to a goddamn bot. Heard Hog jamming the toploader onto his gun and dumping in the last of his ammo. Had to time it just right. 

The gun roared, knocked the bot off center, scent of plasma burning his nose as the OR’s shot missed him by a hair. Had to be enough room, wasn’t gonna get another chance. Clenched his teeth, took a deep breath, gonna be close, dropped his special concussion mine, stepped on the pressure cap with his peg leg and detonated.

The air cracked and the blast launched him into the sky, backwards, away from the OR14 and the trap he’d laid. The force was as exhilarating as it was disorienting and he laughed as he flew, high pitched, manic giggles. He came down hard on ankle and peg but Roadie’s hand was on his arm, steadying him and then they were running together back up the path as another whumping explosion echoed and a gout of flame shot high above the cabins, warmth and smoke enveloping them. Tossed one glance back over his shoulder and the beauty of the sight nearly brought a tear to his eyes. Nothing left of the bots but twisted lumps of metal. Perfection.

[wolfcrunch]

32.

i didnt get a character or angst/fluff decision so i went with bakugou!! hope that’s alright!

Prompt #32 - What did I do?

read on AO3 - request a prompt and character(s) for me to write!

What did I do?

Crimson coloured eyes stared blankly upwards, tracing patterns into the clean, white tiles overhead. Silence rung in his ears, but thoughts and memories weight heavy on the young hero’s mind, the events of the previous two days playing on rewind.

What did I do?

He could still hear the cries for help, the yells of his friends, screaming at him to move. To do something. He could still taste smoke and blood, on the tip of his tongue despite it being cleaned off long ago. He could still feel his tattered costume sticking against his sweat-laden body, covered in soot and dirt and all sorts of debris.

What did I do?

He remembered he had been facing a tenacious villain, one that he and Deku had been essentially ‘hunting down’ for the past three months, at least. A man who could outmaneuver even the proclaimed Wonder Duo, of all heroes.

Katsuki and Deku had only been heroes for around five years now - and in all of that time, they had not yet come across a villain who could make them chase tail for more than a week, the League excused.

All except the man they had come to know as 'Torrent’.

A dangerous man who seemed set on stirring up trouble, the heroes who had faced him weren’t entirely sure on what his quirk really do, except it was some sort of extreme weather manipulation. He’d been shown to cause a vast arrangement of weather - from storms, to hail, to snow and even fire tornadoes.

Even with Katsuki and Deku working together - it was almost as if the other man had several quirks, with how quickly he could change the weather and make his escape.

They’d run into the villain again, and Katsuki had decided enough was enough. The man in question had sent a blast of dangerous high wind through some apartment buildings, leaving the buildings almost destroyed and civilians in need of saving. Their job had been to get the civilians out safely first…

But then Katsuki had seen him. And his vision went red.

He’d screamed at Deku to start evacuating victims before blasting off after the escaping man, his explosion quirk boosting him along. Deku had tried to stop him– but there were people in need, and he couldn’t just abandon them.

Not when the buildings looked as if they were going to fall.

Despite having grown and mellowed out…Katsuki still had a bit of a short fuse. And here, it had decided to come and bite him on the ass.

He didn’t know how the guy’s quirk worked, let alone a way to possibly take him down and immobilize him long enough for Deku to catch up…he hadn’t been thinking straight, he could admit that much. He could admit defeat.

Failure.

So…what did I do?

Nothing…absolutely fucking nothing.

Katsuki had been no match for the villain, not even with his rage-filled mind that made him act before thinking. The explosive hero prided himself on his reaction times, on his prowess, on his fighting experience, years of that skill honed into his very bones.

But it still had been no match, not alone.

Torrent had toyed with him. He’d batted the hero around as if the two were playing cat and mouse - as if Katsuki was the prey, in this scenario.

Torrent knew Katsuki - the hero, Ground Zero - was no match for him, and it had only served to make Katsuki angrier as the minutes ticked by. As Katsuki got worn down, expending all of his energy into firing off blasts…he’d been so angry, that he hadn’t accounted much for his surrounding area.

Of course, collateral damage was usually never an issue…his PR would chew him out for it, but it was something he could pay off…

…but the lives at stake…

Katsuki’s calloused hands gripped at the light, scratchy blanket laid over his body, an all-too-unfamiliar burning beginning to build up in his eyes. He hated, hated, hated this. This feeling….

Complete, utter failure.

Katsuki could do nothing. Nothing as Torrent sent a huge gust of wind clashing into him, making the hero crash into an unstable building. Nothing as a shrill cry sounded from within its walls, breaking Katsuki out of the rage-filled cloud overhanging every nerve.

He did nothing as Torrent sneered at the sounds emitting from the once-thought abandoned building, calling out something Katsuki couldn’t hear over the roar of vicious winds.

Nothing as heroes arrived on the scene– Red Riot, Pinky, Uravity, Deku– screaming out for the explosive hero to move.

To save…

Katsuki couldn’t move…and two children, eight and three, had perished as Torrent brought the building down upon him. Katsuki hadn’t known…but that didn’t make the weight in his chest any less heavy.

He’d been lucky that he was alive - Deku having jumped into the fray and chasing Torrent off as Red Riot, Pinky and Uravity dug him and the children out, as the nurses said once he awoke.

According to them, no one had been to visit yet, even though Katsuki hadn’t been too critically injured, surprisingly…

Not that he deserved their company.

Ground Zero was suppose to be a hero, yet two children lost their lives because of him. A couple was never going to hug their children, see them grow up…he knew that all heroes lost someone at least once during their careers…

But this was all utterly Katsuki’s fault, he knew. He was the reason that Japan had lost two lives that day.

He was the reason Torrent was still on the run. If only he had waited–

If only he hadn’t run in like a damn intern on his first patrol…those two kids might still be alive.

The blond scowled, lifting a hand to slowly run through his dirtied hair, wincing at the tiny shards of glass still stuck between its strands. He’d told the nurses to piss off after checking his vitals after awaking not a mere three hours ago…now he was kinda starting to regret that.

Ugh…the sooner I can get out…

Katsuki knew that to wallow in his own self-pity was…pathetic. He didn’t deserve to feel so sorry for himself. No, because those kids–

They had needed him in that moment. They had needed to be saved, by a hero.

And Katsuki had been still, sealing their fates.

He scowled to himself, before carefully propping himself up with his arms. The IV in his arm felt uncomfortable, and his eyes stung at the light coming in from the window. The sooner he got out, the sooner he could do something - he wouldn’t be very surprised if the parents tried to press charges because of their children.

He’d deserve it.

His body, aching, protested against the blond’s movements, but he ignored it to force one leg over the side of the bed, gritting his teeth at the harsh movement. The nurses would have his head if they saw him trying to get up.

But he couldn’t sit here and do nothing. He needed to make up–

“Kacchan!”

The blond gave an indignant squawk as a hand settled on his shoulders, before his brain clicked with the familiar name. “Deku, what the fuck?!”

“Shh, the nurses are gonna kick me out-”

“As they should, shitty nerd!” Katsuki’s raging words held no real bite to them, despite the way his red gaze pierced through the over. Deku at least had the decency to look sheepish. “How the hell did you get in here?” he lowered his voice, slightly.

His hero partner glanced at the door of the room, which he had carefully shut completely to make sure no one was peeking in before looking at the older man. “I….distracted a nurse and managed to sneak past?”

“Deku–”

“They weren’t gonna let us see you!” Izuku insisted, waving about his hands - one which held a plastic bag. “After the thing with Torrent, I got some stuff and came back to the waiting room. They didn’t give any word about you having woken up and I got worried-”

“I don’t want your stinking ass in my room!” Katsuki hissed. “And what do you mean we? What about all the civilians?!”

“They’re fine!!” Katsuki’s cause for his newest headache assured him. “I’ve already dealt with the paperwork and the press…well, most of it. Kirishima and some of the others are still in the waiting room for when you get released - your entire fight was on the news!”

“Fucking– Deku, you’re number fucking one, it’s your job to go out there and detain Torrent, ain’t it?!”

“Kacchan, I wasn’t going to risk going after him alone.”

Now Katsuki knew that Deku was stronger than him - three years together in U.A, and five as hero partners…he’d be stupid to not say that Deku had surpassed him in terms of strength - although when exactly that happened was muddled and forgotten…

Deku had always been stronger than him in moral, too. Even before inheriting One For All.

“Anyways…no one’s seen or heard from him in the two days you were out…I think for now, its fine to take a break,” Izuku then grinned, shaking the bag in his hand. “Anyways, I got some of your clothes from the agency. I don’t think anyone wants to see your ass when you finally get out of here.”

Katsuki paused, the words sinking in. He blurted out what was first to conjure into a sentence.

“What, my ass not good enough for the bunch of you freaks, huh?!”

“N-no, Kacchan!” Izuku couldn’t help but snort, shaking his head. “I think Kirishima would call it manly-”

The broad-shouldered hero got an angry shove at that, the injured one of the two fuming at him. “Eat shit and die, nerd!” he nearly screamed, causing Izuku to laugh louder.

“Come on Kacchan, it was a joke!”

“Yeah? Your whole career is gonna look like a fucking joke in a minute, asshole!”

Katsuki couldn’t help the smug grin that crossed his face as the door to his room was slammed open, two fuming nurses standing outside and setting their sights right on Deku, who looked up like a deer in headlights.

Not even the Number One hero could escape punishment by a couple of angry nurses set out to make sure their patients were comfortable, Katsuki supposed…good.

[karst-v]

Madness Combat：Gifts 02

2

Since we are wanted together, we all know each other.

Deimos, a former a.a.h.w. member, has muddled along with Sanford, who also lives in uncertainty, to form a temporary alliance. Two rooms and a kitchen with a table are all they have. When the door is closed, they don't communicate with each other.

It has to be said that hatred is really the primary productive force. In the two days after the wanted notice was posted, their safe house received more than three waves of killers and assassins. Sanford really didn't understand what Deimos did to make his former employers kill him like this.

"Who knows," Deimos shrugged and handed the brick to Sanford. "To be honest, Santa can't give you presents."

God damn, don't forget where you fell! I can't get rid of the present of last Christmas!

"If you can be quiet for a while, I think my progress will be much faster."

Sanford said coldly, putting bricks on his hands and cement on his hands to close the vent bit by bit, and putting the plan to get rid of the burden on his mind. He has enough enemies of his own. If he can't commit the pursuit, he has to share it with others. Of course, Sanford didn't think that he left Deimos to run alone, and even succeeded several times. However, in the eyes of those murderous killers, he and Deimos are one and the same, and they are all good. So these bastards always catch Deimos and push him to their own side.

Fuck each other.

In this way, they beat back wave after wave of pursuers, withdrew from the safe house and returned, separated and reunited. Two people come back with different scars and sit face to face without saying a word.

Now that Deimos has another layer of bandage on his head, he watches Sanford climb down the ladder while affirming the latter's work.

"Good craftsmanship, I think you must have done so well when you were filling children's cavities."

"Thank you for the compliment," Sanford replied deadpan, shaking his hammer. "I can give you a free experience, right now."

"Hey, I'm just kidding!"

Sanford laughed. It was a sneer.

"That's my joke, too." As he spoke, the white gray hammer came out of his hand and flew towards Deimos's bruised head. There was a sound of back flow of blood, blood colored flowers blooming on the broken window.

"That's a bad mark."

Deimos is smirking. The killer who just wants to break in the window is smashed in the head by Sanford's hammer, but soon a stroke of SR25 has sneaked in from the window. Sanford lowered himself, rolled over to Deimos and pulled him into the shadow at the bottom of the wall.

The bullets roared, breaking up the ladder and leaving charred bullet holes in the wall. There was another loud noise from the living room - the door of the safe house was blown open. It's not safe here.

"Back off, kid."

Sanford fumbled in his pocket for a smoke bomb, pulled the fuse and threw it in the middle of the room. The yellow smoke spread, and suddenly the footsteps and gunshots outside began to become disorderly. He drags Deimos forward and stops at the refrigerator in the kitchen to roughly open the door of the freezer.

Deimos thought that he would see expired sausages and mutton, but a deep cave was staring at him silently, and in his stupefied Kung Fu, he felt that he had a tight lead behind him, and the whole person fell into the secret way when he responded.

"What the ……?!"

The light outside began to fill - a sign that the smoke had gone. There's someone coming, there's a group of people coming, and now Deimos is lying at the entrance of the secret Road, shouting out to Sanford.

"Climb all the way out. Turn left at the first fork. Get out."

The refrigerator door was slammed by Sanford, where the light disappeared. Deimos listened stupidly to the sound of machine gun fire, to the continuous explosions, to the screams of unknown people and the brittle sound of broken bones. After a brief stupor, he shouted at the closed secret road: "I’M NOT A KID !”

But Sanford never heard of it again.

Sanford woke up with a dazzling white light. After a brief feeling of confusion, followed by the chest of severe pain.

"Don't move."

Sanford turned around and found himself lying on the operating table.

"You wake up earlier than I expected. It looks like it's time for another anesthetic." The man's voice was silent after a brief surprise. "Four broken ribs stabbed into the lungs. Relax, and you'll recover."

Sanford looked at the doctor in front of him and turned his back to get the medicine. He closed his eyes slightly and felt the unprecedented fatigue. But he still has something to do.

The doctor mixed the liquid and began to prepare for the intramuscular injection in an orderly manner. He picked up the syringe to go back to the operating table, but suddenly stopped when his head was half twisted.

A bloodstained scalpel had edged into his back neck.

"Don't move, either."

The doctor raised his hands slowly, but he didn't give up his explanation: "believe me, you are safe."

"Syringe…down!"

Sanford laboriously spits out a few words. The severe pain in his chest makes it difficult for him to breathe, but within his tolerance. Safety? This is the funniest joke he has ever heard in his life.

"Deimos is right. You are a real terror."

The familiar name made Sanford's thinking stagnate for a second, but that's the second when the quiet doctor broke away from the prison, lowered himself and waved his hand to fly the scalpel in Sanford's hand.

Scrap!

Sanford just wanted to fight back. He hit his right rib with an inch. He clearly heard the sound of his bone breaking. The doctor held him and firmly stuck the syringe in his back neck.

"You've broken two more ribs, and this is a new anesthetic. Maybe you'll be unconscious in your lower body when you wake up. Remember Sanford, you asked for it. "

The doctor's voice began to blur, and Sanford was again dragged into the soft darkness. He didn't even have time to think about how the man knew his name - after all, the wanted under a pseudonym, and he didn't mention it to Deimos. How did the guy know?

TBC